#often casting him out for being so small and fragile

[dominantslasherking]

Armand With Dominant Male S/o pt 1

Backstory: Louis and Armand talk to Daniel about you. Armands, strange feelings and possessiveness of you is revealed. The obsession that Armand reveals for you is unsettling, Daniel can't help but wonder, what happened to you. Authors note: Tell me if you want part 2.

My Stories are meant for the much more mature audience, 18+

The dim light of the room flickered softly over the rich crimson drapes, casting long shadows that mirrored the weight of the conversation between Daniel, Louis, and Armand. The sound of the city outside was muffled, distant. It was just the three of them now, seated in that familiar, quiet tension. Daniel, ever the sharp observer, leaned forward in his chair, the recorder beside him whirring faintly, capturing every word.

Louis’ dark eyes flickered over to Armand, who sat with a distant expression, lost in thoughts of a time long past Almost weary of the current subject that was about to be, revealed. The interview had delved into old wounds, recounting moments of blood and betrayal, moments that were still vivid in Louis' mind. The play, the Theater of the Vampires, where he and Claudia had first met Armand and his brood. It was a time when everything was fragile—when the world had cracked open and bled.

Daniel was listening intently, following the story, but there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes, something unsaid hovering on his lips.

“And this is where Claudia asked to join them,” Daniel remarked, a small smile playing at the edge of his mouth. “Bold move. She never struck me as one to hesitate.”

Louis chuckled softly, a bitter edge to the sound. “Claudia was many things, but hesitant was never one of them.”

But then, Daniel shifted, leaning back in his chair, eyes narrowing as he steered the conversation in a different direction. “Speaking of companions…” he began, his tone measured, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask. You’ve mentioned so many characters from your past—Lestat, Claudia, Armand—but there’s one who seems to be missing from the puzzle.” Daniel’s gaze sharpened, settling on Armand, whose stillness had taken on a peculiar intensity.

“What about the vampire [Your Name]?”

Louis glanced at Armand, whose expression remained unreadable. The air between them felt thicker, charged with something unspoken. Armand’s dark eyes flickered with something that might have been longing, or perhaps possession, as if the mere mention of [Your Name] had awakened something deep and dormant within him.

“[Your Name],” Daniel repeated, leaning into the silence. “There’s not much written about him, but what I’ve found… well, it’s fascinating.” Daniel paused placing his recorder onto the table tappingsome files. "I mean anytime you did talk about your past, never once did you mention [Your Name] despite the hints in your story that seemed almost made up, as if you were...well I don't know, excluding someone?" Daniel let out a hum, Louis faked a smile.

Armand’s lips curled into a soft smile, though his eyes remained distant. “Fascinating, yes,” he murmured. “He always was.” Armand stayed calmly distracting Daniel from Louis for the time being.

Louis shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “[Your Name] was with us for a time after we… after we thought we had killed Lestat,” he explained, his voice quieter now, more careful. “He was an old friend, or at least, he felt like one. Claudia adored him. Treated him almost like a father, after Lestat.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “A father figure? That’s interesting. Especially after… everything with Lestat.” Louis opened his mouth to respond, but the weight of the past pulled him under, drawing him into a memory he hadn’t revisited in years.

--

Claudia’s youthful laughter echoed softly in the apartment room, filtered through thick curtains. You sat with her at a grand oak desk, his quiet presence a soothing contrast to the chaos that often surrounded her. He held a delicate book in his hands, showing her the intricacies of calligraphy, his long fingers guiding hers with a gentle patience that was entirely foreign to Claudia’s previous life.

“Like this,” [Your Name] murmured, his voice soft but commanding. He demonstrated a fluid stroke, the pen moving with elegant precision. Claudia’s brow furrowed in concentration, her hands trying to mimic his movement, though frustration danced behind her eyes.

“I can’t do it,” she huffed, but there was no real anger. With [Your Name], there never was. Slowly your hand brushed against her dark and flawless skin

“You can,” he replied calmly. “You just need time. We all do.”

There was something calming in his presence, in the way he never rushed her or demanded perfection, unlike Lestat. He was patient, treating Claudia with a respect that neither Louis nor Lestat ever fully granted her. It was perhaps why she came to see him as more than just another companion—he was a guide, a teacher, a quiet fatherly figure.

Claudia’s smile returned, albeit faint, and she tried again, her tiny strokes improving under his watchful eye.

Louis, watching from the doorway, had always been struck by the way [Your Name] interacted with her. Unlike Lestat, who sought to mold Claudia into a creature of his own making, [Your Name] let her be free. He offered her the tools to learn but never forced her hand. ---

Louis nodded, though his gaze grew more distant, his mind drifting back to those long, haunting nights. “[Your Name] didn’t speak much,” Louis continued. “He was quiet, gentle, with an aura that suggested he had seen more of the world than any of us combined. Claudia trusted him, perhaps because he never tried to control her. He let her be free, let her learn. I… I never asked about his age, but I always suspected he was ancient. He had that look about him. That weight.”

Another flashback enveloped the room. [Your Name] sat in a dimly lit corner of their home, the flickering candlelight casting shadows over his face. He was hunched over a piece of parchment, a quill gliding smoothly across its surface as he wrote in deep concentration.

Louis, standing a few feet away, watched the scene quietly. He had often wondered what thoughts lingered behind those eyes, what worlds [Your Name] inhabited when he retreated into his silence. There was a timelessness to him, a stillness that unsettled even Louis.

The quill scratched softly against the paper as [Your Name] wrote, never pausing, never hesitating. A half-finished poem lay before him—lines that hinted at an eternal sadness, at an understanding of the world that Louis could only guess at.

"In shadows deep, we dance and fade, Unseen by time, in darkness laid. A fleeting touch, a whispered cry, We live forever, yet still we die."

Louis had never dared to ask about the poem, nor about the others like it that [Your Name] left unfinished. There was always a sense that those words were not meant to be shared, that they belonged to a part of [Your Name] that remained forever out of reach.

Armand’s eyes flicked over to Louis, a subtle smile on his lips. “You never understood him,” Armand said softly, his voice almost tender. “But Claudia did.”

The room seemed to freeze again, the gravity of Armand’s words hanging between them. There was something more, something deeper beneath his tone, but Louis didn’t respond. Instead, he let the silence stretch.

Daniel, however, was unwilling to let the moment pass without prodding further. “And what about his work? His poetry?”

At this, Armand’s expression faltered, his usual controlled demeanor slipping for a fraction of a second. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but Daniel caught it. He had been waiting for this moment.

“You mean his unfinished poems,” Daniel continued, flipping through his notebook. “It’s strange, isn’t it? So much of his work was lost or… incomplete. But there’s one poem that stands out. The one about Claudia.” He paused for dramatic effect before reading a few lines:

"In her eyes, a child—yet, never to grow, Trapped in a prison of eternal woe. Her heart beats, but not with life’s fire, A doll’s existence, never to expire."

Daniel looked up, meeting Armand’s gaze. “Unfinished, of course. But haunting, nonetheless. It almost feels like he was trying to capture her essence, but couldn’t quite bring himself to finish the thought. Why do you think that is?”

Armand’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous passing over his features. “Because some things are too painful to complete,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “Even for a vampire as old as [Your Name].”

Daniel held Armand’s gaze for a long moment before turning back to Louis. “So, he was there, part of your little family, but never truly part of it. An outsider, despite being… what, centuries old?”

Louis nodded. “He was always elusive. A shadow. There, but never fully with us. But in his own way, he cared for Claudia. I believe he loved her… as much as a creature like him could love.” Daniel snorted at Louis calling the other vampire a creature, amusing really.

Armand’s expression softened, but his eyes still held that possessive gleam. “[Your Name] was more than just a companion,” Armand said quietly, his voice dripping with something more intimate, something obsessive. “He was an artist. A mind that saw the world in ways none of us could comprehend. And in that, he was perfect.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow, sensing the depth of Armand’s obsession. “It sounds like you were quite fond of him, Armand.”

“Fond?” Armand’s lips curled into a dangerous smile. “Fond doesn’t even begin to describe it.” He glanced at Louis, then back at Daniel, his gaze sharpening. “But I suppose you’ll find that out in time, won’t you?”

The room fell silent again, the weight of the past pressing down on all of them. Armand’s obsession with [Your Name] hung in the air, unspoken but palpable, and Daniel knew that this was only the beginning. The dim lighting of the room cast long shadows across the walls as Daniel’s voice cut through the tense air. He glanced between Louis and Armand, history lingering just beneath the surface. Louis sat stiffly, avoiding Armand’s gaze, his expression unreadable but tight with an underlying tension.

"So, how did you first meet [Your Name]?" Daniel inquired, breaking the silence. He leaned forward in his chair, eyes sharp as he caught the subtle exchange between the two vampires, but his quesion was clearly direced at Armand. Louis shifted uncomfortably, his eyes momentarily meeting Daniel’s before darting away. His hands fidgeted slightly in his lap as if the very mention of [Your Name] was enough to unravel something within him. “I need a moment,” Louis muttered, standing abruptly. Without another word, he exited the room, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.

Daniel raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued further by Louis’ reaction. “That was… strange. He usually holds his composure better.”

Armand watched Louis leave, a small, knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. His dark eyes flicked back to Daniel. “Louis is complicated when it comes to [Your Name].” His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of possessiveness.

Daniel tilted his head, intrigued. “What do you mean by that?”

Armand leaned back, folding his hands together as he considered his words. “Louis… admired [Your Name], perhaps even more than he admitted to himself. He loved him, in a way. But he never acted on it. He feared what might happen if he did. He worried about Claudia, about rejection. Louis has always been a creature ruled by guilt.”

Daniel’s brow furrowed. “So, you’re saying Louis was in love with [Your Name]?”

Armand gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Yes, but Louis’ love is often restrained by fear. He couldn’t risk what they had, the balance they had established. He was content with the idea of [Your Name] being there, even if he never fully pursued his desires. But me…” Armand’s smile grew, dark and intimate. “I wasn’t as restrained.”

“Obsessed?” Daniel offered, his eyes gleaming with interest.

Armand’s smile deepened, his gaze far away now as he recalled the moment that had changed everything. “Obsessed,” he repeated softly. “I first met [Your Name] at a play. I was performing for humans, entertaining them with our little charade. But when I saw him…” Armand’s voice trailed off, and the room seemed to darken as the flashback began. ---

The theater was crowded with the lively chatter of the mortal audience, the scent of cheap perfume and candle wax heavy in the air. The dim light of chandeliers flickered across the stage as the actors performed, though Armand’s attention was no longer on the play.

Seated among the audience was a figure unlike anyone Armand had ever seen. [Your Name], with his sharp jawline and hauntingly smoky red eyes, sat in the back row, a quill in hand as he scribbled across a piece of parchment. His attention wasn’t on the performance but rather on whatever he was writing, his lips barely moving as his thoughts flowed onto the page.

Armand, playing his role on stage, felt his concentration waver. The beauty of [Your Name] was undeniable—he was like a statue carved from marble, perfect and distant, entirely uninterested in the mundane theater around him. His very presence seemed to command the room in a way that no mortal could.

As the play continued, Armand found his gaze drawn back to [Your Name] again and again. There was something magnetic about him, something beyond mere physical attraction. It was as if [Your Name] belonged to another world, and Armand could not resist the pull of that world.

Unable to focus any longer on the play, Armand had finished early, much to the 'awes' of the mortals watching. He made his way discreetly toward the back of the theater, his eyes never leaving [Your Name]. The other actors continued their performance, oblivious to his distraction, as Armand approached.

When he was close enough, he could see the quill moving smoothly over the parchment, the words forming beneath [Your Name]’s skilled hand. His expression remained impassive, though there was a subtle grace to the way his jaw moved as he focused. His beauty was mesmerizing—those sharp, defined features, the way his fingers held the quill with delicate precision.

“Enjoying the play?” Armand’s voice was low, but it held a teasing edge.

[Your Name] didn’t look up immediately. Instead, he finished the line he was writing before raising his eyes to meet Armand’s. His gaze was piercing, deep red with an ancient wisdom that sent a thrill through Armand.

“Not particularly,” [Your Name] replied smoothly, his voice calm but with an underlying sharpness. “I’ve seen better.”

Armand smiled, intrigued by the indifference in [Your Name]’s tone. He had expected someone as striking as this to be swept up in the grandeur of the theater, yet here he was, completely unimpressed.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t entertain you,” Armand said, though there was no sincerity in his apology. Instead, his eyes lingered on [Your Name]’s form, taking in every detail—how his clothes fit perfectly against his body, the way the flickering candlelight cast shadows across his face, making him look almost ethereal.

“You seem distracted,” [Your Name] remarked, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Shouldn’t you be focusing on your performance?”

Armand chuckled softly. “Perhaps, but I’ve found something far more interesting.” His gaze lingered, making his intent clear.

[Your Name] raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “Is that so?” --

The flashback faded as Armand’s voice broke through the memory, returning Daniel and the present audience to the dimly lit room. Armand’s eyes were dark with longing, his tone soft as he spoke again.

“That was the first time I saw him,” Armand murmured, his voice almost reverent. “He captivated me in a way no one ever had before. There was something… otherworldly about him. From that moment on, I knew I had to have him, despite the fact that I was...Occupied with Louis at this time”

Daniel remained quiet, letting the weight of Armand’s words settle in the room. The intensity of Armand’s obsession was palpable, and it was clear that this story was far from over

[imagine-darksiders]

Eden's Heir, chapter 6.

Prison break.

Summary: You manage to get your hands on Vulgrim's precious artifact. War is nice to you in his own, strange way, and Strife is his usual self.

------------------------

War has never been one to hide his true motivations behind crooked smiles and sly glances. Their eldest, Death, used to say that of all the Nephilim to be born from the dust of angels and demons, War was always the most forthright. Abnormally so.

Even among his ilk, he was the odd-one-out. Too fair, too just, 'getting to be a little too much like those damned birds.'

Why? Because he doesn't care for lies? As if Angels can't be just as underhanded and amoral as demons. Still, those who threw critique his way usually ended up leaving sadder but wiser, and often sporting broken bones and a new gap between their teeth courtesy of either himself or Fury. Death was more the sort for dolling out verbal degradation, and Strife... Well, Strife wasn't around a lot when War was still a whelp.

Regardless, perhaps it's that very forthrightness that means it doesn’t concern War in the slightest to be staring at you as he is, nor that you’ve been casting several, perturbed glances up at the underside of his chin before snatching your eyes away again every few seconds, evidently rattled by his unwavering attention.

Conversely unashamed and indiscreet, War has absolutely no qualms about frowning down at the small human in his arms, regarding you as one would a piece of mildly interesting trivia he’s never encountered before but is determined to decipher.

Truly, you’re nothing at all like the humans he’s heard about.

Humans aren’t fighters. Eden was a historically peaceful place, the name itself synonymous with Paradise. And yet only moments ago, War had borne witness as one of its prior denizens pulled a tiny blade from out of nowhere, and with a feverous desperation carving lines into your face, you’d plunged that blade into the hand of the gumptious demon who snatched you up.

… Belatedly, War realises he’ll have to tell Strife to be more thorough the next time he goes snooping for hidden weapons.

Humans adapted well to their new home on Earth, faster than anybody thought they would. They’re sturdy and solidly built, well-defined in body, and often ungainly in how they carry and present themselves; perfectly suited to learn the pursuits of agriculture, crafting and gathering.

You, however, stand as a stark contradiction to your entire species.

You’re soft. Graceful in your extravagant raiment, but inarguably fragile, far more-so than your fellow human, which is saying something.

War has felt the jarring give of your skin under his blade.

Strife has not.

War has tested the pressure of his grasp on your limbs and found them astoundingly delicate.

… Strife has not.

It’s why his brother’s actions riled War so fiercely after throwing you across a Creator-forsaken pit of lava onto this stone platform. He’s not certain Strife quite grasps the magnitude of the situation, nor the implications of a human being here in the first place. For you to turn up in the Void, speaking Common, dressed like a pampered Seraphim… it raises a series of rather urgent questions.

But to even have a hope of getting them answered, he and Strife ideally need to keep you alive...

… If only he could figure out how to get that notion through his brother’s thick skull…

Blinking out of his musings, War sees you raise your eyes to peer up at him again, although in this instance, much to his unspoken surprise, you don’t look away. Whilst certainly anxious, there’s a spark of something else tangled within the labyrinthine strands of your unusual irises, something that nearly has an invisible thread tugging at one corner of his mouth.

At last, it seems you’ve rediscovered the same nerve that called you to defend yourself from the demon.

“Put me down,” you utter quietly in a voice that quavers with the effort of keeping it level. You even maintain bold eye contact as you say it.

Again, War almost has to admire your gumption to demand something of one of the Four...

Almost.

If he were a curious Nephilim like his brother, he would probably concede that, yes, there is something about you that invites fascination. Like a mystery that hasn’t yet revealed its secrets.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, merely holds your watery gaze expectantly until you either remember yourself and lower your eyes or-

“Please, put me down?”

And just like that, War’s unspoken admonition is knocked off its tracks.

He hadn’t been expecting… He thought you’d just…

… Oh.

In hindsight, he supposes it was rather foolish of him to expect a human to adhere to the same social rules as another species, and he has to remind himself that just because you’re still meeting his stare, you aren’t being deliberately provocative.

Just… naive.

But why would you know of his reputation? Or of the tall tales whispered by nervous, fledgeling angels who like to try and frighten each other with stories… Stories about what happens to those who are unlucky or unwise enough to look the Horseman, War, in his eye.

Your ‘please’ is foreign to him. He knows of its usage, of course, but to hear it spoken so liberally… It’s as though you assumed ‘please’ was what he was waiting for. Is offering it a human’s way of showing deference?

Curious…

“Ahem…”

The sound of a throat being cleared snaps through War’s thoughts like the crack of a whip.

Quick as a flash, the scowl that had been gradually lifting from his expression slams back into place, and he turns his heated glare onto Strife, who stands in front of him with his arms folded neatly across a silver chest and his helm cocked to one side, eyes narrowed accusingly.

“You done being greedy, or are you gonna share?”

War’s scoff, and your huff occur at the same time, leading the two of you to share a brief glance before the former gives his eyes an exaggerated roll and finally, finally obliges, lowering you to the ground as swiftly as he can while maintaining a strange air of caution that betrays how breakable he thinks you are.

Large, metal gauntlets slide out from underneath your legs, depositing you on a flat piece of stone that’s relatively clean of demon blood.

The very instant you’re free, you only hesitate long enough to squeak out a hurried ‘thanks!’ before tearing yourself away from the gauntlet that hovers behind you and stumble several paces off to the side, putting some much-needed distance between you and the Horsemen. You almost trip over the train of your dress in the process.

Clinging to your elbows, you have to stuff your teeth into your lower lip to stop the sound of despair bursting out through pursed lips.

Your legs may as well be replaced with toothpicks for all the support they’re giving you. Terrible possibilities have begun to swirl across the mire of your brain.

What if you hadn’t found your nail file in time…?

What if Strife had never returned your bag?

You shudder, overwhelmed by the feeling that you’ve landed on the right side of a coin-flip, by no other will than dumb-fucking-luck.

You’ve never come that close to certain death before. You never want to come that close again.

At your back, unseen, Strife gives you a fleeting once-over, only returning his eyes to your veil when he doesn’t spot any immediate damage.

With his typical flair for bad timing and inability to read a room, he stretches his mouth into a hidden, cocksure grin, gives an approving nod and declares, “You did good, kid.”

Giving a harsh sniff, you tip your head towards the ceiling and let out a sharp, brassy laugh, utterly devoid of humour.

“Good?” you echo, rounding on the Horseman, your lungs still feeling two sizes too small when you draw breath, “GOOD!? I could have died! I almost did!”

“Almost!” Strife parrots eagerly, venturing a few steps towards you and spreading his arms out wide, apparently unbothered by your brazen reproach, “You almost died. But you didn’t.”

“That isn’t reassuring, Strife!” you wail.

Shaking fingers lift to try and thread through your hair, only to meet the barrier of your veil. Thwarted, you let your arms flop bonelessly back down against your sides and curl your hands into fists. “I’m not…-!”

But the words won’t come. Instead, you fall silent, realising how redundant it would be to say, ‘I’m not like you,’ out loud.

Christ, what an understatement.

You’re not the type to look at an ‘almost death’ and consider it a triumph. It’s a nightmare. You want to avoid death! That’s the most human instinct of all.

You shouldn’t even be here. You’re not like these two larger-than-life beings from another world. You can’t shoot guns like a master marksman, you can’t swing a sword that’s longer than you are tall, and you certainly can’t make impossible jumps that seem to defy gravity itself.

Hell, you can’t even stand up to your own fiancé and his family…

Sullen, despondent, you allow the adrenaline to seep out of you like water from a leaky pail, leaving you with limbs that feel far too heavy, and a head that’s tired as death.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” you eventually murmur to yourself, resisting the urge to scrub at your eyes lest you spread mascara all over your face. Your heart thunders inside your chest, palms slick with the heat, but more so with the creep of dread that rises in your belly as you picture the demon’s rancid maw in your mind’s eye and grit your teeth, unable to quell the waves of anxiety crashing against you like breakers that pummel a rocky cliff.

All the while, Strife is busy trying to pluck a response from midair, racking his brain for reasons as to why you can’t just ‘get out of here.’

Then, to his surprise and your own, the silence is broken, and it’s War’s stoic voice that brings a pause to the hopelessness dragging your soul down into the pit of your stomach.

“That was a Slag Demon.”

Blinking, you knit your brows into a frown and lift your eyes to the Horseman’s hoodless face. “Excuse me?”

And War, evidently sincere in every aspect, assumes you didn’t hear him, and repeats himself. “That was a Slag Demon.”

Once again, your eyelids flutter in a series of rapid blinks. “Yeah, I… I heard you,” you reply falteringly, “I just-“

“That demon,” he cuts you off, sending you a pointed look, “was forged in the deepest blast furnaces of Hell. They’re deceptively fast, almost invulnerable, and notoriously hard to kill.”

When he falls silent and doesn’t continue for several moments, you shift your weight and awkwardly drawl out, “… Oh-kay~?”

What the Hell is he getting at?

The way he’s peering down at you is… odd, you decide. He still has that perpetual scowl on his face, but the eyes under his furrowed brow seem… brighter, somehow, not quite as piercing and disparaging as they were before.

You’re not sure you like it any better.

Appraising you for a few more seconds, War gives a solemn nod, and states, “You found a weakness. You used what you had at your disposal to gain the upper hand.” Then, after taking a brief moment to consider his next words, he must eventually deem you worthy of them because he averts his gaze and scowls off at the distant stalactites, grunting, “It was a good kill.”

… Your jaw nearly hits the ground.

And judging by the way Strife’s helmeted head snaps around to send a wide-eyed stare at his larger brother, you suppose War must not say this sort of thing very often.

Looking down at yourself, you take in the meringue wedding dress, the ruffled tulle and overall extravagance of your attire.

“But…” Your tongue darts out apprehensively to wet your lips, “But I didn’t even kill it.”

Turning away from you, War begins to march back over to the grate, stopping only long enough to retrieve his enormous sword from the ground.

He barely takes a second to mull over his next answer as he slings the blade into its proper place along his spine. “You created the opening that gave Strife a clear shot,” he tells you, coming to a halt above the iron bars set into the floor and twitching his head towards you, his profile obscured by long, ice-white hair, “It counts.”

And with that, he reaches up to thread large, metal fingers into his hood and flips the crimson fabric up and over his head, once again hiding his face in dark, familiar shadow.

For… quite some time, you’re left speechless, gawping at the back of War’s head, and reeling now from the near-death experience and the unexpected approval of one of the scariest men you’ve ever met. A glance down at your hands confirms they’re still shaking, fingers tight and rigid like the bones under your skin have locked up.

“…Well,” Strife chimes in, heaving his massive shoulders in a shrug, “Good thing I don’t mind sharing.”

Sauntering over to you, he lifts an arm as if he’s about to drape it across your back, but the moment you see him coming, you lurch into motion and start after his brother, following the path War had picked through the dead imps, all the while trying to avoid glancing down at their cold, dead eyes.

Only thrown for a moment, Strife is quick to recover, waltzing after you and continuing, “So! Big day. You killed your first demon, kind of. How d’you feel?”

Your mouth twists up into a grimace. “Like I’m going to pass out, throw up, have a heart attack then die. In that order.”

Which is eerily similar to how you felt walking up the steps to the church.

The panic is… well, it’s definitely still there. The threat of a downward spiral haunts the edge of your mind, always keeping itself in the periphery. But for now, War’s stoic assessment has apparently shocked you so much, it broke the nosedive you were about to take into a total fit of hopelessness.

The Horseman beside you barks out a laugh and takes a few loping steps until he’s swaggering along beside you, the heavy ‘clunk’ of his boots drowning out the ‘clicks’ of your heels. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep a closer eye on you, next time.”

“Next time?” you sputter, brows shooting up towards the top of your veil, “I-I am not planning on doing this again.”

“Eh.” With a dismissive waft of his hand, he replies, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Now c’mon! Sooner we get the artifact, the sooner we can be outta this heat.”

Well. You suppose you have to agree with him on that front.

The sudden clatter of metal skittering across the ground nearly has you jumping out of your shoes.

At your side, Strife jerks to a halt, his boot lifted halfway off the ground and his helm tipped down to search for the thing he’d inadvertently kicked with the toe of his sabatons. His keen eye latches onto it at once, and he utters a sound of intrigue at the back of his throat.

Following his gaze, you hone in on the little object that’s still skidding several paces away from you before it slides to a stop, laying small and shiny on the dark stone.

Stooping down, Strife reaches out a hand to gather the little object into his palm.

“Huh, guess it was knocked when I shot that big bastard...” he mutters, rising to his full height and unfurling each finger one by one, peering down at his prize, “I thought you didn’t have any weapons in there.”

Turning towards you, he holds up your bloodied nail-file as he jerks his chin at your bag.

Admittedly, you’re surprised to see it again, and even more surprised at the surge of gratitude that courses through you at the prospect of being reunited with something from the real world.

“Technically speaking,” you sniff, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “A nail file isn’t a weapon.”

Bringing it close to his visor, Strife tilts his head and squints at it, humming dubiously as he runs the pad of his finger over the coarse metal, giving the end a testing tap.

“… It looks like a dagger,” he points out, “… A very small dagger.”

“Or a toothpick,” his brother grumbles up ahead.

“Well, it isn’t either of those things… It’s just something I use to keep my nails tidy…” At the incredulous glances you receive – one from Strife and one from War who deigns to cast you a bemused look over his shoulder – you breathe a weary sigh and thrust your hand out towards the former of the pair expectantly. “Look, can I just… have it back?”

In truth, you half expect him to refuse, whether to simply get a rise out of you or to mitigate your temptation to attack them with the nail file – not that you’d be so foolish.

So, when Strife extends an arm and holds your ‘weapon’ out towards you, you can’t help but let your jaw drop open in undisguised shock.

“Sure,” he says breezily, “I ain’t gonna keep it. More of a gun man, myself. And War’d be embarrassed to be seen with a blade this small.”

You don’t know whether you’re supposed to take offence to that or not.

“Here,” Strife offers again, lowering his upturned palm in the private hopes of coaxing you closer when you just continue to gape at his appendage, “Take it.”

Warily, you start inching your hand up towards his, keeping your eye on the silver helm and those piercing, golden eyes that drill right into you with attentive wonder.

Swallowing thickly, you dare to flick your gaze down to the nail-file, still sitting pretty at the centre of his palm… Up this close, you spot something that threatens to turn your stomach inside out.

“Ew! There’s blood all over it!” you exclaim, retracting your outstretched hand like he’s trying to give you a live snake.

Indeed, it isn’t the silvery metal that’s glinting in the firelight, but a coating of thick, shiny blood that’s already begun to dry on the file’s roughly-hewn surface.

Strife – who had given a start at your exclamation – pauses, then blinks and cocks his brow down at the offending blood sticking to your weapon.

“Oh, so-rry, Princess,” he chuckles, lifting the file to his cowl and wiping it several times against the fabric, smearing dark flakes of blood into the wool before he holds it out towards you again, “That better?”

Tipping your nose into the air, you give the file a thorough once over. Deeming it adequately clean, you at last reach up to pluck it from his grip, holding it gingerly between your thumb and forefinger. “Much. Thanks.”

You’ve turned away before you can see his eyes glow brighter, considerably pleased with himself.

By the time he stops sticking out his chest, you’ve already reached his brother, stopping a respectable distance away near the opposite side of the grate.

War doesn’t even spare you a cursory glance. Instead, he stands still and strong as a statue, his frost-blue eyes scrutinising the bars with rigid focus.

You don’t dare ask him why he hasn’t retrieved his ‘artifact’ yet.

“Hey, War. What’s the holdup?”

Apparently, you and Strife are on the same wavelength. How disconcerting.

A metal elbow suddenly brushes against your side as a titanic body disregards your own personal space and sidles up next to you, pulling a gasp from your lips that goes entirely ignored while Strife addresses his brother over the top of your head. “You gonna grab the artifact or what?”

Grumbling under his breath, War raises his eyes to fix his fellow Horseman with a stony scowl.

“The grate,” he retorts darkly, tossing a hand at the ground as if the answer should have already been obvious, “It’s locked.”

“Oh,” Strife answers flatly, though it isn’t long before he plants a decisive fist on his hip and declares, “Well, then we’ll just have to find the key…” Swivelling around in place, he casts an eye around the chamber and adds, “Maybe the demon had it?”

… You hate to point out the obvious, especially when you haven’t been invited to do so, but…

“Um… You mean the demon that just fell over the side?” you venture.

A thick, uncomfortable silence ensues, during which you’re sure you must have offended him somehow, because Strife’s body goes utterly motionless, and War huffs a breath through his nose.

“… I see your point,” the former concedes at last, and you realise he isn’t angry, just... bashful.

Another derisive sound escapes from the larger Horseman’s mouth, prompting Strife’s helm to snap towards his brother. “Well, you’re the strong one,” he gripes, “Just tear out the bars.”

Now it’s War’s turn to stop and ponder. He casts a sideways glance down at you, regarding you briefly from the shadow of his hood. By the time you’ve lifted your eyes to his face, he’s already turned away, cracking his neck with an audible ‘Pop!’

“Very well,” he rumbles.

It’s a little prideful of him – and Creator knows Death would expect better - yet War can’t help but wonder if you’ll be awed by a show of might. Maybe you’ll be afraid... Moreso than at present.

Pounding a fist into his gauntlet, he lowers his immense bulk down onto one knee and slides his fingers around the bars, rolling his shoulders as he prepares to demonstrate the raw, physical strength of the Red Ri-

“-Can’t you just… reach in and grab it?” you ask, cleanly derailing War’s train of thought and knocking the wind from his sails, “I mean, it looks small enough to fit through the bars, right?”

… Well, War supposes that’s a fair suggestion, but for one not-so-small problem.

Without turning to look at you, War simply holds up his gauntlet and flexes the metallic fingers into a fist.  “I would not get my knuckles through,” he states simply, bobbing his head sideways at his brother, “Nor would Strife.”

“Oh,” you falter, shrinking backwards and stuffing a canine into your bottom lip whilst the Horseman curls his hands around the bars once more.

“Um, why don’t I take a crack at it then?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you find yourself wishing you could snatch them out of the air and stuff them back behind your teeth.

Of all the fool things you could have said, why on Earth would you offer to put your hands anywhere near a stone that’s glowing like raw Uranium?

But it’s too late.

Strife has turned a thoughtful, wide-eyed gaze onto War, who returns it with the slightest parting of his brows.

“… Why didn’t we think of that?” Strife posits.

Before you can verbally – and physically – backtrack, War has already twisted his torso about and wrapped his colossal fist around your forearm, notably aiming for the one he hadn’t sliced open with his sword.

Warm metal engulfs your appendage all the way up to your elbow, and though you try to resist, he hardly seems to notice your efforts as he tugs you towards his side, then lowers his hand, leaving you with no choice but to follow its weight and drop to your knees in front of the grate, wincing as they bump against the hard stone beneath your dress.

“Here,” he says firmly, allowing you to snatch your arm back in favour of pointing his finger down at the glowing crystal, “Reach down and take it.”

Curling your hand into your chest, you give your head a shake and protest, “I can’t!”

“You just said you could!” Strife rebuffs.

That you did… “But-!” Wracking your brain, you add, “But what if it’s like… radioactive or something!?”

Visibly, the Horseman balks. “Ray-dee-oh… what?”

War’s eyes start to roll towards the ceiling as he listens to your back and forth with his brother, and he considers whether it would have been faster to rip the grate out of the stone after all.

You proposed a solution however, and in his frank opinion, you ought to stick by it.

The massive gauntlet enters your peripheral just as you open your mouth to shoot another argument up at Strife, but no sooner have the metal tips of War’s fingers ghosted across your arm than you wrench it away, whipping around to face him with startled eyes.

Hastily, you hold up your hands in surrender.

“Okay! Alright!” you acquiesce, “Jesus, just… give me a second…”

Flicking part of the veil over your shoulder, you lean forwards and brace yourself with one hand on a bar, lowering your torso down to stretch your other hand down and into the pit below, fingers blindly fishing around for the Vulgrim’s precious artifact.

When they brush against a warm, smooth surface, you can’t refrain from yelping and snatching your hand back as if it had moved.

The leathery smack of a gun being drawn from its holster reaches your ears.

“You okay?” Strife demands, shifting his weight restlessly.

Swallowing back your embarrassment, you nod and reply, “Uh, yeah, yeah. It’s just hot!”

“Hot enough to burn you?” War cuts in with a rough growl.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you brave another go, reaching down and brushing your fingertips hesitantly over the surface of the crystal. Though it is disconcertingly warm to the touch – no doubt from the ambient heat in the atmosphere – you realise with a third stroke that it isn’t anywhere near as hot as you feared it would be.

“No,” you sigh, only partially relieved.

The massive presences surrounding you relax slightly.

“Good,” Strife murmurs, raising his voice to add, “Can you get it loose?”

You can, as it turns out. Quite easily in fact. The crystal isn’t being held in any kind of clamp. To your mounting astonishment, it seems to simply float in midair.

“This is so freaky~,” you sing to yourself as you slide your palm down the long side of it, feeling for the pointed base and cupping your fingers around it with an audible gulp.

The whole crystal seems to buzz and hum under your touch, sending an eerie tingle racing up the length of your arm and raising the hairs all the way up to the back of your neck.

According to all sense and reason, this thing is nothing more than a pretty, pink crystal. But here, where sense and reason have been turned on their heads, pulled inside out and shaken up like a vodka martini, the thing in your hand is no more a mere crystal than the Horsemen are mere men.

Trying very hard to ignore how much the fluctuating thrum beneath your fingertips reminds you of a pulse, you clench your jaw tight, close your eyes, and pull… with a little too much force.

It’s lighter than you expected it to be. Nearly weightless. And it slips straight through the bars of its prison without even dinging against the sides.

Letting out an undignified bleat, you teeter backwards and land painfully on your backside, the crystal smacking against your bosom before falling from your trembling fingers and sliding safely into the soft, white fabric of your skirts.

Cracking your eyelids apart, you blink down at your lap, chest stuttering on a breath. “I… I got it?”

That was…decidedly easy…

Well, aside from almost getting eaten by a demon in your quest to find the damn thing.

The soft, pink glow of the crystal lights up your face as you peer down at it, glittering off your wedding dress and bathing the fabric folds in warmth.

“Wow,” you hear yourself whisper.

With cautious awe, your fingers wander towards it and slip gently around your rescued prize.

You’re so busy admiring the smooth, faultless lines that you don’t notice the shadow of a hand falling across your shoulders until War’s gauntlet has slid beneath your arm.

Aside from blurting out a squawk, you helplessly have to let yourself be lifted with unnerving ease onto your feet, still clutching the crystal close to your breast.

“Good job, kid,” Strife declares, slapping a palm on your back.

If War’s fingers hadn’t tightened around your arm at the moment, you’re sure you’d go tumbling over onto your face.

The force of the larger Horseman’s warning growl sends tremors through his gauntlet and down into the toes of your shoes, rattling the teeth in your skull.

Strife, pleasantly unfussed by his brother’s idle threat, leans over your shoulder as War releases you, and together, you all stare down at the crystal in your arms.

“Wonder what this thing’s worth to that soul-sucking ghoul,” Strife remarks after nobody breaks the quiet hush that’s fallen over you, as though he can’t bear to sit in silence for too long. Bringing his gauntlet up to rub at the chin of his helm, he thoughtfully adds, “We could always convince Vulgrim to throw in a little extra…”

At his suggestion, a tiny frown-line blooms to life between your brows. It is a very pretty gem… but while you know next to nothing about demons, you aren’t sure you like the idea of trying to bargain with one, not when your run-in with one of Vulgrim’s ilk had almost ended so disastrously.

You don’t know if it should come as a shock or not when War’s shoulders bristle moments later, and he bares his canines at Strife, his cavernous chest puffing up until you have to lean sideways to avoid getting jostled by it.

“The artifact, in exchange for information,” he snarls dangerously, “We will honour our agreement.”

‘Honour among Horsemen of the Apocalypse?’ you muse privately, ‘Wonders will never cease.’

Though only in War’s case, evidently. Strife just heaves an obnoxious sigh and tosses his helm back, “Ugh, you have no ambition… Why’ve you gotta be such a killjoy?”

War’s lips start to curl even further apart.

“So!” you quickly interrupt the broiling fracas, “We’ve got the… this thing-“ You shrug the crystal in your palms. “-H-how exactly do we get back?”

That, at least, gets the pair of bickering brothers to fall silent and pivot their attention from one another onto you. War’s expression is still as stony as ever, but you consider it a win that he looks marginally less murderous.

“Huh,” Strife says, “That’s a good question.”

Rumbling at the base of his throat, War grunts, "It would be prudent to find a way out of this realm as quickly as possible."

"Oh?" A mischievous glint sparks in his brother's keen gaze. "And here I thought you were.... warming up to the place."

Unbidden, a short puff of laughter is scoffed right off your tongue, more amused by how bad the joke was than the joke itself.

Either way, Strife's chest fills out proudly as his helm quirks towards you, one eyelid flashing closed behind the visor in a wink.

Oblivious, War just grumbles, "You know your humour escapes me."

And quick as a whip, Strife returns, "All humour escapes you."

Giving a brusque shake of his head, the larger Horseman decides it isn't worth getting into this argument for the umpteenth time. Turning his attention down to you and the crystal in your hands, he beckons with a gauntlet for you to step closer.

"Come. If we retrace our steps, we may be able to-"

You never get to hear the end of his sentence.

It isn’t that you’re particularly unlucky, you think… God, you hope. You’ve never thought yourself significant enough that the Universe would have it out for you personally, after all.

But when the ground suddenly disappears from under your feet in a blinding flash of vivid, blue light, and the deafening rush of air buffets your dress and boxes your eardrums, you can’t help wondering if you’ve somehow - in some unwitting way - slighted the powers that be, and now they’re playing their revenge card.

Which is a hassle for you, because you’ve had just about enough of portals and getting whisked off to places unknown for one day.

The last thing you see as you throw your head up and open your mouth to release a scream that’ll be sucked away with you as your atoms once again rearrange themselves to fit through a spatial rip, is Strife’s luminous, golden eyes flaring hotly like bursting stars – a direct contrast to the cool, ethereal blue of his brother’s, who’s own gaze opens up in surprise and, you think, alarm, one gauntlet outstretched in your direction.

And that’s all you manage to glimpse before the light overtakes you, and your body is yanked like a fish on a hook into the luminiferous aether.

[nebulaoftheprimes]

Zoomies

Ok, so imagine that Pax was raised out in the Wilds and he was raised by sparkeaters. I have this scene in my head where sparkling Pax is just running from one end of the den to the other and his adopted parents and some of his older siblings are either watching him (making sure he does not injure himself) or continuing to go about daily life (this happens often and there's still work to do). Some of the younger pups are tumbling after him because Big Brother looks like he's having fun and they want to have fun too.

Once he's older and can go outside the den, he runs around the large clearing the pack lives in. Some other pups join him, because

a) it looks like fun

b) they're bored

c) it's good stamina training so the parents approve.

The parents also encourage them to go and run for a few hours because it gets the pups out of the den, it's something productive, and they can get a nice nap in while they run around.

After Orion gets caught by Trion or somebot, he still has the crippling urge to just run. This scared the living Pits out of the archives at first because first of all, WHERE DID THIS FERAL DEMON COME FROM!?!?! Oh, Head Archivist Trion adopted him? Why!?

Secondly, they had thought a big, wild mechanimal had gotten into the Hall because Pax still had his claws which left long thin groves carved into the polished floors. He was also quiet as frag and could easily sneak up on unsuspecting archivists, interns, or innocent readers.

Once Megatronus got comfortable with the fact the yes, Orion genuinely wanted to help his cause even though he came from the high caste, and no, he wasn't going to sabotage it and he really thought Megatronus had the right idea, he would ask Orion to teach him how to move about just as quietly as him. Now I'm not saying Megatronus wasn't quiet already, because he was. It's just that he large even by cybertronain standards and the fact he was taught by civilized macha. Not someone whose survival depended on silent steps, he wasn't trained by somebot who walk freely amoung sparkeaters with no fear. But seriously, Orion could walk on gravel and not make a sound.

Megatronus and the other gladiators wouldn't care that he grew up with any cybertronian's nightmare (second to only Unicron) as family. He ate living creatures for fuel? Yeah, big deal, any miner had to drink engeron from the lines of their dead fellow in the event of a cave-in. He has claws and fangs, and his armor's sharp and pointed? Welcome to Kaon folks. He could easily blend into the shadows and scare someone? Boo-hoo, pay better attention to your surroundings. He liked to climb walls and hang out on the ceiling? Slightly less normal, but at least it was him and not a feral insecticon looking for a meal. If Orion wasn't working, sleeping, or hanging with his (very few) Iaconian friends, you could bet your bottom dollar he was either talking to Megatronus, Soundwave, Barricade, Breakdown, Starscream, talking to some combination of them, planning the next rally, editing Megatronus' poems, speeches, or any of his writing, he was in Kaon.

Because Kaon was much more accepting than Iacon. He didn't have to shrink on himself, making himself as small and unnoticeable as he possibly could in public, while trying not to spook patrons with his armor and claws. He didn't have to talk less to keep his fangs from being seen as often or have to tuck his servos away for fear of someone complaining he might break a datapad or something fragile. In Kaon, people just accepted he was from the Wilds and continued about their day. In Kaon, Orion could catch an electro-dove midflight with his bare denta (something he wouldn't even dream about doing in Iacon), and bots observe, nod in appreciation of a successful hunt, and continue on as Orion would scarf down the bird in two bites. He understands the importance of fresh food, not wasting it like his fellow upper castemates, good for him. The gladiators knew when Orion got his now dubbed 'zoomies' because if you didn't move out of the way, prepare to be a springboard for Orion to bounce off of. He was small, but when that mech built up momentum, he was a fragging force of nature.

As Optimus Prime, he still had the urge to run, to be free. He just put a stopper on his base instincts, shoved them way down, and went on leading. Much to Ratchet's annoyance. The medic had met with Orion through a meeting of the trainees of important political figures, the younglings who were learning under the guidance of their seniors. No one had wanted to talk to him at that meeting, or any of the following meetings so he just sat in a corner and listened. Ratchet keeps noticing that the understudy of Head Archivist Alpha Trion keeps being ignored, walks over to him, and sticks his servo out, saying. "Hey, I'm Ratchet. I'm training to be the OMC of Iacon. Who are you?"

During the beginning of the war, Ratchet made him go out into the crystal spires for a few days, because he was getting jittery, and a jittery Prime isn't idle in a war. One of the more, memorable, times was when he was caught by some Decepticons (Megs was with them too)

Decepticons: *doing recon in the Old Forest [a really old spire forest the Iacon council had nominated as a planetary treasure. Bots would come from all over to stand under its towering crystal trees]*

one vehicon: *raises his servo, stopping the others*

Megs: *over comms* /what is it?/

vehicon: /somethings coming, and fast. We should hide, it might be an Autobot or two/

Decepticons: *hides along the outer edges of the clearing, they breathe a sigh of relief as a zap-deer comes running out of the crystal tree line*

vehicon: that's odd, I could've sworn there were two-

Optimus-fragging-Prime: *also comes barrelling out of tree line; pounces on deer from behind. He manages to clamp his much bigger and sharper jaw around its throat and rips its neck in half. Then processed to gobble it down in a couple minutes*

one vehicon: *stumbles back, and steps on twig*

Op: *freezes and snaps his gaze up; growling. Stops as Megs slowly steps out hands out and open*

Megs: hello old friend

Op: *slowly creeps up to him; sniffs his servo before snorting a turns away, leaving the cleaning*

To be fair, he gets a massive scowling from Ratchet when he goes back to the war front. He shuts down his higher processing power when Ratch kicks him out of society for a few days, so that's why he came up to Megs and didn't shoot.

On Earth, the kids find out, and they (Miko) love the idea of Optimus running up and down the halls when no one's at base. They could also set up a race on an abandoned road for him. Once Op's secret is out, the children, plus Agent Flower and Mrs. Darby, convince everyone to a race. It's simply they will race each other and Optimus until they don't feel like it anymore. Optimus is the last to get tired, so for the next few hours, everyone's just watching Op run back and forth, wearing the biggest smile anyone had seen him with since the start of the war.

[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.

[tinydefector]

Can I request G1 Beachcomber x reader where they’re snowed in and the power goes out and they end up cuddling for warmth?

Snowed In

Beachcomber x human reader.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.5k

Beachcomber masterlist

Masterlist

Request are open

__________________

The heavy snow wasn't doing Beachcomber or his human companion any good, it had come out of nowhere so quickly that they could only try and find the shelter that Powerglide commed to them. Even as they pulled up at one of Powerglides hangers, Courtesy of Astoria the snow storm became more violent.

"Fuck it is so cold!, wasn't expecting a snowstorm, they didn't even cast rain today" they call out,their teeth Chattering together as they throw the hanger door open for Beachcomber to drive in. As they slid the hanger door closed it leaves them in darkness as Beachcomber transformed. His headlights being the only source of light as they manoeuvre around.

"God I hope Astoria left blankets in here" they state moving quickly into the large hanger,

As Beachcomber entered, brushing snow from his plating. "Brrr, what a storm!" he said, optics scanning for any supplies that might help warm up his Companion. To his relief, he spotted a stack of blankets rolled up in the corner.

"Ah, here we go," he noted, grabbing two and handing them to the shivering human. "Let's get you bundled up." While he personally felt no temperature, Beachcomber understood well the fragility of humans in extreme cold. Once they are wrapped up, he starts checking his fuels levels and running diagnostics, hoping the conditions would clear enough for a safe return to base.

"Thanks Comber" they shutter while wrapping the blanket around themself and sitting down on one of the chairs in the hanger. "Damn Astoria has this hanger set up like a vacation home, how often do you think Powerglide flies her up here for alone time" they call out.

Beachcomber chuckled softly at the comment. "Judging by the well-stocked shelving and Energon cubes in the corner, I'd wager Powerglide whisks Astoria away from the city quite often," he replied. "Can't say I blame him - sometimes a mech just needs to get away from it all, y'know? And what better way than cozying up in the sky with your sweetheart?" He moved about the hangar, busying himself with finding a generator in hopes of getting the power and lights on.

He shoots off a comm ping to Powerglide for an ETA on the storm letting up. "Hope they're tucked away somewhere warm themselves," Beachcomber mused aloud. "With any luck, this mess'll blow over soon and we can get you back to the Ark or home. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable - pretty sure I saw a generator around here somewhere."

"Hope so too" the sound of the wind picking up outside makes them pull the blankets closer. "They don't happen to have a fireplace in here do they.?" The cold from outside was seeping into their bones. As Beachcomber snoops he finds the rather large pull down berth with blankets and tarps. It was clear this hangar was well used.

Beachcomber turned to them with an apologetic look. "Afraid not, no fireplace installed here. But!" he added with enthusiasm, spotting the cosy berth nook in the back, "I do believe I've found the next best thing." Grasping the tarp above, he pulled down the makeshift sheltered area, blankets and padding spilling out. "Powerglide and Astoria sure know how to make a nest, don't they?" He helped them onto it and bundled them up, tucking blankets tenderly around their small frame.

"Comfy?" he asked with a warm grin, They give a slight nod as they continue to watch Beachcomber snoops around. "What are you looking for?" They call out. "Just doing a bit of nosing around to pass the time," Beachcomber replied as he rummaged through a storage compartment. His optics widened as his search yielded an unexpected find - a stash of sealed energon cubes and high grade, no doubt stashed away by Powerglide for private recreation with his love. Beachcomber whistled softly in amusement.

"Well well, looks like our wings haven't been completely straight and narrow up here after all." He picked up a cube, inspecting it. "Can't say I blame them for a bit of indulgence now and then." His sensors detected the human watching with interest. "Don't tell me - you organic types have your own 'recreational substances', yes?" he asked with a cheeky grin and raised an optical ridge, chuckling softly as he tucked the cache away.

It earns a laugh from them. "Knowing Astoria she's got some very expensive wine or something stashed around, perks of her family's wealth I guess, I mean I'm pretty sure she funded most of these hanger outpost." They hum finally starting to feel a little warmer. "But honestly she's been a big help with the autobots and getting places set up. Powerglide scored himself a good one, plus she's sweet on him"

"Any news from them or are the frequencies dead due to the storm?"

He tapped the side of his helm. "Last ping I got from Powerglide said they were grounded at a nearby shelter bunker waiting for the storm to pass. Comms in this mess are spotty at best." As if on cue, static hissed over his open comm line. Clearly no chance of connecting until the weather improved. He settled back against a crate, content as the generator kicked up loudly when he started it. The sound bounces off the walls as the lights begin to flicker on.

"Reckon we might as well get comfy then. Weather like this, they'll likely hole up for the night. So, whaddya say - how about that movie? Pretty sure everything is hooked up to the gen, as long as we have fuel we have power" At least they had shelter and each other's company to pass the storm.

them hum with a nod, as Beachcomber stands and moves around getting the Television set up as he looks through the VHS. "Doubt you'll get to watch the next episode of the Kitchen sinks while we are up here, guess we'll have to settle for VHS" they tease knowing full well how much he enjoyed that soap opera show.

Beachcomber emitted a dramatic sigh at the human's teasing. "Now don't remind me, I was just getting to the good part where Marina dumps Stanley at the altar for that sleazeball Luke!" he lamented with mock despair. "Next thing you'll be telling me is Astoria doesn't have the newest season stashed away in here somewhere. Perish the thought!" He doubted Astoria had the new season yet as they had only just started airing it.

"What movies do they have here?" They slowly move off the large berth making their way over to where Beachcomber looks through a crate of VHS tapes. Reading over names trying to figure out what would be a good movie to watch. He's looking to find a soap opera or romance movie. Beachcomber hummed thoughtfully as he considered the options before him. On one servo, a soapy romance saga was just the distraction he craved. But perhaps something a touch more upbeat was in order, given the dreary scene outside.

"Hmm, what do you think - feel like dancin' the night away?" he asked the human, holding up the box for Grease. "Now this one's a classic. Good music, humour, and don't even get me started on Danny and Sandy!" He gave a pretend swoon, miming a dramatic swoon. Sliding the tape from its sleeve, he loaded it up and settled back once more. "Plus I do believe I even picked up a few moves from watching John Travolta" he teased, clicking play and readying himself for a cinematic escape from the storm.

It earns another laugh from them. "I see you and Astoria have similar tastes in movies" they chuckle while pulling the blankets around them self more. The chilling air was still getting through the cracks of the Hanger but all up it was much nicer than being outside.

"Hey, you can't go wrong with a good flick about first love and flirtation," he grinned, optics fixed on the opening titles. A comfortable silence fell as they became absorbed in the story unfolding before them as he made himself comfortable on the berth beside them.

Occasionally his audials would register the chattering teeth or shivers, and he'd gently adjust another blanket around them without looking away from the screen. His systems weren't equipped for generating heat, but Beachcomber could at least ensure the cold breeze wasn't blowing on them.

As Olivia Newton-John's sweet voice began to play, They both focused in on the movie while laying on the berth, his companion slowly inching close to him. their back now presses against his chassis, enjoying the warmth that radiates from his spark, pulling their blankets closer.

"Getting cosy, hm?" he smiled down at his small partner, He settled in comfortably, draping an arm gently over them wrapping around them to keep them close. His optics remained trained on the film.

"You're warm" they mumble, not moving as they try to soak in the heat off his plating. They shutter lightly as his arm rests over them only to relax into him more. “Glad I can help keep the chill off, even a little," he replied gently. It doesn't take long for them to eventually drift off to sleep pressed against him, their position had changed with their face pressed against him as they cling to his frame.

___________

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[bloop-bl00p]

Rewriting Sir Pentious justice for the snake boie

Doesn’t anyone find it weird how we’re gonna have the backstory of everyone in later seasons?

Not only do they hardly follow the redemption aspects but they also give us little to nothing about the characters. I can buy that Heaven is corrupt and/or unfair but rather than having Adam throwing curse words and profanities every five seconds, why not show it in elements of the main cast backstory?

Reveal that they were essentially in unjust situations where they had no other choice but sins to survive, the type of stories that’ll make the audience think “Is Heaven fair in its judgment?” then you have the reveal that the system is corrupted. It feels like common sense to me.

Anyway, Sir Pentious wasn’t that much of an asshole in my rewrite, we understand why he acted the way he did but he still fucked up.

Madhav Karmakar was born in 1858. He was an Indian migrant in England who wanted to follow a partnership in engineering. Studying hard and else he worked ten times harder than the other students due to prejudice regarding his origin.

He made his way into a prestigious university and went out with his diploma ready to show off his skill but generally still faced racial discrimination. Throughout his life, Madhav had to do everything in his power to completely suppress anything that tied him to his country, fully adopting British mannerisms and culture, suppressing his accent, and else. At 17, he became an apprentice and started studying Mechanical Engineering, ending officially his studies at 24.

His hardship allowed him to work alongside others to develop steam machines and various ways of transportation. Despite having clearly mastered, and even ameliorated his domain, Madhav still had fewer opportunities compared to his colleagues and was paid less than the other regardless of the amount of work he put in.

What was first jealousy due to the unfairness of his situation quickly became Envy directed at his white counterparts. He started slowly destroying the reputation of his associates mostly by secretly sabotaging their work in various manners, introducing faulty designs, tampering with documentation, sabotaging equipment and tools, and anything really just to make himself feel better.

It lasted for years until one of his sabotages cost him his life. In 1888 at 30 years old, he caused one structure to collapse and the debris fell on him breaking his legs, he died screaming for help under the remains and suffocated because of the dust.

A few years following his arrival in Hell, he used his ingenuity to create steampunk-style machines in order to conquer territory. Problems, most of the lands were already owned by powerful Overlords. Madhav overestimated his inventions a lot so he got his nonexistent ass beaten all the time. He even gained the nickname Sir Pretentious though he still tries and insists on being called by his real surname (nobody does.)

The dude persisted, gaining the reputation of the village fool. Surprisingly for everyone he finally managed to get his hand on a very small portion of a territory… only for it to be snatched away by a punk rookie a week later. It would be easy for any Overlord to step up but they have their own business to take care of and some find it funny to see those two quarrel all the time.

Bit of a fun fact:

→ If I had to redesign him, he’d be fit with a large figure, we’re talking of the man who built this alone…

.. I doubt the egg boys can lift things too heavy considering they are fragile. So yeah, Madhav isn’t a twink.

→ The egg boys aren’t literal eggs just small mechanical robots he built to be his minions, if they were to break they’ll be gears everywhere but he could still rebuild them later. He wishes he could make them a bit smarter.

→ Snakes are very often associated with lies and manipulation and everything related to it. That’s what Madhav has been as a human, an envious liar. But, snakes can also symbolize renewal and rebirth in other cultures, and since he’s gonna be the first redeemed it kinda fits. I don’t know if Viv knew this but shout out to her if she did.

→ Keeping the romance with Cherry, I can appreciate a really good Enemy to Lover but the way it was framed feels like Cherry only got interested when she learned he had two dick, which feels icky and disingenuous.

So, I thought of slowly making their relationship more of a “Are they fighting or flirting” type of thing. That and having Cherry make comments between their fight like “You’re getting better at this!” which flatters Madhav because he never really had recognition for his fighting skills or invention.

He’s still a bit stuck in the old-timey way of courtship, and considering those things could last 3 to 4 years, with him you can expect the slowest slow burn possible. Anyway, he still respects lots of British traditions, being a regular correspondent and sending letters and gifts. I can see him asking to go on a walk or organize Rendez-vous to learn more about Bomb when his rivalry gets more friendly.

→ His obsession with fighting Alastor comes from the fact that he didn't manage to get up the stairs as quickly as the deer did. So he’s envious and seeks to beat Alastor in a battle to prove he’s the superior one, but he loses every time. His last chance is to side with the Vees, but Vox doesn't even bat an eye when he is near. So just imagine how ecstatic he was when Vox proposed to him to be a spy. While the first weeks were fine, he found himself getting attached to the staff more and more. It was a genuine environment where few people actually recognized him as the brilliant engineer he was (I thought he could actually help with the hotel construction since the building is old and all) and they actually called him by his name.

Not siding with Vox will be the first step to his redemption, renouncing to act of his envious feelings and focusing on what he already had rather than seeking to destroy those above him.

→ His lisp gets worse when he’s lying, he obliviously maintains a whole evil British persona in his quest for respect so as he slowly starts to get genius he’ll slowly start to speak with more ease.

→ Regarding how he’ll appear once in Heaven, he’ll be a human. I find it strange that you don't get to get your human appearance once saved. Viv said it herself, the reason why sinners look like that is because their appearance is in correlation with their sins, life, and the ways they die. It’s a way to mock them.

If this dude or girl gets redeemed, they’ll stay on a couch and that’s just sad, imagine you die go to Hell redeem yourself and you're still a furniture. Anyway, Madhav will get his human form back but with hints of his demonic form.

Kinda like Lovesart23 you should go see her videos and rewrite.

[gilded-sunrays]

It truly was odd how the world worked, not only that, but how demon blood arts worked, some could kill in an instant if one wasn't careful enough, others seemed to yield no true effects, and others well… they seemed to be able to bend reality, managing to bring the impossible to light.

This was something the young woman of only twenty five had come to learn the hard way as she had been living in exile from the demon slayer corps, she was unable to obtain intel on the demons she fought so she has to go in blindly. A mistake on her part, for in the midst of battle as she went to take the demon’s head the world around her changed in an instant, and the blade that was mere inches from the demon’s neck was now inches from the throat of a man-

The only thing she could do to keep from killing the man before her was to violently twist her body away, her blade flying from her hands as she toppled over him in a mess of limbs and fiery raven locks. As she finally pulled herself into a sitting position she was sitting upon the man who…looked just like her?

Her head would slant to the side as she stared down at her mirror image, blinking slightly in surprise as she took in his appearance, he wore similar clothes, the same hanafuda sun earrings- even their slayer marks were perfectly identical. The main difference between them was her more delicate features and filled out body.

“Who…are you?”

Life was fleeting, often passing by before one could fully grasp its essence. Each moment was distinct from the last, and each new second brought something new. The uncertainty of what lay ahead remained a constant; you never knew what the future may hold for you.     

Yoriichi understood this truth all too well, having learnt it through trials that left their mark. For a man who was blessed with the divine favour from the gods, for someone that had been gifted such extraordinary eyes, which could see through the veil of any living being—forseeing their each and every move even in the briefest of instants—yet he was blind when it came to what the future held.    

The imposing silhouette of the man remained seated near the engawa, carefully pouring tea into a delicate cup. His large, weathered hands cradled the fragile vesssel as he savoured a small sip. Outside, the night was serene; the moon cast a silvery glow, and the rhythmic chirping of crickets filled the air, accompanied by a soft breeze that played with his hair.

Yet, the tea was disappointingly bland. It wasn’t that he lacked culinary skills—not at all. In fact, he had once been a seasoned cook, particularly during the days when he once cared for his wife. He reminisced about the tender moments spent preparing meals for her, ensuring she had everything she needed while she carried their child, tidying the home, and allowing her the rest she deserved. 

But life always had a way of twisting unexpectedly for him. Twisting and contorting into something else entirely. Each tranquil moment, filled with the promise of peace, would inevitably plunge into shadows far deeper than he could have ever imagined. 

Yet, after a time, a semblance of calm returned to his existence. Days stretched endlessly, each one a mere echo of the last, offering nothing new to grasp. The life of a demon hunter, once full of purpose, had faded into a distant memory, forced to leave that life behind just the way he was forced to pick up the sword. The days dragged on, so much so that he'd just let time fly by him.; often finding himself in the stillness of his empty house with only the occasional visits from Rengoku and Sumiyoshi and his casual hunts of demons as he allowed himself to be withered away in his memories.    

He breathed out gently, raising the cup to his lips again to take another sip of the bland and distasteful excuse of a tea he had made himself—letting it seep down his throat, fully accepting the repulsive taste—embracing it.    

He had come to terms with everything the gods had laid before him. Resisting fate was pointless .  

The minutes dragged on as he finished the tea completely, pouring himself another glass. Drinking it down and pouring another one and another as the minutes seemed to stretch further, turning minutes to hours—until the kettle was half empty, similar to his own hunger. He found an odd sense of solace in this ritual, a comforting predictability that he embraced as he repeated the process over and over.

This was his life now—devoid of wishes or ambitions, for he had long since realised the futility of such desires. He understood that this was his conclusion—a life reduced to the monotony of the present. Time slipped away from him, each hour fading like grains of sand caught in a gust of wind. It was the end— 

*thud*     

A soft thud echoed as he unexpectedly sensed a strange weight above him. The kettle abruptly knocked over, shattering upon impact and spilling hot tea across the floorboards. What..? She had seemingly materialised out of thin air, wielding a katana that seemed to mirror his own. He observed as she deftly maneuvered to evade him, only to lose her balance, causing her to topple on top of the towering figure instead.  

“Who…are you?”  

It was a question he was grappling with himself. A random person suddenly materialising in his house without any explanation was something that certainly required an explanation. She was a woman—a woman just around his age. Her hair was jet black with red tips tied into a ponytail; she had a peculiar mark on her forehead, while her ears were adorned with dangling hanafuda earrings—no.. she even looked just like him as well—who.. was she?   

They were nearly indistinguishable from one another; their hair, earrings, their demon hunter marks, everything—they were like reflections of each other. The only notable distinction lay in the figure beneath her, who showed a more larger form. Although it was rather difficult to see because of the dim lighting, but the broad shoulders and a wider, muscular neck and chiselled chest that heaved with each breath were very apparent.  

"I.. am Yoriichi Tsugikuni.." 

The male answered; his low and deep voice was merely above a whisper. Quietly observing her sitting on top of him as he lay there motionless on the hard, cold floor. Something very unexpected had just happened.   

Once again, his life had unexpectedly twisted into something else. 

Twisting and contorting into something else entirely

[mandalhoerian]

⸺ albert wesker x reader, 10K

⸺ cosmic (lovrcraftian) horror, body horror, fate worse than death

⸺ summary: You’ve devoted everything to Wesker, following him through rituals that defy human comprehension. But in the pursuit of godhood, loyalty is both a gift and a curse, and every bond must be severed.

⸺ back to bloody endings.

⸺ read on ao3

taglist: @uhlunaro @wxwieeee @ann1-the-s1mp @withonly-sweetheart @esterphobic

@justb3333 @ada-wong-lover @nyctophiliagnes @kiyokoume @lightning-hawke

@cherriesnfangs @byexbyez @sodoswitchimage @sparrowguardian

On that day when Umbrella burned and civilization crumbled, you first laid eyes on a god incarnate.

Albert.

It was an ordinary name, but that alone made it special. For how can something so utterly common possess such depth? In the darkness you often pondered the shape of it, allowed it to fill your thoughts until it became something larger than language, until your awareness subsumed everything. It saturated every aspect of existence, expanding from its mundane syllables to imbue your being with meaning. You thought of nothing else in the shadows of midnight when you felt empty, because for all its mundanity Albert was everything. He defined life itself by granting it purpose. With each breath, each heartbeat, you found yourself devoted. And if Albert granted your life purpose, surely his would surpass the pitiable fragility of human nature and rise above time, space, mortality; indeed, Albert himself was not truly human at all. No—his ambitions were too grand to be contained by fragile flesh. In many ways, his devotion was so like yours. If anything could come close to deserving a name like Albert... surely it must be god.

The ritual chamber is drenched in deep red light from rows of candles embedded within narrow stone alcoves. The glow shifts and sways, pulling shadows into warped patterns over the walls, casting twisted shapes that stretch and contract in eerie rhythms. Candles flicker in clusters, their flames casting just enough light to reveal the carvings beneath your hands—sharp, jagged symbols that slice into your palms as you press against the stone floor. Thin lines of red mark the impressions, but you hold your position, palms pressed to each groove, feeling each cut with reverence. This pain is small—a gift offered freely for the right to be here.

Ahead, Wesker’s form stands untouched by shadow, a stillness radiating from him that reaches you in waves. The folds of his coat, black and pristine, brush against the tops of his boots as he stands before you, back straight, arms folded. His eyes, catching the red glow, look down on you, dark and resolute, fixed on your every move. He lifts his hand, slowly, each finger curling into a shape you recognize well. The order to begin.

You lower yourself further, bowing until your forehead touches the stone. Cold presses against your skin, sending a faint shiver along your spine, but your hands remain steady, fingers splayed across the grooves. The candlelight dips lower, casting a faint sheen across the ink now pooling beneath you. Dark and viscous, the ink trickles in quiet streams from the carvings, winding through the grooves and gathering around your fingers, warm to the touch. The substance clings, seeping between each finger, marking the creases in your skin as you press down, feeling it grow thick along your palms, sinking into your flesh.

Wesker’s shadow drapes over you, expanding across the stone, a presence that fills the space around you, pulling your body into alignment with his. His hand, still held out in front of him, catches a flicker of the candlelight—a gleam of red against leather. Every movement he makes is defined, contained, yet with a force that radiates through the stillness of the room, a silent command filling every gap between you. The scent of heated wax and something sharp, metallic, fills your senses as the ink rises, surrounding you, each tendril of it curling upward as if summoned.

You straighten slowly, the ink trailing over your fingers, still clinging to your skin. As you pull back, it stretches, a string of darkness that breaks and falls in drops, scattering across the stone in tiny, inky splashes. You extend your hands before you, palms upward, revealing the intricate black stains the ink has left behind—markings that follow the lines of your skin in delicate, webbed patterns. The dark traces of ink snake up to your wrists, each line distinct, weaving itself into the very texture of your skin.

Wesker steps forward, his gaze fixed on your upturned hands, his shadow falling over you fully now, blocking out the faint flickers of candlelight. His gloved hand lowers, fingers skimming along the edge of your jaw, a touch so precise you hold yourself perfectly still, allowing him to guide your face upward. The pressure of his fingers against your skin is neither warm nor cold, a steady contact that grounds you in place, keeping you bound to the ritual unfolding in the space between you. His thumb brushes over your chin, lifting your head to meet his gaze fully.

Your eyes meet his, and the weight of his presence fills the hollow silence. He draws back slightly, observing you, the dark lines of ink creeping up your arms an affirmation to the bond shared in this ritual. He extends his hand, fingers splaying outward as he gestures toward the center of the chamber, and you understand immediately, your body responding to the command with an almost instinctual obedience. You shift forward, your knees pressing further into the stone, ignoring the bruising ache that spreads through your legs.

As you lean into the center of the carvings, the ink responds, gathering itself, inching along the floor until it coils around your ankles, locking you in place. It rises, twisting in smooth, spiraling patterns that wind up over your knees, higher along your thighs, binding you within its dark embrace. Each loop, each coil, settles against your skin, firm yet pliant, shifting with your movements as if it’s both alive and sentient.

You begin the incantation, the words resonating from deep within your chest, each syllable thick on your tongue, a sound that fills the chamber with a steady rhythm that aligns with the pulsing ink. Your mouth shapes the words with certainty, lips forming around each sound, every syllable flowing into the next in an unbroken stream. The ink pulses with each word, tightening against your skin, a slow, relentless pressure that slides up over your arms, encircling your wrists, holding you in place as the ritual continues.

Wesker is circling you now in a slow pace, his gaze sharp, his attention unwavering, watching as the ink spreads further, its tendrils tracing your skin in delicate, branching lines. The ink marks reach the base of your throat, curling upward in slender threads, pressing just beneath your jaw. You feel it there, a constant pressure that grows, filling every corner of your awareness, rooting you within the center of the ritual, binding you in ways that go beyond flesh and bone.

As your final words leave your lips, the ink pulls tighter, digging into your skin with a fierce, relentless grip. It winds itself into every crevice, a solid, consuming presence that leaves no part untouched. The silence falls over you both as Wesker’s hand rises, his fingers brushing over your shoulder, trailing downward along the line of your collarbone, tracing the ink-stained skin with a precision that stills every muscle in your body. His fingers linger, pressing just enough to feel the pulse beneath, the faint tremor of your heartbeat, before he withdraws, leaving only the ink and the mark it has carved into your skin.

Wesker steps back, his gaze flicking over you, his eyes narrowed, a faint glint reflecting in the dim light, a flicker of something you cannot read. He turns, the faintest shift of his coat stirring the ink-stained air as he leaves you kneeling in silence, bound to the dark, lingering presence that fills the space, etched into the stone, etched into your very flesh.

After the ceremony, you encounter Wesker outside the city limits where abandoned buildings rose from the concrete underbrush, long shadows stretching into the horizon with no sign of ending. Ripped power cords slither over cracked pavement while tangled wires looped around broken street lamps in coils that sway gently in the breeze. Empty storefronts gape open like ragged maws, the doors thrown aside and discarded to be swallowed by the ever-expanding spread of destruction.

Nature, impatient and hungry, was already claiming pieces of the city for its own; green sprout from windowsills, growing in bursts of color along brick façades and decayed facsimiles of humanity. Somewhere overhead, amid the high rise maze of derelict apartments, birds take flight, their wings beating against the gray haze of smoke and cloud. You watch them drift past, the sight drawing out something strange inside you—something raw and primal, an ache so sharp it drove deeper than mere nostalgia. It cuts through your senses, pulling at memories buried beneath a layer of filth and pain. You remember then that once, very long ago, this same sky had been free.

Behind you, footsteps click steadily along the sidewalk, their pace brisk and steady as Wesker approaches, pausing to stand beside you, hands loosely clasped behind his back. His sunglasses shield his eyes, but you could see enough to know what drew his attention. You glance down, staring blankly at the gun you held loosely in one hand, feeling the familiarity of its metal body as if it was an extension of your being. An instrument of violence, certainly, but also an old friend—for though death surrounded you everywhere it was, oddly enough, also the thing closest to salvation you had ever known. A way out, perhaps not for others, but for you it would do the trick. It always did.

A bird swoops low overhead, and Wesker follows its path with a faint tilt of his chin. You wonder what he sees when he looks upon the world he created, whether it still possesses some fragment of potential or has merely slipped beyond repair.

"We have done well here," he says, letting his gaze linger on the street. "Our research will soon make progress beyond our wildest dreams."

His words stir something within you then, a sense of yearning that blazes to life beneath your breastbone. Hope. Pure, singular hope, white hot in its intensity. Here, finally, someone who sees things the way you did—a man who understands how desperately humanity needs help. He means to save them all, and it's beautiful—like looking into the heart of fire and seeing what lay beneath its infernal strength. All those years spent following him are finally reaching fulfillment, and though you have no doubt your days are numbered, there's also certainty in knowing he would never let you die needlessly. The day must come when your sacrifice would mean something more. Until then...

You leave the chamber behind, the echo of yet another ritual clinging to your skin, the quiet halls stretching before you, illuminated by sparse pools of light, their faint glow hardly penetrating the shadows that cling to the walls. As you walk, your fingers trace along the stone, grounding yourself in the familiar chill, rough edges giving texture to the silence around you.

Yet tonight, the silence feels different. You catch your reflection in a wall mirror as you pass, the faintest distortion rippling across the glass. Your reflection stands, shadowed and hollow-eyed, lingering even as you move forward, clinging to the glass with an unnatural stillness. You blink, hard, and the image snaps back, settling into place—a tired face, dark marks beneath your eyes, but unmistakably yours.

The silence deepens as you turn into another corridor, the faint shuffle of your footsteps swallowed by the darkness around you. The candlelight dances unevenly, shadows trembling as if disturbed by something unseen. And there, at the edge of your vision, you see a form—tall, unmoving, half-bathed in shadow.

“Wesker?” you call out, and somehow feel it swallowed up like you're in some sort of space where sound doesn't travel.

The figure doesn’t respond, standing still, watching from the end of the hallway. His form is cast in an odd way, a stretching shadow that feels elongated, limbs and torso reaching further than they should. You step forward, closer, and the form pulls back, slipping into the corner of the hall, merging with the darkness as if it had never been there at all.

“Is there something you need from me?” you say, half-expecting him to emerge from the shadow, to appear in that calm, controlled way he always does. But there is only the silence, waiting, thick in the space left behind.

You swallow, moving down the corridor, cautious, as though treading on something fragile. The flickering light trembles across your path, bending and shifting, leaving the walls in uneven, unpredictable darkness. The shadows have a strange fluidity to them, moving at the edge of your sight, lingering just beyond reach, settling back upon being perceived, as if denying their own movement.

Finally, you reach the end of the hall, pausing as you glance into the light spilling from another room. Wesker is there, his silhouette unmistakable as he paces along a row of shelves, gloved hands brushing over a few select items. A faint scrape echoes from his touch, the leather of his gloves catching on metal as he lifts a small, silver vial to examine it. His gaze sweeps over it with a sharp, meticulous focus, and then he sets it back, turning just enough to notice your presence in the doorway.

“Are you lost?” he asks, and though his words lack warmth, there’s a spark in his gaze, an almost cruelly amused curiosity as he watches you stand in the threshold.

“I thought… I saw you in the corridor,” you reply, the words tumbling out, searching for reassurance in the familiarity of his face. “But it couldn’t have been you. You were—”

He lifts a brow, head tilting just slightly as he considers you. It's the answer you need.

“It must be the light,” you murmur, though the explanation sits uneasily in your mind. You glance away, focusing on the objects arranged on the shelves, each one meticulously placed, pristine, unblemished, bearing Wesker’s unmistakable precision. There’s a sense of order to everything he touches, a stillness that seems to seep into each item he claims.

He steps closer, his figure moving through the narrow strip of light as he approaches, standing just an arm’s length away, observing you with an intensity that almost mirrors the shadows in the hallway—those elongated shapes that had refused to settle, the impossible contours stretching beyond sense.

His words seem casual, though his eyes never leave yours, his attention narrowing onto each shift of your gaze. “The rituals can take a toll on the mind. Rest is essential if you’re to continue assisting me.”

You nod, though the tension that has settled into your shoulders remains. “Yes, I understand."

A faint curve pulls at the corner of his mouth, something between approval and amusement. “Weakness is a symptom of the unprepared."

The words sting, though there’s no malice in his tone. Only truth, cool and exacting, cutting through the uncertainty lingering in your mind. You shift your weight, looking back to the mirror along the wall, half-expecting to see that same warped image staring back. Instead, it’s empty, its surface calm and unmoving, reflecting only the dim room behind you.

Wesker continues, folding his hands behind his back, the smooth line of his coat catching the light as he turns his head, as if considering your thoughts with the same scrutiny he affords to his own pursuits. “I would hope the strain isn’t interfering with your work.”

“No, of course not,” you reply quickly, refocusing, straightening as you pull yourself into composure. “It’s only that the shadows seemed… alive today. And in the mirror, I saw—”

He raises a gloved hand, and the words halt on your lips, suspended in the stillness between you, the faintest shift of fabric audible as he closes the space to where you're looking. “The mirror?” he repeats, his eyes narrowing, the sharp edge of his question cutting through whatever fog had settled around you.

“Yes,” you murmur, glancing back at it. “I thought I saw… something strange.”

“Reflections can be misleading.” His hand lowers, and he turns back to the shelves, his movements smooth, as though the interruption had not rattled him at all. He continues speaking, his words carrying a subtle quiet. “Our minds tend to create what it cannot explain. It’s a matter of perception.”

You watch him move, the way his form shifts in the candlelight, his shadow cast along the wall—a dark outline that stretches, reaching further than his frame, bending into shapes that seem almost unnatural. There’s a flicker there, a small distortion at the edges of his shadow, as though it exists with a will of its own. It holds, lingering even as he steps away, a delayed echo of his figure before it finally fades.

Wesker’s attention returns to you, assessing, the faintest trace of interest sparking in his eyes. “Perception can be a powerful thing. I suggest you train yours to see beyond the explanations your mind tries to make.”

You nod, though the shadows still cling to the edges of your vision, drifting along the corners like threads woven from darkness itself. “Understood."

He steps closer again, his fingers reaching toward your shoulder, resting there with a firmness that brings you back into the present, anchoring you in his touch. “Good. We will need that focus. And I will expect nothing less.”

His hand lingers, just for a moment, before he pulls away, turning back to the shelves, his focus once more on the items arranged before him. You watch as he goes around, confident, fluid, his form melding seamlessly with the shadows that cling to his figure, as if they are drawn to him, woven into his very presence.

You absentmindedly nod, though unease stirs beneath the surface, a quiet disquiet as the shadows at the edge of your vision linger, watching, waiting. The reflection in the mirror stays still, but there’s a small shift—a imperceptible change you can’t define. And as you turn to follow Wesker, you feel it there, pressing against the edges of reality, whispering truths you cannot grasp.

When the dreams begin, you feel yourself drifting away into another realm.

As you drift to sleep, there is an emptiness there, deep and infinite, pulling you down. Somewhere, somewhere far beyond imagining, a sound stirs, the faintest vibration resounding through the nothingness, an echo that comes from nowhere and everything at once. It pulls at the edges of the abyss, a chasm without end, until its resonance shakes the void itself. From somewhere along the distant rim, something pushes back, and slowly, it begins to solidify, taking shape. And then, bit by bit, a ripple of noise takes hold, rolling across the bottomless pit, building with a steady pulse of sound. A drumbeat. Unmistakable now. One beat, two beats. One. Two. Shaking the very core, gathering strength and depth. The beat surges, stronger now, expanding, stretching into the depths until it encompasses them fully, filling every crack in the nothingness, until at last, it echoes from everywhere at once. An endless rhythm. The sound of creation. The beginning of everything.

You dream of stars—of colors too bright, so vivid you can almost taste them, like nectar. Of pure energy, undiluted power, coursing through you—pulsing beneath your skin, making it crawl, thrumming inside you, driving you deeper into this place of pure light. A universe full of life bursting forth from nothingness, an explosion that burns hotter than any sun, white-hot and scalding. When you look around, there is only brilliance, and something else. Shadows, draping themselves over the blinding light, bending around its edges—pulling the very brightness from within it as if trying to suck the life out. The darkness moves, inky black and oozing like oil, spreading throughout the universe—coiling over it until all you see is shadows, stretching farther than any horizon. Stretching for eons, ever-changing, evolving, crawling through time until at last it settles. Into the great expanse where once there was light, a perfect dome of blackness hanging over an endless sea. At the center, a planet. Small, but vibrant with potential. There, teeming with new life, countless possibilities waiting to be discovered. A chance for rebirth. So close you could almost touch it, feel the heat of its suns burning into your skin. And for a moment, there is peace.

Then chaos. Death. Destruction. Blinding light erupts from the core of the planet, obliterating everything. There's an eruption. A single point that breaks apart—and expands outward like a supernova. White hot fragments shattering off in all directions, ripping apart worlds and galaxies and universes. Splitting into particles so fine they disappear even as they rip through space itself, disintegrating reality to nothingness. Nothing. No. More. Than. What. Is. Left...

Then...you wake. In bed, sweating profusely, sheets tangled around your feet, sticky and wet with ink. It pools around you like blood, seeping into the mattress and staining your skin. This is when the fear sets in, sending cold waves up your spine, crawling over every inch of you until you can't bear it anymore. Can't breathe...can barely move. Not even a scream escaping your throat, not even the smallest moan. Just terror, so intense it tears right through you. Like you're falling into some dark, bottomless pit and no one will ever hear you again. Not even God Himself.

The days blend together, passing in a quiet rhythm of rituals, tasks, and endless hours spent in his presence, though his focus rarely turns to you now. Wesker’s pace quickens with each passing day, his steps more determined, his gaze fixed on something beyond the reach of anyone else in his command. He spends long hours in his study, hunched over tomes thick with foreign symbols, his fingers gliding across pages lined with faded ink. Dark diagrams, arcane instructions, and symbols twist across each sheet, his eyes tracing each detail with a hunger you have only glimpsed before.

You approach one evening, a tray of tea balanced between your hands, the clink of porcelain softly breaking the silence as you enter. His back is to you, shoulders rigid beneath his coat, but his focus remains on the table before him. He leans forward, studying a dark, twisting symbol he’s drawn across a sheet of paper, its lines spiraling inward, pulling the eye deeper with each turn.

“Wesker,” you begin, setting the tray on the edge of the table. He doesn’t turn, his attention locked on the symbol, his gloved fingers tracing its curves. You clear your throat, the words feeling stiff in your mouth. “You requested this earlier.”

There’s no response, only the faint scratch of his pen as he adds another line, completing the symbol with a flourish. You shift, fingers clasping in front of you, waiting. Silence stretches, pressing between you, until he finally speaks, his voice low, as if talking to himself more than to you.

“What do you think is the purpose of sacrifice?” He asks the question without looking up, his fingers still hovering above the parchment.

“I… I suppose it’s to achieve something greater,” you answer, unsure of his intent, your words carefully chosen.

“To rise beyond the boundaries of this existence, one must shed attachments,” he replies, pushing the paper aside, still refusing to look at you. His posture straightens, a hint of frustration in his tone, as if annoyed by such simplicity. As if longing for something deeper, more profound than mere attachment. “It’s not enough to wish for power. Power requires devotion… and loss.”

Loss. A word you can't associate with him. He's ruthless, uncompromising, but never reckless—always focused on what lies ahead of him. And yet, you know what he seeks goes beyond ambition. Beyond humanity itself. But even that term seems inaccurate. To think of him as human… it felt wrong, like calling a mountain a grain of sand. Still, you understood there was something unique about his nature—something set apart from those around him, like looking down upon a crowd and realizing how insignificant each person appears beneath your vantage point. Maybe that was it, maybe that's why you followed him. For wasn't he always rising above, ascending while the rest remained shackled?

“And what must be lost?” you ask, carefully, watching the way his fingers linger along the symbol’s spirals, his grip tightening as if his answer is somewhere in those lines.

“A price that matches the value of the reward,” he replies, setting the paper down with a sharp flick of his wrist. “Something worthy, something that binds one to the mundane. Only then can one ascend.”

He moves past you without another glance, the edges of his coat brushing against your hand as he strides toward a shelf lined with artifacts. Each object stands tall, isolated in its own display, darkened glass enclosing some, while others rest upon velvet. His fingers hover above one—a small, worn coin—and he lifts it, turning it over with a contemplative frown.

"An equivalent exchange," you repeat. The concept resonates within you, a memory surfacing—dark markings stained into stone grooves, red liquid pooling around your palms, thick and viscous as it soaked into your flesh. "I'm guessing that would be your... physical body?"

"Only if it were that simple," he replies, lowering the coin to its case, his reflection visible in its polished surface. His gaze dips downward, considering. "One might offer up their flesh, yes, but the material plane contains more than skin and bone."

The first mark appears the morning after your most recent ritual. A thin, dark line snakes across the inside of your wrist, winding down in delicate loops, barely noticeable against your skin. You rub at it, wondering if it’s a lingering trace of the ink, but it doesn’t fade. The stain sits deep within, as if woven into the very fibers of your skin. You cover it with your sleeve, pushing the worry aside. Wesker’s tasks demand focus, and there’s no time for idle thoughts.

A few days later, another mark appears, etched into the back of your hand. Again you try to rub it away, scrubbing until your skin aches, but the line refuses to fade. You wear gloves for the remainder of the week, unwilling to let anyone see them—not because they repulse you; quite the opposite. They stir something within, a subtle unease, as though you have been violated without your consent. As if this ink is seeping beneath the surface of your being, worming into places it shouldn't go. You still haven't forgotten how you sweated ink the first time you've dreamt of the cosmos from the point of view of something unfathomably old and infinitely large and much too awake for comfort.

But when Wesker sees it for the first time, he isn't even perplexed. Not one bit.

"Yes," he says simply, taking hold of your forearm without warning and examining the mark closely, almost pleased. "This is only a minor manifestation."

Manifestation? A sense of alarm creeps over you, but instead of letting it overwhelm, you force yourself to maintain composure.

"Will it ever go away?" Your heart pounds harder, adrenaline racing through your veins, ready for whatever comes next. If Wesker notices, he shows no sign. He continues inspecting the mark in silence, turning your hand slowly around, eyes narrowed in concentration. Finally, he looks at you again, his face calm, but with a hint of smug satisfaction.

"No," he replies, letting go of your arm, leaving you breathless with anticipation for what this means.

You swallow, uneasy, but nod, attempting to brush off the growing tension that twists through your body. “If it’s useful to you, I can endure it.”

“Useful,” he repeats, and the faint curve of a smirk touches his mouth. “Perhaps it is.”

You turn to leave, but the room shifts, tilting slightly beneath your feet, the walls bending in the corners of your sight. You grip the edge of a nearby table, steadying yourself, as the sound of Wesker’s pen scratching over the paper grows louder, filling the space. It drags on, stretching, a thin, rasping sound that makes your teeth ache. You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to ignore it, but the edges of your vision blur again, curling into dark shapes, shapes that twist and dance, pulling closer.

“Are you still here?” Wesker’s voice cuts through, startling you from the strange daze. He looks up, a faint crease between his brows, his gaze sharp.

You blink, focusing on him, the shapes fading, though a faint echo of them lingers, just out of sight. “Yes, I… my apologies,” you manage, straightening, forcing a steady breath through clenched teeth.

He watches you for a moment longer, eyes narrowed, before dismissing you with a flick of his hand. “Then stop wasting time.”

You nod and leave the study, but each step feels heavier, the marks on your skin pulsing in time with your heartbeat, a faint prickling beneath the surface. As you reach your quarters, you catch a glimpse of yourself in a nearby mirror—a fleeting image, there and gone as your reflection twists, elongating, warping into a face that isn’t quite yours.

All the dwellers of the base have been pushed out for this day. With preparations complete, the only ones remaining inside are you and Wesker.

For safety reasons, he said.

The chamber swirls with an unnatural darkness, denser than shadows, curling in thick tendrils around the edges of the stone walls. It has gathered here, drawn by the symbols etched along the ground, twisting and spiraling in perfect, maddening symmetry. Candles burn low, their flames darkening to a strange, cold blue that casts the chamber in shades that seem to pull at the edges of your vision. You kneel in the center, hands pressing down on the damp stone, fingers spreading as you steady yourself against the waves of nausea twisting in your gut.

A low hum begins, vibrating through the stone, crawling up your hands, a pulse that moves through your veins, faster, hotter, until it reaches your chest, locking in with the frantic beat of your heart.

The ink within your skin stirs, writhing like a living thing, coiling tighter around your bones, sinking deeper. You feel it shift, burning as it stretches through your veins, each line pushing outward, bulging just beneath the surface of your skin. Your hand trembles as you look down, watching the ink crawl over your knuckles, darkening, splitting, and then reforming, patterns moving in endless loops that draw themselves again and again, circling back with the same unyielding intent.

“Focus,” Wesker’s command snaps through the space, breaking into your thoughts, and you look up, struggling to keep your gaze steady.

He doesn’t look at you, his focus wholly absorbed in the ritual, his eyes fixed on something far beyond the chamber walls. A faint smirk pulls at his mouth, an expression that sends a shudder through you, though you push it down, steeling yourself. The darkness around him seems to solidify, condensing into vague, looming shapes, edges blurring and then sharpening, their forms twisting like carved from some shifting substance that defies understanding.

And then, with a sudden clarity, you see them.

Massive, unblinking eyes, cold and hollow, emerge from the darkness, scattered like stars across a space that stretches further than sight. Each eye is a chasm, vast and indifferent, their centers an endless void that reflects no light. They shift, expanding and contracting, unblinking as they gaze down upon the chamber. You sense them studying, dissecting, cataloging everything within their reach, and in that moment, you realize they see you—and yet, they do not.

The creatures seem almost incorporeal, half formed, insubstantial, it's your mind that gives form to their attention as eyes, but if asked to describe them you find yourself utterly unable to say with certainty what they looked like. The closest description would be amorphous tentacles of smoke coiled loosely around one another, giving off occasional brief flickers of fire which didn't illuminate anything but themselves. Their faces were featureless, or perhaps made entirely of features, impossible to distinguish any individual part save the huge black holes of their eyes. You cannot tear your own eyes away from these pits; no matter how hard you try, something keeps pulling them back and making you stare into them. The flickering flames deep within seem hypnotic as well - it reminds you of staring into lava lamps, except you find yourself unable to breathe or even blink for fear of missing something crucial.

The weight of their regard presses against you, a force that drives you further into the stone, your hands pressing down harder, fingers clawing into the cracks as you fight to hold your position. The ink surges in response, spreading across your forearms, pulling itself into shapes that pulse and shift, lines twisting into something unrecognizable, alien symbols that imprint themselves into your skin.

"What is this?" Your breath shudders through your lips as you speak, head tilted upward, neck aching under the strain as the ink coils tighter, the lines sinking deeper, twisting around nerves, a constant throb that beats in sync with the distant, rhythmic pulse from the void above. Each heartbeat feels like it might tear you apart, the ink pushing, straining, reshaping you from within.

Wesker pauses, glancing over his shoulder, but there's no remorse in his gaze, no sympathy for the pain you're experiencing. The corners of his mouth tug upward into a cruel smile as he holds himself in position. "A blessing," he replies, gesturing upward, palm upturned toward the abyss swirling above. "An opportunity."

The ink on your arms pulses again, stretching, tearing at the edges as it splits into new patterns, marks that snake up over your shoulders, across your collarbone. Your skin prickles, burning as though on fire, and you grit your teeth, choking back a cry. You see your reflection in a metal plate along the floor, the ink staining your face now, creeping up your neck, dark lines splitting and weaving together in a grotesque mask that moves on its own, pulsing in time with the ancient rhythms that fill the chamber.

“Is this… truly necessary?”

“Necessary? There is no alternative. " He watches as the ink pushes further, his gaze unwavering, his satisfaction unmistakable as the lines twist and bind, digging into your skin with a relentless grip. “To attain godhood, one must be willing to surrender the limits of their humanity. And those limits are nothing more than illusions.”

Your hands tremble, every muscle tightening as the ink spreads, reaching into your bones, until you can no longer tell where it ends and you begin. The edges of the chamber blur, twisting as the shapes from the void shift closer, each step a silent, unfeeling approach that presses against the limits of your mind. And there, in the recesses of thought, a new awareness blooms—a quiet horror, a sense that these beings do not see you, not as Wesker sees you, nor as anyone has ever seen you. You are nothing to them, a fragment in an endless cycle, a mark to be discarded once your purpose fades.

Your pulse hammers, rapid, erratic, the ink burning hotter with each beat, its grip twisting around your mind, drawing you into the void. A flicker of doubt sparks, small yet unyielding, whispering through the silence. “I don't think they're even aware of us..."

" Awareness isn’t what you believe it to be,” he says, a dismissal. “Their indifference is their strength, their inability to see us as anything of consequence. That is why they are worthy.”

The words settle within you, twisting into the ink, warping its patterns as it presses further, tighter, your skin stretching to contain it. You close your eyes, struggling to breathe through the mounting pressure, the darkness expanding around you, drawing you deeper. Their gaze reaches through you, searing you from the inside out, reducing every thought, every sense of self, until nothing remains but the ink, binding you to the void, an unyielding part of something vast and cold.

Wesker’s hand presses against your shoulder, his touch grounding, yet cold, and you feel his satisfaction through the hold, his approval mingling with the horror settling within you. “You see now. The weakness of humanity, the futility of attachment… it is all meaningless.”

Your mouth opens, but no words come, the ink filling every corner of your mind, the truth of his words burrowing deep, coiling around your thoughts. Doubt flares, small yet potent, a quiet voice asking if this is what you truly wanted, if devotion is worth the sacrifice it demands. But as Wesker’s hand lingers, as his gaze settles upon you with a possessive pride, you push the doubt down, swallowing it beneath the ink, burying it within the emptiness left behind.

The shapes in the void shift, moving away, their interest dissipating, and the pressure eases, though the marks on your skin remain, burned deep beneath flesh and bone.

Beneath the ache, beneath the numbness, there is freedom, absolute release from every responsibility, every obligation that had weighed you down. Every action taken since joining STARS had led here—to this moment where your bond was forged through the ancient ritual etched into the stone. Your hands shake, but with a different energy now. A desire. An eagerness. The feeling that everything matters; that there's so little time left and every second counts.

Days blend together under Wesker’s command, and though you continue to follow every instruction, his presence feels distant, slipping through your reach. He no longer meets your eyes directly; his gaze drifts past you, unseeing, as if you’re an extension of the space around him rather than the vessel of summoning he molded you to be, his very personal telephone between realms. Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise you — or upset you — that he cares less for what happens to your body now, as long as your mind remains functional enough to perform the tasks demanded of it. Even that prospect may not last too much longer, however, judging by how the tarry ink burns up your skin. After all, soon nothing will remain of the flesh that once belonged to you. Soon, there will only be whatever Wesker chooses to make of you next, once the ink seeping through your pores takes root and blossoms into something both horrifyingly foreign and tantalizingly familiar. Already, you can sense the changes coming upon you, although you can no longer decide whether you welcome them or fear them.

In the dim study, Wesker stands with his back to you, his figure outlined in a faint, cold glow from the candlelight. He holds an ancient tome open before him, his fingers pressing down on a page as he studies the symbols inscribed there. You wait in silence, the inked lines on your arms and neck still simmering from the last ritual, burning beneath your skin with a relentless, pulsing heat. A single word would be enough to acknowledge your presence, but Wesker doesn’t glance up.

“Do you… need assistance?” you ask, after a long stretch of silence. Your voice sounds small, fading into the quiet that fills the study, and you search his face for any hint of recognition, some sign that he’s heard you.

“Not now,” he replies curtly, his eyes never lifting from the page. His fingers trace a line of text, their motion precise, as if every word holds a truth he must dissect, a meaning hidden just beyond reach. His hand pauses, hovering over a diagram, and he tilts his head, his focus deepening, as though he’s forgotten you stand there.

You hesitate, shifting your weight, and then take a step closer, feeling the marks on your skin pulse, a faint throb that echoes through your veins, tethering you to him in ways you can’t begin to understand. “If you require anything… you need only ask.”

Wesker’s hand rises, a subtle, dismissive gesture, and the words die in your throat. “I’m certain you’ll know when I do,” he says, his voice distant, a faint edge of something almost mechanical in the way he speaks. He finally glances in your direction, though his gaze stops short of meeting yours, instead settling somewhere near your shoulder. “Until then, occupy yourself.”

You nod, swallowing down the sting of his dismissal, convincing yourself it’s only another test, a way to gauge your resilience, your ability to withstand his indifference. The ink on your skin tingles, a faint burn along the lines that weave up your forearms, reminding you of the rituals that bind you to him, of the power you now possess—a conduit to realms beyond comprehension, but above it all, the loyalty you’ve sacrificed for his ambitions.

As the days stretch on, his evasiveness sharpens, the unspoken distance widening. His commands become brief, clipped, each instruction delivered without a single look in your direction. You bring him reports, stacks of files, but he waves them off with a flick of his wrist, his attention firmly on the relics and artifacts scattered across his desk. The objects have multiplied, more texts and tools gathered, forming a collection of pieces that seem integral to his plans, each one a step closer to his goals.

One evening, after a particularly grueling task, you find him standing before a darkened window, his silhouette sharp against the shadows stretching across the room. You approach, footsteps soft, stopping just within reach, but he doesn’t acknowledge you. His eyes are fixed on something beyond the glass, an expanse only he can see.

“Is there… something troubling you?” you ask, a question you instantly regret as the silence tightens, an unyielding reminder of the separation growing between you.

“Troubling?” His voice is low, barely shifting as he turns, his expression as cold and unyielding as the night beyond the window. “I have no use for such trivialities.”

You lower your gaze, feeling the ink on your arms flare with an inexplicable heat, the lines coiling tighter, as if sensing the shift, the subtle wall that now stands between you. “Of course. For someone doesn't really care about having to shed their humanity, weakness isn't something you suffer from," you manage to reply, pushing down the small spark of anger kindling within and using the condition he told you about ascending against him in that moment.

He tilts his chin, studying your response as though assessing some threat to his plans—which, in fact, you are right now —a slight crease appearing along his brow, faint yet perceptible. He inhales, exhales, measured breaths, his jaw tensing, though his tone remains casual, as if the conversation is beneath him. "It’s the absence of sentiment that truly liberates," he replies, the words sharp. "And as your patron, I expect you to follow suit."

The ink pulses, thrumming beneath the surface, a steady vibration that spreads across your skin, working deeper through the ink-etched veins and capillaries beneath.

You meet his gaze then, your eyes level with his, a single step closing the space between you. A boldness rises within, sharpened by the pain twisting through you, and for a moment, he almost looks surprised, caught off guard by the change, the rebellion written plainly across your features.

"Are you sure this isn't some twisted proof that you, too, are weak?"

He moves faster than you can react, pinning you back against the desk. A gloved hand closes around your throat, the leather cool against your feverish skin, squeezing down harder with each rapid pulse of your racing heart. Your lips part, breath catching, choking as he grips you tighter. The marks flare hotter, lines snaking up toward your neck, a steady burn that sinks deep into bone. And Wesker watches, unflinching, an infuriating calm behind his gaze, like he's observing some insect struggling under a magnifying glass.

"Tell me, dearheart," he purrs, leaning closer, his free hand coming to rest on your hip, gripping it just tight enough to bruise. His fingers brush against the side of your leg, tracing along the edge of the hem. "Who exactly is testing whom here?"

Words won't come. They tumble and twist into the back of your throat, fighting against the pressure on your windpipe, lodging uselessly, filling your lungs with acid. Your eyes water, stinging as you force a breath, hands wrapping around his wrist, tugging at his grasp. The ink attempts to surge beneath your skin, pulling towards him, as if drawn by his touch—and in a sick way, the thought sends an odd sensation through you, warmth stirring, a jolt of excitement cutting through the struggle for survival. It's almost churning now, gathering itself in response to Wesker's proximity, latching onto his presence like iron filings aligning with magnetic poles, seeking his orbit even as your limbs seize and panic begins setting in.

"Shall we attempt a second confirmation?" he murmurs, his thumb brushing against your jaw, fingers twitching around your throat. With each shallow breath, you feel him shift closer, until all you can smell is his cologne mixed with sweat, gunpowder, and his own unique scent that's musky and sharply fresh at the same time.

You gasp, straining for oxygen, but your vision has started turning hazy, black spots dancing across the edges of sight. "No... No more tests," you plead hoarsely, fighting against his hold, nails digging into his bare forearm beneath the cuff of his shirtsleeves. But he seems unfazed, continuing the slow strokes against your neck, a torturous combination of pleasure and pain.

There's something unsettling about the way he looks at you just then; no emotion crosses his face, no hint of cruelty or amusement colors his features save for the small smile curling on his lips. No sign that you are being strangled either—your eyesight might be going dark but otherwise you're completely alert and conscious of your surroundings, down to the finest details such as the smell of woodsmoke in his cologne and the rough texture of leather rubbing against sensitive patches of skin on your throat. Nothing suggests he feels anything remotely similar to discomfort or rage at being touched in such a brazen manner, quite opposite actually —the cold steeliness of those eyes boring into yours makes you shiver despite the burning heat scorching inside every inch of your body. As though you weren't human anymore (although you already knew that)—not an equal opponent but merely an object for his amusement...or worse: a plaything.

He lets go, then. Simply steps backwards without looking at you once. Without saying anything either although surely he must have sensed how close to unconsciousness you were...that couldn't escape his notice, could it? All you hear is the sound of rustling fabric when he readjusts his sleeves, fixing up those crisp cuffs neatly just so, and walks away.

"Then refrain from pointless interruptions. That will be all."

The final hour is upon you.

Upon all of you.

Wesker enters the chamber, coat trailing behind him, and he surveys the altar, checking each piece as though performing a routine inspection. A cloth sits at its center, bearing a row of unlit candles, each one precisely set apart from its neighbors. Beside them stand several vials of crimson liquid, labeled with neat markings that delineate the names and quantities of various chemical compounds. Arranged on either side sit more mundane items—chalk, a knife, a small bundle of herbs, all arranged with exacting precision, each facing outward.

His attention turns to the walls, which bear numerous markings, circles bordered with elaborate runes and glyphs etched into stone—crude symbols carved with knives or chisels, still raw despite their antiquity. Each circle represents one phase of the ritual, arranged in a continuous spiral that curves upward along the slanting rock face, leading to the large sigil carved at the topmost point.

Though he does not mention it aloud, the other agents sense what is happening. The mood is somber. Everyone who served under him knows what awaits. Many refuse to admit it—many believe they can stop Wesker before he completes this insane plan. Some do not care because death holds no meaning for them anyway.

Ascendance.

Rising above mortal constraints. Above physical limitations. Beyond earthly desires and impulses, beyond base necessities, beyond wants, needs...beyond mortality itself. How many others wished for such an existence, yearned to overcome limits placed upon their lives by nature alone? To exist beyond the suffering inflicted by fate? Beyond weakness, beyond despair? No one deserved godhood more than Albert Wesker.

He was prepared. Always ready. In the event of failure, he made preparations months prior, ensuring complete secrecy of location and purpose, ensuring there were contingency measures in place should the worst occur. Whatever else happened today mattered very little in comparison; whether successful or thwarted, there would be fallout.

In many ways, victory carried far greater consequences than defeat.

"The preparations are complete." He glances around as he speaks, addressing the team as a whole though none dare meet his eyes directly. The candles crackle softly, sending sparks dancing across stone floorboards. Shadows flicker along each wall, reflecting the restless motions of everyone gathered beneath them.

Wesker takes center stage amidst those shadows, standing tall among men twice as large yet somehow seeming more intimidating than any creature you've ever faced together. You feel it in the way he towers above you now—a force like gravity pulling you toward him, stronger than anything natural or ordinary. A gravitational pull that cannot be denied; that draws everything inward until nothing resists his will anymore. And for a moment, it makes perfect sense that his goal would involve claiming godhood...even if doing so meant abandoning all those who stood alongside him throughout years spent serving beneath.

It begins with a soft hum rising through the stones, building steadily into an audible frequency, vibrating up through your legs, settling deep into your bones as the runes along the ground glow brighter, tendrils of red light spiraling outward from each symbol. You feel yourself shift, tugged forward with each pulse that passes through your feet, drifting closer to the center until you stand just behind him, centered beneath the carvings. The energy grows thicker, clouding the room in a haze of smokey crimson as a low chant fills the chamber. Familiar phrases repeat, spoken first by Wesker before echoing back in unison from everyone assembled.

Already the sky outside has begun to darken, clouds swirling overhead, black and turbulent with flashes of lightning crackling across their depths. It casts shadows around the chamber, giving everyone gathered within an ominous look, as though they themselves might disappear without warning at any time...almost making one wonder how much reality had been altered already. If perhaps you are all trapped in a world where physics no longer operates the same way—where things which should not exist somehow persist regardless.

A gust blows past, shaking loose debris from the ceiling and scattering dust into the thick mist flowing across stonework surfaces. Chants grow louder, reverberating from every angle until they seem to surround you entirely, surrounding each person individually rather than being sung collectively, as though somehow producing its own unique sonic environment solely for each individual present.

Slowly the shapes fade from view—dissipating as though melting away altogether—until nothing remains but darkness streaked through with threads of bright red that snake upwards toward Wesker. Ink floods the chamber in thick rivulets, pooling along the edges of a carefully inscribed circle in the stone floor. You stand in its center, feeling the ink as it crawls up your ankles, warm and cloying, pulsing like a heartbeat.Wesker’s eyes gleam with a cold focus, his gaze fixed on the ink that spirals out across the floor in thick, flowing lines. He raises his hands, gloved fingers flexing as he murmurs the invocation, pulling the ink higher, drawing it toward him in dark, writhing tendrils. The ink moves in response to his words, wrapping around his arms, his shoulders, spiraling upward, drawn by the pull of his voice. His form flickers in the strange light, stretching with each syllable, his figure shifting in ways that defy logic, his limbs appearing to elongate for the briefest of moments before snapping back to his natural shape.

Wesker’s mouth lifts at the corners in a slight, calculating smirk before his expression fades back into cold focus. He steps forward, crossing the threshold of the circle, his form towering above you. A faint shimmer surrounds him, a dark aura that makes the edges of his figure blur, as though he is more shadow than substance. He lifts one gloved hand, reaching toward your face, his fingers brushing your chin as he tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

Wesker’s eyes flicker, and for a brief moment, he almost seems to study you, faintly glowing eyes catching on the lines of ink winding over your arms, twisting around your neck. “Do you know what holds me to this existence?”

The question feels loaded, though you push aside the creeping sense of unease it stirs. “Your vision,” you answer, eyes steady, clinging to the belief that everything he’s asked of you has served a greater purpose. “Your ambition, your purpose…”

He tilts his head, a slight frown creasing his brow, as if finding your answer insufficient. “No,” he says, his tone hardening. “Ambition is not a tether; it’s a path.”

The ink surges again, and your arms tremble, your skin burning as it claws its way further up, coiling around your throat in thin, tight bands, pressing until each breath feels shallow, labored. You search his face, confusion tightening in your chest as you try to make sense of his words.

“Loyalty,” he says, “is a binding force. "

"But that doesn't make any sense," you begin, trying to resist the compulsion that keeps pushing you forward. Why would such strong feelings suddenly start affecting things physically now? "So many here are devoted to you or your cause here. That doesn't mean it holds you back--it's not your humanity to sacrifice."

"Allegiance and responsibility are different bonds," he explains impatiently, "and neither one prevents me from achieving my destiny. What anchors me is duty. Duty to those who serve me, who put their faith in me. Faith requires reciprocity."

The ink squirms wildly across your body as you try desperately to process this new revelation. Couldn't see a single way where those concepts intersected so strongly without hurting someone else...but then again, you hadn't expected him to care about such concepts anyway--or consider himself responsible for keeping them alive. What would happen after tonight, after this ritual worked...would all that loyalty die off immediately?

"You'll sacrifice everybody here?"

"Just one," he admits calmly.

And you don't get to find out what that means.

A sharp, tearing pain erupts within your chest, sudden and violent, as if something deep within you is being ripped apart. The ink isn’t just spreading over your skin—it’s clawing its way up from the core of you, rising from the very depths of your being. You gasp, clutching at your chest, but the ink pulses beneath your hands, oozing from beneath your skin, each vein bulging as dark tendrils push outward, twisting and writhing as they snake beneath the surface.

Your arms begin to shake, the skin stretched taut, veins darkening as the ink forces itself through, pressing out from your own blood, spilling across your wrists in thin, jagged lines. You watch, horrified, as it travels up your forearms, the ink moving faster with each heartbeat, with each horrified pulse. You press your fingers to your arm, but the lines bulge against your touch, moving just beneath the surface, as if alive, as if with a hunger that cannot be contained.

Your throat tightens, and you can feel it there too, slithering up from the base of your neck, thick and cloying as it climbs, leaving trails of burning heat that radiate through your jaw and into your skull. Your mouth opens in a desperate gasp, and then the ink spills up, coating your tongue, your teeth, filling your mouth with the taste of iron and earth. You choke, trying to spit it out, but the ink surges forward, spilling from the corners of your lips, slick and hot as it drips down your chin.

The pressure builds, pressing out from your chest, searing as it pushes through muscle and bone, stretching your skin until every inch feels as though it might split. The ink presses into your eyes, and you can’t stop it—you feel it slipping beneath your eyelids, thick and viscous, clouding your vision in dark, pulsing shadows. Your vision splits, doubling as the ink crawls over your eyes, blurring everything, warping Wesker’s form into a twisted shape that sways in and out of focus.

A crackling pain ignites down your spine, and you arch forward, your back straining as the ink threads through each vertebra, every nerve alight with agony. Your hands claw at your own arms, fingers digging into the ink-streaked skin, but the ink rises to meet you, spilling out from under your fingernails, dripping in long, black trails that splatter onto the stone below. You’re dissolving, coming apart piece by piece, every part of you unraveling into this dark, relentless tide.

“Wesker…” The word escapes, barely a whisper, your voice strangled as the ink fills your lungs, pressing through each rib, winding up through your throat until you can barely speak, barely breathe. But he only watches, unmoved, his gaze fixed on you with a cold detachment, as though observing an experiment running its course.

Splash!

The ink settles, pooled across the stone in a wide stain that pulses with faint, erratic beats, like the lingering echo of a heartbeat long faded. The symbols on the floor glow faintly beneath, as though drawing the last fragments of life from what remains. The chamber is silent, save for the faint, rhythmic pulsing of the dark liquid, a final, lingering trace of what was once a human form.

Wesker stands tall in the center of the circle, his form looming larger than ever, though now the eerie light surrounding him seems almost solid in appearance. It shifts and stretches as the seconds tick, as though becoming something more tangible—less intangible smoke and more fluid motion as his very essence takes shape before everyone, power emanating from his core, the energy within pulling the darkness tightly around his edges into some monstrous embodiment of his will. Looking at him is like trying to comprehend a black hole, impossible to truly process without some feeling like one might fall in forever, lose oneself somewhere inside, consumed utterly by sheer magnitude—that sensation hits as hard as it did the first day upon realizing what Wesker really was capable of doing...to say it sent shivers down anyone's spine (whether literally or figuratively) would be an understatement.

Even when gazing upon him now, mere mortals found themselves struggling desperately to stay balanced while staying rooted firmly in place lest they slip deeper and succumb completely—every agent present could feel it permeating the very walls, emanating outward like some kind of massive psychic forcefield encompassing entire city blocks. There may have been people outside unaffected by such sensations, oblivious to anything beyond daily routines but at least they didn't know what it felt like to look directly at one's idol turn into nightmare fuel, although perhaps ignorance wasn't always bliss here anymore (even though they probably wouldn't recognize any differences anyways).

Wesker smiles broadly, lips parting slightly as he exhales a low chuckle—more sound than anything tangible. His eyes blaze golden yellow, so bright that their luminosity nearly drowns out the room, casting him in stark shadows like smeared ink stains across parchment paper. As if on cue, the candles around them dim one-by-one, leaving only blackened wicks standing upright against smooth wax bases before slowly fading entirely to darkness. Yet even without the flickering flame providing illumination there remains enough light filling every space between molecules to clearly see Wesker going in and out of focus constantly throughout this transformation process while maintaining solid presence simultaneously somehow...defying physics quite drastically. One second he's floating effortlessly just inches above floor stones; another instant later he's gone completely transparent like vapor rising off heated metal surfaces...then reappears shortly after in different places randomly around everyone gathered....all without actually moving an inch himself.

For a moment, his gaze drifts to the ink at his feet, lingering on the spot where it still throbs, faint and uneven. The shadows waver, stretching across the stain, faint trails twisting through the ink as though moved by a memory, a fragment of something left behind. He tilts his head, his lips curling slightly, amused at the sight. After all these years of planning, scheming, meticulously plotting every move with such precise detail to bring himself up here, to achieve ascendance...now the cost presented itself in full, laid out plainly for all to see.

He bends down, extends his palm at the goop of the liquified human body.

The ink responds, rising, coiling around his wrist in thick, dark ribbons, threading between gloved fingers, traveling over leather sleeves and twisting around his forearm. He holds his palm steady as it winds higher, snaking its way around his elbow, spiraling upward through the fabric of his coat until finally reaching his shoulder, and settling there like a bird. It ripples, shimmering, changing color from glossy black to silvery gray, to deep blue-black, and back again, rippling constantly.

You are quite adorable in this form.

"Well then, dearheart. Shall we begin?"

[eldritch-spouse]

I definitely wasn't binging through Krulu's tag like a horny depraved soul with no life (which i am) when i found this:

Pinnie I need to know how Krulu responds/reacts to Admin's existential crisis and crippling anxiety telling them that they're useless to him now that he has no need to hide and he can just dispose of them if he wants to.

[Fem reader.]

TW: Slight angst; Religious mindsets.

It's wonderful seeing your lord in such high spirits.

You never made note of it before, mostly to avoid being insulting, but it bothered you that Krulu felt unsafe all the time, resigned himself to the darkness of his sacred floor, didn't look beyond the walls of The Clergy's Eye or set foot onto his own garden.

It was disheartening.

He's a god! He's your god! He should face the world with nothing but pride and elegance, his might is to be witnessed and revered by all- Hiding is unbecoming of his perfect nature.

You suppose you have to thank Miara for all of this. For the safety and confidence Krulu now exudes, for the push she gave him to finally finally impregnate you- For your beautiful baby boys who have now grown up to take Earth's main annexes by storm! Life is good.

Life is wonderful.

But it's so, so scary...

Ever since your higher stopped using you as a vessel -There's no need for such anymore, after all- A depressing distance has been cast between you two. Something stifling.

You're so very happy for him, for Adelo and Adrul who can now communicate with their second father openly, see him in the flesh so much more often than they once did, for the two of you even -Because you do like witnessing Krulu's glory- But... Things just aren't the same.

You no longer feel Krulu in the back of your mind, caressing your thoughts and murmuring to you. His presence on your body is so diminished you feel naked. Unsafe. Out of sorts. You feel useless as his servant. This isn't right. It's something you're ashamed to admit, but you wish he'd return to your form.

What's wrong with you? To be wishing misery upon your lord...

You're his chosen, you're the mother of the rulers of Eden and Perdition, you're loved dearly by your lord and your angel- So... So why is it that you feel small? Like an ant? Without Krulu... You're just a human. Just a girl.

Tears prick at your eyes.

It's stupid, it's so stupid. You should be happy. This is a day of celebration! Your sons have come to The Clergy to partake in celebration with their parents and the core team after their impressive feats. And instead of spending quality time with the people closest to you...

You're sobbing on a faraway bench.

Pathetic.

You don't even hear the footfalls approaching steadily.

" Chosen. "

To say you sprung up like a startled feline is to put it flatteringly lightly. Your lord stares at you from a great height, gaze ever hardened, though you've been his servant long enough to spot the creases of worry in the corners of his eyes.

" M- My lord, excuse me- I'll be joining the festivities in no time. " You stammer, wiping the tear trails on your face and hoping your makeup isn't smudged to absolute shit. But it probably is.

Krulu makes a chuff, then takes a seat beside your figure, not looking directly at you. One set of arms rests on their hips, another steeples its fingers, the remaining one adjusts some of his jewelry.

" Speak. What troubles you? "

To the point. You've come to love that about him.

" Nothing serious, my worship. " You sigh. " You know how fragile the human mind is, I'm just being silly. "

The siadar's tail rattles across the floor.

" Our minds may no longer be interwoven, but make no mistake, I know when you dare lie to me. " He warns, eyes narrowed. " Your pain is still my pain, however. And to hurt me is not wise. "

You curl further into yourself on the bench, sniffling. " My deepest apologies- "

" I will not ask twice. What ails you? "

Slowly, you crane your neck back, meeting only the charred side of Krulu's face. With perhaps the most shaky and futile of inhales, your lips let loose.

" I'm scared. "

The siadar straightens slightly.

" My lord, I would never doubt your words- But I doubt myself. We aren't as close as we once were, and that's amazing! That's good! But... I feel so hollow without you in my body. What duty do I have now? I know it's stupid of me -I know I'm foolish- But ever since you've ceased to use me as a vessel, I've been so... Miserable. "

The shame coating your cheeks burns brighter than a thousand dawns, so you opt to bore holes into the stone of the garden's pathway.

There's a deep rumble from beside you, and soon, your small frame is lifted, deposited in the crevice where your lord's long legs cross, facing forward to the garden's expanse just as he does.

" You are going through withdrawal. "

Krulu begins, giving all your thoughts pause.

" Have been, for quite some time. "

Four hands touch your body, two loop around your neck in a familiar hold that has you sighing in comfort. The other pair rubs your sides up and down.

" I never did think it had reached this state, but then, you have a most insufferable habit of hiding your distress from me. "

" I... I don't want to disappoint. "

The implication is loud, even without being verbalized. A pause passes.

" Pray tell, what bred the idea into your mind that the mother of my heirs is expendable? " He challenges, met with silence for a few moments.

" Was it something I imparted onto you? "

And, when you think about it deeper, there was never a moment where Krulu made you feel as if you were nothing but a body. Or that you would someday outlive your use. Your sentiments are strange and you can't place their source aptly.

" Never! I don't recall a single thing you've said or done to me that could cause this- I think I'm just... Having some type of episode? " What a wonderful thing to say, you snort inwardly to yourself. Yes, you're going mental.

" Episode, hm? " Krulu chuckles above you. " Close enough. You got there on your own, songbird. "

" I- Lord Master, I beg your pardon? " Did he actually confirm you're going insane?

The siadar shudders at the title bestowed upon him, a squeeze of powerful claws reminding you not to rile him up now. It slipped.

" Just as when I took hold of your form your organism experienced many changes, you are now going through several more as well. " He explains simply. " My departure is intense, I would be alerted if you did not react to it. "

You blink, staring into his blazing orange hues. " ... But it has been years, lordship. "

Krulu's grin turns slightly mocking. " Indeed it has. "

You can only blink vapidly again, prompting him to laugh loudly and pet you almost condescendingly.

" How many years did you live as my vessel, lesser? "

Oh. Oh.

No fucking wonder you've been feeling this way for so long. Oh boy, this is going to take a long while... Who knew a hormonal imbalance could last this long, and be this devastating. Maybe to a doctor, it would be extremely common knowledge, but you often forget said information, because it hardly ever holds relevance these days.

You feel even dumber now. Dumb as a door. May the ground grow a hole and consume you immediately.

The berating inner-monologue about to kickstart in your mind is halted entirely by the sensation of Krulu's thin lips against the top of your head as the massive entity curls to shield you from the world at large.

" You are hereby ordered to seek me as soon as these flares of inadequacy show themselves, understood? " Even if his words hold supreme authority, you feel the insurmountable care behind them.

" My chosen is my adored and my adored is the light of this decrepit world. You hold more value than the universe could ever hope to achieve to me, yet you do not even realize it. " He whispers.

And you cry.

You sob like a fucking baby.

You wail into your lord's arms, full of relief, of love, passion and reverence and complete fanaticism- Enough euphoria to blind you for seconds of total bliss. It's almost like an orgasm, in a peculiar way.

He holds you throughout the entire catharsis, silent, stable like a stone wall. Only when your quiet sniffling has petered out does he speak again.

" Come to us, Adrul did say he has many tales of his time in Wrath. His mother should listen. "

You stand with Krulu's help, a smile as bright as the sun on your face.

Everything is okay.

You'll get through this.

For him.

Always for him.

Everything for him.

[vilentia]

Glenn Rhee x reader who allready has a child and like He tries to like get to know them and get along with them

Survival and Serendipity

Glenn Rhee x reader

In the desolate world overrun by the undead, where trust was as scarce as hope, Glenn Rhee found himself facing a challenge he hadn't expected: getting to know you and your 6-year-old child, Mia. His heart, once solely focused on survival, now fluttered with uncertainty and a longing for something more meaningful.

It all began one day when you stumbled upon the group of survivors that Glenn called family. In the midst of your weary travels, there was a glimmer of hope that led you to their camp. As Glenn watched you approach, holding Mia's hand tightly, his heart skipped a beat. You were cautious, guarded, and rightfully so. In this world, trust was a fragile commodity, and Glenn respected that.

He approached you with a warm smile, though he knew the smile could never truly match the warmth he felt inside. "Hey there," he said softly, crouching down to meet Mia's curious gaze. "What's your name?"

Mia's eyes, big and innocent, studied Glenn for a moment before she mumbled, "Mia." She clung to your side, her tiny fingers clutching your shirt.

Glenn nodded, understanding her apprehension. "Well, Mia, I'm Glenn. And this is your mom, right?" He glanced up at you, offering a reassuring smile.

You nodded, a mixture of gratitude and skepticism in your eyes. But there was something in the way Glenn spoke, something in the kindness that radiated from him, that made you want to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was still goodness in the world.

As days turned into weeks, Glenn took small steps to win both your and Mia's trust. He'd often sit with you by the campfire, sharing stories of his own childhood, his dreams, and the world before it all fell apart. Mia would listen, her eyes wide with wonder as she started to view him not just as a stranger, but as a friend.

One sunny afternoon, Glenn brought out a deck of playing cards he'd found in an abandoned gas station. He knelt before Mia, his eyes twinkling. "Hey, wanna learn a card game?" he asked, offering her a playful wink.

Mia's face lit up with excitement as she nodded vigorously. Glenn patiently taught her the game, his fingers showing her the tricks of the trade. It was in these moments that a bond began to form, a connection built on trust, patience, and the simple joy of being together.

Through countless encounters, Mia began to see Glenn as a surrogate uncle, someone she could turn to for comfort and laughter amidst the harsh reality of their world. And as for you, you couldn't help but admire the way Glenn had taken a genuine interest in your child's well-being.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you found Glenn and Mia sitting together on a log, sharing a quiet conversation and laughing. It was a sight that warmed your heart and filled you with a hope you thought had long disappeared. Glenn Rhee had become more than just a fellow survivor; he had become a part of your family.

As the days turned into months, Glenn's bond with both you and Mia deepened. His protective instincts grew stronger, and he couldn't help but smile at the sight of Mia clinging to his side, her tiny hand in his as they navigated this treacherous world together.

One evening, under the starry sky, you found yourselves sitting around the campfire. The flickering flames danced in the darkness, casting a warm and intimate glow. Glenn's voice was soft as he recounted tales from his past, stories that spoke of a time when life was simpler, filled with laughter and love.

You couldn't deny the warmth that Glenn's presence brought into your life. He had a way of making you feel safe, cherished, and understood in a way that no one else had in years. It was as if the world had conspired to bring you together in this bleak reality.

One night, after Mia had drifted off to sleep in her makeshift bedroll, you and Glenn found yourselves alone by the campfire. The silence between you was comfortable, a testament to the deep connection that had grown between you.

Glenn turned to you, his eyes filled with a mixture of vulnerability and longing. "You know," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "I never thought I'd find anything worth holding onto in this world. But then you and Mia came into my life, and everything changed."

Your heart skipped a beat as you met his gaze, the intensity of his words leaving you breathless. "Glenn," you whispered back, your voice trembling, "I feel the same way. You've brought hope back into our lives."

In that moment, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you illuminated by the campfire's gentle glow. Glenn reached for your hand, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. Slowly, he leaned in, and your lips met in a tender, heartfelt kiss—a kiss that spoke of the love and connection that had blossomed between you.

From that moment on, your relationship with Glenn deepened into a love that was both fierce and tender. You faced the dangers of the world side by side, finding strength in each other's arms. Mia, too, began to see Glenn not just as a friend but as a father figure, and her trust in him only solidified your love for him.

In this harsh and unforgiving world, you and Glenn had found something rare and precious—a love that had grown from the ashes of despair, a love that would endure the trials of the apocalypse. Together, you forged a family, bound not by blood but by the unbreakable bonds of love, trust, and survival.

[n1angi]

Shrouded in Darkness

CHAPTER 5 : RISOTTO MILANESE

previous chapter | next chapter

Will Graham x AFAB character x Hannibal Lecter (Polyamory)

Summary:

In the heart of Baltimore, forensic analyst Sidonie Renard navigates the shadows of crime scenes, concealing her loneliness behind a composed facade. Drawn into a web of intrigue, she captures the attention of profiler Will Graham and the enigmatic Hannibal Lecter.

Word count: 4,5k

Chapter Warning: Murder, Blood, Gore.

The morning air was crisp, with a faint chill in Sidonie’s home, a reminder that winter was fast approaching.

The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a dim light through her apartment, with only the glow from the front door offering any brightness.

She picked up the leather bag she had packed the night before, hearing a soft whimper from her dog. Smiling, she crouched down to give Lucy a gentle pet.

“I’ll be back soon, I promise,” she murmured.

Lucy licked her face, and Sidonie let out a small chuckle. After leaving the house, she locked the door behind her and glanced at the two cars waiting outside. Noticing Jack stepping out of his car, she sighed and began walking toward him.

Today, Sidonie was meeting Abigail Hobbs, and the thought made her sigh. Although she was irritated at Jack for assigning her to a task outside her usual duties, her curiosity ran deeper.

There had to be some connection between Copycat and G.J. Hobbs. Why else would the copycat contact G.J. Hobbs if they weren’t somehow linked? Even if Hobbs didn’t know the copycat personally, the killer had to have some knowledge of him to mimic his actions so closely.

Will Graham had mentioned earlier that the copycat case wouldn’t resurface, but Sidonie had a nagging feeling, almost instinctual, that he would.

Whether Abigail could help with the case or not remained to be seen, but it was worth a shot.

“You’ll be in the second car,” Jack told her.

“Good morning to you too, Jack,” Sidonie replied as she walked past him, heading toward the car behind his.

She glanced at the sleek, expensive vehicle and noticed Hannibal in the driver’s seat with Will in the passenger seat. She gave them a nod before opening the back door.

Her eyes fell on a slender young girl with wide, steel-blue eyes that held a mix of confusion and slight tension. Abigail’s pale, almost ghostly skin made her seem even more fragile.

She leaned away slightly to make room for Sidonie.

Sidonie settled in, placing her bag between herself and Abigail, and greeted her coworkers.

“Good morning to you too, Miss Renard. Did you get any rest?” Hannibal asked with a slight smile as he started the engine, following Jack’s car.

“More or less. Thank you for asking,” she replied, noticing Will slouched in his seat, rubbing his eyes. Now, he didn’t seem to have gotten any rest.

Sidonie turns her attention to Abigail, who looks at her anxiously. Offering a gentle smile, she extends her hand.

“Sidonie Renard. I’m a forensic analyst. It’s nice to meet you, Abigail.”

Abigail hesitantly shakes her hand, glancing between Sidonie and the others.

“I thought analysts were supposed to focus on evidence,” Abigail remarks.

“Umm, Yeah, that’s true. But sometimes understanding the bigger picture helps uncover details. Being present gives me a better sense of the situation, so that’s why I’ll be accompanying you on this trip.”

“Then I’m guessing you’ll be around quite often,”

Sidonie offers a subtle smile as Abigail continues to stare at her. She notes how expressive the young girl’s face is as if her emotions are laid bare for anyone to see.

“That’s right.”

Abigail smiles, but it’s clear that it’s forced, born out of discomfort.

Hannibal glances in the rearview mirror, observing them.

“How are you finding the weather, Abigail? I’ve heard it can be quite a change from what you are used to.”

Will subtly raises an eyebrow at Hannibal's question. Was he really starting a conversation with the weather?

“Winter is milder here than back at home… but I’m adjusting.”

“It’s often the small adjustments that are the most challenging, but they can also be the most rewarding,” Hannibal informs. “This trip can be considered as one of those occasions.”

“I just hope… it brings a bit of peace,” Abigail says softly, her voice almost a whisper.

She lowers her eyes, watching her fingers as they fidget. Her shoulders slump slightly.

“It’s not easy to keep hope alive… especially when everything feels uncertain.” Will murmurs, his voice raspy, betraying his fatigue.

“Will is right,” Hannibal adds. “Hope is a powerful ally, Abigail. You are brave for facing what lies ahead, even when the path is unclear.”

“…I’m- I’m just…Everything feels so heavy sometimes.” Abigail admits, swallowing hard. “Hope feels more like a dream than something real.”

Sidonie watches Abigail closely, placing her hand between them and subtly shifting her shoulders.

“You don’t have to force yourself to move forward if you’re not ready. The burden you’re carrying isn’t light. Sometimes… just staying where you are is enough.”

Abigail looks up at her, then down again with a small shrug.

“Yeah… maybe you are right.”

The car falls silent for a moment. Sidonie clears her throat and reaches into her handbag.

“I didn’t have time to eat anything so…”

She pulls out a chocolate bar.

“I brought some chocolate. Would you like some?”

Abigail nods and smiles shyly.

“Do you prefer dark chocolate or something sweeter?”

“I thought only old people liked dark chocolate,” Abigail mumbles.

Sidonie raises an eyebrow playfully.

“Thanks for calling me old”

Abigail gives a faint chuckle.

Will listens, feeling a small swell of emotion as he hears Abigail’s chuckle.

He hadn’t been sure if he could reach that part of her, get her to open up. The moments they shared were subtle, but he hoped that she would get to be happy one day. He genuinely wanted her to have a normal life.

“Mr. Graham,”

He glances at Sidonie, holding out a chocolate bar. He nods grabbing the bar from her hand, mumbling small thanks.

He breaks off a section and glances at Hannibal.

“I’ll decline, as I’m driving,”

Will shrugs and pops a piece of chocolate into his mouth.

“Suit yourself.”

As the group arrives at the airport, the terminals are bustling with travelers and the clatter of rolling luggage. They make their way through the crowd, following signs to their gate. After a swift check-in and security process, they board the plane.

Inside the aircraft, the cabin features muted colors and soft, overhead lighting. Will settles into his window seat and pulls down the shade to block the rising sun. Abigail takes the middle seat, looking weary, and soon drifts off to sleep. Sidonie sits beside her.

In the row ahead, Hannibal, Alana, and Jack find their seats together, exchanging quiet words as they get settled. Hannibal’s gaze occasionally drifts back, observing the surroundings, while Alana and Jack engage in a low-key conversation. The plane begins to taxi, and the engine noise grows louder as they prepare for takeoff.

As the plane ascends, the cabin settles into a gentle rhythm of vibrations and occasional turbulence. Sidonie’s eyes are fixed on the pages of her book, turning them with practiced ease. Meanwhile, Will struggles to find a comfortable position.

After a few unsuccessful attempts to fall asleep, he glances over at Sidonie, noticing the cover of her book. It’s “The Bell Jar” by Sylvia Plath.

“Quite a heavy read for a flight”

“It’s been on my list for a while.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Interesting choice for this setting.”

“How so?”

“I am guessing you’re not near finishing it,” he looks over the page. “Yeah, not even close.”

Sidonie raises a brow at him.

“No spoilers please.”

He chuckles faintly.

“Such a book is impossible to spoil.”

Her attention turns back to the pages.

“I assume you read often.”

“I wouldn’t say that…”

“That’s what every bookworm says.”

Will shakes his head.

“Perhaps you got me.”

Sidonie smiles faintly.

“Do you read?”

“In my free time.”

“Do you have a favorite?”

“Crime and Punishment, by Dostoyevsky.”

Will nods.

“Classic.”

“You?”

“Frankenstein, Mary Shelley”

Sidonie hums thoughtfully.

“Huh, an Interesting choice.”

Will tilts his head, waiting for her to elaborate.

She places her book on a lap, her hands still holding it.

“Well, if you put it in a certain perspective, both of the characters deal with the consequences of their actions and look into darker aspects of themselves in their way.” she explains “Raskolnikov's surroundings had a profound impact on his actions, while Frankenstein's choices were more a product of his unbridled ambition and intellectual hubris. It’s interesting how both of them are driven to confront their inner demons, despite the different forces pushing them.”

“Huh…That’s a good way of putting it.” Will nods. He hadn’t thought of it that way but found the comparison intriguing. He realizes this is the longest conversation they've had since she arrived almost two weeks ago.

However, his lack of initiative and the irritation that came with Jack’s persistence were the biggest reasons for it. Will leans into his seat.

“Mhh, you have a talent for… connecting dots, even when they seem unrelated.”

Sidonie blinks, realizing she has rambled a bit.

She had felt and knew that Will didn’t think much of her. Perhaps even to say he was not particularly fond of her. But just now, she could tell his tone was slightly warmer and lighter. Even inviting.

“You’ve just described the reason why I’m here.”

“It can be your cognitive capabilities, and… some might consider a personality trait.”

“How so?” She looks at him.

“Well, um, It could mean you're constantly on edge, wary of revealing too much about yourself.” Will says slowly “As if you're constantly guarding yourself.” He pauses as she arches her brow. “Or perhaps you have a deep need to make sense of things, to feel a sense of security.”

"Looks like Dr. Freud is back from the dead.”

Will rolls his eyes, faintly smiling at her sarcastic remark.

“And here comes the humor, a classic defense mechanism,” Will adds in.

“And I’m the one overanalyzing now mh?”

“Touché.”

Abigail shifts slightly in her sleep, her head resting against Sidonie’s shoulder. She murmurs in her sleep, barely coherent.

Sidonie freezes momentarily but then adjusts so Abigail’s head is comfortably supported. Abigail’s face relaxes, showing a hint of relief.

Will watches the scene quietly. The interaction is subtle but undeniably comforting.

Sidonie notices Will’s softened expression.

“Let’s try not to wake her... She has a lot to face today.”

Sidonie tells him as he agrees with a nod.

As she goes back to her book, Will, unable to fall asleep, finds his mind preoccupied with other thoughts, looking forward to returning home.

Two rented cars pulled up at the airport, everyone loading their luggage and heading to their destinations.

The morning sun was dim but bright enough to cast a warm light on the car. The weather was nicer than in Washington, with a chilly breeze rustling the leaves on the ground. Minnesota was greener than Sidonie had anticipated.

The drive was quiet. Will, who had struggled to sleep on the plane, finally managed to doze off with his head resting against the window. Hannibal was driving, looking well-rested, while Sidonie assumed he must have slept during the flight.

In the other car, Abigail sat with Alana and Jack.

Hannibal glanced at Sidonie in the rearview mirror. She had her head propped up with one hand, her eyelids heavy as she looked out the window. The dim sunlight touched her face.

“I can wake you when we arrive, Miss Renard,” Hannibal offered softly.

Sidonie turned towards him, her gaze lazy.

“It’s okay. I prefer to sleep in a bed.”

Hannibal nodded and returned his attention to the road.

He gently pulled up to the motel, as Will had chosen to stay there rather than go into the city.

Sidonie stepped out of the car, and Will looked at her, still half-asleep. He had expected her to stay in the city with the others.

“Hannibal is heading to the city,” Will said, just to let her know.

“I know, but I’d rather get some rest right away,” Sidonie replied.

Will nodded and looked at Hannibal, signaling him to call before picking them up.

They received their keys and went to their rooms on the second floor, two doors apart, and settled in.

Sidonie looked around the room, noting the full-sized bed with white sheets, a small TV in the corner, and a table with two chairs. She drew the curtains and turned on the light. Setting her bag on one of the chairs, she sat on the bed and then lay down, closing her eyes.

The first day of travel had been exhausting, and she needed time to adjust to the new environment. She hoped she could trick herself into sleeping, but after ten minutes of silence and shifting uncomfortably, she gave up.

Getting up, she opened her bag.

Fortunately, she had picked up some food at the airport before their flight. She took out a sandwich and sat down in the wooden chair, leaning back.

As Sidonie unwrapped the sandwich, her mind drifted to a distant memory. She remembered sitting in the kitchen with her mother, a table of similar size between them.

She gripped the steel spoon with the delicate flower carvings. Her gaze fixed on the soup in front of her, which she could distinctly remember the smell of. It was earthy, and fresh, with a hint of onions, garlic, carrots, and celery mingling together. The smell should have felt comforting, but instead, it brought haunting tension to her.

Her eyes slowly drifted to her mum's hands, which were always empty of any jewelry. She could remember the navy dress she wore. She couldn’t quite place if it was old, or if she rarely wore it.

The memory of her face was blurry. All she remembered was her lips; tight and down casted. Her jaw clenched.

Sidonie took a bite of the sandwich but immediately felt her stomach churn.

It tasted acidic.

She spat it out and stood up, grabbing her bag and pulling out a water bottle to drink quickly. Her face showed her distaste.

Had she been given expired food?

Her eyes scanned the package, and the fresh date stared back at her, contradicting the discomfort she just felt.

The sleek, white car pulls into the driveway and Will glances back at Abigail. She looks over at Sidonie, prompting her to open the door. Both step out of the car, with Will and Alana following closely behind.

Abigail's gaze fixes on the large, graffiti-like letters scrawled across the front of her house. The word "CANNIBALS" glares back at her. She stares at it, her brows furrowing, her lip trembling slightly.

Hannibal and Sidonie stand behind her as Abigail slowly moves toward the house. Sidonie takes in the surroundings—a traditional two-story house with a classic suburban look. The muted brown bricks and siding give it a rustic feel, and fallen leaves are scattered across the black, sloping roof.

As Abigail nears the entrance, her eyes fall on a faded, rust-colored stain on the front step.

“Is this where my mum died?”

“Yes.” Will nods.

Her eyes slowly brim with tears.

“I was sort of expecting a body outline in chalk or tape.”

“They only do that if you’re still alive and taken to the hospital before they finish the crime scene.”

He explains as she stays silent for a moment.

“Goodbye, Mom.”

Abigail mumbles softly as she steps into the house. Will lingers outside for a moment, staring into the distance before turning back to glance at everyone else, then heads in.

Sidonie follows, her eyes briefly falling on the faded stain by the entrance. She pauses, staring at it, lost in thought. When she looks up, she catches Hannibal’s gaze. He silently urges her to move along with the others.

They all step into the dimly lit room. Antlers are mounted on the walls, and the interior is dominated by dark wood and deep browns. Sidonie can't help but admit that the decor isn’t to her taste.

Alana stays close to Abigail, while the rest follow behind. Abigail hesitates in the doorway before entering the kitchen. The room has been scrubbed clean, every surface meticulously wiped down by the cleaners. The evidence box sits on the table, waiting for them.

“If you ever want to go, you just have to say so and we will go.”

Alana reminds her.

“Go where? Back to the hospital?”

“For now.”

Abigail notices that all the family pictures, once proudly displayed, have been turned around, their images hidden from view.

“They turned all the pictures over.”

“Crime scene cleaners will do that.”

“They did a really good job.”

She glances at the spotless table and then shifts her gaze to the floor.

“Is that where all my blood was?”

Will nods.

“Yes.”

Abigail faces him.

“You do this all the time? Go places and think about killing?”

Sidonie glances at Abigail and then shifts her eyes to Will.

“Too often.”

“So you pretended to be my dad?”

Will steps forward, moving closer to Abigail.

“And people like your dad.”

“What did that feel like? To be him?”

Hannibal eyes subtly narrow as he observes the exchange between Will and Abigail.

“If feels like… I’m… talking to his shadow suspended on dust.”

“You think you knew him?’

“I tried to know him. I still try.”

“Even after you killed him?”

“Maybe because, I killed him.”

Sidonie crosses her arms, her eyes lowering to the floor.

Abigail nods.

“No wonder you have nightmares.”

“The attacks on you and your mother, they were different. Desperate. Your dad knew he was out of time. Someone told him we were coming.”

Will explains.

“The man on the phone?”

Sidonie’s eyes drift back to Abigail and Will. Hannibal’s gaze follows hers, taking in her reaction.

“It was a blocked call. Did you recognize his voice?”

“I had never heard it before.”

Abigail’s eyes flick briefly toward Hannibal, as Hannibal tilts his head slightly.

“Was there anybody new in your father’s life? Someone you met or someone he talked about.”

Alana asks.

“He may have been contacted by another serial killer, a copycat.”

Will’s voice is gentle as he addresses Abigail, who furrows her brows in visible distress.

“Someone who’s still out there?”

“Yeah.”

Abigail swallows hard, a realization dawning on her that her nightmare is far from over and hope feels increasingly out of reach.

Sidonie walked through the hall and entered the room bathed in soft cream pastel hues.

This was Abigail's room. Her gaze swept over the full-sized bed with dark blue sheets adorned with white flowers, flanked by wooden nightstands. One of them held a white lamp and a photo of Abigail with a friend.

Approaching the desk on the right, Sidonie noted its neat arrangement of books. Above it, posters of horses, bands, and pictures from trips decorated the wall. Two small shelves displayed a few trophies, all earned from horse riding.

The room had a peculiar, somewhat unsettling scent.

As Sidonie examined the trophies, Abigail entered. Her eyes took in the sight of the woman In front of her.

Although Sidonie’s strong, distinctive features and deep, articulate voice were intimidating, just now there was a softness in her demeanor, which contrasted with her usual presence.

“Do you like horseriding?”

Sidonie shakes her head.

“Never tried it before.”

“But do you want to?”

Abigail asks her, and Sidonie glances over with a gentle smile.

“Now that I remember it, I would love to try.”

“I used to be afraid of the horses when I was small. They used so huge in my eyes.” Abigail shares “But after my dad forced me to start horse riding… I grew to love them.”

Sidonie gazes at her for a moment, lost in thought.

G.J. Hobbs had appeared to be a loving father, and despite everything that had happened, Abigail still seemed to love and miss him.

She wondered if it was truly possible to love a parent who had caused so much harm.

“I see.”

“They are suspecting me, aren’t they?”

Abigail suddenly asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s natural that they do,” Sidonie reassures her.

“Yeah…Why else would they send you here.”

“I’m not qualified for what they asked me to do. The only reason why I agreed, is for personal interest.”

“Personal interest?”

“Copycat killer.”

Abigail nods slowly, her gaze drifting away.

“I see… um, how does he kill?”

“He displays them theatrically. Like pigs. Leaves no evidence. Quite the character, I would say.”

“And you work on evidence.”

Sidonie nods in agreement.

Abigail crosses her arms and swallows, her expression tense.

“Is he�� going to come after me?”

“There is a high probability that he might.”

Abigail nods her mind elsewhere.

Sidonie tilts her head slightly, observing her.

“Do you remember anything about him? The tone of his voice? Anything can help Abigail.” She gets closer to her “If we catch him, you will be safe.”

“Why do they suspect me?”

Abigail shifts the topic, drawing Sidonie's attention for a moment.

Alana had noted that Abigail seemed adept at gathering information while holding back her own—a subtle form of manipulation. Yet, Sidonie knew there was nothing to hide about their suspicions of Abigail. The girl was sharp enough to understand that much on her own.

“They’re struggling to understand how your father could have lured the girls.”

“I wouldn’t… I didn’t do anything.”

“The evidence doesn’t point to you. It’s just a theory.” Sidonie pauses. “But… it’s more likely that a copycat might be targeting you.”

Abigail’s gaze locks onto Sidonie’s, a flicker of terror in her steel blue eyes contrasting sharply with her calm olive green ones.

“If you remember anything, even just a small detail, it could help us solve the case. You’re under FBI protection, but that might not last forever. So if something comes back to you, you need to let me know.”

“He… He might have had an accent.”

Abigail mumbles.

Sidonie’s eyes widen slightly.

“An accent is a good detail. Can you remember anything else about it? Maybe where it was from or what it sounded like?”

“I’m not sure...”

A knock on the door interrupts them. Hannibal stands there, watching them.

Sidonie looks up, and Abigail, startled, glances at him.

“Dr.Bloom asked us to stick together,” Hannibal says, addressing Sidonie.

“Alright, let’s go downstairs.”

Abigail nods and moves past him, avoiding eye contact. Sidonie offers Hannibal a polite smile.

As they walk away, the wood creaks slightly under their steps. Hannibal’s gaze lingers on Sidonie’s back. His eyes darkened.

She was proving to be a complication.

Sidonie, along with the others, carefully unpacks the evidence box in the room.

“Can you catch somebody’s crazy?”

Abigail looked at the item in her hand.

“Folie a deux.”

Alana replies softly.

“What?”

“A French psychiatric term. ‘Madness shared by two.’”

“One can not be delusional if the belief in question is accepted as ordinary by others in that person’s culture or subculture. Or family.”

Hannibal adds as he sets another box down.

“My dad didn’t seem delusional. He was a perfectionist. After he skinned a deer, he would pluck the loose hair. Most people use a torch. Dad would remove all the hair by hand. He wanted to make sure he got every one of them.”

“Your dad left almost no evidence.”

Will said.

“You let me come home to find the evidence.”

“It was one of many considerations.”

Hannibal informs her.

“Are we going to re-enact the crime?”

Abigail as she looks at Will and Alana.

“You be my dad. You be my mom.”

She looks at Sidonie.

“You can be Agent Graham”

Then she looks at Hannibal

“And you be the man on the phone.”

Uncharacteristically, Hannibal is caught off guard by that. More so by Abigail’s steely nonchalant stare that followed.

Hannibal looks away as Alana's voice softens.

“We wanted you to come home to help you leave home behind.”

“You’re not going to find any of those girls, you know.”

“Why so?”

“Because he’d honor every part of them. Made plumbers putty out of elk bones. At least that’s what he told us. Whatever bones were left of those girls is probably holding pipes together.”

“Where did he make this putty?”

Hannibal asks.

“At the cabin. I can show you.”

“Abigail... there’s someone here.”

Everyone turns to see a girl with dark hair and a dark red leather jacket. She looks to be about the same age as Abigail.

“Hey, Abigail.”

“Hey, Marrisa.”

Marissa and Abigail head outside, with the adults deciding to give them some space. Will and Alana follow, standing at a distance to monitor the situation.

Inside, Hannibal and Sidonie go through the evidence box.

Hannibal’s gaze shifts to Sidonie as she fixates on a package containing a golden wedding ring. Her eyes locked on the ring, that had a slight stain of the blood.

Hannibal notices her intense focus, a subtle curiosity evident in his expression.

“You seem lost in thought Miss Renard.”

She puts it back down.

“Just thinking about the case.”

“I believe there should be more reasons for your agreement to accompany this case.”

Sidonie glances at him, her frows furrowing subtly.

“Perhaps, it is something personal,” Hannibal adds in.

“And what gives you that impression?”

“Everyone has a reason for doing what they do. Even being here has a purpose for each of us.  For Abigail, it’s a hope. Leaving her old life, to start anew.”

He watches her intently. She meets his gaze, her eyes briefly meeting his with a hint of curiosity. Raising her brows and sighing, she shifts her focus back to the evidence.

“I’m here because of the copycat killer. I’m curious of him.”

“Curiosity takes us to many places, but it always circles back to our mind. The real intrigue lies in the canvas itself, not just the strokes on its surface.”

She furrows her brows slightly, her gaze moving from his hands to his face.

As he examines the evidence with a calm demeanor, Sidonie feels an unsettling chill, as if something unseen is creeping up behind her. His calmness contrasts with the intensity of his scrutiny making him seem almost omniscient, adding to her discomfort.

“I suppose we all have our reasons for being drawn to certain things. If there’s something more personal, It’s my matter to handle. Not anyone else's.”

A faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

“Ah, a well-defended boundary. It seems that you have mastered the art of self-preservation Miss Renard.” He pauses “While such skill is admirable, it often leads to a certain solitude.”

Sidonie hesitates, the urge to deny the truth rising within her, but she can't escape the reality his words hold.

The loneliness she feels is palpable, shaped by her nature and circumstances. It leaves her with a sense of vulnerability as if she’s suddenly been laid bare.

“Perhaps there is some truth to that. Being alone is something I’ve grown accustomed to, but that’s what I chose, and manage just fine.”

She looks him in the eyes.

“But I can say for certain that catching this copycat killer will personally satisfy me. Knowing I’ve apprehended him will simply boost my ego and credibility.”

Hannibal’s eyes darken slightly, sensing the hint of need in her voice, almost a desire.

He smiles subtly, feeling a twinge of excitement.

A subtle yells come out of the yard as they look away.

A distant shout breaks the moment—Marrissa and Abigail are outside, calling someone out.

They look away, drawn back to the present, as the moment slips away and reality reasserts itself.

[todorokis-girl]

Comfort - Akutagawa x Reader

In the quiet aftermath of Dazai's departure from the Port Mafia, Akutagawa finds himself grappling with the emptiness left behind. Y/N stands by his side, offering silent support and unspoken understanding. Their bond deepens as they navigate the pain together, with feelings of love and care simmering just beneath the surface, yet unvoiced. Under the moonlit sky, a single touch speaks more than words ever could.

Requests are OPEN!

masterlist

The night was heavy with the weight of unspoken words. The moon hung low, casting a silvery sheen over Yokohama’s port, where the quiet lapping of water against the docks was the only sound that broke the silence.

Akutagawa stood at the edge of the pier, his posture rigid, eyes fixed on the dark expanse before him. The recent departure of Dazai from the Port Mafia had left a raw, gaping wound in him—a void that seemed to swallow everything whole. His mind was a storm of emotions he couldn't quite grasp, let alone articulate.

Beside him, Y/N stood quietly, just close enough for their shoulders to brush occasionally with the breeze, but far enough to respect the distance Akutagawa often kept. The silence between them was comfortable, but charged with an unspoken understanding that neither dared to break.

“Akutagawa,” Y/N finally spoke, their voice soft but steady. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

His eyes flickered to them briefly before returning to the horizon. The moonlight cast delicate shadows on their face, highlighting the concern etched in their features. He wasn’t used to this—someone standing beside him without expectation or demand. It unnerved him, how easily they seemed to see through his defenses.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he replied, his voice a low murmur, rough like gravel.

“I may not understand everything, but that doesn’t mean I’m not here,” Y/N countered gently, their gaze unwavering. They took a small step closer, their presence warm despite the coolness of the night.

Akutagawa’s hands clenched at his sides, his usual instinct to push others away warring with the unfamiliar, fragile comfort he found in Y/N’s presence. It was strange—being with them felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“You should keep your distance,” he said, but the words lacked their usual sharpness. They hung in the air, more of a plea than a command.

Y/N’s lips curled into a soft, almost sad smile. “You know, sometimes the things that scare us the most are the things we need the most.”

He turned to look at them fully, his dark eyes searching theirs, trying to decipher the emotions swirling within them. There was no pity there, no judgment—just a quiet, steady acceptance that both confused and soothed him.

They stood like that for a moment, the distance between them feeling both vast and insignificant. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them standing under the watchful gaze of the moon.

Without thinking, Akutagawa reached out, his fingers brushing against Y/N’s hand, hesitant and unsure. The touch was barely there, yet it spoke volumes—of gratitude, of fear, of something deeper that he couldn’t yet name.

Y/N didn’t pull away. Instead, they intertwined their fingers with his, offering a silent promise that they wouldn’t leave, no matter how many walls he tried to put up.

Akutagawa’s breath hitched, the gesture so simple yet so profoundly comforting. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t know how to—but for the first time since Dazai’s departure, the emptiness within him felt just a little less overwhelming.

They stood together, hand in hand, neither speaking, yet the air between them was thick with all the words left unspoken. And in that silence, they found a connection deeper than any words could express, a quiet understanding that they would face whatever came next together, even if they never said it aloud.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Hay...... Do you think you could do tadc characters with a reader who has super bad depth perception (due to an eye injury) and as a result often ends up walking into things because they didn't realise it was right in front of them?? :3 (aka me)

TADC cast x reader who has very bad depth perception!

fuck it we balling!! (admin is now on a small time crunch, theyre not going to explode if they fail to finish this before they timer is up, but they are weird about time stuff) rolls around ehehehhehe i hope you enjoy!! i must admit, admin was a little stumped on this so this might be a little..... meh </3

CAINE:

i think he blows it out way out of proportion... though im not sure thats the right word... i mean, if you manage to get close to caine (which is quite a feat considering before he didnt really. build genuine connections with circus members as well as being busy with... whatever it is he does...) he doesnt quite.. understand... so i think he insists on being your eyes, utilizing his... thousands of all seeing eyes. he can get overbearing at times so youre going to need to set the record straight and explain things to him... hes a little confused but hes got the spirit.... takes you to his room whenever things get hard (migraine, nausea, ect ect ect) and pampers you... so.. maybe him taking things too far/seriously isnt that bad...

POMNI:

has probably tossed you something before remembering your depth perception... the regret on her face is immediate, spreading over it before you even have the chance to react to whats going on... quick and long stream of apologies as she picks up the thing; it wasnt even likely anything important or fragile

eventually builds the habit to not toss things to people when they ask for something.. offers to read things out for you if you have trouble with it, as well as guiding you to dark places if you have trouble with migraines as well (while admin doesnt have depth perception he does have something funky with his eyes that make them sometimes roll and cross and it suuuucks)

RAGATHA:

oh she is so so so empathetic with you. as mentioned above in pomnis part, if youre prone to nausea or migraines, shes going to do all that she can to help you... usually lets you lay in her bed to collect yourself... helps you judge the distance things are, especially if its in a chaotic situation such as an in house adventure. if you open up to her about the reason behind your bad vision, her heart is going to hurt for you. if you need comfort, she will provide it; if you just need some ears, she will provide. generally very good about accommodating you

JAX:

has probably asked why your eyes look off, assuming they cross or otherwise arent "standard". doesnt really say it to be rude, well.. actually no this is jax hes likely just scoping to see what the deal is, though its more of a curiosity thing. gives a soft "oh" when you briefly explain why. honestly i think he has a habit of tossing things to people when they ask him for something, and i think this would carry over to you.... does sometimes feel bad, but hey! hes not trying to be mean (kinda...)

does not stoop low enough to use your poor depth perception to his advantage for pranks, though. hes an asshole but i dont think he would be that evil tbh...

KINGER:

honestly? same. like i dont think that he has bad eyes thanks to an injury, no rather i think its just because hes OLD!!! so theres times where you guys fail to be each others eyes. you have terrible depth perception, he is shortsighted... uh oh... good news is that hes always keeping an eye on you (no shitty pun intended) due to him constantly worrying about you, so the chance of you somehow being in the way of danger is fairly low.... probably.... if you tend to attract it, though, or are on the clumsier side, rest assured that hes keeping you in the pillow fort!/lh

ZOOBLE:

probably doesnt even notice it at first until you bring it up in passing, and honestly i dont think their view on you would change. sure they would try to be more accommodating for you since theyre not totally apathetic, especially since youre a friend and/or partner... but theyre not too... emotional, so unlike ragatha they wouldnt outwardly give you an excessive amount of.... pity? care? im struggling to find the right word, im afraid... will let you vent about it, though, if the issues that come with it cause any stress.. otherwise doesnt bring it up too much unless you bring it up, both because they dont think its too much of a big deal as well as not wanting to pry

GANGLE:

very sad very empathetic if you ever open up to her about the events leading up to your injury (assuming you remember/it was something that happened in the real world that carried into the digital world), and perhaps sheds a tear for you. helps you read and write things if you struggle with it, as well as even wrapping her ribbon around your eyes should any random bouts of nausea roll in. generally very sweet about it but is very careful about not stepping over any lines, tends to ask before doing something (especially with the blindfolding/nausea thing)

[drewharrisonwriter]

Lifeline - Ch. 3: Baby Steps

Pairings: Dieter Bravo x Female Reader, referred to as “Honey” 

Series Summary: After basically being dropped and rejected by every PR agency in Hollywood for being such a huge liability, Dieter Bravo must work on resetting his public image in the most unexpected ways.

Author's Notes: I have been working on this fic on and off for the past year, and this story is a little personal to me. Yes, I am trauma dumping in some scenes lol but I also want to say that there will be so many unrealistic things about Hollywood, actors, and PR/Marketing agencies here, to which I apologize.

Warnings: Angst, a little drama, lots of flashbacks. More warnings to come as the story progresses.

Read this on AO3 | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Dieter sat alone in his empty living room long after she had left, the silence pressing in on him like an old, familiar weight. Her presence lingered, like a ghost in the corners of his mind, stirring up memories he’d buried deep. She had changed so much—confident, poised, and fiercely professional—but when she spoke, there were still echoes of the woman who used to make him feel like he was worth something. Dieter couldn’t help but sink into the past, letting it pull him back to a time when everything felt simpler, when she was his anchor in a world that often felt like it was crumbling beneath his feet.

He remembered one of the worst nights, when everything felt like it was slipping away. Dieter had spent the entire day in a cramped waiting room, hoping for a callback for a supporting role on a local TV drama. It wasn’t glamorous, and it wasn’t the kind of part he dreamed of, but it was something. He’d rehearsed his lines over and over, each word a fragile lifeline to the future he so desperately wanted. But the casting director barely looked up from his clipboard. “We’re going in a different direction,” he’d said, and that was it. Another rejection to add to the pile.

Dieter drove home in a daze, his mind swirling with self-doubt. Every failure felt heavier than the last, pressing down on his chest like a weight he couldn’t shake. When he finally walked through the door, she was there, waiting with that same warm smile that never seemed to falter. She took one look at him and knew.

“Rough day?” she asked softly, crossing the room to pull him into a hug. Dieter nodded, burying his face in her shoulder, inhaling the comforting scent of her shampoo.

“I’m just tired, Honey,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against her skin. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

She squeezed him tighter, her touch gentle but firm, grounding him in the moment. “I know. But you don’t have to figure it all out tonight. Let’s just get through today.”

Dieter let out a breath, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders. He watched as she moved into the kitchen, pulling out ingredients and moving with the easy familiarity of someone who knew exactly how to make everything better. She was making their favorite—KitKat cream cheese fridge cake. It was a simple dessert, something she’d thrown together one night on a whim, and it had quickly become their thing. They’d sit at the table, sharing bites of the creamy, chocolatey layers, and for a little while, the world outside didn’t seem so bad.

As Dieter sat down, watching her crush the KitKats with a small, satisfied smile, he felt something close to peace. She worked in quiet concentration, her movements fluid and unhurried, each step a small act of love that soothed the raw edges of his day. She set the cake in the fridge, letting it chill, and they ate dinner together, talking softly about anything but the auditions and the rejections.

After dinner, Dieter helped her clean up, washing dishes while she hummed softly, the melody familiar and sweet. It was “Let It Be Me,” a song that had become part of the fabric of their lives. Her voice filled the small space, wrapping around Dieter like a warm blanket. He glanced over his shoulder, watching her sway gently to the music as she wiped down the counters. She caught his eye and smiled, and for a moment, everything felt right.

Dieter could still hear her voice, clear and unguarded, echoing in his mind as he sat in his empty house. He hadn’t had that cake since she left his life, but in his lowest moments, he would think of it—of her. The taste of it, the way it made him feel like he was home. And then there was the song. “Let It Be Me” had been their song, her voice always bringing him comfort when nothing else could. He craved both almost as much as he craved the warmth of her belief, the quiet, unwavering support that had always made him feel less alone.

But now, the house was quiet. No music, no warmth, just the echo of a life he’d let slip away. And he was left wondering if he’d ever find something that made him feel the way she had again.

She sat in her office, the city skyline sprawling out beyond the window. The last nine years had been a whirlwind—what started as a small side gig during her evenings off from teaching had grown into something she could have never predicted. She had loved teaching, loved her students, but the first time she’d landed a major client for her fledgling digital marketing business, something clicked. She discovered a passion she never knew she had, and within a year, she’d quit her teaching job to focus on Trace Marketing full-time. The business flourished, expanding rapidly as word of her talent and results spread. By the time she moved to LA two months ago, she was ready to open Trace Marketing’s office, the culmination of years of hard work and success.

But the call from Mitch Weiss had thrown her off balance. She hadn’t expected to hear Dieter’s name again, especially not in the context of her new life in Los Angeles. They’d met briefly before when she first moved to the city, and Mitch had been a straightforward, no-nonsense kind of guy, all business and efficiency. But today, his tone carried an edge of desperation she hadn’t heard before.

“We need your help,” Mitch said, his voice strained. “Dieter’s in a bad spot, and we’re running out of options. He’s not in great shape, and we need someone who’s willing to take a chance on him, someone who knows how to turn things around.”

Honey kept her voice level, though her thoughts were anything but calm. “It sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. What exactly are you expecting from us?”

Mitch hesitated, as though weighing his words carefully. “I’m expecting you to do what you’re best at—crisis management, image rebuilding, all of it. We can’t keep putting out fires. Dieter needs a fresh approach, and Trace Marketing is the best shot we’ve got.”

She let the silence stretch, her mind racing back to Dieter and all the times she’d seen him fall apart and pull himself back together. Mitch’s plea wasn’t about what Dieter had left—it was about finding a way to stop him from burning the rest of it to the ground.

Honey agreed to take him on, telling herself it was just business, just another challenge. But as she sat in her office, staring at the city beyond, she knew that working with Dieter would be anything but simple.

She closed her eyes, the memories of the past overlapping with the stark reality of the present. She was no longer the shy schoolteacher who waited up for Dieter to come home, but the echoes of that girl were still there, whispering reminders of a time when things were less complicated. She had moved on, but the past had a way of finding its way back, even when you thought you’d left it behind.

Honey opened her eyes, straightening in her chair as she prepared for the next step. This wasn’t about revisiting old wounds or rekindling what was lost. This was about doing what she did best—taking the broken pieces and finding a way to make them whole again. And for Dieter, she would do it, even if it meant confronting everything she’d tried so hard to forget.

The café was bustling, the sounds of clinking mugs and soft conversations filling the air, but Dieter felt like he was the only one out of place. He fidgeted with the straw of his iced coffee, glancing around the cozy space Honey had chosen for their second meeting. It was the kind of spot that felt deliberately unremarkable—neutral territory, somewhere neither of them had memories attached to. He was early, but he liked that; it gave him time to prepare himself before she walked in with her usual calm, collected demeanor.

When Honey finally entered, she was dressed in a smart blazer and jeans, her hair pulled back, but today she wore glasses—simple black frames that made her look every bit the part of a professional. He remembered those glasses; she’d worn them when she was grading papers late into the night, when they were curled up on the couch watching old movies, and sometimes when she was too tired to bother with her contacts. Dieter found some strange comfort in seeing them again, like maybe, beneath the polished exterior, the Honey he knew was still in there somewhere.

She spotted him quickly, offering a brief nod before making her way to the table. Dieter stood, unsure of how to greet her, but Honey kept it professional, sliding into the chair opposite him and taking in the two drinks on the table. Dieter had already ordered: his usual large iced Americano and her favorite—a large iced Spanish latte with extra ice on the side. Honey blinked, glancing at the cup with a touch of surprise.

“You ordered for me?” she asked, her fingers wrapping around the cup as she stirred the drink, watching the ice swirl.

Dieter shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Still like it with a cup of extra ice, right?”

Honey nodded, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she took a sip. “Yeah. Thanks.” She added some extra ice, shaking the cup lightly as the coffee and ice sloshed around, savoring the familiar taste. Honey couldn’t help but chew on one of the smaller ice cubes, a habit she’d never quite shaken. Dieter watched, chuckling under his breath, and for a split second, it was like they were back to being each other’s hearts, connected in the quiet, simple ways they used to be.

Honey glanced up, catching his smile. “What?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dieter shook his head, unable to hide his amusement. “You still do that.”

She rolled her eyes, the playful annoyance laced with nostalgia. “Yeah, well, some habits die hard.”

They shared a brief, unspoken moment—a flicker of the past between them, a reminder of who they used to be. But the moment faded quickly, and Honey tapped on her tablet, focusing on the business at hand.

Honey glanced up briefly before diving into her agenda. “I’ve made some adjustments to the plan since our last meeting. We’re going to go over the immediate steps today and establish some new boundaries.”

She turned the tablet around, and Dieter’s eyes skimmed the list. Schedules, guidelines, and what felt like a never-ending list of things he couldn’t do. His eyes stopped on the section about volunteer work, and he frowned, sitting back in his chair.

“You’ve got me on a tight leash,” Dieter said, half-joking, half-resentful, his attempt at lightening the mood clashing with his rising frustration.

Honey didn’t miss a beat, her gaze steady. “This isn’t just about controlling your image; it’s about reclaiming it. You’ve let too many people define you. It’s time you take that back.”

Dieter’s jaw tightened as he skimmed the rest. “What’s all this about volunteering? Youth programs, community centers… what, you think me showing up to some soup kitchen is gonna change anything? And no cameras? No paparazzi? I mean, why do it at all if no one’s there to see it? Isn’t that the whole point? To be seen?”

Honey leaned back, studying him calmly as he vented, her fingers tapping lightly on the edge of the table. “I knew you’d say that,” she said, adjusting her glasses, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips. “But that’s where you’re wrong, Dieter. Just because there aren’t professional cameras doesn’t mean there won’t be eyes on you.”

She leaned in, her voice lowering conspiratorially. “Think about it—no staged photoshoots, no publicity stunts. Just you, doing something decent without the whole world watching. You don’t need a professional lens when you’ve got people with phones everywhere. It’s organic. It’s real. And when a regular person posts a picture of Dieter Bravo handing out meals at a shelter or playing soccer with kids at a youth center, it’s authentic in a way that no PR firm can manufacture.”

Dieter blinked, the gears in his head slowly turning as he realized what she was getting at. It was clever, deceptively simple, and it played right into the new kind of attention the public craved—something raw and unfiltered. It was the exact opposite of everything he’d been doing, and it felt dangerous because it was so out of his control. But it made sense.

“So, you’re basically using people’s Instagrams and TikToks to do the PR for us,” Dieter said, his skepticism giving way to reluctant admiration. “It’s kind of genius, actually.”

Honey shrugged, her expression neutral but with a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes. “It’s not about using anyone. It’s about letting them see the parts of you that aren’t scripted. We need people to believe in you again, Dieter. And that starts with you believing it, too.”

Dieter looked at the list again, feeling the weight of her words. There was a part of him that wanted to argue, to push back against the unfamiliarity of it all, but he knew she was right. He’d spent too long hiding behind headlines, letting others write his story. Maybe it was time to try something different, even if it scared the hell out of him.

As the meeting wound down, Honey glanced at her watch. “I’ve got a press release to draft for another client, so I’ll be in touch about your first volunteer gig. Just stick to the plan, Dieter. We’re in the early days here.”

Dieter watched her gather her things, feeling a strange mix of frustration and gratitude bubbling up inside him. “Hey, Honey…” he called as she turned to leave.

She paused, looking back at him with those sharp, familiar eyes behind her glasses.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice quieter now, more genuine than he’d intended. “For still believing there’s hope for me… and my career.”

Honey’s expression softened, the slightest hint of warmth breaking through her professional facade. “Baby steps, Dieter,” she replied, her voice calm but carrying that same blend of challenge and care. “Just one at a time.”

And with that, she walked out, leaving Dieter alone at the table, the weight of the plan sitting heavy on his shoulders. For the first time, it didn’t just feel like a set of rules to keep him in line—it felt like a way back, even if he didn’t quite know where it would lead.

Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

[creative-creatures]

I, for one, would love to hear any MLP Total Drama headcanons you want to share!

Cool! Sorry I'm so late to respond! College is wack...

if anyone is curious: This is the OG post BTW!

I guess a few to start with would be team escope + owen.

I feel Owen would be besties with Pinkie Pie, y'know? Like they would bake together and sing funny lil songs together. Bro would stop by everyday (with a disgruntled Noah in tow) and by one of everything. He might even become the SugarCubes Corner number 1 fanboy! All that aside I think he would also be a pegasus who sometimes bonds with Fluttershy. I feel he’d mostly stick with Pinkie and Cheese but you never know. I think Rarity won't entirely like his manors though. Honestly out of the main cast I think he’d get along with everypony well besides Rarity, and maybe sometimes a jealous Rainbow. His cutie mark would be a stack of pancakes with a heart shaped butter piece on top.

As for Izzy, yeah… she's going anywhere Owen goes. She’d likely get along well with Rainbow too. I feel she would prank the entirety of Ponyville endlessly. I don't believe she would be very popular, maybe sometimes being seen as a villain, due to that. She’d get along with Discord though. Out of the main cast I feel her strongest relationships would be with Rainbow and Pinkie… Flutters might fear her and Applejack might be suspicious of her. I feel she may also just start chaos at random points to see what happens (Ex: blowing up a cottage or smth). I do feel she would drag Eva along as well. She would also be a pegasus with a TNT surrounded with swirls cutie mark.  

Eva is probably also gonna be seen as a bit of a bad guy. Ponies, to my knowledge, are a lot more fragile than the folks of Total drama… and if Eva makes those lads uncomfortable I can only feel remorse for the ponies. Still love Eva though. I think she, along with Noah, would be the only one working so she pays for half of the rent. I believe she would insist on having the groups house on the outskirts of town, something Noah and eventually Izzy would agree to. She would commonly be found near ponies who work out or do anger therapy. Out of the main cast I believe her most stable relationships would be with Applejack, Fluttershy and Starlight. She and Shy could work on therapeutic methods together, She would probably offer to help the Apples often and she would bond with Starlight over their tendencies to lash out. I don't think she’d get along very well with any of the rest besides possibly Twilight and Pinkie. Pinkie is a given since she likes everyone (Except Noah since she cant get him to smile) and Twilight might be intrigued by Eva. The alicorn might attempt to help her reach out and get more comfortable as herself. She would probably work at a gym, as a personal trainer like Iron Will or as a guard. She’d be an earth pony with 3 dumbbells popping out of a bag as a cutie mark. 

Noah being the only other one of the gang to be working would probably spend most of his time doing just that, albeit half-assed. I like to think that he’d work at a library, antique shop, cafe or as a detective. He would spend most of his time to himself, unless dragged out by Izzy or Owen, which might worry Twilight. I feel he and Twilight would have a frienemies relationship with their love of books but different outlooks on life. He would most definitely be seen as a villain by the townsfolk, or at least a untrustworthy guy, which would lead to him and sometimes his friends being outcasted. I think he would shoulder a lot of guilt for that but not try to get better in the belief that he simply can't. I don't think any of the main cast would be patient enough to deal with him besides Applejack. He’d have a small friend group of mostly wackos and bond with the apple farmer over that.  I feel Discord would take an interest in him though…

Tell me if you wanna hear more MLP x TD headcannons!

[isfjmel-phleg]

Who is Elystan?

Today, October 31, is my OC Elystan's birthday.

Bio

Elystan Allister Philimond Talfrin Liddick is the only surviving child of King Talfrin of Corege and his wife Bethira. Just barely surviving, actually--he has a variety of health problems, including severe asthma and a heart condition. For the sake of his health (and to keep this embarrassing fact as much out of the public eye as possible), he has grown up in a separate household from his parents, at a country estate alongside his half-brother Delclis and cared for a full-time live-in nurse who has become more of a mother figure to him than Bethira. Elystan is bright, imaginative, and eager to explore all life's possibilities and someday become the dynamic monarch his father wants him to be, but he's also physically limited, socially isolated, and struggles with his father's inconsistent affection and dismissal.

So he's developed a mixture of denying his illnesses or using them to manipulate, depending on the situation. The combination of being heir to the throne and a semi-invalid who mustn't be upset in any way hasn't been good for him, and he's rather a self-centered, conniving little jerk when introduced.

And then his father unexpectedly is forced to abdicate. The throne goes not to Elystan but to Delclis, and Elystan is left without a title and without his beloved father after Talfrin goes into exile. But before long, Talfrin heads a revolt to retake the throne and enlists Elystan's ready assistance. They do not succeed.

From there, things go from bad to worse for an increasingly embittered Elystan, culminating in a rashly written and treasonous letter that leads his mother to get involved and send him off to boarding school, where he'll be sure to make plenty of friends, stay busy with his studies, and won't be able to cause Delclis any further trouble--won't he?

Why I Love Him

He's probably the least likeable of my main cast. He's a total jerk. He persists in being a total jerk. He wants friends but is horrible to every potential connection. He wants to be loved but is nothing but difficult to his entire family, except his father, who is the worst possible influence. All his attachment figures leave him. He's afraid of death but pretends he isn't. He acts superior but privately hates himself for not living up to the model of vigorous masculinity that his father wants him to be. He thinks he's the smartest person in the room. He usually isn't. He has an active sense of humor and loves the sound of his own voice. He wears ridiculously garish dressing gowns. He's the worst. Maybe he doesn't have to be that forever. Maybe he can grow. Maybe even someone like him can be worth caring about.

Description

For someone so small for his age, Elystan had presence. He was as slight and fragile as if constructed out of paper, but he held his head high, his scissor-snipped features in their narrow face on full display, pale against his black hair. His large blue eyes and the crook of amusement in the corner of his mouth did not seem to belong to the same face. He chattered authoritatively, with no apparent concern for the breathless thinness of his voice and the coughs that often punctuated his sentences. Very few people ever came close enough to notice the faint blueness in his complexion or the dark rims of his eyes, and even fewer had ever caught the times when his carefully trained regal posture slipped into a bent back and high shoulders, as if he were transforming into a question mark.

Further Info

There is a list of random OC facts for him here.

Appearances

In a Nutshell (at age ten)

Curative (also at age ten)

Book 2 Chapter Eight from Elystan’s POV (probably will not remain canon since I need to overhaul this story but I still think his POV here is fun)

Elystan's Infamous Lamplight Letter (shortly before Book 3)

A Visit from the Murderess (shortly before Book 3)

Elystan meets Morstyn Hollock (some point during Book 3)

A Christmas Chapter (Elystan’s POV) (some point during Book 3)

He also has supporting/minor roles in

Seeing the Elephant

A Building Project

Prequel scene for Book 2

Book 2 Chapter Two

Book 2 Chapter Three

Book 2 Chapter Four

Book 2 Chapter Six

Picnic in the Clock Tower

Book 3 Chapter Two

A Christmas Chapter: Tamett's POV

A Christmas Chapter: Josiah's POV