themasqueraderwrites

[themasqueraderwrites]

I LOVE LAKAN SO MUCH ON GODDDDDDD

[themasqueraderwrites]

Maybe I'm not fit to be a mother— I hate everything I create.

[themasqueraderwrites]

Beloved, Bound, Bought

Lakan x reader

(Part 5) (Part 4) (Part 3) (2/2 of Part 2) (1/2 of Part 2) (Part 1)

A/n: Short chapter today—sorry! I’ve been overthinking a lot about this fic. Once it’s finished, I definitely plan to publish another story that mirrors this one, but with more depth in both plot and character development.

I feel like I’ve been so focused on updating consistently that I haven’t done the characters and plot enough justice.

Picture not mine

“There’s a pregnant courtesan,” the old madam stated.

It was barely past dawn—the sun not yet fully risen over the horizon. I yawned, head down, eyes unfocused on the uneven ground.

What does that have to do with me? I thought, still half-asleep. She had dragged me out of bed not even two hours after I returned to the brothel.

“My performance is going to suffer because of this,” I mumbled through another yawn.

She shook her head at my halfhearted complaint. “Are you even listening to what I’m saying?” she snapped, stepping in front of me.

I finally looked up. I’m sure she must’ve been beautiful in her prime, but now she resembled twigs wrapped in skin. I guess love isn’t the only thing that fades.

“I can’t think properly without sleep,” I replied.

“Well, then stop using your brain and start using your ears.”

What an annoying old woman. I had to physically restrain myself from rolling my eyes. I still needed this job. Lack of sleep made me far too honest.

“Like I was saying,” she continued, turning to walk again with me trailing behind, “there’s a pregnant courtesan.”

“What does that have to do with me?” I asked flatly. Is it someone from our house?

“I’m telling you,” she said, glancing over her shoulder, “because I don’t want you to follow in her footsteps.”

Good thing I’m following yours right now, then.

“You’ve been playing with power,” she continued. “And from what I hear… power’s started playing back.”

That made me look up. I stayed silent, but my thoughts were already racing. Where is she going with this?

“You’re clever. That’s rare.” Her tone was unreadable. “Clever girls burn faster—but they shine the brightest.”

That’s the reason I use my brain, not my mouth, when dealing with clients. I’ve never been good at making both work at the same time—words always come out too sharp, or not sharp enough.

After a long pause, she spoke again. “If you’re looking to be owned… Kan Lakan’s a good candidate.”

My eyes narrowed.

“I’ve known a lot of men like him,” she went on. “They do choose. For a few nights. Maybe a month or two in your case.”

We stopped walking at the edge of the garden, where the sun now sat fully in the sky, casting sharp light over the stone path.

“But when they discard you… what will you be then? Just another clever girl without a position? Or a name etched in silk and poetry?”

I swallowed. My chest felt tight in a way I didn’t have words for.

“I think it’s time for you to become a proper courtesan,” she said at last, plain and steady.

Oh.

I’m definitely going to need more sleep after this.

[themasqueraderwrites]

Hiii!! Heres a lil something because I couldn't stay still:

I created lil playlist with songs I had on repeat while writing, so if you're the type to read while listening to music, this is perfect for you!

PLAYLIST

I uploaded Beloved, Bound, Bought on wattpad, so I'd appriciate it truly if you went to vote the story!

HERE

[themasqueraderwrites]

Tempted to post on wattpad

[themasqueraderwrites]

Beloved, Bound, Bought

Lakan x reader

(Part 4) (Part 3) (2/2 of Part 2) (1/2 of Part 2) (Part 1)

Picture not mine

A match without witnesses.

No attendants. No curious eyes. No stray courtesans stumbling out of rooms after their clients. No watchful gaze from the old madam.

This time, he uses his authority to request my presence at his estate. Just me. My eyes remain on the view outside the carriage. We’re getting close—I can tell by how beautiful the scenery is becoming.

If I play my cards right, this will be my home. I must play my cards right.

The scent in the air is different than in the pleasure district, where I grew up. Here, there’s no stench of the ill, no syphilitic walkers, no feeling of unease as I look around. The landscape is breathtaking, as if taken from a painting. This is the kind of place my mother once wished to slave away in—not that wretched district where, night after night, my father would come back smelling of another woman. Courtesan or not, it could’ve been anyone he picked up off the street. I have no idea.

All I know is my mother wasted away—and he didn’t even come to the funeral.

That’s right. Love is fleeting. I am no one’s beloved. Especially not that man’s beloved.

Suddenly, the scenery,though it didn’t change, turns sour. A lump forms in my throat. I lower my gaze to my lap. But if I stay interesting to him for long enough, I might just slither my way into a comfortable life.

I pull a mirror from my robes—a gift from him. Made of glass. Beautiful and breakable. It’s held in a delicate frame, perhaps to ensure it doesn’t graze my skin. Its price is likely higher than any bid I’ll receive from anyone who isn’t Kan Lakan. I look into it carefully, not daring to drop it.

My hair is down, my robes light and unlayered—the way someone dresses only when they’re prepared to walk a fine line between danger and desire. I’d never wear such a thing in the pleasure district. There, I’d let the client undress my heavy robes, let them struggle, and watch as the pins fell from my hair, loosening each careful twist as the night wore on.

The carriage stops in front of an intricately historic building—beautiful enough to be a museum, yet with the quiet comfort of a home. I expected nothing less. He’s waiting inside.

The scent of incense is strong—familiar, almost comforting, as if chosen specifically to make me lower my guard. But I won’t. Not until this estate is as much mine as it is his.

Not until waking up in silk sheets washed by maids—rather than by me—is no longer foreign.

Not until I eat food too rare for the pleasure district.

Not until ice in the heat of summer is normal.

A maid leads me to him. His hair is loosely tied, eyes glittering in the lamplight, following every move I’ve made since I stepped into the room.

The same tension that’s followed us since our first match coils between us now.

“You’re here,” he says softly.

“You called, did you not?”

He motions toward the Go board, already set. And just like that—it begins again.

The game starts quiet, methodical. But underneath, it’s coiled and sharp, every move a question neither of us dares to ask aloud.

He’s not holding back tonight—truly not. It shows. These aren’t the moves of someone merely responding to his opponent’s offense. He plays like he’s already imagined five ways to beat me before I even lift a hand.

And for the first time, against him, in this game—I’m losing.

I glance up once, and he’s already looking at me.

Not with amusement.

Not with triumph.

But with something deeper.

Hunger.

When the final stone falls, I lean back in my seat, my heart pounding.

“Well,” I begin, “I suppose I lose.”

As I shift to get more comfortable, he leans forward. His eyes trace me—slowly. From my hair, to my eyes, down to my hands. They rest, calm and obedient, in my lap. He will find no defiance in me.

When he realizes this, he rises. His seat topples behind him with a loud thud. I see shadows stir just beyond the doors—the guards flinch—but they don’t enter.

I narrow my eyes toward the doorway. What if their master were in danger? I could maim this man and they still wouldn’t step in. That must be their order.

He steps in front of me and lifts his hand to my face, moving me however he pleases. I let him—though my gaze lingers on the door just a second longer before returning to him.

Our eyes meet. Mine drop to his lips, then rise again. Somehow, he gets closer. Now, our noses touch. I can feel his breath—warm, steady. The incense clings to him.

His hands are still on my face, but they set fire in my belly and a shiver down my spine.

His gaze flicks to my lips. Then back to my eyes.

I close the distance.

And finally—finally—our lips meet. My eyes closed and let the feeling take over me.

It’s not gentle.

I feel him kneel before me, our mouths still connected, and pulls me down to the floor with him. His hands move from my face to my neck, then down my sides, and settles on my waist.

My hands slip into his hair. My nails graze his scalp, before tugging softly.

And he let out a sound that can only be described as absolutely sinful, but to hear it again would bring me to heaven.

The kiss isn’t rough. It isn’t rushed.

But it is devastating.

I fear for myself. If this is just a taste, what will I become when he wants more?

He kissed me like he’d been denied any form of pleasure his entire life— and feared that whatever kept him away before, would come back to pull us apart now.

When he finally pulls back, our foreheads touch. His voice is hoarse.

“Now,” he says, “we’re even.”

Even?

I gave him not even a taste, and he gave me tenfold in return.

My eyes open and linger on his lips. My hands fall from his hair to his robes—not to undress him. Not yet.

But to hold him.

I pull him back against me.

And our lips meet again.

[themasqueraderwrites]

Is this even an x reader anymore😭 she(reader) has too much personality

[themasqueraderwrites]

Reading my own fanfiction is basically just a rollercoaster of emotional whiplash.

20% of the time: “Hold on. I wrote this? This is fire. This is emotionally devastating in the best way. This scene is dripping with tension. I’m a literary perfectionist. Someone give me a book deal.”

80% of the time: “Straight to jail. Immediate prison. Why is everyone’s breath hitching?. I used the word ‘gaze’ three times in one paragraph like I was possessed. Did I think 'his eyes darkened' was profound? Why is everyone clenching their jaws? Why is someone whispering 'their name like a prayer' again?? No one talks like this. What is this dialogue. Why are there so many weird metaphors and em-dashes…”

[themasqueraderwrites]

Beloved, Bound, Bought

Lakan x reader

(Part 3) (Part 4) (2/2 of Part 2) (1/2 of Part 2) (Part 1)

Picture not mine

The familiar crease between his eyes is present. The game has only just begun, and the shift in the air is already noticeable.

He was focused now—truly. No more innuendos dropped between moves. The relaxed posture was gone, too. My eyes moved constantly, darting between the board, the pieces, and his face, hoping to catch him slipping.

But he didn’t.

Good. He’s not incompetent in the face of a challenge. If he had quivered and tucked his tail between his legs after making that bold proposal, I would’ve felt twice the fool—more than I already did when I first lost.

I can accept being a fool that falls too fast.

But I can’t be a fool who falls for a buffoon who’s all talk.

He played differently this time. He played like I was a real threat.

Because I am.

And if he didn’t realize that during our first game, then this man is truly an idiot.

He’s not an idiot.

Hopefully.

Probably.

…He can’t be. Right?

When the final move dropped, silence filled the room for a second too long.

Then:

A soft exhale.

From him.

I had won.

Again.

Both of my hands dropped to the table, fingers intertwining and fidgeting. I knew what I wanted.

He sat back, exhaling like he’d been holding something in for hours.

“Well played,” he murmured. I couldn’t tell if he was satisfied with the outcome or not.

I unashamedly studied him for more than a moment—who knew how long I’d get to keep this view to myself?

“You lost. That means I can ask for anything, yes?” I asked lightly, still fidgeting, eyes now fixed on my fingers.

He nodded once before leaning fully on the table, arm propped to support his head.

“Name it.”

I mirrored his position and sighed.

Would I really use this rare opportunity to ask something so... minuscule?

Well, yeah.

I traced the board with my free hand, eyes not quite meeting his. The clock in the corner suddenly seemed louder, like it was timing my hesitation. I sighed again—for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Who were you with before you came here tonight?”

Kan Lakan blinked.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

...Again.

Is he okay?

“Who?” he echoed, tilting his head like he didn’t understand.

Is he serious?

A beat of silence stretched before I found the words again.

“Your scent. You reek—not in a bad way—but it’s like you were smothered by women left, right, and center.”

His expression shifted as realization dawned.

“I went to the perfumer’s district. Bought a blend I thought would appeal to you. Jasmine, amber, and lotus—subtle, but warm. You wore something like it once.”

...Is he serious?

The tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying vanished all at once when I saw that he was, in fact, very, very serious.

I snorted, trying to hold it in, but the moment my eyes landed on him again, I broke. I doubled over, clutching my stomach as laughter spilled out in waves.

Courtesan houses were known for being loud—but not like this. Not from laughter. This was a first.

I knew I was being too loud, but I didn’t care. I felt utterly ridiculous for doubting this man. I never knew someone could be so smart and still be such an idiot.

Wiping the tears from my eyes as the last of my laughter escaped, I looked up—only to find him rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand.

Was that... a pout?

I broke again, doubling over with a hand covering the bottom half of my face. His hand.

Oh, his hands. Another reason to find this man beautiful.

My laughter had stopped now, and my eyes widened at the close proximity.

I looked away.

I can pretend. I can pretend. I can pretend.

He moved so that he was in my line of sight.

I can’t pretend.

Not when his eyes are that captivating. No other man could compare.

I pity my future self—along with the men who will inevitably pay to bed me. No one can compare to Kan Lakan.

This man’s beauty and mind will go to waste if he doesn’t have children of his own. Maybe, just maybe, I could help him in that department.

…What.

Stop.

Snap out of it.

His affections are fleeting. He’ll find a new girl to fixate on when I’m no longer interesting. When he’s finished picking my brain, he’ll leave me—I tell myself.

Then I’ll just have to make sure he can’t leave me—

Stop it.

“Are you okay?” he asked, brows furrowed.

I nodded. Far too enthusiastically.

“You seem too satisfied,” he added.

I grinned.

“I’m making the most of it. I’m not too sure I’ll be satisfied by my clients in the future.”

He sighed, a frown overtaking his lips.

“And if I were to be your only client?” he asked, tilting his head.

…Is he insulting me?

“Do you believe no one will pay for a night with me, Kan Lakan?” I asked sharply.

“I—I didn’t mean to—I didn’t mean it like that, I swear—”

His frown vanished. Lakan’s words tumbled over each other like loose stones, each one more helpless than the last. His hands flailed uselessly in the air, like they could untangle his tongue.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, voice bare, with a defeated face.

I bit my lip, shoulders trembling with the effort not to laugh. I leaned in, until my knee touched his beneath the table.

“No,” Maybe

“That’s what I won,” I continued.

And then— before he could reply— I pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Not seductive. Nor aggressive.

But intentional.

He swallowed. Hard.

I stood. “You said anything, Lakan. That was mine.”

As I stood up, getting ready to go, he reached out— fingers brushing mine once, like a man who didn’t want to let go.

“Next game,” he murmured, “I’m winning.”

I smiled down at the floor, back already facing him.

“Then I’ll be expecting you” I mused.

–

And Lakan will return, plans for the next game already forming in his mind—alongside the quiet question of whether he gave her something she truly wanted.

[themasqueraderwrites]

Beloved, bound, bought

Lakan x reader

(2/2 of part 2) (Part 4) (Part 3) (1/2 of Part 2) (Part 1)

More parts to come!(like, a lot a lot)

Picture not mine

I can’t remember much after that.

Maybe I lost the game to a mind no better than average… but at least I didn’t lose him.

Kan Lakan—this man had me entranced even before we exchanged words. And for the first time, because of him, business wasn’t just business. I long to be the only one he seeks out here. I’ll do anything. Shogi? I can learn. Go? Easy. Chess? That’s second nature.

And if he were to ask me for the kind of service expected of a courtesan… I’m not sure I could hold my boundaries. I’d let him take me—completely—until there was nothing left. Let him ruin me, strip away every piece of who I am. And still, I’d worry he wouldn’t want the crumbs that remained.

Tonight, he paid for a private exchange between us. Unlike before, when we played out in the open, our thoughts were a secret to all that hovered around us—except for each other. The full moon marked the first night it was just the two of us, the usual hovering nobles and courtesans dismissed.

Just the two of us. Inside the room that I had so worriedly thought he would take another courtesan in. The screen windows shut, though the whispers of the wind could still be heard, unrelenting and strong.

He watched before, as I lost to that simpleminded nobleman. I looked up at him after the loss had sunk in. I looked at him as if I needed him to decide what I am now.

Pathetic.

That’s probably what I looked like to him. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to even imagine him saying that to me. And I was sure that if he did say such a thing to my face, it would be during the act of something inappropriate, not because I lost to a person who wasn’t him.

I snapped out of my thoughts. The man in front of me had his sleeves rolled just enough to look casual, but not careless.

“Again, you’ve boxed me in. Is this your doing… or did I let it happen?” He broke the silence, eyes still on the piece of wood.

I faintly smiled—not at him, but at the board. I hesitantly responded, “I suppose you let it happen. Though I won’t apologize for winning.”

He lifted a stone to the light, one eye squinting as he laughed quietly. “Hah. A courtesan-in-training who plays Go better than me. What a terrifying thing you are. They should warn the officials.” He took another stone with his other hand, tapping it on the table with his free hand.

My eyes finally made their way to his face.

“…I thought you'd grown bored of me.”

His reaction was delayed—the rhythm of the stone in his hands faltered, missed a beat, then stopped entirely. A moment later, his head snapped toward me, as if my words had only just registered.

“Bored?”

I replied with a hum as I took my next move.

“You smelled different… sweet.”

He hadn’t made his move. I waited a second, then another, and another. I looked up at him and sighed; he was already looking at me.

“You don’t have to expl—”

He cut me off.

“Bored? Of you?” His eyes wide, mouth slightly agape.

I sighed as I urged him to take his next move, yet he didn’t. I sighed again.

“I thought maybe you’d had your fill—of games, of talk, of me.” I started, followed by a bitter laugh. “You came back with a pouch full of silver, more silver needed to buy my time for the night. Spoke to the matron. Didn’t even glance my way. I thought you were buying time with someone else.”

Bitter—that’s what I was, and I shouldn’t be. Business is business, after all. It shouldn’t have mattered. This is dangerous. Not because he will kill me, but because of the fact that he could leave and I’d be as good as a dead man walking.

I can still hang on. I can still change this situation. I can deny myself this, lie to myself and him, that I truly only cared for the experience of being on an even playing field with someone—for the first time. Ever. I can lie again, that I only cared for the silver that he could offer.

Yes. I could do this. I have been wearing a mask ever since I came to this place; I can lie again. I can lie and pretend that I don’t care for those eyes, those hands, that voice, and that wonderful mind.

The silence was loud. Then, finally, his hand made a move on the board and he let out a sigh—one deeper than mine. As if this was the biggest problem he had encountered in a while.

“And yet, here you are. Sitting across from me.”

As our first game ended, he sat up straighter and made a proposal.

“Let’s wager something,” he said, as he fixed the board, eyes focused but looking up at me every now and then.

I raised my eyebrows, pausing my movement of helping him before replying.

“Wager?”

He hummed.

“If I win,” he said, taking the stone in my hand and placing it back into the jar, “you’ll give me anything I ask for.”

My breath caught, just a little.

“And if I win? …Again.”

He leaned forward slightly—just enough that his voice dropped to a private register.

“Then, I’ll give you anything you ask for. No hesitation.”

Suddenly, my resolve crumbled. I didn’t want to change this situation. Let him have me. Let him ruin me, and if he won’t, I’ll do it myself.

If it means having him.

This is the most dangerous promise I could ever be offered.

And I wanted it.

“Deal.”

[themasqueraderwrites]

Tempted to write a fanfic for every la clan member.....

[themasqueraderwrites]

Beloved, Bound, Bought

Lakan x reader

(1/2 of Part 2) (Part 4) (Part 3) (2/2 of Part 2) (Part 1)

Picture not mine

It’s been five days. Each and every day, he would show up without fail.

I was playing against another customer,one who had enough silver in order to look, but not enough to touch. And quite frankly, given his horrible play, I don’t think he’s proficient when it comes to the other services we offer as well.

One of the others would, like clockwork, whisper to me “He’s here, again.”

Kan Lakan has returned five nights in a row. And now, it is simply routine. He would enter, watch me destroy whatever dignity a previous customer had, and once the previous occupant would inevitably leave with his head down, take the seat across from mine. And just like always, he would sit with a foot on his other knee, his maddeningly calm expression always there as if he isn’t here to win— but to watch me try.

Tonight, though, was different.

Tonight, he came with enough silver to make the old madam's eyes gleam. After surveying the room, her eyes landed on me, and I watched their exchange curiously. “Has he tired himself of me already?”

Right as I turned back around to focus on the one currently in front of me, another courtesan was called on by the madam.

I braced myself for the worse. Ready to tune out whatever it is the madam would tell her to do, not turning my head from the board currently in front of me. But in my peripheral vision, I see that same courtesan walking near my direction. And instead of being comforted by the fact that the man I have only started getting used to is not immediately whisking her away to another private room, to do what only God knows what, I panic more.

My body goes rigid, a lump forms in my throat and the excess skin that ripples on my finger finds its way between my teeth. Is this it? Is he finally showing the perverted side he was hiding all along? Is that why he brought so much silver? I’m not a courtesan, yet. There’s no need for such things. Oh God, is he asking for more than one courtesan? Is that why he brought so much?

He stays.

No, he doesn’t, he comes closer to the table where I am.

And the courtesan leaves to another room, a private chambers, reserved for only the high paying customers. And I continue to spiral. I have a mind that rivals everyones in this building, against the old hag? I win. Against apprentices? Easy! Even against seasoned courtesans, whose appeal lay on their ability to belittle the minds of their master for the night, I still win. Even against that man, Kan Lakan, master strategist of our empire, I easily won.

Sure, I may not have the biggest assets, but my charm lies elsewhere. Is that why he grew tired of me? If it is, then he is dimmer than I thought, and isn’t worth my thoughts.

But I just can’t stop!

My foot starts to drum against the wooden floors, the incense burning near begins to feel too overwhelming, the smell harsh, the smoke too thick. The voices of women and men begin to mush together, but it’s almost as if I can understand each and every word.

Sex, money, sex, money

Business is business…right?

It’s all the same, it should be mundane, I've lived like this for a while, it never bothered me, until now. My finger begins to create a rhythm of its own on the table, and I lean on my arm while the other continues to make moves in between tapping.

And he gets closer and closer to me.

Maybe it’s just the room beginning to feel like it’s closing in on me, but I can smell his scent, a faint smell of sandalwood incense lingering on his robes along with an odd sweetness that I can’t quite place. Is that the scent of another woman?

The game in front of me continues like normal, it remains easy, this man's moves make a weak offense, and leaves an even weaker defense. But the scent of the man I long for—the one who should be sitting across from me—is overwhelming. Not enough to make me lose control, but enough to leave me breathless. I look around once more, and Kan Lakan has gotten impossibly closer to where I sit. His eyes are open and he looks at me, really looks at me, from my face, to my hands, to my thumping foot.

I look around once more, needing to find a distraction from the deep blue that threatens to swallow me whole.

I would let him.

Was there always this many azure items here? A vase in the corner, one that holds the same shade as his eyes. The paint on the walls, though green in daylight, under the dim moon, appears to mock the color in his iris. Not deep enough to match, but not far off enough for me to not consider it a close match. The drinks in the courtesans hands, the cups on the table, and an old perverts robes. I turn my gaze away from all of them. No one is worthy of wearing that color, it appears as if they are mocking the beauty of the beholder. And as I fully turn away from them all, my eyes make their way back into his.

Only for a second, as I finally acknowledge my loss on the board.

…A loss?

What.

My first loss.

It was easy…what happened?

[themasqueraderwrites]

Beloved, Bound, Bought

Lakan x reader

(Part 1) (Part 4) (Part 3) (2/2 of Part 2) (1/2 of Part 2)

Picture not mine

Not just yet

I wasn't supposed to be seen yet.

I wasn't supposed to garner attention yet. I wasn't supposed to gain anyones attention , especially not the attention of someone so high ranking.

The crinkle between his eyes was one of the first features I noticed about him, I forgot it was never meant to stay, like him.

When I first saw him, his fingers were already on a board, already seated across from another courtesan, one older than I, yet I hold no doubt that my mind is much brighter.

Because as she continued to make her moves, he continued to keep his eyes closed, as if she wasn’t even worth the effort of looking at. He’s here every other day or so,older than me, but with a mind so sharp, age just becomes such a miniscule thing to worry about. I imagine the discussions we could have together, though I never approached.

Until now.

I am not a courtesan by any means, not because I am too young or too unappealing. No, if anything, the madam is keeping me as an apprentice to entice men to come back the next day, in order to see if I am the new product on the shelf, to see if they can afford my price.

Though, the man I wish would be enticed by me, seems to only hold affections for a board and pieces.

Another round gone, it went as all the onlookers, me included, expected. As he went to take a sip of his drink, I decided I’d had enough of simply watching. Every move that the courtesan made, I’d think of a different approach, and everytime he retaliated, I’d gain more knowledge. Oh, how much I could gain from just an hour with him.

And now, here we are, I look up, snapped out of my thoughts, to see that his eyes are now open, though the familiar crease between them has yet to cease. He sits with one foot resting on his other knee, not fidgeting, but clearly thinking.

The hour passes, and I win.

A surprise even to myself, maybe he was going easy as it was the first match he played against me? Though if that were the case, I would take it as an insult, why bother being called great if your opponent didn’t give his all.

“Again,” he said, that's the first thing he has ever said to me. If I were a true courtesan, that would be said in a completely different context.

When I sat down across from him, that was not only the first time I got in close proximity with him, but also the first time I truly acknowledged HIM. I was too entranced by his mind and his skills that I didn't bother to look at him past that.

And now, I was given another reason to be entranced by this man. His eyes held surprise, at first, they went from every feature on my face. As if it was the first time he had ever seen a person before and was trying to memorize every little detail, as if I would slip away. Under the flattering lights of the courtesan house, those eyes looked criminally encapsulating .

He moved his eyeglass from one eye to the other as he says once more, “again”

A fellow apprentice approached to relieve us from the used board and pieces, after, she placed another one, and had us choose which color we would use to destroy the other with.

“Again?” I echoed with a smile. The man I’ve been longing for, not just in a physical sense, though I would not be against being bought out by such a man, if I were to become an official courtesan. I longed for this man to be across from me, not beside me,not on top or below me, but as an equal, where we would challenge each other. Before, I could only hope that I am as sharp as I prided myself to be in my mind whenever he would play against another woman.

“You’re enjoying losing, then?” I ask as I reach for the color of my choosing.

Kan Lakan’s eyes gleamed, his mouth curving like a man about to lie and would enjoy doing it. “Not enjoying losing.. just enjoying you”

The crowd that surrounded us, consisting of a few noblemen who are here, most probably despite their wives discontent, and a few apprentices. Most stifled their chuckles as I politely smiled back at the man in front of me.

“I was told that you never lose,” I say, tilting my head to the side. “Either you’re slipping…or I’m better than you expected”

He leaned forward— an elbow on the table now, to match the foot on his knee. “You heard? Or you saw?” He responded lazily with a smirk that could make me fall on my knees, I silently thank the fact that Go is played while sitting down.

He retreats farther in his seat, removing the elbow from the table. “I don’t mind losing, if it means I get to watch someone this beautiful outplay me”

I raise a brow. “Flattery won’t distract me, Lakan”

Maybe my way of talking to this man crossed boundaries that I had no idea about, but nevertheless, he didn’t correct me.

==

I had no idea why he kept inviting me back. Or maybe I did.

He didn’t ask about my background. Didn’t question my presence. He simply played. And talked. Oh, how I adored the way he would speak, or maybe it was his mind that formulates retorts faster than I can breathe. I never knew until now that there was a way to touch a person without the contact of skin. I feel his eyes on me— as if he were trying to solve a puzzle that no one else even realised existed.

“You’re not a courtesan,” he said after my seventh victory.

“No,” I replied, too quiet, as I collected stones from the board. “And I don’t think I will be one for a while,” I continue to say as I sneak a peek at him, then at the Madam who watched us with hawkeyes, probably thinking of how much money she can squeeze out of the man in front of me if I were to become a proper courtesan.

“Or maybe I’m wrong” I say as I turn my head back down to the board.

“It’s a pity if you are correct.” He replies faintly.

“Why?” I asked, arching a brow, keeping my eyes on the board.

“Because,” he said, voice low, “if you were…I’d already have bought every night you had.”

I blinked. Heat coiled low in my spine. But I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Instead, I placed a new bowl of stones gently in front of him, not lifting my eyes from the board just yet and murmured, “Then it’s a good thing I’m not for sale.” Because if I was one currently, then I’d just be another face in the crowd that he could choose from. I want to be more than that, I want to be the only reason he keeps coming back, no one else.

His hand brushed mine— not by accident.

I finally looked up, yet his gaze didn’t waver.

“Then tell me,” he whispered, “what would I have to offer to make you break your rules?”

I stared at the unfathomable man in front of me, breathless for a second.

And then said, “Try winning a game first.”

[themasqueraderwrites]

Even if the gods ask for you, I will never give you back

[themasqueraderwrites]

[themasqueraderwrites]

i attract love ෆ i attract positivity ෆ i attract good energy ෆ i attract money ෆ i attract success ෆ i attract amazing opportunities ෆ i attract supportive friends ෆ i attract good luck always

[themasqueraderwrites]

When I'm imagining an angst scenario in my head and I accidentally hurt my own feelings in the process.