We can meet again somewhere, Grace
Project Hail Mary fanfic
Let me present you with Afterlife AU in which Grace is a fox in unfamiliar yet familiar world. Completely lost but hears a beckoning sound.
After watching Project Hail Mary I was just too overwhelmed by how much I loved Grace and Rocky. Wanted them to be happy together forever, one way or another. And since their life span is so different and I'm not the biggest brain with science, I leaped straight into the limbo in afterlife.
Sorry, I promise it's gentle... ish.
I'm new to this Andy Weir's masterpiece and based all purely on the movie and wonderful fanon that this community has come up with. So if something is amiss, I'm sorry.
Adrian's appearance being one.
But yeah, tried to cram in as much references as I could.
Thank you @Lucianhuntress for supervising this wreck of a journey.
Same thing in AO3
A series of chittering scrapes echoes. It starts higher before turning lower and then repeating the pattern. At first, it reminds me of a woodpecker working on a tree trunk, but the rhythm rises and falls in a way no bird would. Then a sound. Notes that I can't place or make sense of. But it feels too familiar. As if meant for me.
The sound lingers before fading slowly as though reluctant to let go.
Then silence.
As I wake up, or come back to awareness, the surroundings seem empty but at the same time so loud. My ears perk up first, catching up on the hum of the life that surrounds me. I’m in a forest. Deep in a dense forest with trees so big that their foliage covers any possible sky, leaving rare openings for stray rays of lights to peek in between. It isn’t cold but I can’t say I feel comfortable even with my copper fur. As I lift my head and look around it seems that I’m alone. I stand myself on my all fours, shaking off the sleep and stretching my limbs all the way to the white tip of my tail. With that down I look around myself more closely.
I have woken at the roots of one of countless grand trees. Looking around they seem to repeat themselves without giving me any clue of direction. It is shaded but not dark. As I pointlessly try to look around myself, trying to catch any clue of where and why, my ear twitches at a faint sound of a branch breaking somewhere above me. Not a second later, the said branch hits a ground not a few trees away. The fur on my back stands up involuntarily as I frantically try to look up to see what or who has caused it. Sadly I can’t make out anything. With my tail tightly pressed down by hinds I try to approach the spot to see if the branch was there. That I didn’t just imagine it as a delayed leftover of a dream. But I hear a new break instead. This time on the grown level.
Someway behind me.
I instantly jump around, taking a sturdier stance. Paws and claws digging in the soft flora covered ground. Snarling, exposing my teeth to possible threats. But my boast is short-lived as I come more and more aware of other animals around me. The breathings, the shadows, the pairs of gleaming eyes that stare back at me. All threatening. All overpowering.
I’m not alone here.
Yet I’m on my own.
I let my stance drop to submissive one, tail back to the ground, ears folded against my head. Hoping that this would be enough. I’m about to lower my body back against the ground in total surrender when a deep growl echoes towards me. At that point I abandon any hope of a peace treaty and bolt in the opposite way from where I heard the closest sound. The second I sprint away, the others follow.
Some footfalls land heavier than mine, shaking the ground with each stride, while others match my own light rhythm. I swear I could even hear the flap of the wings. But there is no chance to take a look behind or above. Only forward. Only to get away.
I pour everything into my sprint! With each passed tree my tempo sharpens and what was first a frantic dodging became more fluid weaving between towering trees and dense thickets. The rhythmic thud of my paws hitting the ground, breaking and throwing dirt in the air behind me gets faster and faster, but is getting outrun by my own heart beat that I feel ringing in my ears. It is warming me up. It is getting hot. I let the tongue lull out of my mouth as I keep the frantic breathing as even as I can. Where am I running to? I have no clue. But it’s clear that it is not safe to stay. So anywhere else would be better.
I try to change direction, hoping desperately to find a place to hide when a sharp pain tears through my left hind leg. A bite. Someone bit me! Ignoring the pain I adjust my course away from the other animal. It doesn’t take long for a bird to dive from above and dig its talons into my hide, scratching me. I let out a yip, more from startle than pain. At this point I’m in too much panic to register the latter. It dawns on me that they are able to catch on to me easily. This is all just a thrill of a chase for them. A game. And I’m the prey.
Why me?
I feel like crying, or screaming but I’m even more afraid of what they will do once I give up. So instead I just run faster. Fast enough that branches that hit me, the bleeding paw and burn in my lungs don’t affect me.
I just want this to end!
As the tears escape my eyes, blown down my face by the wind from the run, I see a light in front of me. Something else but more trees peeking in the tree line ahead. And without anything to lose I head towards it, praying that the predators behind me won’t try to throw me off the said course.
With the goal visible, so close, the steps become agony. Trying to push myself there with all the might that I might not even have. Just away. Just to possible safety.
I finally break the tree line and the ground under my pawns turns into boulders. The light I saw was not light but thick white fog that is bright in comparison to where I came from. The new space is completely empty without any vegetation, so dash turns into hopping from one stone to another. After a few leaps I realize I don’t hear the chase anymore and finally dare to slow down, coming to a stop on a slightly higher boulder.
I turn around and true to my instincts, other animals haven’t left the forest. The forest itself ends up abruptly where the rocks start, creating a vision of a massive wall of dark brown and green. From where I stand I’m not sure there is any entrance or exit. The fog is dense enough that even from this small distance the colors are slightly muted. With dumb braveness I reach back towards the tree line, maybe to see any of the chasers. Why would I want to see them? To rub it into their faces?
I bark towards the trees, my own echo bouncing back towards me quickly. I wait for any type of response, shaking at fear that someone would bite at the taunt and come out after all. But no. There is no response. I sit with it for a moment as a thought sinks in.
Maybe they weren’t hunting me… but chasing away?
I bark again, this time I sound more desperate. I am a fox. Forest is where I belong too? Why can’t I stay like other animals? Have I done something? All I remember is just waking up!
My third bark is more of a yap, more sad.
Answer me!
I approach in hope of entering the forest again but after stepping on the second boulder a sharp bark stops me. It’s similar to me, a fox one.
The message is clear. They see me. I’m not welcomed. I have no way back.
My tail, ears - whole posture drops as it sinks in. I really am now alone. I let the dread and sadness wash over me. Out of breathiness switches into sobs. The whole ordeal crashes down on me as immediate danger is over but fear of the unknown looms over me. Not having any heart to look at the betrayal of a home I drag myself towards the closest higher boulder, its peak sharper and not climbable. Walking around it I plop my body down, pulling my hind legs closer to lick the bite wound from the chase. Surprisingly, there isn’t much to nurse even though I swear I still feel the pain from the fangs. With a deep sigh I rest my head on my paw and tuck my tail as close as I can to myself. Stupidly hoping it would hide me. But all it can do is to cover my shameful tears that exhaust me enough to fall asleep again.
___
A series of chittering scrapes. Fading familiar notes.
When I wake up again, I’m at the very same rock. Not sure how long I have been out but it takes me a few blinks to realize it is not my vision that is blurry, but the fog. The crust from dried tears is short lived as I blink it away and unenthusiastically get back up. Peeking behind the tall rock reveals still the same, unapologetic grand forest but this time I don’t dare to approach it.
Instead I look the other way, towards what seems like never ending whiteness. All I see are the rocks. Bigger and small. Uneven and with smooth surfaces. When I look down under my paws, more closely, I see that the rock I’m sitting at isn’t your ordinary rock I would see in the forest. It isn’t sharp, neither is it smooth as one polished by water. More as if well worn out. There are lines, some straight, some curvy. At times crossing each other.
And dots!
I bring my face closer, snout almost touching the surface while inspecting all of the carvings. It is at that moment that I see a color difference in one of the circles. The rock itself is of a darker side, but then there is a sudden pop of a clear sandy color. How interesting. It looks so nice, even pretty. It seems that one patch has opened my eyes, because suddenly I can spot the same sandy color all over the boulder. I spin around myself trying to find if I missed any other interesting patterns just to hit the still tall standing greater rock. Coming face to face with it I stare at the same type of patterns again. But the rare splashes of colors are reversed with the neighbouring rock that I'm perched on. I do a few double takes to make sure the colors really match. And they do, which is fascinating.
Before I get a chance to start exploring other rocks around me, my ear picks up on a barely audible sound. I swear it’s the same one I have heard before! It is quick to fade away but I do think I managed to pick up on its direction? Maybe. Because the direction I’m staring at is opposite to the forest.
I’m staring into a never ending fog, and it is unsettling.
I take a step on the next rock in said direction but hesitate with the next one. Paw hanging in the air mid step. Why would I want to go towards it? Didn’t the chase from the forest teach me anything? I can’t be stupid enough to be lured in by yet another danger. This time however I don’t even know what could be waiting for me there.
What if I just imagined the sound too? I bark into white emptiness and unlike last time there is no echo that bounces back. It has nothing to do so from. My voice gets eaten by a vast emptiness of an endless field of rocks. Without echo. Without an answer.
Doubt takes a proper root in me. As the coward that I clearly am, I take my step back and sit again against the tall boulder. It’s not worth the risk. Here at the border of two biomes I at least have a choice. But if I go into the unknown there is no way for me to find my way back. I will be completely lost at that point.
As the decision was settled in, the same sound carries itself again. The same melodic notes! I could swear I hear it as if it is doubled? Sung by two instead of one. I can’t help but jump this time taking a few leaps towards it instinctively. As if pulled by it. The sound fades away once again but this time I'm sure it was there! My heart swells leaving a pain of longing in my chest that I can’t explain. I want to go towards that sound. I want to hear more of it. It isn’t hostile, nor is it a scream or a warning. It is more like…
A call.
<Grace.>
And so I run. Before the fear or suspicion can creep back in. Before I can question myself for yet another time. Before I realize that the forest behind me has now become just white fog and the way back is gone.
Before I forget the direction of the sound... No, where the voice came from.
I run because it is beckoning me to come home.
___
I have no clue for how long or how far I have been running. Hours? Days? Maybe weeks? It doesn’t occur to me to keep count but it also doesn’t matter. I just keep going, hopping at this empty beach, how I like to call it now. Secretly I hope to find water. It would be nice. The hunger or thirst have yet to disrupt me even once. I have stopped more times than I can count whenever a particularly interesting boulder catches my eye. And boy, there are a lot of them!
There is no end to them, all having different colors, shapes and sizes. All of them are unique with their own patterns and at most of the times - pairs. That is the best explanation I can come up with when boulders have pieces intertwining colors. There is another pattern, too. The same colored rocks always come in clusters. Usually, there's one large boulder in the middle with smaller ones clustered around it. Sometimes the central one is so massive that even the smaller stones are enormous, piled high enough to form little caves beneath them.
Those are my favorites. Potential dens for me!
The so-called surrounding rocks usually have the most interesting markings on them so I easily end up with my tail up leaning down to have the closest possible look. Good thing there's nobody around to witness the spectacle I'm making of myself.
Whenever I make one of those stops I tend to lose direction. But now all I have to do is let out a loud bark into the fog and it doesn't take long for the sound to answer me back. Just like now.
<Grace.> A curt note echoes back.
I yip back gratefully knowing that there won’t be a response and back I am on my ‘mary’ way! Though I swear this one sounded louder. As if closer. I don’t dare to get my hopes up even if my heart flutters harder for a beat.
Somehow it hasn’t really occurred to me to wonder, what is at the end of that sound? I shake my head, surprisingly not causing myself to misstep in the process. Whatever it is, it knows me. And at this point it's a better option than nothing.
___
I was right about the sound getting louder because I swear that fog is getting thinner too. I have been seeing much further boulders for quite some time now. It's not much, but it's something. More importantly, I'm getting somewhere. Eventually I hope at least. And with that thought still distracting me I almost miss a really familiar sound. No, not the one calling me. But the one I for some reason can tell right away that I love.
A quiet swish… A water lazily hitting on rocks and retreating back.
This is a beach after all!
I don't let myself divert. still heading where I’m called. But now my steps feel even lighter as I joyfully challenge myself to hop on even higher boulders, hoping to see just a little further. Gosh, I’m really impatient aren't I? If things progress in the same way as they have so far I’m sure I will eventually see water. But if I manage it just a little bit sooner… That would be awesome.
So I keep going. Every so often, the fog lets me hear another surf. And for reasons, I can't explain why, I'm certain that two of the best sounds I've heard here are coming from somewhere up ahead.
___
Once more, the passage of time fails to register with me. At some point, I realize I'm no longer heading into endless whiteness. It has become dark, and yet I see everything clearly.
I look up.
Everything…
I come to a stop as I understand that I’m gazed down by an endless amount of stars from above. So many, so bright against the black sky. Suddenly I’m overwhelmed, a breath caught in my throat. I feel small, like a spec of dust. Even less than that. The boulders under me stay strong, keeping me from falling even lower. While in fog I saw too little, now I feel like I see too much and can’t decide which is scarier.
The stars, some brighter, some dimmer pulse beautifully, none hurting my eyes. Illuminating. After giving myself a moment, the panic in my body steps back. Somehow they remind me of the boulders of the beach. They are many, they are stoic, yet in a way… they support me. This odyssey of mine. As ludicrous as that doesn't sound.
The calming echo of waves has become more defined and also ground me nicely. So with reassured bravery, I look up once again. More ready. More steady. With eyes now more adjusted to the vastness of the sky I pick up a pop of color, just like I did with boulders.
A red line.
It stretches across the sky directly above, continuing the way I was pretty sure heading. And so I follow it. Because, somehow, it feels like this thing ties everything together. As I pick up the pace, on instinct I let out a bark and the answer echoes back almost instantly. A tear dreads to collect itself at the corner of my eye as I understand that I’m close. I’m almost there.
I push forward, more desperate than ever, silently begging my paws to carry me just a little faster. I bark again and the answer comes back at once. They know I'm close. Somehow, I'm sure of it. At some point my own barks start echoing. Water.
A shoreline emerges on my left side, dark as the sky above. If it weren’t for occasional lazy waves it would look as if the blackness of the sky has taken over the ground too. Edge of the cosmos. A fresh rush of excitement runs through me but I can’t let it take over me. I barely spare the view a glance. The shoreline can wait. Whoever is calling me can't.
Yet again I go, follow the red thread in the sky, it being the trusty guide. I keep my voice to myself, fearing that I might over use it with constant barking. In my mind however I keep repeating I’m close. Almost there. Like a mantra. Though there is no question in that anymore. The doubt is gone. It isn't long before the red thread starts bending downward towards the dark edge. As if reaching its end even though it is still far away and most likely forever unreachable for me. But when in my view it finally seems to dive beyond the horizon I stop. The view is breathtaking. For a second I can’t help but admire it.
The voice reaches me, pulling me out of my thoughts. For the first time since my break down at the forest’s tree line it called for me first! Not as an answer for my plea. And gosh, it is close because… It’s not the echo that reaches me, but the direct notes. I take a few steps and almost forget to bark back. Real classy of me.
In front of me one of the boulders towers clearly taller than others, and its color is almost surreal. The rock is a mix of blue and green. Turquoise? Or cyan. Or teal. Can’t say as I have never been greatest with differentiating colors by names. Certainly around that spectrum. Whatever it is, it reminds me of ridiculously clear lake water and polished glass. But the thing is solid, and no light comes through it. As I approach it a way of nostalgia wash through me, pushing away all the unpleasant feelings that have been gnawing on me through all the time I have been here. Suddenly I’m exhausted, all the miles catching up on me.
<Grace>, comes the voice. I approach, walking around the pretty colored boulder just to find its cluster of smaller rocks creating a small cave.
It isn’t however what called my name.
I hop on a neighboring boulder with a flat surface. Its comfortable warmth welcomes me, seeping into my tired paws as if begging me to relax. It is darker, of warm earth brown with small specks of the teal. Companion of the massive rock. Yet regardless of that, I don’t feel like being the odd one out with them. As suddenly, we are complete. I plop myself down on the rock and let out a quiet chirp. The rock doesn’t call back, but I swear I feel him… Him? Yeah him, vibrate back, as if humming or purring. The bigger pretty boulder does the same and I can’t help but cry.
It is happy crying. Finally a place for me. My rock. My home.
All the things that I had to run, hop and dash through, suffer through, suddenly felt so worth it. Clearly I don’t need much for complete happiness. Being at the possible edge of the world, resonating with two boulders out of the billions… I am finally at peace.
Nothing can take this away from me.
Not being able to do much with myself I roll on my back and to the other side, trying to get all over my rock, to mark it with my scent. I feel him chuckle at me and I don’t care. Let me have my moment. The warmth of him feels like a hug. And I know, if I’m to go into my den that massive boulder so generously provides, I would get another even tighter embrace. I wish I could do the same for them.
At a loss of better options I give the rock under me an affectionate lick. An attempt at grooming him. Nuzzling myself to it in a futile attempt of being just a little clearer just how much they mean to me. The surface is clear of any dirt, mildly salty if anything. I feel rather silly when the hum comes. It almost sounds… pleased? A chuckle like yip escapes me. I guess he understood.
A lower note purrs. The call from the bigger rocks is inviting so I don’t fight it and drag myself in the small cave. I make sure to give its wall an equally affectionate nuzzle before settling against its protective walls. Another soft vibration travels through the rock and into my chest. Slow. Steady. Content. It is perfect.
A yawn escapes me as sleep is clearly creeping on me. I let it as I have nothing to fear.
I press myself into the warmth and close my eyes. I have my rock. I have my den. I have home. I can rest.
Ashveil x Reader: #45: “I wouldn’t mind an excuse to see you again.”
Thank you @vizell for helping me come up with the setting for this one, my brain really refused to work with Ashveil, but at least I wrote... yeah. It got long by accident once more. I swear I can't write short drabbles this summer it seems.
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The front desk at the headquarters of the Department of Aberration Defense rarely knew a moment of peace. From the second the doors opened each morning, a steady stream of people queued for assistance, to the point where their faces barely registered anymore.
Someone always needed help filling out paperwork. Someone had misplaced a report. Someone needed access to the archives. Between retrieving old case files, brewing fresh coffee for the staff, and calming anxious visitors waiting for their turn, your days blurred together into an endless cycle of paperwork and polite smiles.
So when a man in a white sleeveless coat, fedora, and cane approached your desk, slid an identification card toward you, and requested access to archived files, you didn't spend more than a fleeting moment appreciating his handsome features.
Besides, it would've been inappropriate. Probably.
"Case number?" you asked, keeping your tone politely neutral while already wondering when you'd be able to sneak away for your next break.
"I believe it was..." He frowned thoughtfully, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Twenty-eight seventy-six... F? Or was it C?" He let out a weary sigh before snapping his fingers. "No. Seventy-seven F."
You typed the information into your computer, verifying the request.
"Mister Ashveil of the Ashen Detective Agency?" you asked, making sure everything was in order before handing sensitive files over to a complete stranger.
"That's me," he replied with an easy chuckle, his gaze lazily wandering around the lobby.
"Everything checks out." You stood from your chair. "I'll retrieve the files. Please have a seat while you wait." His eyes drifted toward the coffee station tucked into the corner of the lobby. "You're also welcome to help yourself to some coffee."
The offer earned you an appreciative smile. It seemed Mister Ashveil was incapable of refusing a free cup of coffee.
By the time you returned from the archives carrying the requested file, he'd already poured himself a cup and made himself quite comfortable in one of the waiting chairs. The case was still ongoing, but his authorization was genuine. He was evidently collaborating with the Department's investigators.
Eager to move on to the next person in line, you handed him the case file, wished him a pleasant day, and almost immediately forgot about the private detective.
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A few days later, you found yourself assigned to the reception desk once again.
You didn't realize you'd seen him before, not until he slid his identification card across the counter with his metallic, nail-pierced hand.
"Mister... Ashveil of the Ashen Detective Agency?" you read aloud as you entered his information into the system, noticing it had only been a few days since his last visit. He certainly stood out, even among the imagenae and that was an accomplishment in itself.
"Yes..." he hummed, leaning casually against the counter. Then he fell silent for just a moment. His eyes lingered on your face a little longer than they had the last time. Maybe it was simply a detective's habit and he was trying to read you. "Case forty-two B."
You entered the case number. "It's still ongoing..." you murmured to yourself before spotting Miss Kuchiba's authorization attached to the request. "Looks like everything checks out."
The detective straightened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
You nodded toward the self-serve coffee station. "Coffee's over there."
His eyes widened slightly before an honest, surprised chuckle escaped him. You offered him a polite, reassuring smile before stepping away from the front desk to retrieve the requested file.
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A week passed.
You'd forgotten about the mysterious detective once again… Until he appeared at your desk. As casually as before, he slid his identification card across the counter while in his other hand, he was holding a banana.
You quirked an eyebrow at the fruit but quickly decided that whatever the banana was for… was none of your business. "Case number?" you asked, already knowing why the detective had come.
"Efficient," he laughed softly, a hint of pleasant surprise coloring his voice. "I think it was... 145911019..."
Your fingers froze above the keyboard. "We don't have case numbers that long."
"Ooh, my mistake." He casually twirled the banana before slipping it into his coat pocket, your gaze following the bizarre movement despite yourself. "I must've mixed it up with..." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, the file I need is case eighteen K."
You entered the number and checked the authorization. "...Are you sure?" you asked, glancing back at him. "This case was closed over a year ago."
"It's connected to another investigation," he explained smoothly. "I just wanted to verify a detail, if you'd be so kind."
People rarely asked you for anything so politely, so you felt warmth creep up the back of your neck. "Of course." You cleared your throat, hoping he hadn't noticed. "I'll be right back."
"Has the coffee been relocated?"
He leaned comfortably against the counter, resting both forearms on its polished surface and for some reason he reminded you of a dog waiting patiently for its owner. You decided not to dwell on that comparison for too long as it probably wasn't very professional.
"No?" you blinked.
Mister Ashveil chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. "Thought I'd better make sure."
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Another week drifted by, fleeting as a furbo being chased by intergalactic heroes.
Then he appeared again. He waited patiently in line while you caught yourself stealing glances at him. Entirely by accident, of course. When he noticed and smiled, you found yourself smiling back before you could stop yourself. By the time it was his turn, you already had the database open.
"Morning, Mister Ashveil," you greeted, typing his name into the system.
"Morning," he replied, reading your name from the badge pinned neatly to your uniform.
For a moment, he simply watched you type, an unreadable yet strangely gentle expression resting on his face.
"So," you said at last, glancing up from the monitor, "what's the case this time?"
You were mildly surprised by how easily you'd remembered his name, identification, and detective agency. Somewhere along the way, he'd left an impression.
"I..." He hesitated. "I've forgotten the case number."
You looked up. "What?" And your lips twitched despite your best efforts. "How?"
"Hey, don't ask me." He let out a sheepish laugh. "I mean... yeah, I'm the detective. I should know, but..." He trailed off, seemingly distracted by a thought —or perhaps by something else entirely.
"...Alright," you said slowly. "Could you at least tell me what you're investigating? Maybe I can figure out which file you need."
"Nothing."
His answer came quietly, one hand curling into a loose fist atop the counter and you stared at him like someone had hit you with a baseball bat.
"...Nothing?"
Your brain immediately began trying to solve a mystery of its own; why was a detective standing in the lobby of the Department of Aberration Defense if he wasn't investigating anything?
"I finished my last case yesterday," he admitted, his voice softer than usual.
"Then..." You glanced briefly at the growing line behind him before looking back at him. "Why are you here?"
Ashveil let out a slow breath and he removed his fedora for a moment, absentmindedly adjusting the brim before settling it back on his head.
"I was hoping I'd remember on the way here."
You waited patiently, but your heartbeat had begun to quicken ever so slightly. "...So," you asked, "did you?"
A small smile curled across Ashveil's lips and his silvery eyes, tinged with the faintest hint of violet, met yours. "I wouldn't mind an excuse to see you again."
"So..." you exhaled, feeling warmth bloom across your face. "There's no case?"
He shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him.
"How about coffee?" You nodded toward the self-serve station.
Ashveil tilted his head in its direction, visibly tempted by the mention of free coffee and then his gaze returned to you. "I was actually hoping you'd join me this time."
Wriothesley x F!Reader: #14 “Don’t play coy with me.”
This one is heavily inspired by Bridgerton Season 4 (and Cinderella). It also got out of hand is way too long for a drabble, but it is what it is. 🐺
Quartier Lyonnais within the Court of Fontaine buzzed beneath the golden hues of the setting sun as people poured into operas, theatres, restaurants, and bars. The city itself was a spectacle, one you had rarely been granted the chance to enjoy. Most of your scarce free time was spent tucked away in your room at your master's estate.
Now, dressed in garments unlike anything you normally wore, you felt as though you stood out like a sore thumb. In reality, however, the elegant gown allowed you to blend seamlessly into the crowd, another grain of sand among hundreds as you stepped into the beautifully decorated ballroom.
The only downside to your disguise was that you had absolutely no idea how to behave like a proper lady. You could sew well enough, certainly, and you occasionally enjoyed a book, but you knew noblewomen rarely spent their days scrubbing floors or carrying laundry baskets.
Fortunately, tonight was a masquerade and no one knew there was an impostor among them.
The ball was hosted by Lady Navia, a woman you had only glimpsed from afar before. You were curious to discover whether she truly matched the rumors and gossip that followed her name. The same could be said for the many nobles, bachelors, and debutantes filling the ballroom.
Even if such people remained entirely beyond your reach, at least you would leave with the memory of one unforgettable evening.
The dress, jewels, gloves, shoes, and mask you had "borrowed" from your mistress drew a few curious glances as you entered. You tried not to attract attention. The moment someone attempted a conversation, your carefully crafted façade might crumble and one misplaced word could expose you immediately.
So you remained near the edge of the ballroom, watching guests laugh, dance, and mingle while you quietly sipped your punch.
Unfortunately, your blissful evening was interrupted.
"You don't often see a lady standing alone in the corner of a ballroom dressed in her finest."
You nearly choked on your drink. Turning around, you found yourself face-to-face with a tall man sporting dark hair and a wolfish smile. You didn't recognize him. His black mask concealed much of his face, revealing only his lips and an ice-blue gaze that seemed far too perceptive for your liking.
"So either you're new and have lost your chaperone," he continued smoothly, "or you weren't invited in the first place."
"Yes." You cleared your throat, attempting to mimic the refined way your mistress spoke when entertaining guests. "He must have been whisked away by beautiful debutantes. Or friends. I should probably go look for him."
The masked man chuckled. The sound sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. He reminded you of a wolf stalking through tall grass, patient and entirely too interested in its prey.
Muttering an excuse, you hurried away to the opposite side of the ballroom. And for some reason, you suddenly did feel like prey amidst the sea of billowing skirts, polished shoes, and glittering jewels.
Determined to ignore the feeling, you sought refuge behind an ivy-covered trellis. It provided an excellent view of the ballroom while concealing your presence from wandering eyes.
Gradually, the music and lively atmosphere drove off your worries. You reckoned you'd be fine in solitude.
You watched as the person you assumed was Lady Navia drifted through the crowd, laughing alongside her dear friend, whom you dubbed as Lady Clorinde; according to the rumors they were nigh inseparable. You couldn't help admiring how carefree they seemed and knew you could never fit into a world like theirs.
You were only a maid. A maid whose mistress had no idea she'd kindly borrowed her dress, jewels, shoes, gloves, and mask for the evening.
Not to mention the invitation.
Your coworkers had insisted you use your mistress's name if anyone became suspicious.
“Only for emergencies.” They had said.
Unfortunately, if anyone connected you to Madame de Rochefort, you'd be in considerably more trouble than if you simply admitted the truth.
Especially considering the invitation tucked away inside your tiny handbag belonged to her as well.
At least your mistress remained blissfully unaware, confined to bed with a sudden fever while her husband was away on business in Liyue.
"You look like you're planning an escape route."
You froze as the familiar voice continued.
"Or an assassination."
Once more you turned, only to find the same dark-haired man leaning casually against a nearby pillar, as though he had appeared there by magic.
"Now the question is," he mused, "which one is it?"
Heat crept into your cheeks. "And you look like someone who enjoys tormenting lone ladies whenever they try to catch a break from dancing."
It was a complete lie; you hadn't danced once all evening. Your lack of dancing skills had seen to that. But he didn't know that. Or at least, he shouldn't. To him, you were simply another masked debutante. A somewhat antisocial one, perhaps, but a debutante nonetheless.
His smile widened. "Interesting."
"What is?"
"I haven't seen you on the dance floor yet."
Your stomach dropped and before you could think of a suitable response, the music abruptly ceased and the ballroom quieted. Mere seconds later, several members of the Marechaussee Phantom entered, announcing the arrival of Lady Furina.
You seized the distraction immediately. Before the wolfish stranger could speak another word, you slipped into the crowd and disappeared among the sea of masks and silk.
Lady Furina delivered a rather pompous speech, her voice rising and falling dramatically like the tides themselves.
While everyone's attention remained fixed on her, you managed to slip past a lady who smelled wonderfully of expensive perfume and made your way upstairs to the upper gallery. From there, you'd have a better view of the ballroom.
More importantly, you hoped the wolfish stranger wouldn't find you.
Eventually, the speech concluded and the music resumed. Lady Furina settled into a seat at the far end of the ballroom, from where she could observe the debutantes and bachelors alike. Her laughter rang through the room, bright and clear as spring water.
To your relief, the dark-haired man didn't appear and for the first time in a while, you enjoyed a moment of peace.
A gentleman approached and requested a dance, but you politely declined, claiming you'd misplaced your dance card. A lie. You hadn't misplaced it; you hadn't collected one in the first place.
Had you actually belonged to high society, such a thing might have been scandalous. Though, considering your circumstances, your mere presence at the ball was probably scandal enough.
As the clock crept closer to midnight, unease began to settle in your chest. Soon, guests would remove their masks and reveal their identities and you had no intention of being among them.
"Already leaving?"
Your heart nearly stopped. You had barely lowered your guard and turned toward the staircase when that familiar voice found you for the third time that evening. Closing your eyes briefly, you took a steadying breath and attempted to compose yourself into the image of a proper lady.
"Yes. I'm afraid I must catch an early ship tomorrow morning." The lie slipped from your lips with surprising ease as the man approached at an unhurried pace.
"That's a shame," he said smoothly. "I'd hoped to steal at least one dance."
Heat immediately crept up your neck and you hurried to construct another excuse.
"I'm afraid I must decline. I seem to have sprained my ankle on the stairs." Your lips pulled a weak smile, hoping he’d leave you alone with that. "I wouldn't make a very pleasant dance partner."
"An unfortunate injury." He chuckled, and you hated how charming the sound was.
You quickly shoved the thought aside; the man was entirely out of reach for someone like you. Entertaining fantasies about him would only leave your heart bruised in the end.
"Yes, quite."
"So which ankle was it?" he asked, his ice-blue eyes gleaming with curiosity. "The left or the right?"
You hesitated and it was only for a moment. Unfortunately, it was a moment too long.
"You didn't sprain your ankle."
"And you ask far too many questions, sir." With a huff, you turned away, fully intending to leave him standing there. You were running out of time, after all. Before you could take more than a step, a warm hand closed around your gloved wrist.
You froze. Even through the fine fabric of your glove, the warmth of his touch seeped into your skin and your pulse immediately betrayed you— it was fast. Far too fast. You feared your heart might burst out from your chest. And judging by the way his fingers tightened ever so slightly, he noticed.
"Don't play coy with me."
His voice had changed. Not by much. But enough for you to notice the difference. The amusement was still there, lingering beneath the surface, yet something more serious had slipped into his tone.
"I'm not," you insisted, glancing back at him over your shoulder.
For a moment, neither of you moved. Then another announcement echoed through the ballroom. Midnight was approaching. The distraction lasted only seconds.
And it was enough. You twisted your wrist free from his grasp and hurried toward the staircase. A sharp intake of breath escaped you as cool air brushed your bare hand and arm.
Your glove remained behind, caught in his hand. Panic surged through you but there was no time to retrieve it. Gathering your skirts, you rushed downstairs and disappeared once more into the sea of masks, silk, and candlelight.
Pantalone x F!Reader: #17 "I didn't do it; I swear."
I tried something new in this and wrote the reader in third person and from Pantalone's POV. It also escalated and is slightly(??) angsty. I hope you guys like it as much as I do 💖
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･
"Delivery!"
Pantalone was walking past her desk when he saw a massive bouquet being set down upon it, only a few feet from the door to his office. He paused, wondering if the medicine he'd received from Doctor was making him hallucinate.
But no. Someone had actually sent flowers to her workplace at the Northland Bank.
"Who could have sent me flowers?" She stared at the bouquet in awe, searching for a message, a note, anything that might reveal the identity of her admirer.
Just as curious, Pantalone approached her desk, masking his interest behind an unreadable, cat-like smile.
"Who indeed?" he mused smoothly. Frankly, he was baffled that someone had the audacity to send flowers to his secretary.
And not just any flowers. Pink camellias and white lilacs. What a banal combination. His jaw ticked almost imperceptibly as he watched her untie the ribbon with a faint flush dusting her cheeks.
"There isn't a message or anything," she frowned.
She carefully removed the flowers from their elegant wrapping before proudly showing them off to her coworkers, who appeared just as astonished as she was. No one received flowers or gifts at work unless it was a holiday. Even then, such gifts usually came from their superiors.
Yet Pantalone knew perfectly well what message had been woven into the bouquet.
Someone was courting her.
"They're so pretty," she chirped to her coworkers, blissfully unaware of the hidden meaning behind the flowers.
Unfortunately, her coworkers seemed just as oblivious.
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A few days later, another delivery arrived.
This time, the Regrator was seated inside his office, sipping tea. Even so, he heard the commotion through the slightly ajar door. Curious despite himself, he rose and stepped outside with the teacup still in his hand.
There she was, holding yet another bouquet.
"I didn't expect to get flowers again." Her eyes were practically sparkling as she admired an assortment of forget-me-nots and gardenias. "I wonder what this means?"
Pantalone nearly choked on his tea. Fortunately, he managed to disguise the fit as a cough. His subordinates had heard him cough often enough lately that it attracted little attention.
"I haven't the faintest idea," he lied smoothly.
Apparently, this tacky admirer remained determined to court his secretary through flowers alone.
Remember me.
My secret love.
Honestly, how was she supposed to remember someone who refused to include a name? Courtship standards had clearly deteriorated.
She turned toward him with a smile that somehow made his lungs ache less. At that moment, Pantalone decided he would be investigating.
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Several uneventful days passed before another bouquet arrived. Again. This time, Pantalone had been waiting.
Seated in his office with a cup of tea and the door left conspicuously open, he kept one eye on the entrance. He had already arranged for several agents to follow the courier after he left the bank.
Meanwhile, she remained blissfully unaware of the quiet conspiracy unfolding around her.
The latest bouquet consisted of pink roses, white roses, and jasmine.
Pantalone hated how delighted she looked as she arranged them in a vase on the corner of her desk.
"Do you like them?" she asked as he wandered closer.
"They're poor quality," he replied mildly.
An innocent smile remained fixed upon his lips even as he imagined setting the entire arrangement ablaze.
What he hadn't expected was the look of surprise that crossed your face. "Do you know if they mean something?"
Yes. He knew exactly what they meant: Pink roses for admiration. White roses for devotion and worthiness. He nearly scoffed at that one. And jasmine for deep affection. He remained silent.
"Pantalone?" She leaned slightly closer, trying to catch his gaze.
"Yes," he sighed at last, turning away. "Flowers have meanings."
"Well," she pressed, clearly determined to get to the bottom of the mystery, "what kind of meanings?"
He glanced back over his shoulder. "Romantic ones."
Her cheeks immediately flushed. And she stared at the bouquet as though seeing it for the very first time.
"Someone's been confessing to me?"
Pantalone hummed. "For days."
"Did you send them?"
For perhaps the first time all week, genuine surprise crossed his face. His cat-like smile vanished entirely. He hesitated before answering; not because he wanted to lie, but because he wished he had.
"I didn't do it; I swear." His answer seemed to satisfy her, and she returned to arranging the ridiculous bouquet, a joyful smile dancing across her lips.
Yet Pantalone didn't retreat to his office to finish the tea that had long since gone cold. Instead, he lingered for a moment. Then another, watching her smile at a confession someone else had made.
Strange.
Pantalone had never considered himself a jealous man before. After all, there had never been anything he couldn't acquire if he truly desired it.
Later that evening, as he strolled through the streets of Snezhnograd, he found himself pausing in front of a florist's shop.
Only for a moment.
Long enough to wonder which flowers he would have chosen for her. And he wondered if she would have smiled the same way.
Hiya!
This had been in making for over a year. So even though it has been beta read by amazing @lucianhuntress few times, please forgive for possible grammar errors.
My Rook, Shuraya, was older Lord of Fortune lady, but decided to go with general fem!Rook. Mourn watcher however, as said in tags, doesn't really work well in this set up.
As Emmrich is such a sophisticated gentleman and it is his POV, tried to write it as fancy as could. If some wording felt funny, sorry, English is my third language.
You have been warned.
“Come again?” Emmrich asked, his brows knitting together. He was trying to figure out what his newly appointed disciple meant.
“Downstairsss!” the bones hissed back while possessively holding on a small closed urn, origin of which was unknown and thus concerning. Even after spending a few months practically living at the Lighthouse one should still be wary of the Fade and what it can hold. Especially knowing who the original landlord was.
Emmrich let out a sigh that had been building up in his lungs. Manfred had been showing off more and more independence ever since after their last run in with Hezenkoss. And well, his second birthday as Rook called it. A choice that he didn’t regret in slightest, yet at times dared to question. Especially when this precious soul started to misbehave like a child. It had always been in its nature to display curiosity which, as a professor, Emmrich was more than ready to satisfy. He understood and shared it with him. But even he, in his youth, had not been so recklessly curious as to trespass into the most forgotten, dust-choked corners in pursuit of relics after being told not to.
Four times.
Alas, he was a patient teacher. Curiosity needs to be embraced and guided to the right channels. Maybe one day it might evolve into something great. That would be a real dream come true for him. So instead of continuing this interrogation Emmrich held out his hand, requesting the urn. Manfred held onto his master’s gaze then looked at the expecting palm then back up to him. His shoulder bones dropped as he unenthusiastically gave the vessel to his teacher.
Emmrich gave the item a quick look from all its sides, noticing some symbols that he wasn’t able to read. Elvish presumingly. The item wasn’t completely without magic either, so opening it without deciphering its writings first was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.
A sound of boots creaking broke his concentration as Manfred was impatiently moving from one leg to another while waiting for Emmrich’s verdict.
‘Patience will be a hard skill for the skeleton to master.’
“Downstairs, I see.” the man repeated. “This urn is clearly old, Elven in nature. Could be part of some kind of ritual based on how it's sealed with magic.”
Manfred held his breath, so to say, not making any sound and letting the professor go on.
“Opening it would be quite foolish.”
With that Manfred let out a clearly disappointed hiss to which Emmrich couldn’t help but smile a little.
“We could, however, ask Lady Bellara about this later. I’m positive she will have much more to say regarding the relic.”
His student brightened up, ready and eager to run out of room to ask their Elven expert for help but was stopped by the man’s stern voice.
“No no! Later.” Emmrich said. “She must be in the middle of her own research as of now and we don’t want to interrupt her. I will ask for her time tomorrow at breakfast.”
This time his student accepted the reasoning rather easily and nodded in agreement. He was about to reach for the urn once again, but the man shook his head, gently.
“I will return this to its rightful place at ‘downstairs’. Just to make sure it stays secure. And you Manfred, meanwhile, are to shelf all the books back to their rightful shelfs. Respecting alphabetical order and editions,” he added sternly.
The tone didn’t faze the skeleton at all, as he clapped his bony hands and headed towards the stacks on the study table.
“Booksh! Booksh!” he echoed.
Emmrich observed his disciple’s doings for a moment, making sure that he stuck to the punishment, that clearly wasn’t punishment at all. He gave it a satisfying nod and headed out of his quarters with the item of interest in his hand.
“Still cowards, as always,” an annoying voice of Hezenkoss followed him into a corridor.
“Rightfully cautious,” he corrected, letting her comment slide off him.
Once Emmrich was out of his quarters and into the open space of the common hall slash library, he was once again facing the dilemma of where this mentioned ‘downstairs’ was. He ascended the stairs where the eerie hum of the levitating bookshelves was the only sound he could pick up. It seemed like there wasn’t much of a company around this hour in the common areas. Everyone most likely catching up on their private time, defusing since the moment was permitting it. Which was perfect, sparing him the possible needs of explaining what he was snooping around for.
He approached the bookshelf behind the round table, the one that so graciously decided to stay put on the ground. It sadly had more than a few empty shelves so there was no clear spot missing its content. Even dust has been wiped clean here along possible prints in it. Whoever had the cleaning duty here recently was diligent and not slacking. Yet Emmrich could only let out a disappointed sigh.
What other options were there? His gaze drifted towards another set of stairs that went even lower. Towards the Eluvian room. Emmrich let the thought form in his mind, analyzing the probability of Manfred actually venturing out to the Crossroads by himself.
“No, there is no way he would have.” He reassured himself yet his voice lacked certainty. Where else would the skeleton have gotten the ancient elven relic.
Emmrich gave the room one more look around before it clicked.
The round golden ornaments on the wall, lightened up by crystals, were more than meets the eye. He remembers it being mentioned that the library had two additional side rooms, yet to his own embarrassment he had never found time or reason to explore them. It seemed like now was a better time than ever to see what the rooms held. Surely it couldn't be worse than the alternative.
Giving both walls a glance, Emmrich decided to approach the right side’s hidden door. Unconsciously augmenting it by it being right under his quarters. His side so to say. The door stayed closed, not reacting to his presence in any way. That didn’t discourage him, whatsoever. With a sharp gaze he eyed the ark over, looking for any possible press plates or symbols that could work as a lock. Without luck in that search, he switched his attention to pale yellow glowing crystals. He barely managed to reach one of them to touch and the door slid down, opening yet another well lit corridor.
“Ah,” the professor exhaled, glad it was as simple as that. With the door now open, Emmrich quickly stepped into the passageway.
With a few steps into the corridor, the door slid close as swiftly as it had opened. Emmrich barely spared it a glance over his shoulder, as he went on straight to the other end. He was sure there won’t be any problem with getting back out later on.
The door at the other end was old fashioned, not enchanted in any way and operated by good old manual push. Heavier than Emmrich had anticipated, but it did give in fairly easily. Before he even managed to step into the room he was blinded by the rays of the fade’s imitated sun. They were pouring in mercilessly through the windows that were framing the whole opposite wall forcing the man to squint as he stepped into the shaded side, off the path of the closing door.
After his eyes got a moment to adjust to the room’s brightness, Emmrich let himself acclimate with the new found room. The corner in which he stood had many crates and boxes, stacked up carelessly. Barely any of them were properly sealed, clearly being searched through. With that all the content, or mostly lack of it, was on display and easy to scan through. It was not even a minute later that the man spotted a box with identical urns to the one he was holding himself. The crate was separated into six sections by wooden dividers, filled with straw to guarantee safety of the fragile vessels. Of which one was missing.
He placed his disciple’s booty back where it belonged. Carefully. With the collection now whole, his lips tugged into a smile, glad with his little mission complete.
With that out of the way Emmrich let himself turn towards the room again, ready to face the light that painted the space in warm tones.
A grand spinet stood proudly in the middle of the room, keys exposed. That did spark a question of who could possibly be musically gifted in their group. His eyes drifted past the instrument, scanning other walls that were partly or mostly too occupied with old furniture, or items that haven’t found use anywhere else. As his eyes followed up, up the walls… He froze, the air in his lungs stuck.
Murals. Murals of what seemed like grand events of the painter. The man didn’t need to guess who’s work he was witnessing after facing the telltale symbol of the Inquisition.
‘And now this is reduced to a dusting storeroom’ he frowned to himself, eyes landing on a palette and brushes. Paint dried, never cleared as if abandoned mid-work. Their so-called host, despite being the source of their troubles, was also providing them help and thus Emmrich found it hard to outright discard him completely. A sentiment that barely anyone else shared with the necromancer. With hints of Fen’Harel all over the Lighthouse, it was a challenge to keep thinking of him as a God and not a man. This room reinforced his vision once more.
A silent yet clear flutter of paper carried to Emmrich’ ears, petrifying him for a second. He wasn’t alone in the room. How did it take him so long to notice? Was he noticed? Shaking off the feeling of unfounded guilt he straightened up before turning once again to face the piano occupied space.
“Hello?” he asked calmly, not giving voice to any awkwardness.
Silence didn’t offer any answer back.
Emmrich tried to look around, in case he had missed someone or something that could have made a sound.
Then the sound repeated itself. It came from across the room, hidden from sight by the instrument that stood right between him and the source. Emmrich quickly took a few steps around the spinet just to find his dearest companion reading a book while curled up on a chair that almost resembled a throne. The tenseness instantly melted away as he let out breath, a smile returning to his face. It was, however, surprising that she was yet to notice or acknowledge his presence.
“Rook?” he asked carefully, not wishing to startle her.
No reaction. Whatever was on those pages had her full attention to the point the rest of the world had seized to exist to her. Eyes ran through rows quickly, brows lightly knitted, finger pressed to her lips. Emmrich couldn’t help but adore her enthralment.
Leaving her with the book as company would have been the right thing to do, considering she had deliberately gone to the most forgotten corner of the Lighthouse to read in peace, but… He couldn’t shake off the curiosity. What was she reading?
The necromancer walked closer, his steps light, sparing the towers of cheese wheels a quick questionable glance before focusing back at Rook. With the positioning of the windows, he didn’t cast any shadows towards her that could visually alert her of his approach. So now he stood right next to her chair, still unnoticed.
With one last attempt, he cleared his throat, a sound that came out mixed with amused chuckle. As he had expected, it was futile. Without other options he reached out for her.
“Dearest?” he leaned in and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Waaah!” Rook shouted instantly, recoiling from sudden touch into a further corner on the throne, sending her book flying.
Emmrich instantly took a step back, hands half heartedly up in surrender. Face masterfully masking his amusement as remorse. He knew it would come to this but couldn’t blame her. There had been way too many times when he was in the same situation but in her shoes.
“Emmrich?” She breathed out heavily a few times before letting it even out. “Maker, you almost sent me to an early grave.”
The comment made him frown.
“Let me assure you, that is the furthest of my intentions,” he said seriously.
Picking on his tone instantly, Rook’s shoulders slumped a little and she shook her head. “You know what I meant.”
“In my defence I did call out for you a few times just to be ignored,” he let his arms drop to be crossed over his chest. The statement was barely accusatory.
Rook met his eyes, stunned for a moment before letting out an awkward laugh. “I might have been slightly preoccupied,” she states the obvious. “Sorry ‘bout that.”
The apology was meant for both of her ‘faults’. It was genuine.
Emmrich kept her gaze for a moment longer before dropping the sentiment and the stern facade. “I, too, apologise for startling your readings.” His attention switched to the book that had landed between them. “Let me…” the man kneeled down to pick it.
Before he got hold of the book Rook had stumbled out of the seat, rushing to be the one to pick it instead. “W–wait! I can myself—” she almost screamed. However, Emmrich was first to have reached it, her hand ending on top of his. The callous skin of her palm lingered just for a second, before she snatched it back to hold it against her chest, visibly… flustered? Gaze was averted as if in shame.
Emmrich couldn’t help but let his brows rise in bewilderment as he stood up. She followed his suit, but was yet to shake off the blush. Rook was far from innocent, that had come clear from her stories and… actions that they shared. She had never shied away from his touch nor had problems in approaching him once they made their intentions toward one another clear. So this type of reaction was very new for him.
The attention switched to the book in his hands; clearly old and well read. The back of it was bent-broken and the cover worn to the point that the possible title and author were long gone and unreadable. Emmrich turned it around, trying to see any telltale signs of its content.
“Is this book of the Lighthouse?” he asked.
Rook faced him quickly before looking away again, shaking her head. “No… It’s from a personal…” she went on, but before she could even finish her sentence, he had opened the book on a random spread.
To. her. indescribable. horror.
It took a few overly long stretched seconds for Emmrich to register what he had skimmed through. As his luck, or Rook’s unluck would have it, he was taking in a very bold and detailed description of sensual interaction of two, hopefully, fictional characters. At its very peak with no details disclosed.
A gasp followed with horrified ‘No’ was the only warning of a pouncing leader Emmrich got. But years of being a professor had his reflexes sharp so the arm with the book in had shot up and back. High out of the Rook’s reach while his other hand held her back at her shoulder.
“Don’t you dare! Give it back!” she demanded. This time even the points of her ears were covered in blush. An adoring sight for the necromancer that he couldn’t fight his lips from tugging into an amused smile. But far from judgemental. Somehow such an unexpected turn was not so surprising for him.
This didn’t go unnoticed for Rook’s desperate gaze turned into a sulking stare. Hands went from reaching up over him to crossing under her chest. “That is my personal read,” Rook stated. Sternly.
“It clearly is,” Emmrich confirmed with a nod. “And it seems like it's not your first journey across its pages?” he inquired, challenging her stare. She however did not avert her eyes this time, holding it unshaken.
“Exactly. I do enjoy myself some romantic fiction and won’t deny having a favorite one. Spent my own honestly earned coin for that one too before you question.”
Emmrich squinted at that, tilting his head a tad, not appreciating such an assumption. Rook continued before he could.
“And I’m oh so sorry to disappoint you for delving into a writings that are at the opposite side of your top shelf educational topics like ‘mimicking fusions’, ‘volatilely enkindled runes’ and ‘lost forms of spirit communication’.” Rook’s voice didn’t shy away from the mockery while parodying him.
“‘Mimetic transfusion’, ‘votively enkindled runes’ and ‘lost forms of spirit communion’, Rook.” Emmrich couldn’t fight the urge to correct her.
Rook’s brow shot up, gaze even less so impressed. “Bless you,” she deadpanned. This stung him a little, as he had just proved her statement right, even if unintentionally. That deflated his demeanor a tad, as he brought the book back down from the mocking highs.
“Not quite sure what made you assume I wouldn’t appreciate romantic literature.”
Rook’s waiting hands dropped from her middle, as they found a new place at her sides, weight leaning to her right. “Oh I don’t know. Got a picture that fantasy in all its forms was not your cup of tea when even Harding’s gruesome novels were too much for you due to incorrect anatomical descriptions,” she rolled her eyes.
Emmrich couldn’t help but sigh, his banters with Lace catching up on him. Or how he and Taash had butted heads about not understanding each other’s passions. It would be hypocritical of him to try and deny his own words but… Maybe he could ease it out a notch. As this was not a faculty or defence of a thesis in Nevarran academy. They all came from completely different backgrounds and it was foolish of him to view them only through his own narrow standards.
His eyes landed down on the book in his hands, gripping it more tightly. It was something important to his dearest. Yet he had behaved in a way that gave an air of judgement and arrogance towards other’s preferences that she now assumed Emmrich saw her as less because of that. To the point that she would try to hide her favorite book from him instead of sharing it.
A wave of shame and sadness washed over him.
“I… I can see what you mean.” His lips tightened in a line and he tried to plan out a proper approach. “I might have been stubborn and blind to other ways but my own,” the necromancer admitted. He dared himself to look back to Rook just to see her being baffled by his admission, clearly not expecting one. Emmrich gave her a pathetic attempt at a smile.
“Emmrich, I didn’t mean to…” Rook was ready to diffuse the moment as she usually did but he just shook his head gently.
“It’s quite alright. It’s good to be knocked down a step or two, I’m sophisticated enough to take it. I wouldn’t want our crew to see me as presumptuous, alas it might be too late. But,” he continued his voice, picking up a higher, more positive note, “I believe it’s never too late to fix your ways.”
Rook's dumbfounded stare didn’t last long as she couldn’t help but crack into a chuckle. “Humble much?”
“I surely strive to be.” Emmrich admits, this time more aware and playing off sarcastic comments. “Look, I’m sorry for being harder to tackle at times. I never meant to shame your choices. There are as many preferences as there are individuals and it was lapse in my judgement to bring it all down to my own. Quite a rookie mistake.”
Rook’s features softened before gaining a sharp, mischievous gaze as she took a step towards him. Barely any space left between them. Her hand went to his forearm, giving him a gentle squeeze. Reassuring him that it was quite alright.
“Don’t shame yourself too much, handsome. You are one of my choices too after all,” she cooed at him. Her eyes dropped to his lips just for a quick second before being back at his. A suggestive gesture. An invitation.
“Oh you…” Emmrich breathed not being able to deny her praise and plea. A pure bliss bloomed in his chest as he leaned down to meet her expecting lips. A kiss sweet and heartfelt. He almost expected for the kiss to deepen before feeling a tug on her possession. Sneaky little thing, he thought and straightened back up, breaking the kiss. And no, he still didn’t let go of the book.
“Almost,” Rook purred like a satisfied cat. “May I have it back, please?”
Her request was hard to fight. And even though it would have been the right thing to do, Emmrich couldn’t do it just yet. He gave her a quick follow up peck to the lips, surprising her enough that her hold on the books eased and he could take a step back. Rook’s ways had been rubbing on him so he was proud to be able to put them to good use.
“Certainly. Though I would love you to indulge me with one request first,” necromancer said, his words careful. A smile on Rook’s lips remained unchanged as she brought her chin up a little, giving him a hooded look.
“Do I have a choice?” she joked, then followed by a small nod. “Shoot”.
Emmrich eyed the book, biting his lip before he had enough courage to air his wish. “Would you please show me what part you were reading?”
The coy facade vanished quicker than Emmrich would have loved it to as Rook asked quite dumbfounded.
“The what?”
The man cleared his throat, fighting not to give up on the topic and instead pushed forward. “The chapter that got you so fascinated. I truly wish to know what had you so enchanted and captivated. What made you hold onto your breath and bite on your forefinger as you tuned the page even though it is an old read.”
Rook looked away, hand going up to her neck as in an attempt to smooth away the blush that was once again creeping up her skin. Her hesitation was obvious. Once again embarrassed. A groan escaped her. “Do I have to?”
Emmrich smiled sadly at her, not too surprised by her disdain. So he shook his head and finally offered her book back. “You don’t, dearest. Of course not. I would never force you to.” But throws in his last stitch attempt. “Still, I would be delighted to learn of your loves and favorites. Dislikes and turn-offs alike. I wish for you to know that you don’t have to feel conflicted about pouring yourself out to me. Maker knows you have done so much of that to me. So… As subjective as I might have presented myself, I will not ever belittle you or your thoughts. Of that I promise you.”
A silence stretched out between them and was becoming awkward to the point of casting a shadow of worry on Emmrich’s resolve. Had he overstepped? Pushed a little too hard? Just as he was to give up and ask to pay it no mind, Rook shot him a glance from under a brow and quietly asked.
“Even if it’s dumb and pointless?”
“Even if it is written in poor grammar!” He reassured her.
Rook held his gaze, trying to find something, any sign that would revoke all what he just had said. Strain in his expression or twitch in his lips. Anything!
But found none as he was honest with his words.
“Page 98,” she sighed.
Emmrich’s face melted into an adoring smile and he gave her a nod of thank you. Even if it seemed like a little meaningless thing, it meant a lot to him. So without further ado, he again opened the book but this time searched for the addressed page. As he carefully shuffled through the pages, he unconsciously wagered to get the same type of a scene as he had accidentally stumbled on the first time. ‘Could be possibly taken in as reference for the future,’ he mentally noted to himself with a smirk.
‘92, 94, 96…’
The man reached the right spread of pages and began to read. It was the beginning of a chapter and with every row did his assumption get proven further from the truth. A heartfelt and raw moment between two lovers meeting secretly, only witnessed by lights of the night sky. Based on what Emmrich caught from their conversation they had a romantic history, but the other one was questioning if there was a future for them. The difference in statuses and duty.
‘It was a mistake to come here tonight. This only makes the inevitable so much worse.’
‘Don’t call this… us a mistake! I am leaving so there is a chance for us after this whole mess is over.’
‘Arranged marriage with the other side is more than just “a mess”! Tensions are sky high as they are and you not wanting to “tarnish the family’s honor” put you into a position where you have “no other choice”... once again.’
The dialogue suggested that it was not their first argument on this topic. Emmrich frowned and turned a page.
‘Please. It’s temporary as I have explained it many times…’
‘Yes, you have, and I understand! But who will understand me if not you? For whom my worries and my wants will be a priority? Why don’t you see I don’t want you to go out of fear that you will return feet first…’
‘My love,’ they tried to ease the other’s worries only to end up with a handful of sobbing lover against their chest.
‘If it comes to worst… I won’t be able to go on. I don’t want to know life without you.’
‘I promise, you will not find that out.’
The lovers melted into a desperate embrace. The touches, trying to memorise everything of one another before the night would fall short and it would be time for them to go their separate ways.
It didn’t take Emmrich long to finish the whole episode. His breathing was slow but deep, as if any of the intakes weren’t enough to fill his lungs properly. A struggle to compose himself. He felt slightly lost by what this all meant. What did it say about Rook, if the scene of lovers parting ways on this bittersweet note was her favorite.
He looked up from the book, eyes instantly finding Rook. She had moved towards the window, now looking out into the bright sky like space of the fade, her back turned to him. Hands hugging herself. She hadn’t made any comments or sounds, letting him read uninterrupted. When the soft thumb of book closing echoed through the loud silence of the room, she turned her head exposing her profile to him.
“Cheesy, wasn’t it?” She asked with a forced highnote at the end.
Emmrich stayed silent.
Rook let out a chuckle, turning back to face the windows. “Don’t get me wrong, the whole book is great. It is the author’s one of the first published books. Second one I think. They have gone to write series after but have nailed the smutty parts ever since the beginning. Like the one with a semi-public sex scene in the alley next to the busy street when they almost got caught by—”
“Rook.” Emmrich interrupted her rumble, his voice gentle. It sounded to him like an attempt to hide behind a raunchy and bold facade. Trying to change the topic as if regretting revealing the true pages.
She continued, now less enthusiastically. “What I meant to say… A good fuck is easier to land compared to such lifelong devotion. That is my comfort novel that I have reread countless times yet every time I open it again, it's like for the first time. Even when I know the ending.”
She turned around to face him, a sad smile on her face “A happy ending.”
Emmrich held her gaze and let her continue.
“All the arguments, the struggles, the pain. They all are easier to tackle and experience when you know it all will be figured out. I like that part ‘cause it is when all is going to shit. It is the storm that you felt was coming because everything before that was way too good to be true. It gives me freedom to experience this crumble and heartache knowing that there is a safety net written to catch me.”
That sent a wave of goosebumps down the necromancer’s skin. The fact that Rook had been worried about the team, their mission and its progress was obvious. But for it to be to this extent? She had held herself fairly strong, being the leader that they needed. Lending everyone her time, ear and shoulder when necessary. Yet, in the whole Lighthouse the only one to whom she felt brave enough to pour out her own fears was this nameless novel?
Emmrich’s brows furrowed as eyes filled with worry. “So you get reassurance from it and try to mirror it to our current dilemma?”
Rook shrugs. “Pretty much.”
The necromancer couldn’t help but let his shoulders fall at her admission. Heart bleeding for her fears and burden that they all knew she was shouldering yet failed to see how they were eating on her. She had always presented herself with such an air of nonchalant ease that he had taken it as given. But it was just a well crafted mask that Rook has learned to pull on to face whatever cards fate decided to deal her. And this round was looking especially dire.
A sudden realization struck the man. The just read chapter had also born an unexpected concern in Emmrich in regards to them. Of ‘us’. Blight, gods, battles had people around them step into the Veil with frightening rates. So was she seeing any bright future? Was Rook redying herself for the worst possible outcome as inevitable? The book was a form of mental preparation for her so was this their calm before the storm? That from here it would be a downfall into the dark without knowing if they manage to break the fall before hitting the rock bottom.
And his aspirations to ascend to Lichdom…
Emmrich bit on his own teeth, not ready to delve into possible ripples that might had brought. This moment wasn’t about him. This was about her and him trying to help her ease her mind. Even if coming second to the un-named novel.
The man finally took a step towards his companion, offering the book back to the rightful owner. Rook gave him a sympathetic look before accepting it back, bridging it to her chest. Hugging it dearly like a kid's favorite plush. Pure and sincere. That brought a smile to Emmrich’s lips, washing away the darker thoughts.
He let his hand find her cheek, giving it a gentle caress. Rook nuzzled into it, so naturally as by an instinct before looking again up at him.
“Darling. Know that I’m here whenever you feel heavy at heart or want to pour your thoughts and worries out. It would be an honor to be of any help.”
“I know,” Rook breathed out softly.
“And worry not of it being a burden! I have had plenty of pedagogical years behind me to learn to navigate even the most trivial of worries that all mattered none the less,” he added, trying to lighten the tone. Even if they both knew it was in vain.
Rook, mostly out of pity, let out a small chuckle. She then took a step closer and let her head press against his chest. Emmrich welcomed her by bringing her into a tight embrace. His head dropped on top of hers, placing a kiss into her hair.
They stood like that for a few long stretch moments, as the heartbeats echoed loudly as in sync. Basking in each other’s warmth and presence.
“I won’t promise you the happy ending like in the book,” Emmrich’ broke the silence, “as we are not given the fortune to know for sure and I refuse to be the reason for a broken promise.”
Rook didn’t say anything, only hid her face against the man's chest.
“I will, however, promise you that I will do whatever it is in my power to push through for us to meet on the other side of this all. How and how successfully, that is for us to find out.” The necromancer whispered into her hair. And much as it was a promise for himself as was for her. He wanted to see this through and welcome the new dawn with Rook by his side.
Despite his reassurance the air has become poignant as the end of the Rook’s favorite chapter. Emmrich, feeling guilty yet again, refused for their day to end on such a note.
“How about during the next full moon, we visit the Memorial Gardens? Have wine and I will share my favorite romance poems with you. To make this fair, so to say.”
His dearest partner leaned back enough to be able to look up to the necromancer. She gave it a moment of exaggerated thinking before asking with a cheeky smirk and shine in her eyes.
“Will they make me yawn or yearn?”
Emmrich let out a surprised laugh, as she had struck him once again. He couldn’t do much as to shake his head, pleased that Rook was now in a higher spirit than a moment before.
“Ah-a, no spoilers, my love. You will have to wait and hear,” he teased and leaned down towards her lips once again.
“Seems like I have no choice then,” she answered with fake disappointment and welcomed the kiss.
The bliss of that sweet moment was not meant to last as it won't be long before the sky turns blood red in a God forced eclipse.
Dan Heng x Reader: "It’s funny, every year, I say we’ll keep the decorations simple, and every year we go all out."
Merry Christmas @vizell 🩷 This isn't specificly Permansor Terrae Dan Heng and reader can be read as Stelle, but I kept her vague enough so you can shamelessly self insert too 😌
“This year we’ll do simple decorations in the Parlor Car.” You inform Dan Heng and March 7th. You three are responsible for decorating the Parlor Car, while Himeko, Mister Yang and Sunday handle the Party Car.
March pouts; she wanted to go all in with the decorations but understands your reasoning that you’re also in duty to take them down after Christmas, and Dan Heng stares at you with a deadpan expression. His judging gaze makes you scratch the back of your neck and chuckle nervously.
So when the time to decorate the Parlor Car came, you split the work evenly and started out with well thought decorations to match the theme with the Party Car; March dances around, hanging just a few garlands here and there, you are in charge of putting lights and Dan Heng… he carries the decoration box, clearly unimpressed by his role in this.
But if he was allowed to decide, the Parlor Car would look even more barren than it does with the minimal decorations you have decided upon. Besides, after Amphoreus you can’t help but to notice the muscle he has built. His body is literally made for carrying heavy boxes!
“You know, we could hang lights on your tail,” you casually suggest to him as you plug the rope of lights into an outlet.
“No,” is his reply— curt and simple.
“Okay, how about hats on your horns?”
“That is also a no.”
“Guys! Look!” March exclaims across the Parlor Car, sounding rather impressed with herself. You and Dan Heng turn your heads to look at the very unevenly hung garland hanging above the massive windows revealing dozens of stars outside.
You snicker quietly, impressed by March’s skills, but Dan Heng… He stares. And he keeps staring. You can almost see the inner struggle going in his head.
Then, he sighs and places the box of decorations on the nearest table surprisingly gently. He then walks over to March and tugs on the garland, fixing the unevenness of it.
“Oh, so you’re decorating now?” you grin at him, having proof of him doing something else than carrying a literal box.
“I’m not,” he says, his tone still as disinterested as before, “it was uneven. I corrected it.” He turns around to let his gaze sweep across the car, eyeing the garlands March has hung; all of them more even than the last one.
March and you exchange smirks behind his back and continue on with your decorations, while Dan Heng walks around fixing March’s decorations first, then yours. Then he suddenly is adding ribbons, baubles and whatnot.
At some point he even helps you hang a glowing Hamster Ball Knight onto a window. His hands cupping yours, like he is teaching you how to place a simple hanging light. His touch makes you gasp inwardly, but he remains stoic and unbothered by it. Almost determined to place the light correctly.
When the three of you are finally done, you stop at the end of the car, admiring the glittering view. You're almost unsure whether there are any benches underneath all the glow and dazzle.
Dan Heng seems conflicted and he sighs, but you catch something akin to a smile on his lips as he says: “It’s funny, every year, I say we’ll keep the decorations simple, and every year we go all out.”
March takes out her camera, snapping plenty of Christmas themed photos of the car, while you and Dan Heng admire your work in silence.
Eventually, his fingertips brush against yours, sending a small jolt through your nerves. You glance at him, but he keeps staring at the decorations, conflicted. When you wrap your hand around his, he doesn’t pull away. Warmth spreads from him to you as his fingers curl around yours, silently accepting that some traditions were meant to get out of hand.
Rob Lucci x Reader: “This never happened, do you understand?! If I find out you mentioned this to anyone, I’ll…”
HAPPY BIRTHDAY @vizell 🎂🎉
Just a "little" drabble for the best girlie there is 💖 You'll get the actual present later. 😘 So I decided to write about Lucci cause we both appreciate this rawr man.
And it actually got longer than I originally intended, but I guess you'll have more to enjoy then.
The bell hanging innocently above the door chimes as you enter the tiny bakery that also serves as a front for CP0’s local operations. Setting up the bakery required a backstory, in case any of the locals got too curious: a newlywed couple settling down after their honeymoon in a quiet corner of Dressrosa. Perfectly innocent — and utterly forgettable to the pirates on the streets.
And ever since the first day of opening, you’ve had your hands full with cakes, buttercream, and cupcakes. So busy, in fact, that now you can’t finish all the work alone.
Rob Lucci, who was originally supposed to handle the registry, is now forced to help you out in the back — in the name of the act. Because, despite looking anything but domestic, he is supposedly your loving husband. And you have to admit: you’re not completely opposed to the thought, even if he’s just a coworker.
He looks damn good in a white button-up shirt, apron wrapped around his waist, his black hair tied back in a ponytail. He is anything but forgettable, and you find yourself dreading the moment a pirate with more brains than a bucket stumbles into your bakery and recognizes him.
“I’m not doing this,” he groans for the third time, glaring at the heart-shaped cake in front of him like it had personally insulted him.
“Yes, you are, Lucci,” you chirp as you place a bag of ingredients on a nearby counter; you just came from the nearest market after running out of butter and other important ingredients. And now you are amused by his defiance of the whole cake decorating business. “You already piped three dozen cupcakes this morning — you even made a rose.”
His eye twitches. “It was a swirl. I was testing the consistency.”
“Sure,” you say gleefully. “A swirl shaped like a rose. Totally accidental.”
He clicks his tongue and growls, returning to pipe: Happy Birthday, Best Girl 💖 onto the cake. It had been ordered by one of the Donquixote pirates and is probably the girliest cake you’ve ever seen — full of glitter, sparkles, and rainbows.
And he is the one who decorated it from start to finish.
You tried to write the text yourself, but your handwriting is laughable compared to his gorgeous swirls. Who would’ve guessed: Rob Lucci, the deadly Cipher Pol operative, leaning over a pink heart-shaped cake, icing tiny hearts with terrifying precision.
The bell chimes again, and the pirate who ordered the girly cake walks in with a surprised smile. His eyes land on the cake, which Lucci quickly — and carefully — slides into a container.
“Well I’ll be damned,” the pirate exhales, dropping the correct amount of money on the counter. “Who knew the quiet one was so talented with his hands?”
You hold your breath as you glance cautiously at Lucci, who now clenches his jaw like he’s ready to pounce and tear the pirate apart. But he doesn’t.
The pirate leaves, humming cheerily, carrying the cake in his arms.
And when the door closes behind him, silence thickens the air — so heavy you wonder if you’ve gone deaf.
Then, Lucci’s head turns to you slowly, his piercing eyes nearly glow with danger. His stare alone pins you in place, and you can’t move a muscle.
“This never happened. Do you understand? If I find out you mentioned this to anyone, I’ll…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he fixes the cuffs of his shirt like a man barely hanging onto the last threads of his dignity. Then he walks into the back to check on the oven and the next batch of cupcakes.
You release the breath you’ve been holding prisoner and turn to the counter where he stood just moments ago — and there it is:
The most perfect, tiniest rose, piped onto the side of a cutting board.
And something gleeful bubbles within you — because he absolutely did that on purpose.
For a while, the two of you return to your bakery duties in focused silence. He begins working on tarts, while you take the cupcakes out of the oven and start on their toppings.
The door to the back opens, and Kaku steps in, fully dressed in disguise to blend in with the locals. He’s been off doing who-knows-what, but he brightens when he sees you baking something delicious again.
He’s almost always too eager to taste test.
Kaku quickly glances in Lucci’s direction, amused to see the man actually taking the bakery seriously.
“Smells like you’re actually baking something in here,” he states the obvious, flashing a wide grin at you.
“You’d be surprised how good he is,” you chuckle, elbow-deep in blue buttercream.
And suddenly, there's a drop in temperature in the back room. A chill runs down your spine — even Kaku looks caught off guard — but Lucci doesn’t flinch. He calmly resumes arranging the mini tarts in a perfectly precise order.
Kaku sighs and turns his attention back to you, clearly wise enough not to poke Lucci while he’s concentrating on something as mundane as pastries.
“Did you change your hairstyle? You’re practically glowing today.”
The buttercream bowl in your hands hits the counter with a loud clank, and you stare at him — stunned and almost speechless.
“Are you flirting with me?”
“Is it working?” he replies smoothly, with a wink.
You don’t get the chance to respond, because a loud crack echoes through the bakery.
Both of you turn to look at Lucci, who has crushed a cupcake box with one hand. Not in a dramatic, obvious way — because that would imply he actually cared.
His fingers flex around the box once. Twice. Then he tosses the crushed remains into the trash without a word and calmly resumes his arrangement, his focus so sharp it could cut glass.
Kaku glances at Lucci, then at you. Then back at Lucci again. He lets out a sheepish laugh with a nervous edge — like someone who just stepped on something expensive and broke it by accident.
“Okay, no flirting in the bakery. Got it.”
You bite your lip to stop yourself from grinning.
Lucci finally speaks — voice cold as frostbite.
“Get. Out.”
Kaku stares at the man, mouth ajar just enough to show how absolutely shocked he is. He raises his hands in surrender and mutters something about “surveillance” before slipping out—leaving the two of you alone once again.
Silence settles like a heavy blanket, deliberate and thick with tension.
You glance in Lucci’s direction before turning back to your bowl of buttercream. He doesn’t look at you. He’s still focused entirely on the tarts, like they might explode if handled improperly.
He clearly has no intention of speaking—but you catch the sharp clench of his jaw when your gaze lingers on him too long.
You break the silence, aiming for casual: “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m not,” he snaps—just a little too fast to be convincing. “I’m focusing on the mission, unlike some people.”
“I am focused,” you begin, heart skipping at the edge in his voice. “I think I can handle the mission and a little flirting on the side—”
“You won’t,” he cuts in, straightening his back to face you. There’s a scowl on his face, like your words personally offended him.
“Excuse me?”
He doesn’t reply at first—but something dangerous flickers in his eyes as they lock with yours.
You huff. “Why do you care?” You hadn’t meant to flirt with Kaku. Not really. But now you want to know—why shouldn’t you?
“Distraction,” he mutters, the word tight with strain, his expression unreadable.
You raise an eyebrow, confused.
“I care about distractions,” he says again, more quietly now, turning away like saying it aloud was somehow an admission.
You tilt your head. “Am I a distraction?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just sighs—a long, restrained breath—and then says:
“Just focus on the buttercream. I’ll handle the piping.”
And with that, he walks off. But as he turns, you catch the softest pink blooming at the nape of his neck.
Distraction, huh?
Because if you happen to be one, then he clearly isn’t immune to those.
I totally didn't have a damn "senpai noticed me" -moment just now!!
Guess it lit up the fire under my ass to push to finish that part two about Sam and Ironhide...
Well well well~~ Since you opening such a flood gate, Imma throw you back into that Solo Leveling corner and request you to feed yet another niche.
Gimme some Goliath - Thomas Andre (¬‿¬)
Prompt: 39: "That’s a new low for you.”
Thomas Andre x Reader: #39 "That’s a new low for you.”
This was interesting to write. I hope you like it ❤️😂
It’s a peaceful evening at the supermarket where you work. You’re stocking shelves, humming along to the cheerful tunes playing through the store’s aisles. No bothersome customers—just you and a fresh batch of new cereals.
That is, until you hear murmuring coming from the other side of the shelf—a commotion of some sort. You try to pay it no mind; if it’s an emergency, someone’s bound to scream for help. If it’s just another celebrity, then—
A lightbulb goes off in your head, and you curse under your breath.
Because lately, a certain S-rank hunter has been making appearances at your workplace. He’s pretty recognizable, mainly because he’s—well—taller than most people. Naturally, he strikes fear into the hearts of regular folks who aren’t used to being around big, scary hunters. And you should be one of those people—yet you find yourself oddly defiant in his presence.
And after every encounter with him, you’ve had to take a break in the backroom, just to calm your racing heart. You’re half-convinced it’s going to explode one of these days.
Some of your coworkers have even dared to tease that he swings by just to see you—something you very clearly refuse to believe. Although… his shopping basket has always been filled with an oddly random variety of things.
Now, you can only hope it’s not him again. Your heart honestly can’t take it at this rate.
As you crouch by the bottom shelf to stock more cereals, a shadow stretches over you. Maybe even over the whole aisle—you don’t know, and you don’t want to look. But your heart has already leapt into your throat.
“Careful,” comes his voice—Thomas Andre, as your coworkers and the recent news would call him. “Something might fall on your head if you’re not paying attention.”
You stand up, already sighing. “Good evening to you too.”
He flashes a smile, radiating that proud aura of his. “Aw, you missed me?”
You don’t answer him. Instead, your gaze shifts to his shopping basket.
“You’re planning to cook a steak with shaving cream and ginger?” you ask, amused by the chaotic assortment of items he’s chosen this time.
“Nah, I’m just buying what I like,” he replies with a smirk, pushing his sunglasses—comically small in his massive hand—up onto his head so you can see his eyes.
“So you’re here because…” You narrow your eyes. “You want me to ask what you’re doing?”
“And you just did.” He leans in closer, and that uncomfortable flutter in your chest returns in full force.
You roll your eyes. “That’s a new low for you.”
He doesn’t seem fazed by your comment. Instead, he leans in just a few inches closer, voice dropping to a whisper: “Maybe. But I’ll find a new low for you next time—see if I can make you blush again.”
Your mouth falls open, ready to protest, but he’s already backed away, sliding his sunglasses down like nothing happened.
And yet, the smug, victorious smile tugging at his lips says it all: he definitely knows he just set your brain on fire.
I'm not sure if I've ever written there was only one bed-trope, but at least now I have done it.
When you heard your shuttle back home was cancelled and you’d be stuck in a hotel with one of your colleagues, you didn’t think it would be too bad. Dr. Veritas Ratio is a handsome man, after all—a bit self-centered, sure, but you can't help admiring him whenever he starts rambling about… something. Physics? Philosophy? Honestly, you’re too busy looking at his face to care.
But when you found out there was only one room left, you hesitated—somehow. Your head still aches from all the pieces of chalk he’s flung at you for answering incorrectly. Because you were definitely not distracted by his looks. Nope.
And on top of it all, he just went ahead and told the receptionist it would be fine. Didn’t even bother asking if you were okay with it.
“The room’s for two, so you should be fine,” he reassures you with a slightly annoyed undertone as the two of you stand in the elevator with your luggage.
Yeah, that’s surely your only concern. Nothing to do with possibly ending up in the hospital from a concussion. Just the thought of seeing more chalk makes you shudder.
The room you landed is actually rather nice; it has two beds, a couch, and even a bathtub—which he begins filling immediately after arriving. His reasoning? He likes bathing while pondering equations that would probably fry your brain.
You toss your bag onto the bed he hasn’t claimed, and as soon as it lands, there’s a crash. The mattress collapses to the floor, revealing a gaping hole in the middle that had been hidden by the covers.
“Seriously?”
You feel terror rooting itself in your limbs. Great. Now you’re screwed. Maybe the front desk has a spare bed lying around. Maybe.
The couch doesn’t look inviting either.
You mutter a curse and call reception, grumbling about the broken bed. And just as you’re explaining the massive hole in the mattress, Ratio steps out of the bathroom. Naked.
Well—almost naked. There’s a towel wrapped around his waist. Still.
Despite him being technically covered, your brain short-circuits.
“Hello?” the receptionist's voice crackles through the phone after you stopped mid-sentence.
You don’t know where to look. His marble statue of a body? Or the frown on his face? Definitely the face. Yeah. Sure.
Despite your best efforts to keep your gaze from wandering too obviously, he squints at you.
“There wasn’t enough bath salt,” he says, displeased.
You feel heat crawl up your neck.
“That’s—”
He arches a brow. “What are you doing?”
Like a slap to the face, your mind clears. “My bed is broken.”
And then—just for a moment—you catch it. A glint of amusement in his eyes.
Almost like... he counted on it.
He clicks his tongue. “That’s good news.”
“How is that good news?!” you gasp, unconsciously hanging up on the receptionist. “The couch is terrible too!”
Ratio presses the book he’s been carrying against your lips to shut you up. Your temples throb from the sudden, white-hot rage bubbling inside you.
“I sleep a lot better when I’m not alone.”
He turns, heading back toward the bathroom—but pauses, glancing over his shoulder.
“Besides,” he adds, “I don’t think you’d actually mind that.”
You open and close your mouth, at a complete loss, before finally managing a shaky breath. “And how do you assume that?”
“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he says, smirk curving at his lips, “when you think I’m not looking.”
And just like that, you’re speechless—while he walks away wearing a smile like he’s just won first place in a competition only he knew was happening.
Slowly shifting from the angsty bits to lighter, funnier tones. This chapter has alcohol and chaos!
Words: 3893
<- Previous Chapter
----
Copper.
You swallow the taste of copper with every slow, steady heartbeat. The pain has dulled, replaced by a strange warmth spreading through your chest and limbs. You hear Heejin muttering something under her breath—not quite audible, but the disappointment in her tone is unmistakable.
Outside the gate, the world looks almost exactly as it did before. It hasn’t been long since you entered, barely a blink in real time. Almost like you never left at all.
Everything feels too bright. The colors too sharp and blooming after the murky skies and cold, ruined waters of the swamp.
The group of fresh hunters buzzes with adrenaline and excitement, high on survival and their first gate boss kill. The portal closes behind you with a familiar woosh, vanishing from the world like it was never there to begin with.
They did it.
They killed the boss while you were out cold. Much to your disappointment; you wanted to be the one to finish it gloriously.
Heejin turns to you after giving instructions to the group. Her glare could ignite trees. You’re too out of it to be useful—her magic still swirling through your veins, methodically chasing out the last of the poison.
For once, you feel truly helpless in front of your best friend. And worse: like you’ve failed her.
“Sorry” isn’t going to cut it. You would be dead if she hadn’t been there.
Her hands settle on her hips. No hint of her usual teasing smile. “You are going to get checked at a hospital,” she says, her tone sharper than usual—she’s livid. “Just to make sure there’s no poison left. Or anything else.”
It’s hard to argue with her. She’s right—your injury was a serious one, while the others only walked away with cuts and bruises. So, without protest, you head to the nearest hospital, still feeling her glare burning into your back the whole way there and you hear her mutter, “You really scared me there,” as you leave.
It’s still early in the day. Normally, you’d go straight to headquarters to file your report, but this time you get to enjoy the perks of hunter healthcare. Nurses wheel you into a clean room and park you in a soft bed while doctors run their tests.
The hospital feels warm and welcoming after hours spent wading through mud and slime, your gear soaked and cold. There’s no blood or rot. No lurking danger. Everything is so clean. And the bed, although nothing like your own, is so soft you could sink into it—you briefly consider napping in the safety of this room.
But instead, you pick up your phone. Heejin could call or text. Or Mister Joo.
Your thumb moves absently, and somehow you end up on Baek’s messages. You bite your lip as that familiar pressure builds in your chest.
That man.
Thinking about him got you distracted enough to get hurt. Nearly killed. You’ll never move on if you keep clinging to his stupid messages.
You stare at the short conversation thread for a few seconds. Not much was said. And yet, it still lingers like an echo. You never thought you’d feel this much for him—not after just one night of pretending something more than friendship.
You reread his message. Once. Twice. Hoping to hear his voice in your head, whispering the words like he’s nearby.
This is for your own good.
Your fingers tremble as they hover over the phone.
And then you hit delete.
An empty chuckle escapes your throat. You should be writing your report—not waiting on bloodwork and exorcising ghosts.
----
Hours pass as you slowly doze off in the bed, your aching body soaking up every bit of warmth and comfort it can after your trip through the gate.
There’s a knock at the door, and soon Heejin walks in with two drinks in hand—one canned coffee, the other your usual bland hospital juice and a change of clothes hanging in a bag on her shoulder. Her earlier fury seems to have mellowed into something softer, though the way she looks at you still screams of not pulling stunts like that again. Ever.
“Good news!” she chirps, handing you the juice and the bag, which you accept with a tiny frown. “You’re clear of poison, fungi, and all the fun swamp parasites.”
You reply with a listless, flat: “Yay.”
“They did say you’ve got a hole where your survival instinct used to be, though.”
She stares at you, deadly serious, for a few beats—until she bursts into laughter. You shake your head, lips twitching as you try to bite back a chuckle. Yeah, you deserved that one.
“Anyway. Get up. Let’s go.”
“So I’m good to leave?”
“Yup. And I’ve got the perfect medicine to get you back in action.”
You raise a brow. “A ten-hour nap? Snacks? Shitty movie night?”
She boops your nose. “Soju.”
You groan, but the smile breaks through anyway. “That sounds so unhealthy. I mean—literally getting discharged right now.”
Still… it does sound good. Maybe not healing, exactly. But numbing. Comforting in the way only bad decisions can be.
“First round’s on me!” she winks, already grabbing your things.
You barely have time to sip the juice and change into casuals before she’s dragging you out of the bed and toward whatever chaos she has planned next.
You find yourselves at a trendy-looking bar, perched on the rooftop of a tall building, overlooking a city bathed in hues of gold and soft pink, fading into regal purple. The view stretches far into the skyline through the wall-sized windows.
The bar is fairly quiet—low, smooth jazz hums beneath the casual chatter and laughter. It’s not the weekend, and the patrons seem more interested in sipping their drinks and soaking in the evening than partying away the weight of the past week.
You and Heejin stick out like sore thumbs in your casual outfits—clearly, neither of you planned to end up at a bar when you woke up this morning. Comfort won over dancefloor glam. You can’t help but feel a little unsure of your place here, especially compared to the sleek button-ups and polished looks of the other customers.
Heejin eagerly picks up the drink menu. Maybe she needs a drink just as badly as you do—after all, she did pull you back from the brink of death.
“Oh, the cocktails look so good,” she trills, eyes skimming the list of colorful cocktails.
You slump into the comfortable seat by one of the massive windows. Everything outside feels distant and sleepy—or maybe you just haven’t fully woken up after your time in the hospital.
“I thought we came here for the soju.”
“Well, no one’s stopping us from having both,” Heejin says, peeking from behind the menu and waggling her eyebrows suggestively. “Don’t you think we deserve cocktails?”
There’s no use fighting her when she’s clearly made you her evening mission.
“Fine, as long as we don’t drink too much,” you sigh, though you can’t help but smile a little. “We have work tomorrow.”
Heejin promptly orders the two most outrageously elaborate cocktails she can find—along with soju. The drinks arrive at your table rather fast—thanks to it being a weekday. And when the girliest cocktail is placed in front of you, you gasp.
“Alright,” Heejin says, picking up her drink and lifting it high, “let’s toast!”
“To what?” you ask, your mouth suddenly feeling rather dry.
She pauses to think for a moment, then declares: “Not dying!”
That one forces a half-choked laugh out of your throat. “Not dying.”
You take the first sip of your very pink and lavish drink, and you’re taken aback by its sweetness—it almost pours down your throat like liquid magic. The drink practically forces you to feel better, and you can’t help but chuckle at the cute little kitty cocktail stirrer bobbing in the glass.
“There she is!” Heejin exclaims with a wink. Her eyes go wide as she sips her cocktail through a straw. “Oh, this is way too sweet.”
The two of you sit, drink, and chat casually while slowly finishing your disgustingly sweet cocktails—eventually moving on to the soju. You don’t talk about the gate, or work, or anything related to hunting or dying. You begin to feel more relaxed than you have in ages. Maybe it’s the soju—maybe it’s Heejin. But whatever it is, it’s working.
It’s your turn to order the second round, and you get cocktails that look the funniest—and of course, more soju.
“What do we toast to this time?” she ponders aloud.
“Hmm… how about hot bartenders?” you giggle, feeling the gentle buzz of alcohol lighting up your veins and muscles.
You earn a quizzical lift of her brows before Heejin turns to glance toward the bar counter.
“Oh wow,” she replies. “To hot bartenders.”
More time passes with your new cocktails—ones that turn out to be unexpectedly spicy. The two of you laugh, nearly tearing up in the process, when Heejin tries to pour more soju into your cups and ends up splashing it across the table—only to be rescued by a hot bartender. When he returns with a fresh bottle of soju and leaves the two of you alone, you catch Heejin eyeing his behind with a sly, appreciative stare.
You narrow your eyes smugly at her. “Maybe you should ask him out.”
“Nu-uh. Not leaving my girl alone tonight,” Heejin says, taking a generous gulp of soju. “Though I could ask for his number before we leave.”
You follow suit, emptying your own glass at an alarming rate.
“Thirsty?” she asks, raising a brow at your eagerness. She tops up your glass again. You nod, the warmth of the alcohol making you feel more relaxed—and maybe a little too comfortable. And the plan to not get too drunk discarded a few soju cups ago.
Outside, the sky has darkened completely, and the city below glows like stardust under obsidian skies. The rooftop view is just as magical as your earlier pink cocktail.
“Yeah, after today I really needed this,” you admit, your tone dipping into something a touch more somber. “Because I—”
She grabs your wrist across the table, cutting off the thought before it can fully form. Her brows furrow in quiet warning, steering you away from the emotional swamp.
A beat of silence. Then you both hear soft crying from a nearby table. You glance over to see a young woman being comforted by a friend—clearly dumped.
“Oh, fuck no.”
You smile, feeling a surprising wave of compassion, like you've been there just moments ago. Which you totally haven’t. You haven’t broken up with anyone. Technically.
“Nah, I’ll drink to that,” you say, lifting your glass in a tiny toast before downing it like it’s tequila.
“Really?” Heejin gives you a look—equal parts irritated and confused. “Fine.”
She follows suit... and immediately refills both of your glasses with a dramatic flourish. You can’t take your eyes off that soju bottle after the last spillage.
“Honestly though, I should start charging you every time I save your ass— which isn’t often, but it did happen way too many times today,” she heaves a dramatic sigh as she carefully puts the bottle away and throws you a sideways glance. “Or at least I could get to know what kind of monologue went through your head when you tried to solo that boss like some brooding, overpowered anime protagonist.”
You lean your back against the chair, folding your arms over your chest protectively, and gaze out into the distance.
“See? You’re doing it again,” Heejin points a finger at you, though you spot a smile tugging at her lips.
“You wouldn’t get it.”
“Try me. We’ve got plenty of alcohol here— and time.” She leans in closer, as if some unknown power has made you powerless to speak your truth with a normal voice.
Maybe you could tell her and leave his name out of it. She probably wouldn’t mind hearing the full truth, but you’re unsure whether you can handle it.
“So, uh…” You glance around, avoiding her inquisitive glare across the table. “There’s just this one guy, and I sort of… thought about his abs. And smile. The smile part is important.”
She cocks a brow, incredulous—making you squirm in your seat. She’s silent for a few seconds, like she’s unsure whether to spontaneously combust or just pour another one.
Then, finally, she opens her mouth and says in a tone of extreme disappointment: “Seriously? You were about to get shanked by a fucking lizardman, and you were thinking about someone’s abs?!”
You quickly grab your cup of soju and drink. The warmth of the alcohol does barely anything at this point, not when your whole body feels like it’s an erupting volcano. Heejin shakes her head and drinks too, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol.
“And this is related to everything that’s been going on with you lately?” she asks, almost hissing. You answer with a very hesitant, short-lived nod. “So there was a man?”
This is the moment you’ve been dreading for a while now—admitting that something happened. But you know you can’t escape her scrutiny forever. The least you can do is omit the details of your fake boyfriend. He has nice abs and a great smile, but so do plenty of guys… right?!
“Just one night,” you huff, cheeks glowing with heat.
She tilts her head and gestures subtly toward the bar counter. Not long after, a bartender arrives—already bringing a new bottle of soju. He places it on your table with a small nod, then leaves the two of you alone.
Heejin goes silent. Too silent. It’s unnerving. She’s rarely this quiet.
As you wait for her to speak, you reach for the bottle and pour fresh shots of soju for both of you. She opens her mouth and draws a long inhale, nearly chilling your spine with how dramatic she acts.
“Okay. First of all—who?” she demands, taking a sip from her soju like it’s fuel she needs to process the whole thing. “Second: how dare you keep a one-night stand from me? I thought we were best friends!” She slams her palm against the table and drinks again.
You smile at her awkwardly, wishing you could melt into a puddle and sink through the floor. But such are not your powers, and you probably couldn’t escape furious Heejin with your drunk-addled stealth.
“Do I need to question every delivery guy at your building or something?”
“He wasn’t a delivery guy—”
“Then who?!”
“I can’t say,” you reply with an apologetic frown. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
She sighs and mutters something along the lines of: “His dick must have been magical if you’re this heartbroken over a one-night stand.” Which, of course, makes you burst out laughing. There’s kindness and relief in her expression, and the furrow in her brows softens.
Heejin can’t keep up her furious act for long before she joins you in your tipsy giggling and cackling, the both of you feeling the cheerful bubbling of soju and unknown cocktails coursing through your veins.
“All right, all right,” she finally manages to say, steadying her breath after laughing uncontrollably, “mystery man can stay a mystery.” You finish your cup of soju once again before she adds, “For now.”
“Good luck with that, detective,” you hum with a smirk playing on your lips, pouring more into your cups. You won’t share this piece of information anytime soon anyway.
“To good mysteries, dumb decisions, and hot delivery men,” she clinks her soju cup against yours with a wide smile—the one you know so well, now enhanced by obvious drunkenness.
“Definitely to hot delivery men,” you add mysteriously, swallowing back a chuckle.
The two of you decide to order more cocktails, and this time they’re actually glowing and green—like they’re radioactive. But at this point, you’re too drunk to care if the drink is radioactive. Your tongue yearns to taste it, and your throat craves to swallow it.
“This better not be spicy,” you grumble, still shuddering from your last round of cocktails.
“Oh, you’ll live,” Heejin replies casually. “It’s not the first time you almost died today, after all.”
The green, glowing drinks are surprisingly pleasant. Not too sweet, and definitely not spicy. You’re unsure whether they have alcohol in them at all, but Heejin reassures you of their potency.
After a few more sips, laughs, and silly jokes—such as “Sometimes I think about quitting hunting and starting my own street food chain,” or naming which of your guild members are most likely to survive a zombie apocalypse—you both settle into a pleasant, drunken haze.
You avoid saying Baek’s name, because you feel like it might fall from your lips like a sinful whisper. And you’re lucky; Heejin ends up naming him at some point in her survivor list instead.
Eventually, you excuse yourself to the restroom, leaving Heejin alone at the table. She jokingly threatens to drink all the soju in the bar while you’re gone, and you chuckle. You leave your belongings behind for her to watch—it’s much easier to wobble your way across the bar without your things anyway.
And the moment you disappear behind the corner to the restrooms, Heejin’s delighted smile twists into something far more dangerous. Cunning. Her gaze shifts to your side of the table—specifically to your phone, resting face down almost innocently, like a lamb unaware of a wolf waiting for its moment to strike.
She scoops it up with the grace of a seasoned thief, humming to herself as she bites back a hiccup.
Detective Heejin is on a case, she thinks smugly. She unlocks your phone in seconds. You’ve shared that security pattern with her one too many times while ordering food or showing funny cat pictures.
Delivery guy, my ass.
She starts with your messages. Nothing juicy—just receipts, a thumbs-up emoji from your dad, some “on my way” texts from guildmates. Boring.
Her eyes flick to your contacts list, and that’s when she sees it.
A tiger emoji. No name. No surname. No context.
Who even does that? she narrows her eyes. Coworker? Another hunter? Or was the sex so mind-shattering that he earned an emoji?
Only one way to find out.
She opens the chat. No recent messages. Suspicious if not intriguing. She starts to type.
>> u lookedd so cool last tim i saw u. so cool i nearrrly ded thinking abt ur abz
Send.
She bites her lip. Heart pounding. No reply. No read.
>> r u evn a real tigr or is it a metaphr?
>> mby snd pics of those abz
She nearly wheezes. Her fingers are trembling from the thrill of the hunt. The grammatical collapse is just a minor detail. She takes a victorious sip of soju to calm her nerves, to stop her body from shivering expectantly.
>> thinkin about ur stupid prfct teeth
>> hope ur pllow is warm on both sids
The messages keep flying, barely coherent now, but filled with chaotic bravado. Then—
Read.
The screen lights up. A breath catches in her throat. Her smile stretches, wicked.
The tiger is typing…
And then—
“Heejin, what are you doing with my phone?” Your voice is so sharp it could cut stone. She freezes, slowly looking up. Your face is the definition of horror. Pale. Wide-eyed. Like you just walked in on a crime scene.
Because you did.
“I can totally explain—” Heejin lifts up your phone like she’s been caught stealing something. You feel like all the air has left your lungs, your body grown numb. Your alcohol-addled brain screams in panic, drowning out any coherent thought.
“What did you do?”
She’s frozen, but the unsure, wavering smile betrays her defenses. She knows she’s been caught, and no matter what story she could spin, the evidence is right there. The only thing she knows is to act fast—like sliding the phone across the table might somehow erase the crime.
Except the way she meant to slide the phone is nothing compared to the actual action. Somehow her fingers hit the screen unintentionally, tapping the call button.
The phone lands on your side of the table, revealing that it’s now trying to call the tiger emoji.
Heejin’s eyes widen, nearly plate-sized, and she freezes—her hand suspended midair in sheer bewilderment.
You look down at the phone, processing what it shows… but your soul is already in the process of leaving your body.
“Did you just—”
“OH MY GOD,” Heejin gasps.
The phone is ringing. You lunge for it, scrambling to end the call.
One ring.
Second ring.
The phone slips from your hand like it’s possessed by a malevolent spirit—refusing to be picked up.
Third ring.
Heejin manages to push it just out of your reach.
And then—
Click.
A familiar voice you haven’t properly heard in days—low, husky—echoes across the table from your phone.
“Hello?”
This is it.
This is how you die. Drunk. In a bar. In the middle of the week.
Maybe you should fake a heart attack. Maybe ask Heejin to help stage it—just long enough to get buried with your phone, facedown, forever. Because Heejin recognizes the voice instantly. and her jaw drops.
She stares at you, then slowly turns her wide-eyed gaze to the phone like it’s a cursed object.
“Hello?” he says again, voice lower now, tinged with something like concern. “…Is it you?”
You’re going to combust. Spontaneously disintegrate. She doesn’t even need to guess anymore—she’s connecting dots faster than you could ever bury them.
You finally snatch the phone back and end the call with a trembling hand.
And you swallow, the shame so thick in your throat you can barely breathe. You know you have some explaining to do…
To both Heejin and him.
And you don’t want to do either.
Maybe you should sell all your possessions and move to another country. You are that ashamed.
“That was BAEK YOON-HO,” Heejin finally manages to spit out in a voice like something snapped inside her brain.
You earn a few annoyed groans and pointed glares from nearby tables. Even the bartender perks up behind the counter.
“Heejin, not so loud—” you try to hush her, but it’s useless. Even the moon has probably heard her shriek by now.
“THAT’S OUR BOSS.”
“I know,” you hiss back, trying to shut her up.
She opens and closes her mouth, shifts in her chair, folds and unfolds her arms.
Then finally, she exhales. The longest, deepest sigh imaginable.
“…Did the two of you—”
You’re unable to hide it now, not after everything that’s just been revealed. You shouldn’t have Baek’s phone number in the first place; he’s the guildmaster. He doesn’t even usually handle direct hunter matters.
You swallow hard and nod, unable to form words.
Heejin finishes her soju in one go. Refills. Downs it again. You can’t tell if she feels betrayed, shocked, or deeply entertained.
“Heejin?” you ask, unsure where you stand in her eyes now.
There’s a beat of silence.
And then she opens her mouth.
“So how was he?”
You blink. “Huh?”
“You know what I mean.” She chuckles darkly, dangerously.
“How. Was. He?”
You rest your forehead against the cold surface of the table. Maybe you should have let the lizardman kill you.
Well, this got finished faster than I ever could have expected. Huge shoutout to @vizell for helping me brainstorm the contents of the gate! Apologies too if I ended up butchering the lore. Warnings for angst, blood and injury. (I swear I don't enjoy writing angst this much)
Words: 3342
<- Previous Chapter
----
The next few days pass in a blur. You're on autopilot: going to work, typing away at your computer, hitting the gym to practice combat, then heading straight home. Exhausted.
Keeping yourself busy does help take your mind off him. The only moments your thoughts drift back to that scene in his office are at night, when you're desperately trying to sleep.
Heejin knows something's bothering you, but despite her attempts, she's managed to gouge very little—you're not in the mood to talk any of it anyway.
And Baek… well. You still see him occasionally during the morning briefings, especially now that the Jeju Island raid is approaching fast. He doesn't talk to you—much to your relief—and you focus on the meetings as well as you can.
There’s no need to think about him anymore, right?
You begin to wonder if what happened between you was just one mind-blowing dream. A result of your horny imagination at best.
Besides, the raid prep keeps him busy too. He’s often out of the office, training with the other S-ranks.
Finally, it’s time to actually enter a gate. You haven’t felt this alive in a while — mostly because you figure you could unleash some pent-up wrath on the hostile enemies. Sure, you're technically there to help train new hunters, but surely no one will complain if one or two monsters are unexpectedly reduced to pudding.
That morning, you wake up slightly groggy — dreams still beckoning you back to bed. Standing in the shower, you bite the inside of your cheek. You need to be fully awake. Despite the gate being at the lower end of C-rank, and you being a B-rank, there’s always a chance things could go sideways.
I want to feel you lose control.
Your legs shiver as the memory of him slams into you without warning. You bite down so hard this time that you taste blood.
“Fuck,” you groan against the cold tiles of your shower. “It was just one night. One mistake.”
That’s all it was. Just two people who needed friction and—
You scrub your skin a little harder, like you can scrape off the dull ache lodged somewhere beneath your ribs. The water is already colder than you like, but maybe that’s the point. Maybe the chill will erase the heat of his hands on your hips, the weight of him on top of you, the burn of his mouth on your skin—
You shake your head sharply and turn off the water.
Breathe.
You don’t need this. Not today. He probably doesn’t think about you when he showers.
Can’t.
So why should you?
You’re over this — you remind yourself. There’s no need to beat yourself up over a tiny slip.
----
It’s a warm day outside, the kind where the sun almost pulls everything beneath it into a soft, golden embrace. As you approach the gate where the planned raid is set to begin, a familiar silhouette stands out among the small gathering of hunters.
Park Heejin.
The raven-haired B-rank healer is clearly expecting you, even while chatting easily with a few of the C- and D-rank hunters assigned to the raid. She’s glowing, radiant—like she’s on a first-name basis with the cheerful ball of fire in the sky.
And you?
You’re the opposite. An approaching storm, all rumbling silence and thunder waiting to strike.
“Why are you here?” you ask as soon as you’re close enough.
“Good morning to you too,” she replies, her smile faltering just a little.
You didn’t think she’d be up for joining a gate raid so soon after the Red Gate incident. In truth, you’d looked forward to this one moment of peace—one raid without Heejin's careful eyes prying into your mess of a heart.
Without her asking about… him.
She pulls you aside, away from the rest of the group. Their laughter floats over to you, light and distant, like something happening in another world.
“I came because you are here,” she says.
Your brow lifts, puzzled.
“You’re worrying me,” she admits, and there’s a quiet tug at your chest. “Even when you’re here, your mind is clearly somewhere else.”
“It’s nothing,” you mutter. “I’m better now.”
At least, that’s what you want to believe.
Heejin tilts her head.
“Isn’t it a little early for you to jump back into gates? After what happened with Kim Chul and—”
She breaks you off with a soft chuckle, but it’s missing something—maybe her usual confident edge.
“But you’re here,” she says, her smile returning like sunlight after cloud cover. “And I know you’ll look after me, just like I look after you.”
It hits you like a blunt weapon to the gut—her honesty. She’s not wrong. You would look after her. But you hadn’t expected her to force her way in like this, not when you’d been trying so hard to keep everyone out.
“Fine.” You give up, there's no point in wrestling with her when she's so determined to follow you into an upcoming battle. At the very least, you have a healer you know and trust.
“Awww thanks,” she beams, clapping her hands together, “y’know we haven't been in a gate together for a while.”
“That's because you never let me have fun.”
“And you're too easily distracted.”
----
Whatever lies beyond a gate is always a mystery. That swirling, circular portal keeps its secrets well; no one can see what’s waiting on the other side. And yet, there's a thrill to stepping through it. Like you're an explorer diving headfirst into an unknown, hostile world.
This time, you’re greeted by damp, heavy air. Above, the sky churns with thick clouds, bruised in ominous shades of purple. Withered trees loom around you, their skeletal silhouettes illuminated by the soft glow of flickering lanterns and drifting fireflies. The silence is alive—broken only by the hum of insects and the occasional croak of a frog, distant but sharp.
“Wonder who we’re up against?” Heejin murmurs as you both slow your pace, the atmosphere pressing in like a held breath.
“I don’t know,” you say, drawing your dual daggers with a soft rasp. “But stay alert.”
Whatever this place is, one thing is certain: a dungeon isn’t cleared until its boss is dead.
In the distance, you spot the ruins of what you assume was once an ancient temple — or maybe a palace. You, Heejin, and the rest of the group begin to follow a trail deeper into the dungeon. The first timers in your group are huddled together in the middle of the party, visibly shaking nervously, but Heejin reassures them with soft words and calm gestures. Meanwhile, your eyes never stop scanning the treeline.
The silence is unsettling. By now, you should’ve been ambushed at least five times.
“I’ll scout ahead,” you tell the team before activating your stealth so no one has a chance to protest. This is something you’re used to— never straying too far off from the main party, while figuring out the possible enemy formations.
“Stay safe,” Heejin calls softly behind you.
Part of you had hoped to wreck havoc alone. It is the perfect chance to unleash that pent-up frustration without being watched or judged. But since the dungeon is already behaving differently from what you’re used to, you decide to play it safe. For now.
You slip toward the ruins, your silhouette becoming one with the shadows and as you approach a half-burned doorway, you hear chanting — like you’ve stumbled into an ancient ritual. You follow the sound, your footfalls muffled by your gear and enhanced stealth. The rest of the group stays within your peripheral vision—just close enough in case things go sideways.
You take a steady breath, calming your heartbeat. Even a hint of hesitation can become deadly.
The chanting grows louder. Light flickers across a ruined stone wall, covered in vines long withered, petals dark and lifeless—almost burnt to charcoal.
At another doorway—half-crumbled from erosion, fire, and time—you halt. Leaning your back against the damp, moss-slick wall, you feel the cold bite through your gear and send shivers down your spine. You take a short breather; it’s a good time to prepare and calm your nerves. You can’t hold your stealth forever.
Silence.
The chanting cuts off. Even the swamp’s chorus of chirps and croaks fades into nothing. Goosebumps rise along your arms.
You cautiously peek around the corner. One tall, blue-scaled lizardman stands guard with its back to you—a perfect setup for someone with your skillset. You’ve never fought one before. Everything you know comes from books and online reports.
Its scales, which should shimmer a deep cobalt, are dull—almost gray—with strange cracks running across them. Sickly? Mutated? You narrow your eyes.
Biting your lip, you steady your grip and move into striking position. Your heart hammers with anticipation and the familiar high of a clean ambush. You shuffle into place, feet silent, daggers ready.
Strike.
Both blades pierce deep into its back, sliding between the scaled plates.
Its shriek is sharp and shrill, rattling through the silence. Blood spurts from the twin wounds, thick and blackish-blue. You hold your breath, yank one dagger free, and drive it down again.
The lizardman crashes to the stone floor with a wet thud, dragging you down with it. A faint sizzle catches your attention as the body beneath you grows unanimated.
Too easy.
Way too easy.
A stinging sensation blooms in your forearm and shoulder as the sizzling continues. You glance down—tiny bubbles boil through your armor.
“Shit,” you curse under your breath, scrambling off the corpse. You wipe your blades on its ragged clothing, the blood smearing across the metal like ink. For a moment, you worry your weapons might give in to the same corrosion.
You don’t get to celebrate the kill—or panic about your skin melting off—when you hear footsteps. Multiple. Fast.
You wince, almost activating your stealth again, but then you see her.
Heejin.
She appears in the doorway, face pale as ash, and rushes to you without hesitation. She kneels beside you, hands already glowing with green light as she assesses the damage.
You pant, surrendering to her care, eyes darting to the other hunters gathering behind her.
“Lizardmen,” you huff, motioning to the corpse with your good arm. “But something’s off about them.”
Heejin frowns as she examines your injury. “This is a nasty corrosion,” she mutters, lips thinning in concentration. “Might leave a mark, but it should fade in a few days.”
Warmth flows from her fingers, wrapping your arm in a glow that soothes the sting. It’s such a stark contrast to the cold, unfriendly air of the dungeon that you exhale without realizing you’d been holding your breath.
“It shouldn’t have been that easy,” you murmur. The corrosive blood is just a symptom—the real problem is deeper.
Heejin pulls her hands back, hesitating for a beat. Then, turning to the rest of the team, she calls out, “Watch out for the blood!”
Her grip tightens briefly on your good arm before you can pull away.
“That means you too.”
“I know,” you groan.
“So no running off on your own.”
“I was scouting,” you protest with an eye roll.
She chuckles, but there’s no weight behind it. Not this time.
Your arm and shoulder feel like they’re completely new body parts— even though you know she didn’t go all in with the healing to preserve her mana. You sigh and turn to walk further into the room.
So much for clearing your head inside a gate when even the enemies bleed poison.
----
Just as you expected after your first encounter, the rest of the lizardmen are just as easy to kill—and just as deadly to touch. Their corrosive blood leaves a mark on everything it touches.
After clearing a chamber full of those half-dead reptiles, your group decides to take a break. It’s been a few hours since you entered the dungeon, though it feels more like minutes.
Maybe that’s the adrenaline.
You leave the fresh hunters and Heejin to rest while you take watch, perched on the edge of a ruined building, overlooking what appears to be a decaying city swallowed by withered jungle and shadow. Lizardmen lurk in the cracks below, poison humming through their veins.
Sitting still makes you anxious. Killing things was easier. Now that you're not moving, you're left alone with your thoughts—and they circle back to that dull, familiar numbness. Maybe it’s your body too, aching from all the stealthing and blade-work. But it’s your heart that feels the dullest.
Did you really break up with a fake boyfriend? That sounds ridiculous. Pathetic, even.
“Fucking Yoon-Ho,” you mutter under your breath, and toss a pebble you found on the rooftop.
“Who’s fucking?”
You nearly jump. Your head snaps toward the voice, and there’s Heejin, failing spectacularly to hide her grin.
“No one,” you sigh, your shoulders sagging as she sits beside you. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”
After she patched you up, the group had gone through wave after wave of lizardmen—and others hadn’t been so lucky with their injuries. You’ve all learned to fight more carefully, but the blood is still a problem. You can’t rely on the mages to torch every monster before it bleeds.
She sits down next to you and leans her head against your good shoulder. The two of you stare into the distance. A loud shriek echoes across the swamp, but it’s too far away for either of you to take up arms—or care.
“I can rest here so you won’t be brooding all alone.”
You scoff, amused by her persistence. Brooding, huh? You can’t really deny it.
Heejin pulls away, resting her hands behind her on the rooftop, leaning back just enough to admire the ominous, dark sky. “I know I joke a lot, but I’m really worried about you.”
That should be your cue to leave—but you don’t. Your legs suddenly feel like they weigh a ton.
“You haven’t really been the same since, well… that Monday,” she says, glancing at you, her brows furrowed. “And no offense, but you’re not exactly subtle.”
You quirk a brow at her, mildly confused, then exhale—long and slow, like you’ve been holding it in for hours.
“Didn’t think I’d have to be subtle about something that wasn’t even real.”
Now she’s the one who looks confused. Somehow, watching the million questions flicker across her face amuses you. You’ve never told her what happened after the wedding. Not really.
“It… wasn’t?” she asks.
“It really doesn’t matter. Not anymore.” You scrape another pebble off the rooftop, using the motion to block out the sound of his voice trying to slither its way out from the back of your mind.
She bites the inside of her cheek, clearly unconvinced. “Yet you’re up here cursing someone…”
Your heart lodges in your throat. The pebble nearly slips from your fingers. You don’t answer. You can’t.
Just like he can’t.
You hate that word.
“You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready,” Heejin says quietly, “but… I’m here. If you need anything.”
You toss the pebble. It lands in a suspicious puddle with a soft blorp. You hum in acknowledgment.
----
After resting for a good while—eating rations and drinking water not sourced from the suspicious swamp lakes—you resume your exploration. More lizardmen. More blood. More injuries.
You collect a couple of new wounds courtesy of a lizardman that doesn’t go down as easily as the others. Heejin tuts disapprovingly at your recklessness—according to her, fighting a venomous lizardman one-on-one in a narrow corridor is a terrible plan.
Now you’ve got a fresh mark on your leg, and another across your stomach.
She might not be thrilled, but your blood is roaring. The ache in your muscles, the sting of your cuts, the sweat clinging to your skin—this is the most alive you’ve felt in days. The pain, the heat, the high of it all quiets everything else.
The boss room opens before you—a massive, circular space with no roof. The sky gapes down, ominous and heavy. The original ceiling has long since crumbled into ruin, its remnants swallowed by time.
The dungeon boss is waiting.
A towering lizardman—unlike any of the half-dead creatures you’ve fought so far. This one stands tall, powerful, its scales a deep ebony and healthy. Dressed in ceremonial garb that marks it as something more than a brute—something sacred. A chieftain. Or worse, a shaman.
The moment you step into the boss room, the air shifts—like it had been expecting hunters all along. Magic simmers in the atmosphere, thick and humming, making your skin prickle. Instinctively, you crouch into stealth.
Heejin mouths quiet orders to the group: tanks to the front, fighters behind them, mages with her at the back.
She doesn’t tell you where to go. She knows better now. And besides, your hand is already trembling around your dagger—not with fear, but anticipation.
You wait for the shaman to fixate on the tankers, then slip between torches fashioned from tiny, bleached skulls. You position yourself, daggers steady. A smile crawls across your lips.
As it lifts one scaly arm—staff clutched tight—you leap, blades aimed for its back.
But your daggers only scrape its ebony scales. No satisfying pierce, no give of flesh. The boss lets out a roar, louder than any lizardman before. It spins and slams you with its tail.
Your back hits the wall like a thrown ragdoll. The air leaves your lungs in one heaving gasp. But you manage to scramble upright, pain searing through your ribs—but the thrill still dances behind your smile. You swipe away the trickle of red at the corner of your mouth.
It begins to channel. Blue runes light up the ground beneath it in a perfect, glowing circle.
“It’s a caster!” someone yells.
It should be targeting the tankers—but instead, it locks eyes with you.
Hungry. Focused.
The runes vanish. A massive ball of glowing blue ooze gathers over its head—then launches toward you like a missile.
You duck, just barely. Fire scorches across your back as the projectile hits the wall behind you. The explosion rumbles through your bones. You stagger upright, brushing dust and grit off your body. Pain blooms. Your daggers tremble in your fists, blood singing.
You hear Heejin shout your name. But it’s distant, muffled—like her voice is underwater. You vanish again into stealth. Dash. Weave between debris like a leopard. Leap from a broken column and dive down, blades glinting.
You strike. The daggers dig shallowly into the creature’s shoulders. It screams—a high, bone-chilling shriek—and blood sprays from its wounds. The ground hisses as droplets sizzle and eat through the stone.
But it twists and hurls you down. Your back slams into the floor. The impact explodes in your chest, pain rippling outward in fire-hot waves. You gasp, body slow to respond.
It looms over you.
Its staff lifts like a war banner. A weapon. Death.
And then your eyes meet.
Your breath halts.
That look—wild, electric, alive. You’ve seen it before.
You remember Baek, shirtless and laughing in the training hall, chasing you across the mats like a tiger on the hunt. That gleam in his eyes. That boyish grin that said he loved the chase.
You’d almost forgotten the sound of that husky, breathless laugh.
And then you feel the staff punch through your gut.
Pain explodes outward. You cough—slow motion—and taste copper on your tongue. Your mind reels.
You thought you could outrun your feelings by fighting. But in the end you’ve fallen prey to them, consumed by longing and regret.
Your name rings out. Someone—Heejin?—screams it.
The boss shudders under the weight of a tanks’ blow and stumbles back.
Heejin appears beside you, green light already swirling in her hands. She yanks the staff free from your stomach. You scream. You barely register being dragged out of range, her magic wrapping around you like a cocoon.
Your vision is blurred. But you find her face and all you manage is to mouth: “Sorry.”
Chapter 3. Do me a favor and act like it never happened?
I couldn't stop writing after the last chapter, so here is some more, but this is just full of awkward tension, spicy flashbacks (so NSFW warning? I'm not sure) and angst!
Words: 3575
<< Previous Chapter
Monday.
The brisk morning air blankets the street as everything slowly rouses from sleep. The sky is clear, and the sun rising on the horizon glows almost mercilessly as it begins to warm everything touched by its rays.
There’s no excitement or thrill on Monday mornings — just another week to rise and grind. Another week of suffering in the office, with the occasional gate raid. Another week of seeing him at work.
You knew it would be a mistake to sleep with your boss. Normally, you’d be somewhat excited to head to work; being a hunter is something you genuinely enjoy — even if your life often hangs on the edge of danger.
But that’s what healers and tankers are for, right?
Normally, you’d take the fastest route and the first available means of transportation. Earlier than most of your coworkers.
But now, you’re practically dragging your feet as you walk toward the office — your heart pounding louder with each step.
At least you had the whole Sunday to recover.
You let out a hollow, bitter laugh as memories of that night between Saturday and Sunday resurface. Sure, you had a good time… but part of you wants to go back in time, slap yourself across the face, and tell yourself to keep your panties on.
Because there’s no way things won’t be awkward between you and Baek Yoon-Ho.
The worst part? You can’t even talk about it.
You expect Heejin to grill you with questions about the wedding — especially since you absentmindedly mentioned you were attending.
What if she notices something? What if you accidentally stare at your boss for one second too long?
For the first time ever, it seems like you’re actually dreading going to work.
At exactly nine a.m., you drop into your familiar chair, your computer humming lazily as it boots up. You stare at the screen, completely blank. Maybe you should have taken a day off? The report you were writing back on Friday is still there, half-finished.
“Coffee?” a familiar voice chirps. Park Heejin — a fellow B-rank hunter at the White Tiger Guild and probably your best friend — stands beside you with an oddly cheerful smile.
“Sure, thanks,” you nod quietly, as you click through the menus to get your hands on the report. Heejin hands you the cup of coffee and you take it from her without turning her way.
“So how did the wedding go?” she asks. Fortunately you prepared yourself for questions like this. You had a whole day of regret to come up with excuses.
“Soooo much fun,” you sigh, rolling your eyes — though a tiny smile betrays you. Heejin leans at an empty desk next to yours— the very same your boss did back on Friday. “I saw a relative there and I thought he had died like 5 years ago, but nope— there he was.”
She chuckles and takes a tiny sip out of her own cup.
“Yeah it was horrible,” you lie through your teeth as you didn’t exactly have a terrible time there thanks to a certain red head. “But the food was great, soooo great.”
Heejin cocks a brow at the lack of enthusiasm behind your tone. She knows how you are not a fan of family gatherings, but she has known you for quite a while now and knows something’s amiss.
“You look like you haven’t slept a wink,” she sighs, clearly disappointed that you haven’t already spilled the hottest tea of your weekend. “Don't tell me you managed to bring a man home from the wedding and he’s been keeping you busy all weekend now.”
You nearly spit out the coffee you have just taken a sip of, but somehow manage to contain almost all of it and instead you just burst into a fit of coughs.
“What man? Why would there be a man?” you ask, your voice going a touch too high. You hide your twitching lips behind the rim of the mug, pretending to savor the coffee. Of course she is as perceptive as ever, you groan to yourself.
“So there was a man?” she presses, slamming her hands onto your desk like a detective coming up with a breakthrough.
“If there was a man,” you sigh, "hypothetically speaking,” you add when you see the excitement begin to sparkle within her bright green eyes. She frowns and returns to lean against the nearby desk. “There’s no man right now,” you say through clenched teeth, silently praying your boss isn’t lurking anywhere nearby to hear this mess unfold.
“Well, isn’t that perfect,” she grins, clearly up to no good. “Because I matched you with someone on Cinder. He’s got a job, teeth, and he thinks female hunters are hot.” Your eyes go wide. This is something you definitely didn’t expect. And more importantly: when did she even have time to do this? “Total match, right?”
“What? Heejin— no, that’s—”
“You were so lonely on Friday evening, so I took the matters to my hands.”
And right on cue, the entire universe decides to ruin your morning. You spot Baek Yoon-Ho — your boss and… fling — walking across the office, heading toward the meeting room. Everyone greets him on the way, and you’d stand out too much if you didn’t chime in with a “good morning.”
His eyes briefly meet yours — and for a split second, you swear you catch a flicker of gold in that sharp, unreadable stare. You freeze mid-wave, hand awkwardly suspended as your brain malfunctions. Just a normal wave. Totally normal. Baek, however, is already talking with the first management division chief. Your heart sinks — more than it should. What were you even expecting?
You’d both made a promise over breakfast: pretend the night never happened. The fake relationship too. Just another secret between you and your boss.
“Alright, we have a meeting in five,” you hear the voice of Joo Sungcham — the chief of the guild's first division surveillance team. He's the one who usually gives you orders instead of Baek Yoon-Ho, but something's clearly cooking up the management ladder.
Heejin lifts her head. “Wonder if something happened.”
You let out a thoughtful hum. You do know Baek had to leave before sunrise due to a minor incident, but it didn’t seem like something big enough to cram all the guild’s hunters into a meeting room.
The two of you rise, joining the tide of murmuring hunters shuffling into the room.
Baek is already there, seated at the head of the long table, fingers laced above the surface. He doesn’t look at you — his gaze seems fixed on the coffee mug in front of him.
Heejin drags you toward two empty seats far enough away from Baek to feel like an entirely different time zone. His appearance is as sharp as ever — suit freshly pressed, red hair immaculately styled. It’s hard to imagine that same man moaning your name just a day ago.
…You really need to get over whatever this is.
The meeting begins. The room falls into a reverent hush as Baek stands, tall and commanding, the projection flicking through slides behind him.
He doesn’t acknowledge you. Not once. His eyes skim right past your seat. You feel a tiny pinch in your chest.
“Fourth Jeju Island raid,” he says, his voice steady, gaze sweeping the room — conveniently skipping over you again.
You’d heard whispers, but this is big. Your heart stutters; you're only a B-rank hunter, after all.
“There’s no formal plan in place yet,” he continues, “but it’s vital the guild supports the operation as much as possible. And… as we sadly lost a few members not long ago—”
He pauses. A breath, long and weary. You glance at Heejin — her expression has gone completely blank; she was one of the few survivors of the Red Gate incident.
“I understand if some of you are uncomfortable, but I’ll be honest — I need your help.”
A low rumble of murmurs circles the room. Doubt. Dread. Worry. Baek clears his throat — the room stills again.
“If I had to guess, I’d say the S-ranks will go hard and deep—”
He falters. Blinks. A beat.
“I mean, will be deployed to the hardest… zones—” He shakes his head, sighing under his breath. Heejin raises a brow, shooting you a look of disbelief.
“What’s gotten into him?” she whispers.
And then — his eyes land on yours.
You freeze.
There’s a flicker of something in his expression: embarrassment, restraint, memory.
The image hits you like a brick.
His mouth on your neck.
Your wrists pinned.
The heat of him pulsing deep inside you as he groaned your name against your skin.
“I can’t seem to stop myself when you’re like this.”
Another throat clear — you blink, snapping back to reality just as he continues.
“There will likely be a strike squad comprised of Korean S-rank hunters, with Japanese S-ranks supporting operations around the island perimeter.”
A nudge at your elbow.
“You good?” Heejin whispers. “You’ve got a weird look on your face.”
“I'm fine,” you mutter, squeezing your pen like it might snap any moment.
Your thighs press together instinctively.
This. Was. A. Mistake.
The rest of the meeting blurs into a cloudy daze; your gaze stays fixed on the presentation while your mind fights the urge to drift—to him. Your thoughts try to slip— his voice so professional and clean compared to the husky growls and grunts you got used to. Just thinking about it makes you shudder, squeezing your legs together a tad tighter.
Every time Heejin leans in to whisper another concerned “Are you okay?”, you just nod curtly. “The office is colder than usual.” Though you claim to be cold, the truth simmers beneath your skin—hot and restless, as you shift subtly in your seat.
After Baek Yoon-Ho has finished his speech, the first division surveillance team chief takes a moment to debrief hunters, while Baek sits still with furrowed brows. Silent. Observant. Like a tiger crouched in the tall grass—watching. Waiting.
----
Hunters pour out of the meeting room like a swarm, buzzing with chatter: Jeju Island, Japanese S-ranks, Korean hunters, gym routines… the usual chaos.
You feel like you’ve been sitting inside a dream all morning, moving from one point to another. Drained. Not just of energy, but of will—every movement sluggish, every thought trailing behind where it should be. And as you return to your desk to find the same unfinished report, you frown. Is this the first time in this job when you actually hate Monday?
You fall back into a familiar rhythm, fingers tapping away at your keyboard like muscle memory dragging you back to sanity.
Time passes as you write, focusing on it. It’s almost purifying—finally, a task that wipes your mind clean of any thoughts of your boss’s head between your thighs. For now, it’s just a very detailed version of the gate raid you participated in last week. You were the highest ranking hunter there, helping out a bunch of new recruits getting adjusted to the raiding with the other guild members.
Two hours has passed when you finally click the send button, pleased with your work.
“Lunch?” Heejin’s voice cuts through your haze, chipper and relentless as she materializes beside you, already tugging at your arm.
“Is it lunch already?” you mumble, mildly dumbfounded as you pick up your phone. “And where the hell did you even come from…” you add under your breath.
“Girl, what is wrong with you today?” she groans dramatically, crossing her arms with practiced exasperation. “You were totally checked out during that meeting too, are you sick—” her lips pull into a devious, scheming smile, “—or in love?”
“Definitely not in love!” you snap so fast it almost startles you, like the very word left a bitter taste in your mouth. Love? No. Gross. Absolutely not. She doesn’t seem to buy it and tilts her head, the smirk adorning her face crooked and victorious.
“We can talk more about your love life over lunch and I have just the place in mind to cheer you up.”
Your phone vibrates—sharply. Almost aggressively. Like it knows it’s about to ruin your life. You look at the notification and see a message from…
Him.
Your fingers nearly tremble as you swipe the screen of your phone to see what he has sent you. Thank god you saved his contact with a tiger emoji—way less obvious than “Baek Yoon-Ho,” which would’ve made Heejin drop her lunch plans and start interrogating you on the spot.
“Just a second, Heejin.”
Heejin sits down on the empty desk next to yours, waiting patiently and looking at your other coworkers doing something silly in the background.
>> My office.
>> Now.
The message is simple if a tad bossy and yet your legs have grown numb. Why does he want to see you now when he clearly didn’t bother acknowledging your existence earlier? However, your heart flutters, picking up its pace cheerily.
“Uhm, actually something came up and I need to stay a bit longer,” you tuck your phone away into your pocket, dodging Heejin’s inquisitive glare that tries to drill into your brain. “I’ll get something out of the cafeteria later.”
Her eyes narrow into thin, suspicious slits. “Uh-huh,” she says slowly, clearly not buying it. “Totally not in love.”
You point at her with your index finger, as if that alone could silence her—but you know it won’t last long. Especially when she leaves while snickering to herself. You make a mental note not to enter a gate with her anytime soon; you might end up stuck there for a week or more. Time moves faster inside a gate… and she’d enjoy every minute of watching you suffer.
As soon as she disappears from the office floor, your legs begin to move. You want to turn around and chase after Heejin—pretend you forgot something, pretend anything—but your body doesn’t listen. It’s like you’re being pulled toward the guildmaster’s office by some invisible thread, a kind of gravity you can’t explain.
Luckily, most of your coworkers have left for lunch. No one seems to notice a lone B-rank hunter slipping into the tiger’s den.
You haven’t been in Baek’s office more than once or twice before. He’s not usually directly involved with the hunters in the guild, and it’d raise eyebrows to visit him without a valid reason. So either you’re in trouble, or he’s making this personal.
Unfortunately, both are possible. After all, you did sleep with him.
A shudder crawls down your spine as his voice, rough with want, echoes again in your mind—panting in your ear, groaning your name like a secret.
You turn the handle of his door and push it open, revealing a wide, elegant room bathed in pale daylight. Massive windows stretch across one side, casting shadows over towering shelves full of books—some you recognize, others with strange symbols or spines that look far too abstract or foreign.
Baek sits in his chair, turned slightly away from the door, gaze locked on the window. He doesn’t turn to look at you.
Something tightens in your chest.
“Close the door,” he says.
His voice is strained. Tight. Controlled in a way that makes you feel anything but.
You obey, almost sensing his eyes burning a hole into your back, but when you turn to face him again, he doesn’t appear to have moved at all. You take a few tentative, shaky steps toward his desk.
“You asked for me?”
Your voice is just as overly professional as his — like you’re both dancing on the edge of something dangerous.
Finally, his gaze flicks to you.
Your heart jumps.
Baek keeps his face unreadable — so unreadable he almost looks mad at you. Did you screw something up at the start of the week already? His jaw clenches as he stands. You’d almost forgotten how tall he is.
You hold your breath.
“I thought we were supposed to act like nothing happened,” he says, voice tight, controlled — but you can sense something beneath it. Something dangerously familiar.
He makes his way around the desk slowly, stopping just a few steps away from you. Within reach.
“So why were you staring at me during the meeting?”
His question is quiet. He takes a step closer — and you instinctively step back.
What?
A wave of irritation crashes over you.
“Excuse me? You were the one pretending I didn’t exist — what did you want me to do, throw my pen at you?”
You glare at him, not backing down like you were about to just seconds ago.
“Is this all you wanted to talk to me about?” you groan. “To think I didn’t get to eat a tasty lunch because of this— this is ridiculous.”
You turn and head for the door, already reaching for your phone to text Heejin and see if you can still join her.
But just as your fingers graze the handle—
Slam.
A hand with tiger claws pins the door shut beside your head.
You whirl around — and Baek is there, casting a shadow over you, his clawed hand still on the door.
You’re unsure if you feel turned on or afraid, but it doesn’t matter — you can’t form a coherent thought when all of them have fled straight to your groin.
“You’re making this ridiculous,” he growls quietly. You catch the flicker of gold in his eyes.
Neither of you move. The silence stretches, a standoff, a staring match you refuse to lose.
“Fuck,” he finally grunts, voice low and rasping. “I guess I didn’t hallucinate.”
You blink. Your heart skips a beat.
“Hallucinate what?”
His gaze softens. A faint rose flush rises to his cheeks.
“You had that face when you—”
He cuts himself off.
“Oh,” you say, feeling heat crawl up your neck.
“That.”
Baek Yoon-Ho looks like a man at war with himself, his jaw clenching again and again. His gaze drops, tracing the line of your lips, and you see him swallow—hard. His claws dig into the wooden door behind you with a low creak.
Your pulse quickens, your breaths unsteady—because for a moment, there's a strange pull, a gravity tugging you toward him. Wanting to kiss him. You wet your lips at the thought. He inhales sharply.
The moment lasts far too long to be anything professional. You both consider it: give in. The air thickens with anticipation, yet neither of you moves.
You can smell him—his familiar scent—and it floods you with memories. Of him kissing you like you were the sweetest thing in the world. Of him devouring you like he couldn't get enough. He’s too close.
What if—
Suddenly, he pulls away, retreating like a startled cat. His hand comes up to pinch the bridge of his nose, like he’s trying to fight back a migraine. You lean against the door, dazed, trying to steady your breathing.
“No.” His voice is quiet, frayed. “We can’t.”
You wait a beat before replying, voice cool but thin: “Then why did you call me here?”
He looks at you—then looks away, like you burn him with your presence. His shoulders rise and fall in a slow, steady rhythm.
“Because I needed to know.”
“Know what?” You let out a half-laugh, crossing your arms as if to hold your dignity together. The back of your neck burns.
“That it wasn’t just me.”
Silence falls again. Heavy, suffocating. Only the distant hum of traffic far below his window dares to intrude.
He doesn’t look at you, but you can feel the weight behind the words. They're full of something unspoken. A thousand emotions that language doesn’t cover. He stands still, his body tense, but there is a certain softness to him. The aura he radiates is warm in a way that might hurt more than his coldness ever could.
You feel something swell in your chest—unwelcome, uninvited. Too soon. Too real.
And your voice cracks as you whisper: “It wasn’t just you.”
He shifts, turning slightly like he wants to meet your eyes—but doesn’t. Can’t. Like he knows that if he looks at you again, he might lose whatever fragile grip on restraint he has left.
“You should go,” he murmurs, already moving back to his chair.
Your hand hesitates on the door handle. You bite your lip, stealing one last glance at him as he sits down. He doesn’t look up, but you can feel it—the heat of his gaze at your back, burning like it’s begging you to turn around.
But you don’t.
The walk back to your desk feels distant, unreal. You don’t even register how your legs shake. Your ears hum—like the ocean, like you’re underwater.
Muted.
Dulled.
Your heart isn’t racing anymore. It just hurts—a slow, echoing thud that somehow feels louder than everything else.
Heejin hasn’t returned yet. You notice that as you sit down, finally. Like you’re surfacing from the waves, heavy as an anchor. Your fingers hover above your keyboard, ready to resume work—but you don’t.
Like muscle memory, you reach into your jacket pocket and pull out your phone. The screen lights up—still showing that same unread message from the tiger emoji.
You swipe your thumb across it, as if the motion might offer some kind of comfort.
It doesn’t.
You set the phone face-down on your desk. Exhale. Sit straighter.
Work.
But the words echo in your head, real and raw and inescapable:
Continuation to the attempt at an escalated drabble.
I know, I should be finishing off my list of drabbles but got tackled by the tigerman (rawr) and had to continue to get it out of my head, as if it isn't crowded with ideas already.
This one is fucking long (around 9000 words) and contains smut, so I won't be posting all of it here and just kindly direct you to read the rest of it in Ao3.
The sky has darkened even further; now a pitch-black void hangs above you, while countless tiny specks of light dance across the obsidian ocean overhead.
At some point, you lose yourself in the endless abyss as you stare through the car window, biting your lip as your heart flutters unsteadily, so aware of you sharing a ride with your boss.
Baek Yoon-Ho keeps his vermilion gaze fixed on the road, occasionally clenching the steering wheel hard enough for his knuckles to turn white.
The ride home feels like an eternity. Getting to the wedding venue was over far too quickly, and now the journey in the opposite direction feels torturous—you’re just awkwardly squirming in your seat for what feels like hours. You're unsure what will happen when you get back. Do you invite him in? Or do you just call it a night and hit the hay?
“Did you have fun?” he asks suddenly, as if sensing your discomfort—or maybe trying to hide his own.
“Oh, sure,” you snort abashedly, waving your hand dismissively. “I mean, that one weird aunt who was completely wasted tried to tell me how I’m her favorite niece or something. That probably topped the whole evening.”
Mister Baek quirks a brow in bewilderment.
“I haven't seen her since I was eight, soooo...”
He lets out an amused, yet understanding hum.
“Must be you.” You sigh and cautiously steal a glance in his direction. Why does he look so good even in the dim lights of the car’s dashboard, which illuminate his well-sculpted features in the otherwise dark surroundings?
“I think the whole family was smitten by you.” So are you, to be honest.
“I tried not to look too cool, but it seems I can't help it,” he sighs dramatically in jest, flashing you a cocky smirk that sends a spark straight between your legs.
Everything about this man is so wrong, and your previous spontaneous clash of lips certainly does nothing to stop your mind from wandering to places it shouldn’t go. This is your boss, after all.
There has to be a way to address the elephant in the room—which is: when do you return to your normal roles? Have you already stopped pretending, and this is just the kind of an awkward sequel to the wedding act?
“We’re here,” he announces suddenly, sounding slightly strained—but you’re too flustered and deep in your thoughts to catch it.
This is the very moment you’ve dreaded—more or less knowingly—and it shows. Neither of you is really willing to start the conversation. The car ride took so long it killed off the spontaneous lust. Maybe asking him to come upstairs is not a good idea after all, acting on your feelings would be a mistake.
“So, uhh…” You turn to face him but are too nervous to meet his eyes. “Thank you for today, it was…”
There’s an expectant pause, and you swallow hard.
“You did great.” You want to punch yourself but resist the temptation. Great? Really?!
“Well, I’d be a terrible friend if I didn’t help,” he says with a strained tone. “I had fun, though.”
Another frustrating pause in your totally-not-awkward conversation.
“I should probably go,” you say, patting your knees to bring the moment to a close. “So… good night.”
He doesn’t respond right away, just nods slowly as you get out of the car. Only when you’re about to close the door do you hear a quiet, “Good night,” from your boss.
Your steps toward the front door are hurried, like you're trying to rush inside before temptation gets the better of you. Baek hasn’t left yet—or at least, you haven’t heard the gentle purr of the engine in the guest parking spot. The night air brushes coldly against your skin, raising goosebumps.
Finding your keys in your purse proves to be a challenge. The alcohol hasn’t fully worn off; your fingers feel numb, and there’s a gentle buzz in your belly. Heat rises to your cheeks as you fumble through the tiny purse in your arms.
“You dropped these.”
Your boss’s familiar voice crashes through the silence like thunder, making you jump slightly. You turn around to see him standing there, looking slightly apologetic, holding out your apartment keys.
“What? I did?”
“They were on the car floor,” he sighs, handing over the small keyring. They feel warm—much warmer than the night air—and the sensation soothes you in an unexpected way.
“D-do…” you stammer, smiling way too shyly, “do you want to come inside?”
Mister Baek seems puzzled for a moment, but his cheeks grow mildly pink and he averts his gaze. Funny how just moments ago you were trying to suck each other's souls out of your mouths.
“I probably have something to drink,” you rush to add, “since you didn’t get to enjoy the booze at the party.” You don't want to sound too eager, but it'd be a lie to claim otherwise. So much for that mature self-restraint.
Mister Baek goes out for drinks with his friend famously often, Mister Min—who used to be a hunter. However, his outings aren’t exclusively with Min, though; as he often invites his employees—you included—out for drinks to bond and unwind. You’ve seen him down many bottles and glasses of various liquids. And pass out gloriously on a table.
“Well, I suppose I don’t have anything else planned for tonight.”
There’s an unexpected skip in your heartbeat when he flashes that charming smile. You turn away to unlock the door, trying to ignore the familiar heat rushing to places that shouldn’t feel so alive around your boss.
You lead him through the eerily silent corridors and share a few awkward seconds in the elevator before arriving at your apartment. You haven’t really brought anyone home in a while—well, except for Park Heejin, a close colleague and friend. The two of you binge silly dramas during those rare evenings when you're not typing away at the office or beheading monsters inside a gate. Your dating life has been rather quiet, thanks to your dedication to stay at the office more than at home.
Bringing your boss home certainly wasn’t in your plans for the day either. Even if it is an unholy secret fantasy of yours, you’d never actually dreamt of acting on such a chance. Shit. You haven’t even tidied up your apartment because you never actually planned to bring anyone home from the wedding.
As you finally arrive, pitch-black darkness greets you at the door. You flip on the lights and try to kick off your shoe like a dancer, balancing on the single heel still strapped to your other foot. Mister Baek grabs your hand to steady you, his warmth radiating through your palm as you lean into him for balance.
“Sorry, these were easier to put on,” you giggle sheepishly, finally managing to get the shoes off with his help. You try not to overthink his hands on your body too much and how much you’d actually like to feel them against your bare skin instead of the dress you’re wearing.
He follows suit, removing his own shoes while letting his gaze sweep over your apartment. You do get paid well enough as a B-rank hunter for the White Tiger Guild, but your home isn’t some lavish penthouse like his probably is.
“Welcome,” you say, gesturing with both hands as if to present the space. “You can sit on the couch, and I’ll bring you something nice.”
“Besides yourself?” he asks smugly, catching you completely off guard.
“Funny,” you grumble, earning a quiet laugh from him.
You disappear into the kitchen and rummage through the fridge. You’ve got two bottles of soju—decent enough to serve. Drinking alone with your boss, who just pretended to be your boyfriend? Nothing can possibly go wrong. Still, you are the one who decided to be polite and invite him in.
With a cheerful hum, you return to the living room to find Baek already seated on the couch, his expensive suit coat draped over the backrest. He’s wearing a crisp white dress shirt underneath, and his tie is loosened. He notices your stare and clears his throat, a subtle reminder to pick your jaw up off the floor.
“Not that I mind seeing my girlfriend ogling me like that,” he chuckles, patting the seat next to him.
You half consider moving to the farthest corner of the sofa purely out of spite, but hearing him call you girlfriend makes your heart flutter like a butterfly.
“Well, good sir , I wasn’t actually ogling you,” you scoff, scrunching your nose as you sit down beside him. You place the bottles of soju and two glasses on the coffee table in front of you. “And I’m not your actual girlfriend,” you mutter under your breath—just loud enough for him to hear.
You pick up the bottle and pour strawberry-flavored soju into the glasses. He watches silently, waiting as you set the bottle aside, then takes the other glass from your hand when you offer it. His fingers brush against yours, lingering a tad longer than necessary before he pulls the glass away. You bite your lip, already missing his gentle touch, a tiny blush coloring the tips of your ears.
“I haven’t been on a date in a while, actually,” he says simply, downing the drink in one swift gulp. “So it was kind of nice—even if you’re not an actual girlfriend of mine.”
You pause mid-sip, frozen, unable to stop staring at the bob of his Adam's apple like a parched dog in the desert.
“Dude , we aren’t on a date,” you huff as you force yourself to stare elsewhere. The bookshelf looks really nice in the dim living room. Maybe you should rearrange those pillows? How about a nice new houseplant by the window?
Everything about today has felt like a date— and it’s been fucking magical —but things will go back to normal the moment you return to work. It can’t be anything more than what happened at the wedding, no matter how much your heart races when you see him… or how you're currently sitting on a couch drinking soju with him.
“This is a date, though,” he insists. “We did the wedding, and now drinks at your place. Pretty textbook.”
You elbow him—hard enough to make him yelp, “Ow!”—but not enough to actually hurt him. He chuckles and grabs the bottle to pour himself another round while you roll your eyes to the roof.
“Yeah, but I didn’t ask you out on a date, so it doesn’t count.”
The corners of his lips curl into a small smile—the kind that makes you feel warm and fuzzy. Or maybe it’s the soju. Who knows?
“So, what if I did ask you out on a date?” he asks casually. “What’d you say?”
“That’s an easy one. I’d say you’re drunk.”
“I’m not. At least, not yet,” he replies, and now he’s looking at you differently—those vermilion eyes no longer playful, but hungry. Like a tiger eyeing its prey.
You swallow hard and, without thinking, close your legs as if that could protect you from your dangerously alluring, shapeshifting boss.
He notices—and looks very amused—bringing his glass to his lips with a glint of something wicked in his gaze.
“So, Miss this-is-not-a-date, why’d you ask me over then?” he asks after taking a sip. “Do you always bring coworkers home, or am I just special?”
“Heejin comes over to watch dramas and shoot the shit,” you explain, pulse quickening and breath growing uneven. “You just look like you’re about to devour me.”
Silence. The kind that buzzes in your ears. The kind where you can hear your own heartbeat pounding in anticipation.
Baek finishes his drink in one go again, clearly outmatching the soju in this battle. He turns to you, lips parted, cinders dancing in that tiger-like gaze that leaves little to the imagination.
Softly spoken: “And what if I do?”
The words fall from his lips like an exhale as he leans in closer, one hand rising to caress your jawline.
“I thought I told you how I feel.”
You feel breathless as his calloused thumb tenderly swipes the corner of your mouth. He leans in further, his familiar scent clouding your senses like a drug you can’t resist. His nose brushes against yours, and his lips ghost over your own—testing for your reaction, or maybe his own self-restraint.
Whatever happened back at the wedding feels like a distant dream at this point. His presence feels more real and enticing. There are no prying eyes inside your home after all.
“And as much as I want it,” you whisper shakily, eyes fluttering up to meet his wild gaze, “it’s not a good idea for us to get involved… further than this.”
A low, frustrated growl escapes his chest, vibrating against your skin and sending a delicious shiver down your spine.
“Then how about we pretend—just a little longer?” he murmurs, taking your drink and setting it on the table without pulling away. His face is still inches from yours, and his warm breath brushes your cheek. “Be my girlfriend a little longer?”
“You drive me crazy,” you murmur, a flicker of amusement laced into the tension.
“Likewise,” he replies, and then he closes the tiny distance between you.
Ironhide x Sam: #50 "I don't want to hear about it."
When I say the bigger the better I mean it. I'm a shameless Bayverse simp and don't worry I know where the door is. OMW there as we speak.
Totally not inspired by those few Everyone x Sam fics that you can find on AO3.
As per usual - blame it on @lucianhuntress
It has been a few months since events at Mission City and Sam’s life has pretty much settled back to what it used to be. With small additions of a girlfriend, best mate in the form of his cool ass ride slash guardian and nation level top secret secret to keep aka transformers. With whom he, surprisingly, bonded really well.
The ‘autonomous robotic organisms’, especially the autobot gang, have become really close to him. Despite their freshly formed alliance with the US government and relocation to a more appropriate base the bots have kept in touch with Sam via text messages. How they have access to sim cards was beyond him but he didn’t question it too much. And once in a blue moon familiar alt forms would drive by and park right by the Witwicky residency. ‘Shore leave’ so to say.
It was one of those afternoons when Sam’s mother, Judy, had a brilliant idea to urge Sam to ask one of his alien car friends to go and pick up her order of garden flowers. Their back yard has finally been restored after Sector 7’s extorsions and oddly-localized-earthquakes-that-were-actually-autobots-having-nervous-dance-that-she-didn’t-need-to-know-about, so Witwicky matriarch has been eager to plant her pretty little garden again.
Sam had groaned at the request, not necessarily even out of laziness or teenage rebellion, but an embarrassment to request something like that from literal war machines. It didn’t take more than one stern look from his mother for Sam to shut his trap, grab the receipt, and walk out of the door. As he walked toward their driveway, which has become an alien autopark for the weekend, Sam checked his mother’s order. Based on how much he was to pick up Bumblebee was out of the question, Ratchet would be awkward to drive, and Optimus… let’s say he had no confidence in driving a semi truck to a garden store. That was leaving him with…
Ironhide.
With a deep inhale and even longer exhale Sam headed to the black GMC pickup truck. He dreaded the weapon specialist’s reaction to his offer to go and pick some flowers but to his surprise the bot hummed at his request and popped the driver’s seat door open without a question. The teen couldn’t hide the surprise on his face as he scrambled himself into the driver’s seat and buckled up.
“Where to?” Ironhide’s stern voice came from the stereos as the navigation panel lit up, waiting for Sam to punch in the address. He quickly did a double take on the receipt to make sure he typed it in right. The monitor found the destination quickly, estimating the drive for about a little over an hour, the store being right outside of Tranquility.
“We should make it there in time,” Sam commented as Ironhide rolled out.
“Easily,” was huffed back with humor in the tone before music took over in the cabin.
The teen smiled at that, leaning on the frame of the rolled down window enjoying the warm breeze. His other hand never left the steering wheel despite the autobot doing all the driving.
There was barely any conversation between them, some passed by comments about places they drove by and songs that came on radio. Nothing more and one would say that most of the time it was an awkward silence. But to Sam, it was a comfortable one. The one he had grown accustomed to.
When they arrived at the garden store, Sam asked Ironhide to find the spot closest to the entrance, as there will be a lot to load in. The mech obliged without any comments, which at this point made the teen wonder. Ironhide was usually rough and blunt with comments, if not a tad sarcastic. So for him to be so obedient, dare he say, was starting to concern him. With that in mind, he gave GMS’s hood a pat.
“Will try to be quick,” the teen told the bot over his shoulder as he headed to the store, to which he got flashed by headlights.
The garden building, true to its words, was all green and humid. The cashier counter was right across the hall from the entrance and had an air fan blasting right next to it. Thankfully, with barely any other customers around Sam was taken in right away. A clerk went through his order, nodded and asked him to wait for about a few minutes as his order was in the storage.
While waiting Sam let himself wander away a little. After an aisle with seeds and on sale garden equipment came a row of stone figures. He lazily passed them by before one of the statues caught his attention. A dog of a small breed, sitting straight as on guard. It eerily reminded him of his own little rat of a dog, Mojo. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the resemblance and whipped out his phone, to snap a photo and send it right away to Ironhide.
The autobot answered instantly. “That thing is not riding with us.”
Sam chuckled. “Don’t worry, most likely out of my price range.”
“Good. Primus knows the one you have was a mistake enough.”
Amused by the weapon specialist’s dislike of dogs, or especially of Mojo, he did kneel down to check the price of it. Just for fun. And yes, the price did make him wince.
It wasn’t even a minute later that the clerk rolled out a stroller with a few levels of long boxes with different kinds of seedlings and a few stacks of bigger pots. On the lower level of the cart were two huge packages of soil. Sam mentally sighed but gave the worker a nod and a smile, thanking for the service.
The cart being stacked to the brim, it took Sam an embarrassing amount of effort to get it moving. He carefully maneuvered it out of the automatic doors and stopped right next to the waiting black pickup truck. He didn’t have to say a word for the back trunk’s tailgate to fall open. With a “thanks” he began transferring the load into the car.
He was really careful and thus really slow to Ironhide’s amusement. “What? Those things heavy for ya?”
Sam winced, as true to the bot's words the little workout was making him sweat. Hitting it like a nail that the teen was indeed pretty scrawny. Even by human standards. But in his defence it was really hot! And he had been working out… but not as vigorously as one maybe should.
“You try tetris these seedlings,” Sam bit back. “Here trying to make sure that we won’t lose any on our way back, big shot. My mom can be really scary when it comes to her flora.”
Sam expected for Ironhide to double down on him but surprisingly the mech went silent. And after a pregnant pause just added “Take your time.”
It was now obvious that Ironhide was somehow taking this whole ordeal way too seriously and the teen was struggling to figure out why. So the rest of loading Sam was given peace and quiet. He himself tried to be as quick as efficient as possible, finishing off with belts to keep the inventory from sliding around. And with that they were on their way back.
The sun was rolling down towards the horizon and it was getting darker as they drove home. The radio was playing music quietly, filling the clearly awkward silence this time. The curiosity was eating up on Sam and at some point he couldn’t keep it in and decided to breach the topic.
“So, thanks for helping me out,” he started hesitantly.
“No problem,” Ironhide grunted back, passively.
“Honestly, even kinda surprised that you agreed so easily?”
“Hmm? You thought I wouldn’t assist you?” mech asked back, now more focused on Sam.
“Easily was the key word in that one.”
“I have no clue what you are talking about,” Ironhide tried to dismiss the topic.
“Oh come on,” the teen was now invested, being sure that there was something after all and he hadn’t just imagined it. “Usually you would have tried to wiggle out of chores unless it involved something cool or explosive. I don’t say that you wouldn’t have helped but I was sure that I would have to bribe you into this.”
The autobot stayed quiet, continuing to drive, even if a tad faster.
“So what is this about, big shot?” Sam pressed one more time.
A long sigh echoed through the cabin, music now completely muted. “We were given access to the Sector 7 files and they had recordings of the night when they came for you and your family.”
Sam listened, not interrupting, having no clue where this was going yet.
“And I will have to admit, I do… umm… feel uneasy around your mother.”
Sam’s eyebrows shot up as he stared at the stereo system leaning forward, waiting for the bot to elaborate. Which the other one didn’t feel like doing.
“Wait? So all this compliance ‘cause you fear my mom’s wrath? Really?”
Ironhide kept his silence, clearly uncomfortable with his own confession.
Sam dropped back in the seat, closing his eyes for a moment. He didn’t feel like laughing or poking the bot about it. Because in the end he completely agreed with him.
“Honestly, same…” Sam admitted. “I don’t understand how Michaela and Bee agree that mom is sweet and gentle. I feel like they always look the other way when she starts to breathe fire at me.”
“She does that too?” Ironhide chuckled, asking half seriously.
“Figuratively of course, but might as well,” the teen sighed and his eyes went back to the dashboard. “But why would you fear her tho? Not like she can do much to you? Maybe break your windshield with a baseball bat, or key your paint job…”
“Or deny us permission to stay at your residency,” the mech added.
It was now Sam who was rendered speechless. Before he could ask to elaborate, Ironhide continued. “You don’t understand how frustrating the human bureaucracy and all the rules and restrictions are at the base. So our connection to you and Bumblebee staying with you is a great reason for us to get permission to leave those barracks even if for a short while. Prime says it’s temporary, that he is working on getting us better space. But… yeah meanwhile these shore leaves are one of the few things that keep me sane there.”
Sam was surprisingly touched by Ironhide’s honesty. He felt guilty for never considering how possibly uncomfortable the autobots felt while away, never asking them about it. They themselves were pretty much walls of stoic strength that wouldn’t complain unless directly asked. So hearing that for them coming over was almost an even bigger event that it was for Sam… warmed him from inside.
The teen’s grip on the wheel tightened.
“I will fight mom if she’s against your guys' stay overs. You are always welcome at the Witwicky driveway in Tranquility,” Sam reassured.
Ironhide’s genuine chuckle boomed in the cabin. “Hope these chores will soften the blows.”
The dreadful flash of red and blue accompanied with chilling ‘whoop-whoop’ sound washed away all the fluff from the air exchanging it to the dread. Sam’s eyes quickly shot to the speedometer that was showing close to 40mph while in the suburban area.
“Shit. Shit. Shit! A ticket will only make matters worse!” The teen panicked, spotting the police car through the rear view mirror.
“Should we hit and run?” Ironhide suggested, voice serious.
“NO!” Sam yelled. “Pull over! Gently! And please be quiet while I… handle it.”
Ironhide did as was told and came to stop at the side of the road, cutting off the engine. The police car parked right behind them and an older, tired of his life looking man came to the driver’s side window. He flashed the teen with a small flashlight, then the passenger seats, making sure he was alone before putting it away.
“You know why I pulled you over, kid?” he asked without enthusiasm.
Sam, at the edge of panic, attempted to collect himself. “G-good evening officer,” he stuttered before clearing his throat and attempting again. “I’m very sorry, I got distracted while trying to figure out the addresses around here and wasn’t aware of the changed speed limit,” he explained, lying through his teeth. He has come up with a few excuses beforehand, as he was afraid that he and Bee would be pulled over one day. But his guardian has managed to stick to the rules well, escaping the need to use any.
“I see…” the policeman eyes him, clearly not impressed. “Your documents.”
“Hmm?” Sam asks, baffled.
“Your driver’s license and registration,” is stated more sternly.
“Oh! Yeah right,” Sam scrambled in his seat as he tried to pull out his wallet from his back pocket. He swore he heard Ironhide chuckle at his struggles to which he shot a glare before turning back to the officer.
“Here you go,” he gives the papers which are quickly accepted and taken back to the patrol car behind them.
Sam didn’t dare to move or speak, his heart hammering in dangerous overdrive. Ironhide, thankfully, stayed quiet too.
After a few minutes that felt like forever the man came back but not offering his papers back just yet.
“This car is not in your name.” he stated and that made Sam sweat. Of course, he had papers on a Camaro, not a GMC. His palms tightened painfully around the wheel as his mind started to run a mile. He hadn’t thought through this part. Was it his dads? His mom’s? Can an officer easily check that out? Michaela’s? His neighbour's name he doesn’t even remember? He found the car open and decided to borrow?
“Oh boy…” Sam let out unintentionally before he could stop himself.
“Boy?” the officer repeated next to him, snapping the teen back to the present.
“Um…Yes. My boy…friend’s. He let me use it for a pick up,” Sam nodded while looking the policeman straight into the eyes, not daring to look away.
“Boyfriend’s?” the policeman repeated with a hint of disbelief. “And what were you picking up?”
“Flowers and seedlings. Remaking our backyard garden,” Sam cracked an awkward smile and batted his eyelashes at him in an exaggerated flutter.
The man recoiled at such a display, handing his papers back. Sam was clearly not worth his time in filing paperwork. “Keep this thing under 30. On your way,” he tapped the side of the car before turning to walk away.
“Good night, officer!” Sam yelled after him cheerfully, relieved that they were let go with a warning. When the patrol car passed them, driving away, the teen finally relaxed, slouching over, resting his forehead against the wheel.
The black truck was vibrating just slightly, clearly not being able to hold in laughter, irritating and fueling Sam’s embarrassment even more.
“So, lover boy?” Ironhide cooed.
“Shut up.”
“Gonna take me out for dinner first?”
“I don't want to hear about it,” Sam pleaded.
“Or are we going straight to your place?”
Sam let out a groan that was quickly overpowered by audible laughter of the autobot. Ironhide was clearly enjoying the whole situation to the core of his spark.
“Ah this is amazing! Can’t wait to tell Bumblebee about this! Oh his face will be priceless!” the bot went on and to Sam’s horror he was sure that he wasn’t even joking but promising.
“Just… keep it under the 30, please,” is all that Sam managed while still hiding his blushing face within his palms.
“Alright alright! Will get you and flowers home safe and sound, precious,” he chuckled as they began to drive again.
And true to his words, not a single sapling was harmed during that ride.
Baek Yoon-ho x Reader: #69 “Didn’t think it would be this hard.”
This was honestly supposed to be a drabble but I just got way too inspired and the drabble, well... it kept going and going. I hate that I love it so much and my teeth melted while writing this one.
Wordcount: 3557
Warnings: Reader has a big and slightly shitty family, I guess?
A phone vibrates next to your keyboard, painfully reminding you of your cousin’s cat’s fiancée’s daughter’s wedding. You don’t even know why you’re invited — the person seems distantly related, yet somehow close enough to include you, of all people. You, who would rather raid gates and reap rewards than socialize with strange relatives.
Obviously, it’s your mother and grandmother giving you no other option but to attend — possibly hoping, or worse, scheming — to set you up with potential boyfriend material. And who else is there to blame but yourself, always showing up to parties and dinners alone while your siblings and cousins are already building nests for the future?
“You’re up late,” your boss sighs, walking over to your desk.
“Likewise,” you quip sourly, ignoring the notification flashing on your phone’s screen just long enough for it to catch his attention.
The day has already dimmed outside; dozens of square lights shine from the dark walls of the building across the street, and the sounds of traffic have died down.
“Going to a wedding?” he asks, sounding both amused and curious — like it’s the first time he’s seen you going anywhere other than a gate or the gym.
You hum quietly, squinting at him as he leans over your desk to read the report you’ve been typing for the past hour. Baek Yoon-ho — an S-rank hunter, the leader of the White Tiger Guild, and your boss.
“Say, wanna do me a favor and be my plus-one?” you toss out casually, batting your eyes in exaggerated jest. A tiny part of you kindles the flame of hope — because he is your type, and showing up with a good-looking man like him wouldn’t be too far-fetched. But since he’s your boss, he’s obviously going to decline —
“What time am I picking you up?” he asks nonchalantly, backing away to tug at his tie, loosening it after a long day at the office. He’s been cooped up in his room, attending meetings and doing whatever it is guild leaders do.
“Wait — what? You’re my boss. You can’t just come to a wedding as my boyfriend.”
He quirks a brow and adjusts the cuff of his coat. “Yeah, but I think I owe you one.”
A groan mixed with a frustrated sigh escapes your throat as you collapse into your chair. Mister Baek had asked you — no, beseeched you — to pretend to be his one-night stand after his ex wouldn’t stop lingering post-breakup. You’d answered the door to his apartment wearing nothing but his dress shirt, leaving said ex dumbfounded and heartbroken. He hadn’t wanted to go that far, but when his ex refused to back off, he’d resorted to stronger measures.
“It’s the least I can do after that,” he admits, looking slightly dejected. You can’t really blame the man for going against his moral compass. His vermilion eyes drop to the floor as he sits on a desk next to yours.
You save the file with a couple of swift clicks and stand up as your PC begins its well-earned weekend shutdown. “I know you’re a good man,” you sigh, moving over to pat his shoulder — awkwardly.
It’s always a miracle to see him fall from confident, strong hunter to emotional mess, and you’re not sure anyone else has ever seen this side of him. You’ve been there for him whenever his relationships turned sour. You don’t want to see him so crestfallen again.
“Thanks,” he says, straightening up. He’s a rather tall man — intimidating, even. You’ve seen him turn into a white tiger a few times, and never have you seen another hunter strike fear and awe quite like he does. But when it’s just the two of you, he’s just a man — kind and respectable. You’d follow him anywhere if he asked.
Mister Baek gives you an expectant look while sitting on a wooden desk he could easily break. You can’t help but smile at him warmly. His kicked puppy — or tiger cub — demeanor has become a weakness of yours.
“If you really want to help me out, pick me up at 2 p.m. tomorrow.”
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You’ve never been so nervous about attending a wedding before. You’re used to being the lone rider, facing lovebirds left and right at weddings and birthday parties. Hell, you’ve almost become a cautionary tale among your relatives — the one who adopts a dozen kittens as she grows old alone.
Yet this time, even if it’s all pretend and play, you feel actual butterflies in your stomach as you get into a black car driven by the man who is both your boss and one of the strongest hunters in the country.
Normally, you wouldn’t have put this much thought into your outfit — like you’re on a mission to outshine the bride. Not that you’d actually do that, but it sure feels like it. You need to look like someone worthy of standing next to the man pretending to be your boyfriend. S-rank hunters are rare enough to be picky about who they date.
“Hey there,” Mister Baek greets you, his eyes taking in your outfit — lingering a little longer than what might be considered appropriate. You feel triumphant but keep it to yourself; if he’s impressed, then your family should be too.
“You look different.”
“Is that a compliment?” you ask, cocking your brow and poking at his bicep as he starts the car.
He lets out an amused chuckle, clearly entertained by your rebellious attitude. “Yes — I’ve never seen you all dolled up before.”
You want to say neither have I, but decide against it and reply, “I need to convince my parents and grandparents that I’m happily in a relationship so they’ll leave my love life alone.”
“I get that,” he nods, gesturing for you to enter the address into the car’s navigator. “I trust they don’t know I’m your boss, then?”
“They barely know what I do for a living,” you scoff, gently tapping the address into the screen. “I think your identity is safe.”
The ceremony is straight out of a Hollywood movie — an outdoor wedding arch, rows of white chairs and pillars decorated with flowers. The two of you clearly turn heads as you arrive, your arm tightly linked with your boss, who radiates more heat than you would have imagined. Maybe it’s a tiger thing? Who knows. The suit he’s wearing is black and looks far more expensive than what you usually see him in.
“Everyone’s looking at you,” he muses, and you feel his body vibrate as he speaks.
“I think their eyes are on you, Yoon-ho,” you counter, your tone overly adoring — which doesn’t feel like you at all. Calling him by his first name makes you gag inside, and clearly he isn’t used to it either. But for the sake of a good act, you need to behave like a couple. His cheeks turn mildly pink, which you find rather cute but decide to keep to yourself.
The most touching ceremony is followed by the most bewildering — and probably the most expensive — wedding party you’ve ever attended. The luxury doesn’t stop: multiple buffet tables, a couple of dance floors, a live band, more flowers, more people than you can count, a fountain, and even swans swimming in a nearby pond to top it all off.
The variety of snacks alone leaves you dumbstruck — normally, this would feel like paradise. Unfortunately, arriving with a man who’s basically a walking snack raises more eyebrows and questions than you’d like: How does someone like you land a man like him? Relatives constantly seek you out like you’re celebrities, stopping you from getting near the buffet as your hunger grows.
Mister Baek, however, is excellent at playing the part of a devoted boyfriend — and at times, you even buy into the lie yourself.
“Am I doing good?” he whispers after yet another tedious chat with your cousin’s neighbors. His breath tickles your ear, making your blood roar and sending an uncomfortable spark straight to your abdomen.
You turn to smile at him, and seeing his handsome face this close sends shivers down your spine. “Better than I expected,” you chuckle, then add in a hushed tone, “If I didn’t know the truth, I’d say we’ve been together for a while.”
“Well, you have been in the guild for quite a while,” he admits. “We’ve worked together for some time now.”
You’re interrupted when your mother suddenly appears from the crowd, your grandmother following closely behind. You flash an awkward smile at your boss and turn to face the very reason you have a fake date in the first place.
First, your mother gushes over the two of you, awestruck that you’ve managed to land a dreamboat like him. Then she begins chatting with Mister Baek, revealing every embarrassing secret from your years of flying solo in family gatherings.
“I think your daughter is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met,” he replies smoothly, sending a flutter of butterflies into your chest. “And she can pack a mean punch, too.”
“Yoon-ho is a hunter too, Mom,” you add, blushing furiously as you avoid looking him in the eye. He seems unfazed — maybe even slightly amused — by your flustered state.
Your mother rolls her eyes, clearly displeased with your career choice but satisfied that you’ve “found love” in the end. She eventually pulls you aside, leaving Mister Baek to your grandmother’s mercy.
You’re hounded with questions: how did you two meet, does he treat you well, and most importantly — why didn’t you tell anyone about him sooner?
It’s not a lie that you met him through work — he is your boss, after all — but your mother’s better off not knowing that tiny detail. Eventually, she gets distracted by the newlyweds, and you return to your boss’s side.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you groan at his smug expression.
“I think your grandmother is lovely,” he says as you link your arm with his again. Your body responds to his warmth immediately, a tiny shiver running down your spine. “She called me her future grandson-in-law. I’m invested now.”
You cock a brow at him and can feel him laugh heartily more than hear it.
“Can we get something to eat now? I’m starving.” You promptly ignore his obvious teasing that leaves your ears glowing with heat as his voice still rings in your ears.
The two of you walk to the buffet and fill your plates with cakes, pastries, fruit — everything you’ve been eyeing all night — while people continue to stop by to poke fun at your “single days” being over and to admire Mister Baek up close. You notice how some seem slightly intimidated by his fierce appearance — a distant echo of the white tiger he transforms into.
As the day shifts into evening and the sky begins to darken, the party goes on. Tiny lanterns light up the venue in a romantic glow, and the two of you finally manage to steal a quiet moment — walking side by side, hands brushing now and then, away from the dancing and the music.
“Thanks for coming today,” you tell him meekly, the champagne bubbling joyfully in your stomach and making you feel uncomfortably warm. On the flip side, it’s also given you a bit of extra confidence.
Mister Baek hasn’t had a drop to drink — he’s supposed to drive the two of you home after the party.
“I’ve had a good time,” he sighs, helping you sit down on a bench facing away from the festivities. “Nothing compared to what you did for me.”
You let out a tipsy giggle and lean your head against his shoulder. His body tenses briefly, but relaxes almost immediately. “Yeah…”
“Think your parents are convinced now?” he asks.
“I hope so. I don’t want to drag you out for every family gathering.”
Silence falls between the two of you, filled only with the joyful sounds of singing and music from the party behind. You lift your head and notice him looking at you with an unreadable expression. Your gaze drops to his lips, just slightly parted, and you feel his warm exhale brush against your skin. A glint of gold flashes in his eyes, and you’re not sure if you imagined it.
“You don’t?” he finally asks, and there’s a hint of wistfulness in his tone.
You bite your lip and pull away, the cool night air sliding into the space between you. “I don’t think it’d be a good idea. I’ll have to come up with a reason why we broke up.”
The sentence plays back in your head, making you chuckle — the idea of breaking up with someone you aren’t even dating.
“Can we go home now? I think we’ve been here long enough to prove I’m in a happy relationship.”
“If that’s what you wish,” he says, and you miss the disappointment laced in his voice.
The two of you stand, arms linked, and walk back in silence to give the newlyweds your final congratulations and let your parents know you're leaving for the night. As you near the dance floor — where most of the guests, including your parents, have gathered — the music shifts to a slow, romantic song. You spot your mother across the crowd, dancing with your father, clearly enjoying the moment.
“Fuck,” you mutter, as the dancing couples block your path.
“Want to dance?” Mister Baek asks nonchalantly from behind you. You turn, stunned to see him holding out his hand expectantly.
“What?” you ask in disbelief. “We were supposed to go home.”
“Your parents are clearly occupied,” he sighs. “And this would really seal the deal — let everyone know you’re already spoken for.”
You take his hand, letting him pull your body close to his. His warmth envelops you, and an involuntary gasp slips from your lips as he gently leads you to the dance floor, swaying to the music.
“I hope you’re not just doing this to impress my grandma,” you jab, teasing.
He chuckles, the sound soft and genuine. You hook your arms over his neck, gazing up at him defiantly — as if daring him to fluster you again. You’re determined not to let him.
“She’s a lovely lady — but not my type,” he replies.
“Oh? And what is your type?” you ask, a cocky smile curling on your lips — unintentional, like your heart has bought into the lie all over again. It’s easy to forget, just for a moment, that he’s your boss. And definitely not your boyfriend.
He falls silent, carefully choosing his next words. His hands on your hips squeeze just a little tighter — not enough to hurt, but enough to be noticed. The vermilion in his eyes locks with yours, and his wild brows furrow in thought. A word falls from his lips — short, but too quiet to catch over the loud yell of a nearby partygoer.
One of his hands moves from your waist to your jaw, and his thumb brushes your cheek. You feel his nail beginning to lengthen, and gold pools into his irises. His gaze drops to your lips and he breathes, “May I kiss you?”
“Why?” you ask, clueless, swallowing hard as heat pools low in your stomach.
To prove a point to everyone, obviously. You know you’ll regret it — or maybe not — but the part of you that’s always fantasized about something more than friendship with your boss grows stronger and greedier by the second. Still too befuddled — and maybe slightly irritated you never got a real answer about his “type” — you nod hesitantly before he can explain.
He leans in, close enough for you to smell his cologne and feel his lips ghosting over yours — like he’s hesitating too. His thumb swipes over your lower lip before he finally closes the gap between you, his soft lips capturing yours in a gentle kiss. His body tenses, as if he’s holding something back — the tiger, maybe — but when you respond to his careful kiss, he relaxes. One hand moves to cradle your chin as he deepens the kiss just enough to leave you breathless.
You pull away after a moment and immediately notice too many eyes on you, but Mister Baek ignores them. Instead, he meets your gaze and lets out an embarrassed, but quiet, chuckle that sounds almost like a subdued howl. The gold in his eyes is gone, his nails back to normal — not that it matters with the alcohol swirling through your system.
“Didn’t think it would be this hard,” you exhale, unsure if the warmth radiating through you is from his hands or your own blood roaring in your veins.
“What, the kiss? Don’t tell me you’ve never kissed anyone before.”
You resist the urge to punch him in his finely sculpted abdomen — which you unfortunately know well, thanks to his shirtless gym habits. Instead, you let out a frustrated groan and, fueled by alcohol and reckless confidence, lean in just enough to whisper:
“No. I meant not having feelings for you, dork.”
You squint at him, puffing your cheeks as if to intimidate him, but your only reward is his joy.
“Then don’t try so hard not to,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead gently against yours. A wave of calm washes over you. His tone is soothing, and the weight of his hand on your hip feels comforting — like it’s meant to be there.
You bite your lower lip as the two of you continue swaying in silence until the slow, intimate song ends. You feel the loss of his warmth as he pulls away, walking you over to your parents, who now seem to have shed the last remnants of doubt about your relationship after that small display of affection on the dance floor.
As the two of you finally make your way back to Mister Baek’s car, a strange anxiety settles in your chest. Was that kiss real? Did it mean something? Was it just part of the act? What happens now?
“You’re lucky I didn’t turn into a tiger back there,” he says suddenly, offering you an apologetic smile.
His comment catches you off guard, and you snort at the unexpected confession.
“Are you serious?” you ask, incredulous, but unable to hide your smile. He seems pleased that the tension and awkwardness have shattered like glass.
He opens the car door for you like the gentleman he’s been all day — though it isn’t far from his true self. He’s always treated you well, as both a boss and a friend. You sink into the seat with a long exhale, feeling the toll of a day filled with socializing, walking, and emotional whiplash.
Mister Baek slips into the driver’s seat, his cheeks suddenly blooming red as he turns to glance at you — shamelessly splayed across the passenger seat.
“What?” you tease. “Can’t a girl relax after a long day?”
“I just…” He swallows and pauses, visibly anxious enough that you sit up and lean in closer.
“I meant what I said back there,” he whispers, honesty glinting in his eyes.
“Which part?” you ask, though you already know. You just want to hear him say it again — when it’s just the two of you.
“Everything.”
You tilt your head, a small smile tugging at your lips as you reach to swipe a stray strand of blood-red hair from his forehead. It’s an intimate gesture — one that probably crosses a line between boss and subordinate. But you don’t care. Not tonight.
Instead of pressing him further, you close the distance and kiss him.
The kiss starts cautious, exploratory — your lips brushing his, softly pressing, testing. But soon, the embers in your stomach ignite into a roaring fire. He responds like a man starved, and the kiss deepens quickly, feverishly. His hand moves to the back of your neck, guiding you closer as your lips devour each other. You’ve never wanted anything, or anyone, this badly. Your tongue traces the seam of his lips — which part without hesitation, inviting you in.
Then, suddenly, he pulls back. Panting.
His face is flushed, his hair now a shock of white, and his irises shine with brilliant gold.
“I can’t control it. Not with you,” he admits, ashamed — but still licking his lips, like his hunger hasn’t been sated. Not yet.
You feel triumphant. An S-rank hunter at your mercy, unable to control his transformation abilities — all because of you.
“Maybe we should go home, then,” you purr, blinking slowly at him.
He nods — quickly. And as the gold in his eyes fades and his hair gradually returns to red, you both know this act is far from over. The car starts, and you gaze out the window, cheeks flushed and lips still swollen, watching as the landscape blurs and the streetlights flash past in the darkness.
“So…” your boss finally says, his voice breaking the silence once he's calmed down.
You turn your head to face him, but he keeps his eyes locked on the road — like he's afraid that looking at you might make him lose control again.
“One hell of an act,” you murmur dreamily.
“Yeah,” he says, a wry smirk tugging at his lips, “ so when do we stop pretending?”
His side glance is brief but pointed, and it’s enough to make you flustered all over again.
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