lucianhuntress

[lucianhuntress]

BG3 - Abdirak Prompt 3 - "I can't believe you've done this."

ty & hf

Abdirak x Reader: #3 "I can't believe you've done this."

I can't believe you've requested this from me. Jkjk, challenge accepted! Hope you enjoy the pain. 🩷

The goblin camp is eerily quiet — the only sounds the flicker of torches and the distant calls of birds. Everything else is still, like a storm swept through and left nothing but ruin in its wake. Dead goblins. Dead spiders. Dead… everything.

You pick your way through the mess, hoping for survivors, or loot, or anything of value. But it seems every scrap not nailed down has been taken. No wonder the local merchants peddle the strangest things.

The deeper you go, the heavier the silence feels, settling on your shoulders like wet cloth. Dead, dead, dead. And nothing to show for it.

Then — something different. Not lifeless. A man, white-haired, lying face-down among the wreckage. His back is bare, crisscrossed with both fresh and faded wounds, but… oddly deliberate in their placement. Not the wild slashes of battle. More like—

No. Doesn’t matter.

Lucky for him, he’s still breathing. Unlucky for you, he’s not carrying anything worth stealing. Though… maybe he’d pay for having his life saved.

With some effort, you drag his unconscious weight to a nearby bedroll and the weak glow of a campfire. You’ve dressed worse wounds on scavenging trips before. There are always traps, collapsing ruins, the occasional “accidental” stab from a rival. Pain is part of the trade.

After spending a good amount of time wrapping those deliberate-looking injuries, you lean back and almost glow with pride at your handiwork. Those should heal up nicely after some rest.

That’s when you hear it — a groan, a wince, and then… a moan.

You blink in horror at the man, who seems to finally come to his senses. His eyes flutter open, taking in the shadowed ceiling above you before shifting to you — a stranger. Then his gaze drops to his own body, and his eyes widen in something like terror.

“I can’t believe you’ve done this!” he gasps, sounding almost offended at your careful bandaging. He lifts his arms, wrapped in the cloth you’d sacrificed from your personal stash.

“You—” he exhales sharply, shaking his head, “I’ve spent hours crafting them, and you just patch them up like they shouldn’t be there — oh, the pain.”

He sits up, clutching his head with theatrical flair, before his eyes lock with yours. Slowly, his lips curl into something dangerous.

"You’re going to make me hurt you… and I think you’ll like it."

The fire crackles between you, but you can’t tell if the heat is from the flames… or him.

[lucianhuntress]

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.

[lucianhuntress]

Favors: Baek Yoon-Ho x F!Reader

Chapter 9. Do me a favor and stop pretending

This is a long chapter because I didn't want to split it in the middle. This should also be the end of the plot. 🥹 (But there will be one more chapter with "plot".)

Words: 6045

<- Previous Chapter

---

The next day arrives and you're back at the office. Somehow, everyone is buried underneath mountains of work. Not gates this time—just emails, phone calls, and dull reports.

Your phone sits on your desk, chiming with a new message that you really can’t be bothered to read right now. It’s not from him, anyway.

The news media is unusually quiet about the memorial too, which you take as a sign that Baek didn’t end up murdering Mister Choi after all. Or if he did, they’re covering it up well. You didn’t see him anymore after he stormed off, which admittedly leaves an unwanted pang in your chest.

The phone chimes again—louder, somehow more annoyed this time.

You’d hoped to get a chance to visit Baek’s office today, just to see if he’s calmed down or how he’s feeling, but apparently he’s been holed up since dawn. Guild leader duties don’t exactly run themselves, especially after being away. Now he’s buried in work, too.

He can’t just punch his problems until they go away, unlike you. (Well. Most of the time.)

Except Hunter Choi. He could definitely punch that one.

Your phone vibrates for the third time. With an exasperated eyeroll, you pick it up—because honestly, the sound is starting to shatter what little focus you had left.

It’s from your mother.

Your already sullen mood takes a nosedive.

>> So about that engagement party? Your sister is expecting you and your boyfriend.

>> You haven’t even brought him to dinner.

>> You better be there tonight.

Fuck.

Everything has revolved around Jeju Island for so long that you’d completely forgotten about something as mundane as relatives. You nearly died, for god’s sake. Did you even tell your parents about that?

...It must’ve slipped your mind.

Regret spreads like mold in your stomach as the events of the past weeks play in your head like a car crash in slow motion:

You asked your boss to pretend to be your boyfriend.

Then you slept with him.

Desperately tried to pretend it never happened.

And almost died.

Got embarrassingly drunk.

Kissed him.

And now you’re stuck in a limbo—not knowing what you’re doing with… this.

So how could you ask Baek to pretend to be your boyfriend again, after all this? What if he’s still grieving his friend? What if you’re the last thing he wants to deal with?

You plant your face against your desk, smothered in hopelessness.

You could just tell your parents you broke up. That you’re coming alone. It would be easy. Clean.

Yet—

A tiny voice in the back of your head whispers:

You should ask him.

It might be the only chance you get to finish that conversation you started.

Without thinking, your fingers are already typing a message to him.

>> Do you have a moment? I need like 2 minutes of your time.

Send.

You release the breath you’d been holding and set your phone down. You’re not expecting a reply right away—there’s a mountain of work begging for your attention—but your thoughts are already scattered all over the office.

It doesn’t even take five minutes before your phone lights up. You snatch it instantly—your heart skipping when you see the familiar tiger emoji.

You glance around—just in case anyone is watching—but everyone is neck-deep in their own stress and haven’t noticed your brief break from typing furiously.

>> I can do five minutes if you come now.

That’s all it takes to launch you out of your chair like a spring-loaded trap. You grab a folder for show, just in case anyone is paying attention, and make your way to the biggest office in the building.

You knock.

“Come in,” Baek’s voice calls from inside.

His office is exactly as you remember—books, windows, and a sense of organized chaos—but now his desk is absolutely buried in paperwork. Baek looks like he hasn’t slept. Shadows under his eyes, hair tousled, collar loose. Somehow he still looks unfairly good.

That messy look stirs up memories—of him growling your name as he pins you to the mattress of your bed.

“Close the door,” he says without looking up. You obey, then take the chair opposite him, placing your fake work folder on your lap like a security blanket.

“I need to leave in ten minutes,” he informs, still reading. “So tell me what you want.”

You clear your throat, trying to steady your nerves—and extinguish the wildfire starting to burn in your core. 

“I know you’re drowning in work… but I need a favor,” you begin, keeping your tone light. “Just a tiny one. Barely an inconvenience.”

He pauses, then pinches the bridge of his nose like he already knows where this is going. “If this is about another fake relationship, I might need a moment.”

Your brain short-circuits. “Wait—how did you know?”

He finally looks at you. That unreadable expression again, the kind that sees through every layer of bullshit. You shrink a little under the weight of it. He looks exhausted—haunted, even—but still sharp as a tiger claw and he raises an eyebrow, like the answer should be obvious.

Right. Pretend relationship. That’s sort of been your brand lately.

“Okay,” you say, dragging out the syllable. “So I may have forgotten about this stupid party and my whole family really, really like you. So now they’re expecting me to come with you. Tonight.”

He straightens, setting the paper down. “Text me the details,” he says with a heavy sigh. “I’ll pick you up.”

You blink. “Really?”

“I need to finish these if I’m going to take you anywhere today,” he mutters, already reaching for another document.

You hesitate for a second—he had agreed to this so easily, didn’t even doubt you. You stand up, ready to let him return to work. But then his voice stops you cold.

“Wear that dress from the wedding,” he says suddenly—low, but matter-of-fact. You turn around and see him looking at you.

“You remember that?” you ask, blinking in disbelief.

His lips curl, just slightly and when his eyes meet yours, something flickers in them. 

“Hard to forget.”

The silence that follows is heavy with something neither of you want to name—at least not here, not now. You nod slowly, heat climbing up your neck, making you feel almost naked under his gaze. Then you reach for the door handle.

But just before stepping out, you pause again. “Oh… are you alright? After yesterday, I mean.”

He turns to stare out one of the massive windows, sighing. “Not really,” he says, raking his fingers through his tousled, vermilion hair. “But maybe I will be.”

And that something in his voice makes your heart do something reckless. You flash him a small smile, bow politely, and close the door—before your heart completely betrays you.

Then you exhale in the hallway like it’ll somehow help. It doesn’t.

But you can’t help feeling both excited and terrified. ---- After you return to your desk and scream into the palms of your hands very quietly so it raises no questions, you're back and ready to work. And now you need to finish early too, so you can get ready for the stupid party.

Although… it doesn’t feel so stupid anymore, now that you have a fake boyfriend for the evening.

“Now that’s a face I haven’t seen in a while,” a familiar voice pipes up beside you, “actually, I’ve never seen that face before. It screams: ‘oh no, he’s hot,’ or ‘I walked on him shirtless.’”

You jump when Heejin suddenly drops her bag next to your chair, hands on her hips, a curious glint dancing in her eyes.

Unlike you, she’s been raiding a gate since morning—sparkling with leftover adrenaline and seems very pleased with herself.

“Heejin!” you gasp. “You’re back!”

“What? You think I’m going to spend weeks inside a gate? Please.”

She flips her long, black hair and settles on the empty desk beside yours.

“But you look like you’ve got something to tell me.”

You suck your cheeks in, as if that could erase the expression from your face— But she bursts out laughing at your pathetic attempt to play it cool.

“Did you do something? Without me?”

There’s no escaping the ravenous curiosity she has for your cursed excuse of a love life. You sigh and lean back in your chair, staring at the ceiling like it might save you.

“I’m supposed to go to my sister’s engagement party today.”

Heejin squints, staying quiet—waiting. Already writing a battle plan in her brain.

“And… they want me to come with my boyfriend.”

She stares at you, mouth forming a silent “oh” as the pieces click into place.

“So you asked him?” she whispers, like she’s afraid a louder voice might break the spell.

You wait a beat. Then nod.

She explodes into a fit of muted screams, fist-pumping the air like she just hit a jackpot. You scoff at her over-the-top celebration.

“And he said yes?” Heejin whispers, breathing heavily out of excitement.

You nod again, but this time you feel heat blooming on your face.

“So wait,” she says between breaths, “you’re back to roleplaying again? What’s your safe word this time?”

You don’t respond. You just grab the nearest pen on your desk and lob it straight at her forehead. ---- The evening arrives faster than you’d like. At least choosing an outfit was easy—he wanted you to wear it, for whatever reason. 

But now that you’re actually wearing the same dress from the wedding, you’re more self-conscious than you expected. Flashbacks from that night flood your mind, and you’re not sure if you can keep looking at him the same way you’ve been lately.

You stand in front of the mirror by the entrance to your apartment, smoothing the hem of your dress for the fifth time—even though it’s already perfect. Your mother would probably hunt you down faster than an S-rank boss if you showed up to a party in wrinkled clothes.

The thought alone sends a shiver of terror down your spine.

You shouldn’t care this much—about the dress, or the fake relationship—but your pulse hasn’t slowed since the moment you zipped it up.

Then, the doorbell rings.

You check your reflection one more time—your hair, your dress—before opening the door with robotic movements, like you’re secretly hoping it’ll be someone else. Even a lost pizza guy would do.

But it’s not.

It’s him.

Baek, who somehow looks devastatingly fresh despite showing up at work earlier like someone driven to the brink of exhaustion. His suit is the expensive kind—tailored, not like the cheap ones he wears to work. And his hair? Deliberately tousled—not the stressed, finger-raked mess from before.

You swallow and you swear your heart stops when you see him standing there, looking like he stepped straight out of a suit catalogue.

He takes you in as well, and something simmers behind that vermilion gaze. Something dangerous. Something you’d tried to will out of your memory.

His eyes drag slowly down your figure and back up again—far too slow to be appropriate. He lingers.

“What?” you ask, trying to sound casual, like this is just a regular Tuesday look for you. But your body’s too eager to fidget under that gaze.

“Nothing,” he says, voice low and edged with restraint. “You just look like trouble.”

With a scoff, you try to play off the heat scorching at your eartips. “Funny.” You pick up your clutch and move past him, leaving him rather stunned at the doorway. He closes the door after you and the two of you make way down to his car, parked in the same spot he left it when he was over the last time.  ---- The ride to the restaurant where your sister’s engagement party is being held would be almost comfortable if it weren’t for the company. You feel like you’ve suddenly grown a completely new awareness of his presence next to you, and despite the shared silence between you both, you can’t help but steal a glance at his side of the car every once in a while.

You come up with silly excuses to do it—like checking how fast he’s driving or studying how he holds the steering wheel, while you push away any improper thoughts about those very same hands.

You should’ve just attended this party alone. You could’ve lied through your teeth about Baek being sick and unable to attend—this is pure torture.

“So,” you finally say, unable to bear the silence any longer—or maybe it's just the deafening sound of your own thoughts. “What did you mean by ‘trouble’?”

Baek keeps his eyes on the road, but you notice the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Exactly what I said.” He seems to wait for you to steer the conversation somewhere, deliberately enjoying making you squirm in the passenger seat.

“That could mean a lot of things,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I suppose,” he muses, “When I said ‘trouble’, I was thinking about how you tend to ask for tiny favors that turn into weeks-long ordeals.”

“You could’ve said no,” you huff. “But you agreed to this rather hurriedly. Are you sure you’re not actually enjoying it?”

He finally glances at you, something hungry flickering in his gaze. But instead of admitting anything, he responds: “Are you sure you’re not the one enjoying this? You’ve asked me twice now.”

The cinders dancing in the pit of your stomach flare. Yeah, the tiny voice in the back of your head keeps reminding you this shouldn’t be a fake relationship. It could very much be real.

“You’re annoying,” you say, biting back the giddiness his words make you feel.

“And you’re blushing.”

“I’m not—” you yelp, turning to look at him, earning a chuckle from him. His laughter is warmer than it was yesterday—healthier, more alive.

And just as if the universe itself had decided you’d been tortured enough, the navigator chimes: “The destination is to your left.” ---- “You know what to do?” you ask after he parks the car. He even holds the door open for you like a gentleman, which does nothing good for your composure.

You stare at the restaurant in the gentle evening breeze and think you recognize some familiar people sitting by a window.

“Let’s see,” he hums, and suddenly wraps his arm around your waist, making you squeak in surprise before pulling you closer to his body. “Like this?”

“Is this necessary?” you panic, your heart lodged in your throat.

“Isn’t this what boyfriends do?” he asks, feigning innocence.

“Yes, but we’re not actually—” you huff, heat searing across your face.

For a second, you almost swear you see a flicker of sadness in his eyes, but it’s gone by the time you blink.

“Fine,” he sighs, letting you go. The spot on your waist where his hand rested feels warmer than anything else. “I’ll just look like I’d die for you and everyone will be happy.” There's a strange edge to his voice.

“And I shall do the same,” you say, your mouth suddenly dry.

He offers you his arm. “Last chance to run.”

Hearing those words sends a spark down your spine. You remember him saying those exact words back then, right before he buried himself in you.

You hook your arm with his, his warmth instantly spreading through you. He doesn't just look handsome, he even smells good, and you try not to think too much about that night with him.

“You wish,” you scoff under your breath.

“Then I’d have to hunt you down,” he teases, leading you toward the restaurant doors.

He holds it open for you and gives you one final glance.

You look back at him, a smile tugging at your lips.

“And I’d like to see you try.” ---- The restaurant bathes in warm, inviting light. The music is subtle, groovy, and maybe a little too smooth. All the customers feasting at their tables wear fine, sharp and certainly not cheap clothes. Your appearance fits right in.

At the entrance, you're greeted by a waitress who guides you away from the main area of the restaurant to a more secluded corner with reserved tables.

And your family.

Naturally, your sister is elated to see you and Baek together at her engagement party. The other relatives, already gathered, swarm around you like bees.

Everyone is just dying to meet you and Baek—almost acting like they didn’t already at the wedding. You’re even upgraded to "late bloomer" status instead of "future cat lady."

And you can feel how much it amuses Baek; he gives your hand the occasional, short-lived squeeze while keeping a casual expression, while the two of you answer politely to your nosy relatives.

“Did you know he’s the leader of the White Tiger Guild?”

“We watched that livestream of Jeju Island—good job out there!”

“What rank are you?”

Suddenly, your job has become fascinating to these people, which makes your shoulders tense. Fortunately, your relatives still don’t care enough to actually know more about your worklife.

“So what guild are you in?”

You hesitate—just a fraction of a second—then reach out instinctively toward Baek, whose hand still rests in yours.

“I’m a freelancer now,” you lie through your teeth, hoping the tiny fib won’t hurt anyone. Especially not Baek. 

He doesn’t react in any way, much to your relief.

Once everyone's curiosity is satisfied, you finally get to sit at one of the reserved tables. But peace and quiet last exactly thirty seconds—just long enough for your mother to materialize out of nowhere and pull out a chair across from you.

She looks like she’s had to wait two minutes too long for your attention. She’s the final boss—the dragon—you need to defeat before you can enjoy the rest of the evening. Her eyes sweep over Baek with subtle approval glinting at the corners.

“Finally,” she gasps dramatically, like she has faced the ultimate betrayal. “It’s been weeks!”

“Mom, I’m a busy hunter,” you grumble.

She waves a dismissive hand, clearly uninterested in hearing your excuses this time.

“I’m just glad to see the two of you are still a thing,” she hums, satisfied.

You roll your eyes at the ceiling.

“So,” she continues, tone sharpening, “when are you getting married?”

She turns to you, expectant. “You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

You nearly choke on the drink you received after arriving. Baek reaches out under the table and places a hand on your thigh, his thumb brushing absentmindedly. For support or for fun—you’re not sure. But it certainly does nothing to calm your nerves.

“C-Can’t we celebrate one engagement at a time?” you stutter, taking another sip so your face won’t be the only thing burning.

You can feel Baek trying not to laugh beside you.

But the danger in your mother’s gaze doesn’t fade. “I was just hoping for some… news.”

Of course she can’t get enough now that you finally have a boyfriend.

“I’ve got a few surprises up my sleeve,” Baek says smoothly before you can respond, his tone so disarmingly innocent it sounds like he might drop to one knee tonight.

You swallow hard, suddenly too scared to look at him.

Your mother leans in closer to you in a mock whisper, though Baek can still hear her easily. “You’d better not let this one go.”

All you can do is nod, because if you open your mouth, you just might scream.

After another round of interrogation, more guests arrive at the scene and your mother gets whisked away by the newly arrived relatives. Finally, you’re left alone with your almost-finished drink, a rapidly beating heart, and Baek—who sits beside you, somehow calm and composed, as if he didn’t just imply he’s planning to propose.

You shoot him a sidelong glare. “Surprises, huh?”

He shrugs innocently. “Thought we were supposed to make it look authentic.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you groan, burying your hot face into your palms.

Peeking through your fingers, you see a not-so-innocent smile curling his lips, and there’s mischief laced in his voice when he speaks: “Not denying it.” ---- Eventually, more guests join in and soon the secluded corner of the restaurant is full of your relatives and your sister’s and her fiancé’s friends. Speeches are held, drinks flow, and someone even spills some across the floor.

After the dinner is served, you find yourself poking rather than eating the items on your plate. Maybe you’ve lost your appetite after being teased on so many fronts throughout the day, when even your favorite dish doesn’t feel appealing anymore.

Soon, the party is in full swing: more speeches—both embarrassing and heartfelt—tears of joy on your mother’s face, laughter, and toasts for the couple. You juggle champagne and awkward conversations. Baek talks too, and performs his role as a doting boyfriend almost too well.

It’s so easy to buy into the lie.

At some point, people start moving around, dragging chairs to other tables for deeper conversations that don’t need to be shouted across the room. And when you return from the restroom, you’re met with chaos.

You glance around, helpless. Not a single free chair in sight.

Baek catches your eye across the room—sitting comfortably in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, sipping water. At least you hope it’s water.

When his eyes flick toward you, he notices the obvious distress on your face. He sighs, but doesn’t look displeased in the least. No. Instead, he pats his thigh, inviting you to sit on him.

You walk over, biting your cheek.

“Looks like I’m your best—and only—option,” he says.

“You think I’m going to sit on you while the rest of my family is just right there—” you protest, but no one is really paying attention; everyone’s too busy fussing over your sister and that cute little nephew of yours.

Baek arches a brow in disbelief. Then his hand finds yours, the warmth of it making you feel even more self-conscious.

“And you’re my girlfriend, aren’t you?” He asks quietly. “Isn’t that what girlfriends do?”

“This has to be some kind of payback for something I did,” you mutter, but you still let him gently pull you into his lap.

You hear him hum low into your ear—sending shivers straight down your spine.

“Maybe.”

You settle in his lap, perching on his thighs just a tad more hesitantly than you intended. You haven’t been this close to him in—you don’t even want to think about it. You try to calm the pulse in your chest, afraid your heart might explode at this rate.

It doesn’t help when his hand comes to rest on your waist. So easily, so naturally—it burns right through your dress.

Neither of you speak at first, but something in the air between you shifts. Or vanishes. It feels harder to breathe, knowing he’s just inches away, his scent clouding your senses.

“You’re tense,” he murmurs softly, and his voice brushing your ear makes you shudder.

“You would be too if you were sitting in your boss’s lap,” you hiss, keeping your voice low in case anyone’s listening. But that’s not really the reason why you're unraveling. Not even close.

Baek has been different all day. Looser. Bolder. Teasing you with a steady, deliberate edge that feels almost dangerous. Something’s changed, but you don’t know what.

He chuckles—low and rough—and shifts his leg beneath you, pulling you just slightly closer to his chest. You bite back a startled sound.

“You did that on purpose,” you hiss.

“Did what?” he asks with faux innocence, but his eyes are anything but. His hand lingers at your waist before gliding lower, settling on your hip. The touch feels both casual and intimate, and your nerves trip over themselves trying to catch up.

Your dress has ridden up your thighs, and now there’s hardly anything between your skin and his fingers now. 

You hope he doesn’t notice.

He does.

And somehow… you don’t want to pull away.

It would be so easy.

But you don’t.

And neither does he.

His thumb begins to move—just a slow, absentminded stroke against your hip. The room buzzes with voices, laughter, clinking glasses. No one notices the two of you. To everyone else, you’re just a couple sharing a quiet moment.

Then Baek leans in—closer. His breath grazes your cheek as he speaks, voice barely a whisper: “You know… I’d kiss you right now if this wasn’t pretend.”

Your breath hitches and your head snaps toward him.

“W–what do you mean?”

He is silent for a beat, then his eyes flicker to you. “Exactly what I said.”

You bite your lip, and your hand resting on his shoulder digs in just a tad harder. Somehow, the way he looks at you feels too real.

“You’ve been acting differently today,” you finally say, gaze drifting to the side.

The caress of his thumb pauses—like he needs the stillness to think. “I guess I just realized something,” he says softly.

“Like what?” you ask, your heart thundering so hard it shakes through your bones.

He doesn’t answer right away, and when you return your eyes to him, he’s staring at you with this odd, soft gaze—like his whole world sits in front of him. You wait, almost desperately, for him to say something. Even a joke would do at this point. The silence is driving you insane.

Then his lips part. 

“That I can’t keep pretending—because I don’t have to.”

You blink, ears ringing with the sound of static.

“And because what I want is—” his voice drops lower, almost reverent “—you.”

The whole restaurant fades. You don’t dare blink. You barely breathe. He’s still looking at you, gaze unwavering. You can feel the tension in his body beneath you—like he’s bracing for you to bolt.

Because you don’t say anything—not because you don’t want to, but because you can’t—he continues:

“After what happened on Jeju… I decided I don’t want to forget you. Or let you go.” He swallows, his jaw tightening.

“I wish I didn’t have to stop myself every time I want to touch you. Even like this.”

Someone scrapes a chair across the floor in the background, but it feels distant. Unimportant.

Your skin prickles with goosebumps. You’re stunned—not because this is something you didn’t want to hear, but because you’d convinced yourself you never would.

Somehow, you’d believed that what he felt was long gone. That he’d forgotten.

“And I wish you’d stop looking at me like you want the same damn thing,” he breathes, “if you don’t.”

You stare at him, eyes wide from everything, and your breath gets stuck in your throat. You blink, unsure if you heard him correctly.

And he looks like he already regrets saying everything out loud. Ready to take it all back. Call it a joke.

So you speak before he can undo everything.

“I do,” your voice is weak and thick, like speaking has suddenly become a challenge.

He squints, like he just misheard you. Like what you said is impossible.

“I’ve been looking at you like that because I—” you feel strength return to your limbs and lungs, but you still keep your voice low, careful not to share this conversation with the rest of the restaurant. “I do want the same thing.”

And then you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Now you have his attention — and silence. But he stares at you curiously, his fingers on your hip twitching.

“I— it was easier to will myself into believing something else.” You still remember how adamant you were about not having feelings for him when you went to that one gate with Heejin. You thought it would be easy to ignore the way your heart yearns for him. “But after that one night when you came to the office, drunk— and then during Jeju…” you swallow, feeling the intensity of his gaze on your face, “I wanted you to come back. More than anything.”

Your voice wavers, and you let out a soft chuckle, like you’re in disbelief yourself. His grip on your hip tightens — not enough to hurt, but enough to feel.

“You’ve been so annoying and sweet all day— I even forgot that we’re pretending,” you murmur, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt like you need something to anchor you to this moment, to him. “I don’t want to unfeel this any longer.” 

Your words come out more determined, and for the first time in forever, it feels real.

Baek stares at you like you’ve rewritten gravity. You feel the tips of his fingers dig into your hip, like he’s afraid of waking up from a dream. A shiver runs down his spine — and you feel the tiny tremble.

“You—,” he begins, breathless, but falls silent— like he doesn’t have the words.

Instead, he leans in and closes the tiny distance between you. And you meet him halfway, like he’s magnetic.

His lips find yours so easily it makes your heart ache. He kisses you — but not out of greed or hunger. There’s no rush, no drama. Not even fireworks.

The kiss is full of everything neither of you have dared to speak out loud. It’s quiet and gentle. And everything about it feels right.

His lips move against yours with reverence, like you’re something precious he doesn’t want to break. And you’re not just something he wants — he chooses you. When his hand slides to the back of your neck to hold you, you realise you’ve been waiting for this far longer than you dared admit.

And it’s not a performance you’re trying to uphold. Not a lie for your family to believe.

Because it’s finally real.

When you finally break from the kiss — just enough to feel the glowing heat of his face — you’re both breathless. Stunned, even. He rests his forehead against yours, humming softly.

Then, silence. 

Because you don’t need words right now.

You feel at peace in his embrace, close enough to count his eyelashes.

And you stay like that for some time, not caring what happens around you.

It almost feels like waking up from a dream when the muted sounds of the party start to seep back in. Yoon-Ho’s forehead is still resting against yours, and he looks at you with such warmth it makes your heart squirm.

The warm haze of the kiss still lingers on your lips, but slowly, panic begins to simmer from within. What does this even mean now?

You pull back just enough to look him in the eye. You’re still breathless — but you fear you might faint if you stay that close to his face for the rest of the evening.

“We… we just did that,” you say, stating the obvious.

He lets out a quiet half-bark, half-chuckle, and his lips curl into a soft, sweet smile. The kind that would make your legs go numb if you were standing.

“Yeah, we did.”

You blink, still trying to convince yourself this isn’t some dream. “So, uh… what does this mean now? For us?”

He arches a brow. “You mean… work?”

You nod slowly. “You’re still my boss. And I’m still in your guild—” you place your hand on his chest, where you can feel his heartbeat almost as fast as yours. Somehow, that knowledge soothes you. “It’s not nothing, but at the same time… it’s complicated.”

Yoon-Ho goes quiet for a beat, his fingers gently caressing your hip — each stroke warmer than the last. His eyes never leave yours, but he looks like he’s calculating something. Like he’s charting a new path now that the map has changed.

“You’re right,” he finally says. Quiet — but with a thread of steel under it. “That does sound complicated.”

Your heart sinks a little.

But then his hand squeezes your hip just slightly — and your heart jumps instead.

“But I’m not backing away from this,” he says, low and fierce. “Not unless you want me to.”

You shake your head, and you see the relief bloom across his face like sunlight.

“I don’t,” you say. “I just… I don’t want to mess everything up. Not for you, not for me, not for the guild. And I… I want this to be right.”

He exhales through his nose and leans back, lifting his free hand to brush a knuckle across your cheek. You have to fight the urge to lean into it.

“Then we’ll figure it out. Together.” He promises.

You search his face for any flicker of hesitation, doubt, or regret — but all you find is resolve. And something so tender it makes your heart swell.

“Okay,” you whisper, unable to stop your smile.

He rests his forehead against yours once more. “Okay,” he echoes. ---- After spending a little more time at the party, you decide it’s best to head home. Your mother notices how you’re suddenly beaming much more, like you just found a wish-granting treasure. She even tries — not so subtly — to find a ring on your finger, but nods when she realizes there’s been no development on that front.

But you don’t care about any of that. There’s really nothing that can bring you down from this high.

The ride back to your place is mostly quiet, but this time, it’s anything but awkward. The hum of the engine and the soft music playing on the radio feel distant enough to let you stay inside your thoughts — or rather, your feelings.

Occasionally, you catch him glancing your way when he thinks you’re not looking, and you can’t help but smile to yourself.

When you eventually pull into the familiar parking lot next to your building, you realize you haven’t really thought about anything on the way home — you’ve just been feeling.

Yoon-Ho parks the car, but doesn’t turn off the engine. One hand stays on the steering wheel, the other resting on his thigh, fingers fidgeting in a way that doesn’t suit his usual composure. Then he turns to you, his gaze tender — but unsure.

“I could come upstairs,” he says suddenly, though there’s hesitation behind his voice. This is a familiar scene now.

And then, with a heavy sigh — like it costs him something to continue — he adds, “But I’m not going to. Not tonight.”

Your heart stumbles, and you can’t tell if what you feel is disappointment or something else entirely. “You’re not?” you ask, brows gently knit.

His vermilion gaze finds yours, and this time there’s no mischief, no teasing — just sincerity. “I want to do this properly,” he murmurs.

“Properly,” you echo, slowly, trying to piece the puzzle together.

He smiles — a soft, almost shy thing. “No pretending. No relatives. Just us. A date. A real one.”

A wave of warmth washes over you, making your heart flutter. The tension that’s been coiled in your chest since the moment his lips touched yours finally begins to ease. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this is something that shouldn’t be rushed.

You nod, unable to hide your smile. “I’d like that.”

He lets out a low chuckle, full of relief. “Good.”

Then he leans in slightly, eyes trailing down to your lips. “But I’d still like to kiss you one more time.”

Your breath catches. A spark shoots down your spine and settles somewhere much lower, making you far too aware of every inch of yourself — and him. But you don’t hesitate. You lean in, meeting him halfway across the center console.

The kiss isn’t gentle this time. It’s a little hungrier — a little more desperate. Like neither of you want to let go. Like you’re fighting something primal. Your heart skips a beat. And when you part, you’re breathless and dizzy in the best possible way.

His forehead comes to rest against yours once again, and you catch the hint of pink on his cheeks. The sight makes something melt inside you.

You could get used to this.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he murmurs.

You bite your lip, smiling. “You better.”

And with a final lingering look — one that feels like more than a promise — he waits until you’ve made it safely inside your building before driving off into the night.

[lucianhuntress]

Favors: Baek Yoon-Ho x F!Reader

Chapter 8. Do me a favor and be there for me

More Baek! Given the situation in this chapter, it has angst. But it also funny moments. I definitely went and took some creative liberties here in the name of the plot.

Words: 3764

<- Previous Chapter ---- The hunters of the White Tiger Guild stand in a line.

No one is breathing. No one is talking. Anticipation hangs in the air like smoke, and no one dares disturb it—for fear it might bring everything and everyone down like a house of cards.

The fourth Jeju raid is a success.

They did it.

There’s a warm bloom in your chest, fluttering and relieved. He’s alive, and they won. He’s coming back.

But what price did they pay for that victory?

---- The next day, you're at the office, waiting for him to come through the doors and receive applause from everyone. But he doesn't come.

Not that day.

Nor the next.

And not the one after that.

If it weren’t for the media, you’d be completely in the dark—left only to stare at his office, dark and silent, every day since the raid.

Baek Yoon-Ho lost someone close to him back there. One of Korea’s S-rank hunters—Min Byung-Gyu. The Japanese suffered even more losses and if it weren’t for that one new S-rank hunter, they’d all be dead by now.

At the very least, you do receive a text message from him—the tiger emoji lighting up your screen just as you exit a gate you cleared with the others.

>> Sorry I haven’t been at the office. There’s a lot going on, and I’d rather talk to you face to face after the memorial.

Every hunter who participated in the Jeju Island raid—at any level—received an invitation to a memorial hosted by the Hunters Association.

A ceremony to mourn the many deaths Jeju has cost over the years, and to thank the ones who made it back.

These things have never really been your kind of thing. Honestly, you probably wouldn’t go if not for the free food. But now, with this very confusing thing going on between you and your boss... you’d finally get to see him.

>> See you there.

You find yourself typing the reply with shaky fingers, your heart skipping a beat in your chest as you hit send. It’s stupid—staring at his message like a high schooler in love—but you can’t help feeling anxious about finally seeing him.

Have you actually thought this through?

Has he? ---- It’s both admirable and surprising how quickly the Association put this memorial together. It’s barely been a week since the raid on Jeju Island. The memory is still fresh and raw—like a scalded wound, burning against skin.

When you arrive at the venue, the entrance is already swarming with reporters and civilians, crudely held back by the Association’s black-suited agents. Of course, there are hunters too, but most of them hurry past the uninvited crowd—just like you.

The day is already depressing enough. You don’t need the buzz of the media to sink you further.

The noise fades the moment you step inside. It’s like diving underwater—everything above grows distant, irrelevant. A faint fragrance of incense and flowers lingers in the air, and the hall is packed with hunters in fine suits and formal dresses.

There’s none of the usual banter that fills a room when hunters gather. It’s quiet. Dull and tense, bordering on funereal.

A slideshow is projected onto one of the walls, displaying smiling images of those who fell in the many battles for Jeju Island—some younger than you, some older. Your chest tightens when Min Byung-Gyu’s face appears. You feel a dull ache pulse behind your sternum.

Anyone could’ve ended up on that wall. Even Baek.

You’re just lucky he didn’t.

“Hey,” comes Heejin’s familiar voice from behind you. Her tone is soft, but somber. You turn to find her dressed in a formal black dress, much like yours.

“Heya,” you say back, glancing once more at the screen, now showing someone you don’t recognize.

Neither of you speak for a while. You don’t know what to say—and, oddly enough, she doesn’t either. Still, it’s comforting just to stand beside someone you know.

Soon, a voice rings out over the speakers, announcing the start of the memorial. You and Heejin follow the trickle of hunters toward the small temporary stage erected for the event.

Chairman Go Gunhee stands at the podium, waiting as the crowd gathers. His expression is unreadable—perhaps a little strained.

After some time, the hall falls silent, and the chairman begins his speech. He recalls the day Jeju Island was first overwhelmed by the ants, then speaks of the raids that followed. His words finally lead to the success of the fourth Jeju raid.

Then, he begins to list the names of the hunters who fell over the years—each one followed by a pause thick with sorrowful silence.

At some point, your eyes drift. You don’t even realize where, at first—just that something pulls your attention like gravity. Your gaze lands on someone you don’t recognize right away, because he looks like a ghost of himself, standing still in quiet grief.

You blink once.

Twice.

Baek Yoon-Ho.

Your guild leader stands at the edge of the room with some of the other S-rank hunters, all of them somber, tense, or simply lost in thought. His suit is crisp and dark, his face unreadable. He looks paler than usual, and his eyes are fixed on the floor, his mouth drawn into a thin, unmoving line.

For a moment, your breath catches in your throat, your heart stammering in your chest.

You want to say something.

But you don’t even know where to begin. ---- Eventually, the list of deceased hunters ends. There’s a heavy pause before the Chairman thanks everyone for doing their part.

You feel Heejin squeeze your arm as the hunters begin to scatter throughout the hall—some drifting toward the cocktail tables, others gathering in quiet conversation.

The atmosphere isn’t nearly as solemn now. There are odd laughs here and there, as if the Chairman’s speech had marked some kind of emotional release. An end.

“Do you want to talk to him?” Heejin asks. She would probably sound a lot more smug if it weren’t for the situation.

Baek finally looks up—and notices you. He seems almost surprised to see you through the mass of hunters, and it makes your heart race.

“I do, but—” you bite your lip and turn away, “I don’t think this is the right place.”

Heejin hums in understanding.

“Let’s go eat, then,” she says. It’s more of a command than a suggestion. ---- The Hunters Association has gone out of its way to serve a variety of foods—mostly Korean dishes, but some Japanese items as well, in honor of their role in the raid. Despite being an event to mourn the dead, it’s also a celebration of victory.

And now there’s music too—neutral rather than cheerful, but it helps ease the tension in the air.

You don’t even feel particularly hungry, but Heejin insists. Despite your feeble protests, she stacks your plate high with kimchi pancakes, tiny sliders, and fruit. She tops it off with a shrimp skewer. The result looks more like a chaotic birthday cake than a plate of food.

You step away from the table to let the rest of the hungry hunters swarm around it like flies on fruit.

“Oh, these are good—” Heejin almost moans after taking a bite of a tiny Korean slider. “You have to taste this.”

You reply with a muted chuckle and take a bite of a kimchi pancake.

Apparently, the Hunters Association can deliver on quality too. Everything is delicious, and the food reawakens an appetite you didn’t know was hiding. You clear your plate surprisingly fast—fast enough for Heejin to stare at you with wide eyes.

“I thought you weren’t hungry,” she comments, clearly delighted at having been right.

“Well, you told me to eat,” you sigh. But it’s not annoyance you feel—just quiet gratitude. She’s looking out for you, like always.

Heejin pops another slider into her mouth and lets out a very satisfied hum. “You know,” she says after finishing her bite, “if Baek doesn’t fall for your emotional depth, he might fall for that appetite.”

You arch a brow in confusion. “What? Are you saying I seduce men with my food consumption?”

“Girl, I’ve never seen you eat that fast. You devoured the stuff—men like it when you put things in your mouth, if you know what I mean.”

A tired, half-laugh, half-scoff escapes you. “Yeah? I bet I’d get a line of men queuing up just to see me inhale three rice balls.”

“Oh, that’s hot.” She winks and giggles, spearing a tiny watermelon cube with her cocktail stick. “Please do share your wisdom, teacher.”

“You’re ridiculous sometimes,” you say, unable to bite back the laughter bubbling in your stomach.

“And that’s why you love me,” she chirps.

As good as it feels to be fed, the ache returns—it scrapes your heart, reminds you why you’re really here. You let your gaze roam almost accidentally, while Heejin continues raving about the dessert that’s bound to be divine. That’s when you catch a glimpse of that familiar vermilion hair across the crowd of dark-dressed hunters.

He’s chatting with the other hunters from before—some you’ve seen on the news or magazine covers, others less known. Baek is laughing at someone’s joke, but you can see how that laughter doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Heejin notices how quiet you’ve gone and easily follows your gaze.

“So, do you wanna talk to him before someone else snatches him?”

“What? I wasn’t looking—”

She isn’t buying it. Not anymore. She shakes her head, clicking her tongue—but a wry smile tugs at her lips.

You squint at her. “What are you planning?”

“Oh, nothing—absolutely nothing,” she says in that dramatic tone you know far too well. “Just asking. Casually. For a friend.”

“You’re definitely scheming,” you say, feeling a wave of anxious dread wash over you. “You’ve got that face you make when you’re putting guys in line for karaoke.”

She points at her own face, her green eyes going wide with mock innocence. “This face? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She polishes off the food on her plate and turns, eyeing the dessert table with something close to hunger.

You’re about to say something when she exclaims: “Oh my god! They have tiny cakes for dessert! You need to try one. Like, right now!”

And suddenly she’s dragging you through the crowd toward the dessert table.

“Can’t we wait a bit?” You try to keep your balance, but Heejin is surprisingly strong for a healer. Well, you could still beat her in a fight, but kicking healer ass is not usually a fun challenge. “I just ate like half the buffet.”

You hear her snort, but she keeps moving, sailing forward like a ship in a storm, towing you behind her. She's way too determined for this to be just about fruit cocktails or cake.

“I’m not even hungry anymore—”

“Doesn’t matter,” she says. “You’re emotional. And there’s no better medicine than chocolate cake.”

“I’m not emotio—”

She suddenly halts, and you nearly bump into her.

“—nal.”

You glance at the buffet table, overflowing with every kind of dessert imaginable. But with your stomach already near bursting, the thought of food doesn’t appeal at all.

Then you see him.

Baek Yoon-Ho.

Standing on the other side of the table, frozen mid-motion as he places a slice of cake on his plate. His gaze finds yours. He stares—soft surprise flickering in his expression.

“Oh! Mister Baek!” Heejin cuts in, shattering that fragile second of… something. She resumes dragging you around the table—right toward your boss. And you feel like a reluctant dog being pulled on a leash.

Baek looks rather dumbfounded when Heejin stops in front of him with you in tow.

“I couldn’t find any of our other guildmates, and I really need to grab some water,” Heejin says, batting her lashes with comical innocence. But you know her too well—mischief oozes from every word.

And she definitely did not look for any of your other guildmates.

All Baek manages to say is: “Huh?”

“So, could you look after her for a bit? This memorial has made her emotional and I don’t want her to be alone in these trying times.”

You resist the urge to jab your traitorous friend in the ribs.

“Sure,” Baek replies easily.

“Great!” Heejin spins around, leans in, and whispers: “Stay. And say hi.”

Then she winks, and vanishes into the crowd like a magician. But not before forming a tiny heart with her fingertips and waving it to you. 

You sigh and turn to your boss, who watches you curiously.

This isn’t really how you imagined talking to him.

Then again… you didn’t imagine this conversation at all.

You don’t even know where to start—because every scenario you’ve played out in your head ends in secondhand embarrassment. He seems rather lost in thought for a second too, like he also had something else in mind than standing next to a dessert buffet in awkward silence.

“So… how’s your cake?” you manage to ask, regretting it immediately.

Surprisingly though, his expression softens and you can see a flicker of amusement pass his eyes. He takes a tiny bite of the cake and you try not to stare at his mouth like you only rediscovered hunger again.

“Sweet,” he replies. You notice him hesitating for a second before he continues, “Not really my thing but… it’s easy to pretend today.”

You’re unsure how to respond. Part of you wants to joke about pretending and parties you never really want to go to, but you decide against it. This is hardly the time or place for that kind of humor.

“I get it,” you say instead. “It feels so wrong to celebrate and mourn at the same time.”

“That’s the hunter's life for you,” he hums quietly, like he’s thinking about something distant. “A lot of things can be true at once.”

His eyes find yours, and you notice how tired he looks—like he hasn’t slept in days. He’s clearly exhausted, and the toll of the raid still weighs heavily on his shoulders. The ache in your chest resurfaces, and you begin to wonder if he’s even fully healed yet.

He tilts his head slightly, and it dawns on you that he isn’t far from the other S-rank hunters—but they’re deep in a tense conversation, paying no mind to Baek or the employee at his side. Then, he nods toward a hallway—like a silent suggestion to walk somewhere quieter.

You nod, letting him lead you away from the buzz of the crowd. The two of you walk in shared silence. A few murmurs ripple through the room as people notice Baek passing—though they mostly ignore you, which oddly makes it easier to calm your racing heart.

Eventually, you reach a calm corridor lined with doors labeled Staff Only. At the far end sits a table with white lilies, chrysanthemums, and a few unlit candles. He stops to make sure no one is within earshot. You both set your empty plates on the table, and he turns to you with an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry you had to wait this long to talk,” he begins, his tone and expression heavy. “Honestly… I wouldn’t have been surprised if you didn’t come.”

“It can’t have been easy for you,” you say, folding your hands behind your back. “Besides, I told you I’d come.” The thought of skipping the memorial had definitely been tempting. If it weren’t for him—and Heejin—you definitely wouldn’t be here.

He looks away with a small, almost wistful smile. The kind that makes your heart ache. You have to resist the urge to hug him right then and there.

“And Heej—Hunter Park made sure I didn’t skip this,” you add, chuckling in a light attempt to ease the heaviness. “Said I’d find closure. Or cake.”

That earns a short laugh from him. But this time, it doesn’t feel empty—it feels real. Like something that hasn’t been around in days.

“Yeah… she seems determined.”

There’s a beat before he continues, softer now: “But I’m glad to see you here.”

Your heart skips a beat. You push a strand of hair behind your ear before asking, “Really?”

Baek nods. His expression tightens, like he’s holding back something he doesn’t want to say out loud.

“I wanted to hear your voice so bad when I got back from the Island. Because I couldn’t—”

He stops. His jaw clenches, sorrow flickering across his face like a storm he can’t shake off. You know his thoughts have drifted to Min Byung-Gyu.

You don’t say anything, but you take a tentative step closer, the air in the hallway suddenly too still, too heavy.

He exhales. Then he chuckles—dryly, hollowly. It’s not a sound of amusement. It’s a wound reopening.

“You know, he didn’t even want to be there in the first place,” he finally says, voice tight with grief. “And I was so damn happy when he changed his mind.”

You don’t interrupt. But the waver in your heart deepens at the weight of those words.

“And now he’s dead—and I’m still here,” Baek says bitterly. “Am I just supposed to move on? Be grateful? Be happy? Because it should’ve been him.”

His words make you flinch. You knew they were good friends, but experiencing his grief on this level still catches you off guard. And you know nothing you say will make him feel better—you feel powerless to help him.

All you can do is place your hand on his arm, reminding him that you’re still there. You absently brush over the fine cloth of his suit jacket in an attempt to comfort him.

“Maybe he would want you to live,” you rasp quietly, your mouth suddenly dry.

To your surprise, he sighs, and his gaze drops to the floor.

“I’m afraid you’re right.”

Then, he chuckles—at a memory or a thought.

“He did say I was growing wrinkles on my forehead from frowning too much.”

You can’t help the warm hum that escapes your lips. You lean in slightly, just enough to catch the expression on his face.

“He must’ve been right. You clearly have wrinkles there—”

His eyes widen, almost in horror, and you take the opportunity to reach up and brush a few stray vermilion hairs off his forehead.

“Right here,” you say softly.

Suddenly, he grabs your wrist, and a jolt shoots through your body—but he doesn’t push your hand away. Instead, he guides it down to his cheek. His skin is warm against your palm, and his breath wavers, like he’s trying not to fall apart.

Then, he tilts his head, just enough to nuzzle his nose into your hand, and hums softly against your palm—as if drawing comfort from your touch. He tugs you closer, brushing his mouth against the skin of your wrist. The contact is featherlight, but you forget how to breathe.

“You were the only thing I could think about while I was there…” he murmurs, so quietly you're not even sure you heard it right.

You take a step closer. “...Yoon-Ho.”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

You swallow, biting your lip as you try to meet his gaze—

Then—

“Oh, Baek, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” someone shouts from the other end of the hallway, and you jump back like a startled cat.

You turn to the intruder—and instantly recognize him.

Choi Jong-In

S-rank mage and the leader of the Hunters Guild.

Grinning like the devil himself. 

You blink, unsure if what you’re seeing is a hallucination—or if the food you ate earlier actually put you in a coma.

But no.

Mister Choi, draped in a perfectly tailored black suit, keeps approaching without a care in the world.

Baek lets go of you almost instantly, like he’d just been caught committing a felony. But the air shifts—sharp, volatile, crackling with something barely restrained.

Every inch of your skin screams for you to run.

From the corner of your eye, you catch how Baek’s nails are sharpening. Instinct, or warning.

“Choi,” he nearly spits, his voice coiled in restrained rage.

The red-haired mage seems unaffected—if anything, amused. He’s clearly trying to bait Baek into something. You’re not sure what, but you want no part of it.

“Just the man I was looking for,” Mister Choi muses. “No one noticed you slip out earlier, but now I see why.”

He pauses, his gaze flicking to you with a squint behind his glasses.

You stay perfectly still, like any sudden movement will set off a landmine.

Then he turns back to Baek. “I almost didn’t recognize you—smiling and everything. Should’ve brought popcorn if I knew what I’d be walking in on.”

“We—we were just talking,” you stammer, trying to sound professional despite being caught seconds away from not talking at all.

“Of course,” Choi beams, mock-acknowledging your words. “Talking.” He adjusts his glasses, lips curling into a knowing smirk.

Baek speaks again, voice tight: “Why are you here?”

Choi chuckles—clearly delighted by the tension. “The Chairman was looking for you earlier.”

Baek clenches his jaw. His fists curl. You swear he’s vibrating with rage.

“Relax, I’m not here to judge,” Choi says, raising his hands in exaggerated surrender. “You do you. Or… her.”

Baek takes a threatening step forward.

You grab his arm instinctively, even though you know you’d never be able to hold him back if he really snapped. The strength difference is almost laughable.

But you try.

Choi backs off, still chuckling. “Alright, alright. Just don’t keep the old man waiting.”

With that, he disappears around the corner—his exit as smug as his arrival.

Silence crashes down like a curtain. It hurts, somehow.

“So… uh…” you say, not sure what else to offer.

You risk a glance at Baek.

His eyes are glowing gold.

His hair is beginning to shift white.

He looks like he might tear the floor apart with his bare hands.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” he growls—and storms off, leaving you behind with no explanation. No apology. Nothing.

You stand there a few moments longer, staring at the hallway like it might offer answers.

Eventually, you turn to leave too. No reason to hang around next to a Staff Only door like you belong there.

You don’t make it far before Heejin finds you. She lights up—until she sees your face.

Her smile drops. “What happened?”

You blink at her, still trying to process everything. “I think we’re about to have another memorial soon,” you mutter.

And you don’t even know if you’re joking. ---- Next Chapter ->

[lucianhuntress]

Where is it?!

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...

part two out of four... primus help me...

[lucianhuntress]

62. “Did you heard a word I said?” With our favorite tiger yoonho baek pretty please! 🐯

Baek Yoon-Ho x Reader: #62 “Did you hear a word I said?”

Oh, I'm always down to write more 🐯🤍 Hope you like it!

Shuffling of papers. The scrape of a coffee mug. Someone clears their throat. More talking.

The meeting you’re locked in has dragged on for over an hour already, and you’re bored. You haven’t even paid attention to whatever’s currently being projected on the wall as it surely has little to do with you. Your presence in this meeting room is just a formality. Mostly.

You tried to stay awake by doodling on the paper you received at the start, but even your hand has grown bored and numb to the idea. You should be storming through a gate right now. But alas…

To stifle a yawn, you lift the paper and cover your mouth, glancing around the room. That’s when you notice your guild leader’s vermilion eyes on you. He’s not the one speaking, but clearly, he’s picked up on how far your mind has wandered.

You try not to smile awkwardly and quickly look away, heat creeping up the back of your neck.

Hopefully, you won’t be hearing about this later.

When the meeting finally ends, you’re one of the first to slip out, hurrying back to your desk. You don’t have much work today, so you could easily head downstairs to the gym to get your blood flowing. It’s way too early to head home anyway.

You shut down your computer and leave. And just as you’re about to reach the elevator, a familiar voice stops you in your tracks.

Baek Yoon-Ho.

You recognize it instantly—and nearly jump when he speaks.

“Already leaving?”

You turn around slowly, as if afraid that any sudden movement might set something off. He’s standing there holding two mugs—one coffee, one tea. Your favorite blend, no less. His expression is neutral, completely unfazed, as he offers the tea to you like it’s just another part of his day.

“Thought you’d like some tea after nearly falling asleep in the meeting.”

A nervous, hollow laugh escapes your throat as you take the mug from him. “Thank you,” you murmur, offering a small, sheepish smile. Strangely, the tea smells even better coming from him. Maybe you really are more tired than you realized.

“Do you always draw dragons during meetings, or was that a first?” he asks, and you swear you see the corner of his mouth twitch.

You let out an embarrassed squeak, earning a soft, amused chuckle from him.

He starts talking about the meeting—clarifying a few things, maybe even mentioning action points—but your attention is drifting. It’s like you’re really seeing him for the first time.

Is his hair always that tousled? His suits aren’t the most expensive, sure—but given how he might have to turn into a massive weretiger at any moment, that’s understandable.

Your heart does an awkward flutter when it hits you: he’s handsome. Not just your intimidating, shape-shifting boss, but genuinely handsome.

You’re mid-sip when he asks: “Did you hear a word I said?”

You blink. “Dragons?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. But he doesn’t look annoyed. If anything, something in his expression softens—warms.

And something stirs inside you in response. Something warm. Something... possibly dangerous.

“So… no dragons?” you almost whisper, feeling the heat rise to the tips of your ears.

He shakes his head, but a small smile tugs at his lips as he says, “Next meeting, I’ll be sitting next to you so I can keep an eye on you.”

“Mmm… that sounds like a distraction.” You respond before you can stop yourself. He’s your boss—you’re definitely not supposed to flirt.

But he doesn’t seem the least bit fazed by your comment.

“Good,” he says, sipping his coffee, something wild flickering in his eyes. “I’m counting on it.”

The elevator dings not far from you, but you might as well be glued to the floor.

The tea mug glows with heat in your hands, and your mind turns completely blank.

Did you just flirt with your boss?

And—did he just flirt back?!

[lucianhuntress]

Masterlist

Favors: Baek Yoon-Ho x F!Reader

Read on Ao3

Chapter | Do me a favor and pretend to be my boyfriend?

Chapter | Do me a favor and be my girlfriend a little longer

Chapter | Do me a favor and act like it never happened?

Chapter | Do me a favor and don't be reckless

Chapter | Do me a favor and tell me everything

Chapter | Do me a favor and let me have one less regret

Chapter | Do me a favor and survive

Chapter | Do me a favor and be there for me

Chapter | Do me a favor and stop pretending

Chapter

[lucianhuntress]

Clive & 43.? 👀

Clive Rosfield x Reader: #43 “Please, stop looking like you want to kill me.”

Brooding man in a coffee shop AU. Hope you like it 🖤

Afternoons feel relatively slow during the weekdays. Nektar’s Café draws in customers at a sluggish pace compared to the morning crowd—not to mention the lunch rush. All the daily work is done, and the café is already prepped for the next day, which gives you ample time to sit behind the counter and doodle chocobos and moogles on a napkin while occasionally standing up to brew coffee or warm up pastries.

The bell above the café door clinks cheerily as a customer steps inside, and you lift your head to see who it is this time. You have plenty of regulars—some you're even on a first-name basis with.

And this one is definitely a regular. Just… not one you know well, because—well—he isn’t the talkative type, even when you’ve used your best customer service lines on him. He’s like an approaching storm; sulking, gloomy, and all brooding silence. His dark hair certainly doesn’t help the image.

He scans the café, and for a moment, you catch the way he squints in quiet disappointment when he sees the table he always sits at is already occupied by a lovey-dovey couple. They’re even taking selfies with their cake slices and iced lattes.

You have to bite your lower lip to keep from grinning.

He walks up to the counter, offering only a curt nod, but you can already see the frown forming on his face. You’re one step ahead of him, though—already prepping to brew something special. He doesn’t order. He never does. Getting him to speak more than a sentence is like trying to reason with a mossy rock. Besides, he always drinks what you give him, and never complains.

“Let me guess,” you begin with a wink, determined to shine some light into his sullen little world. “Flat white with a dash of annoyance?”

He doesn’t respond. His eyes stay fixed on the table that was “stolen” from him.

“Maybe with a sprinkle of cinnamon and judgment? That one’s pretty popular today.”

You spot the tiniest twitch at the corner of his eye as he turns his gaze to you—but still no words.

“Or how about the day’s special: triple espresso with seething rage?”

His voice, when it comes, is rough and low. “You done?”

You jump slightly, startled by the sudden reply. Heart thudding, you finish prepping his drink. You pour it into a takeaway cup and doodle a thundering cloud with a pout on the lid.

“I call it the Brooding Blend.” You fight the smirk threatening your poker face.

As he pays, his eyes flick back and forth between you and the occupied table.

“They’re in my seat,” he mutters, clearly frustrated.

You glance at the couple—clearly lost in their own little love bubble. “Well, as far as I’m aware, that table isn’t actually yours…”

He squints at you. “Yes, but I sit there every time.”

You plop back into the chair behind the counter. “Oh, I know. And you glare at anyone who takes it like you’re about to burn them into cinders.”

He turns his brilliant blue eyes on you, and the intensity of it makes heat prickle at the back of your neck. There’s a long beat of silence, and it would almost be funny if he didn’t look quite so intimidating.

You clear your throat. “Please, stop looking like you want to kill me.”

Something flickers in his gaze. For half a second, you could swear you see the twitch of a smile. Then, he lets out a small sound—somewhere between a cough and a laugh. It's low, rough, like he doesn’t quite remember how to do it properly.

He picks up the coffee, and you realize you're holding your breath.

Would this be the day he finally tells you it’s not what he wanted?

��The cloud with a pout was a nice touch.”

He turns and heads for the second-best table. But you’re frozen, stunned.

That was the nicest thing he’s ever said.

You exhale, but let yourself smile—absentmindedly doodling a little pouting cloud with tiny hearts above it on a new napkin. And across the café, at a very different, slightly wonky table, so does he.

[lucianhuntress]

Phainon x Reader: “I didn’t mean to fall for you. I just... tripped into it, slowly.”

I had a craving for fluff with Phainon, so I went and requested this from myself. As a treat. Enjoy. 😌💖

The last rays of the day have finally disappeared behind the treelines at the Grove of Epiphany, and the hallways of the university have grown quiet and empty. Everyone has left to celebrate their weekend—everyone except you and Phainon. You’re currently working on a paired project for Prof Nax’s chemistry class.

Fortunately, the university’s library is open around the clock.

And he brought snacks.

A heavy silence lingers between the two of you as your nose is buried deep in the pages of a thick, ancient chemistry book, while Phainon sits on the opposite side of the table, casually munching on the snacks he brought: dried sagelore fruits and chocolate.

You’ve been reading for hours now, and your focus keeps slipping. You catch yourself reading the same phrases five times without actually understanding a word.

A quiet yawn escapes your throat, breaking the stillness.

“Tired?” Phainon asks, lifting his eyes from his book, looking just as exhausted as you feel. He leans against the palm of one hand and flips a page with the other.

“I could use a break,” you groan, reaching for one of the dried sagelore fruits. They’re supposed to make you smarter, but you feel quite the opposite right now. You stretch your arms across the table like a cat.

He watches you with a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “We can do something else.”

“Does it involve you being shirtless?” you ask jokingly. Lately, Phainon has shown up shirtless on more than a few occasions—almost like he’s doing it on purpose. Not that you actually mind seeing the sculpted planes of muscle.

Phainon suddenly chokes on a piece of chocolate. “W-what?”

“Nothing,” you muse, flashing him a grin. His whole face is rapidly turning pink, and you can see the redness reach all the way to his collarbones.

He tries to recover with a desperate throat-clear, but the evidence of his embarrassment lingers on his cheeks. “D-Do you think about me shirtless often, then?” he asks with a half-chuckle.

There’s a beat of silence while you think of the best way to reply.

“Well, only when you’re going around without a shirt. Which is like… every other day.”

He looks around, gaze dropping. Suddenly, he seems a little shy — a side you haven’t really seen before.

“Maybe I was hoping you’d notice,” he mumbles.

You arch a brow, puzzled, and snatch a piece of chocolate like you're afraid they might all melt away.

“Why?”

He chuckles, still clearly flustered by the situation you’ve put him in. He scratches the back of his neck before fumbling out,

“I didn’t mean to fall for you…”

His shining blue eyes find yours, earnest and open.

“I just tripped into it… slowly.”

The silence falls between the two of you like a heavy curtain, and with every beat of your heart it stretches longer, thicker. Your throat feels dry, your breath caught halfway up, and your heart makes an undignified spin as heat crawls across your skin.

You’re half expecting him to laugh and say it was a joke—obviously—but he doesn’t. He just looks at you like a hopeful puppy, waiting for something. Anything.

“…That was insanely cheesy,” you finally manage, heart flipping wildly in your chest.

He chuckles, awkward and adorable—though no longer quite as flustered as before. “You think? I’d been kind of saving that one. It definitely sounded better in my head.”

You squint at him, fighting a smile. “I’d say you’ve practiced it a few times.”

He nods slowly, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Once or twice,” he says—then, when your brow arches knowingly, he caves. “Okay. Maybe ten.”

A beat of silence—and then laughter bursts out of you, bright and bubbling, like a shaken bottle finally uncorked. You try to hold it in, but it’s no use.

“Aaaand you laughed—so I win,” he says, absolutely smug.

You let out a long exhale, trying to reel yourself back in from the brink of madness. Clearly, studying has melted your brain. But then—warmth. His hand gently finds yours, still stretched across the table toward the chocolates.

“So,” he says, voice softer now, “would you like to go out after we finish this paper?”

The warmth travels from your hand to your chest and blooms there like sunlight. “Only if you promise to trip and fall for me a little harder.”

You’ve never seen him smile quite like this—wide and glowing, full of something bright and maybe a little breathless. It makes you feel breathless.

“Deal.”

[lucianhuntress]

Favors: Baek Yoon-Ho x F!Reader

Chapter 7. Do me a favor and survive

This chapter was supposed to be much shorter and have one additional scene, but I think I'll save it for the next chapter. I took some creative liberties here and it contains angst!

Words: 3357

<- Previous Chapter ---- The next day at work. You've been staring at your monitor for an hour already. And you've done absolutely…

Nothing.

Sitting in your work chair after what happened last night feels wrong in every possible way. Almost like the ghost of last night still lurks around.

And it was just a kiss.

There's an odd flutter in your chest—but you find it pleasant instead of disturbing.

And then you think about how easily your lips had found his—how perfect it had been, despite him being drunk and you still nursing a hangover. There was something raw and real about it, something that ignited your veins and sent your insides coiling. 

So you do have feelings for him after all.

Funny how you nearly died only to realize that.

“Seriously? You're doing this again?” You hear Heejin’s groan of disappointment from somewhere nearby, but you’re too deep in your daydream to care.

You never imagined kissing him at work. You thought you could go back to being friends. But when he revealed that vulnerable side of himself—while tasting like soju—it flipped a switch inside you.

Then something thin hits your head.

“Ow,” you wince, rubbing your scalp, only to notice Heejin staring at you like a dragon guarding her lair. Her hands are on her hips, and she’s clearly waiting for something—an explanation, maybe.

“Did you just throw a pen at me?”

“Yes, because you were doing that face again,” she huffs.

“What face?”

The seriousness melts off her face in an instant. Her lips curl into a mischievous smile—the kind that makes your skin crawl—and her eyes narrow like a sly fox who just found the juiciest chicken coop.

“The face where you’re clearly thinking about sexy times with someone. Does he have nice abs too?”

You groan, but your burning cheeks and mortified expression betray your feeble attempt at denial.

“At least you don’t look so gloomy this time,” Heejin muses out loud.

Ever since you told her what happened between you and Baek, she’s made it her mission to make you choke on your coffee or tea with questions like, “How would you rate his performance?” or “Did he turn into a tiger in bed?”

Suddenly, she gasps—eyes widening like she’s just struck gold. You feel a pile of stones drop into your stomach.

“Did something happen?”

You stay silent.

“Something did happen.”

The burn in your cheeks intensifies. Heejin leans in closer, practically vibrating with excitement. You can hear it in her shaky little gasp.

After checking that no other colleagues are within earshot, you mumble, “We kissed.”

She mouths, “Kissed?!”

You nod. The burn spreads to your ear tips.

“When? Where?”

Since Heejin now knows almost everything about your little one-night stand with your boss, you might as well keep her updated. Besides, it’s practically impossible to hide anything from someone like Heejin—it’s like she’s a bloodhound for secrets.

You glance at the empty desk next to yours, then at her, then back at the desk again. “Last night.”

Something inside Heejin breaks, and she falls completely silent, like her brain has short-circuited. You give her a few good seconds to process the information, humming cheerily like life is suddenly sunshine and rainbows.

But it’s not. 

Because the dread of Jeju still looms above you—and everyone else.

As you turn your attention back to your monitor, Heejin is still frozen.

“Try not to explode,” you tell her. ---- The wind by the sea is salty and cold, biting into your bones. There's no sign of sunshine—not even a single ray piercing through the thick blanket of clouds above you. The dark, bellowing sea churns violently, as if it knows of the storm unfolding on Jeju Island, just south of you.

Hunters from the White Tiger Guild have spread out across a coastal city to protect civilians and intercept any stray ants that might make it this far.

So what you're doing is... waiting.

At least someone had the foresight to build a campfire, giving everyone a place to huddle and stay warm while they kill time—rather than monsters. Someone else had the clever idea to watch the stream of the Jeju raid, letting everyone cheer on Baek Yoon-Ho and the rest of the Korean S-ranks.

Now a tablet is propped up on a folding table, and nearly everyone has gathered around it.

Except you.

You can’t bring yourself to watch. You're still within earshot, but you keep insisting—mostly to yourself—that someone needs to keep eyes on the horizon. Which is true. Someone really does need to watch for possible strays.

But it didn’t have to be you.

As much as you're glad to have Heejin there, she's clearly torn between watching the livestream and keeping you company. Your reluctance to watch the Korean hunters venture deeper into the ant nest worries her—and now, she even knows why.

The others gasp, squeal, and laugh with excitement whenever something happens on the stream to ease the tension hanging in the breezy sea air.

“Look how cool they are!”

“Cha Hae-In is so pretty!”

In the end, you don’t even need to watch the stream to know what’s happening on Jeju Island. You stuff your hands into your pockets, trying not to show how much you’re actually trembling.

It was easier before you went and kissed his drunk lips. Awkward and frustrating, maybe—but easy. Or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

Yet here you are. Trembling.

And he is there. Fighting.

Just the endless, dark waves between you.

He might not come back, and you’ll never know if there could be something more than drunk kisses, longing glances, and tension so thick you could cut through it.

What if that really was the last time you ever spoke?

Your vision blurs, but it’s not the cold that makes your eyes prickle. The crowd behind you cheers, forcing you to blink away the salty pearl trailing down your cheek. You won’t look at the stream—because if you look, and something happens to him, then you don’t know if you can—

A nudge of an elbow bumps against your arm.

Heejin huddles up next to you. She glances at you first, concern knitting her brows, before turning her eyes toward the sea as well.

The wind howls, lonely. Almost singing, like a song for someone lost.

“You’re going to freeze with that brooding look on your face,” she says, trying to make you laugh—but even you can’t hear any joy in her voice. She’s just as anxious as you are—though for different reasons.

She hands you a cup of something warm. “It’s cocoa. We got it from the locals.”

You hum your thanks, never letting the endless sea escape your vision while taking the cup from her.

There’s a brief pause while she rubs her hands together to keep warm. Then: “You’re not watching the stream because of him?”

“Maybe.”

“I know everyone’s on edge here, but you look like you’re about to jump into the sea and swim all the way to Jeju.”

You can’t help but smile a little at that. “That’s not a bad idea, is it?”

She exhales, turning to you. “I’m sure he’s thinking about it. About you.”

You nod, your mouth dry. “I just don’t want to watch him die on screen.”

She gently pats your shoulder, radiating warmth into your bones. “And you don’t have to. He’ll fight his way back to you.”

That's what you hope, but you can't help feeling the weight of the situation etching itself into your heart.

And you don’t get to dwell on it for long—because you see them.

Three ants.

They appear in the distance, soaring through the air. 

You’ve seen pictures before—dead specimens, washed up on shores or taken down by hunter patrols.

But you never imagined them to be so huge.

“Heejin,” you whisper, tugging at her arm and pointing skyward.

Three car-sized ants, wings buzzing as they approach fast.

She turns to look. Her eyes go wide as the realization hits. “Guys! Prepare for some pest control!” Heejin shouts to the stream-watching crowd behind you.

You toss the cocoa cup and your jacket to the ground.

Then you activate your stealth, breath steadying.

This time, you won’t be reckless. You promised him. And Heejin. Maybe—just maybe—by not being the vengeful ghost of the hunter you used to be, you’ll bring him back safe too.

There’s a glimmer of hope fluttering in your chest. Yeah. You’ll make your guild proud.

The whole world almost slows down when you sink into the shadows. The wind doesn't howl anymore. The waves don’t crash. It's as if you become one with the cold breeze as you steady your breathing, knives gripped tightly in your hands.

You wait for the tankers to draw the ants' attention, repositioning yourself—like a hungry leopard in a tree, ready to sink its fangs into prey.

The ants—red, massive, and pulsing with menace—drone toward the tankers and fighters, as if they're all they can see. Their wings, huge and sharp enough to slice the air, hum with each beat as they land on the sand and rock.

Perched atop an ice cream shack, you scout for weaknesses—but these ants are no joke. You start to understand why so many Jeju raids have ended in bloodshed.

Dread curls in your stomach. Your guildmates are giving everything just to stay on their feet. The sharp mandibles tear through shields with horrifying ease.

And the screeches.

You swallow the rising fear and jump. Stealth fading as you concentrate on their weak points: the wings. If you have to cut them apart piece by piece, so be it.

Because you need to survive.

Because he needs to survive.

You descend through the air, daggers pointed down like fangs. Without hesitation, you sink your blades into one of the ants, tearing into its wings. It shrieks—loud and bone-chilling—as you slice through the tough exoskeleton. It's harder than you'd expected, but you manage to tear through one wing joint.

Your name is shouted, distant and urgent, just as you slide underneath the ant to drive your dagger deeper. But it begins to thrash violently—throwing you off balance and sending you sprawling into the sand.

The wind turns cruel. Screams—hunter and ant alike—clash in the air. Blood scents the breeze, sharp and metallic. You hear your name again, louder this time, but you shut it out. You have to.

You have to kill this thing.

You have to survive.

He has to have something to come back to.

Sand clings to your skin as you scramble up, struggling to balance your stance before you lunge again—only to barely scratch the creature’s exoskeleton.

The same ant—injured, but not done—turns its full attention to you. Its eyes glow with hunger and fury. It shifts its course, ignoring the wounded tankers, and charges straight at you.

You raise your daggers and jump again, landing squarely on its back. This time, your blades sink in deep.

The ant screeches in rage and bucks wildly beneath you. You hold on—knuckles white—daggers embedded in its armored back as it thrashes like a mechanical bull, desperate to throw you off.

In its frenzy, it crashes through the battlefield, knocking over some of your guildmates in its path.

Then—from the corner of your eye—you catch a glimpse of the stream still playing on the folding table.

Baek.

Bleeding.

Something inside you dies instantly. Your grip falters just enough for the ant to fling you off its back. You crash hard into the folding table, sending it and everything next to it flying.

Someone shouts your name again, but it barely registers.

The sand beneath you makes it hard to rise, and sharp pain shoots across your back like lightning. But it doesn’t stop you.

You spot the tablet lying nearby, half-buried in the sand. Silent.

And the screen—

It’s dark. Void.

You drag yourself forward with trembling arms, ignoring the chaos still raging around you. The trio of ants continues their rampage, but all you can see is that screen.

You’d spent so long refusing to look.

Now all you want—need—is to know:

Is he still alive?

Finally, you manage to grab the tablet, tapping at the screen to check whether it’s broken—or if it’s just the stream. The display lights up.

But the stream is offline.

A wave of cold—colder than the raging ocean beside you—washes over your body. Unsettling. Paralyzing.

What does it mean?

Did they all—?

The ant you wounded and rode turns back, still fixated on killing you. It charges, determined to tear you apart and devour every inch of your body. You keep tapping the screen like that alone could bring the stream back to life.

But it doesn’t.

Your name is shouted again—for the fourth time—much closer now. You finally look up. The ant is thundering toward you like a storm, kicking up the bloodied sand as it charges. Yet, you hesitate. The tablet is in your hands, still flashing "Disconnected."

But you don’t get time to think; your body is yanked sideways—thrown out of the way as Heejin tackles you out of the ant’s path.

“Are you hurt?” she asks, breathless.

You turn to look at her. Her armor is torn in places, her raven hair messy and tangled with sand. She’s clearly had her own battle on the beach.

“Heejin,” you say, voice cracking. “The stream—”

Why does it hurt so much all of a sudden?

The glow of her healing spell spreads warmth through your limbs, knitting everything back together. The pain begins to fade as her magic courses through you.

“He’s fine,” Heejin says. Her voice is steady, but there’s something behind it. Something brittle. She’s trying to convince herself, too. “I know you’re worried. But we can’t afford distractions. If we drop our guard, the ants will take us down too.”

A pang of guilt stabs at you.

You promised to make your guild proud—

And yet here you are, on your knees, clutching someone’s tablet like it holds your heart inside it.

Somewhere across the beach, someone shouts, “One down!” More voices cheer in reply.

You blink and look at Heejin again. She looks almost moved by the sound.

“Let’s do this,” she says, patting your shoulder. The warmth of her spell fades, but the ache in your back doesn’t return. “I’ll support you as best I can.”

You let out a breathy chuckle and glance at the tablet one last time before standing. Your daggers are still buried in the ant’s back.

“I need my weapons,” you tell her, voice steadier now.

She gives a wry smile. “Got a plan?”

You feel a grin pulling at your lips. “Just maybe.”

The ant that’s been so hellbent on ending you is once again turning around—charging straight at you at full speed. You glance around for anything you can use to spring yourself into the air, and find one: a lamppost, tilted slightly to the side thanks to the ants’ earlier rampage.

You wait for the right moment—calculating the timing, the distance.

And then—

You run.

You feel the sea breeze in your ears and nose, and the crash of the waves pounding with the rhythm of your heart as you dash across the sand. Then you leap, using the lamppost as a springboard to launch yourself higher.

For a moment, you see the whole battlefield: a dead ant, another with a missing leg, and the one still carrying your daggers in its back. Hunters are scattered across the beach—some wounded, some still fighting tooth and nail.

Almost like you’re being carried by the wind itself, you land squarely on the ant’s back. It tries to buck you off immediately, but you grab your daggers and rip them free— Only to plunge them in again with more force than ever before.

You scream as you drive them through its exoskeleton. You scream when its blood pours out, thick and foul, and when it shrieks in agony. It stops charging only when it collides with two tankers waiting to intercept it.

“You’re not going to stop me from seeing him again.”

The words chill your own spine as they leave your mouth, but you mean every single one.

You yank the daggers out once more and drive them deep into the seam near its head.

“Second one down!” someone shouts in the distance.

A surge of adrenaline and something deeper—hope, fear, love—courses through you. You hear Heejin shouting encouragement, her voice like a lifeline threading through the chaos.

And you hear his voice—distant, but more real than anything else.

A promise:

He would fight his way back to you.

The ant twitches violently as you, the fighters, and the tankers rain down blows one after another. Until finally, it collapses into the blood soaked sand.

Silence falls.

It’s the kind of silence that comes before a storm—no wind, no birdsong, no breath. Then, it breaks.

Hunters erupt into cheers and shouts as the third ant stops moving.

You feel a pat on your shoulder—Heejin, her smile weak but proud.

Yeah.

It’s too early to celebrate.

There’s still the raid on Jeju Island.

The cheer withers quickly in your throat as you turn around and exhale. The dead ant is still gushing blood onto the sand as you walk past its corpse, but you’re not headed for the celebration. You’re not even looking at the body.

It’s like your legs have a will of their own, guiding you back to the folding table—or whatever’s left of it.

Your heart sinks when you find the tablet, shattered and scattered across the bloodstained sand beside the wrecked remains of the table. And then you remember—your phone.

It’s tucked safely inside your armor, wedged between the tiny gaps, but you manage to retrieve it. With shaking fingers, you swipe and tap, navigating to the stream and— 

It’s on.

Your heart pounds against your ribcage as the stream buffers. Every second feels unbearably long, your whole body braced with tension. You’re ready to scream if it freezes again.

And then—it plays.

The Korean hunters are alive. And there’s someone else in frame.

“I told you, didn’t I?” comes Heejin’s voice behind you, full of breathless triumph. She looks like a wreck—sand in her hair, scratches on her cheeks—but she’s smiling, relieved. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“There’s someone else there now and—” You swallow, still staring at the screen. You don’t dare look away. Heejin peers over your shoulder, humming softly in surprise.

“So he’s there too?” she mumbles. “Then they’ll be fine.”

The camera focuses mostly on a new figure—someone you slowly recognize as Korea’s newest S-rank hunter, Sung Jinwoo. You don’t know much about him, only that he was at the Red Gate Incident with Heejin.

“Are you sure?” you ask, eyes narrowing as you try to make out shapes and figures on the too-small screen.

“Yes, I’m sure. And what are you squinting at? Trying to see Baek’s abs?”

Heat flares across your cheeks and you clutch your phone just a little tighter, like it might slip away at any moment.

“What? N-no!” 

“Uh-huh, clearly,” Heejin grins. “That was definitely a squint of thirst.”

You open and close your mouth, speechless. The cold sea breeze feels all the sharper against your molten face.

“I was just trying to see if he’s injured,” you mumble. You spot him on the stream, standing at the sidelines—shirtless and human—kneeling beside someone you don’t immediately recognize.

“Not that I care about his abs or anything. Really.”

Heejin arches a brow, arms crossed in blatant disbelief. You can feel her gaze drilling right through you.

“Please don’t say anything,” you plead in defeat.

She clicks her tongue, but you hear the smile in her voice: “Fine, but just admit you like him.”

You see him move on the screen, and your heart flutters anxiously.

“...Yeah,” you say softly. “I do.”

The sea rampages and the wind howls, but it doesn’t make you tremble anymore.

Because he is alive.

And that’s all you wanted to know—for now.

----

Next Chapter ->

[lucianhuntress]

Hi! I have really been enjoying your writings! Please keep up the great typing!!! <33 If I may request, and slightly challenge... A certain doughnut loving sir that happens to be over 16ft tall. Katakuri from One Piece that is. Prompt 73 would be interesting read ^^

thnx and gl!!

Katakuri x Reader: #73 “Do you think that’s funny?”

Hope you enjoy this piece of the doughnut man! 🩷

Sunset dances on the calm waves of the ocean, painting the glimmering surface in shades of pink and purple—just like the clouds hanging above you. The breeze is gentle, but not cold, and everything feels peaceful as the ship sails steadily toward Totto Land. Komugi Island, to be exact.

You’ve been worn out by the day’s activities: scanning the empty horizon for hours, swabbing the deck, helping out in the kitchen—whatever your crewmates needed, really. You’ve been all over the place since morning.

So by the time sunset rolls in, you’re exhausted. Your muscles ache and your eyelids are heavy. Sleep beckons—almost whispering like some kind of temptress—to sit down behind the barrels and take a quick nap. Surely no one will notice if you’re gone for twenty minutes.

As you make your way to the cargo hold, toward a familiar cluster of barrels, you spot a large piece of clothing draped over the top. You’ve seen it somewhere before, you’re sure—but you’re also too tired to think about it. You sit down, making sure you're hidden from the entrance, and pull the fabric over yourself.

It’s warm. And it smells sweet—oddly like the doughnuts they make in Totto Land.

You’re unsure how long you’ve been sleeping; it feels like hours have slipped by, but it could’ve just been minutes. Your eyes flutter open, blinking away the haze of your nap—though your body feels strangely better despite the less-than-ideal sleeping conditions.

Someone clears their throat.

You jolt upright, your head knocking into the barrel behind you.

“Ow,” you wince, rubbing at the fresh sore spot now throbbing on your head.

“Do you think that’s funny?” The voice is calm, unimpressed, and far too close.

You freeze. Standing above you—towering, actually—is none other than Charlotte Katakuri, arms crossed, his gaze flat as a pond in dead wind. Shirtless. Clearly not amused.

“First you steal from me,” he continues, “and then you fall asleep in it? That’s a first.”

You blink at him. Then down at the familiar piece of clothing still wrapped around your shoulders.

His vest.

Shit.

The panic begins to build up within you as his gaze feels like it’s drilling holes into your skin.

“I—I’m sorry, I—” you begin to ramble, stammering terribly as you do, “I-it just smelled really sweet and nice, comforting—like you. You smell like sweets all the time and—”

He arches an eyebrow. “You like how I smell?”

You flinch, heat blooming all over your body. “No—I mean, y—no, I was really tired. Yes, that must be it.”

Katakuri doesn’t respond immediately, but you notice how his form relaxes. You try not to stare at him too hard, but you could swear you see the corner of his lips twitch.

“Are you sure?” he finally asks, a hint of softness in his tone.

You look anywhere but at him and mutter, “No.”

He hums, almost amused, as he bends down to retrieve his vest—only to drape it over you more snugly.

“Then keep it,” he says softly. “Just try not to drool on it next time.”

Heat flares across your cheeks as you protest, “I did not drool!”

Katakuri doesn’t respond, but the glint of a smirk in his eyes says otherwise

[lucianhuntress]

Astarion and prompt 10? Pretty please?

Astarion x Reader: #10 “It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

My first attempt at writing Astarion, I do hope I didn't completely butcher him. And I won't fall for that angst bait! This is a funny one! Hope you like it 🤍

It’s the middle of the night, and the streets of Baldur’s Gate are nearly barren. Nearly. The Flaming Fist still patrols the roads, their torches flickering in the mist, making them easy to spot from a distance. Drawing their attention to your little nighttime adventure would likely end with a lovely visit to jail—an experience you'd very much like to avoid.

While you stand watch—crouched behind a crooked gravestone, scanning the eerie shadows of the graveyard—Astarion is busy picking the rusted lock of an ancient crypt.

And this was all his idea.

Apparently, he'd heard some drunken noble earlier that day babbling about a family heirloom: a magical necklace buried with a distant relative that supposedly grants powerful enhancements. Whatever that means. Naturally, the pale elf had been intrigued. And obviously, he couldn’t go alone.

He needed someone to keep an eye out for the Fists. Someone expendable—you suspect—but also someone he likes looking at. 

The lock finally gives in, and the crypt door creaks open with a tired yawn. The two of you slip inside, after making sure no one is watching.

The crypt is filled with dust and darkness—untouched for years, possibly centuries. The air smells old and musty, and the silence hanging over you is thick and ominous.

Astarion helps you light a few torches along the walls so you can see more than just a pitch-black void. You've been in vaults and crypts before, and this is no different from your previous experiences: vases and urns line the edges of the chamber, but the spotlight falls on the sarcophagus itself—lying at the far end of the crypt, almost as if beckoning someone to loot it.

You brush your fingers over the cool lid of the sarcophagus, searching for signs of traps, but sense nothing. Neither does he.

“Now, what are you waiting for? Let’s open this one, dear.” He smiles mischievously, almost triumphantly, as the two of you push the lid off—revealing the remains of someone long dead.

Your eyes immediately land on the necklace still glinting around the skeleton’s neck. Astarion deftly unclasps it from the corpse—who, clearly, no longer needs it.

“My, isn’t it gorgeous?” he muses, eyes gleaming dangerously as he clasps it around his own neck. He turns to you with a playful smirk. “How do I look? Handsome, obviously, but—”

He’s suddenly cut off, coughing as he clears his throat. You arch a brow.

“Are you okay?” you ask, arms crossing over your chest.

“Funny, I think my skin is on fire—” he exhales, and then—his pale skin begins to shimmer like diamond dust under moonlight.

You try to bite back a chuckle and you fail. Miserably.

“My gods! I am a creature of the night, not some glittering wine bottle at a ball!” The shock—and sheer horror—in his voice is unmistakable.

“B-but you’re so radiant,” you manage, barely holding back the laughter bubbling up. Your lips twitch dangerously.

“It wasn’t supposed to end like this!” he cries, tearing the necklace off. “That thing is cursed!” He tosses the necklace back into the open sarcophagus like it’s something unholy.

You’re wheezing from laughter, trying to catch your breath while he brushes off imaginary dust from his outfit. He scrunches up his nose in disgust and sighs dramatically.

“Honestly, you looked rather ravishing. Never thought a vampire could glimmer like that.”

His lips curl into a smug smile, finally enjoying the compliment. “Well… perhaps I did catch the light in all the right places.”

You inch closer, reaching up to help brush off that imaginary crypt dust from his shoulder. “Next time you want to sparkle like that, just ask for my attention. I give it for free.”

His grin deepens, and you catch a flash of those dangerously sharp vampire fangs.

“Careful, darling,” he murmurs. “That’s a dangerous offer. I tend to get… greedy.”

[lucianhuntress]

Can I please have Alhaitham and number 33 💚 kek

Alhaitham x Reader: #33 “Can you please stop thinking so loud?”

Here's your piece of a feeble scholar ❤️

There’s a bookstore in Port Ormos that’s rather hard to find, but once you do, it’s a true treasure trove for anyone who enjoys browsing a wide variety of books. There are scientific texts favored by scholars, murder mysteries filled with subtle clues for keen readers, and—most importantly—your favorite section: romance.

Spice or fluff? The store has it all—even a few Inazuman light novels with wild, otherworldly settings.

You visit frequently, sipping local coffee while checking out the newest titles. Sometimes you skim through a few chapters to get a better sense of a book, and sometimes you simply sit and write in your journal, soaking in the cozy, paper-scented atmosphere. The store owner doesn’t mind, as long as there are no coffee spills on the books.

And you’re certainly not the only one who does this.

One man, in particular, has caught your attention during your visits. He always sits in the quietest corner, reading something that looks either impossibly dense or completely foreign to you. He wears headphones, rarely looks up, and seems far too absorbed in his books to notice anything—or anyone—around him.

This time is no different. He's already there, sitting in his usual chair, reading a book filled with odd symbols and letters, his expression unreadable. You wonder if he struggles at all—reading in weird languages, that is.

You pull a new book from the romance shelf and sit down in a nearby empty chair. You've been waiting for this one for a while now, and you know you're going to buy it. But first, you want to enjoy the peace and quiet of the bookstore for a moment.

As soon as you begin reading, the book hits you with an unexpected twist—and you gasp. You shift in your seat, furrowing your brows as you flip a few pages ahead.

No, the main character cannot possibly do that—

You grip the armrest, reading faster now. Your breath hitches as your eyes fly over each line like you're about to devour the entire book.

What about the love interest?! She can't possibly do that if they're supposed to—

“Can you please stop thinking so loud?”

You blink, snapping your head up from the book. The man with the headphones has looked up just long enough to glance your way, then returns to the text in his hands as if nothing happened.

“I wasn’t thinking, I was—”

“Exactly.”

He replies without missing a beat, like even glancing in your direction took more effort than it was worth.

You close your mouth, speechless, a sudden spike of heat blooming across your cheeks. Silence falls—true silence this time. You hadn't even realized you'd been muttering out loud.

The book’s plot beckons, and you try to return to it. You’ll read at least the first chapter, then buy it.

But your focus is already slipping. More often than appropriate, your gaze drifts to the silver-haired man with the unreadable book, and you find yourself rereading the same lines again. And again.

“If you’re going to keep thinking that loudly,” he says at last, the edge of vexation still coating his words, “you might as well come sit closer—so I don’t have to pretend I’m ignoring you.”

Your heart skips a beat and you hesitate.

But then he lifts his gaze—sharp, emerald, and entirely serious—and your breath catches. He won’t repeat himself.

You grab your book and rise to your feet.

Then, quietly, you slide into the chair next to his. Neither of you speak, but the tension between you hangs like a curtain drawn tight. You reopen your book, trying to pick up where you left off—but your focus refuses to settle.

Not when he’s this close. Not when you can see him more clearly now, catching details in the curve of his brow, the flick of his eyes over the page.

The book slips lower into your lap, forgotten.

Then, he glances at you.

“You’re distracting.”

But he doesn’t sound annoyed; It almost sounds like… an admission.

[lucianhuntress]

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.

[lucianhuntress]

Masterlist

Drabbles:

October 2024 Drabbles Summer 2025 Drabbles

Multi-chapter stories:

Favors Baek Yoon-Ho / Solo Leveling F!Reader Insert

My writings in Ao3

My old masterlist (Mostly FFXV)

[lucianhuntress]

Masterlist

Summer Drabbles 2025

Ardyn Izunia / “I’m pleasantly surprised.”

Bucky Barnes / “I think you missed some steps.”

Davrin / “What does that have to do with me?”

Ifa / “Well, isn’t that wonderful?”

Baek Yoon-Ho / “Didn’t think it would be this hard.”

Wriothesley / “This can’t be real.”

Woo Jinchul / “That was never my intention.”

Dr. Ratio / “That’s good news.”

Mydei / “We can’t all be heroes.”

Roronoa Zoro / “It was just never enough.”

Requests:

Thomas Andre / "That’s a new low for you.”

Alhaitham / “Can you please stop thinking so loud?”

Astarion / "It wasn't supposed to end like this."

Katakuri / "Do you think that's funny?"

Clive Rosfield / "Please, stop looking like you want to kill me."

Abdirak / "I can't believe you've done this."

Specials:

Phainon x Reader / “I didn’t mean to fall for you. I just... tripped into it, slowly.”

Rob Lucci x Reader / “This never happened, do you understand?! If I find out you mentioned this to anyone, I’ll…”

[lucianhuntress]

Now that I'm done with the drabbles I planned to write during the summer I find myself wanting to write more... So here I am, asking you to send me requests.

So, give me a character and a prompt from...

>this list<

I'm okay with characters from Genshin Impact, Honkai Star Rail, Solo Leveling, One Piece, Baldur's Gate 3, Dragon Age, Final Fantasy XIV, XV (Maybe even VII and XVI) and MCU (cause why not).

I mostly write about male characters as love interests but I'm willing to try out female characters too if that's more your thing.

And I'll try to keep them as drabbles, but you never know when the inspiration strikes. The drabbles will be x reader!