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madaqueue · 2 days ago

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EPISODE 3: A TASTE OF HONEY IN DEFEAT

satoru thought he would have no problem winning a bet he proposed, but a month is too long to go without a taste of anything this sweet.

themes/content: smut. edging, handjobs, mean-ish dom!reader, satoru being whiney lmao, premature ejaculation + he cums inside, light bondage (satoru receiving). (wk: 2.1k)

a/n: this is part of @luv-lies no-nut-november collab!!! so excited to have been a part of this, hope you all enjoy >:3

“You know I trust you, but don’t you think the ropes are a bit much?” Satoru giggles as you tighten the final knot around his wrists, shoulders bulging and arms stretched overhead.

“I know you trust me - it’s you I’m worried about, ‘Toru.”

“What, worried I won’t be able to keep my hands off you?” The smirk painting his features veers into a grimace as he winces, straining against the tightening rope.

“No. I’m worried you won’t be able to keep your hands off yourself.”

Pink lips draw into a pout. “Aw c’mon, you know I’ll be good! I’m the one who made this bet in the first place, remember?”

You hum as you tug his hands down, testing the strength of the woven cerulean adorning his skin. The headboard shakes with the movement.

“And yet, you were so willing to break the rules.”

It had been quite a sight, truly - your dear Satoru, splayed across the bed, whimpers and moans falling from his lips like honeyed rain. They landed heavy in your ears, sticky and sweet. When the door creaked open, he made no effort to stop the fervent motions of his fist up and down his cock. He was flushed from head to toe, too lost in his own pleasure to recognize the sound of your footsteps approaching. It was only when your hand rested atop his that he jerked up, clouded eyes turning apologetic.

“I know I wasn’t supposed to, I know, I just couldn’t wait-” he had babbled.

“It’s okay,” you purred, rubbing soothing circles into his skin. “But you knew the deal, remember? I’m the only one allowed to touch you this month, right, Satoru?”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry-”

“And how close you were to cumming, too.”

“I wasn’t going to, I swear-”

You hummed and squeezed his base, earning a gasp. “You know it’s not good to lie, either. Remember, you made this bet, sweetheart. Were you really so willing to throw it all away? To lose?”

“I wasn’t going to lose, I promise, I just needed something-”

He was getting worked up, panicked thoughts racing through his mind. He braced on his forearms to sit up, but with a purposeful push you guided him back onto the sheets.

“It’s okay, my love. If my poor baby is so needy, I’ll take care of you. I’ll give you something.”

His eyes widened when you pulled the ropes from under the bed, eyeing him like your next meal, a starving predator ready to pounce. And here was your prey, so ready for the taking, offering himself to you as a good piece of meat should.

And now, he’s tied up like one, too.

“I wasn’t even going to break the rules,” he whines impatiently.

Sitting back, you admire your work: your strong, determined Satoru spread and waiting. Trailing a finger down his stomach, his skin burns hot in its wake.

“That’s certainly not what it looked like to me.”

“I-”

“Because to me, it looked like you couldn’t handle going even a month without touching this needy little cock of yours.”

He pouts. “I’m not little,” he huffs.

A giggle bubbles from the back of your throat, bouncing past your lips.

“And besides, I can handle it, I swear! I made it almost the whole month, I did, I just-”

Tilting your head, you gaze down at him. “What, got too desperate? Poor Satoru, ‘The Strongest,’ couldn’t even follow the rules of a bet he made?”

Blue flashes against white as he rolls his eyes. One hand ruffles his hair, cooing down at him.

“It’s okay, baby, I’ll make you beg to break this silly little bet of yours.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs, hiding the way pink creeps up his neck and decorates his cheeks, stained like flower petals. He’s soft like them, too.

A light chuckle lands in the air when your palm grazes up his length. He twitches in your hold, warm skin on warm skin.

“H-hah, see?” His mouth hangs open between the words. “Told you I could handle it.”

It’s gentle touches at first, to ease him into it: slow strokes, light fingers. And yet, he’s still wrapping his throat around whimpers.

“Aw baby, I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Your lips curl into a smile, breath hot behind them. The words come out syrupy, dripping in sugar (and Satoru has always had a sweet tooth). His stomach aches in hunger - hunger for your hands, your body, your control. Whatever you plan to do to him, he’ll swallow it whole, bigger and bigger bites until his cheeks swell and all he can taste is you.

The grip around his base tightens, running up and down. Something about your skin is so much softer than his, untainted by the cruelty he lives through, only dirtied by desire. It spreads over his skin, glistening white and sticky.

When whines begin to twist through the silence, his eyelashes fluttering to bat away the impending tears, he doesn’t have to say it - he’s close.

Just as his muscles begin to tense, you rip your hand away.

There’s a choked little cry he lets out, hurt like an animal you spared from death. One that was ready for it, for the warmth and comfort it provided.

“Why’d you stop?” His voice is strained already, a high-pitched draw across his vocal cords. His eyes are sparkling and wet.

A peck to his cheek sends shivers down his spine. “Because you’re not supposed to finish, remember, silly? I’m just helping you hold up your end of the bet, after all.”

A sound like untuned violins, haunting and beautiful all the same, plays from his throat. You giggle at the music.

“C’mon, Toru - you wanted this, remember?”

“I know,” he grumbles, scrunching his nose. “Fine, fine, do whatever you want.”

You smile.

(You would have anyways)

Your gaze falls upon the aquamarine rope, the matching eyes, before trailing back down his steadying chest.

It stutters when your fingers trace up the veins of his cock.

It heaves when you cup a palm around his balls.

You squeeze.

“F-fuck,” he groans, hips lifting off the bed.

There’s a word living at the tip of his tongue, its shape burning into his mouth.

Harder.

Luckily, you know your Satoru - you know what he thinks, feels, wants. And as a lover should, you happily oblige.

The sound he makes is garbled and choked, utter nonsense. It came straight from the depths of his body, a pure animalistic response, one he couldn’t have controlled if he tried.

Already, he’s beginning to tremble in your palm - it’s getting easier to do this, make him shake like a lost leaf floating through the autumn air, held captive by the gusts of your wind. Up and down, he travels with you, because of you.

Again, you pull your hand away.

Again, he whines.

“Noooo,” he mumbles, more to himself than anything. It was automatic, the expression of displeasure, ripped from him with the loss of your warmth on his.

“What’s wrong baby? You want me to stop?” It’s more fun when he has an out, when he could say no and chooses not to. When he wants this just as badly as you. “You know you-”

“No.” It's more breath than sound. “No, please. Keep going.”

And as a lover should, you happily oblige.

Precum drips down his length, covering him in remnants of desire. They cling to his skin like silky webs, woven from devotion and need. Each slick pump of your hand up and down creates more and more and more, a beautiful pearl at his slit forming one moment only to be spread by your circling thumb in the next.

Each time you reach his base, you squeeze. Each time you reach his tip, you twist. In this dance you both twirl and breathe and feel in beat, holding on to one another with sweaty hands and tired muscles.

“Remember, you can give up whenever you want,” you coo, the sweet glue of a trap.

But Satoru doesn’t dare taste, doesn’t dare step inside - he knows better.

(Right?)

“I’m not - fuck - giving up.” He tries to throw you a smile, but it lands at your feet.

Fists clench into each other, nails digging into his palms. You almost feel bad, the way he’s beginning to writhe within the ropes. It must hurt, you think, the texture soft but never soft enough - it’s nothing compared to you. In spite of his anguish, he knows better than to give up this easily. You haven’t even really begun, not yet.

When his eyelashes flutter closed, you know to pull your hand away.

He’s getting more subtle, the only sign of his impending pleasure a soft flicker of white and blue. But you recognize it, of course - his pleasure lives everywhere in him. In the way his breath catches, in the way his skin burns hot, in the way he gets all too loud or all too quiet.

There’s barely a sound this time. Instead, he just frowns, displeasure spreading across his sweet features. His lower lip sticks out, and he stares at you with cloudy eyes.

“I know, baby, I know. But this is what it takes if you want to win.”

The words don’t ease the growing ache in his core, but your voice does. Every vowel blurs the pain, every consonant gives him something to cling to. He’ll climb himself out of insanity on your breath.

Again, you wrap around him and drag him closer to the edge. Unable to pull his gaze away, he stares down it, looming, waiting. The free fall must feel nice, the wind against his skin, for a moment before he hits the ground. But with a firm hand on the back of his head, you just hold him there. It’ll be his choice whether he decides to jump. Or rather, when he decides to jump.

Another choked groan leaks from his lips when you pause. There are no words left for him to say, nothing but the agony of desire. He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut as if it’ll make the leap any less tempting.

Hushed whispers, not quite praise, tingle his mind. Little hums of “I know,” or “there, there,” dance from your throat, and he writhes.

Distress always looked so pretty on him. Pretty tears, pretty red cheeks, pretty pouts and pretty cries. Perhaps it’s a curse that he looks like a fallen angel when he weeps - if he looked more grotesque, you wouldn’t feel the urge to bring him back into the jaws of pain.

But he lets you comfort him nonetheless, preen his wings and kiss his tears.

This time, when you stop, he thrashes. His skin burns, crisp like it had been warmed by the sun for too long. Everything is too tight, his hands, his arms, his shoulders, his stomach. They need to be loosened; they need to be released.

“Please.”

It’s so quiet, it’s almost not a word, just little sounds from his tongue.

“What was that, baby? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

Tears stream from glossy eyes when he looks at you. His lips quiver as he speaks.

“Please, I wanna cum. Please.”

The smile spreading across your face is cold and knowing; he looks beautiful as he falls.

“I know you want to, but-”

“I lose.” He’s panting, gasping through the plea. “I lose, I give up, I don’t care, just, please.”

Hot tears melt beneath your thumb as you swipe them away. His mouth hangs open, as though he could swallow the air, hold it inside him and let that ease the aching. But the only thing that can help him now is you, the only thing he can stomach.

“Okay, baby. I’ll take care of you.”

A loose smile flows across his face, easy like gentle waves lapping at the corners of his thoughts. The sentence itself barely makes sense to him at this point, garbled in his lust-clouded mind. But he knows you’ll help him now; he welcomes the push over the edge.

Straddling his lap, you guide him to your entrance. Sticky and hot, he presses into you. Just as his tip enters your warmth, he hurls himself into the wind.

Everything in his body trembles, muscles tightening and contracting out of time. Eyelashes flutter, whimpers dance like petals as he comes undone.

The only thing he can do is twitch inside of you, pearly strings pulsing with each erratic breath.

Finally, he opens his eyes to find you smiling. Warm lips press along his cheeks, dried tears salty on your tongue.

“Well, you certainly lost this time,” you hum, resting your forehead against his; he looks at you like you created the earth itself, your breath in the wind and your heartbeat in the sun. “But there’s always next year, right?”

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lustlovehart · 1 day ago

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Dang over 700, that’s impressive congrats!

If you still have requests open, maybe we can see/hear more about Sebek? I love the idea of him as a swamp monster tsundere dumping flowers on MH! Reader and find him fun~

Summary: Humans are pests. They’re the reason Malleus has fallen from grace, and why Lilia is no longer in his prime. He hates you, and everything your job stands for. He hates the way you’re not like them. He hates how you’re too kind. He wants to hate you, yet he can’t at all.

Warnings: Tiny bit of Tsundere Sebek, He thinks about 💀 you (he changes his mind dw guys!!), Mentions of his monster crimes, Little tiny hint of obsession, Implied human eating, Sebek sketch at end!

Your feet are dipped into the water, ripples cascading off where the limbs land, tranquil and cold, the shadows of the trees just further enriching the experience.

The one thing that isn’t relaxing about the water however, may as well be the guardian of the swamp, who’s practically breathing down your neck.

“Well human? Have you had your fill of this sacred marsh? I will not have you linger here longer than necessary! I only allowed you in to show the true essence of beings like us.”

Despite what leaves his mouth, you have a striking feeling that he won’t throw you out.

Because, that’s the fourth time he’s said that, and he’s yet to drag you out.

Through the close proximity, you place your palm on his face, softly pushing him away in your annoyance, yet like a magnet, he attracts himself right back to you, finding his place in the area to be right by your side.

“I’ve drowned many of your kind, don’t push me away so carelessly…!”

“Have you drowned me yet?” He stutters for a moment, racking his brain to find a suitable excuse as to why that is. He stops when you lean back on the grass, looking up at the sky as you lay down.

But to your dismay, he finds one.

“My liege wants you alive, so we must do what he wants.”

“You want the best for him right? What if the best for him is getting rid of me?” You’ve once again stopped any retort on his tongue, your eyes fluttering shut. Your feet continues to dangle in his waters, breath steadying as you let the sound of dew drops falling into the marsh invade your ears.

In your slumber, you don’t notice the way Sebeks scaley face is centimeters away from yours, trembling inhales. You’re right. Getting rid of humans is the best for his liege, for… all monsters really.

His clawed hand reaches up towards your throat, his nails scratching a line in your skin. Webbed fingers tremble, he could, he really could…

He could help everyone.

…

His hand falls, his forehead falling onto yours. His skin is rough, but he takes care in placing his head softly on yours to not wake you up. His palm follows in suit, laying itself on your throat, cold blood feeling the warmth of your mortal body.

And your heart. He remembers reading about human hearts, how they’re important to they’re bodily functions. Without it, you’d die. It’d be easier than killing you himself. He doesn't know which is better, for himself. He could take pride knowing he rid the world of one more wretched monster hunter, or he could rest in comfort knowing you passed in peace.

Sebek doesn’t notice the way the plants have emerged from the water, taking hold of your legs. There’s a particular branch that caresses your face in a certain manner, one completely inappropriate for a human. His mouth hangs up, immediately ripping the wood from your flesh. He throws the twig away, his head turning when your visibly stir at the motion.

He’s not well versed in human care. He's read about it, but obviously he’s never acted upon it! His hands fumble, if he’s correct, one of the quickest ways to knock a human out is to hit them really hard…! But… He doesn’t wanna do that—

Ah, you’re asleep again.

Sebek carefully lifts himself from your body, water dripping onto the grass from his hair. He slowly backs himself into the water, the only part visible being his head, before entirely disappearing into the murky water.

He realizes something in the comfort of his pond.

He… He wouldn’t need to kill you if you just… never left. Neither would you ever disturb the peace of any other beasts.

Under that water, he ties a knot, petals floating above the marsh at his bouquet. As well as a hand, that drops deep down. A coworker of yours. He’s unsure why you’re the only one he’s not too keen on consuming, yet he can so easily do it to those you know.

It doesn’t matter. They’re the same. Taste the same too.

…

You awake to a lonely sight, Sebek gone from the scene. Though, your chest feels heavier than usual. You look down, and an array of different plants and greenery fill your vision. It’s wrapped in flimsy wood bark, moss tying the piece together.

There’s a note hastily inscribed.

Human, leave soon.

Even without reading the message you know it’s Sebek. You assume it’s from his human hatred he writes such mean words.

In truth, that’s part of it. You’ll never know the other is him not wanting to see the corpses at the bottom of his home. Or maybe you will. Especially when you notice a shiny pendant gifted inside the flowers. Assuming it to be a sweet gesture from Sebek you smile at it. Such a happiness slowly fades when you feel a certain familiarity with the necklace.

… You feel like you’ve seen this before.

#monster!twst #askves #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #vesperwrites #sebek zigvolt x reader #sebek x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yan twst

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galactic-magick · 1 day ago

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For You: AU!Claggor x Reader

Summary: In the alternate timeline, Powder encourages you to admit your feelings for Claggor.

Words: 800+

Author's Notes: Adult alternate timeline Claggor is fine af so I wrote this short oneshot. Also I just needed to write something more lighthearted and cute after writing that devastating Viktor fic earlier. Enjoy <3

“I don’t get why you can’t just tell him,” Powder huffs, shuffling through her drawers for a particular brush. She glides on eyeshadow in your favorite colors, endlessly teasing you while she works, “It’s obvious he’s liked you since we were kids.”

“Oh, like finally admitting your feelings to Ekko was so easy,” you roll your eyes, causing her to scold you for opening them. “Besides, that’s not even true. He probably just sees me like a sister.”

“Look,” Powder tilts your chin up as she applies blush to your cheeks. “As someone who was actually raised as his sister, I can promise you he treats you differently. I catch him staring at you all the time, and he goes out of his way to be nice to you. Like, he literally made a new hybrid flower for you for your last birthday. What is it you’re not getting?”

“He gives plants to everyone, I don’t think I was special,” you shrug, pressing out your lips so Powder can swipe on some gloss.

“You’re a lost cause sometimes,” she sighs with a laugh. “Come on, it’s time to make our entrance.”

The Innovator’s Competition is crowded as usual, with loud music and ambient lights showering the entries and guests. Powder meets up with Ekko while you go to grab a drink and browse the inventions.

People start dancing, and you sway back and forth a bit to the beat. You don’t particularly want to third wheel right now, so you make do on the sidelines. You’re closer to the snacks here, anyway.

“Wow, Y/N. You look beautiful.”

You whip your head towards the voice, your mouth stuffed with one of Jericho’s famous, sloppy appetizers.

“Oh! Hi, Claggor!” You swallow as quickly as you can and wipe your face with your sleeve. “Sorry, um, thank you.”

“Anytime,” he chuckles. “How come you’re not out there dancing?”

“I...I just don’t like dancing alone,” you say, your eyes darting back to Powder and the other couples and friend groups on the dance floor.

“Well let’s go then,” he extends his hand to you.

You smile and take it, weaving through the crowd as he pulls you towards the middle. You see Powder give you a thumbs up before your attention is back on Claggor, and suddenly the crowded room feels less overwhelming.

You let lose, showing off your most ridiculous dance moves without a worry in the world. That was the thing about Claggor, he always made you feel safe, like you could be yourself whenever he was around. There is never a glimmer of judgment in his eyes, never an inkling of unkindness. He’s been your most stable and trusted friend for years—he played with you, explored the city with you, mourned with you, rejoiced with you. He’s just that kind of guy, with a heart of gold that never wavers.

But if you told him how you really feel—how you’ve felt since you were young—things might not be the same.

After the competition, Claggor takes the scenic route while walking you home, showing you a couple new gardens he’s been working on around the city. He hopes that one day plant life can be the key to the pollution problem in the underground, a dream that isn’t too far off with the latest hybrids and prototypes he’s made. It’s fascinating, and you’ve always admired his natural talent with nature.

He picks you a flower from one of the gardens, the kind he knows are your favorite.

“For you,” he says, slithering the stem into your hair. His hands, his face—it’s all so dangerously close now. You can feel his warmth, feel his gentle gaze.

Maybe Powder’s right, no man who saw you as just a friend would look at you like this.

You take the chance and close the space between you, kissing him quickly before stepping back to gauge his reaction.

He immediately pulls you back in, grabbing you by the waist and kissing you harder. You wrap your arms around his neck, fingers twiddling with his soft wavy hair.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” he says, your lips barely moving apart.

“I think I have some idea,” you giggle.

“Would you look at that, what did I tell ya?” You see Powder and Ekko coming around the corner, clearly ecstatic about this new opportunity to tease you. “Finally.”

Claggor keeps holding you close as you fire back, “Did you follow us just to say ‘I told you so’?”

“Nah, I didn’t even know you left the party yet,” Powder laughs. “But boy am I glad I saw this!”

She keeps walking with Ekko, whispering and chuckling as they go. You and Claggor can’t help but burst into your own fit of laughter as well, basking in the hilarity of the whole situation.

“We’ll never live this down, will we?” Claggor smirks.

“Absolutely not.”

#arcane x reader #claggor x reader #arcane #claggor #arcane spoilers #fem reader

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regressionschool · 2 days ago

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daydreaming

Lillian sat hunched over her desk, the textbook open in front of her, highlighter in hand. Her brow furrowed as she reread the same paragraph for what felt like the tenth time. Chemical bonds... electron sharing... covalent… ionic... The words blurred together as her mind spiraled into a pit of stress.

“I just have to pass this final,” she muttered to herself, tapping the highlighter nervously against the page. “One last hurdle, and then I’m done. No more school, no more late-night cramming, no more—”´Her thoughts cut off as she exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple. She glanced at the clock. 2:43 p.m. Time was ticking by, and the pressure in her chest only grew. She closed her eyes, imagining herself walking across a stage, diploma in hand. Freedom, she thought, her lips curling into a faint smile.

But when she opened her eyes, something felt… off. Her notebook, once filled with neat notes and chemical equations, now had colorful doodles of flowers and stars scribbled across the pages. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, but the doodles stayed. Even her handwriting had shifted into bubbly letters that looked like a child had scrawled them.

She glanced around her room, but it wasn’t her room anymore. The sleek desk was now a low plastic table with rounded edges. The chemistry textbook had disappeared, replaced by a stack of picture books.

Her chair had transformed into a booster seat, and the smell of baby powder lingered faintly in the air. Her heart raced. "What’s going on?" she whispered, clutching her pencil—a fat, rubbery crayon now—in her hand. The door creaked open, and Lillian froze. Her daddy—well, she always called him “Daddy” in bed, but not like this—peeked his head in, his warm smile as reassuring as it was patronizing.

"How’s my little grad doing?" he asked, stepping into the room. He wore a calm expression, as if nothing about this situation was strange. He knelt beside her, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "You’ve been working so hard."

“Daddy,” Lillian stammered, her voice soft and shaky. “I… I was studying for my finals. Chemistry. I was just…” Daddy chuckled and tapped the tip of her nose. "Silly goose. You’ve already graduated, remember? You graduated regression school last week. Now you don’t have to worry about anything big or scary ever again." He leaned closer, his eyes softening. "But you do look like you might need a change. Let’s see."

All captions also availabe on my Patreon

#diaper stories #diaper captions #regression school #ab/dl stories #ab/dl girl #wetting diaper #ab/dl diaper #ab/dl caption #ab/dl #diaper bulge

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enzstr · 21 hours ago

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A simple gesture

pairing: timeskip pro hero bakugo x florist reader

synopsis: in which a villain attacks a city and how they first met

note: i swear I'll upload the new chapter soon...

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The first time you met the pro hero Dynamight wasn’t under the best of circumstances.

It had been a chaotic morning. The air was thick with the smell of rain, the clouds hanging heavy in the sky like a warning. You were just finishing up with a delivery when the sound of explosions echoed through the streets. The sudden shockwave rattled your windows, the tremor of it sent a slight jolt of panic through your chest.

You knew that voice. It was unmistakable.

Dynamight, also known as Katsuki Bakugo.

As a Pro Hero, his presence was no stranger in the city. He was loud, brash, and was always making a scene—whether it was in the field or just walking down the street. But today, his usual energetic blasts of power seemed a little... too close to your shop.

You rushed outside, ready to make sure nothing had been destroyed, only to be greeted by the sight of Dynamight himself standing in the middle of the street, a few blocks down, as a villain sprinted away from him, seemingly unhurt despite the trail of fire left behind.

With a scowl, he blasted the villain back with a quick explosion, sending the enemy stumbling across the ground, and knocking them unconscious in seconds.

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the nearest cart of flowers from the front of your shop and ran toward the commotion. The villain had been caught, but the street was left in disarray, flower petals strewn about by the blast of Dynamight's attack. The sudden thought of your shop’s inventory sent a pang of frustration through you.

Just as you reached the scene, he was turning to leave, his back facing you. You could see the slight exhaustion in his shoulders, but as always, his demeanor was harsh. Before he could step away, you called out.

"Hey!" You jogged over to him, trying to steady your breathing. "Do you know just how much damage you caused?!"

Dynamight paused and turned, his fiery gaze locking onto you. His frown deepened, and the usual glint of irritation in his eyes returned "Tch, I don’t have time for this. It’s not like it’s a big deal."

"You literally just knocked over half of my flowers!" you retorted, raising your hands in frustration as you glanced at the scattered petals and crushed stems. You weren’t angry, not really—it was just the instinct to protect what you worked hard for.

He glanced over at the mess with a sigh, his expression softening for a brief second, though he quickly masked it with his usual scowl. "It’s not like I did it on purpose," he muttered, running a hand through his spiky blonde hair. "I’ll pay for the damages, alright?"

You blinked at him, taken aback. This wasn’t what you expected. Most people would’ve brushed it off or ignored it. But Dynamight, in his own strange way, was offering a solution.

"I’m not trying to take your money." you said, the words coming/ blurting out of your mouth before you could think. "Just... be more careful next time, alright?"

He looked at you for a moment, the familiar tension in his jaw easing up just a bit. He didn’t argue, which was surprising. "Fine," he grunted, his hands slipping into his jacket's pockets/ the pockets of his jacket. "Although, you should learn to stand further away when shit like that happens."

A brief chuckle escaped you. "I’m a florist, not a fighter. I’m used to taking care of plants, not dodging explosions."

He shot you a sideways glance, his expression unreadable for a moment. "Yeah, well... flowers are pretty delicate, huh?"

There was a beat of silence between you before he gave a sharp nod and walked away, leaving you to clean up the mess. His footsteps echoed in the quiet street as he disappeared into the distance. You stood there, staring at the spot where he stood, unsure of what had just happened.

---

A week later, Dynamight returned.

You were tending to some roses by the window when the bell above the door chimed again. You didn’t even look up at first, assuming it was a regular customer.

"Got any damn tulips?" a voice grunted from behind you, sounding annoyed.

You paused, recognizing the voice instantly, and turned to face him, who stood in the doorway with an expression that was half irritated and half... hesitant?

"Uh, sure, right here." you said, motioning to the cooler where the tulips were stored. “What’s the occasion?”

He grunted, his eyes darting around as he clearly tried to avoid saying much. “Just... get ‘em ready, okay?” He said awkwardly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it. He wasn’t one for sharing personal details, you knew that much. You prepared the bouquet, wrapping the stems carefully, trying not to notice how his gaze seemed to flicker back to you every few seconds.

"Here you go," you said, handing him the small bouquet of vibrant tulips. "Are these for someone special?"

He snatched them from your hands quickly, glancing at the flowers with an unreadable expression. Then, in his usual gruff tone, he muttered, "Yeah, whatever. I’m just trying to make up for last week."

A small, surprised laugh escaped you. "You’re actually apologizing?"

He scowled but said nothing, his hand/grip tightening around the stems of the flowers. "I’m not... apologizing. I’m just making sure I don’t get yelled at again."

Despite his stubbornness, you could see the sincerity in his actions. "Well, thank you. It means a lot, Dynamight," you said quietly, a smile tugging at your lips. "I’m sure whoever’s getting these will appreciate it."

He mumbled something under his breath, then turned to leave. But before he reached the door, he paused, glancing back at you.

"Yeah, well... don’t expect me to start buying flowers every week," he said, his tone a little softer than usual. "But I’ll see you around."

You watched him go, your heart unexpectedly light as you stood behind the counter, the soft scent of tulips still lingering in the air.

Maybe Dynamight was a lot more complicated than he appeared. But you had the feeling that this wasn’t the last time he’d be visiting your little shop.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

#mha #my hero academia #bnha #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #mha x reader #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki bakugou #bakugo x reader #bnha bakugou #bakugou imagine #bakugo katsuki

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miaoua3 · 16 hours ago

Note

Hello! Can you write an sfw/nsfw headcannon version for soonyoung pls? Love your writing!🫰

hii! ofc i can, it would be my pleasure, i hope you enjoy this!

Husband! Hoshi Headcanons

•(sfw! hcs):

we all already know that he’s a cuddle bug, but the extent that his need to be touching you goes to is beyond what any of us could imagine. he’s constantly up in your space, touching you in any way possible. if you are doing chores around the house, instead of helping you by doing something, he will just hang onto your shirt and follow you around, talking animatedly. if you are sitting down, you better expect for his head to be resting on your shoulder

whenever he needs something, he just calls for you (aka screams “baaaabee!”through the house until you hear him and come to him lmao), doesn’t matter that most of the times the thing that he’s looking for is right in front of him, he’s a bit blind sometimes (or so he tells, in reality he does it because he finds your annoyed little pout so adorable)

instead of kissing, he loves to often rub your noses together as a sign of affection, something about just feels so silly and cute and domestic to him he can rarely resist the urge to do it, plus you always smile so brightly whenever he does it so its a win-win situation

he loves that with you he can be as childish and silly as he wants, that you will always join him in his silly missions to make everyone laugh, that you will always laugh along with him no matter how ridiculous and stupid his jokes are. he loves that you are his youth quite literally, and that with you along his side, he can climb on top of the world

three words: matching tiger pyjamas. you didn’t have much of a choice, really, he just bought them for you two one day, and as you tried to let him down gently, his big brown puppy eyes looked at you pleadingly, ready to say “please?” as you were about to refuse him, and suddenly you just sighed in defeat. so guess which pyjamas you two wear the majority of the month, except for the few says it takes to wash and dry them?

compliments you all the time-both when he intends to and when he isn’t even aware that what he said is considered a compliment. for example, if you are getting ready, doing your makeup or taking it off, he will just come behind you, hug you and while smiling say “you are so very pretty, the prettiest in this whole wide world. i must’ve saved korea as a nation in my past life to get the honour of having you in this life.”, or for the times when he is unaware of it-you were just looking at some flowers as you were walking through a botanic garden when he said “i don’t know much about flowers, but whenever i see this flower (points to a, say, hibiscus), it reminds me of you, because you both are so pretty and look so gentle.” bro isn’t even trying yet he got you crying

loves loves LOVES surprising you with at-home picnics, just as you walk through the door of your house, he’s running towards you, taking your hand so he can lead you to the living room where the stuff is all set up-the white bedsheet handing from two chairs, under the sheet fairy lights wrapped around the chairs, a blanket on the floor with lots and lots of food spread on it. he loves how it always makes you smile and how easy it is to make you happy

•(nsfw! hcs):

has stamina of a BEAST, like it isn’t enough that he seemingly gets boners all the time, the sight of your collarbones is enough to make him hug your from behind, slowly grinding his hips against your ass while he mumbles “please babe, lemme make you feel good hm? it’s been so long since i’ve fucked you, let me make you cum on my dick” (btw it hasn’t even been that long, you two had sex two days prior but ok lmao). the moment he sees you close your eyes, he knows he’s won. cue at least 3 hours of him pounding into you, his skin slapping against yours, both your skins burning from the force they meet. at some point you feel so exhausted that you just lay there, face in the pillow, while he holds your hips in the air as he fucks you from behind

is so enthusiastic about eating you out that he overstimulates you, not only are his fingers fast inside of your pussy, but he’s sucking on your clit so hard, it makes tears fall from your eyes very easily. he just wants you to feel so good (but also to squirt all over his face) that he can spend hours just lapping at your juices, mumbling “c’mom pretty girl, just one more, make a mess on my face, that’s what it’s for, it’s for you to sit on it and make yourself cum on it” bsjqbsjqkq

speaking of-dirty talk with him goes CRAAAZY, not even because he wants it to, he just says whatever it’s on his mind, his thoughts a mess thrown up the moment they appear in his mind. he’s a moaning mess, sucking hickeys into your skin, kissing you sloppily, all while he’s repeating “pussy so good, fuck, want to stay here forever. want to cum inside of you all the time, to make you full with my cum-shit, ahh, so tight, im gonna-“ cue more moaning and whining as he nears his end

on the same note- breeding kink. we all know that one clip where he said he wants a whole football team (thank you scoups for the metaphor lmao). and even now, he often talks about getting married and having kids, so i think the moment he put that ring on you, he got down to BUSINESS. i’m talking he soaks your pussy AND your sheets with hair cum, if he could, he would make you wear a plug so none of it spills out and that it’s 100% sure that you end up pregnant from it. the thoughts of your heavy, full and lactating breasts, your round belly, and a little girl that has a smile just like yours, haunt his dreams on the daily

he is unintentionally so rough, like not only does he manhandle you into positions that he needs you in, if you are too far gone to be listening to him, he will just grab you by your neck to get your attention, or pull on your hair so you can watch him fuck you in the mirror, eyes trained on your gaping mouth and bouncing tits. the thing is- he doesn’t do it out of the need to be dominant, it’s just that it’s a part of his fantasy, of exactly what he imagined for that night to be, so if you aren’t following it, he will take the matter into his own hands (quite literally).

he isn’t really sure why, but he loves it when you end up crying from the overstimulation and pleasure, and when you mascara runs down your cheeks. you just look so ruined, and it makes him feel so good and smug that he’s the only one that has the honour of seeing you sobbing for him to both stop and to cum inside of you, the only one who gets to squish your mascara stained cheeks together and make you focus on him, the only one that makes your legs tremble and shake every day. the only one that gets to fuck a baby into you. the only one you crave.

(act surprised for this one) he is low-key into collars. he isn’t all that sure about leashes, but a pretty little collar wrapped around your pretty neck? and if it has a heart shaped buckle? he is a goner. he won’t ever recover from the amount of fantasy material the sight gives him, how primal it makes him feel. plus the look you make whenever he puts two fingers through that heart shaped buckle and pulls you towards him by it? it will literally make him kneel in front of a god and thank him for that sight (not really something he should discuss with a god, yknow, given that it’s about your sex life and all that but eh, whatever lol)

#seventeen #svt #svt x reader #fypシ #tumblr fyp #fypage #fluff #smut #hoshi x you #hoshi x reader #hoshi seventeen #hoshi #kwon soonyoung #kwon soonyoung x reader #hoshi svt

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hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall · 2 days ago

Text

Second Chance - Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve tried to get you back, but it's not always easy to gain back the trust one loses.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Warning: Angsts, like kind of a lot of it, injured character, but nobody dies. A bit of fluff with a happy ending.

Words: 9 224

AN: So, sweet anon asked about part two of Enough is Enough, and well, why the hell no :) I feel like shit (being sick isn't fun), so apologies x4 for any mistakes. My brain isn't braining...

Steve didn’t give up.

Steve’s first apology came in the form of flowers.

They arrived at the coffee shop just as you were opening. A delivery driver handed you the bouquet—a lush arrangement of white roses and baby’s breath, wrapped in soft tissue paper. For a moment, you just stared at them, the scent of fresh blossoms mingling with the familiar aroma of coffee beans. The card nestled within the bouquet bore only three words: I’m so sorry.

Your chest tightened. You didn’t have to wonder who sent them.

“Who’s the secret admirer?” your coworker teased, grinning as she wiped down the counter.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you set the bouquet aside, trying to push down the lump rising in your throat. It was a beautiful gesture—one you might have cherished once—but now it felt hollow.

The flowers kept coming. Every morning, a new arrangement would appear. Daisies, tulips, sunflowers. Each accompanied by a note in Steve’s handwriting: I miss you. I love you. Let me fix this.

You didn’t know how to feel. Part of you wanted to believe him, to give him the chance to make things right. But another part of you—the part still raw and aching—refused.

Then he started showing up.

The first time, you nearly dropped the coffee pot in your hand. He stood outside the shop, leaning against the lamppost with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. He looked different—tired, almost haunted, as though the weight of your absence was something physical he carried with him.

You ignored him, focusing on your customers, but you could feel his presence like a shadow just beyond the glass. When you finally closed the shop, he was still there.

He said your name softly as you stepped outside, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t stop walking.

“Please,” he called after you, his tone desperate. “Just give me a chance to talk.”

You turned back, your jaw clenched. “Why now, Steve? Why couldn’t you talk to me when it mattered?”

His face crumpled, and for a brief moment, you felt a pang of guilt. But you shook it off and kept walking.

It didn’t deter him. Steve came back the next day, and the day after that, always waiting silently as you worked. It wasn’t until a week later that you finally confronted him.

“What do you want from me, Steve?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended.

His blue eyes searched yours, filled with a vulnerability you hadn’t seen in months. “I want to make this right,” he said, his voice breaking. “I love you. I never stopped. And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening with conflicting emotions. He looked so sincere, so heartbroken, that for a moment, you almost believed him. Almost.

“It’s too late,” you said finally, your voice barely audible. “You can’t fix this. I don’t trust you anymore.”

The pain in his eyes was like a physical blow, but you didn’t let it show. You turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, defeated.

But the truth was, you weren’t as strong as you seemed. Every step away from him felt like ripping a piece of yourself apart. By the time you got home, you were shaking, tears streaming down your face as you collapsed onto the couch.

You loved him. God, you still loved him. But love wasn’t enough anymore.

***

The days blurred together after that.

You went through the motions of your life—opening the coffee shop each morning, smiling at customers, making small talk with your coworkers—but it all felt mechanical, like a script you had memorized long ago. The warmth and joy that once fueled you were gone, replaced by an empty numbness you couldn’t seem to shake.

Nights were the worst.

Sleep eluded you, no matter how many hours you spent staring at the ceiling or tossing and turning under your blankets. The bed felt too big, too cold without him there. You hated yourself for missing him, for craving the comfort of his arms even after everything he’d done. But the longing wasn’t something you could control.

It wasn’t just the nights, though. Little things kept sneaking up on you, tearing at the fragile stitches holding you together.

The sight of his favorite mug on your kitchen counter. The book he’d borrowed but never finished, still sitting on your nightstand. The faint scent of his cologne that lingered on your favorite sweater, no matter how many times you washed it.

You tried to distract yourself, but nothing worked. Books, once your solace, couldn’t hold your attention. The words blurred together, and you’d find yourself reading the same sentence over and over without absorbing a single word.

Your friends noticed.

“You need to eat more,” one of them said during a group dinner you’d been forced to attend. She pushed a plate of pasta toward you, her brow furrowed with concern. “You look like you’ve lost weight.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, picking at the food with a fork.

Kat wasn’t buying it. She leaned across the table, her sharp blue eyes cutting through your defenses. “You’re not fine. And we’re not going to pretend otherwise.”

Her words hit harder than you expected, and you had to blink back the sting of tears.

Steve’s friends noticed too. Sam popped into the coffee shop one morning, leaning casually against the counter as you took his order.

“You’re not sleeping,” he said matter-of-factly, his tone laced with concern.

You forced a smile, trying to keep your voice light. “Busy days, you know how it is.”

He didn’t press you further, but the look he gave you lingered long after he left.

***

The worst was when Steve came back.

It was late in the evening, just before closing, when he walked into the shop. You froze behind the counter, your heart leaping into your throat at the sight of him.

He looked just as broken as you felt. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was mussed like he’d been running his hands through it in frustration. He lingered near the entrance, as if unsure whether he was welcome.

“Hi,” he said softly, his voice hesitant.

You gripped the edge of the counter, steadying yourself. “We’re about to close.”

“I know,” he said, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides. “I just… I wanted to see you.”

You turned away, pretending to busy yourself with cleaning up. “You shouldn’t be here, Steve.”

“Please,” he said, stepping closer. “Just give me five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You shook your head, your chest tightening painfully. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you,” he said, his voice breaking. “And because I can’t stand knowing I hurt you like this.”

His words cracked something inside you, but you couldn’t let him see it. “You need to leave,” you said firmly, refusing to meet his eyes.

For a moment, he hesitated, as if hoping you might change your mind. But when you didn’t, he nodded, his shoulders sagging with defeat.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible. “I’m sorry.”

You watched him go, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing in the empty shop. And then you broke.

You sank to the floor, tears streaming down your face as the weight of your grief crushed you.

You loved him. God, you still loved him.

But you didn’t know how to let yourself forgive him.

***

You didn’t expect to find Bucky Barnes on your doorstep.

It was a gray Saturday morning, and the porch floor creaked under your weight as you aimlessly swept away fallen leaves. When you opened the door and saw him standing there, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets and his blue-gray eyes watching you carefully, you froze.

“Bucky?”

“Hey,” he said, his tone casual, though his expression betrayed a flicker of hesitation. “Mind if I come in?”

You hesitated. This was Steve’s best friend. Seeing him felt like reopening wounds that you’d been trying desperately to let heal. But there was no judgment in his gaze, no pressure—just concern. So, with a heavy sigh, you stepped aside and gestured for him to enter.

He stepped into the living room, glancing around like he was cataloging the space. You folded your arms, standing stiffly near the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, doll,” he teased, his lips quirking into a faint smirk.

“Bucky,” you said, your voice sharper now. “Why are you here?”

He sighed, the smirk fading. “I wanted to check on you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you said quickly. “I’m not with Steve anymore. There’s no obligation.”

He raised an eyebrow, his head tilting slightly as he leaned against the back of your couch. “Obligation? That’s not why I’m here, sweetheart. You’re my friend too. And whether or not you’re with Steve doesn’t change that.”

The softness in his tone made something crack inside you. You wanted to argue, to brush him off, but instead, you felt your defenses falter.

“Besides,” he continued with a wry grin, “someone’s gotta make sure you know not all men are idiots. Steve might be an amazing guy, but even amazing guys screw up sometimes.”

That last sentence hit you like a slap. You felt the tears coming before you could stop them, your vision blurring as all the emotions you’d been bottling up threatened to spill over. You turned away, trying to pull yourself together, but Bucky wasn’t having it.

“Hey,” he said gently, stepping closer. “Talk to me.”

That was all it took for the dam to break.

“I don’t know how to stop loving him,” you blurted, your voice trembling as the words spilled out in a rush.

Bucky froze, his expression softening as he watched the tears stream down your face. You sank onto the couch, your shoulders shaking, and he followed, sitting beside you without a word.

“I hate him for what he did,” you continued, your voice cracking. “I hate that he made me feel like I didn’t matter, like I was just… there. And now? Now he’s trying to fix it, like I’m supposed to just forget everything and let him back in.”

Bucky listened silently, his hands clasped together as you poured your heart out.

“It feels like a slap in the face,” you said, your chest heaving with each breath. “Like he thinks flowers and apologies will erase months of feeling invisible. I hate him for that. But more than anything, I hate that I still love him.”

You buried your face in your hands, your voice muffled as you added, “I don’t want to love him anymore. I want it to stop, Bucky. I want it all to stop.”

The room was quiet for a long moment. Then, Bucky sighed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

“Doll,” he said softly, “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but loving him isn’t something to hate yourself for. Steve… he’s a complicated guy. He doesn’t always get things right, but I promise you, he loves you. More than you know.”

You shook your head, your voice shaking. “If he loved me so much, why did he treat me like that? Why did he make me feel like I didn’t matter?”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening. “You’re right. He screwed up. Big time. But… he’s been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for years. It doesn’t excuse how he hurt you, but I’ve seen him lately, and he’s a wreck without you.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, your tears blurring the intensity in his gaze.

“He’s not good at showing it,” Bucky continued, “but he’s an amazing guy. I’ve known him my whole life, and I’ve seen him at his best and his worst. And I know he’ll never stop trying to make this right. The question is… would you ever let him? What would it take for you to let him back in?”

The weight of his words settled over you, heavy and unrelenting. You didn’t answer right away, your fingers gripping the hem of your shirt as you stared down at the floor.

“I don’t know,” you whispered finally. “I don’t know if I can. It’s like… every time I see him, I remember how much it hurt. And even if I wanted to try again, I don’t know if I’d ever trust him not to hurt me like that again.”

Bucky reached out, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “You don’t have to decide anything right now,” he said gently. “But whatever you choose, just know this: you deserve to be happy, sweetheart. Whether that’s with Steve or without him.”

You looked at him, searching his face for any trace of pity or judgment, but there was none. Just quiet understanding and unwavering support.

When he finally stood to leave, he gave you a small smile. “You’re stronger than you think,” he said, his voice steady. “And no matter what happens, I’m here. Steve or no Steve.”

You watched him go, his words echoing in your mind long after the door closed.

And for the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to wonder if maybe—just maybe—you could find a way forward.

***

The compound gym was almost empty, save for the quiet hum of machinery and the dull thud of fists meeting a punching bag. Steve Rogers stood at the far end of the room, his knuckles raw and his breathing ragged. He’d been at it for hours, his frustration and grief pouring into every swing, every strike. The bag swayed violently under the force of his hits, the chain creaking with each impact.

“You keep that up, and you’ll be patching the damn thing again,” Bucky’s voice rang out, casual and dry as ever, though the concern in it was unmistakable.

Steve paused mid-swing, the tension in his shoulders easing only slightly as he turned to see his best friend leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. Bucky’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes betrayed a softness Steve wasn’t sure he deserved.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asked, his voice hoarse from hours of exertion.

“Figured I’d find you here,” Bucky replied, stepping into the gym. “Thought maybe you’d stop using that bag like it owes you money and actually talk to me.”

Steve sighed, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Not in the mood, Buck.”

“Well, tough,” Bucky shot back, grabbing a folding chair and dragging it noisily across the floor. He plopped it down unceremoniously a few feet away from Steve, crossing one ankle over his knee. “Because I just came from seeing her.”

The color drained from Steve’s face. He froze, his fists still clenched at his sides. “You… you saw her?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said evenly, watching his friend’s reaction carefully. “She didn’t slam the door in my face, so I’d say I’m doing better than you.”

Steve flinched, the weight of Bucky’s words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He turned away, his hands gripping the edges of the punching bag as he tried to steady himself. “How… how is she?”

Bucky hesitated. He’d seen the raw pain in your eyes, the tears you tried to hide, and he knew Steve wasn’t ready for the truth. But lying wouldn’t help either.

“She’s a mess, Steve,” Bucky said softly. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Steve let out a shaky breath, his head hanging low. “I did this to her,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I pushed her away, made her feel like she wasn’t enough. And now… now I don’t know how to fix it.”

Bucky stood, closing the distance between them. “Steve, look at me.”

Reluctantly, Steve turned, his eyes red and tired.

“She still loves you,” Bucky said firmly, his voice steady. “But she’s hurt, and she’s angry. And you can’t expect her to just forget all that because you’re showing up with flowers and apologies.”

“I know that,” Steve snapped, his voice breaking. “God, Buck, I know. But what else can I do? Every time I see her, it’s like she’s slipping further away, and I don’t know how to reach her anymore.”

Bucky’s gaze softened, and he placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You start by understanding that this isn’t about fixing things overnight. It’s about showing her that you’re willing to put in the work, no matter how long it takes. That you’re not just sorry—you’re ready to be better.”

Steve nodded, though the despair in his eyes didn’t fade. “She said she doesn’t trust me anymore.”

“Then earn it back,” Bucky said simply. “Show her that you’re not the same guy who hurt her. And for God’s sake, stop treating this like a battle you can win with brute force. You’re not fighting Hydra here, Steve. You’re fighting for her.”

Steve’s shoulders sagged, his head dropping into his hands. “I don’t even know if she wants me to try.”

Bucky crouched slightly, meeting Steve’s gaze head-on. “I asked her,” he said quietly.

Steve’s head shot up, his blue eyes wide. “What? What did she say?”

“She doesn’t know,” Bucky admitted. “She’s scared, Steve. Scared that if she lets you back in, you’ll hurt her again. And honestly? I don’t blame her.”

The words hit Steve like a blow, but he didn’t argue. He knew Bucky was right.

“She told me something else too,” Bucky continued, his voice softer now. “She said she doesn’t know how to stop loving you. And it’s killing her.”

Steve’s breath caught, his chest tightening painfully. “She… she said that?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. She loves you, Steve. But love isn’t enough—not after what you put her through. You have to show her that you’re not just saying the right things. You have to be the right man for her. The man she fell in love with.”

Steve closed his eyes, his mind racing with memories of you—the way you used to laugh, the way you’d look at him like he was your whole world. He’d taken that for granted, and now he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get it back.

“What if I can’t?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “What if I’ve already lost her?”

Bucky’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “You don’t get to give up, punk. Not on her, and not on yourself. You want her back? Then fight for her. And don’t stop until you’ve shown her that she’s worth everything.”

Steve swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. “How? How do I even start?”

Bucky gave him a small, knowing smile. “Start by listening. By showing up—not just for her, but for the life she wants. Show her that she’s not a convenience, Steve. She’s the center of it all.”

Steve nodded slowly, the weight of Bucky’s words sinking in. He didn’t know if it would be enough, but he knew one thing for certain: he couldn’t give up on you. Not now. Not ever.

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve said quietly, his voice rough but sincere.

Bucky grinned, clapping him on the back. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve got a hell of a road ahead of you.”

Steve nodded, determination flickering in his tired eyes. He didn’t know how long it would take or if he’d even succeed, but for you, he’d move mountains.

Because losing you wasn’t an option. And he’d spend the rest of his life proving it if that’s what it took.

***

Steve left the gym after his conversation with Bucky feeling drained but determined. His best friend’s words weighed on him, both a reminder of the man he wanted to be and the man he hadn’t been for you. He knew Bucky was right—this wasn’t a fight he could win with brute force or a quick apology. It would take time, patience, and a quiet kind of devotion that he’d never had to show before.

He didn’t expect you to forgive him overnight. He didn’t even expect you to notice what he was doing right away. But he had to start somewhere.

***

It was early morning when Steve pushed open the door to your coffee shop.

The familiar bell jingled above him, the sound stirring memories of quieter, happier times. You were behind the counter, moving with practiced ease as you worked the espresso machine. You didn’t see him at first, but when you turned, your eyes locked, and Steve felt the air shift.

“Morning,” he said, his voice soft, careful not to disrupt the fragile peace of the moment.

You blinked, your expression guarded. “Morning.”

“I’m here for coffee,” he said, stepping forward. “For the team.”

Your brow furrowed, skeptical. “The team sent you?”

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Not exactly. Thought I’d take my turn.”

You didn’t reply, but you turned back to the espresso machine, the hum of it filling the silence. Steve watched you work, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, and for a moment, he was struck by how natural this scene felt, even with the tension between you.

When you handed him the tray of drinks, your fingers brushed his briefly, and he saw the faintest flicker of something in your eyes—surprise, maybe, or something softer.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice warm but careful.

You didn’t answer, but you nodded, and he left without lingering, the bell jingling softly as the door swung shut behind him.

The next time he came, it was quieter. Midmorning, after the breakfast rush had died down, Steve appeared with a small brown paper bag in hand.

You were cleaning the counter, lost in thought, when his voice broke through the silence.

“You forget to eat when you’re busy,” he said simply, placing the bag on the counter.

You looked up, startled. “Steve…”

“It’s just breakfast,” he said, holding up a hand to forestall your protests. “Nothing more. Just thought you might need it.”

You hesitated, the words you wanted to say caught somewhere in your throat. Slowly, you opened the bag, the warm scent of eggs and bacon wafting up to meet you.

“From that diner you like,” he added, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Figured it was better than you skipping meals.”

You stared at the bag for a long moment before meeting his eyes. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know,” he said simply. “But I wanted to.”

He didn’t stay long, didn’t push for conversation. He just gave you a small nod and left, leaving you with breakfast and a strange, lingering warmth in your chest.

Natasha was relentless when it came to her movie nights, and somehow, you found yourself at the Tower despite your protests. The room was cozy, filled with the low murmur of conversation and the scent of popcorn. You settled into one corner of the couch, trying to ignore the way Steve’s presence tugged at the edges of your awareness.

When the opening credits began to roll, Steve appeared beside you, holding something in his hands.

“Here,” he said quietly, offering you a pair of thick woolen socks.

You frowned, confused. “What’s this?”

“Your feet get cold,” he said simply, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

You stared at him, your chest tightening, before reluctantly taking the socks. “Thanks,” you muttered, slipping them on.

He didn’t linger, didn’t push for more. But later, when the movie reached its tense climax, he handed you a steaming mug of hot chocolate—rich, creamy, with just the right amount of cinnamon.

“You don’t have to—” you started, but he cut you off with a small, knowing smile.

“You love hot chocolate after horror movies,” he said, his tone soft. “Figured you might want some.”

You took the mug, the warmth seeping into your hands, and for the first time that night, you let yourself relax.

The envelope was waiting for you in your mailbox, unassuming but carefully placed. Inside was a single ticket to the sold-out Broadway show you’d mentioned to Sam weeks ago.

The note tucked inside was brief, written in Steve’s familiar handwriting: Thought you’d like this. Hope it’s as good as you imagined.

You stared at the ticket for a long time, your heart aching with a mixture of gratitude and frustration. He remembered. Of course, he remembered.

You told yourself it didn’t matter, that it was just a kind gesture, but deep down, it chipped away at the walls you’d built around your heart.

The night your car broke down was cold and quiet, the kind of night that made the world feel vast and lonely. You sat in the driver’s seat, staring at the lifeless dashboard, your breath fogging up the glass as you fought the urge to cry.

You tried calling a few friends, but no one answered. Finally, with trembling fingers, you dialed the one number you swore you wouldn’t.

“Sweetheart?” Steve’s voice came through the line, steady and concerned.

“My car won’t start,” you said softly, ignoring the pet name, hating how small your voice sounded.

“Where are you?”

You told him, and he didn’t hesitate. “Stay there. I’m on my way.”

When his truck pulled up beside you, he climbed out without a word, his breath misting in the cold air as he checked under your hood. His movements were sure and efficient, his presence steadying.

“Alternator’s shot,” he said finally, closing the hood. “I’ll take you home.”

You hesitated, your pride warring with your gratitude, but the freezing air made the decision for you.

The drive was quiet, the heater humming softly as Steve navigated the empty streets. He didn’t pry, didn’t try to fill the silence with unnecessary words. He just… drove.

When you woke up the next morning, your car was back in its usual spot. The engine purred like new when you started it, and a small note was taped to the dashboard: Shouldn’t give you trouble anymore. Call me if it does.

Each gesture was small, unassuming. Steve never pushed, never demanded more than you were willing to give. He just… showed up, quietly and consistently, letting his actions speak louder than words ever could.

And slowly, despite yourself, you began to notice.

***

Three months had passed since the breakup.

You wouldn’t say things had gone back to normal—far from it—but something had undeniably shifted between you and Steve. His quiet persistence, the way he showed up without pushing or demanding anything from you, had started to chip away at the walls you’d built around your heart.

At first, your conversations were stiff and polite, nothing more than a few sentences exchanged when he stopped by the coffee shop or brought you breakfast. But as the weeks went by, those moments grew longer, softer. He’d ask about your day, about the books you were reading, or the things you enjoyed, and you found yourself answering more openly. It wasn’t quite like before, but it was closer to the first moments of your relationship, back when everything had been new and uncomplicated.

Still, there was a voice in the back of your mind that wouldn’t let you forget. A quiet, insistent whisper that reminded you of how he’d hurt you, how he’d pushed you aside and made you feel invisible.

That voice grew louder the day he asked you to talk.

***

It was late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun filtering through the windows of the coffee shop as you wiped down the counter. The shop was quiet, the usual morning and lunch rushes long gone, leaving you with only the hum of the espresso machine and the soft clatter of dishes.

The sound of the bell above the door caught your attention, and when you looked up, Steve was there.

He’d been coming in more often lately, not just to pick up coffee for the team but to see you, to talk to you. This time, though, something about the way he stood—his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched—told you this wasn’t just a casual visit.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice careful as he approached the counter.

“Hey,” you replied, setting the towel aside.

“Do you have a minute?” he asked, glancing around at the empty shop. “I mean… can we talk?”

You hesitated, your stomach twisting. The vulnerability in his expression was disarming, but that voice in the back of your mind warned you to tread carefully. Still, you nodded, gesturing toward one of the empty tables.

Steve followed you, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from you. For a moment, he said nothing, his hands clasped tightly on the table as he stared down at them. You waited, your heart thudding quietly in your chest as the silence stretched between you.

Finally, he took a deep breath and looked up, his blue eyes meeting yours.

“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” he began, his voice low but steady. “About what I should say. How I should say it. And the truth is… there’s no easy way to do this. So I’m just going to be honest.”

You nodded, your throat tightening as you braced yourself for whatever was coming.

“I screwed up,” he said, the words heavy with regret. “I let you down in a way I never should have. And I’ve been trying to figure out why—why I acted the way I did, why I pushed you away when you were the best thing in my life.”

His hands tightened into fists, his knuckles whitening as he struggled to find the right words. “I think… I think I was scared. Scared of not being enough for you, scared of dragging you into everything that comes with being me. The missions, the stress, the weight of it all—I didn’t want to burden you with that.”

Your brow furrowed, confusion and frustration bubbling to the surface. “So you decided to ignore me instead? To shut me out?”

“I know,” he said quickly, his voice breaking slightly. “I know it doesn’t make sense. It was selfish and stupid, and I wasn’t thinking about how it would make you feel. I just… I thought if I kept it to myself, if I didn’t tell you about everything that was going on, I could protect you from it. But all I did was hurt you.”

His eyes glistened, and he looked away, swallowing hard. “I’ll never forgive myself for that. For making you feel like you weren’t enough when you were everything to me.”

The raw emotion in his voice made your chest ache, but the wounds he’d left were still fresh, still tender.

“Steve…” you began, your voice trembling, “you hurt me more than anyone ever has. Do you know that?”

He flinched, his jaw tightening, but he nodded.

“I spent weeks wondering what I did wrong,” you continued, your words spilling out in a rush. “I kept asking myself why I wasn’t good enough for you, why I wasn’t worth your time or your attention. And then, when you finally started trying again, it felt like a slap in the face. Like you thought a few kind gestures could erase everything you put me through.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you fought to keep your voice steady. “I wanted so badly to be enough for you, Steve. That’s all I ever wanted. Just to be enough.”

“You were,” he said quickly, his voice cracking. “You are. God, you’re more than enough. I was the one who wasn’t. I didn’t know how to handle it—how to be the man you deserved—and I let that fear control me. But I swear to you, I see it now. I see what I lost because of it.”

He leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “I know I don’t deserve another chance. I know I might have ruined the best thing that ever happened to me. But if there’s anything—anything—I can do to change your mind, tell me. I’ll do it. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that I can be better, that I can be the man you need me to be.”

His voice dropped, barely more than a whisper. “I just need to know if there’s any part of you that still believes in us.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding as the weight of his words settled over you. The pain, the anger, the love—all of it swirled together in a storm of emotion that left you speechless.

Finally, you let out a shaky breath, your voice trembling as you said, “I don’t know, Steve. I don’t know if I can trust you again. I don’t know if I can forget how much it hurt.”

His face crumpled, but he nodded, accepting your words without argument.

“But…” you continued, your voice softer now, “I can’t pretend I don’t still feel something for you. I can’t pretend I don’t still love you.”

His eyes widened, hope flickering in their depths.

“That doesn’t mean we can go back to how things were,” you said quickly, your tone firm. “If we’re going to try… if we’re going to even think about trying, it has to be different. You have to be honest with me, Steve. About everything.”

“I will,” he said immediately, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear, I will.”

You nodded, your throat tight with the weight of what you’d just said. It wasn’t forgiveness—not yet—but it was something. A small step toward rebuilding what had been broken.

And as Steve reached out, his hand brushing against yours, you let yourself hope—for the first time in months—that maybe, just maybe, it was a step worth taking.

***

It had been a week since the conversation with Steve, and your emotions were in turmoil. You felt caught between the raw pain of the past and the cautious hope of what could be. His words haunted you—his apologies, his promises, the way his voice had cracked when he told you how much he still cared.

You needed clarity, and there was only one person who could give you the no-nonsense advice you desperately needed: Natasha.

She arrived at your place that evening, a takeout bag in hand, and didn’t waste a second settling herself at your kitchen table. Her sharp green eyes studied you as you sat down across from her, picking at the noodles she’d brought for you.

“All right,” she said, breaking the silence. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Steve,” you admitted, your voice soft.

Natasha leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. “What about him?”

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the table. “We talked. Really talked. He told me everything—why he shut me out, how he felt, all of it. He apologized for everything and… I believe him, Nat. I really do.”

“But?” she prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“But I don’t know if I can trust him again,” you confessed, your throat tightening. “I don’t know if I can let myself go through that again. He hurt me so much, Nat. How do I just move past that?”

Natasha studied you for a moment, her gaze piercing. “Let me ask you something,” she said finally. “If you didn’t still love him, if you didn’t still want something with him deep down, would we even be having this conversation right now?”

You frowned, her words hitting you hard. “What do you mean?”

“It’s been three months,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. “If you were done with him, if you really didn’t care anymore, you’d have moved on by now. You wouldn’t still be here, agonizing over whether to give him another chance.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but no words came. She wasn’t wrong, and deep down, you knew it.

“I’m not saying you have to forgive him tomorrow or even next week,” Natasha continued, leaning forward. “But if there’s still a part of you that wants to believe in him, don’t ignore that. You owe it to yourself to figure out what you really want. Not what you’re afraid of, not what you think you should do. What you want.”

Her words lingered long after she left, a quiet truth that refused to be ignored.

***

At the same time, Steve was grappling with his own uncertainty.

He sat in the Tower’s lounge, his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee as he stared out the window. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about your conversation, about the raw pain in your voice when you told him how much he’d hurt you.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice broke through his thoughts, and Steve turned to see both Sam and Bucky entering the room. They exchanged a look before sitting down on either side of him.

“You’ve been brooding,” Sam said bluntly. “What’s going on?”

Steve sighed, setting his mug down on the coffee table. “It’s her,” he admitted.

“Figured,” Bucky said, leaning back in his chair. “What happened?”

“I talked to her,” Steve said. “Told her everything—how I felt, why I shut her out. I apologized for all of it.”

“And?” Sam prompted.

“She said she doesn’t know if she can trust me again,” Steve said quietly, his voice heavy with regret. “But she also said she still loves me. I don’t know what to do with that, Sam. I don’t know how to make it right.”

Sam leaned forward, his expression serious. “Look, man, love isn’t always enough. Not when there’s hurt involved. If she doesn’t trust you right now, that’s on you to fix. You can’t just expect her to forgive and forget because you feel bad about it.”

“I know that,” Steve said quickly, his jaw tightening. “That’s why I’m here. I don’t want to mess this up again. I need to figure out how to show her that I’m serious without overwhelming her.”

Bucky gave him a long, measured look. “You’ve been trying,” he said finally. “We’ve all seen it—the little things you’ve been doing. But if you’re asking me, you’re not going to fix this by tiptoeing around her. You’ve got to be honest, Rogers. If you want her back, you need to let her see all of you. The good, the bad, and the stuff you think she won’t want to deal with.”

Steve frowned, his gaze dropping to the floor. “What if she doesn’t want to deal with it?”

“Then she doesn’t,” Bucky said simply. “But if you hold back, you’re not giving her the chance to decide for herself. And that’s not fair to either of you.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “You’ve got to let her see that you’re not just saying the right things, Steve. You’ve got to show her. But don’t make it about fixing things fast. Healing takes time, for both of you.”

Steve exhaled slowly, the weight of their words settling over him. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank us yet,” Sam said with a grin. “You’ve got a long road ahead of you, Cap.”

***

Steve spent the next few days thinking about their advice. He’d been so focused on not pushing you, on giving you space, that he hadn’t realized he might be holding back too much.

When he saw you next, it was at the coffee shop, just as you were closing up for the day. He hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, his heart pounding.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice breaking the quiet.

You looked up, surprise flickering across your face. “Hey.”

“Do you have a minute?” he asked.

You nodded slowly, setting down the rag you’d been using to clean the counter. “Sure.”

He gestured toward one of the empty tables, and you followed him, sitting down across from him. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching between you like a fragile thread.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Steve began, his voice steady but low. “About how much I hurt you, how I made you feel like you weren’t enough. And you were right. I let you down in ways I’ll never forgive myself for.”

Your throat tightened, but you stayed silent, letting him continue.

“I’ve spent so much time trying to fix things in small ways, trying to show you that I’m serious,” he said. “But I don’t think I’ve been honest enough with you. I don’t think I’ve let you see how much this has been tearing me apart.”

His hands tightened into fists on the table, his knuckles white. “I don’t want to overwhelm you or push you, but I can’t hold this back anymore. I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I can be the man you deserve.”

His voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw tears in his eyes. “If there’s anything—anything—I can do to earn your trust again, tell me. Because losing you would be the biggest mistake of my life.”

Your own eyes burned with tears, the raw honesty in his words cutting through the walls you’d built around your heart. For the first time, you saw not just the man who’d hurt you but the man who was willing to fight for you, flaws and all.

You didn’t have an answer for him—not yet. But as you reached across the table and took his hand, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you were ready to start finding one.

***

You were closing up the coffee shop when your phone buzzed. The message was from Natasha. That alone was unusual—Nat rarely texted without reason. You pulled your phone out, unlocking it with a swipe of your thumb.

The words on the screen made your blood run cold: We’ve lost contact with Steve and Bucky.

Your breath caught, and the phone nearly slipped from your trembling hands. For a moment, everything around you blurred—the soft hum of the espresso machine, the faint chatter of pedestrians outside, the smell of coffee beans—all of it faded into the background.

You didn’t think, didn’t even register dropping the rag you’d been using to clean the counter. Your hands shook as you locked the doors, fumbling with the keys before rushing to your car.

The drive to the Tower was a haze, your chest tight with panic as Natasha’s words repeated in your mind. You knew Steve went on dangerous missions. It was part of who he was. But something about those words—lost contact—made this time feel different.

***

By the time you arrived at the Tower, your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might break through your ribcage. The elevator ride felt like an eternity, each floor passing with agonizing slowness. When the doors finally slid open, you practically ran into the common room, where Natasha and Sam were already waiting.

“What happened?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended.

Natasha turned toward you, her expression calm but her eyes betraying her concern. “They were on a mission. Everything was going according to plan, but then we lost contact about three hours ago. We’ve been trying to re-establish communication, but there’s been no response.”

Three hours. That might as well have been three days.

“What do you mean ‘lost contact’?” you pressed, your voice rising. “How does that even happen?”

“It could be anything,” Sam said, his tone soothing but cautious. “Jammed signals, a misstep in the mission. We don’t know yet.”

You stared at them, your breathing shallow, your mind racing with every worst-case scenario imaginable. “So they could be…”

“They’re not,” Natasha said firmly, cutting you off. Her voice was sharp, but there was a softness in her gaze. “Steve and Bucky have been in worse situations than this. They’ll find a way to get back to us.”

Sam nodded in agreement, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. “They’re two of the toughest guys I know,” he said. “If anyone can make it out of this, it’s them.”

You wanted to believe them, but the fear in your chest refused to let go. You sank into one of the chairs, your hands gripping the armrests so tightly that your knuckles turned white.

The minutes dragged by like hours, the silence in the room heavy and oppressive. Natasha and Sam tried to make conversation, to keep you distracted, but you barely registered their words. Your mind was too consumed by the thought of what could happen—of what might have already happened.

***

When Natasha’s phone finally buzzed, the sound cut through the quiet like a gunshot. She snatched it up, her sharp gaze scanning the screen. Relief flickered across her face as she read aloud:

“It’s from Steve. They’re on their way back, but a medic is necessary.”

Your heart seized, a mixture of relief and panic coursing through you. “Who’s hurt?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“He didn’t say,” Natasha replied, her lips pressing into a thin line.

You tried to steady your breathing, but the knot in your chest refused to loosen. You told yourself it didn’t matter who was hurt—they were alive, and they were coming back. But the not knowing gnawed at you, the fear for Steve settling deep in your bones.

No one told Steve you were here, and maybe that was for the best. But as you sat there, waiting for the jet to arrive, you realized just how fragile everything felt. The past few months flashed through your mind—all the moments of doubt, the anger, the hesitation—and for the first time, they seemed so small. In the grand scheme of things, you could have lost Steve today. That thought terrified you more than anything else.

***

The sound of the jet’s engines rumbling low overhead pulled you out of your thoughts. You stood with Natasha and Sam, your heart pounding as the aircraft touched down on the Tower’s private landing pad.

The ramp lowered slowly, and the first thing you saw was Steve, his arm slung around Bucky to help him walk. Bucky looked pale, his arm hanging limp at his side, his face tight with pain. Medics rushed forward to meet him, but your eyes were locked on Steve.

He didn’t look much better than Bucky. His shirt was torn, streaked with dirt and blood, and his face bore a fresh collection of cuts and bruises. His shoulders sagged under the weight of exhaustion, his steps slow and measured.

But when his eyes found yours, he smiled.

Even battered and bloodied, he’d never looked more handsome. His beard, grown in over the time he’d been away, gave him a rugged edge, and his blue eyes still held that quiet strength you’d always admired.

The moment your gaze met his, something in you broke. You ran to him, barely aware of your surroundings, and threw your arms around him.

“Steve,” you sobbed, burying your face in his chest. His shirt was rough against your skin, damp with sweat and blood, but you didn’t care. “I was so scared. I thought… I thought I might lose you.”

His arms wrapped around you tightly, his grip strong despite his obvious exhaustion. “I’m okay,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. “I’m here.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, tears streaming down your face. “You have to be more careful,” you said, your voice trembling. “You can’t… you can’t do this to me, Steve.”

His expression softened, and he reached up to brush a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What happened?” you asked, your voice cracking. “What went wrong?”

To your surprise, Steve didn’t hesitate. He guided you to a quieter corner, his hand resting lightly on your back, and began to explain.

“The mission was supposed to be straightforward,” he said, his voice low but steady. “But things went sideways fast. There were more hostiles than we anticipated, and Bucky got hit—bad. I couldn’t leave him behind, so I…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

“You carried him out,” you finished, your throat tightening.

Steve nodded, his eyes meeting yours. “I wasn’t going to leave him, no matter what.”

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t just from fear. They were from the overwhelming realization of who Steve truly was—the man who would sacrifice everything for the people he cared about.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice softer now. “I won’t make that mistake again. And if you’re willing to listen, I’ll tell you everything—about the missions, about what’s going on with me. No more shutting you out.”

You stared at him, your chest tight with a mixture of love and fear and hope. Slowly, you nodded. “I’m listening,” you said.

And as he began to speak, you felt the cracks in your heart begin to mend, one word at a time.

***

Steve stayed with you after the medics whisked Bucky away to the infirmary. He’d insisted Bucky was in good hands, though you could see the guilt still lingering in his eyes. You sat together in one of the quieter rooms in the Tower, the tension from the mission still clinging to him like a second skin.

Despite his exhaustion, he refused to let go of your hand.

“You don’t have to stay,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as you sat beside him. “I know it’s late.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you replied, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

He gave you a small, tired smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re too good to me.”

You shook your head, squeezing his hand. “No, Steve. I’m just—” You paused, searching for the right words. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging as the adrenaline that had sustained him through the mission began to fade. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“For what?”

“For everything,” he replied, meeting your gaze with a vulnerability that left you breathless. “For scaring you, for shutting you out before… for making you feel like you weren’t enough. I know I’ve said it before, but I need you to know I mean it.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity. For a long moment, you didn’t respond, your chest tight as you tried to process the enormity of what he was saying.

“I was so scared today,” you admitted finally, your voice trembling. “When Nat texted me, when we didn’t know if you were okay… it was like the ground had been ripped out from under me.” You swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “I realized then how stupid these past few months have been. I was so caught up in my own hurt, my own doubts, that I didn’t see what we were losing.”

Steve’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, his blue eyes locked on yours. “You weren’t wrong to feel that way,” he said softly. “You had every right to be hurt, to doubt me. I earned that. But I don’t want to lose you, baby. Not now. Not ever.”

His words broke something inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his.

“Don’t you dare scare me like that again,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice steady and resolute.

***

The days following the mission passed in a haze of quiet moments and tentative steps forward. Steve stayed at the Tower to help Bucky recover, but he checked in with you constantly. Sometimes it was a quick text—How are you? Did you eat today?—and sometimes it was a phone call that lasted longer than either of you expected.

You visited the Tower often, bringing Bucky some of his favorite snacks and sitting with him while Steve caught up on reports. Bucky teased you relentlessly, of course, his dry humor cutting through the tension in ways only he could manage.

“So,” he said one afternoon, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “When are you two going to stop tiptoeing around and just admit you’re back together?”

You nearly choked on your coffee. “We’re not—”

“Sure,” Bucky interrupted, smirking. “And I’m the King of Wakanda.”

Steve, who had just entered the room, raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, glaring at Bucky.

“Just pointing out the obvious,” Bucky said with a shrug, earning himself an eye-roll from both you and Steve.

Despite his teasing, Bucky’s words stayed with you. He wasn’t entirely wrong. The way you and Steve interacted had changed since the mission. There was a closeness now, a sense of trust that hadn’t been there before.

***

One evening, Steve invited you to dinner at the Tower. He didn’t call it a date, and you didn’t press him on it, but there was something deliberate about the way he’d set the table, the candles he’d lit, the care he’d taken with every detail.

The two of you sat across from each other, the soft glow of the candles casting warm light over his face. For a while, you just talked—about work, about Bucky’s recovery, about the books you’d been reading. The conversation flowed easily, the tension that had once lingered between you finally gone.

At one point, Steve leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said,” he began, his voice steady but quiet. “About how scared you were. How I need to be more careful.”

You frowned slightly. “Steve, I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty. I know your work is dangerous. I’ve always known that.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “But you were right. I can’t keep doing this—not without being honest with you about what’s going on. If I’m asking you to be part of my life, I need to make sure you feel like you’re part of it.”

His words sent a warmth through your chest, a feeling of being truly seen and valued. “I appreciate that,” you said softly.

Steve smiled, and for the first time in weeks, it felt like everything between you was falling into place.

***

As the night wore on, the conversation grew quieter, more intimate. Steve reached across the table, his hand brushing yours.

“I know we can’t go back to how things were before,” he said, his voice low but firm. “But I think we can build something better. Something stronger. If you’ll let me.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. There was no hesitation in his gaze, no doubt. Just quiet determination and a love that felt as steady and unshakable as the man himself.

“I want that too,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

His smile widened, and for the first time in months, you felt the weight in your chest begin to lift.

It wasn’t a perfect ending. There were still things to work through, still scars to heal. But as Steve reached for your hand, his grip warm and sure, you knew you were ready to take the next step—together.

96 notes · View notes

rottenfyre · 19 hours ago

Text

⸻ ʙ ʟ ᴏ ᴏ ᴅ ʏ ʜ ᴇ ᴀ ʀ ᴛ ⸻

Pairing: Wade Wilson x Fem Reader

Headcanon: how would he be when he's obsessed?

Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Wade notices you during a routine grocery run, of all places. You’re just minding your own business, deciding between two brands of pasta, when you laugh softly at a joke the store clerk makes. That laugh? It’s like Cupid’s arrow. Except Cupid’s been replaced by Deadpool, and instead of an arrow, he’s throwing knives.

At first, Wade convinces himself it’s just a harmless crush. "She’s just a cute, innocent civilian! Nothing to see here, folks!" But then you smile at him one day when he’s pretending to be lost in the store (he’s not lost, he’s following you), and that smile? Yeah, it’s burned into his brain like a bad tattoo. It’s over for him.

Obsession kicks in faster than a chimichanga order at his favorite food truck. Wade starts shadowing you. He calls it "protective surveillance." Others might call it stalking. To him, it’s romantic. He knows where you work, your favorite coffee order, your pet’s name, and, oh yeah, your emergency contact info because he’s totally hacked into your phone. "It’s not creepy if it’s for love, right?"

Wade leaves little “gifts” for you. At first, it’s innocent: a bouquet of flowers mysteriously delivered to your desk at work, with a card signed “Your Secret Admirer xoxo.” Then it escalates: tickets to your favorite band (how does he know??), a sweater in your exact size, and, uh…a suspiciously clean skull with a note: "He was thinking bad things about you. You’re welcome. Love, Wade. P.S. Hope you like bone décor!"

When you finally meet him in full Deadpool gear (because of course he crashes your evening walk to "rescue" you from a totally harmless raccoon), Wade is… well, Wade. He’s charming in that over-the-top, inappropriate way. He cracks jokes faster than you can process them, and you can’t decide if he’s insane, hilarious, or terrifying. (Spoiler: He’s all three.)

Wade doesn’t see himself as a villain in your story. He sees himself as your knight in bloody armor. He’s convinced the world is full of people who don’t appreciate you the way he does. He’s not above breaking into your apartment to leave notes of affirmation or making you dinner (which you find out about when you come home to a table set with candles and a smug Deadpool sitting in your chair). "I’m like Martha Stewart, but hotter, funnier, and with a body count!"

He adores you. Like, worships the ground you walk on. You are, in Wade’s mind, the single greatest thing that’s ever happened in his miserable life. He talks to himself (breaking fourth wall) about you constantly—sometimes out loud, even in public. "Did you see her today? She wore that cute little sweater I like. God, I’d kill for her. Wait, I already did! Add another tally to the scoreboard, baby!"

Wade is insanely jealous. He doesn’t see you as property, exactly—more like a priceless artifact that no one else should touch. If anyone flirts with you, they’re immediately labeled as “a problem.” And Wade? Wade solves problems. Permanently. Sometimes with a grenade.

Despite his insanity, Wade genuinely tries to make you happy. He tones down the murder (a little) when you make it clear you’re not into the whole “blood and guts” thing. He’ll still threaten anyone who looks at you wrong, but hey, progress, right?

Wade's softer side shines through in quiet moments. He’ll hold you close when you’re upset, whispering (weirdly comforting) jokes in your ear. He’ll memorize all your favorite things, so he can surprise you with them when you’ve had a bad day. He may be psychotic, but his love is as real as it gets.

But make no mistake: Wade will do anything to keep you by his side. He’ll manipulate, scheme, and murder his way through any obstacle standing between you and "happily ever after." And if you ever tried to leave him? Oh, honey. Don’t even think about it. "We’re meant to be together, Y/N. Like peanut butter and jelly. Like chimichangas and guac. Like…me and you. Forever. Whether you like it or not."

Obsessed Wade is intense. He’s equal parts terrifying and oddly endearing, which makes him a constant rollercoaster of chaos. At the end of the day, his love is as messy and unpredictable as he is—but hey, at least he’ll make sure you’re never bored.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

#ㅤㅤ⠀ㅤ 𓇼ㅤ ㅤ𓂂ㅤㅤ ˚ㅤㅤ ◌ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏#🕊️. wade wilson #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool x reader #dark deadpool #deadpool x you #yandere marvel #deadpool x y/n #wade wilson #wade wilson x reader #yandere wade wilson #marvel #marvel x reader #deadpool x fem reader #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere male #yandere

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focusonkayjay · 1 day ago

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between the ride and the roses (4)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Word count: 3.3k

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Chapter Warnings: forced proximity, jungkook is emotionally constipated, OC is clueless.

A/N: I really hope that fans of "Gilmore Girls" come across this story, because the town hall meeting scene is entirely inspired by the show. I’ve tried to capture the same essence and energy, so I hope you can envision it just like it's depicted in the series, with all the quirky charm and fast-paced dialogues etc etc. that said, I feel like things are about to take a dramatic turn. what do we think? ;)

part 4: mixing the grease with the soil

As the days slip by, the tension between you and Jungkook has become an unspoken constant, like the hum of a distant engine, always there, always humming beneath the surface. It’s an unyielding stalemate neither of you seems willing to break, as if maintaining the distance is safer, easier, less likely to damage the delicate balance of your lives.

But then, without warning, subtle shifts begin to take place. Jungkook’s friends, once notorious for crowding your shop’s entrance with their gleaming motorcycles, now park further down the street. The loud laughter, the sharp revving of engines that used to echo through your workspace, disrupting your day, have faded into memory. The newfound peace feels like a long-overdue truce, and while it doesn’t erase the tension, it’s a welcome relief.

Your encounters with his friends Jimin, Hoseok, and Yoongi have settled into something almost cordial. A nod here, a wave there, brief exchanges that are polite but still distant. It’s enough to keep things civil, but when it comes to Jungkook, there’s no such middle ground. You don’t greet him, and he doesn’t acknowledge you. It’s a silent agreement to maintain the distance between you two.

Yet, for Jungkook, the distance isn’t as simple as it once was. The quiet animosity, the unresolved arguments, the invisible barrier between you guys—they all weigh heavier on him now. He can’t put his finger on it, but your presence has started to linger in his mind in ways that unsettle him. It gnaws at him, a persistent whisper he can’t ignore.

He finds himself noticing things he shouldn’t. The way your hair falls into your face while you’re tending to flowers. The way your laugh rings out when your friends visit, lighting up your features in a way he can't help but admire. His eyes find you before he even realizes he’s looking, and it infuriates him how easily you captivate him, how effortlessly you draw his attention without even trying.

It started small. A passing glance as he worked on a bike outside his shop. Then, the details began to add up. Like last week, when he saw you laughing with your friends outside. He’s pieced together their names now, after observing from a distance.

The man who visited your shop that day, the one who elicited the first genuine smile he ever saw on your face, is Taehyung. An artist, Jungkook suspects, given the occasional specks of paint adorning his clothes, arms, or sometimes even his cheek.

Then there was Namjoon and Seokjin or at least that's what he thinks their names are. Their exact roles in your life are a mystery to him, but they tower over most people with their astonishing heights and they mostly show up late, long after your closing hours, often bringing you food or whisking you away in their cars for reasons he can only imagine.

And then there’s a girl, Juwon, who seems to frequent your shop the most. Sometimes she buys flowers; other times, she simply lounges inside, waiting for you to finish your work.

Jungkook feels ridiculous for how much he’s noticed. He shouldn’t care about the details of your life or the people in it, yet he finds himself drawn to them, piecing together bits of your world from snippets of conversation and stolen glances. Even the sound of your laugh, carefree and genuine, has a way of pulling his focus no matter how hard he tries to ignore it.

It hits him in unexpected moments—how beautiful you look when you laugh, how your smile seems to brighten everything around you. And in those moments, he feels the tension between you two fade away, replaced by something softer, something he doesn’t want to acknowledge. You look happy, and it stirs something deep within him, something he wishes he could suppress.

He doesn’t know why it matters so much. Why does it bother him that he’s not the one making you smile? Why does it sting to see you so effortlessly connect with others when he feels so distant from you?

He always tears his gaze away, forcing himself to focus on the bike in front of him, but it’s futile. The image of your smile lingers, a persistent flicker in the back of his mind.

The ease with which you interact with the people around you only serves to highlight the chasm between you. You’re kind, approachable, a natural at making others feel at ease. And Jungkook? He feels like an outsider, watching from the shadows, wrestling with feelings he doesn’t understand and can’t seem to shake.

Why is it so difficult to be around you? Why does everything feel so impossibly complicated? The questions haunt him, their answers elusive, leaving him restless and frustrated with a distance he doesn’t know how to bridge.

But what you don’t notice is the quiet way Jungkook has begun to weave himself into your life, his actions subtle, small gestures that he hopes will somehow make up for the things left unsaid between you two.

Like that one time you were struggling to move a heavy bag of soil into your shop and he pretended not to notice, yet somehow, when you turned around to get something else, it was already sitting inside, untouched by your hands. Or the way he’s started parking his bike just far enough away so that it doesn’t block your view of the flowers from the shop window, as though he’s silently trying to make your space feel a little more yours, and a little less his.

He never says a word, never acknowledges the thought behind it. He simply continues working, silently apologizing in a way that only he understands.

And then there’s the smallest, most hidden gesture of all: the way he wipes his hands clean on a rag before leaving the garage to walk past your shop at the exact moment you’re working outside. His steps slow just enough for you to think he’s passing through casually, but if you weren't so oblivious, you’d see the way his gaze lingers just a second too long on you, a silent question hanging in the air that neither of you have the courage to ask.

It’s as if, in every small action, he’s trying to show you something... something you can’t quite see, something he can’t quite say.

It’s a quiet morning when Mr. Kwon, a man in his early 60s and also the town head, steps into your shop, his polished shoes clicking against the wooden floor as he heads towards the counter.

You’ve just finished arranging a fresh batch of daisies, their bright white petals catching the light. He adjusts his glasses, eyeing you with that steady, slightly intimidating gaze.

“Y/N-ah...” he begins, his voice as measured as ever. “I wanted to remind you about the town hall meeting later this week, on Thursday. It’s about the annual fair. Please be there.” he says calmly.

You raise an eyebrow, wiping your hands on a towel. “That’s it? No more details?” you question, amused.

He gives a small smile, one that barely softens his usual stern demeanor. “There’s more to discuss at the meeting, so just be there.” And with that, he turns and leaves as quickly as he came, leaving you wondering what exactly he’s got planned. You watch him walk towards the shop next to yours and you're quickly distracted when a customer walks in.

Right next door, Jungkook is having his own first encounter with Mr. Kwon’s business-like approach. He’s just finished cleaning his motorcycle when the town head arrives in front of his shop, looking like he’s stepped out of a corporate boardroom.

“Jungkook...” Mr. Kwon begins “I’m here to remind you about the town meeting this week, on Thursday. It’s a big one—planning for the annual fair. Since you’re part of the community now, I strongly encourage you and your friends to attend. We need fresh perspectives.” he states, eyeing the rest of the boys behind him.

Jungkook blinks, taken aback. “Wait, I don’t even know what this fair thing is—”

“You’ll figure it out. Just be there.” Mr. Kwon’s tone is firm, his back already turned as he walks away, but he suddenly stops in his tracks, turning his head over his shoulder. “And wear something presentable. It’s not a garage.” he says.

Jungkook chuckles faintly as Mr. Kwon left, his friends stifling laughter behind him. “Presentable.” Yoongi drawls. “You gonna show up in a tux, boss?” he jokes, causing everyone to snicker.

As Jungkook continues with his work, his thoughts linger about this so called town meeting. It was his first time being summoned to one, and while he wasn’t particularly eager to attend, Mr. Kwon’s authoritative tone made it clear it wasn’t really optional.

The evening of the meeting arrives, and you walk towards the town hall with Juwon’s arm tightly clinging to yours. “If we’re late because you had to rearrange just one more daisy, I’m blaming you.” you hear her say and you laugh. “Relax Juwon-ah." you reply, rubbing her hands that held your arm.“Namjoon said he’d save us seats.” you inform.

As you approach the town hall, the streets hum with excited chatter, the townspeople preparing for what’s sure to be an eventful fair. Suddenly, the low rumble of motorcycles grew louder. Heads turned as Jungkook and his gang rode in, their bikes gleaming under the evening sun. They parked with an air of nonchalance, right outside the town hall, drawing curious glances and a few whispers.

“First time seeing the townies up close?” Yoongi teases Jungkook as they get off their bikes. “I guess." Jungkook mutters, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets as he waits for Jimin and Hoseok to take off their helmets so that they can head inside.

While the bikers still seemed to be parking their bikes, you and Juwon were already inside the hall. You instantly spot Namjoon, Seokjin, and Taehyung, eagerly saving two seats for you and Juwon. They wave you over once they see you, their faces a mix of impatience and playful annoyance.

“We got prime real estate!” Seokjin declares, gesturing to the front row. “More like you just wanted to be close enough to whisper critiques about Mr. Kwon’s tie.” Namjoon says dryly. "Someone has to keep the man humble.” Seokjin quips, shrugging.

You and Juwon take your seats and just as you’re getting comfortable, Taehyung grins. “Speaking of critiques, how long do we think it’ll take Mrs. Han to bring up her pie-eating contest again?” he asks, stifling a laugh. “I’m giving it five minutes. Namjoon replies as he holds up his phone. “Starting the timer now.” he chuckles.

Once Jungkook steps into the hall, he finds himself slightly out of place among the vibrant crowd of familiar faces and lively chatter. His eyes instinctively scan the room, landing on you and your friends seated in the front row. You laugh at something Juwon says, your eyes crinkling with genuine amusement, while Taehyung playfully argues with Namjoon about something he can't quite hear.

Jungkook feels a strange pull—your energy, so warm and lighthearted, stands in stark contrast to his own awkwardness in this unfamiliar setting. His gaze lingers for a moment too long, enough for Yoongi to notice and nudge him. “Spot something interesting?” he teases, smirking.

Jungkook shakes his head quickly, looking away. “Just taking it all in.” he mutters, though the faint flush on his cheeks betrays him. He follows his friends, as they all take their seats somewhere in the middle of the hall.

The room fills with excited chatter, the buzz of anticipation thick in the air. People whisper eagerly about the fair and what it will bring this year. As Mr. Kwon takes the stage, he adjusts the microphone and clears his throat and everyone falls silent, waiting for him to start.

“Good evening, everyone.” he formally begins, his voice commanding. “Thank you all for coming. As you know, the annual town fair is upon us, and tonight’s meeting is about planning and assigning tasks. This year, we’re aiming to make the fair even better—more organized, more collaborative, and, hopefully, more memorable.” He pauses to scan the crowd.

“Now, I know some of you have suggestions...” His gaze lingers pointedly on Mrs. Han, who immediately raises her hand. “Mr. Kwon.” she begins, her voice carrying. “I really think it’s time we bring back the pie-eating contest.” she says, standing up.

Mr. Jung groans from the other side of the room. “For the last time, Mrs. Han, the clinic is not sponsoring antacid tablets for everyone!” he says, his nose twitching. “Maybe if you baked better pies, fewer people would need them.” Mrs. Han shoots back, earning a ripple of laughter from the crowd.

“Okay, okay!” Mr. Kwon interjects as he holds up his hands. “Let’s keep this civil... or as civil as possible.”

Namjoon leans over to Taehyung. “Three minutes. She’s getting faster.” he whispers as they both cover their mouths, not wanting Mr. Kwon to catch them giggling like children.

Mr. Kwon clears his throat, signaling for everyone to settle down. “We need to make this fair something special. This year’s theme, ‘A Night in Stardust,’ is all about wonder and magic. We want the fair to be an experience that stays with people long after it’s over." he announces.

"‘A Night in Stardust’, huh?” Taehyung whispers. “Sounds like something out of a sci-fi romance.” he says while Namjoon smirks. “Or Seokjin’s poetry journal.” he jokes. Seokjin feigns offense as he dramatically clutches his chest. “Excuse me, my poems are classic.”

As Mr. Kwon continues, he outlines more exciting events, including a fortune-teller’s tent, carnival games like ring toss and a scavenger hunt, handmade jewelry booths and various other things along with a stargazing dome to tie in with the theme.

At the mention of the fortune-teller’s tent, Seokjin laughs. “Last year, she told me I’d meet someone tall and handsome and that they would save me from a storm that was supposed to ruin my life.” you hear him say. “Turns out it was just Namjoon holding an umbrella when it rained heavily that one night in September.” The room erupts into laughter, Namjoon included.

“And we’ll also have the hammer strength game. Let’s see if anyone can beat Taehyung’s record.” Mr. Kwon adds as Taehyung grins smugly, while Namjoon mutters something about “unfair leverage.”

“Let’s not forget the stargazing dome.” Mr. Kwon continues. “Where we’ll have a real view of the stars... no glitter, no tricks, just pure, unfiltered stardust.” The crowd applauds, everyone eagerly imagining the magical experience the dome will bring.

As the meeting continues, Jungkook watches the people around him with quiet fascination. He notices how easily they laugh and joke with each other, their voices filled with warmth and comfort. Everyone seems so relaxed, as if they’ve known each other for years. His attention shifts to you and your friends.

He’s especially taken aback by how involved all of you are in the conversation. You and your friends aren’t just listening; you're actively participating, cracking jokes, teasing one another, and sharing in the laughter. Each one of you adds something to the mix, whether it's a funny remark or a playful comeback.

The easy way everyone interacts with one another catches Jungkook’s eye. It’s not just about the words being said, but the bond they share. There's a warmth in the room that’s impossible to miss. The sense of unity is so strong that it’s almost like a shared heartbeat among the townspeople. He can’t help but smile at how effortless and natural it all seems.

As he watches, it finally clicks for him... this is why the town fair is such a big deal. It’s not just about the rides or the food stands or the games. It’s about the connection between people. The fair is their time to come together, to celebrate their friendships and shared history.

Jungkook realizes that the fair is more than just a tradition—it’s a celebration of the town’s unity. It’s a chance for everyone to bond, strengthen their ties, and create memories together. In that moment, he understands the deeper meaning of the fair, and he feels a sense of appreciation for the way this community truly values each other.

As the laughter fades, Mr. Kwon clears his throat, signaling the shift in the meeting's tone. "Alright, time to assign tasks for the fair." he announces, looking around the room. His gaze moves around as he begins assigning tasks to various townspeople.

Your friends Taehyung and Namjoon are responsible for setting up all the games, while Seokjin is responsible for the food stalls and making sure all the stalls have everything they require. Juwon is in charge of the performances as she's needed to choreograph a dance for the little kids.

Mr. Kwon continues his rounds of assigning tasks here and there. As he goes down the list, you shift in your seat, feeling a mix of nervousness and anticipation. When he finally comes to you, the room quiets, all eyes turning in your direction.

"Y/N-ah." Mr. Kwon starts with a smile. "Your shop will be in charge of the decorations... think glowing flowers, twinkling vines, anything that will transform this fair into something magical." he says.

You nod, a little taken aback by the responsibility, but you’re ready. The pressure is real, but you can’t let it show. "I won’t let you down." you smile, even though the weight of the task settles in your chest.

"And..." Mr. Kwon continues, his eyes now flicking to Jungkook. "Since your shop is right next to Y/N’s, I’m assigning you both to work together. Jungkook, you and your friends will handle all the logistics—setting up tents, building stages, and making sure everything’s in place and all that. You two will be coordinating directly."

A hush falls over the room. Whispers ripple through the crowd as the news sinks in. You glance at Jungkook, who shifts uncomfortably in his seat. His expression is unreadable, but you can feel the tension in the air. It’s clear he’s not thrilled about the arrangement, but there’s no backing out now.

Seokjin leans towards Juwon, his voice low but just loud enough for you to hear. "Oh, this is going to be fun." he whispers, and Juwon chuckles, eyeing you.

You catch Jungkook’s gaze for a moment, his eyes lingering on you a bit longer than expected before he quickly looks away. It’s clear neither of you are particularly excited about working together, but the task ahead is unavoidable. Though there's an invisible wall between the two of you, you both know you can't avoid each other forever.

"Is everyone okay with this?" Mr. Kwon finally asks, scanning the room with a hopeful smile. "Remember, we’re all in this together to make this fair a grand success. Let’s show these other towns how we do things here !!" he laughs as everyone else in the room, nod in agreement, their energy buzzing with excitement.

For most, it’s just another fair, but for some, it’s an opportunity to come together and create something truly special. Jungkook’s eyes briefly meet yours again, and for a moment, the weight of the responsibility settles in. Neither of you speak a word, but there’s a quiet understanding that the next few days are going to be full of surprises and challenges.

As the meeting wraps up, the lively chatter and laughter return to the room. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, you can’t help but feel the tiniest flicker of annoyance, nervousness and excitement. The fair will bring more than just stardust—it will bring a new chapter for you and Jungkook, whether either of you are prepared for it or not.

<- part 3 // part 5 ->

series masterlist

#jungkook fic #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #bts #bts jungkook #bts fic #enemies to lovers #jungkook fanfiction

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rhysatlas · 18 hours ago

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another lifetime, another possibility

ship: Jayce & Viktor rating: T warnings: none, does contain spoilers for all of Arcane, especially act 3.

word count: 1.9k summary: They wake up in a world so familiar and so different at once. They're different now, too.

also on ao3.

a/n: This is the first fic I’ve written for them so I hope I did them justice. This is also the first fic I’ve posted publicly in like 3 years so I’m super nervous but!!! I hope you all enjoy it 🩵

They’re back to the beginning, but it’s different.

They’re different.

The area around them is familiar, the flowers around them bright, the presence of nothing and everything around them.

He’s older now, his body weary from the weight he once carried— he doesn’t have to carry it anymore, he doesn’t carry the weight for them both, not here— and his mind no longer restless, no longer clouded by the guilt and shame that had followed once before. He’s in the body he was in before he was nothing, just a blip in the horizon, a glitch where he shouldn’t have been.

And his partner, his everything in every existence, is different too. The towering, godlike Herald is gone, having been reverted back to how his body was before, no longer looming and reeking of misguided intentions. It’s Viktor standing before him now, those gold eyes boring into his as they stare at one another, the amber only shining brighter in the sunlight beaming around them. Viktor looks as he did before his illness worsened, before all of the chaos truly began— it was always there, bound to exist in their previous universe, always beneath the surface— and yet, he looks calmer, more at ease than Jayce had ever seen him.

He’s reminded of when Viktor saved him from that ledge, eyes filled with wonder and amazement, looking at him with that small smile on his lips.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Viktor.”

Jayce finds himself stepping forward, hands reaching towards his partner, his Viktor, desperate to know if this was real. He needed to believe it was real, just as Viktor always believed in him.

He always had, hadn’t he? Viktor always believed in Jayce, even when everyone else thought Jayce was mad for suggesting bringing magic into the hands of the people. Even if it wasn’t what they’d expected, Viktor believed in him when no one else would. Just as he had believed in Viktor.

His hand meets the skin of Viktor’s jaw, fingertips gentle and seeking, tracing the sharp angles as if he’d done it over and over again before. Maybe he had, in another lifetime, another possibility.

Viktor melts into it, a shaky sound leaving his lips as his own hand reaches up to settle against Jayce’s, holding his hand in place as they continue to stare at one another, feeling as though the stars aligned, universes and galaxies finally meeting to form this moment. Time feels like nothing and everything here, they have forever now, in this small plane of existence— it’s theirs alone. Past experiences come flooding to the surface, from every universe, every lifetime. It’s overwhelmingly familiar, like a reminder of what he almost lost, a bad memory from another universe.

“Jayce,” Viktor says quietly then, and Jayce feels his heart aching. It’s Viktor’s voice, not the Herald’s, not the God he wanted to be.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, moving closer to his partner while cradling Viktor’s face in both palms now, until their foreheads touch once more— a familiar gesture now, intimate and loving, filled with understanding and affection.

“It was affection that held us together.”

It had always been affection, he knows that now. Jayce had always held love and care for Viktor, and from the way Viktor gazed at him, he held the same for Jayce. They’d always been two sides of the same coin, held by the red string of fate that tied them together. Chaos alone, order as one.

“Viktor,” he breathes, closing his eyes as he listens to Viktor breathing, taking in the warmth of being together again. His partner feels alive, warm and feeling, no longer the cold husk that the Hexcore made him, and it brings tears to his eyes. “Oh, Viktor,” he says again, voice cracking from the waves of emotions hitting him all at once.

He feels hands on his face now too, gentle brushes of Viktor’s thumbs catching the tears on his cheeks, and it’s then that he can feel Viktor trembling, tears catching on his own hands still holding his partner’s face so tenderly.

“Jayce,” Viktor says again, while pushing into Jayce, hands now in his hair, dragging him close, allowing Jayce to bury his face against Viktor’s neck.

He breathes in deep, openly sobbing as his own hands drop from Viktor’s face to hold him close instead, embracing him with the same fierceness Viktor has shown him time and time again. His partner is sobbing alongside him, body shaking so harshly that Jayce fears he’ll collapse if he were to let him go. He won’t, not now, he never would again.

Eventually they kneel in the flowery fields they’ve found themselves in, unable to stand anymore, clinging to one another. Viktor’s hands trace over the lines of his face, as if memorizing every detail. Jayce does the same, tracing over the sharp edges, the soft details of Viktor’s skin, lingering on the mole by his lips. They seem to be making up for lost time as well as getting used to the changes of themselves. He can feel Viktor’s hands in his hair, carding through it as it’s longer than he’s ever had it, fingers running over his beard, over his cracked lips, only to settle on his shoulders. Jayce’s own hands trace over his partner’s cheekbones, tracing over the mole under his eye, then his fingers tangle in Viktor’s chestnut brown hair— its longer now, the blonde tips present, the only feature Viktor kept from his changes due to the Hexcore.

“I missed you, Viktor,” Jayce tells him as he leans his forehead against his again, listening to the way his partner’s breath hitches at the gesture. “I’m sorry for everything—”

Viktor shakes his head at that, hands cupping Jayce’s face again, holding him so tightly; his eyes urgent, boring into Jayce’s.

“No. Don’t apologize for anything, please. You did what you were driven to do, as you always have,” Viktor tells him, and Jayce closes his eyes, letting the feeling of Viktor’s breath fanning out over his lips warm him to the bone. “I don’t blame you for anything. I never have, Jayce.”

If he had just left things alone, if he hadn’t allowed the Hexcore to consume Viktor, none of this would have happened. No, if Viktor hadn’t found him on that ledge, if he’d actually—

Jayce grits his teeth, stopping the dreaded thoughts before they could fester, before they could ruin the time they have now.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he says regardless, eyes opening to catch the golden eyes of Viktor’s.

“I know. I forgive you, Jayce,” the other man says, fingers brushing over the back of his head as he pulls him even closer, their noses brushing now. “I’m sorry too. For going too far… for losing myself.”

A wounded sound leaves Jayce at that, one of his hands reaching down to grasp Viktor’s hand, the very hand that he’d held as they finished what they had started.

“I knew you were still in there, somewhere. I lost myself too, we lost ourselves,” he whispers, running his fingertips over Viktor’s knuckles. They still needed to have a deeper conversation about everything, they still needed to heal from the trauma they’d been dealt, but Jayce knew it could wait. They had eternity now, they had their forever. “I forgive you too, Viktor.”

Viktor smiles then; it's small, barely there, but it’s Viktor.

Jayce leans in, tilting his head just slightly before he pauses, listening to the hitch in Viktor’s breath. They sit like that for what feels like an eternity, breathing the same air as they cling to one another, waiting for the other to move but too scared to ruin this fragile moment between them.

Viktor is the one who initiates it— Viktor who never reached for him, Viktor who always pushed Jayce away— who leans in and kisses him. A gasp sounds between them and Jayce is almost certain it was from his own lips, but it doesn’t matter, not when Viktor is kissing him. It’s soft at first, hesitant and unsure, until Jayce draws him closer when he wraps his arms around his thinner frame, and Viktor sighs against his lips. It increases in intensity as they cling to one another again, Jayce gripping Viktor’s waist and Viktor’s arms around his neck, holding him so tenderly.

They fall into the grass and flowers below them, Jayce hovering over Viktor when his partner rolls them over, staring down at Viktor with an affectionate light, unable to control himself when Viktor gives him that tiny smile again. He leans into him again, branding Viktor’s lips with his own once more, listening to the way Viktor hums, content and quiet.

The kisses turn to more, shedding the clothes they’d shown up into their new paradise in, and Jayce finds that he’s losing himself in Viktor, taking in every noise that leaves his lips, savoring every feeling of Viktor’s hands on his skin, unable to control himself when his lips linger on Viktor’s chest— right where he’d been hit by a blast from Jayce’s hammer, the scar a reminder of what transpired and eventually led to this moment. Viktor sighs at the gentle touches Jayce places on his skin, only wanting more and more.

Afterwards, they lay against one another, curled up under the blanket he had given Viktor, the one Viktor seemed to never want to get rid of, just tracing each other in lazy, almost sleepy touches. The sun has started to set, painting them in pinks and oranges, a soft breeze flowing through the valley of the world they’re in.

“It’s going to take some getting used to,” Viktor remarks suddenly, fingers tracing over Jayce’s jaw as if petting Jayce’s beard, a huff leaving him when Jayce turns his head to press kisses against the inside of his wrist. “I think it suits you.”

“Yeah?” he drawls, a dopey smile on his lips as he nuzzles against Viktor’s palm, pressing a soft kiss against his wrist. He catches Viktor’s gaze when he looks back at him, smiling as he tangles his fingers in Viktor’s hair. “I could say the same about your hair.”

Viktor hums, shifting closer to Jayce once more, and Jayce meets him halfway, their lips meeting in a gentle and chaste kiss.

When they break apart, Viktor lays his head on Jayce’s shoulder, fingers tracing the definitions of his chest, and Jayce continues drawing lazy lines over the pale skin of Viktor’s back, connecting the moles he finds there like constellations. The sky is dark now, the stars vast and endless, yet it brings Jayce nothing but comfort. They were in their own paradise now, their universe.

“I love you, Viktor,” he murmurs against Viktor’s forehead when he turns his head to gaze down at his partner. “I’ve always loved you,” Jayce continues, cupping Viktor’s jaw as his gaze catches his as Viktor draws back slightly. Viktor’s brows are furrowed, eyes wide with guilt and shame for a moment, before his expression softens. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it. But— I love you, Viktor. You’re my partner, my everything, and I wouldn’t change it for anything. If you’ll have me.”

“I love you too, my Jayce,” his partner breathes before surging forward and kissing him again. “You’re telling me now, there’s no need to apologize. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, I love you too much to let you go. You’re my forever, Jayce.”

Forever. They have forever now, in a world of their own creation. And Jayce feels his heart swell.

“Forever, huh?” he teases, watching as Viktor smiles again, both chuckling even as tears start to flow from their eyes once more.

“Forever,” Viktor affirms.

#arcane spoilers #arcane season 2 spoilers #jayvik #arcane #arcane season 2 #jayce talis #viktor arcane #jayce x viktor #arcane jayce #viktor #arcane viktor

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finelinevogue · 17 hours ago

Note

Harry styles prompt 17!!

let’s do it!!!!

>300 words

“Baby, what’s all this?” You asked.

You’d walked through the door this evening, after a very long shift at work, to a bouquet of your favourite flowers and a bar of your favourite chocolate waiting for you in the kitchen.

After placing your keys in the designated bowl on the kitchen side, you went over to the flowers and gave them a huge inhale. Mmm.

Harry walked in the kitchen a few moments later, looking proud of himself.

He was dressed in his pyjamas already but hadn’t gone to bee. It was his routine of waiting up until he knew you were safely home. Plus the fact he couldn’t sleep without you next to him.

“What’s the occasion?” You asked, feeling the soft petals of the flowers for comfort.

“Does there have to be one?” Harry scratched the back of his neck, yawning softly. He looked so sleepy. So perfect.

“You got me flowers and chocolate just because?”

“Uhh, I think so. Yeah.”

You hadn’t even taken off your coat before launching yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his waist and smushing your cheek against his cheek to pull him close.

Harry stumbled only a little before he grounded himself and returned the hug. He kissed the top of your head a few times too for good measure.

“You’re the best.” You grinned, looking up at him from your awkward angle below his chin.

His cheeks flushed and he let out a breathy laugh, leaning down to kiss your lips softly. They were warm and soft compared to your cold ones from being out all day. Being close to Harry was a comfort like no other.

You giggled after he gave you a final kiss, dipping your head back onto his chest.

“Don’t get shy on me now.” Harry teased, still hugging you as you hugged him.

“Just can’t believe you got me flowers and chocolate.”

“Well, believe it baby. They’re all yours.”

You stood there in the warm glow of the kitchen lights for a bit longer, embracing each other like the world and time hadn’t kept moving on. After a horridly long day, you didn’t need anything more than hugging your favourite person.

“Harry?”

“Mm?”

“Wanna share my chocolate and watch a Disney movie?”

“Yeah, babe. I do.”

“Good. I wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic #ask finelinevogue #harry blurb #finelinevogue #harry styles concept #harry oneshot #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fic rec #harry styles oneshot

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planetpedri · 11 hours ago

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Could I please request Pedri with reader who is the daughter of Xavi (Hernandez) and then lots of fluff and this prompt "I bought you flowers"? Thank you!💖

Orange-colored day — Pedri González.

Pairing: Pedri González x Fem!Reader

Summary: Throughout your father’s time coaching FC Barcelona, you and Pedri had a.. weird relationship. You flirted, hung out all the time, and occasionally came close to crossing the line that differentiated friends from lovers. But, despite all that, it never went further.. Until now! Because he was outside of your house with flowers in his hand.

Word count: 590+

Disclaimer/s: angst but only if you squint + fluff !

A/N: Happy birthday to the only man ever!! Pedri. Trust. I will have u.

Pedri swayed back and forth on his feet, nerves bundling in his throat as he lifted his hand to knock on your door. It’d been months since he last saw you. After Xavi got sacked, he hadn’t heard from you. Not that it was on bad terms, you’d just started your third year in Uni and he was busy with the Euro’s. It didn’t help that your dad was leaving Barça under such circumstances…

The soft click that signaled you unlocking the door caused every nerve inside of Pedri, to spike. He gripped the bouquet harder, finding it hard to breathe.

It was even harder to breathe when he saw you. Your hair was in a loose ponytail and you were wearing joggers and a tank top—your homework outfit. He’d seen you wear it a multitude of times during your late night hangouts.

“Pedro?” You drawl out his name, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “What are you doing.. here?” Your eyes flicker down to the flowers in his hand, grinning at the jellycat bunny stuffed animal.

“I bought you flowers.” It came out as a question, which had a deep flush spreading across Pedri’s already reddened cheeks.

You chuckle, “I can see that. My question was, what are you doing.. here? At my house.”

Pedri was the one that stopped your situation in the first place. He said, ‘Your dad is my coach and it’s unprofessional.’ As if him staying at your house nights on end because he could only sleep through the night if he was near you, wasn’t already unprofessional.

As if his lips wouldn’t linger above yours fighting tooth and nail with his brain not to just kiss you, wasn’t unprofessional. You could go on, but Pedri was finally finding his words.

“I just—I thought that with your dad gone and i’m a little less busy now, and with that free time all I could think about was you—that maybe it was time I tried to fix things?” He speaks hastily, trying not to move his hands so he wouldn’t ruin the bouquet.

Your lips push out into a frown. “It’s golden hour.”

Pedri’s eyebrows scrunch together, lines creasing his forehead. “What?”

“It’s golden hour. Your eyes look really pretty during golden hour.” You explain softly. “It brings out the orange in them.”

The mans lips twitch. “Uhm, thanks? Do you want the flowers or..”

You gasp, reaching out to take the bouquet from his hands gratefully. “Yes! Sorry, distracted. Come in? I’m supposed to be—“

“Doing homework?”

“—doing-oh. Well, yes. But, I also was about to order dinner if you are hungry?” You lean against the doorframe, smiling up at the man whom you adored so deeply.

Pedri smiles, “yes, please.”

Stepping to the side, you make enough room for him to walk inside. “My dad asked about you the other day, he thinks we had a ‘falling out.’” You use air quotation marks as you walk inside and in the direction of your room with Pedri right behind you.

“That would be mostly my fault.” He laughs ashamedly. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be! I was busy too. What matters now, is that you’re here.” You glance back at him with a warm look, “you pick whats for dinner, i’ll hurry and finish my homework?”

Pedri nods in agreement, walking through your bedroom door, slipping his shoes off, and plopping down on your bed. “Sounds good to me.” Sliding back onto your desk chair, you open your laptop and get to work with a smile so big it hurt your face.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future pedri posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @sakashq @hrts4havertz @joaoflms @spidybaby @gadriezmannsgirl @unx100to @st4rgirl-ellie

#pedri gonzalez #pedri gonzalez x you #pedri gonzalez fluff #pedri gonzalez one shot #pedri gonzalez x reader #pedri gonzalez imagine #pedri gonzalez x fem!reader #pedri gonzalez x y/n #blurb #football #fluff #fanfic #fc barcelona #fc barcelona fic #pedri

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mydearestbeloved · 1 day ago

Text

Chapter 13 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

The day you met her was vivid in your memory, even after all these years.

It was two years after you had set foot in Seoul, still trying to adjust to life after practically being a recluse for five or so years. Though you’d like to think that you were already pretty well-settled into your rhythm.

Your flower shop had grown from a modest corner tucked away into a beloved staple for locals—a sanctuary of blooming life amidst the bustling city. Most days brought a steady flow of regulars, some looking for gifts, others seeking solace among the vibrant petals.

On a quiet weekday afternoon, just as you were finishing a delicate arrangement of daffodils, the bell above the shop’s entrance chimed.

The sound was nothing out of the ordinary, but something about the presence that entered your shop that day was different.

Your eyes flickered up to find a teenage girl hesitantly stepping inside as if she were intruding. She was probably around eighteen years old, her figure lean, dressed in a worn red tracksuit, a black mask covering half of her face, and a baseball pulled low over her brow. She appeared more like someone ready for a jog than a customer browsing for flowers.

Despite her attempt to blend in, there was something distinctly youthful about her—a sense of innocence and naiveté that stood out, an air of unpolished grace—something that drew your attention even before you saw her fully.

You observed her quietly from behind a high rack of ferns and succulents as she lingered near the doorway, her gaze sweeping over the cascading vines and rows of colorful blooms before wandering tentatively through the butterfly-filled aisles.

Blond hair tied in a ponytail sway as she moved. Her beauty was fresh and striking, though something else was itching at the back of your mind—her bright grey eyes seemed to glow with a subdued curiosity as they darted around the shop.

Every few steps, she paused to smell the fragrant blooms, a small smile tugging at her lips as if savoring a rare moment of peace. You had seen countless customers react similarly, but there was something about her that stirred a faint sense of recognition in you.

It wasn’t until she pulled down her mask to take a deeper breath, her eyes widened with an unmistakable expression of relief, that you realized who she was.

Cha Hae-In.

Or at least, a younger, less hardened version of the woman introduced as a rising star from the beginning of the story.

The Hae-In you knew from Solo Leveling was a force to be reckoned with, an S-Rank Hunter who would one day capture the heart of the world’s strongest man. But this girl in your shop, dressed in a red tracksuit with her face half-hidden, was just that—a girl. She hadn’t yet become the indomitable swordswoman who would one day stand by Jinwoo’s side.

You stepped out from behind your plants, offering her a soft greeting. “Welcome to Perennial Atelier. Can I help you find something today?”

She turned at the sound of your voice, her gaze locking onto you with an expression that shifted quickly from polite interest to something more… surprised. Almost shocked.

She stared at you for a moment, before her expression softened, though her mouth opened, then closed, before she finally murmured, a hint of confusion in her tone, “You... you don’t have a smell.”

“Pardon?” You asked, though the recognition was already dawning on you.

Realizing what she had just said, her face turned beet red. “I-I’m sorry!” She began to stutter, hands flitting frantically as if to physically pull back her words. “I didn’t mean to—that came out wrong! I just...” She paused, taking a deep breath, trying to collect herself. “I mean, um, it’s just that… I usually pick up on, uh, people's scents, but you… don’t have one at all.”

You listened quietly as she tried to explain herself, her words coming out too quickly, too jumbled. But you understood.

You remained calm, though inwardly, her words set off alarms. This must have been related to her heightened sense of smell. Her olfactory sensitivity, a trait that allowed her to smell mana, able to distinguish every hunter’s strength and presence by scent alone, where most she found foul. It was also what first drew her to Jinwoo, the first person she found bearable because his scent was different, almost pleasant to her.

But with you… she said there was no scent at all.

Though before you could dwell too long on the mystery, something cliché happened.

One of your many children, a silver one you named ‘Trick’, decided to pop into existence right in front of Hae-In’s face, nose-to-nose.

The poor girl let out a small yelp, stumbling backward, her shoulder colliding with a steel shelf.

The shelf creaked, and a potted plant teetered dangerously near the top. Her hands flew up as the potted plant began to tumble toward her.

Reflexes kicked in. You summoned your scepter in its sleekest form, and lunged forward, all the while positioning yourself between Hae-In and the falling plant, just in case. The thin blade slashed through the air, and the ceramic shattered harmlessly to the ground, split neatly in two.

Fortunately for you, the soil didn’t make too much of a mess. The unlucky plant also still hummed, faintly, its life thrumming just below your skin.

Hae-In blinked up at you in stunned silence as you held out a hand. You were close enough to see the slight tremble in her eyes.

“Are you alright, Miss?” You asked, concern coloring your tone, keeping her eyes on you as you discreetly wave off your weapon.

Professionalism came first. Wouldn’t want to scare off your costumers, right? Even if this customer would one day become an admirable warrior.

Her face flushed an even deeper shade of red, whether from embarrassment or awe, you couldn’t quite tell. “Y-Yes! Thank you…”

“Sorry for you causing trouble!”

Hae-in, mortified, had insisted on paying for the broken pot and plant, voice filled with earnestness, apologizing profusely. You held her hands in yours before she could gather the scattered broken pieces.

"Oh, not at all. In fact, it was my fault. This shelf has been unstable for a while now.” You said lightly as you waved her offer of compensation off. “Think of it as a good reminder for me to get new shelves. I appreciate your help with that.”

The encounter left a spark. Cha Hae-In became a regular visitor after that, dropping by the shop almost daily, each time with the same blend of subdued curiosity, excitement, and shyness.

Most of the times, she would linger, chatting awkwardly at first, then more comfortably as the days passed. There was sincerity, a softness to her that was endearing, and you found yourself subconsciously looking forward to her visits.

It became clear that this place, and perhaps your company, offered her a rare reprieve. You didn’t miss the way her eyes softened each time she entered, relieved by the lack of foul scents around her. Her unique ability, you could only imagine how difficult it must be for her to make friends, to connect with others in general—yet here, in your shop, she found solace.

Befriending her now felt like stepping into a space that wasn’t meant for you. But when she looked at you with that earnest gaze, so full of hope and longing, you couldn’t turn her away.

Despite the risks of forming such a bond with someone who would eventually be tied so closely to Jinwoo, that loneliness of hers was one that echoed your own. An outsider in this world, a stranger playing a role—

Cha Hae-In was the first person to breach that solitude.

At first, she seemed to come up with excuses to drop by, asking for small bouquets or browsing the potted herbs, likely out of guilt for taking up your time. But eventually, you took the initiative, gently letting her know that she was welcome to visit anytime, with or without making a purchase.

The shyly joyful smile she gave you was enough to melt the remaining reservations you had.

And apparently, she was too adorable for you at this stage that it triggered your cute aggression. That was how you found your hands cupping her face, squeezing and pinching her cheeks, her hands flailing about in the air, more flustered than ever since that day she first met you.

Thus, a routine was born.

Each day, like clockwork, she would step into your shop after school or on her days off just to chat, filling the air with her eager energy. She was still clumsy with her words sometimes, but the honesty that was rare to find never left, and her shoulders less tense. At times, you would invite her to your afternoon tea, talking about everything and nothing, while at other times, she would help you tend to the plants. You guided her hands when she fumbled with the watering can or pruning shears, her eyes lighting up whenever she managed to do something right.

It was infectious. Her joy a balm to the quiet ache you carried.

The shop, usually filled with the soft flutter of your butterflies and the gentle rustle of leaves, became livelier with her presence. Trick seemed to take a particular shine to her, often tickling Hae-In with her wings by being the nearest to the teenager’s face. Hae-in would sometimes sit on the stone-covered ground, playing with Trick and your other children, their delicate feet settling on her form. Hae-In’s laugh became a sound you grew fond of.

Even though you chided her every time she sat on the stone floor without a matt, dirtying her clothes with dirt and the occasional wild grass in the process, she would look up at you with that pleading expression, and you relented every time.

Hae-In would then turn to grin at Trick, and despite her not understanding exactly what that child of yours was saying, Hae-in seemed able to piece bit by bit what the mischief-butterfly was conveying by observing the flutter of wings and flight patterns.

At this point, you honestly don’t know if it was a blessing or a curse.

One day, as you were pruning a row of gladiolus, out of the blue, she asked you, “(Name), you’re a Hunter, right?”

You paused, uncertain where the question would lead, but nodded nonetheless. Her eyes seemed to sparkle, and before you could even process it, she had both of your hands clasped in hers.

“Please, teach me how to fight!” she blurted out, her face inches from yours, filled with a hopeful determination that was impossible to ignore.

You almost wanted to laugh, though you were touched by her eagerness, you masked your hesitation pretty well if you said so yourself.

This was Cha Hae-In, Jinwoo’s future partner. Training her, influencing her growth, could have unintended consequences. In the original story, Cha Hae-In had trained under someone else. But looking into her earnest eyes, so filled with the desire to become stronger, to help people, you couldn’t bring yourself to refuse. In the end, you agreed, though with a caveat.

“I can teach you the basics,” you said, “Let’s see what suits you first.”

And so, you became her mentor—or well, her half-time mentor. She was a diligent student, showing up on time for every session and practicing tirelessly even after you were done for the day. In the weeks that followed, her natural aptitude for swordsmanship came to light, just as you predicted.

“Here. If you truly want to master swordsmanship, there’s a dojo run by a skilled kumdo teacher —a swordsman named Song Chi-Yul. I’ve only heard good things about him.” After all, you were first and foremost a healer slash mage, but there was no need for Hae-In to know that. Sure, you became a jack of all trades to survive the trial stage, but that came second to your specialty: long-range and control over magic. A mainly supportive role.

If Hae-In wanted to augment her strikes with mana however, you would gladly be her magic teacher, which you did after a while of her refining her sword skills under Song Chi-Yul’s tutelage.

The fierce resolve in her eyes reminded you a lot of a certain protagonist.

Years passed, and by the time Cha Hae-In turned 22, she officially became Korea’s 9th S-Rank Hunter. You couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride, both as her magic mentor and her closest friend. She had grown into the formidable warrior she was meant to be, and though you knew she would have reached this point even without your help, it was still gratifying to see her bloom.

Even with her newfound fame and responsibilities, Hae-In still made time to visit your shop, albeit less frequently. Her smile, as always, never fail to brighten your day every time she came by.

Now, standing in your shop once again, she looked every bit the strong, confident young woman she had become. Perhaps today was one of those rare days off she had.

“How have you been, Hae-In?” you asked, a warm smile gracing your lips as Trick fluttered excitedly around her.

“I’m good!” she replied, practically bouncing on her toes. “I just had to come by and see you. It’s been too long!” The tickling sensation on her cheeks made her giggle, “And I miss you too, Little Guy!” You watched, amused, as Hae-In reached out to stroke Trick’s wings after that child fluttered down to land on her shoulder

You listened with a fond smile as she chattered on about the recent missions she went on and all the little things that had happened since she last visited, sparing no detail.

Despite the changes and the years that had passed, some things, it seemed, would always stay the same.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting your shop in a warm, golden glow—

As your shop gradually closed for the day, the two of you lingered in the dimming light, the soft scent of flowers hanging in the air—

You suppressed the small pang in your heart.

Soon, Jinwoo’s path would cross with hers.

---

The ice cream parlor was cozy: pastel-colored walls, little round tables with cushioned chairs, and the sweet, irresistible aroma of freshly made waffle cones lingering in the air, tucked away on a quiet street, a haven from the chaos of Seoul. It had become your go-to spot whenever you and Hae-In found a spare moment to relax, away from your respective worlds—hers filled with the rigorous training and responsibilities of a rising Hunter, and yours with the quiet rhythms of tending to your flower shop. The soft hum of conversation, the gentle clinking of spoons against glass cups, and the faint scent of vanilla that filled the air made it a perfect place to unwind.

Today, the two of you sat by the window, where the afternoon sunlight filtered through the glass, casting warm golden hues across the table. A small cup of vanilla ice cream sat half-melted in front of you, while Hae-In opted for her usual, a decadent swirl of dark chocolate and mint. The gentle glow illuminated her flushed cheeks as she stirred her ice cream absentmindedly, lost in thought.

You had barely taken a bite of your dessert when she suddenly broke the silence. "I met an interesting person today," she said, her voice almost thoughtful, as if she was still mulling over the encounter. It was an unusual tone for her—Hae-In was usually direct and straightforward, never one to mince her words.

And she rarely described people as "interesting"; most of the time, she kept her interactions simple. Whoever she was about to talk about had made quite an impression on her for sure.

“Oh? Do tell,” You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “Who was it this time? Another persistent admirer?” you teased lightly.

Hae-In shook her head, a small, exasperated smile playing on her lips. “No, nothing like that. It was a Hunter working with the mining team,” she began, taking a delicate spoonful of her ice cream. “He... didn’t smell bad.”

So she’s already met Jinwoo. The pieces were falling into place.

The thought sent a strange pang through your chest, though you couldn't quite pinpoint why. Was it relief that the story you knew was unfolding as it should?

Ah right, it was natural, this familiar pang in your chest. You felt this before, and you were not alone in doing so. Like a fan knowing that they couldn’t touch their idols. A reader that couldn’t cross the boundaries between their beloved characters through the pages. Your circumstances might be an exception, but it will be too reckless to charge in blindly. There was a reason why there was a line between fantasy and reality. Too many unknown consequences to really breach these boundaries were put exactly to ensure that it stayed.

You pushed the thought away and focused on her words.

“At first,” she continued, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she were reliving the moment, “I thought it was just because he was an E-Rank.” She stilled, “I didn’t mean that in a bad way! You know, umm… their mana is usually too little to produce that overwhelming foul scent.”

“There’s something about him, though,” Hae-In added, leaning back in her chair. She stared down at her cup, stirring the ice cream slowly as if lost in her thoughts. “I had this nagging feeling that there was more to him than he let on.”

“More to him, how?”

“When I first saw him, I could have sworn he was holding weapons— Not something subtle either. Swords, or are they daggers? Like, right there in his hands.” She paused, frowning. “But as I got closer to talk to him, there was… nothing.”

You had to hold back a smile. Did Jinwoo almost get carried away again? The scenario matched perfectly with some of the incidents you’d read in the manhwa, where he’d nearly given himself away. It seemed some solitary habits were really hard for him to shake.

A small smile tugged at your lips. If you looked at it in another way, even now, it seemed like fate was nudging Jinwoo and Hae-In closer together.

"And his scent..." she added softly, almost as if she were confessing something. “It’s... bearable, almost... pleasant.”

“Oh my!” you said, placing a hand dramatically over your heart. “Did you fall in love at first sight?” You couldn’t resist the urge to tease her, letting out an exaggerated sniff as if you were on the verge of tears. “Our little Hae-In, all grown up and already falling for some mysterious Hunter.”

Hae-In’s reaction was immediate and priceless. Her eyes went wide, and a blush crept up her neck, flooding her cheeks and even the tips of her ears with color. “Hey! You’re only three years older than me!” she huffed, her voice rising an octave higher than usual. She leaned forward, jabbing her spoon in your direction as if she might swat you with it.

You leaned back with a laugh, dodging her mock attack. “I didn’t hear a denial~” you sing-songed, drawing out the last syllable in a playful lilt.

“Cut it out!” she grumbled, but there was no real heat behind her words. Her blush deepened, and in her flustered state, she reached out to swat your shoulder lightly, her movements more akin to a kitten batting at a string.

You couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up from your chest. The way she reacted was too endearing—like a shy teenager experiencing her first crush, though she herself might not even realize it yet. She kept lightly hitting your side, her pout growing more pronounced each time, but her lips twitched upward despite herself.

“All right, all right, I’ll stop teasing,” you said, raising your hands in mock surrender. “But in all seriousness, if he’s caught your attention, there’s probably something special about him. Your instincts are pretty sharp, after all.”

“Sometimes the people we meet by chance end up playing a bigger role in our lives than we expect.”

Hae-In’s expression softened at your words, the playful atmosphere giving way to something more thoughtful. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice quiet now. “There’s just… something about him. It’s like he’s trying to hide something, but I can’t figure out what.”

You watched her as she spoke, the way her brows furrowed slightly in concentration, her eyes growing distant as if she were replaying their meeting in her mind. If only you knew, Hae-In. Knowing her future with Jinwoo, it was almost surreal to witness this stage in their journey. Here she was, unknowingly at the beginning of what would one day become a bond so deep and unwavering. A part of you ached at the thought, but another part of you was grateful, too. Hae-In deserved to find someone like Jinwoo, someone who would cherish and understand her in ways few others could.

Lost in thought, you almost didn’t notice when Hae-In glanced up at you, her gaze curious. “Do you think… I should get to know him better?” she asked, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

You smiled, reaching across the table to pat her hand gently. “I think you should trust yourself. If there’s something about him that makes you feel drawn to him, there’s probably a reason for it. Don’t ignore that feeling.”

Hae-In looked at you, her eyes searching yours for a moment, as if trying to decipher something deeper in your words. Then, she smiled—a soft, genuine smile that reached her eyes.

Eventually, she broke the silence, her expression a little more playful. “You know, you’re awfully wise for someone who pretends to be so clueless.”

You let out a mock gasp. “Pretend? Me? I’m hurt, Hae-In,” you said, feigning offense as you placed a hand dramatically over your heart. “I’m just a humble florist with a penchant for giving sage advice.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a warmth in her gaze as she looked at you. “Thank you, though,” she said softly. “I… I don’t know if I would have had the courage to follow my instincts without you reminding me. You’ve always… made things feel less confusing.”

With a gentle smile, you squeezed her hand once before pulling back. “Anytime, Hae-In.”

For the rest of the afternoon, the conversation shifted back to lighter topics, the two of you exchanging stories and laughter over melting ice cream. Sitting here with Hae-In, watching her cheeks glow with that familiar blush, you allowed yourself to live in the moment, savoring the peace of this ordinary day.

---

Jinwoo’s grip tightened on his dagger as he assessed the battlefield, eyes darting from one side to the other. The dungeon was shrouded in shadows and the stench of blood, the ground littered with remnants of the high orcs that Kargalgan commanded. This one’s different, he thought grimly. Kargalgan was leagues above the other two bosses he had encountered in the Demon Castle. Metus, the skeletal lich, was capable of commanding thousands of undead, but his defenses had been weak—easily punctured by Jinwoo's relentless assault. Kargalgan, however, was a completely different beast. His defenses were formidable, coupled with a mastery over powerful, wide-area spells that sent shockwaves rippling through the air with every cast.

What made it worse was the damn trick Kargalgan pulled—expanding his size, making himself appear as a hulking, monstrous giant. The moment he grew, towering over the battlefield, Jinwoo's grip on his weapons had tightened, a flicker of unease crossing his eyes. Memories clawed their way up from the depths of his mind—memories of the stone statues in that cursed double dungeon, back when he was barely capable of keeping up with the others. The echo of that terror, the raw, primal fear as those towering figures moved and he’d been utterly helpless against them. His breath hitched, but he forced it down, shoving the fear away.

Yet, there was another memory that followed, a more recent one that left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Vulcan. The morbidly obese bastard whose massive club had struck down his soldiers. The same battle where he had seen you, for the first time, bleed.

Jinwoo's mood soured as the images flashed through his mind. The bitterness lingered, like a dark cloud over his focus. He pushed those thoughts away as best as he could, his MP dangerously low. He needed to concentrate on the battle at hand.

When his mana finally hit zero, Jinwoo cursed under his breath, feeling a slight edge of desperation creeping in. But his hand found the small, smooth crystal from his inventory. It was one of the leftover mana crystals you had crafted for him after that snowland of a dungeon. He had been saving it, reluctant to use the precious item except in dire situations. But now, with Kargalgan rampaging before him, there was no better time.

The warmth of the crystal against his skin was immediate, a gentle heat that spread through his cold, battle-weary hands. Huh, Jinwoo thought absently, rubbing his thumb over the smooth surface. The sensation was oddly comforting, reminded him that time back in that hellish land again, your hand on his, unfazed by the demon’s blood as it coated both of your palms.

Your hand had felt even warmer than this crystal, and softer. His heart gave an odd, unsteady beat.

Jinwoo blinked, realizing where his thoughts had wandered. Focus, he mentally chastised himself, shaking his head. He crushed the crystal in his grip, feeling the satisfying crackle as it disintegrated, releasing a burst of mana. The air around him filled with a delicate flurry of butterflies, each one shimmering with the faintest glow of magic as they fluttered outward. They spread through the battlefield like a gentle breeze, healing his injured shadows and replenishing his mana in a surge. The rush was intoxicating, bringing a fresh burst of energy to his limbs.

His eyes trailed after the butterflies, lingering for a moment on the remnants of the crushed crystal in his hand. There were only a few left now. Jinwoo knew he couldn’t afford to be reckless with them. It would be wasteful to use them on anything less than an emergency, but now that the situation called for it, he felt a twinge of regret for having held back for so long.

I should thank her properly later, he thought. Maybe even take her out for that dinner I keep promising myself I’ll treat her to.

A slight smile tugged at his lips, but he quickly sobered as he turned back to the battle. In the chaos, with Kargalgan roaring and his spells crackling in the air, Jinwoo found himself thinking of you again.

He analyzed the shaman’s moves with a new sense of clarity. Kalgalan’s spells were powerful, his defenses near impenetrable, and his control over his minions formidable. But for all his strength, Jinwoo couldn’t help but see the similarities between Kalgalan’s approach and yours—the way he wielded his spells with practiced precision, the same controlled energy you used when in battle. Yet the more Jinwoo compared, the more he saw how the orc shaman fell short.

The ability to switch between offense, defense, and support on the fly.

He lacks your versatility.

The moment a magician loses their guards, they were nothing but a sitting duck.

---

Cha Hae-In watched from the sidelines, her heart racing as she observed Hunter Sung Jinwoo’s every move. She had expected something, certainly—word was spreading fast about the oddities surrounding Hunter Sung Jinwoo. But what she saw now went far beyond what she had imagined. His movements were fluid, precise, quick, each one calculated and relentless. This was not the skill set of a mere E-rank, nor even a typical high-rank. Hunter.Jinwoo moved like a phantom on the battlefield, his shadows surging and swarming. How many are there?

But what truly took her breath away was what happened next. Just as his shadows began to falter, and the B-team members appeared at the brink of collapse, Jinwoo did something completely unexpected. She saw him crush something in his hand, and suddenly, a distinct, soothing warmth filled the air. Cha Hae-In’s eyes widened further as she felt it—a familiar energy, subtle yet unmistakable, like a gentle breeze on a summer day. The members of the B-team, who had been on the verge of collapse, suddenly stood a little straighter, their wounds mending before her very eyes. Even the team’s healer, who had been nearly depleted, looked around in bewilderment.

Where have I felt this warmth before?

Hae-In’s brows furrowed as she tried to place the source of that warmth. It was distinct, different from Hunter Sung Jinwoo’s mana—something softer, more comforting.

The sensation nagged at her mind, tugging her back to memories of visits to your flower shop, of the quiet strength and warmth you exuded, of the unique aura that seemed to flow around you like an unseen embrace. Could it be…? No, she thought, feeling her heart skip. That’s impossible… isn’t it?

---

Jinwoo was still basking in the satisfaction of a hard-won battle when he felt a faint twinge of awareness—someone watching him. With a slight twist of his head, he saw Chief Woo Jin-Chul and, standing beside him, Hunter Cha Hae-In, both watching him with wide eyes.

Shit, did I get too caught up in the fight again?

"You did."

Jinwoo nearly jumped when your chiding voice echoed in his ear, though it came not from his surroundings but from one of the butterflies that had perched itself on his shoulder. He cast a quick glance around, noting that no one else seemed to be aware of the conversation between you two. Your butterflies were cloaked, visible only to him, their magic attuned solely to his presence. Jinwoo chuckled to himself, a sheepish grin spreading across his face as he murmured back to you.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for the butterfly to catch. “Guess I still have a few things to learn, huh?”

---

Cha Hae-In watched from the sidelines, her heart racing as the last remnants of Jinwoo’s magic faded. The echoes of your advice from the previous day rang in her mind, filling her with a hesitant determination. "Why don’t you try talking to him again?"

Still, she took a steadying breath, her mind made up. She was going to speak to him. She took a step forward, parting her lips to call his name—but before she could utter a single word, Jinwoo was already being ushered away by members of the association. She hesitated, hand half-raised, her heart pounding as she watched him go.

And then, life seemed determined to make her embarrassment complete. One of the B-team mages nudged her, raising an eyebrow at the pickaxe still clutched tightly in her hand. She looked down, realization dawning slowly as mortification blossomed on her face. Oh no. The pickaxe. She hadn’t even thought to drop it. She had come all this way, heart pounding, ready to face him—and all while holding a pickaxe.

What am I doing?! she screamed internally, feeling the blood rush to her face as she hastily tried to shove the tool out of sight. Help me, (Name)! Her thoughts went into a frenzy. I messed up so badly!

---

Far away, in your flower shop, a butterfly delicately landed on your shoulder. You listened to the faint echoes of Hae-In’s jittery mental plea, a small smile playing on your lips. “Looks like I’ll have to check on her soon,” you mused to yourself. As you resumed tending to your flowers, your thoughts were already turning to the ways you could tease her about this little mishap over your next ice cream date.

End Note:

Unfinished Draft of [13/11/2024] -

Did I make Cha Hae'in too... jittery?

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