#trying to express the feeling i got from standing on a street corner...

[tagged-by-trauma]

Father's day gift

After years of failing to start a family you give up, just to be met with a big surprise. And how else would you tell Pedro than visiting him on set? Pairing: Pedro Pascal x wife!reader Warnings: fluff, established relationship, failed pregnancies, unplanned pregnancy, surprises, strong emotions, cuddles Word count: 1.3k

You were standing on the set of Fantastic Four, waiting for Pedro. Well, actually waiting to surprise him. He has been away for a few weeks now, and you two were living off of texts, calls and cute messages sent during the night. He was always so excited to tell you about his day, about what scene they had to film, and you always listened attentively, clinging onto every word that spilled through your phone’s speaker.

But nearly a week after he got on the flight that fled him to London, you found out about something—something that would change your lives forever.

You started to feel weaker and more tired each day, sometimes dizziness hit you out of nowhere, making you sit down for a while. At first you didn’t pay any attention to it, just thought it was the stress, maybe you pushed yourself too far with work and it caught up with you. But when you threw up for the fourth morning in a row, you knew it was not just the flu or a stomach bug. So, you went to the pharmacy, bought three pregnancy tests, and when that five minute that seemed like an eternity passed, and you looked down, your heart stopped.

Six lines. Clear. Visible.

That night you broke down in tears, because after years of trying it happened. After years of only one line on the tests it became reality. After you and Pedro gave up the hope and didn’t even try anymore, agreeing on another solution, you were there, with your baby growing inside you.

That night you couldn’t sleep, and that’s how you decided to tell him. You planned everything. You bought the ticket to London, talked to his manager about this little surprise of yours, and when he agreed you felt like you were walking on the clouds. But when you saw a little onesie in one of the windows as you were walking down the street, you knew that it was going to be the perfect gift.

So, here you were now, sitting in one of the tucked away corners and watching as Pedro nailed every line with perfect emotions and expressions. You were always fascinated by the way he got into his characters, giving the feelings and emotions through the TV screen. His agent sat next to you, and besides the words that was said in front of the cameras the whole set was silent.

“That’s a wrap for today, guys. You were amazing,” the yell of the director pulled you out of the train of your thoughts, and you looked up, watching as everyone started to pack away, talking, the actors getting out of their characters. You turned your head towards his agent, and he gave you an encouraging look.

That was all you needed.

You picked up the little box from the table, standing up and slowly walking towards Pedro, who was still showing his back to you while talking to Vanessa. She noticed you first and gave you a wide smile. Pedro must have noticed the change in her expression because he turned around and his eyes immediately fell on you. His mouth parted, eyes widened in surprise, his little grin appearing on his face. The next thing you knew he was standing in front of you, and you were in the air while he was spinning you around.

“Carino, what are you doing here?” he mumbled into your mouth as he gave you a deep kiss. “Not that I’m complaining just… Didn’t expect you,” he put you down, his arms coming around you and pulling you closer.

“Thought I surprise you,” you smiled at him, and gave a quick peck on his lips. “And also, there is something I brought for you,” you held up the little package in your hand, wrapped carefully in purple wrapping paper with a little bow on it.

“A present? For me?” he asked, completely taken aback by the sudden box between his hands.

“Yes.”

“But why?”

“You’ll see,” his gaze was full of curiosity, but it was also filled with suspicion. “Come on, open it!” you whispered excitedly, studying every micro expression on his face. His hand moved slowly, trying to find where the paper ended. When he was still searching for it after two minutes you let out a breathy chuckle. “Pedro, you can tear it, you know.”

“It’s just wrapped so nicely.”

“You’re so cute,” he laughed, and he finally teared the wrapping paper, but careful to not to destroy the little bow. He held the box in his hand and finally lifted the lid. He still couldn’t see anything because you made sure to cover the onesie and one of the tests. He looked up at you, unsure, but you just encouraged him to go on. So, he did. He lifted the paper, and when he saw what was inside, his expression faltered, the smile fading from his face and his posture went rigid. He didn’t say anything just stared.

Minutes rolled like this, and you started to doubt that this was a good idea. Maybe he didn’t want children after all. Maybe he changed his mind and wants to concentrate more on his work and projects. Maybe he thought you were just joking, and this was just a bad one. Maybe… Maybe… The possibilities started to flood your mind one by one, making it hard to breath. And then, it was gone. He pulled you into his arms, his hold tightening around you, his forehead pressed against yours.

“You’re… Are you really… Are you pregnant?” his voice was trembling as he spoke, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Yes. We’re going to be parents, Pedro,” you felt your cheeks get wet by your tears and he quickly reached up to wipe them away. His hand was shaking by the information his brain just processed.

“Jesus, carino,” his lips crashed into yours, and you could hear the cheers and claps erupting around you. But in that moment, it was only the three of you, completely ready to start a new chapter in your lives. You could feel his hand travel down to your still flat stomach, and you smiled into the kiss. He pulled back, looking down to the place where his hand was resting, and the words stumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“Ya te amo más de lo que puedo explicar y te voy a cuidar siempre, lo prometo.”

“Hm, that was a lot. What did you say?” he looked into your eyes and told you the exact same words, this time in English.

“I already love you more than I can explain and I’ll always take care of you, I promise.”

“You’re already gone for them,” he picked up the onesie from the box and held it out in front of him.

“Wait until they’re born,” you laughed and leaned into his side while you both walked out of the set and into his trailer. Inside he put down the box, onesie still in hand and you could see the question building behind his eyes.

“Yes?”

“Can I… Would it be okay if I post picture of this?” he held up the little fabric, unsure if you would agree to his idea. You just gave him a nod, and he lit up like a little child on Christmas Day.

—-—

That night you were laying beside him on the little bed of his trailer, him insisting on keeping you close to him. He was already asleep, the day draining him completely, his hand laying flat across your stomach, and you were scrolling through Instagram when you saw his post and the comments below it. As you were reading them, your eyes grew heavy and you finally fell asleep with a little smile on your face.

This was just the beggining.

We are waiting for you, little Pascal 💖

@softpedroposts: He’s going to be the most loving dad in the world, I already know it.

@plssteponmepedro: A baby?? You’re reproducing?? Sir I’m gonna need a week to process this.

@pedrosbabyslay: congrats papa!!! manifesting health, happiness & soft baby curls 🍼

@womb4pascal: that could’ve been ME carrying your child I’m not ok

@marriedtohiminmyhead: YOU DESERVE THIS PEDRO 🧸

@letmeliveinurpocket: that onesie is smaller than my will to live

@fathermaterialconfirmed: the dilf arc has BEGUN

[yunyuu]

. . . RUN, RABBIT RUN! ࣪ ✰◌ ۪

⧣₊˚﹒SYNOPSIS ★ you know it wasn't easy escaping him. but you tried anyway. was it adrenaline? was it stupidity? probably both...

☆. PAIRINGS … Yandere Dante x Fem!reader, Yandere Vergil x Fem!reader, Yandere Nero x Fem!reader

☆. GENRE … obsessive romance, yandere, toxic relationship.

☆. WORD COUNT … 1.4k

☆. A/N … this song always creep me out wtf—

⋆ DANTE – “You’re Not Going Anywhere, Sweetheart”

You thought he was asleep.

The apartment was quiet—just the soft buzz of the neon sign outside bleeding red into the dusty hallway. Your bag was already packed, hidden beneath the couch for weeks, just in case. You were careful. You didn’t even breathe too loud as you crept past him.

But Dante wasn’t asleep.

“You always this sneaky, babe?”

His voice, husky from fake slumber, echoed from the couch behind you. You froze. You knew that voice—smooth, lazy, dangerous. The way he said it sent a chill down your spine.

You didn’t even turn. “I just needed some air.”

He laughed.

“You have a bag. Your 'air' sounds a lot like you're trying to run away from me.”

You ran anyway.

Your fingers barely grazed the doorknob before his hand slammed against it, pinning the door shut. The other curled around your waist, pulling you back into his chest, warm and unyielding. You felt his smile against your neck, wolfish and amused.

“I get it, I really do,” he murmured. “I'm not exactly the poster boy for mental health, huh?”

You swallowed. “Let me go.”

He didn’t.

“I’ve been good, haven’t I?” His voice dropped lower. “I feed you, talk to you, don’t lock you up. I gave you freedom because I trusted you, baby.”

His grip tightened, and he finally turned you to face him. There it was—those blood-red eyes flashing with something feral. Not rage. Not sadness.

Possession.

“You try to leave me again,” he whispered, “and I’ll put chains on that pretty little neck of yours. And I’ll still kiss your bruises after. Still call you my girl.”

He cupped your cheek. “You’re mine. You got that?”

And the worst part?

He kissed you so sweetly after, it almost made you believe it was love.

⋆ VERGIL – “You Belong to Me”

There was no warning. No shout. No loud footstep behind you.

Just him—Vergil.

He appeared in front of the exit like a shadow. One moment, the door was in reach. The next, he was there, standing with Yamato sheathed at his side and fury in his eyes so cold, it felt like winter had crawled into your lungs.

“You disappoint me,” he said, quiet but lethal. “After everything I’ve given you.”

You felt cornered, like prey. But you stood your ground.

“You didn’t give me anything,” you hissed. “You took me.”

His gaze flickered, lips thinning. “I saved you from a meaningless life. You are not meant to live in chaos. You are meant to serve a purpose. My purpose.”

You moved, hoping to duck past him, but Yamato was unsheathed before you even blinked. Its edge stopped inches from your throat.

“I won’t harm you,” he said coldly. “But I will stop you.”

Tears welled up. Not from fear. From exhaustion. From the feeling that maybe no one would come. Not even Dante.

“You can’t keep doing this forever,” you whispered.

His expression didn’t change, but his voice softened into something worse than anger.

“I don’t need forever. I only need you to understand that you are mine.”

He took a step forward, blade lowering, and pressed his forehead to yours. A rare, intimate gesture that felt more like a cage than comfort.

“You will stay,” he whispered. “Even if I must strip away your will to make you do so.”

And you knew—he meant it.

⋆ NERO – “Why Would You Leave Me?”

Nero hadn’t stopped calling your name.

You could hear him down the street, heavy boots pounding pavement like a man possessed. And maybe he was. His voice cracked between anger and desperation.

“Where are you?! Come on! You think I won’t find you?!”

You ran faster.

But you weren’t fast enough.

His Devil Bringer snatched your waist like a steel trap, yanking you back into his arms. You screamed, kicked, clawed—but he didn’t flinch.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” he yelled, spinning you to face him.

His eyes were wild. Hurt. Furious. Panicked. Like you’d taken a knife to his heart.

“I was scared!” you shouted. “You—Nero, you don’t let me breathe anymore!”

He staggered back, just slightly. Like your words punched him in the chest.

“I’m just… I’m trying to protect you,” he said, voice cracking. “You don’t get it. The world out there—it’ll chew you up and spit you out. And I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

You shook your head, tears in your eyes. “You’re suffocating me…”

He didn’t let go. If anything, he held you tighter. His mechanical arm trembled.

“I’m not the bad guy,” he whispered. “I love you. Isn’t that enough?”

You stayed silent.

And that broke him.

“…Fine,” he muttered. “You want space? I’ll give you space. But I’m keeping you close where I know you’re safe.”

He pressed a trembling kiss to your forehead. “Even if you hate me for it.”

And with that, he lifted you into his arms—bridal-style—like nothing had happened.

Like your attempted escape was just a bad dream.

do not repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on any platforms.

[totalswag]

farmers market ⎯ RAFE CAMERON!

authors note hii lovies! hope you are all doing great and had an amazing weekend. this idea came into mind one day and i needed to write it. feedback is always appreciated <3.

taglist ✎ ̼ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set to go.

masterlist

summary attending the local farmers market as a family of four and bumping into family later on.

warning(s) none!

It was a glorious bright day in Kildare, with blue skies and a hint of clouds. Rafe turned the corner towards the parking lot, and the streets of downtown were already bustling with activity. There were white tents lined up in orderly rows, each filled with colorful fruit, homemade crafts, or fresh pastries. The scent of warm bread, freshly made coffee, and luscious peaches filled the air. A local band set up near the gazebo played slowly, while somewhere nearby, bees hummed gently amid flower vendors.

Whenever spring comes around, the local outdoor farmers market opens till the end of summer. Opened every saturday⎯8am to 12:30pm. Everybody attends and leaves with a smile on their face. Rafe and you started going together when you were pregnant with your first born, Hayes, who’s now four years old. 

You get out of the car, the air scented with honeysuckle and sunscreen, and walk around to the passenger side. With a faint creak, the back door opens, revealing your baby girl, five months old and just waking up from a car nap. Her eyes flutter, her cheeks full and rose-colored, and one small fist curls near her mouth. Her pink romper is somewhat bunched, and her soft headband has slid over one ear.

"Hi sweet girl, you look like you had a good nap," you say with a hint of laughter, and Paisley grins, kicking her little legs. 

Rafe and Hayes were unloading a two-seat stroller. Haye knelt down and gently helped Rafe unwind the stroller. "You're doing great, bud," he replies with a smile before high-fiving him. "I'm a big boy, daddy," Hayes smiles.

"All good?" he questioned. 

"Yep," you replied, brushing a crumb off Hayes' shirt. "Coffee first?"

"You know me too well."

First stop being coffee is a must⎯always. This coffee truck that always parked at the far end of the market⎯old but charming, with bright teal paint and string lights curling around the window. You ordered something different this time, a lavender honey cold brew with oat milk.

Your eyes expanded with the first sip, "babe, you need to try this!"

Rafe's brow furrowed with curiosity before leaning in and sipping through the straw, "Oh yeah," he murmured, "that's dangerous." He closed his eyes and pointed to your drink several times. 

You began laughing at his reaction⎯his facial expression showed his eyebrows raised as he looked at you⎯amazed and secretly wishing he got the same order. 

Hayes, now holding your hand, softly tugged. "Mama, can we get the fruit now?"

"You read my mind," you remarked, grasping his small fingers as the four of you moved down the row of produce tents.

Rafe walked beside you, gently pushing the stroller, while Paisley sat with her head slightly angled and a small fan attached to the cover. Her little feet kicked gently, and she looked up at Rafe with the cutest gummy smile.

He grins down at Paisley, kneeling as he walks, "You're already giving me that adorable smile, huh pretty girl," his soft kind tone melting your heart.

Hayes came to a halt in front of the tent that had captured his attention. You never let go of his little grasps as he guided you across the small space. 

Paisley’s cooing in the stroller as you walk. Rafe’s pushing her along the cobblestone path while you hold Hayes’ hand, guiding him through the crowd. Vendors are calling out deals on peaches and homemade jams, a guitarist strums a soft tune near the corner flower stand, and the whole market feels like a movie scene.

Stacked strawberries, blueberries, cherries, peaches, and other fruits. The veggies were on the opposite side: lettuce, tomatoes, and carrots. You wanted all of them to go home. Once Hayes and you had chosen your fruits, you pulled out some cash and presented it to the older gentleman.

You carried the bag over to Rafe and Paisley, kneeling on one knee, putting them at the bottom of the stroller. “Find everything you need?” Rafe softly asks, looking down into your eyes as you stood up, “oh yes we did.”

Paisley started squirming about in the stroller, suggesting that she wanted out. She began to fuss as you crouched down to unbuckle her. Her gestures made it little difficult as she sobbed, "I know princess, mommy is getting you out" you coo, raising her up and caressing her cheek⎯Paisley lets out a sigh of relief once she's in your arms.

You passed by small business tents next, admiring handmade soaps, macramé plant hangers, and soft baby clothes. There was one tent with toys that Rafe felt Hayes would like⎯he got two toy cars⎯and you helped in finding another toy Hayes might like, but once he makes his decision, he won't look back.

"Hayesy, do you like this dinosaur toy?" You asked, kneeling at his eye level. He turns around, exclaiming, placing his palm over his mouth, "it's so cool mommy," taking it in his small ones⎯Rafe and you exchange glances, knowing Hayes is debating whether or not to take it. 

He lets out a quiet sigh and hands you the dinosaur, saying, "It's okay, mommy, I have more at home," before taking a dinosaur position.

After walking around for some more, you bought a small floral bouquet⎯dahlias, sunflowers, and tiny white blossoms—and tucked them into the stroller’s basket. Lately, the house was missing new flowers and since the market has all you could ask for, you bought them. Rafe and Hayes got you your⎯aren’t they so cute.

So far, the morning has gone smoothly. The weather was pleasant, with intermittent chilly breezes. Hayes grew tired of strolling and sat in the front seat of the stroller. Paisley in your arms, safely facing forward⎯seeing what you see. She'd kick her legs out of nowhere and laugh out of nowhere. 

There was an open seating area under a tree. Rafe and you decided to have a quick snack and take a rest break before returning to the car. Hayes sat in the chair next to Rafe, eating his meal. Paisley sat on your lap, babbled, and looked around.

"Today has been good, don't you think?" Rafe asks: peering at Paisley, who is pulling herself toward him, seeking out for him to hold her. "Definitely a good day, and we got out of the house," you smile, kissing Hayes' top of head.

Hayes smiles and leans into you.

"Y/N, Rafe!" You hear your names shouted out by two recognizable voices.

Rafe frowns and turns his entire body around; Sarah and Wheezie walk over, Ward and Rose trailing behind them with smiles on their faces. Hayes looks at both of you, unclear, until he turns around to see his aunts heading your way. 

Hayes quickly puts his sandwich down and runs to the girls.

“Look at you bud” Wheezie chimes, softly nudging him, “getting all big on us.” 

Hayes puts both hands on his hips, “I’m a big boy, Auntie Wheezie!” A look of proudness at his age amazes you and Rafe. For the longest time, he couldn’t wait to be four. 

Ward and Rose walked in your direction⎯you bring Rose in for a warm hug then Ward. Both of you weren’t expecting to see each other here but it’s always good to run into family at the farmers market.

“Paisley, are you so happy to see your grandparents?” You happily ask her as if she can fully understand you but she can only beam with a loud squeal⎯forming her hands into a fist, extending her legs before kicking them with excitement.

Rose chuckled, “take that as a yes.”

You guys catched up for a bit before heading towards the parking lot⎯Hayes was having the time of his life with his aunties and Paisley fell asleep in Ward's arms. It was a perfect day.

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[pastryfication]

hi!!! can we get an ollie x reader, frustrated after he misses out on q3 in baku, and fully melts into his gfs arms when he’s out of the car. until someone from the team has to steer him away to the media pen

i guess that's the best i can do

pairing: ollie bearman x reader

note: i absolutely adore writing hurt/comfort so thank u for this request <33 i know it’s been over a month since u requested, and i’m so sorry for that, but i hope u still like it

the streets of baku were unforgiving that day, the tight corners and narrow straights biting harder than ollie had expected as he got into the car. he knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but missing out on q3—by just a fraction—hurt more than he wanted to admit.

he climbs out of the car quickly, his helmet still on, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. the moment he’s out of the cockpit, the frustration floods him. all those laps, the careful management, and it still wasn’t enough. he slams the steering wheel back in place a little harder than necessary, trying to keep the emotions from boiling over in front of the cameras. the pit crew is busy around him, preparing for the post-qualifying debrief, but all he can think about is how close he came.

he catches sight of you standing just outside of the garage, your face soft with understanding. it’s as if you know exactly how he’s feeling before he even reaches you. you offer a small smile, but ollie’s expression doesn’t budge. he pulls off his helmet and then his baclava, running a hand through his sweaty hair, before walking over to you, his shoulders heavy with disappointment.

as soon as he’s close enough, he drops his helmet onto the ground beside you and crashes into your arms without a word. his hands grip tightly onto your waist, his forehead resting heavily against your shoulder, as if all the tension and frustration can somehow seep out through the contact. for a long moment, he just stands there, holding on, and you can feel the shuddering breath he lets out.

you wrap your arms around him, holding him close, your hand gently stroking the back of his neck, offering silent comfort. his body, taut with frustration and anger just moments ago, begins to sag against yours, melting into your embrace. he’s letting it all go, just for a moment, here with you, where it’s safe to be vulnerable—where he can show his true emotions.

“you were absolutely brilliant out there,” you whisper softly into his ear, trying to sooth the storm brewing inside him. “so close, ollie. you fought so hard.”

he doesn’t say anything at first, his face still buried in the crook of your neck, his arms clinging to you as if he's afraid you'll disappear. you can feel the rise and fall of his chest, deep breaths as he tries to calm down, to find the words he wants to say. his grip on you tightens even further for a second, as if he needs to hold on to something stable, something real, before he can speak.

“i should’ve made it,” he mumbles, his voice thick with frustration. “i had the pace. i know i did.”

you keep stroking his hair, your other hand rubbing gentle circles on his back. “you’ll get them next time. this isn’t the end.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes glassy with emotion. “i just—” his voice cracks, and he shakes his head, trying to get the words out. “i wanted it so bad. i was right there.”

“i know,” you say softly, cupping his face in your hands. “i know, love. but this doesn’t change how incredible you are.”

for a moment, he just looks at you, the frustration still simmering beneath the surface but dulled by the warmth of your presence. you lean in and press a gentle kiss to his forehead, and he sighs again, his shoulders finally slumping in defeat—though not the kind of defeat that lingers, but the kind that comes with acceptance, with knowing he did all he could.

but before he can fully disappear into the comfort of your embrace, someone from the team approaches, clearing their throat. you both turn to see one of the pr managers, looking slightly awkward but aware of the time crunch. “ollie,” they say softly, not wanting to intrude too much. “we’ve got to get you to the media pen. they’re waiting.”

ollie groans quietly against your shoulder, his grip on you loosening as reality pulls him back. “right,” he mutters, clearly not thrilled about it.

he pulls back reluctantly, his hands still lingering on your waist for a second longer before he lets go completely. “i’ll be back soon,” he says, the words more for himself than for you, like a promise he’s making to get through this next part.

you offer him an encouraging smile, giving his hand a squeeze. “you’ve got this.”

he nods, though you can see he’s still carrying some of that disappointment with him. just before he walks away, he pauses, turning back to you. “thank you,” he whispers, his voice quiet but sincere. “i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

“you don’t have to,” you reply, smiling softly as you reach up to caress his cheek adoringly. “i’ll always be here.”

with that, he smiles softly and leans down to give you a hurried kiss before finally allowing the team to steer him away, glancing back at you one last time before disappearing into the paddock. you watch him go, knowing that once he’s done with the media, you’ll be there waiting, ready to pull him back into your arms when he needs it most.

[jobean12-blog]

The Best Worst Day Ever

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 3.4K

Summary: You're having a shit day but then you see a dog and things start looking up...

Author's Note: We love a soft and sweet Bucky and dogs and bookstores and cookies and kisses- so here we are! Hope you enjoy, thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️The two bookstores I mention can be found here (Spoonbill and Sugartown) and here (Albertine Books). Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: a cute dog, Bucky saves the day (a few times), cookies, soft fluff, building tension, books

“You will not believe the day I had.”

You practically sigh the words into the phone, feeling at least slightly better at the sound of your best friends voice.

“Tell me everything,” she says.

You start to recap your shitty day but a large fluff of black fur across the street catches your eye.

“Oh my god…,” you start, completely derailing your previous thought. “There is this giant black dog across the street. I have to go pet it.”

Your best friend laughs, “of course you do,” and you can feel yourself start to form a real smile for the first time today.

“I’ll call you back,” you tell her.

“You got it,” she answers, not even questioning your behavior.

You start to cross the street, giving a quick glance in both directions before breaking into a jog. You’re just about to call out to the old man to ask if his dog is friendly, when you hear the screech of tires.

Your heart drops and your body instinctively reacts but all you feel is the whoosh of air that whips past you and a set of strong arms wrapped around your waist.

For a few long seconds you simply breathe, clinging to the solid warmth of whatever is holding you up.

“Are you ok doll?”

The voice is soft but deep and you look towards it, blinking against the bright sun, wondering for a moment if the car hit you and you’re dead and in fact, now in heaven.

Your fingers dig into soft leather as you stare at one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen.

“Am I dead?”

Bright blue eyes peer down at you, the corners lightly crinkling at your question. His gaze wanders over your face, his expression seeming to waver between awe and concern.

“No, I’ve got you. But are you ok?”

His words draw your attention to his mouth. Blinking again and trying to clear your head you finally manage to answer him.

“I…I don’t think so…I just wanted to pet the dog.”

His perfect lips curl up into a teasing smile and you have to drag your eyes away to focus on his blue ones. But the fact that you’re pressed against his solid chest and encased in the warmth of his arms does nothing to help your concentration.

With a slight tremble you start to sit up, but he doesn’t release you from his hold. He just moves with you and helps you to stand.

Once he feels you’re steady enough on your feet he removes his hands but stays close, clearly not convinced you’re fine.

You let out a shaky exhale and smooth your hands over yourself.

“That was so scary.”

You can feel the warmth of tears spring to your eyes and your vision starts to blur. He reaches out a gentle hand and places it on your arm.

“I’m sure it was. And while we could stay here I think it would be best to get out of the middle of the street. Why don’t we go sit?”  

He points to the bench on the sidewalk where the old man with the dog stands and watches.

As you approach the old man asks, “it’s a good thing this young man was here to save you. I could never move that fast.”

You glance at the “young man,” and he extends the hand that doesn’t have a secure hold on your arm to greet you.

“Bucky. Bucky Barnes.”

“Thank you Bucky,” you say and then give him your name.

“Is she ok?” the old man asks Bucky.

“I think she’s gonna be fine,” Bucky says with a reassuring smile.

Bucky helps you onto the bench and as the dog moves closer, tail wagging, you blurt out in a rush, “can I please pet your dog?”

“Sure,” the old man says. “She’s very friendly.”

“What’s her name?” Bucky asks, as he kneels down to put his hand out for the dog to smell.

“Luna,” the old man replies, sitting down next to you on the bench.

You reach for Luna, letting her smell you before scratching her ears and leaning down to press your face into her soft fur.

Your focus stays on the dog until your heartbeat returns to normal, the conversation between Bucky and the old man lingering quietly in the background.

After a few more steadying breaths you thank the old man and Bucky helps him to stand, watching as he takes slow and small steps away from you, Luna in tow but still looking back at you.

Bucky stands and offers you his hand; strong and slightly clammy, and sparks fly, a curious look flitting across his stunning face as you both react to the touch. You fix your gaze on him and finally give yourself a chance to look. Your heart starts to crash against your chest all over again. You just sit there, staring.

He’s tall and the soft henley he wears beneath his leather jacket is fitted so that you can see the outline of the muscles in his chest. His eyes are the most beautiful blue, and the stubble covering his strong jaw does nothing to conceal the handsome features beneath it.

He smiles softly and for a moment you think you see his cheeks turn a light shade of pink at your obvious examination. He’s still holding onto your hand, and suddenly, seeming to come to his senses, he releases it and smooths his palm over his hair and then the back of his neck.

You feel a flush of heat move through you.

“You’re sure you’re ok doll?”

You nod.

“She should probably eat something.”

At the old man’s gruff voice both you and Bucky startle and turn to see him standing just a few feet away, a knowing smile on his face. Obviously, he didn’t get very far.

“He deserves a date for savin’ your life there young lady.”

With a decisive nod he dismisses you and Bucky and calls to Luna to finally continue on his way.

You feel Bucky’s eyes on you, and you look back up at him from your seat.

“Food?” you ask quietly.

“Let’s go,” he answers, his easy smile returning. “I know just the place.”

The butterflies stay firmly planted in the pit of your empty stomach and you stand so abruptly that you teeter forward and into his arms again. He catches you with two hands splayed at your waist and the urge to bury your heated face against his chest is overwhelming.

“I’m really having a day,” you mutter. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for. I’m just happy I’m here to help.”

“Me too,” you whisper.

He falls into an easy stride beside you and a huff of laughter falls from your lips before you say, “I can’t believe I almost died trying to pet a dog.”

“I get it,” Bucky says, throwing you a wink.

You’re careful with your footing, still somewhat shaky from the whole ordeal but when your attention turns back to Bucky, his eyes trailing across your face, seeming to linger on your mouth before lifting to your eyes, you stumble, your foot catching a crack in the sidewalk.

He grabs your bicep to steady you, and you groan. “Shit, you must think I’m hopeless.”

“That person’s driving skills having nothing to do with you,” he assures you as he gently leads you toward the restaurant. “And everyone likes to pet dogs…or at least they should.”

His voice is gentle, and you avoid his gaze, his hand still curled securely around your arm as you come to stop outside the restaurant.

He only let’s go to open the door and usher you in with a soft press of his hand to your lower back.

The flutter of butterflies that you keep trying to ignore are back in full force and when Bucky stops at a table and pulls out the chair for you the gesture has you feeling faint.

You must be starved.

With a monumental effort to relax you sit back in the chair and cross your legs. His gaze automatically flickers downward and be visibly swallows before quickly looking away.

There’s a definite blush on the tops of his cheeks now.

“The pizza here is really good.” His voice sounds extra rumbly, maybe even a little hoarse.

You pick up a menu and start to fan yourself without even thinking. “I’m sure it is.”

“Do you live close by?” you ask him.

“Just a few blocks away. I’m here all the time.”

Before you can ask any more questions, an older woman appears beside your table with a beaming smile.

“Barnes has finally showed up with a girl!” she sings. “And a beauty at that.”

You hide your giggle behind the menu and peer at Bucky.

“This is Millie,” he says, his smile wide. “She owns the place and loves to bust my chops.”

You introduce yourself, delighted and Millie’s warmth.

“Are you having the usual?” Millie asks Bucky.

He nods and looks to you.

“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” you tell Millie.

“I like her already,” Millie says before rushing back off to the kitchen.

Bucky sits forward, his arms crossed in front of him and now that he’s taken off his leather jacket there is more of him to admire.

His blue eyes are focused entirely on you, and you try not to blurt out your thoughts about how nice his biceps looked in his shirt so instead you clamp your mouth shut and look around the cozy space.

You fall into easy conversation and when the food comes the silence is comfortable while you eagerly eat it, not realizing how hungry you really are.

After your stomach is full, Bucky pays the bill, even after you offered several times, pleading with him that you owed him at least that after saving your life.

He waves you off and hands Millie the cash then holds his hand out for yours.

At the feel of his skin tension immediately springs between you, and you scramble to think of something to say.

He beats you to it.

“What are your plans for the weekend?”

Grateful for the distraction, you reply, “well, I usually spend my Saturday afternoons at this little bookshop in my neighborhood.”

“Is it Spoonbill and Sugartown?”

Your eyes widen and light up.

“YES! You know it?”

“I do. I used to go all the time. Haven’t been in a while though. I love the smell of the old books.”

A rush of attraction sweeps over you like a wave and your hand squeezes his.

“You could meet me there tomorrow? If you’re not busy?”

“Yeah. I’d love that,” he says, grabbing the door and holding it open so you can exit the restaurant.

“Which way are you?” he asks, still holding your hand.

You point right toward Bedford Avenue.

“Come on, I’ll walk ya home doll.”

“Is it out of your way? I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”

He chuckles before leaning down to press a quick, surprising kiss to your cheek.

“Nah, it’s not and I really don’t mind.”

You are in love.

Inside the old bookstore, with its vaulted ceilings and shafts of light pouring through the skylights, you stare at the rows and rows of bookshelves.

Through the aisles there is something to catch the eye at every turn. Not just books, but interesting and antique Tiffany lamps and various knick knacks that make you smile. Reading areas are set up in breaks between the shelves, tables with chairs so people can lounge, read, and drink their coffee and eat their desserts.

You let out a contented sigh. On purpose, you arrived a bit early, hoping the familiarity and comfort of the store would calm the persistent butterflies that have taken up a permanent residence in your stomach since your literal run in with Bucky.

As you’re falling deeper under the spell of the leather lined bindings and dusty-smelling pages a soft voice calls your name.

You look up and see Bucky standing at the end of the aisle. He’s dressed casually but different from yesterday, his dark jeans fitted to his muscular thighs and his black tee shirt showing off those perfect arms and chest.

He steps closer and greets you with another kiss to your cheek, this time, closer to the corner of your mouth.

You close your eyes briefly, inhaling his scent and steadying yourself on your feet. Before you can actually swoon to the floor you tell him about the expansion they recently built in the back with a rush of enthusiastic words.

Taking his hand, you lead him to the new section, practically running.

Laughing at your overexcitement, he squeezes your hand.

“You’re very cute.”

When you turn to look at him, something in his eyes makes your skin heat and you have to look away again, but not before you give him a thankful smile.

You expect him to let go of your hand once you reach the back, but he doesn’t.

“Have you ever been to Albertine Books?” he asks.

You stop and think.

“No, I don’t think I’ve even heard of it.”

“It’s easy to miss,” he explains. “It’s inside the French Embassy and has mostly French language books and translations from French into English, but it’s gorgeous.”

“Really?” you say with uninhibited joy. “Will you take me there sometime?”

You’re too busy deciding which part of the expanded bookstore you want to show him first to see his expression, but you hear the affection in his tone when he replies, “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, doll.”

Your heart flutters.

Your hand gets clammy, and you gently pull it away, trying to use the shelves and the books lining them to refocus yourself.

He stays with you, content to watch you peruse the bindings, moving from bookshelf to bookshelf.

The book titles quickly become a blur as your awareness zeroes in on one thing, one person.

Bucky.

You feel the warmth of his presence, hovering at your back, and feel the heat of his gaze on your face. The skin on your cheek tingles and you can still feel the press of his lips.

Your breathing grows shallower as his fingertips brush against the small of your back, a gentle touch, but searing through your clothes.

Busy frantically pondering how to navigate the chemistry you share; you don’t realize the book you halt in front of until it’s too late.

A romance novel with a couple in a sexy position on the cover.

Just perfect.

His fingertips press deeper against your lower back, and then you feel the whisper of his lips on your ear as he comments, “interesting choice.”

You make the mistake of turning your head toward his and find his nose just inches from yours.

Your eyes lock for a second before his gazes drops to your mouth. Your body sways slightly toward his, and he takes the movement as an invitation, his head dipping those last few inches.

“Excuse me.”

A voice, loud and close, jolts you away from Bucky, whose mouth had just been millimeters from touching yours.

“I just…want that book.” An arm reaches between you and Bucky, and dazed, you look over to see a woman. She seems unfazed by the fact that she clearly interrupted a moment, and you grab the book for her.

She gives you a thin lipped smiled and darts away.

After a second or two of staring after her, you finally draw up the courage to meet Bucky’s eyes.

His cheeks are pink again and he’s rubbing his palm on his jeans.

Looking over his shoulder you spot the coffee and dessert counter.

“Ooh!” you say, hurrying towards it. “Let’s get a cookie!”

Bucky follows and you turn to him, smiling through the awkwardness.

“You have to try the double chocolate chip.”

He bends down to peer into the display case. Your eyes meet, and just like that you’re too close for your body to handle. You swallow hard.

“It’s delicious. And the chunks of chocolate are gooey.”

His eyes are trained on your mouth as he murmurs, “maybe we should get two.”

“Good idea. I can eat a whole one easily on my own. We might even need three.”

You sound breathless.

“Hm.” He’s not even listening to your words at this point. His focus is on your lips, his eyes are hooded, and he is definitely going to attempt to kiss you again.

“What can I get for you?” the worker behind the counter asks, smiling brightly when the two of you jerk your heads up.

“Four double chocolate chip cookies,” Bucky blurts out, then follows with a soft, “please and thanks.”

Once you have your cookies in your hand you head to one of the back tables and sit, stuffing nearly the whole cookie in your mouth.

It’s so good that for a moment you forget yourself and moan around the bite.

Bucky clears his throat, and you lock eyes. His reaches across the table, his strong fingertips gripping your chin, and he bends his head toward yours. He halts when he’s close enough that you can see the patches of gray in his beard and feel his warm breath fan your cheek.

With the softest brush of his calloused thumb, he wipes away some chocolate from your bottom lip.

“Had a little chocolate smudge right there,” he whispers.

You slowly nod and your tongue darts out to lick your lips. His eyes track the movement, and he releases you, biting into half of his own cookie.

“These really are amazing,” he says around the mouthful.

You nod again, too flustered for words.

The two of you eat all four cookies and despite wanting to distract yourself with more you leave the bookstore and let him walk you home once again.

When you stop outside your building you fiddle with your hands and look anywhere but at him.

“I had the best time,” he says, drawing your attention.

“Me too,” you say quietly.

“When can I take you to Albertine Books?” he asks, as he takes a tentative step closer.

“Tomorrow?”

It’s a hopeful question. One you couldn’t stop yourself from asking even if you wanted to.

“I’d love that doll.”

A deep tug low in your belly makes you bite your lip. You love the use of that endearment and after spending most of the afternoon so close to him you’re nearly at your wits end.

His gaze fixes on yours and his jaw tightens at whatever he sees in your expression then he closes the distance and slides his arms around you, his hands coasting slowly up your back.

He lifts a hand to your cheek, sweeping his thumb across your soft skin and splaying his hand to draw you closer.

“If someone interrupts us this time…” he says, tone full of warning but still teasing.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t even notice if there was a dog nearby for me to pet,” you say with a smile.

He laughs and bumps your nose with his.

“Not even a dog huh?”                                                                                   

You shake your head, and your eyes start to close as your hands grasp the front of his shirt. You feel the heat of his breath first, the warning before his lips touch yours. And when they do, it’s barely a brush, a hot, glancing touch.

Your fingers close more tightly around the fabric of his shirt, silently urging him to really kiss you. You’re desperate for it.

Another whisper of a of kiss, then a slightly deeper press, a nibble on your lower lip. A whimper escapes you.

It shatters whatever restraint he’s grounded himself with and his hand splayed at your back hauls you against his body as his mouth presses to yours.

You open your mouth to let him in, and his groan of satisfaction rumbles through you. The tickle of his scruffy jaw is rough in the just the way you’d hoped it would be and when you feel the slide of his hands down your back, the smooth strength of him under your touch, you completely melt into the kiss and the rest of the world fades away.

[arkaiveofurown]

The Little Things

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Strawhat Reader

In the midst of island visits and quiet routines with the Straw Hat crew, a small habit of yours—carrying candy for Chopper—quietly weaves its way into someone else’s attention. What begins as a simple gesture of kindness slowly stirs something unexpected between you and the reserved captain of the Heart Pirates.

Word Count: ~2,300 words

tag: fluff

my masterlist here ♡

——

You were walking through the ship’s halls when you heard a familiar voice. “Hey, Y/N!”

It was Chopper, and he was looking up at you with his usual big eyes. “Hi, Chopper!” you greeted, bending down to his level.

Chopper bounced in excitement, his little hooves tapping against the floor. “Do you have any candy today?”

You smiled and reached into your bag. You always carried a few sweet treats with you for moments like this. “Here you go, just for you.”

Chopper grinned widely as he took the candy from your hand. “Thanks! You’re the best!”

You chuckled at his enthusiasm. “I just like to see you happy, Chopper.”

A quiet sound came from the doorway, and you looked up to see Law standing there, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. He was watching you and Chopper, his gaze intense but unreadable.

Chopper didn’t notice, but you felt the weight of Law’s stare. You waved it off, focusing back on the little reindeer. “Enjoy, okay?” you said with a soft smile.

Law watched you for a moment longer, before walking off without a word.

——

The days passed as usual. You continued to bring Chopper little candies from time to time, just because you liked seeing his smile. Chopper had a habit of getting sad or stressed when things were tough, so a sweet little gesture was your way of lifting his mood.

One evening, you found yourself sitting next to Chopper on the deck, enjoying the cool breeze. You pulled out your bag and started to reach for a candy, but before you could open it, you saw Chopper holding out a piece of candy, already unwrapped and ready.

“Here, Y/N,” he said, grinning. “I saved you some!”

You laughed. “That’s sweet, Chopper. But you know I’ve got plenty.”

Chopper giggled, his big cute eyes sparkling. “I like sharing candy with you!”

From the edge of the deck, Law was leaning against the railing, watching the two of you with an unreadable expression. You didn’t notice him, as you were focused on Chopper. Law stood there for a long time before turning and disappearing into the ship’s interior, his footsteps light.

You paused for a moment. It was odd. It felt like he had been watching you, but you couldn’t be sure.

—-

That evening, you were outside again, enjoying the stars. You weren’t sure why you always found solace in the night sky, but it gave you a sense of peace.

You were so caught up in the stars that you didn’t notice Law approaching. He sat down beside you silently, leaning back against the railing. You glanced over and offered him a smile.

“Enjoying the view?” you asked, your voice light.

“Mm,” Law responded, his gaze following the stars in the sky. There was a strange quietness to him tonight. Usually, Law was pretty quiet, but tonight, it seemed deeper, as if he had something on his mind.

“You know, you’re not much for talking, huh?” you teased, nudging him lightly with your shoulder.

He turned his head slightly to look at you. “Not really,” he replied, voice low and calm.

You chuckled softly. “Fair enough. But it’s nice having someone around who appreciates the quiet.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, his eyes softening slightly. “I don’t mind the silence. It feels… more real.”

You looked at him, trying to gauge the meaning behind his words. But before you could ask, he turned his attention back to the horizon, and the moment passed.

——

The island was bustling, and you were taking a break with the crew after a particularly intense battle. The streets were lively, filled with the sound of traders and laughter, but something felt off. You glanced around and noticed Chopper, sitting by a bench in the corner, his face buried in his hooves.

Your heart tightened. You walked over, crouching down next to him. “Hey, Chopper, what’s wrong?”

Chopper didn’t answer immediately, just sniffled, clutching his small hands to his chest. He was usually so full of energy, so this was unlike him.

“I… tried to use the rumble medicine,” he said softly, his voice filled with disappointment. “I thought it would work, like last time. But it didn’t. I tried so hard, but it just didn’t help me.”

You frowned. You knew how much Chopper wanted to be stronger, to help everyone with his abilities, especially after the rough fight. You reached out, gently patting his back.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you said, offering a comforting smile. “The rumble medicine isn’t the only thing that makes you valuable, you know?”

“I know,” he said, voice trembling. “But… I wanted to help. I thought if I could just be stronger… maybe I could be more useful to everyone.”

You frowned, feeling your heart ache for him. Chopper had always been so hard on himself, even though the crew loved him and depended on him just the way he was.

You hesitated for a moment, knowing just how much Chopper loved sweet treats, and how it always seemed to lift his spirits. You had a small bag of candy for him in your bag, something you always carried with you for moments like this. But then, you suddenly realized—you had left your bag back on the ship.

You sighed quietly to yourself, feeling a pang of disappointment. You had wanted to comfort him, but without the candy, you were unsure what else could help.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you said, giving him a reassuring smile. “You’ve done more than enough, Chopper. You’re already strong, even without the rumble medicine. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone.”

But just as you were about to continue, you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“What’s going on here?” Law’s voice was calm, as usual, but there was something softer in it today. You turned to see him standing nearby, his hands in his pockets, looking at you and Chopper.

You blinked, not expecting him to be here. “Oh, hey, Law… Chopper’s just feeling down. The rumble medicine didn’t work like he thought it would, and now he’s feeling a little useless.”

Law’s eyes softened slightly as he reached into his coat. “I happened to have a few of these on me,” he said, pulling out a small bag of candy. “Chopper seems like he could use one.”

You looked at him, a little stunned. “Law… you?”

You couldn’t help but smile at the exchange. Law’s quiet kindness spoke volumes, and in that moment, you realized how much he had picked up on the little things you did for Chopper. He wasn’t one for grand gestures, but he understood, just like you did, how important these small moments of care were.

The air felt lighter now, Chopper’s mood visibly brighter, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. As Chopper happily munched on the candy, you shared a brief, almost imperceptible glance with Law. His quiet act of understanding had said more than words ever could.

——

Later that evening, you found yourself alone on the deck, gazing at the stars. Your mind kept replaying the events of the day—how unexpected and small the gesture from Law had been. You never imagined he’d take notice of something so simple.

Footsteps broke your thoughts, and you turned to see Law approaching.

“You seem lost in thought,” he remarked, stopping beside you. “What’s on your mind?”

You offered him a soft smile. “Just thinking about today… about how kind you were to Chopper.”

He glanced at you briefly, his usual poker face in place. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

You gave him a teasing look. “Really? Because it seemed like one to me.”

“You seemed to care a lot about Chopper,” Law finally spoke up after a long pause. “You’ve done that before—brought him candy. You… you like making him happy.”

You nodded, slightly surprised that he had noticed. “Yeah, he loves it. And sometimes, he just needs a little something to brighten his day.”

There was a brief silence. Then Law shifted, his voice softer this time. “It’s not just that. I’ve seen the way you patch up Luffy’s wounds before he even asks. How you always save the last snack for someone else. The way you always remember what makes people smile.”

You blinked, warmth blooming in your chest. His words were quiet, but they held weight.

“You care about the little things,” he continued, his gaze meeting yours. “Chopper, the crew, the things that make them happy. I guess… it stands out to me. How you’re always looking out for them.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and you noticed Law glance at you, his expression unreadable but soft in a way that was rare for him.

You blinked, unsure where he was going with this. “It’s just… what I do. They’re important to me.”

Law shifted slightly, more focused now. “You always care. Even in the smallest stuff.”

You felt your chest tighten, unsure if you fully understood what he was getting at. “And what does that have to do with you?”

He turned to face you, his voice a bit quieter now. “It’s because I’ve started to care about what you care about. What you love.”

You stared at him, eyes wide as the realization settled in. It was a simple thing, but it felt like a weight had shifted between you. Law, in his quiet, subtle way, had acknowledged that he cared for you, too.

He gave a small, almost imperceptible smile before he added, “I love what you love.”

[nomie-11]

Piltover's Princess - Part 2

masterlist! | part 1

synopsis: vi is a little bit less of a blushing mess now that she's got piltover's princess on her territory

pairings: vi x reader

The first time Vi had gotten you alone, she was unreasonably happy. Everytime the two of you had been together before this it had been on your turf, under your circumstances, with your people surrounding you, and Caitlyn had always tagged along. 

You had even let Vi play dress up—something that you never did, not even for your sweetheart of a mother—and let her pick out some casual clothing for you to wear. And she thought you looked absolutely adorable in the plain brown leather jacket and black pants she had picked for you, even if you shifted uncomfortably in the plain clothes. 

“Vi, I feel like I’m wearing a costume,” You said flatly, tugging at your sleeve as you stood in front of her, the fancy decor of your bedroom suddenly feeling foreign and unfamiliar in your new attire. “I look ridiculous.” 

“You look adorable, princess,” she corrected, a wide grin on her face. “Ready to conquer Zaun?” 

With a sharp, yet endearingly deep breath, you nodded, stealing your expression. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” 

—------------------------------

You were not ready. 

Zaun was an entirely different world from Piltover. The air was thicker, darker, and the streets were damp and uneven as you dutifully walked next to Vi. Even the way you walked made you stick out like a sore thumb, your strides too long, your head held too high. You looked every bit the royalty you were painted to be, even when you wanted nothing more than to become Vi’s shadow. 

“There’s so much I have to show you,” Vi rambled, her eyes bright with excitement as you turned another corner. “You have to try my favorite food ever—oh, you’re going to love Zaun style street food! And I have to take you to The Last Drop—you need to meet Powder and Ekko! And then we need to watch the skyline after the sun goes down from the rooftops, there’s firelights everywhere, and Piltover looks beautiful from Zaun’s rooftops! And–”

You stumbled on a loose cobblestone, the toe of your worn boots catching on the edge of the stone before you could resituate yourself, and you felt yourself falling with a small yelp. 

Vi reacted instantly, her reflexes sharp as ever. Before you could hit the ground, her strong arms were around you, steadying you effortlessly. 

“Whoa, easy there, princess,” Vi said, her voice filled with concern, but her ears pink. “You okay?”

You looked up at her, cheeks flushing. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… not used to these streets.” You straightened yourself, brushing imaginary dust off your pants, trying to calm the blush that covered your face. 

Vi laughed, a warm and genuine sound that made your heart flutter. “Guess we gotta get you some Zaun-proof boots next time, huh?”

You gave her a small smile, grateful for her attempt to lighten the moment. “Maybe. Or you could just catch me every time I fall.”

For a second, Vi wished she dragged Caitlyn along as well, because now there was no one to cover for her as she stumbled over her words—her mouth caught somewhere between “of course I’ll catch you,” and “please marry me.”

————————————

The stand that Vi brought you to for food was… interesting, to say the least. 

“We need to have the seafood skewers. Oh! And we need the tentacle stew—and you have to try grilled Zaun-style fish heads!” She rambled as you approached a stand with a huge blue fish-man behind the counter. 

The vendor, a hulking figure with vibrant scales and a grin that revealed jagged teeth, greeted Vi with a hearty laugh. 

“Well, well, well, if it ain’t Vi! Who’s the fancy friend?” He teased, his eyes flickering to you. 

You swallowed nervously, feeling like you were out of your depth—quite literally. 

“This is Y/n,” Vi said proudly, nudging you forward. “Piltover’s finest—and she’s here to try real Zaun food.” 

The vendor laughed again. “Piltover royalty, huh? You sure you can handle our flavors, princess?” 

You straightened your shoulders, determined not to let the teasing get to you. “I can handle it,” you said with as much confidence as you could muster. 

Vi smirked, clearly amused by your defiance. “We’ll take two skewers, a bowl of stew, and—uh—one fish head.” She grinned at your flushing face. “Start small.” 

As you waited for your food, Vi leaned against the counter, casually talking to the vendor about Zaun gossip. You listened, marveling at how comfortable she was in this world that felt so chaotic to you.

When the food arrived, the smell was… overwhelming. The skewers glistened with an oily sauce, and the stew was bubbling with chunks of blue fish meat. Then there was the fish head, its glassy eyes staring right at you. 

“Ready to dig in?” Vi asked with a grin, holding out a skewer. 

You hesitated, staring at the fish head like it might come back to life. “Do I… eat the eyes?” 

Vi burst out laughing, nearly doubling over as a light blush covered your cheeks. “Only if you’re brave enough!”

You shot her a mock glare, grabbing a skewer instead. You took a cautious bite—and to your surprise, it was delicious. Smoky, salty, with a tangy kick that lingered on your tongue. It was incredible. 

“That’s… amazing!” You beamed, your eyes lighting up as you eagerly went for another bite. 

Vi froze for a moment, staring at you with a mixture of disbelief and adoration. “You… think so?” she asked, her voice unusually soft. 

You nodded enthusiastically, savoring the flavors. “I’ve never tasted anything like this before. It’s so different—but in a good way!”

Vi’s heart did a little flip at your excitement. The way your eyes sparkled, the way your lips curved into that radiant smile, the way you hummed in delight at every bite—it was too much for her to handle. You were too much. 

“Y-you’ve got, uh, sauce on your cheek,” Vi stammered, her usual confidence crumbling as she gestured vaguely at your face. 

You blinked, then tried to wipe it away, missing the splotch entirely. “Here?” 

“No, uh, lower… wait, here, let me—” Vi reached out with a napkin, gently brushing it against your cheek. She was so close now, her face inches from yours, and she could feel her ears heating up as her eyes locked onto yours. 

Your cheeks flushed as you felt the warmth of her hand so near, her punk hair catching the dim light of the streetlamps. You weren’t sure if it was the slightly spicy food or Vi’s proximity, but your heart was racing. “Thanks,” you murmured, your voice softer than you intended. 

Vi quickly stepped back, the napkin crumpled in her hand as she tried to collect herself. “N-no problem. Just—uh—looking out for you, princess,” she said, her tone uneven. 

You couldn’t help but smile at her flustered state. “You’re adorable when you’re nervous, Vi,” you teased, leaning slightly closer. 

Vi’s brain fumbled for a moment. Her tough exterior cracked completely as she stumbled over her words, her face growing redder by the second. “I’m not—! I mean, you’re—! Ugh, why are you like this?” she groaned, burying her face in her hands for a moment before peeking out with a sheepish grin. 

You laughed, the sound ringing clear and light in the crowded streets of Zaun. “Maybe I just like seeing you flustered,” you said with a playful wink, savoring the familiar sight of pink dusting Vi’s cheeks. 

Vi shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible, princess.”

—-------------------------------------------------

After the meal, Vi led you further into Zaun, the streets bustling with a lively energy that seemed to pulse through every corner. The closer you got to The Last Drop, the more you noticed how the atmosphere shifted. It wasn’t chaotic or oppressive like you had feared; instead, there was an undeniable sense of community. Neon signs blinked overhead, casting colorful glows on the groups of people gathered around makeshift stalls and street performers. Children darted through the sparse crowd, their laughter echoing off the dark brick walls. 

“You’re going to love this place,” Vi said, glancing back at you with a grin. “It’s basically my home. Vander and Silco turned it into something really special—a real hub for the Lanes.” 

You could see the pride in her expression as you approached the large, well-worn building. The Last Drop’s sign hung prominently, now accompanied by a glowing neon art that gave it an almost welcoming feel. The faint hum of music and laughter spilled into the streets, and you felt your earlier nervousness start to melt away. 

Vi pushed the door open, the scent of aged wood and spiced drinks greeting you. Inside, the place was alive. Tables were filled with Zaunites of all ages, sharing food, playing games, or simply chatting. A small stage in the corner featured a group of musicians, their melodies blending seamlessly with the clinking of glasses and friendly chatter. 

“Vi!” an unfamiliar voice called out, and you turned to see a young woman with bright blue hair bounding toward you. Her grin wide and sparkling eyes were impossible to miss. She had the cutest twin buns in her hair, and a streak of pink contrasting beautifully with the almost neon blue of the rest of her hair. 

“Hey, Pow!” Vi replied, catching her in a quick hug before gesturing toward you. “This is Y/n.” 

Powder’s eyes lit up as she gave you a quick one over. “So you’re the fancy Piltover princess. Vi’s been talking about you nonstop. Welcome to our world!”

You felt your cheeks warm at Powder’s words, glancing at Vi, who was suddenly avoiding your gaze with a sheepish grin. “It’s nice to meet you,” you said, offering a small smile. 

Powder grabbed your hand, practically dragging you deeper into the room. “Come on, you’ve got to meet Vander—oh! And Ekko! You have so many people to meet!”

Vi trailed behind, chuckling at Powder’s enthusiasm. “Easy, Powder, let her breathe.” 

But there was no stopping her. Before you knew it, you were standing in front of Vander, the man who seemed to exude both strength and kindness. His arms were crossed over his chest, but his expression softened when he saw you. 

“So you’re the one Vi’s been sneaking off to Piltover for,” Vander said, his voice deep but warm. “Welcome to Zaun. You must be something special to get her to bring you here. Vi’s always talking about how she and Caitlyn are always running into you, it’s nice to know she has more than one friend.” 

Your cheeks burned as you glanced at Vi, whose ears had turned a bright shade of pink. She scratched the back of her neck, her usual confidence nowhere to be found. 

“Uh, yeah. Cait and I have run into her a few times,” Vi mumbled, avoiding eye contact with Vander. 

Vander smirked knowingly, but didn’t press further. “Well, any ‘friend’ of Vi’s is welcome here. Make yourself at home.” 

Before you could respond, Powder grabbed your hand again, tugging you toward a smaller table in the corner where a boy a few years younger than you with bright, curious eyes sat hunched over a complex-looking device. 

“Ekko! Look who Vi brought!” Powder exclaimed, plopping down beside him and resting her head on his arm, before gesturing toward you with a flourish. “This is Y/n Talis. She’s from Piltover, and she’s super fancy!”

Ekko looked up, his face lighting up with a mix of excitement and curiosity. “Talis? As in Jayce Talis? What brings you down to Zaun?” 

You hesitated for a moment, still adjusting to the whirlwind pace of the evening. “Vi’s been telling me a lot about Zaun. I wanted to see it for myself—and meet the people who make it so special.” You gestured toward the intricate device on the table. “And from the looks of it, you’re one of those people.” 

Ekko’s grin widened, and he turned the device toward you. “This? It’s a prototype I’m working on. Powder’s been helping me with the mechanics. We’re going to enter it in the Youth Innovator’s Competition in a few weeks.” 

Your eyes widened in recognition. “I know that competition! I mean, you obviously know my brother, but he and his partner won it a few years ago! Their invention changed everything for Piltoverr—if you’re entering, I’m sure your invention will be just as amazing.”

Powder’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “What were their inventions like up close? Are they cool? Do they glow?” 

You smiled, the memories flooding back. “Super cool. Watching them work was inspiring—they poured their hearts into it. And you should do the same. Keep going, even when it feels impossible. I know you’ll create something amazing.” 

Ekko and Powder exchanged a glance, their excitement palpable. “Thanks, Y/n,” Ekko said earnestly. “That means a lot.”

Vi, who had been leaning against a nearby pillar, watched the scene unfold with a soft, almost awestruck expression. The way you spoke, so encouraging and genuine, made her chest ache in a way she couldn’t quite put into words. 

“Okay, that’s it,” she muttered under her breath, crossing her arms. “I’m marrying her.” 

Powder, who had somehow overheard, turned to Vi with a mischievous grin. “What was that, Vi?”

Vi’s eyes widened, her face turning beet red. “Nothing! Mind your business, Powder!” she snapped, though there was no real heat in her voice. 

Powder cackled, leaning over to whisper something to Ekko, who grinned and gave Vi a knowing look. 

Vi just sighed, burying her face in her hands, wishing she could both disappear and live in this moment forever. 

—-------------------------------------------------

By the time the night was winding down, you found yourself walking alongside Vi through the quieter streets of Zaun. The energy of The Last Drop had been exhilarating but exhausting, and now the world seemed softer, the glowing lights casting a warm glow on the damp cobblestones. 

Vi had insisted on showing you the skyline from the rooftop of The Last Drop before the evening ended. You’d hesitated, looking up at the daunting climb, but her enthusiasm was infectious, and you reluctantly agreed. 

“Come on, princess,” she teased, holding her hand out to you. “I’ll be your guide. Trust me.” 

“I do trust you,” you said softly, slipping your hand into hers. 

The climb was not a s graceful as you might’ve hoped. Vi scrambled up effortlessly, her movements fluid and confident. You, on the other hand, struggled to find footing, your amrs trembling as you pulled yourself up the uneven surfaces. 

“Y/n, you good back there?” Vi called, peeking over the edge of the ledge she’d just scaled. 

“Do I look like I’m good?” you huffed, glaring up at her. 

Vi chuckled, her grin wide as she reached down to offer her hand. “Come on. I’ve got you.” 

With her help, you managed the last stretch, panting slightly as you collapsed onto the rooftop. “How do you do this so easily?” 

“Practice,” she replied, sitting beside you and brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “You’re not so bad for a first-timer, though.” 

You rolled your eyes but smiled despite yourself. “Glad I didn’t embarrass myself completely.” 

“You could never embarrass yourself,” Vi said, her voice softer now. 

You turned to respond but stopped when you caught the look in her eyes—something tender and unguarded. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly glanced away, focusing on the skyline instead. 

And what a view it was. 

Piltover stretched out before you, its golden lights shimmering like stars against the dark sky. The faint glow of Zaun’s neon signs framed the edges of the scene, creating a contrast that was both striking and beautiful. 

“Wow,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s so beautiful.” 

“Yeah,” Vi murmured, her gaze fixed not on the skyline but on you. 

The weight of her stare made you glance back at her. “You’re not even looking at the view,” you pointed out with a small, nervous laugh. 

Vi blinked, startled, and quickly turned her head. “I was—uh, I mean, I am! It’s great! Amazing view! Totally worth the climb!”

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile. Her usual confidence was gone, replaced by an awkwardness that you found utterly endearing. She rubbed the back of her neck, her ears tinged pink, and you realized just how close you were sitting. 

The space between you felt charged, electric. 

“Vi,” you said softly, drawing her attention back to you.

“Y-yeah?” 

“Kiss me.” 

Before she could overthink it, she leaned in, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that was tentative but undeniably warm. For a moment, Vi froze completely, her mind blanking, but then she leaned into the kiss, her hand coming up to cradle your cheek gently. 

When you finally pulled back, her wide eyes met yours, her lips parted in disbelief. “I—uh—wow. I didn’t see that coming,” she admitted, her voice unsteady. 

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You talk a lot, you know that?” 

“Yeah. Sorry, I just—”

You leaned in again, cutting her off with another kiss, this one deeper and more confident. Her arms circled around you instinctively, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. 

When you finally broke apart, Vi rested her forehead against yours, a dazed smile on her face. “So, did Piltover’s princess like Zaun?” 

“Oh, she loved it.”

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

asked to be tagged: @lipglosskxsses

[platonicaxaxe]

Deathtrap & Bob ³

Bob Reynolds (sentry) x Ex Assassin Reader

Context: Bullied Boyfriend Bob?

The Bob(sentry) Masterlist here

(Can't find any cute Bob gifs🥺)

---

The streets of New York were alive with their usual chaos—honking cars, fast-talking pedestrians, and street performers blaring music on every corner. Bob and Y/N walked side by side, not quite hand-in-hand, but close enough that their shoulders brushed every few steps.

Bob nervously glanced around, occasionally stealing a glance at Y/N when she wasn’t looking. She looked effortlessly cool, even blending in like a regular citizen—nothing like the Red Room legend known as Deathtrap.

He was so distracted, he didn’t see the broad-shouldered, tattoo-covered man in front of him.

BUMP.

Bob staggered a step back. “O-oh—sorry! I didn’t—uh, I didn’t mean to—!”

The man gave a glare, towering over him, but before he could say a word, Y/N had already grabbed Bob’s arm and tugged him away, weaving through the foot traffic like a pro.

“Don’t make eye contact with walking temper tantrums,” she muttered.

“S-sorry,” Bob mumbled, still flustered as they ducked into a small, cozy café.

They took a moment to relax—Y/N sipping something warm while Bob distracted himself with a cookie he didn’t even order.

When they stepped back out, Y/N suddenly stopped in her tracks near an alleyway.

“Oh shoot—I forgot to get that cookie I was supposed to take home,” she said. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Bob nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Y-yeah, sure. I’ll just, uh… stand here. Not get into trouble.”

He smiled awkwardly.

Y/N jogged off.

Seconds later, trouble found him.

Two large men stepped out of the alleyway and blocked his path. One of them was the same tattooed guy from earlier.

“Well look who we got here,” the man sneered. “Little pretty boy.”

Bob stiffened. “I-I’m not lookin’ for trouble, guys—”

One of them shoved him lightly. “Look at this hair. You some kind of washed-up superhero?”

“W-what? No, I—well, I mean—kinda—” Bob stammered, backing up as the two closed in.

“Guy like you doesn’t belong around here. And that chick you were with? Bet she’s just babysitting.”

“Hey!” Bob’s expression changed. Something in him snapped. “Don’t talk about her like that—!”

He tried to swing, but the man caught his fist mid-air and sent him sprawling with one punch.

Bob groaned, trying to blink through the dizziness as his eyes started to glow gold. His pulse quickened. He could feel the Sentry clawing at the edge of his mind.

But then—

CRACK.

A boot to the face sent one of the men stumbling into trash cans.

Y/N had returned.

Silent fury burned in her eyes. She moved like lightning—dodging, striking, flipping one of them onto the pavement with brutal precision. The second guy barely had time to lift his fists before she took him down with a devastating roundhouse.

Bloodied and groaning, one of them hissed, “Who even is he to you?!”

Y/N didn’t hesitate.

“Boyfriend.”

Then she landed the final punch—swift, sharp, and unforgiving.

Bob blinked, wide-eyed and stunned, still sitting on the pavement.

“Y-you… y-you called me—boyfriend,” he stuttered, cheeks blooming red.

Y/N reached down to help him up. “Well, you are, aren’t you?”

Bob nodded way too fast. “Y-yeah! I mean—I’d like to be! I-I am. I… guess I am.”

She smirked, brushing a bit of dirt off his jacket. “Let’s get out of here, Mr. Sentry.”

He looked at her like she’d just saved the world. “T-thanks for not letting me go full nuclear rage mode back there.”

“You’re welcome,” she grinned. “But next time—aim for the kneecaps.”

Bob made a mental note. “R-right. Kneecaps.”

A few days after the alleyway incident, YN texted Bob with a simple message:

“Wanna go for a ride? I’ve got something to show you.”

Of course he said yes—he always did when it came to her.

The sun was beginning to dip into the horizon when they hit the road, the city gradually fading behind them. Trees soon replaced buildings, and the rush of traffic melted into the soothing hum of cicadas and the low growl of YN’s motorcycle. Bob held onto her gently, a soft smile on his face, wind ruffling his hair.

Eventually, they pulled into a gravel driveway, tucked behind a patch of dense woods.

A small cabin stood at the edge of a clearing—quiet, simple, with ivy crawling along the wooden walls and a narrow porch holding an old rocking chair.

Bob’s eyes widened.

“W-whoa… is this… where you live?” he asked, stepping off the bike.

YN nodded, pulling off her helmet. “This is my hideout. No phones. No cameras. No trackers. Just… peace.”

Bob took it all in with a soft breath. “It’s beautiful.”

“I don’t bring people here, Bob,” she said seriously. “You’re the first.”

He looked at her, heart skipping. “R-really?”

She just smiled and opened the door.

Inside, the cabin was small but warm—bookshelves packed with paperbacks, a tiny fireplace, a couch with hand-stitched blankets, and a makeshift kitchen that smelled faintly of herbs and tea.

They spent the evening on the porch, sharing takeout and stargazing, wrapped in a big, old comforter YN had pulled from the couch.

Bob couldn’t stop glancing at her.

“What?” she asked, nudging him playfully with her shoulder.

“I dunno,” he mumbled, cheeks tinted pink. “I just… I feel lucky. Like, crazy lucky.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “You're not just lucky, Bob. You earned this. You listen. You care. And you never asked me to be anything other than what I am.”

Bob let out a breath, his hand gently brushing against hers before intertwining.

He looked up at the stars. “Can I… c-cuddle you? Or is that too weird to ask?”

YN chuckled and leaned fully into him, tugging the blanket tighter around them both.

“You already are, silly.”

He let out a tiny laugh and rested his head on hers, feeling more grounded than he had in years.

In the soft quiet of the night, with crickets singing and the stars blinking above, Bob whispered:

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

And YN, eyes fluttering closed, replied softly:

“Welcome home.”

Thunderbolts Headquarters – 9:37 AM

“Okay, don’t freak out…” Yelena said, walking into the room holding a cup of coffee.

“What?!” Ava said immediately, already half-freaking out.

“Bob didn’t check in last night,” Yelena admitted.

John Walker nearly dropped his protein shake. “He what?! You mean like—missing?”

Alexei gasped dramatically. “The boy has been taken! I knew this would happen. He is too soft. Like marshmallow!”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Maybe he’s just on a walk. I told him to do that.”

“For twelve hours?” Ava quipped, pulling up Bob’s last pinged location on a map. “He vanished off the grid halfway through Brooklyn. That’s not a walk, Barnes. That’s a ‘he’s tied up in a basement somewhere’ walk.”

Alexei paced. “We need to assemble. Call in satellites. Call in drones. Call in—”

“He’s probably just with Y/N,” Yelena interrupted coolly, sipping her coffee.

The entire room went silent.

“With Deathtrap?!” John screeched. “You mean the lady who disappears like smoke, punches like a tank, and eats ghost protocols for breakfast?! That Deathtrap?!”

“Yes,” Yelena said, completely unbothered.

Bucky stood up. “Well, if he is with her… I mean, that’s good, right? She’s capable.”

“She also doesn’t do visitors,” Ava said. “If Bob’s with her, we’re not finding him. Even S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn’t track that woman.”

“Then what do we do?” John asked.

Alexei pointed to the ceiling. “We wait. And we pray to the gods of love and luck that he comes back… with all his limbs.”

—

Meanwhile… in a cozy cabin miles outside the city…

Bob sneezed.

“You okay?” Y/N asked, poking her head in from the kitchen.

“I-I think someone’s talking about me,” he chuckled.

Back at HQ, Yelena checked her phone. “I’m giving him until tonight. If he doesn’t come back, then we send in a search party.”

“Great. I’ll prep the ‘Missing Bob’ posters,” Ava said dryly.

“They should say ‘Reward: One Cookie and a Hug,’” Bucky added with a smirk.

John nodded. “And a warning label: ‘Do not approach if he's in Sentry Mode. Approach only with snacks.’”

Alexei dramatically put a hand on his heart. “If he returns to us… I shall give him my strongest bear hug. He has survived the deadliest assassin and love. The man is a hero.”

Outside Thunderbolts HQ – 10:46 AM

Alexei was fully geared up, wearing his Red Guardian suit with a fanny pack. He gripped the car keys like a man ready for war. “I will drive through every inch of New York. I will not rest until the boy is safe. If we need to kick down doors, we kick down doors.”

Just as he reached the car—

VROOOM.

A sleek motorcycle pulled up, kicking dust and gravel. Y/N hopped off effortlessly, helmet under one arm, cool as always. Bob clumsily climbed off behind her, legs wobbly from the ride, cheeks tomato red.

"You're good?" she asked him, brushing a hand down his arm.

“Y-yeah,” he nodded, totally dazed. “T-thank you… for everything. Especially… the cookie…”

She chuckled, then leaned in, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek—close enough to his lips that Bob nearly melted into a puddle.

Alexei froze mid-step.

PLOP. The car keys fell from his hand.

Without another word, Y/N revved her bike and zoomed off into the streets.

Bob stood there, blinking, goofy smile stretching across his face.

Alexei blinked, then grinned. “Well well well.” and Bob got startled.

Inside HQ – Moments Later

The HQ doors swung open with dramatic flair as Alexei strutted in like he just saved the world. Bob followed, awkwardly hunched, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie, eyes glued to the floor.

“Found him,” Alexei announced triumphantly.

Everyone in the room turned at once.

“Thank God!” Yelena gasped. “Where the hell were you, Bob?! We were about to storm a warehouse!”

John Walker leaned on a chair. “Was he in a safehouse? Dungeon? Dimensional rift?”

“Deathtrap dropped him off,” Alexei said with a smug smirk, “with a smooch, to be exact.”

Bob audibly choked on air.

Ava raised her brow. “A smooch, huh?”

Bucky leaned forward. “Bob, is that true?”

Bob flushed deep red and muttered, “I-I mean… it was just… like a ‘thank you’ thing… I-I didn’t know anyone saw…”

“She kissed him!” Alexei sang. “And he blushed like a schoolboy!”

“Oh my god,” Yelena laughed, grabbing a throw pillow and tossing it at Bob. “You’re so done.”

John cracked up. “And here I thought I had the worst public crush moment. You’ve topped it, buddy.”

Bob just shrank further into his hoodie. “I-it’s not a big deal…”

Bucky clapped a hand on his shoulder. “It is if she’s Deathtrap. You’re either in love… or in danger.”

Alexei beamed. “Or both! The best kind!”

As Bob covered his face in his hands, mumbling unintelligible excuses, the rest of the team burst into another round of chaotic laughter.

Thunderbolts HQ – Afternoon

The team had settled into a surprisingly peaceful moment after the morning's chaos. The place was buzzing with their usual dynamic—Ava messing with tech, Bucky cleaning his arm while muttering about “things he didn’t need,” John Walker pacing back and forth with a cup of coffee, and Alexei lounging casually on one of the chairs, looking way too comfortable.

Bob, still red-faced from his earlier embarrassment, was sitting at the table, fiddling with a coffee cup, desperately trying to act normal. Every time someone looked at him, he’d stiffen and look away. Great, he thought. The worst day of my life.

“So, Bob,” Yelena began, leaning casually against the wall, “have you finally figured out how to get her to join the team?”

Bob flinched. “I-I didn’t—! It’s not like that. I—She’s, uh... she’s just... different.” He looked down at his coffee cup. "She's not... like any of you."

Alexei snickered from across the room. “Not like us? Oh, I beg to differ.” He leaned in theatrically. “Remember that sweet kiss she gave you, Bobby?” He fluttered his eyes and dramatically leaned toward Bob, mimicking a kiss, “Mmm… thank you, Bob... for being such a good listener.”

Bob’s eyes widened, and his face turned a deeper shade of red than before. “N-no! Stop! It wasn’t like that! I was just... she—”

“Oh no, it was definitely like that,” Alexei interrupted, standing up, hands on his hips. “The sweet, innocent kiss... on the cheek... at the hilltop... mmm... so romantic, so tender,” he mimicked, leaning forward and puckering his lips at the air, “Sooooo, Bob, I really enjoyed our time together...” He exaggerated the movements, making kissy faces in the most obnoxious way possible.

The rest of the team, already trying to hold in their laughs, burst into giggles as they watched Bob squirm, his face practically glowing.

“Alexei!” Bob squeaked, mortified. “Please! I swear, it wasn’t like that! I-I didn’t even mean to—"

“Oh, you didn’t mean to?” Alexei raised an eyebrow, stepping closer to Bob and leaning down. “Then what was that thing you did when you held her waist like that? Were you preparing for some kind of fight, or were you really trying not to fall off the bike?” He smirked. “Don’t worry, Bobby. We saw you hugging her like it was the end of the world. She was all... cool and collected, and you... well, you were all... shaky, like a leaf in the wind.”

“Yeah,” John Walker added, grinning, “I saw that too. You looked like you were trying to survive the ride of your life.” He leaned in with mock seriousness. “But she didn’t let you fall. How... sweet.”

Bob threw his hands up in frustration. “Guys, I was just trying to balance! I’m not good with—people! Okay?! She’s just...” He paused, looking at the floor. “She’s different. And I didn’t think... I didn’t think anyone would notice.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at Bob’s discomfort. “Hey, don’t feel too bad. You’re not the first guy to get all flustered around her. I mean, come on. You’re in a team full of chaos. Of course we notice.”

Bob sighed, hiding his face behind his hands. “I didn’t... think this was gonna happen. This isn’t like—this isn’t how it was supposed to go, okay? I thought I’d be able to... I don’t know... keep my cool or something.”

“Keep your cool?” Alexei grinned, leaning in again, clearly enjoying every moment of Bob’s misery. “Bobby, it’s okay. We all know how this ends.”

“We do?” Bob said through his fingers, still mortified.

“Yeah,” Alexei said, his voice turning dramatically serious. “You’re gonna get a surprise visit one day. You’ll knock on her door all shy, you’ll stand there, heart pounding like a jackhammer. And then she’ll open the door, and what will you do?” He stepped closer to Bob, his arms outstretched like he was preparing for the worst love confession of all time. “You’ll stutter, just like you always do. And then you’ll say, ‘H-hi, Y/N... I—uh—I wanted to, you know... tell you... that I—I...’ And she’ll interrupt you with a perfect kiss and a perfect smile and all of a sudden, you’re her guy, Bobby.”

“Wait,” John said, tilting his head. “You’re not telling us Bob’s actually planning on telling her about this, are you?”

Bob shook his head quickly, panicking. “W-what? No! I wasn’t! I mean—maybe... but... no! I’m just trying to figure out how to talk to her, okay?”(he already confessed👀)

Alexei grinned. “That’s what I’m talking about! You’re already on the way, Bobby. You can’t avoid it now.”

“Maybe we should all just plan a nice dinner,” Bucky suggested, crossing his arms. “You know, set up a nice place. Play some music. Just to get things awkward enough for Bob to say something.”

“Not helping, Bucky,” Bob muttered under his breath.

“Come on, Bob. You’ve been acting like a schoolboy in love,” Yelena said, casually sipping her drink from the other side of the room. “You were shaking when she kissed you, remember?”

“Ugh! Stop!” Bob buried his face in his hands, completely overwhelmed by the teasing. “I swear, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen!”

Alexei slapped him on the back, making Bob lurch forward. “You’ll figure it out, my friend. Love’s like punching a wall—you just have to go for it.” He winked at Bob. “But be careful. Deathtrap’s kisses... they’re dangerous.”

Bob groaned, hiding his face in his arms. “This is a nightmare…”

It was early evening at the Thunderbolts HQ, and Bob was in his room, humming softly to himself as he folded the last item into his small blue backpack—his favorite fuzzy blankey. The soft fabric, dotted with faded stars and moons, looked comically juvenile against the sterile metal walls of the compound, but to Bob, it was a source of comfort… especially when he was going to Y/N’s.

He carefully zipped up the bag, triple-checking that he’d packed his toothbrush, a fresh shirt, and—most importantly—a box of instant cocoa packets, because Y/N’s cabin always had that magical quiet that made warm drinks taste better.

Just as he was about to sling the backpack over his shoulder, a loud knock on his door made him jump like he’d heard a gunshot.

“Woah, woah, loverboy,” Alexei's booming voice rang as the door creaked open. He stood there with his arms crossed, one brow cocked and an amused grin playing on his face. “Packing for a date night or your first school camping trip?”

Bob’s face flushed deep red as he fumbled to pull his backpack straps into place. “I-It’s just—uh—I’m just spending the night at Y/N’s,” he stammered, eyes darting anywhere but at Alexei. “I’ve been... having good sleeps there.”

Alexei gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest like Bob had just stabbed him through the heart. “You telling me,” he said with mock devastation, “that you’re not comfortable in the room I lovingly set up for you? With the memory foam mattress and the glow-in-the-dark ceiling stars?”

“N-no! I-I mean—it’s not that—I am comfortable here! It’s just...” Bob trailed off, nervously wringing his hands.

Alexei’s face broke into a chuckle as he clapped a massive hand on Bob’s shoulder, nearly knocking the poor guy forward. “Relax, boy. I’m just messin’ with you. Go enjoy yourself.” His voice softened for just a beat. “If she makes you feel safe—makes you sleep better—then cherish her. And if you love her...” he paused, “don’t be stupid. Let her know.”

Bob blinked, looking up at him with those wide, unsure eyes. He gave a tiny nod.

Just then—PEEP!—a familiar sharp motorcycle horn echoed from outside the compound.

Alexei’s head jerked toward the window and grinned. “Your girlfriend’s here,” he said, smirking like a proud uncle sending his nephew to prom.

“Let’s goooooo,” came Yelena’s voice from the hallway.

As Bob shyly followed Alexei out of his room, his blue backpack bouncing lightly with every nervous step, he was greeted by the entire team gathered just outside the main entrance—like nosy parents watching their kid head off for their first sleepover.

There she was. Y/N, seated on her motorcycle like she owned the entire block, her helmet resting on her lap as she leaned back casually, waiting.

Bob swallowed hard.

“Protect our boy, Y/N!” Alexei called out dramatically, wiping invisible tears from his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. “He’s sensitive. He folds his socks.”

Bob winced.

“Don’t worry, I got him,” Y/N called back with a slight smirk, revving the bike just enough to make Bob jump.

“Use protection!” John Walker shouted with a snort.

Yelena immediately smacked him in the arm. “Oh my god, Walker. He’s taking his blankey, not booking a honeymoon suite!”

Bob turned scarlet.

Y/N, clearly amused, patted the seat behind her. “C’mon, blue backpack. Let’s go before they start planning our wedding.”

Bob offered a stiff, flustered wave to the team, then carefully climbed onto the bike, hugging his bag against his chest for a second before strapping in.

As they pulled away, Alexei stood with a hand raised in mock farewell. “There he goes... our sweet awkward prince… off to cuddle town.”

[missmadella]

The Game’s Twist: Win or Kiss (Chishiya x Reader)

Summary: You and Chishiya meet in the Borderlands through sharp sarcasm and reluctant teamwork. Over multiple deadly games, your teasing turns into trust, and that tension finally snaps during a “Win or Kiss” challenge—where neither of you wait for the rules.

Later, in the quiet of an abandoned hotel, the walls between you fall further. He doesn’t know how to handle closeness, but you’re patient—and maybe that’s enough to make him stay.

Words: 6529

The first time you met Chishiya was on a night that felt like the city itself was holding its breath. The streets outside were empty, the kind of eerie quiet that made every sound feel louder than it should. Inside the half-forgotten arcade, the flicker of neon lights cast long shadows across rows of claw machines and pinball tables, their screens frozen or glitching, like remnants of a forgotten past.

You were pacing the cracked floor, trying to make sense of the silence and the strange rules of this deadly game you’d been dragged into. Your eyes scanned every corner, every shadow, hoping to find something—anything—that made sense.

And then you saw him.

He was leaning against a claw machine in the far corner, the dim light catching just enough of his sharp features to make him stand out without really drawing attention. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, but his eyes were alert, calm, and impossibly sharp—like he was already a step ahead of everyone else.

You weren’t sure if he noticed you, but you decided to break the silence anyway.

“Lovely place for a game, huh?” you said, voice loud enough to fill the space but low enough not to sound like you were begging for a conversation.

He glanced at you once—just once—his expression unreadable and flat. “If you enjoy the scent of dust and despair,” he replied, voice quiet and dry, like he was commenting on the weather rather than a life-or-death situation.

You blinked, then smirked. “Oh, how poetic. You should write greeting cards.”

No reaction from him. Just that same unreadable look, as if your sarcasm barely registered.

“Well, since you’re not much for chit-chat, I guess I’ll carry the conversation,” you said, stepping a little closer. “I was worried I’d be stuck wandering this place talking to myself.”

He didn’t move or speak, just tilted his head slightly toward you—maybe a gesture, maybe a warning. You weren’t sure.

“Right. Because misery loves company,” you added, voice dripping with irony.

This time, he gave you a glance sharp enough to cut glass. “Company usually slows things down,” he said plainly.

You laughed, a little harsher than you intended. “Oh, great. I’m an obstacle now.”

The corner of his mouth twitched—a movement so small you almost missed it. But that was it. No words. No smiles. Just quiet.

You shook your head, feeling strangely intrigued despite his coldness. “You don’t say much. That’s got to be a superpower in this mess.”

His eyes flicked to the door briefly, then back to you. “Talking wastes time.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Depends on who you’re talking to.”

No answer. Just silence again.

For a moment, you thought you might have scared him off. But then, almost imperceptibly, he shifted his stance, as if acknowledging you without saying a word.

And that was it. No warm welcome, no promises, just two strangers sharing the same broken, silent space—one sarcastic, the other watching, waiting, always a step ahead.

You weren’t sure why you didn’t just walk away after that first cold exchange. Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe it was the fact that, even in his silence, that guy — pale hoodie, white-blonde hair, eyes like a scalpel — didn’t look like he was just killing time. He looked like someone who already knew how the game would end.

That made him dangerous. And interesting.

So you didn’t leave.

You paced a bit, arms crossed, glancing between the arcade windows and him. Occasionally, you spoke — mostly to yourself, but loud enough that he could hear.

“They could at least put some music on. Dying in silence feels a bit dramatic, even for me.”

Nothing.

You wandered past a busted DDR machine and sighed. “You know, I’m starting to think this game is less about survival and more about psychological torture. Trapped with flickering lights, existential dread, and a guy who talks less than a damn corpse.”

Still nothing.

You glanced back. He was watching a screen above one of the doors — a tiny red light blinking in the corner. Observing. Analyzing. Like a scientist watching mice in a maze.

You tilted your head, frowning slightly. “What are you looking at?”

No reply. Not even a glance.

You stepped a little closer, just enough to test a boundary. “Let me guess: silent genius, mysterious past, trust issues the size of Tokyo.”

That earned you a glance — brief, cold. But still a glance.

You grinned, like you’d just scored a point.

“Wow. Was that eye contact? I feel honored. Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me your name.”

He turned back to the screen.

“Yeah,” you muttered to yourself, “didn’t think so.”

Silence fell again, but it didn’t feel the same. Not quite as heavy.

You sat down on a step near a busted crane game, glancing up at the ceiling where the fluorescent light was sputtering like it was on its last breath.

“Do you think anyone’s even running these games?” you asked after a moment. “Like… is there someone behind a camera somewhere watching us? Betting on who makes it out?”

He didn’t move.

But after a long moment, he said, softly: “They’re not betting. They already know who survives.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the quiet reply. It wasn’t casual, and it wasn’t cruel — just stated, like fact. Like he'd seen it happen before.

Your eyes narrowed, thoughtful. “You’ve played before.”

He didn’t confirm or deny it. But the way he didn’t answer… that was answer enough.

You leaned back, letting the silence stretch again. This time, it felt earned.

“Guess I’ll have to stick close to you, then,” you murmured, eyes closing for a second.

That finally got a reaction — subtle, but there. The faintest shift of his jaw. Maybe irritation. Maybe something else.

You didn’t look at him when you added, dryly, “Don’t worry. I’m great at being dead weight.”

Still no reply. But somehow, that felt like the closest thing to a conversation you were going to get.

And strangely… you didn’t mind it.

Not yet.

___________________________________________________________________________

The game started without warning.

One second the arcade was still and stale, and the next, the overhead lights flickered violently, then turned blood-red. A mechanical voice echoed from somewhere above, flat and unfeeling:

“GAME START. OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE. TIME LIMIT: 30 MINUTES.”

Then came the sound — a mechanical whir, followed by the distant grind of metal sliding open. Somewhere in the building, something had been released.

Your body tensed instinctively. You scrambled to your feet and turned toward Chishiya’s corner — but he was already moving.

Not panicked. Not rushing. Just moving with that eerie, surgical calm.

Of course he had a plan.

You jogged after him. “Hey. Don’t suppose you want to share whatever Sherlock-level theory you’ve cooked up, do you?”

He didn’t answer. He turned a corner, passing under a cracked “EXIT” sign, and disappeared into a hallway behind the prize counter.

You muttered to yourself. “Right. Guess I’ll just follow the quiet cryptid through the murder-maze. What could possibly go wrong?”

The hallway was darker, lit only by a few flickering wall panels. You followed his silhouette — hood up, hands tucked in his pockets like he had all the time in the world. Occasionally, he paused, just briefly, eyes darting to vents, to corners, to seams in the walls.

You realized he wasn’t just walking. He was tracking.

You caught up beside him and muttered, “You’re either the smartest guy in this building or the most suspicious.”

He didn’t look at you. “Probably both.”

You blinked. That... was the most he’d said since you met.

He stopped abruptly and held out a hand — not to touch you, but to signal. Quiet. Still.

And then you heard it: dragging footsteps. Heavy breathing. Something metallic scraping against tile.

Your mouth went dry.

Something was out there.

You instinctively started to step back, but his hand shifted — palm out, quiet and quick. A silent wait.

You froze.

The sound passed — slowly, like whatever it was hadn’t quite locked on yet. A beat passed, then another.

Chishiya finally moved, ducking into a side room. You followed, heart pounding.

Inside, it looked like an old break room. Dusty couches, vending machines gutted long ago, fluorescent light humming overhead.

He crouched by the door, listening.

You stayed near the far wall, catching your breath, then muttered under your breath, “Do you do this in every game? The whole brooding-in-shadows thing? Or is this just for me?”

He didn’t look back. “You talk too much.”

You grinned despite yourself. “I know. Annoying, right? But I’m endearing if you squint.”

Still no answer. But there was something almost like amusement flickering behind his eyes when he glanced your way.

A long silence settled between you. The air was tense, but not quite unbearable. Your breathing slowed. His stayed steady.

And for a moment, there was nothing — no footsteps, no alarms, no chaos.

Just the two of you. Waiting.

You risked a whisper. “You’re not going to leave me behind, are you?”

Another long pause.

Then, quietly: “Not yet.”

Your heart fluttered — not romantically. Not exactly. More like… you weren’t alone. Not entirely. Not in the way that mattered right now.

“Cool,” you said, leaning back against the vending machine. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m growing on you.”

Chishiya didn’t reply.

But when he turned away, you were certain — for just a second — that he was hiding the barest hint of a smirk.

__________________________________________________________________________

The silence in the break room was thick, wrapped in the low hum of failing lights and the phantom echo of something moving in the walls.

You didn’t realize how tightly you were gripping the vending machine until your fingers started to ache. Slowly, you peeled yourself away and dropped into the dusty couch across from him.

Chishiya sat against the door, legs drawn up loosely, hoodie bunched around his elbows, eyes fixed on a crack of light near the floor. Watching. Waiting.

He didn’t look at you, but he finally spoke, voice low. “You panic too easily.”

You blinked. “Wow. A full sentence. We’re making progress.”

He didn’t react.

You leaned your head back. “And sorry if being chased by a masked psycho triggers a little panic. I must’ve missed the part of my life where I trained for all this.”

“You talk like you’ve never played a game before,” he said flatly.

You sat up a little straighter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Chishiya turned to look at you properly for the first time. Not just a glance. A look — slow, calculating, like he was deciding whether or not to let you in on a secret.

“You play them,” he said, voice calm, “but you don’t know what kind of player you are.”

You frowned. “Okay, Confucius. Feel free to explain.”

He tilted his head just slightly. “There are two kinds. People who play to survive, and people who play to win.”

You stared at him. “And which one are you?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped again to the gap under the door.

“I don’t lose,” he said simply.

You let out a quiet scoff, almost amused. “Wow. Humble too.”

For a moment, you thought that was the end of it. But then, he spoke again — quietly. Almost like it slipped out before he could stop it.

“You talk a lot,” he said, “but you’re not stupid.”

You blinked. “Is that… a compliment?”

He shrugged once. “Observation.”

You smiled faintly and leaned forward, elbows on your knees. “Well, if I’m such a sharp little chatterbox, you’re not exactly the picture of emotional intelligence.”

“No need to be,” he said simply. “I just have to stay alive.”

Your smile faded, just a little. There was something empty in his voice. Not cold — just… resigned. Like he’d already made peace with not feeling anything more than necessary.

It made your chest feel a little tight.

You didn’t say anything to that. Just sat with it for a moment, letting the heavy quiet return.

Then — suddenly — the lights above you flickered once, then cut out entirely. Darkness swallowed the room, fast and suffocating.

Both of you stilled.

In the silence, something clicked outside the door.

Chishiya stood in one smooth motion. Not tense — just ready. He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a screwdriver. Not a weapon, not really. But in his hand, it somehow looked dangerous.

Your voice was a whisper. “Is that thing actually useful, or are you just trying to look cool?”

In the dark, you heard him answer, flat and dry:

“Both.”

You snorted quietly — then flinched as a long, dragging scrape echoed in the hallway outside.

Chishiya glanced toward the far end of the room — the emergency access door.

“Time to go,” he murmured.

You rose quickly, pulse kicking up. “Are we running?”

He didn’t look back as he walked to the door.

“No. We’re thinking faster.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The emergency door groaned as Chishiya pushed it open just enough to peek through. Red emergency lights pulsed from the hallway beyond, casting deep shadows across the cracked linoleum. Somewhere, something metal dragged along the floor in slow, deliberate beats — a rhythm meant to unnerve.

He held up a hand without looking back. “Stay close.”

You blinked. “You’re joking.”

He glanced over his shoulder, deadpan. “Do I seem like someone who jokes?”

Fair point.

You stepped beside him, pulse thudding like a drum in your ears. The hallway was narrow, suffocating. Far down the corridor, a figure flickered into view — tall, broad-shouldered, the unmistakable silhouette of a mask gleaming under red light.

The Tagger.

You felt the air leave your lungs. “Shit.”

Chishiya didn’t flinch. His eyes darted once — to a maintenance closet halfway down the opposite hall.

“On my count,” he murmured.

“What are we doing—?”

“Three.”

Your heart jumped.

“Two.”

You took a breath, eyes locked on the Tagger.

“One.”

You both bolted.

The hallway exploded into movement — your feet pounding beside his, air sharp in your lungs. The Tagger moved too, quick and brutal, barreling down the corridor behind you. You could hear the metallic clang of boots against tile, gaining on you fast.

Chishiya hit the closet door, yanked it open, and practically shoved you inside ahead of him.

It was barely a meter wide.

Shelves, wires, cleaning supplies. No exits.

You turned to him, breath ragged. “Seriously?! This is your genius plan?”

“Shh.” He held a finger to his lips, eyes sharp. Listening.

You froze, shoulder pressed into his chest, backs cramped against cleaning fluid and dust-covered boxes. You could feel his breath against your temple — steady, even. In contrast, you were shaking.

Bootsteps stopped just outside the closet door.

You held your breath.

A long silence.

Then a slow, deliberate knock against the wood.

You flinched. Chishiya didn’t move.

Another knock. And then, the worst sound: the metallic squeak of the handle turning.

Your hand flew to Chishiya’s arm on instinct.

He didn’t react.

The handle creaked. Stopped.

And then… footsteps. Fading.

You didn’t breathe until ten whole seconds passed.

When you finally exhaled, it came out as a sharp whisper: “I swear to god—”

His hand gently nudged yours off his arm. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m aware,” you hissed. “We almost died in a janitor’s closet.”

He tilted his head, calm even now. “Not my preferred method of dying.”

Your mouth dropped open. “Wait— was that— was that your attempt at humor?”

Chishiya blinked at you, neutral.

You gave a breathless laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

He looked at you a beat longer, then quietly said, “You followed orders. That’s good.”

“You mean I didn’t get us both killed?”

A shrug. “Not yet.”

You were still so close — pressed together in the dark, breath mingling. His hoodie brushed your arm. His voice was quiet, unbothered.

But his eyes — they were watching you.

You swallowed hard. “You don’t seem scared.”

“I’m not.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

He leaned in just slightly — close enough to murmur, “Because I don’t need to be.”

You opened your mouth to say something — sarcastic, probably — but nothing came.

Instead, you realized you hadn’t stepped back.

Neither had he.

And suddenly, the air between you felt heavier than it had before.

___________________________________________________________________________

The first game ended with blood.

Not yours, thankfully. But someone else’s — one of the louder ones, the cocky guy who underestimated how fast the Tagger moved. You and Chishiya made it out with seconds to spare, breathing heavy in the open air as fireworks bloomed above the Borderland skyline.

He didn’t say much afterward. Just gave you a nod — subtle, almost lazy — and disappeared into the crowd like smoke on the wind. You didn’t even get a name. But that wasn’t surprising. He didn’t seem like someone who gave pieces of himself away easily.

Still, you remembered him. The white hoodie. The cool, glassy gaze. The snark delivered so calmly it could’ve passed for boredom. He was like a ghost with perfect timing.

You didn’t expect to see him again.

But then you did.

A Hearts game, two weeks later. The rules were different. The stakes, higher. And yet — there he was. Leaning against a wall, arms crossed, scanning the other players with that detached, dissecting stare.

He glanced your way, and his brow ticked just slightly upward. Recognition.

You smirked and offered a mock salute. “Miss me?”

“No,” he said immediately. But he didn’t look away.

You worked well together — better than you should’ve. You didn’t trust easily, but you trusted him to watch your back when no one else would. Not because he cared. But because it was logical.

And in this world, that was almost better.

You parted again after that. No goodbye. No promises. Just a shared look, a mutual nod, and silence.

But the next time — you found yourself scanning crowds expecting him.

And he found you, like always. Effortlessly.

There were more games. A Diamonds game where you ended up on opposing sides but still managed to outsmart the host by working silently in sync. A Clovers game that nearly killed you both, where you were crammed into a vent space with him and actually heard him laugh — just once, soft and sharp like an exhale.

“Did you just laugh?” you whispered, shocked.

“No,” he said. But his eyes said otherwise.

You never asked him for his name.

And he never asked for yours.

But it started to feel like he already knew it — the way he said you, always with a tilt of his head and a faint twitch of his mouth, like you amused him in ways he didn’t care to admit.

Somehow, he became the closest thing you had to a constant.

Not a partner. Not really a friend. But something that sat between those two things like a thread you didn’t dare pull.

A presence.

Sometimes you didn’t see him for days. Other times, he’d just appear — near the edge of a new game, hands in his pockets, eyes already on you. Never calling out. Never smiling. Just watching.

And when you made it out alive, he’d still be there.

Not celebrating.

Just… present.

And somehow, that meant more.

___________________________________________________________________________

The game was called “Two Truths, One Lie.”

At least, that’s what the sign read when you stepped into the game arena — a hollowed-out lounge floor of a luxury hotel, all mirrors and fake elegance. A Heart game. Of course.

You scanned the room — a dozen or so contestants, each warily sizing the others up.

And then your eyes landed on him.

White hoodie. Blond hair. Quiet smile. That same unreadable gaze, cutting through the chaos like a scalpel.

He didn’t move when he saw you. Just watched as you walked in, that familiar stillness wrapped around him like armor.

“You again,” you said, stepping beside him like no time had passed at all.

“Statistically, it was bound to happen.” You gave him a look. “You missed me.”

“I forgot you existed.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” you said, folding your arms. “Good thing we’re in the right game for that.”

A voice crackled through the speakers before he could respond.

“Welcome, players, to tonight’s game: Two Truths, One Lie.”

“You will be paired off at random. Each pair must take turns telling two truths and one lie. If your partner guesses correctly, you stay alive. If they guess wrong…”

A gun slid out of the wall near one of the lounge chairs.

“One strike. Five rounds. Lie well — or die trying.”

“Oh,” the voice added, almost mockingly sweet. “And the winners of each round must seal it with a kiss. For confirmation.”

You blinked. “That’s—”

“Unnecessary,” Chishiya finished flatly.

The room murmured. Some players looked terrified. Others intrigued.

You tried to act unbothered, but your heartbeat spiked. A mechanical whirl signaled the pairing. Names flickered on the wall.

Your name. His.

Chishiya turned toward you, head tilting slightly. “Well. Looks like someone up there has a sense of humor.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”

A pause. Then he stepped closer, just enough to drop his voice.

“I hope you’re a better liar than you are at running.” You smiled sweetly. “I hope you’re better at guessing than you are at flirting.”

A flicker — something in his eyes. Maybe amusement.

Maybe something else. You sat across from him as the timer started ticking.

Round One.

You spoke first.

“Okay,” you said. “I’ve broken two bones. I hate tea. I used to be a ballet dancer.”

He stared at you, unblinking. “You’ve never broken a bone.”

“Wrong.”

The buzzer blared. A red X flashed on the screen. You could see it — the faintest twitch in his jaw. Not frustration. Something closer to calculation.

“My turn,” he said. “I’ve never lost a game. I hate crowds. I’ve been kissed in the Borderlands.”

You blinked. What?

That last one threw you. He stared at you like he knew it would.

You bit your lip, thinking. “The lie is… the kiss. You haven’t kissed anyone here.”

Another buzzer.

Correct.

You raised an eyebrow. “Huh.”

“I told you. I don’t lie.” The screen flashed:

“Seal the win: Kiss your partner.”

You both sat in silence. He didn’t move.

Neither did you. But eventually, you leaned forward — just a little. He didn’t pull away. Just watched you with that unreadable calm, something slow burning just behind his eyes.

Your lips brushed his — brief. Just enough.

When you pulled back, your heart was racing. Not from the game.

He looked at you for a long moment. Then, out of nowhere: “Shuntarō.”

You blinked. “What?”

“My name,” he said. “In case we don’t both make it to round two.” You stared. He hadn’t given you a name in all this time. And now—

“…It’s nice to meet you, Shuntarō.”

He tilted his head. “Your turn.”

You hesitated. Then smiled.

“[Your Name].”

___________________________________________________________________________

Round Two

You’re not sure if the room feels warmer or if it’s just you. Your lips still tingle from the kiss — short, barely there — but Chishiya hasn’t looked away from you since. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something quieter in his gaze now. Not soft. Just… focused.

The screen flashes.

“Begin.”

You go first again.

You lean back in the chair, cross your legs, and look him square in the eye.

“I was in med school,” you say slowly. “I don’t believe in love. And I think I might be starting to trust you.”

That last one hangs heavy in the air. Deliberate.

Chishiya tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly. He’s processing, but he doesn’t show his hand. Not yet.

“You didn’t go to med school,” he finally says.

Buzz.

Wrong.

He blinks once, expression unreadable.

“You don’t believe in love,” he murmurs.

It’s not a question. More like an observation he’s logging away for later. You give him a faint smirk. “Got a problem with that?”

“No,” he replies. “It makes sense.” You’re not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment. With him, it might be both.

“Your turn,” you say.

He’s quiet for a second longer than necessary. Then:

“I’ve killed someone,” he says, evenly. “I used to believe people could be saved. And I don’t regret anything I’ve done in the Borderlands.” You stare at him. The calm in his voice is chilling.

“Wow,” you mutter. “We really went there.”

You try to read his face, but it’s like trying to read a locked door. No cracks. No keys.

“The lie…” you say slowly, “is that you don’t regret anything.”

Silence. Then the chime of a correct guess.

Chishiya doesn’t move. But something flickers in his eyes — the ghost of something old and sharp and buried deep. Regret, maybe. You don’t ask. Not yet.

The screen flashes again:

“Seal the win: Kiss your partner.”

Neither of you moves right away this time. Then, you rise slowly from your seat. You don’t rush, and you don’t ask permission. He watches you like he’s dissecting the moment — every breath, every choice.

You lean in — but this kiss is different.

It lingers.

It’s not demanding or desperate. Just… quiet. Certain. Familiar in a way that surprises you both.

When you pull back, your faces are close. And you murmur, before you can overthink it:

“I didn’t lie about trusting you.”

His reply is soft. Almost unheard.

“I know.”

You sit back down. Round Three is coming. You don’t know what the final round will ask of you. But for the first time since arriving in this hell of a world — you’re not entirely afraid.

You’re not alone.

___________________________________________________________________________

Round Three

The screen pulses again. You settle back in your seat, and Chishiya does the same — like you’re both pretending this is just another routine interaction, not a strange psychological striptease in front of a room full of strangers.

You go first.

“I had a sibling,” you say, voice calm but a little quieter. “I wanted to disappear long before the Borderlands. And I’ve never once thought about what comes after.”

Chishiya watches you. And this time, he doesn’t answer immediately. Something sharp flickers across his face — brief, but unmistakable.

“The lie is… the last one,” he says.

Your breath catches.

Correct.

Of course he saw through it. Of course he’d know. You’ve both survived too long not to wonder what’s left after the blood dries. After the games stop.

You glance at him. “Getting good at this.”

“I’m a quick learner.”

His turn.

“I’ve let people die to save myself,” he says. “I miss someone, but I don’t remember their name. I wanted to die once.”

You stare.

He says it so quietly. So easily. And yet the words drop like stones.

You search his face — that blank, clinical stillness — and realize it’s no act. This is just how he survives.

You swallow hard. “The lie is… you wanted to die.”

Silence.

Buzz.

Wrong.

You blink, but he’s already looking away — as if even he doesn’t want to sit in the truth for too long.

You don't press him. Something in your chest tightens, but you keep it down. He gave you that truth. Maybe that’s enough.

The screen flashes.

“Seal the win.”

This time, he leans forward first.

His hand barely brushes your jaw — a silent ask. You let him. And when his lips meet yours this time, it’s slower. Realer. Less of a formality, more of a release.

When you part, his eyes linger on yours a little longer than necessary.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he.

___________________________________________________________________________

Round Four

The room feels smaller now. Like the air’s getting heavier with every kiss, every answer.

You let out a slow breath. “Okay,” you say. “I’ve thought about kissing you before. I used to think love made people weak. And I hate how calm you are all the time.”

A flicker. Chishiya’s lips tilt — barely.

“The lie,” he says, “is that you hate how calm I am.”

Correct.

You shrug, trying to look indifferent. “Took you long enough.”

“You’re transparent when you’re annoyed,” he replies.

You’re not smiling. Definitely not. He clears his throat softly — then it’s his turn.

“I didn’t care when I saw you die in the first game we met,” he says. “I remembered the exact number of seconds we kissed last round. I don’t want to lose you.”

Your breath stutters. It’s not just the words — it’s the way he says them, like peeling skin off something raw.

You stare at him, throat dry. “The lie is… the first one.”

A pause.

Then: Correct.

You don’t realize how hard your heart’s beating until the screen lights up again.

“Seal the win.”

This time, it’s both of you — meeting in the middle.

The kiss is longer now, but softer. The kind of kiss that says I see you. That says I’m still here. That says everything else you’re too afraid to put into words.

When you pull back, you’re not sure who’s trembling more.

Just one round left.

___________________________________________________________________________

Final Round

The lights dim slightly. The screen flickers, slower now — like the game itself is holding its breath.

You feel it too. That crawling sense in your chest, right behind your ribs. Something’s coming.

And then, in bold, glowing red:

FINAL ROUND: Say what you’ve never told anyone. One truth. One lie. No repeats.

No second chances. Wrong guess? One of you loses.

You both go still.

There’s no elaboration. But you understand. You always do by now.

Lose what? Your life? Your mind? Each other?

Chishiya doesn’t speak. But the tension in his jaw tells you enough. Even he’s not immune to this kind of pressure.

You go first.

You steady yourself, and say:

“I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again. I think I could love you.”

Silence.

His gaze sharpens — not cold, but focused like a scalpel. He watches you like he’s trying to see through the bones.

Seconds pass. Five. Ten.

Then, finally: “The lie is… you think you could love me.”

You blink, confused.

The screen flashes.

Correct.

Wait—what?

He doesn’t wait for you to piece it together. “You already do,” he says quietly, eyes not leaving yours.

Something in your chest cracks.

You want to argue, deflect, make another sarcastic jab. But you can’t. You just breathe — uneven, caught.

Then it’s his turn.

He doesn't hesitate. His voice is soft, flat as always — but it hits like thunder.

“I thought I didn’t need anyone. I only kissed you because of the game.”

The words hang in the air like a blade suspended by a thread.

You barely hear yourself whisper: “The lie is… you only kissed me because of the game.”

The screen holds still for a beat too long.

Then:

Correct.

He exhales like a weight finally leaves his shoulders.

And just like that, the screen gives its final command:

WINNERS, the screen eventually declares, in blinking letters behind your entwined shadows. SEAL-

But it never finishes completely.

Because you’re already moving.

You don’t know who reached for whom first. Maybe it doesn’t matter. One moment, you're standing in the slow glow of the game’s final stage, and the next —

You’re in his arms, and he's kissing you like nothing else exists.

No smugness. No snark. Just hands in your hair, a steady grip at your waist, and that unflinching mouth finally pressed to yours with nothing left held back.

It isn’t neat or clean. It’s messy. A little desperate. His fingers curl into your jacket like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. And maybe you feel the same, because you don’t dare pull away.

He kisses you like a man who’s spent a lifetime pretending not to feel.

And you let him. Because you’re done pretending too.

When you finally break apart, just barely, you’re both breathing hard. His forehead rests against yours. And for once, neither of you tries to fill the silence.

___________________________________________________________________________

The door clicks softly behind you, sealing off the distant hum of the city and the relentless chaos of the game outside. The stale air of the empty room wraps around you like a fragile bubble of calm, but the tension between you is anything but calm.

Before either of you can catch your breath, his lips find yours again—slow, deliberate, testing, like he's memorizing the way your mouth moves. Your fingers weave through his thick, unkempt hair, pulling him closer as the heat between you rises, pulsing with a quiet urgency.

He leans you back gently against the cracked windowpane, the faint glow of neon lights flickering through the glass, casting shadows that dance across his sharp features. His eyes, usually so guarded and unreadable, hold a flicker of something raw and dangerous as they lock onto yours.

“I thought we were supposed to be resting,” you murmur, breathless and teasing, your voice barely above a whisper.

A dry, humorless smirk curls at the corner of his mouth. “Resting can wait,” he replies, fingers trailing down your side with a featherlight touch, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You laugh softly, the sound shaky but amused. “That sounds like a warning.”

“Maybe,” he says, voice low and rough, “but also a promise.”

His lips press harder against yours, deeper now, and the slow exploration melts into something fiercer. His hands roam your back, sliding beneath your jacket, skin meeting skin, igniting a fire that burns through the cold quiet of the room. You arch into him, craving more of the warmth and sharp edge of his touch.

The scent of dust and old wood mingles with his clean, smoky scent, grounding you as your breaths mingle in the close space between you. His grip tightens slightly, fingers digging into your waist as if to anchor himself, and you respond with a shiver, lips parting, inviting him in.

He captures your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently before dipping his head to trace a path down your jawline, each touch sending sparks that ripple through your nerves. Your hands clutch at his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer until there’s no space left between you.

The window’s cold press contrasts sharply with the heat radiating from your bodies, and you feel dizzy, intoxicated by the sharp edges of his presence and the softness hidden beneath.

Neither of you speaks. There’s only the sound of ragged breaths, the faint city noises outside, and the relentless beat of your heart syncing with his.

When you finally break apart, your lips swollen and your chest heaving, you catch your breath and look up into his eyes—dark, intense, and unreadable, but with a hint of something fragile just beneath the surface.

“What now?” you whisper, voice trembling between hope and fear.

His hand finds yours, thumb brushing softly over your knuckles. “Now,” he says quietly, “we figure out how to survive—together.”

And in that moment, with the world outside forgotten and only the heat of your bodies left, it feels like that might just be enough.

___________________________________________________________________________

After a moment, his hands slowly slide down from your waist, but the tension between you doesn’t lessen—it only shifts, deeper, more intimate. He steps back just enough to glance around the dim room, then without a word, his eyes flick back to you, sharp and unreadable.

You move first, breaking the space between you as you take his hand, tugging him gently toward the battered bed pushed against the far wall. The mattress is thin and stained, far from comfortable, but right now it’s a sanctuary.

As you both settle onto the edge, your fingers don’t leave his hand. Instead, they curl tighter around his as your bodies lean in closer, the warmth radiating from him pulling you like gravity.

His lips brush against yours again—lighter this time, like a secret shared in the quiet dark. Your breath catches, and you close your eyes, letting yourself fall into the moment.

One hand slides up to cup the back of your neck, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against your skin. You respond by tilting your head, deepening the kiss until it’s slow and endless, like time has stopped and nothing else matters.

His other hand drifts down your side, fingers skimming just beneath your shirt, warm and steady. You shiver, heart pounding, the contact both electric and grounding all at once.

The weight of his body shifts against yours as he moves closer, chest pressed to chest, breath mingling with yours in the dim room. You feel his pulse under your fingertips, steady and sure—like a quiet promise amid the chaos.

You pull back just enough to catch his eyes, searching for the usual unreadable calm behind them. But now there’s something softer there, something almost hopeful.

He gives you a brief, almost-smile—one that doesn’t quite reach his lips but somehow says everything.

“Not a bad place to rest,” he murmurs quietly, voice low and rough.

You smirk, brushing your fingers against his cheek. “Not bad at all.”

And then you’re kissing again—slow, tender, like you’re trying to memorize every inch of him, every quiet breath, every fleeting touch before the world pulls you back into its madness.

___________________________________________________________________________

The room is heavy with silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the kind of quiet that settles between two people who don’t need to fill every moment with words—yet the space still hums with something unspoken.

You shift closer, your fingers brushing against his hand, then daringly move to trace the line of his jaw. He tenses for a moment, eyes flicking to you, unreadable but alert.

Without a word, you press a soft kiss to his cheek—quick, tentative. He barely flinches.

“Hey,” you murmur, voice low, “you’re kinda hard to read, you know that?”

He lets out a dry chuckle, almost like a cough. “I’m not exactly an easy person.”

You grin, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re like a locked door, and I’m the stubborn key.”

His gaze sharpens, like he’s weighing the metaphor—and then he just shrugs. “I don’t know anything about this.”

“About what?” you ask, tilting your head.

“This,” he says, voice softer, but still cautious—the way someone unfamiliar with warmth might talk about fire. “Being close to someone. Relationships. …I don’t do well with it.”

You smile gently, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Well, lucky for you, I’m patient.”

He snorts softly, eyes half-lidded, a faint flicker of something like amusement breaking through. “That’s… dangerous.”

You laugh quietly, leaning in to steal another kiss—this one longer, softer. His lips part against yours, hesitant but not pulling away.

“Yeah,” you say, voice barely a whisper, “but I’m good at handling difficult things.”

He doesn’t respond right away—just looks at you with those dark, guarded eyes that somehow feel less distant now.

And in the quiet of the room, with your fingers tangled in his hair and your lips brushing his skin like a secret, you realize this is only the beginning.

[moonstruckme]

okay i absolutely NEED james with an emo/goth gf!!! it’s giving black cat reader 🤭🤭🤭 only write if you want of course ♥️♥️

Thank you for requesting lovely! I fear this ended up being more black cat than goth because I didn't really go into describing reader's aesthetic but I hope this is the attitude you were looking for <3

cw: mention of alcohol (but reader isn't explicitly drinking)

James Potter x black cat!reader ♡ 718 words

James doesn’t think you’re glaring at him, but you’re definitely glaring. 

“How’s your drink, angel?” he asks, leaning across your small table with a smile. 

You suck your teeth. “It’s good.” 

James reaches over the table for your hand. You give it to him, thundercloud expression not so much as flickering, but when he squeezes your fingers you squeeze back. 

He lowers his voice. “What’s wrong?” 

“How can you think over their racket?” The question bursts out of you like this is something you’ve been waiting to talk about. James follows the beam of your glare, turning in his seat to look at the gaggle of men sitting in the corner booth of the restaurant. They’re laughing, rambunctious, one of them having procured a deck of cards which they seem to be playing some kind of disorganized game with. Two have begun arm wrestling.

“They’re yelling so loud it’s bouncing off the walls,” you seethe. “It’s so obnoxious. I can barely hear you without you shouting.” 

James makes a face as he turns back around, feeling a tad oblivious. He’d just thought this was a louder sort of restaurant, but he sees now that the other patrons are leaning close to each other over their tables, talking as quietly as they can manage just like you. The noise is created only by that one group. 

“I think they’ve had a few.” He gives a sheepish shrug, nodding to the empty pints collecting in one corner of their table. However they might be acting, James feels awful for anyone who ends up on the other end of your wrath. “You know how it is when you get like that and sort of forget where you are.” 

“No, not really.” You start tapping an irritated finger on the table. “They could at least try to be considerate. And there’s a bar just across the street, why not go there?” 

James gives you an amused look. “Hey,” he says, leaning across the table and coaxing you in for a kiss. You relent to it, but you don’t look much improved afterwards. “It’s all in good fun, yeah? We shouldn’t let their good time ruin our good time.” 

He suspects you’re a bit peeved with him for not taking your side, but you try to overcome it. “Yeah,” you agree. You lean over to take a sip from your straw, still obviously fuming. 

And James decides something simply must be done. 

“Alright.” He gives your hand a quick squeeze, pushing back his chair as he stands. “Back in a second, lovie.” 

He can feel your eyes following as he goes over to the rowdy table and introduces himself. Every now and then as he talks to the guys, he’ll glance over to find your stare still on him, narrowed with curiosity. James has to admit, the pleasure of having your attention has never quite worn off. He sends you a wink when nobody else is looking. 

After a few minutes, the men slip out from their booth and James parts with them with a series of clapping handshakes. You watch in awe as they go out the door, your gaze moving back to your boyfriend when he sits across from you. 

“How did you do that?” you ask. 

James grins smugly. “I just got a bit chummy with them and then told them about the bar across the street. They have a pool table over there, and if you make it before eight pints are half off.” 

Your lips part slightly. It’s as close to jaw-dropping surprise as you ever get. “You seriously got them to leave by making friends with them.” 

He shrugs. “I guess. We didn’t really have time to get to know each other all that well.” 

You regard him thoughtfully for a moment, then lean across the table to kiss his cheek. James’ smile leaps up on his face. His stomach feels swarmed by butterflies far more boisterous than that table had ever been. 

“Thanks,” you say. 

James is smiling so hard it’s hurting his cheeks. “You feel better now?” 

You roll your eyes, but he spies a twitch in the corner of your lips. “Yeah, I feel better.” 

“Good.” He pecks you on your cheek in turn. You appear dangerously close to pleased. “Then you’re welcome, lovie.”

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"A little hope." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

(Noy my gif)

Summary: When the city turns to ruins, life outside is like a roller coaster of emotions during the coexistence with Daryl Dixon, but having a little hope can be the beginning of something better.

A/N: I open debate 'cause I feel like Daryl Dixon from the first seasons would be a bit unstable(?) if he'd fall in love. I mean, the poor baby had been hurt so much that he'd attack before being attacked 'cause I think that's all he ever knew in life, while not knowing what to do with those feelings. But, well, this is fiction, and there is always time to flirt *wink*… hope you like it! (Sorry if there are any mistakes, I’ll correct them)

"People like her are fire, lil' brother, an’ yer gonna get burn."

But, oh, f*cking feelings, so silent you don't even know you have them until you're full of them.

The city is an inferno that night, burning up in flames within minutes.

“(Y/N), run!”

As his final sacrifice of love for you, your dad pushes the walkers out of way of the back door of your building, clearing a path for at least one of you to survive. So you do it, you run down the street with the shotgun in your hands, a hail of gunfire whistling from everywhere, feeling the pain in your body, in your bones and in your soul.

On the edge of selfishness or like the awakening of survival, people push each other, until, turning the corner, you see someone shoot an arrow to protect a woman running with her small daughter in her arms, to one of those who should be dead already. But as the man prepares his crossbow again, two bodies that seemed to have no pulse knock him down, make him fight on the ground for his life.

Don't stop, don't waste bullets that aren't for you.

Your shot finishes one off, tipping the balance for the man to kill the other. His features are hard as he stands up, maintaining an almost accusatory expression when he looks at you.

“Where the hell did ya come from?”

His deep, hoarse voice makes you frown.

“How about a thank you, asshole?”

And right there, the corner of his lip lifts into a smirk, letting out a small laugh that mixes with his condescension in the middle of that tempest, but when another bullet too close startles you both, his arm extends in front of you, guiding you to the safety of a wall.

“Anyone else with ya?”

Your shoulders fall.

“No. It was my dad and I and now it’s just me.”

“Ya got a plan?”

“Leave the city? Find a place… I don’t know. Keep myself alive as long as I can.”

He grunts in frustration, watching the streets for a few seconds.

“We’re goin’ to a camp outta town.” He looks at you, his brow furrowed, as if you were an unnecessary weight on his back. “The city is hell so follow me or ya’ll become one of ‘em. Okay?”

You nod.

“Ya got a name?”

“(Y/N)… And you?”

He pauses, and for a second, his deep and penetrating gaze with his ocean–colored eyes rests on yours.

“Daryl.”

You meet Daryl that devastating night when it all began, the man with the judgmental gaze because all his life he had been judged unfairly, for his appearance and for his rough and even repellent personality, hurling curses even at the poor deer that had perished at the hands of walkers. Dirty, intimidating, but his motorcycle was the perfect perpetuated example of the bad boy, the one of the bad decisions and physical and emotional wounds to prove it. And it scared the shit out of you, so you tried to keep your distance, even though circumstances forced you two to live together in that camp.

But one night when your tent makes you feel imprisoned, you find yourself lying on the ground near the campfire when no one else is around anymore, (gun next to your leg) alone with your thoughts as they try to overflow dangerously, with not even the stars in that empty sky to make you company.

“The fuck are ya doin'?” Daryl appears in front of you, looking down at you as if you have gone mental. “Are ya crazy, woman? Ya wanna be the food of those bastards?”

You decide to ignore his comment.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“I went out to take a piss.”

You scrunch your nose.

“How disgusting.”

He snorts.

“Since when are ya such a lady? I’ve seen ya curse Shane to his face 'til ya run outta breath.”

You shrug.

“Only when someone deserves it. I did it to you, too, didn’t I?”

Daryl chuckles, admiring life from above, the emptiness of the world and the silent night that could drive him crazy before lying down on the ground beside you, hands on his chest to keep them still, giving you a look just to understand how simple and how complex you could be sometimes.

“Shut up.” He grunts when you look at him, just to tease him.

“Have someone told you that you have anger issues?” You chuckle, eyes up there searching for something. “Do you believe in heaven?”

Daryl blinks in confusion, but for an instant, your most random words can get him to rest that constant annoyed expression he lives clinging to.

“Dunno. But I hope s' better than this shitty life. Ya?”

“Don’t know either. My dad used to say I shouldn’t ask questions that I would never find the answer to, but when my mom died, and my dad that night, I realized that, sometimes, the only thing you can hold on to is hope. I mean, I don't live believing in that all the time, but when I think about my parents for example, I cling to the hope that they are together in heaven now. That is the only thing that gives me peace."

When you turn to look at him, Daryl clears his throat, looking away to stare at the sky.

“I thought ya were gonna ask me some shit like ma favorite food, not somethin' I can’t give ya an answer to.”

You chuckle, but it’s funny how calm you feel.

“I thought you were going to pee.”

Like an involuntary reflex, Daryl’s hands clench and unclench, as if they suddenly need to touch, to feel the contact of another human being.

“Guess it can wait.”

But your aura unfolds in front of him with the weeks, and Daryl begins to realize you are like that rule Daryl Dixon had always refused to break: to let someone into his life and pay him with pain, (the good person, the smart one, the angel with the dirty mouth who can tell people to shut the fuck up) who would wreak havoc on his mind, but as if he was enchanted for all the good that was in you, Daryl always seemed to be nearby anyway, (awkward as hell cause he had no game as his brother used to say) looking in your direction even before he realized he was doing it, even sharing his food with you, walking with you to make sure you were safe. But you became stronger than Daryl thought in a short time, you grew faster, smarter as you learned to protect yourself and others from any kind of danger. So some time later, he looked for a stupid excuse to approach you, and when Daryl offered to give you archery lessons back in the camp, that magnetic force that always seemed to pull you two together was too strong for you to say no to. And you hated yourself for it.

“Hold it firmly.” Daryl holds up your wrist, the one holding the bow. His other hand wraps around your shoulder, resting on your middle of your arm. “Don’ strain yer body. Jus’ relax.”

But he genuinely believed that you could do it well with something less heavy than his crossbow. However, he made so much physical contact with you through the afternoon, that you fear that if your heart kept beating that fast, the poor thing would stop at any moment. His breath tickles your ear, and his hand slid from your wrist to your elbow on your bare skin, a movement that he does without understanding why.

“Always firm.” Daryl looks at you from behind, his face closer to yours. “Ready?”

You nod before focusing your gaze on the tree a few feet in front of you, but the heat of his hand sliding down your waist makes you shudder, and when you release the arrow, it gets stuck on the wrong side of the target, again. Daryl grunts low walking away from you, so that his frustration does not affect your desire to learn, and your shoulders fall into disappointment. You can do better than that, but the clumsiness within you emerge like a teenager in love, and that makes you feel even more stupid.

“C'mon, (Y/N).” He comes back, but Daryl can't help but show his short patience reflected in his gaze. “This is the third time ya fail. I thought ya could do better than that.”

“I’m sorry. This is the first time I try this. I’ll get better, I promise.”

Daryl scoffs, hating good wills, promises.

“That’s what ya think ‘cause ya always see the good side of every fuckin’ situation, but wake up, princess: ya must be stronger if ya don’ wanna die.”

It’s not the first time he acts like that, but it makes you frown through your own surprise.

“I’m really sorry, Daryl, I do, but please don’t discharge your anger with me. It’s the first time I’ve tried this; I can not be perfect like you.”

After almost all his life, he was convinced that he deserved to be broken, so now, Daryl thinks he can hear clearly the sarcasm in your voice, (not true, of course) and he looks at you angrily, because he always thought he was less than perfect, and there you are, telling him with mockery that he is.

“Listen, princess…” He approaches you, but you dare to hold his gaze. “M’ done with ya. M’ done tryin’ to protect yer ass so from now on ya’ll take care of yerself.”

And then, he just walks away.

That wasn’t what you meant, but your mistake and his tendency to believe he was worthless led you both to end up in a fight. However, with that action of his, Daryl hoped you would realize that he didn’t deserve any kind of love, if you wanted to offer him some of it. Although he hated himself for doing that, because he actually cared for you. But too terrified to feel too much when Daryl was used to feeling little, or nothing at all, he turned away from you for a very long time, always taking the opposite path, coming when you were leaving, never coinciding, confusing when his feelings woke up and made a mess of his life.

But being shot by Andrea was like his breaking point, leading him to isolate himself in the room until he was better, walking outside only during the nights so as not to suffocate within the four walls all day. And a random night as you walk back late, you see him standing against the back wall, and fighting against the current, you try to get closer, just one more time before deciding to walk away from him forever, but Daryl was the reflection of a battered animal, always on the verge of attacking before being attacked.

And he gives you the WHOLE speech.

“…battin’ yer eyelashes at me n’ always hopin’ for the best, givin’ me hope for somethin’ I know ain’t gonna happen between us. M’ fuckin’ tired of seein’ ya.”

And like lava on the edge of a volcano, your own anger escalates in a single second, almost matching his, because sometimes, when a toxic soul finds another, it clings to it, so you stand firm on the ground, facing his body with yours even though he is taller.

“You know what? Fuck you, asshole! You wanna be alone? Keep pushing people away, Daryl, and I promise you that you’ll really stay that way. And please, don’t worry, 'cause this will be the last time I ever look in your direction. Happy?”

In that instant as you walk away, Daryl feels every word sinking deep down in his scared heart, because faithful as you always were to fulfill your promises, he knows you will walk away forever, and it’s devastating to think of truly losing you even though he never had you in the first place, but, scared of never seeing you again because you were a radical person too, Daryl catches your arm and forces you to turn around, his body sticking to yours, pressing you against his and the wall, without hurting you because he would never do it intentionally.

“Tell me to leave, to stay away from ya forever.” His voice is a whisper, full of fear, but brave at the same time to look you in the eyes, and for the first time in your life, you understand those words that writers love to use so much: the way his gaze softens only for you. “Tell me that I went crazy n' every look from ya is jus' a fuckin' lie. Tell me ya don’ want me as much as I want ya but don’ go. Jus'… don’ leave. Not ya.”

Your surprise after his confession disappears when you can actually see how scared he really is, vulnerable, for the first time since you met him. And maybe the wisest thing to do is to run away before a disaster happens, because a fearful mind always fears one will happen, (it's instinctive, that's how disturbed we are when life hasn't been generous), but as you clear your throat so your words don't break, the idea of ​​diving into the unknown is more tempting, reckless even, but just so exciting.

"I hate you sometimes, Daryl, I really do. You're such a jerk from time to time..." You mean it, but Daryl is able to let out a small nervous laugh after holding his breath during the silence before hearing your voice. "But when you're not, I know you're good. You have a kind heart even if you deny it, but I guess the only one who can not see the truth about you is yourself."

But it feels like tonight, you can win everything of him: his true self, his temper or the most loving side he really wanted to show you. Everything.

"Fine. But don't you ever bark at me again, you hear me, asshole?"

You narrow your eyes at him, meaning every word, but Daryl smiles a little bit, nodding, learning to take the love you start to give him in your own way.

"Yes, ma'am."

[multific]

Held by Fate

Eric Draven x Reader

Summary: You thought you met him by chance, but it was all fate.

The streets were quiet as you walked home that evening, the soft glow of the streetlights didn't help much in the dark.

You had stayed late at work, finishing up a project, and now the city had taken on an eerie darkness. The air was cold making you shiver and urging you to quicken your pace.

You didn’t mind walking alone at night, it was something you had done countless times before. But tonight, something felt different, something was definitely off and you couldn't point it out just yet.

As you turned the corner onto another street, your heart rate spiked.

Three men emerged from the shadows, blocking your path. Their eyes were filled with ill intentions, and a cruel smirk played on the lips of the one in the middle.

You audibly gulped.

“Hello there, Sweetheart. What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?” one of them said as he took a step closer.

You clutched your bag tightly, your mind racing for a way out. “I… I’m just heading home. Please, let me pass.” Probably not the best idea to mention your home in case they follow you. But you were in full panic mode.

The men laughed, which was probably not a good sign. They moved in, surrounding you, and you could feel your breath quickening.

You tried to think of a way out but your mind was blank.

“Come on, don’t be shy,” another one said, his voice dripping with menace.

Before you could react, a voice cut through the tension like a blade.

“Leave her alone.”

You turned toward the source of the voice, your heart pounding in your ears.

Standing a few feet away was a man in a worn leather jacket, his hands clenched into fists. It took you a moment to recognize him. Eric.

He was the man you had helped at the grocery store just a few days ago.

The leader of the group sneered. “And who the hell are you supposed to be?”

Eric stepped forward, his expression cold and unwavering. “I said, leave her alone.”

Something about the way he said it, the determination in his voice, made the men hesitate. For a moment, it seemed like they were weighing their options.

Then, with a grunt of frustration, the leader waved his hand dismissively.

“Whatever, man. Let’s go. The bitch is not worth it.”

The three men backed off, disappearing into the shadows where they came from. You let out a shaky breath, the tension draining from your body.

Eric approached you, his gaze softening as he saw the fear in your eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently.

You nodded, though your legs felt like jelly. “Yes, thank you. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up.”

Eric offered a faint smile.

“I’m just glad I got here in time.” He glanced around, making sure the men were truly gone before turning back to you. “Let me walk you home. It’s not safe out here.”

You hesitated for a moment but then nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

As the two of you began walking, the initial shock wore off, and you found yourself stealing glances at him.

He seemed different from the first time you met, he looked a lot more confident.

“I didn’t expect to see you again,” you said after a moment.

“Yeah, neither did I. Funny how life works, huh?” he chuckled.

“How have you been?” you asked cautiously, remembering the brief conversation you’d had with him at the store.

You met him when he was in front of you at the store, he was a little short on change and the cashier was riding his ass about it. You stepped in and paid for him. After, he was thankful and he had a short conversation with you. This is when he mentioned something about getting back on his feet.

This was a couple months ago.

He sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s been… tough. I just got out of rehab a couple of weeks ago. Trying to stay clean, stay sober. It’s a day-by-day thing.”

“That sounds really hard. But it’s good that you’re trying.” something about his honesty touched you.

Eric glanced at you, a hint of surprise in his eyes.

“Most people don’t say that. They either avoid me or look at me like I’m a lost cause.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re a lost cause. You saved me tonight. That counts for something.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Thanks. That means more than you know.”

The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a while, the city lights casting a soft glow on the wet pavement. Eventually, you reached your apartment building. You turned to face Eric, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and curiosity.

“This is me,” you said, gesturing toward the entrance.

Eric nodded, lingering a moment longer. “I’m glad you’re okay. If you ever need anything… well, I’m around.”

You hesitated, then reached into your bag and pulled out a small notepad. Scribbling your number on a piece of paper, you handed it to him.

“In case you ever need someone to talk to.”

Eric stared at the paper for a moment before taking it, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Thanks. I… I really appreciate that.”

“Goodnight, Eric.”

“Goodnight.”

As you watched him walk away, you couldn’t help but feel that this wasn’t the last time your paths would cross. There was something about him—a quiet strength, a hint of sadness, and an undeniable kindness—that stayed with you long after you closed the door behind you.

Little did you know, that night was just the beginning.

A/N: Part 2 is currently in progress.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[sacrednova]

Drive me home | Simon "Ghost" Riley | 1

fem!reader | In this story, a young woman mistakenly texts Simon "Ghost" Riley, thinking he's her Uber driver after a wild night out. Despite his gruff, reserved nature, Simon shows up. Contains fake screenshots with texts messages and calls!!!!

Next [2]

It hadn’t been a bad night—she danced, drank, laughed with her friends... But now, she was alone outside the club, searching for that Uber contact her friend had sent, fingers shaking as she tried to type the number correctly.

She nearly let out a dramatic little cry when she checked the time; it was freezing.

The vibrations of her phone in her hand came like a lifeline in the disorienting haze of neon lights, loud music, and a few too many cocktails. She blinked as a new text popped up from “Uber???” Well, that’s what she had saved him as anyway.

She squinted at the message, trying to process the details in her tipsy state. A mask? What kind of Uber driver wore a mask? She brushed it off, assuming he was just another eccentric in this city full of them. But a masked, mysterious stranger in a black truck? Right now, that sounded way better than the alley she was stuck in. Besides, she could take care of herself. Probably.

And then she saw it—a figure lurking across the street, watching her from the shadows, eyes flicking from her to his phone, and then back again. She swallowed, nerves prickling. She tried to ignore the feeling, but it lingered, crawling up her spine.

Suddenly, her fingers flew across the screen.

No reply.

She clenched her phone tighter, looking up and down the empty street, then glanced back at her screen. She could feel the rising urge to text him again and again, each message tinged with a touch more urgency.

Somewhere miles away, Simon glanced at his phone, his thumb hovering over the steering wheel. He’d put himself through hell and back in countless battlefields, facing down horrors most men would never imagine, but this? Being spammed by a random, drunk girl with a barrage of panicked messages? It was almost… comical.

What am I doing? he thought, irritation flickering under his mask. He was almost 40, practically ancient by some standards, and here he was, playing the knight in black armor for some stranger who probably didn’t even know her own last name right now.

Yet there he was, pressing down harder on the gas pedal.

The next text buzzed as he turned a corner.

The words ignited something in him, a familiar protective instinct that refused to let up. He gritted his teeth, eyes narrowing as he watched the road blur past. When he’d agreed to pick her up, it was because he didn’t trust her to make it home in one piece. He could tell she’d been drinking, and he had no patience for the kinds of creeps that lingered around clubs at this hour. But now…now it felt like a mission.

The final turn brought her into view—a small, unsteady figure with her back against a wall, clutching her phone like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to safety. And standing just a few feet away from her was the guy. Tall, with a slick smile and hands shoved in his pockets, like he had all the time in the world to wait her out.

Simon’s truck screeched to a halt, the dark engine purring like a beast as he glared through the windshield. He didn’t even need to get out; the guy’s eyes widened the moment the headlights hit him, and he took a few steps back, muttering something before disappearing into the shadows.

Simon killed the engine and got out, his towering figure partially hidden by the black mask over his face, and for a second, she stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Uh…Uber?” she said with a drunken giggle, half-nervous, half-relieved.

“Get in,” he muttered, shooting her a look as he opened the passenger door.

She clambered in, her expression melting from shock into something warm, a little playful as she buckled herself up. “Mr. Uber Driver… you’re my hero,” she slurred.

He grunted, barely acknowledging her. “Text me like that again, and I might just leave you next time.”

She smiled, eyes heavy-lidded, safe and sound in the passenger seat of his big, black truck.

[This is a first part] [Part two here]

[juliettejwnewinesa]

Hi! Can I request a Baku fic? Like baku tending to reader’s wounds after she got her (Reader is a good fighter as well)—but the union ultimately come up to her and it’s just the wrong timing so she ended up losing the fight really badly? Like really angsty but it’s all hurt/comfort !

Title: Fallen, but Not Broken Park Hu-min x Reader | Hurt/Comfort | Angst | Emotional Intimacy

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

It started as a simple recon. You weren’t supposed to engage, just watch, report back, maybe follow the lead a little. But the second you turned a corner and saw them—those black jackets, that smug confidence—the Union was already waiting.

You didn’t run.

You fought.

You fought well. They didn’t expect that from you, not the kind of resistance that made even their cockiest members backpedal. But numbers were numbers. Timing was everything. And today, the odds weren’t just bad—they were brutal.

Now, hours later, you're slumped in an alley in the outskirts of the city. Bleeding. Bruised. Breathing hard like your lungs are collapsing from the weight of everything. You keep blinking through the sting in your eye, vision blurring with blood and failure.

You don’t cry. You just sit there, knuckles raw, trying to convince yourself this wasn’t a complete loss.

"(Y/N)."

The voice slices through the static in your ears. Calm, deep, strained.

Park Hu-min. Baku.

You turn your head slowly. There he is in the shadows, walking fast and steady toward you like he’d been looking for you. Like he knew exactly where you’d fall.

"You’re late," you whisper, forcing a crooked smile.

His jaw tightens. "You’re bleeding."

"I noticed."

He crouches in front of you, eyes raking over every wound. Every scratch. His hand hesitates, hovering just over your wrist before it touches. Gentle. Grounding.

"What the hell happened?"

You shrug, trying to sit up straighter, but your ribs scream and you flinch. He catches you before you topple over. His eyes flash.

"Don’t you dare move," he growls under his breath.

"It was a bad time. Too many of them."

"You shouldn’t have been alone."

"I can handle myself."

"Not tonight."

His voice is rough, threaded with frustration—but underneath that, fear. It bleeds through the way his hands move, pulling out a worn first aid kit from his coat. The way he rips the seal with his teeth, not bothering with delicacy.

He starts cleaning the wounds on your arms first. It burns like hell.

You wince, exhaling sharply. He pauses.

"Sorry," he says, quieter.

You look up at him. His expression is focused, but you see it—the stiffness in his shoulders, the way his mouth twitches slightly every time he sees a fresh bruise.

He hates this. Hates seeing you like this.

"You mad at me?" you ask.

He doesn’t answer right away.

"I’m mad they touched you."

Your chest tightens. You look away.

"It wasn't supposed to go down like this," you whisper.

He doesn’t push. Just keeps working. Quiet, careful, efficient.

Minutes pass. The sounds of the city fade into the background as he tapes up your ribs, rolls your sleeve back down, and finally leans back.

"Can you stand?"

You nod, barely. He stands first, then reaches down with both hands. You hesitate. Then, you take them.

He pulls you up slow, catching you when your legs almost give. His arm slides around your waist, steadying you.

"Don’t try to be strong for me," he murmurs.

"I’m not."

"You always do."

He walks you to the edge of the alley, keeping your weight close to his side.

"You need rest. And food. And two weeks away from any kind of street fight."

"You gonna babysit me?"

His lips twitch, barely. "If that’s what it takes."

You go quiet. The city feels too loud suddenly, too bright.

"I was scared," you admit.

He stops walking. Turns to you fully.

You meet his eyes. "When they started swarming me. I realized I might not walk out. And I just kept thinking—you’d be mad. That I was stupid. That I didn’t call."

His jaw tenses.

Then he pulls you into his chest. One arm around your back, one hand cradling the back of your head. You freeze, then melt into him, because the moment is real. Raw.

"I was mad," he says into your hair. "Because I almost lost you."

You don’t speak. You just grip his jacket, let yourself lean into him, heart loud in your chest.

"You’re not just another fighter," he murmurs. "You’re not just backup. You’re mine. You understand that?"

You nod slowly.

He exhales against your temple. "Next time, you call me first. I don’t care what the mission says. I don’t care what it costs. I’ll come running."

You look up, and the way he's looking at you—like he's memorizing every piece of you, every wound, every breath—it aches in the best and worst ways.

You could cry. But you don’t.

You let him take you home.

You let yourself heal.

With him.

[sealcowboy]

cryptid

alien!joost x reader ʚ the one where joost gets spotted out of disguise by a neighbour

rpf || dni if you don’t like, just block

you’re halfway through brushing your teeth when he walks past in socks and a weird sense of purpose.

“i will dispose of the organic refuse,” he says, like he’s about to conduct a ritual and not just take out the trash.

you, mid-toothpaste-foam, mumble something that probably translates to “cool thanks love you,” and go back to scrubbing.

you don’t notice until several minutes later that he’s not back. and he usually comes back quickly, he doesn’t like the trash area. last time he got hissed at by a raccoon and gave it a respectful apology before retreating.

you don’t think much of it. you spit into the sink, rinse, hum a tune, scroll on your phone while standing in the doorway. time passes. five minutes. then ten. still no sound of the door opening again. no humming, no weird glowy footprints on the tile like usual.

then your phone buzzes.

it’s from your neighbor:

hey. weird question.

is your boyfriend like. a 7-foot glowing guy.

because someone just saw that behind the dumpsters

you freeze.

he forgot the hoodie.

you sprint outside in your socks, which immediately soak through because it rained earlier. you round the corner of your apartment building and there he is. tall. radiant. glowing gently with soft, small, glowing pulses coming from the squishy, bulbous tips of his antennae. he’s crouched beside the trash bins, absolutely entranced by a possum that’s baring its teeth at him in pure, primal fear.

you do not have the energy for this tonight.

“joost,” you hiss, running up to him, “what are you doing?”

he doesn’t look away from the possum. “this small creature has challenged me. i am attempting to diffuse the tension.”

you stare at him. “by crouching down and glowing at it?”

“yes.”

“okay. great. cool. you have gone full cryptid.”

the possum shrieks. he calmly stands up, watching the possum scurry into the bushes with what you’re pretty sure is pure fear.

you usher him inside as fast as you can, trying to block him from view in case any late-night dog walkers happen to wander by. once you’re both inside the apartment, you shove one of your biggest hoodies over his head.

“joost, we talked about this,” you say.

“i was unaware my body was emitting light.”

“okay but like. why were you glowing?”

“the scent of decomposition in this area is oddly comforting. it reminded me of a nesting chamber on my homeworld.”

you groan and flop down on the couch. he carefully lowers himself beside you, glowing faintly under the hood like a very handsome jellyfish.

you shove a blanket at him too, just to be safe. he accepts it with regal dignity. “are we nesting?” “no.” you say, checking your phone again.

sure enough, there’s already a post on the local facebook page:

🚨 JUST SAW A GLOWING MAN IN THE ALLEY BEHIND MAPLE STREET APARTMENTS

too tall. glowing brightly. possibly dangerous. scared my cat.

do not approach. might be a skinwalker.

you turn the phone toward him. he reads the whole thing silently, then looks up at you with absolutely no shame in his big, blue, eyes.

“…this is an honor,” he says softly.

you groan. “no. no, it is not.”

“they called me ‘too tall’ and and described me as ‘glowing brightly.’ on my homeworld, that would be considered extremely attractive.”

“okay but you live on earth now. you cannot be glowing in alleys like some jellyfish.”

he tilts his head, thoughtful. “…you think i look like a jellyfish? thank you.”

you chuck the throw pillow at him. he catches it and looks obnoxiously pleased with himself.

his glow shifts to a warmer blue shade, the color he gets when he’s feeling smug. you point at him. “no. no glowing. this is what got us into trouble in the first place.”

he shrinks under the blanket. “i was simply expressing pride.”

he hums quietly and buries his face in the hoodie’s collar, still beaming.

you flop onto the couch next to him with a dramatic sigh.

he leans against you a minute later. quietly. carefully. he always forgets his size until the whole couch moves a little.

“…they did say i was glowing brightly, though,” he mumbles.

you groan. again. “i’m never going to hear the end of this.”

he presses his glowing forehead to your shoulder. “affirmative.”

IM STILL GONNA WRITE ABOUT NORMAL JOOST i just wanted to get an idea out of my brain

[chuubiesl]

i'm here on your doorstep | dick grayson

summary : Dick Grayson feels a deep emptiness in his chest, a feeling that only grows with the absence of his girlfriend. Each day away from her seems longer and more painful than the last. He knows he made a mistake, that he let the right words die in his throat when they needed to be said the most. Now, there he is, once again, standing in front of her door, with his heart racing and his hands sweating.

warning : it's inspired by betty from ts, so that says a lot

The party was in full swing, the atmosphere buzzing with energy and carefree vibes. People moved around the room in a frenetic rhythm, dancing to the loud music that echoed in every corner, while some couples got lost in passionate kisses, oblivious to the world around them. The air was filled with laughter, animated conversations, and the faint smell of spilled drinks. It was amidst this whirlwind of emotions that you spotted him: Dick, standing at the door, like a figure who didn’t quite belong in that party scene. He was there, quiet, observing, with an air that mixed hesitation and a glimmer of hope.

Your heart tightened, as if an invisible hand were squeezing it, and your feet seemed to grow heavier with each step you took toward him. Your steps were hesitant, as if part of you wanted to run to him, while another part urged you to walk away as quickly as possible. When you finally got close, the words came out almost without thinking, laced with a mix of surprise and distrust:

"What are you doing here?"

Dick looked at you, his eyes reflecting a sincerity that seemed to want to break down the barrier you had built between you. He took a deep breath before answering, as if carefully choosing each word:

"Well, I was out on the street and… I just wanted to see you."

He noticed the hesitant look you gave him, that look that said more than words ever could. It was a look that mixed doubt, hurt, and maybe, just maybe, a little longing. Dick then asked the question that seemed to hang in the air between you, his voice soft, almost vulnerable:

"Do you want me to leave?"

There was an innocent expression on his face, as if he truly didn’t know what your answer would be. He had missed you. That’s what kept him there, standing at the door, once again. It was as if he couldn’t stay away, even knowing he might not be welcome.

"See me after everything you did?"

The words came out loaded with an incredulity that couldn’t be disguised. You couldn’t believe he was there, in front of you, as if nothing had happened. A sigh escaped your lips, almost involuntarily, while your eyes stayed fixed on anything but him. It was hard to look him in the eye, hard to face that past that always seemed to linger between you.

"Let’s talk on the porch, Dick."

The suggestion was made with a firm voice, but one that still carried an almost imperceptible tremor. The porch was a calmer place, away from the noise and commotion of the party. Maybe there, you could finally have the conversation you had needed for so long.

"Of course," Dick replied, his voice soft, almost restrained, as if he were trying to measure every word, every tone, to avoid making things worse. He followed you in silence, his steps echoing lightly on the floor as you both walked toward the porch. The night was cool, with a gentle breeze carrying the scent of wet grass and the distant murmur of the party still going on inside, as if the world kept turning, even though, for the two of you, everything seemed to have stopped.

When you reached the porch, each of you sat in one of the rocking chairs, their smooth, rhythmic motion contrasting with the tension in the air. The silence between you was thick, heavy, as if every second that passed carried the weight of everything that had been said and left unsaid. You could barely look at each other. Your gazes met for brief moments, only to quickly look away, as if there was something too painful about maintaining eye contact. It was hard to tell if it was hurt, shame, or a mix of both that kept that invisible barrier between you.

The music from the party reached the porch in a muffled way, like a distant echo of a world that seemed far away from that moment. Out there, there were no judgmental looks, no pity. It was just the two of you, the night, and the silence that seemed to scream louder than any words.

Dick was the one who broke the silence first. He took a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to say what needed to be said. His words came out slowly, measured, but loaded with a sincerity that was impossible to ignore.

"I’m sorry for making you suffer," he began, his voice a little shaky but firm. "I shouldn’t have done that. I know I messed up, and I… I deeply regret it. I still care about you, more than I can express."

His eyes were fixed on you now, as if he were trying to convey all the pain and regret he felt through that gaze. It was clear that he was upset with himself, perhaps even more than you could imagine. He knew he had hurt the girl he loved, and it was eating him up inside.

But, even with all the regret, there was a stubborn hope in his heart. He was still there, waiting for a chance, for a sign that you might forgive him for the betrayal. He knew he didn’t deserve it, but still, he hoped.

"A summer away, and this happens," you jabbed, your voice now bitter. "I hope it was at least worth it; hitting on two girls and losing the right one."

"It wasn’t intentional," Dick began, his voice heavy with remorse, as if each word were a burden he had been carrying for a long time. He looked at you with a sad expression, his eyes revealing a mix of regret and vulnerability. "I just wanted to have a little fun, you know? Just trying to forget some things, but… things went too far. I didn’t plan for this to happen."

He paused, taking a deep breath, as if trying to find the right words to explain something he himself didn’t fully understand. "I was tired. Tired of everything. And the alcohol… it was running through my veins, making me more impulsive than I already am. I just wanted to get away from people, away from everything. But now… now I’m sure that you’re the only one I really care about."

His eyes fixed on you, filled with a fragile hope, as if he were holding onto a thin thread of possibility for reconciliation. He wanted you to believe him, to see the genuine regret in his gaze.

But you weren’t ready to accept his words so easily. Your eyes, which had refused to meet his until now, turned to the old tree in the garden. That tree that had witnessed so many moments between the two of you, with both of your initials carved into its bark, like a symbol of a time that now seemed so distant. It was painful to look at it, as if each letter carved into the wood were a reminder of what you had lost.

"Dick, it wasn’t just one day with Barbara," you said, your voice firm but with a tremor that betrayed the pain you still felt. "It was an entire summer. Were you drunk the whole summer? Don’t use alcohol as an excuse, because deep down, you were following what you were feeling."

Your eyes moved away from the tree and briefly turned back to the house, where the party was still in full swing. People were laughing, dancing, drinking, as if there were no tomorrow. It was a stark contrast to what you were feeling at that moment. While everyone seemed lost in the euphoria of the night, you had lost the desire to celebrate. The joy of the party seemed distant, almost unreal.

Dick lowered his head, as if your words had hit a nerve. "The alcohol just made things worse," he murmured, his voice almost a whisper, as if he himself didn’t fully believe what he was saying.

You didn’t let him hide behind that excuse. "The alcohol just gave you courage, you mean," you said, your words direct, cutting, but loaded with a truth that both of you knew was there. The alcohol may have amplified his impulses, but deep down, the choices he made were his, and his alone.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him approaching. His steps were slow, hesitant, as if he were trying to gauge your reaction. Part of you wanted to pull away, to create distance, to protect yourself from anything that might hurt you again. But there was something deeper, something that kept you from moving. Maybe it was the memory of what you once had, or maybe it was the hope, however faint, that things could be different this time.

He then sat down beside you, his weight sinking slightly into the couch or bench where you were sitting. His movements were careful, as if he knew that one wrong move could shatter the fragile balance between you. He put an arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently toward him. You felt the warmth of his body, the familiarity of that touch that had once been so comforting. He noticed how tense you were, as if your body were on alert, and he knew he had to be gentle, that he couldn’t push too hard.

You felt uncomfortable, yes. There was an internal war raging inside you, between the desire to protect yourself and the urge to let yourself be carried away by the moment. But, as much as part of you wanted to pull away, another part couldn’t. Slowly, your head found its way to his shoulder, as if it were the natural place to rest. Your hands, almost instinctively, moved toward his, and your fingers intertwined in a gesture that had once been so familiar, so full of meaning. You gave a light squeeze, as if trying to say something that words couldn’t express.

"You’re an idiot, a jerk," you said, the words coming out low, almost whispered, but loaded with a vulnerability you couldn’t hide. There was no anger in them, just hurt. Hurt for what he had done, for what you had lost. And, behind it all, there was still love. Because, despite all the mistakes, all the disappointments, you still loved Dick. And maybe that was what hurt the most.

"Yeah, I’m an idiot," he replied, his voice hoarse, as if the words were stuck in his throat. "There’s no excuse for what I did. I want to be better for you." His eyes filled with tears, and he didn’t try to hide them. He was hurting, not just because he had lost you, but because he had been the cause of all that pain. He hated himself for hurting the girl he loved, for ruining everything. But, at the same time, there was a sense of relief in being there, by your side, even if it was just for a moment.

He tilted his head slightly, letting his lips brush against your hair in a soft, almost reverent kiss. He breathed in the familiar scent of your shampoo, something he hadn’t realized he missed so much until now. It was a small gesture, but one filled with meaning. He was trying to win back your trust, trying to show, even in a timid way, that he still cared, that he still wanted to make things right. And, deep down, you knew he was trying. But you also knew that the road to rebuilding what had been broken was long and uncertain.

You stayed thoughtful for a few seconds, maybe minutes; time seemed to slow down, as if the world around you had stopped to let you simply exist in that moment. His touch, so familiar yet so distant, was comforting in a way you hadn’t expected. His hand held yours with a gentleness that almost made you forget, for a moment, all the pain you had felt. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes briefly, as if trying to hold onto that feeling, to keep it in your memory.

"Can I ask for something?" Dick said, his voice soft, almost hesitant, as if he didn’t want to disturb the silence surrounding you.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you nodded slightly, confirming that you were willing to hear what he had to say. Your hand squeezed his more firmly, as if trying to convey that, despite everything, you were still there, still trying.

Dick then turned to you, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that almost took your breath away. He seemed to be trying to read every emotion on your face, every thought crossing your mind. And then, he asked the question that made your heart stop for a moment:

"Can I kiss you?"

The world seemed to spin faster for an instant. You felt your heart race, your thoughts jumble. Your eyes glanced toward the house, imagining what your friends would say if they saw you giving Dick another chance. The judgments, the disapproving looks, the comments that would surely arise. But, deep down, you knew you didn’t care what others thought. Because, in that moment, all you wanted was this.

"Yes."

The word came out in a whisper, almost imperceptible, but enough to make Dick smile. It was a smile that lit up his face, full of relief and hope. He leaned in slowly, as if giving you the chance to pull away, to change your mind. But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned slightly forward, meeting his lips with yours.

The kiss was gentle, almost reverent, as if he were trying to convey all the regret and love he felt through that simple touch. Your lips met, mingled, as if trying to reconnect something that had been broken. You were so close that you could almost feel his breath, the warmth of his body.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours; time seemed irrelevant. When you finally pulled away, it was with a series of soft pecks, as if neither of you really wanted the kiss to end. You stayed there, in silence, just looking at each other. Your eyes met, and you saw in his a promise, a determination to make things right this time.

"Just… no more summer flings," you said, your voice soft but loaded with meaning.

"I promise," Dick replied, his voice firm, full of conviction. He smiled, a smile that was both sweet and determined. "I’m ready to be your boyfriend, only yours. I don’t want to be with anyone else." His voice was filled with a sincerity that was impossible to ignore. He kissed you again, but this time it was different. The kiss was firmer, more passionate, as if he were trying to show you that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment, like those in the summer. This was real. This was something much better.

And, as you got lost in that kiss, you felt that, maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to each other.