Kazu

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welcome to my little corner of the world here you find a collection of the characters I've been writing about

𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 & 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

Bucky Barnes

Steve Harrington

Robert Reynolds

Cameron Cassmore

Paul Atreides

Willy Wonka

thank you very much for the request! this was so fun💕

shut up and drive

Pairing: Steve Harrington x female reader

Warnings: blood. bad injuries. hurt/angst/comfort. protective boyfriend vibes. established relationship. no use of y/n.

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The first thing Robin notices is the blood. The second thing she notices is that there's way too much of it.

"Uh…" she says slowly.

The backseat of Steve's car is crowded and miserable. Everyone smells like dirt, sweat, smoke, and the Upside Down.

Your head is resting against the window and you are way too quiet. Way too pale.

"Guys?"

Nobody answers. Steve is too busy white-knuckling the steering wheel. Nancy is arguing with Dustin about something.

Then Robin's eyes land on your side. And she freezes. "Oh my God."

Everyone turns.

"What?" Steve asks immediately.

Robin points. "THAT."

The entire car goes silent. Your shirt is soaked. Not stained. Soaked. Dark blood spreads across your side and down into the seat beneath you.

And somehow nobody noticed before. Probably because everybody is injured. Probably because the last twelve hours have been absolute insanity.

Steve looks into the rear view mirror. And immediately goes white. "WHAT THE HELL?"

The car jerks forward and everyone screams.

"STEVE!" Nancy yells.

"She's bleeding!"

"I CAN SEE THAT!"

The speedometer climbs. Fast ... very fast.

"Steve, slow down!"

"No!"

"Steve!"

"NO!"

"You're gonna kill us!"

"She is literally bleeding out in my backseat, Robin!"

The engine roars. The car takes a corner way too fast. Everyone gets thrown sideways.

Dustin slams against the door. "OH MY GOD!" He grabs the handle above the window. "I'M TOO YOUNG FOR THIS!"

Robin holds onto the back of the front seats with a death grip. "I already almost died once this week."

"Hospital," Steve says. Nobody misses how his voice cracks. "We're going to the hospital."

Nancy immediately turns around. "Steve, think."

"No."

"The hospital is going to ask questions."

"I DON'T CARE."

"You can't explain Upside Down injuries."

"I DON'T CARE."

Robin is clutching the seat. "Guys, maybe less arguing and more not crashing?"

Steve points wildly toward the backseat without taking his eyes off the road. "LOOK AT HER!"

Everyone does. Your eyes are closed now. Not unconscious. Just exhausted. Barely holding on. And suddenly nobody has a counterargument.

Because Steve is right. This isn't a scraped knee or a twisted ankle. This is serious. Very serious.

Steve's knuckles turn white around the steering wheel. "She's going to the hospital. End of discussion."

Nobody argues again.

The emergency room is a chaos. Mostly because Steve creates chaos wherever he goes.

"Sir, we're going as fast as we can—"

"Not fast enough."

"Sir ..."

"Not. Fast. Enough."

Robin physically grabs his jacket. "Steve."

"No."

"Steve."

"Robin, if they don't hurry—"

"They ARE hurrying."

Steve starts pacing. Then sits. Then stands again. Then sits. Then immediately stands again. A nurse finally tells him to stop frightening the other patients.

Hours later the adrenaline starts wearing off. And suddenly Steve just looks scared. He sits hunched in an uncomfortable plastic chair outside your room.

Hair a mess. Bandages still visible on his own neck. His eyes haven't left the door in over an hour. Not once.

Robin eventually sits beside him. For a while neither speaks.

Then quietly— "She's okay."

Steve swallows hard. "Yeah."

"You got her here."

Another nod. His voice comes out rough. "I thought…" He can't finish.

Robin doesn't make him. Because she knows. Everyone in the Upside Down has had that thought at least once. Don't die. Please don't die.

When you finally wake up, it's dark outside. The room is quiet except for the steady beeping of monitors. Your side aches immediately and everything feels heavy.

You blink slowly. And hear a chair scrape.

"Hey."

Steve. You turn your head. He's sitting beside the bed. Still wearing dirt-stained clothes. Still looking exhausted.

Like he never left. Which, honestly? He probably didn't.

Your throat feels dry. "Hi."

The smile that appears on his face could cure diseases. "Oh thank god."

Your chest warms immediately. Even through the pain. "What happened?"

"You scared ten years off my life."

You blink. Steve laughs weakly. And suddenly his eyes are suspiciously shiny.

"Seriously." His voice drops softer. "You scared the hell out of me."

Memories start coming back. The fight. The pain. The blood. "Oh."

"Yeah."

A long silence settles. Then Steve reaches for your hand. Carefully. Like you're fragile. Like he still isn't fully convinced you're okay.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles. "You lost a lot of blood."

"Sorry."

"Did you just apologize for bleeding? God, you can't be serious..."

The response comes immediately. Almost offended and at that you smile faintly.

Steve shakes his head. Then squeezes your hand. "I mean it." His voice turns quiet. "If you're hurt, don't apologize."

The room grows still. Moonlight spills through the window. And for a second Steve just looks at you. Like he's making sure you're actually here.

Actually breathing. Actually alive.

Then suddenly he leans forward and rests his forehead carefully against the back of your hand. The movement is so gentle it nearly breaks your heart.

"You know," he murmurs, voice thick, "next time we fight monsters from another dimension…"

You smile weakly. "Yeah?"

Steve lifts his head. His eyes are tired. "…let's try the version where you don't almost die."

A laugh escapes you despite the pain. Steve immediately brightens. "Damn i missed that."

"What?"

"That laugh." He smiles. Big and warm and unmistakably Steve. The kind of smile that always feels like coming home.

He leans over to you and kisses you softly. And for the first time since the Upside Down ... everything feels okay.

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Thank you so much for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated💙

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x female reader

Summary: You get hurt on a mission and your boyfriend can be terrifying to mess with.

Warnings: blood. hurt/comfort. hurt/angst. violence. injuries. rage. no use of y/n.

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The warehouse smells like smoke and blood and everything after that just becomes noise.

Gunfire. Shouting. Boots against concrete.

Another mission gone wrong. Typical Thunderbolts luck.

Bob lands hard against a steel support beam after taking a hit strong enough to crack the wall behind him. Pain barely registers. Because across the room … he sees you.

And immediately something inside him turns to ice. You’re fighting two men at once near the loading dock, movements sharp and efficient despite the blood already staining one sleeve of your tactical jacket.

Former Red Room training moves through you like instinct. Fast. Precise. Ruthless. But one of the men catches your wrist at exactly the wrong angle.

Your knife skids across the concrete. And then a blade flashes. Bob sees it happen in terrible slow motion.

The knife drives into your side. Your breath catches sharply. For one awful second, you just stare down at it in shock.

Then the man rips it free. You collapse hard onto your knees.

Something in Bob breaks.Not metaphorically or emotionally. It actually breaks.

The world narrows into one violent point. You’re hurt. That’s it. That’s all that exists anymore.

Bob is suddenly there. One second across the warehouse. The next directly in front of the man who stabbed you.

And God. The look on his face. Bucky sees it immediately and his stomach drops.

Because that isn’t just anger. That’s rage stripped raw. Pure terrifying fury. The kind that stops feeling human.

The attacker barely has time to react before Bob grabs him by the throat and slams him into the concrete hard enough to crater it.

The entire warehouse shakes.

“Bob!” John shouts.

No response. The man struggles desperately in Bob’s grip. It doesn’t matter. Bob barely seems aware of anything except the blood spreading beneath you across the floor.

His voice comes out low and shaking. “You touched her.”

The guy gasps for air. Bob slams him down again. And the concrete splinters. Yelena swears violently under her breath. Because Bob isn’t stopping. And everyone here knows exactly how dangerous that is.

The attacker reaches weakly for a weapon. Bob catches his wrist and breaks it instantly. The scream echoes through the warehouse.

Still not enough. Bob’s eyes are glowing now. Wild. Furious. Terrified.

Like he’s one second away from becoming something catastrophic.

“Bob!” Nothing. The man coughs blood. Bob lifts him again like he weighs nothing.

And for one horrifying moment Bucky genuinely thinks Bob is about to kill him.

Brutally. Without hesitation.

Then weakly from the floor … “Bob.”

Everything stops. Immediately. Bob freezes. Your voice sounds small. Pained.

But alive.

His head snaps toward you so fast it almost looks painful. You’re curled against a support beam one hand clutched over your side, blood slipping between your fingers.

And yet you’re looking at him. Not afraid. Just worried … For him.

“Bob,” you whisper again.

The fury inside him cracks instantly. Like glass shattering. His grip loosens. The attacker collapses choking onto the floor.

Bucky moves immediately, grabbing the man while Yelena secures the weapon.

But Bob barely notices. He’s already dropping to his knees beside you. And suddenly he looks horrified.

Not angry anymore. Just devastated. “Oh God.”

His hands hover helplessly over you.

Afraid to touch. Afraid to hurt you worse. Afraid this isn’t real.

Your breathing shakes painfully. “Hey,” you whisper again weakly.

Bob’s voice breaks immediately. “I’m sorry.”

The apology nearly destroys you. “Bob—”

“I should’ve gotten there faster.”

“No.”

“You were bleeding and I—”

“Bob.” Your hand fumbles for his wrist.

He stills instantly. Tears are already gathering in his eyes. “I thought…” His voice fractures completely. “I thought you died.”

Your chest aches so hard it feels unbearable. Slowly you guide his trembling hand against your chest. Right over your heartbeat.

Bob freezes. And there in the middle of the ruined warehouse, under flickering lights and blood and wreckage—

He feels it.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Alive.

Your heartbeat presses steady against his palm. You look at him softly despite the pain. “I’m still here,” you whisper.

Bob makes this tiny broken sound that doesn’t even seem intentional. His forehead drops against yours instantly.

Eyes squeezed shut hard. Like relief physically hurts.

Your fingers slide weakly into his hair. “Breathe,” you murmur softly.

He tries. God, he tries. But his entire body is shaking now. Not rage anymore. Fear. Pure overwhelming fear at almost losing you.

“You scared me,” he whispers hoarsely against your forehead.

Your tired smile trembles slightly. “You scared everyone.”

A wet laugh escapes him unexpectedly.

Somewhere behind you, Yelena mutters: “Understatement of century.”

Bucky’s voice follows flatly: “You punched a man through concrete.”

“I know,” Bob whispers miserably.

You manage a tiny weak grin despite yourself. “Little overprotective.”

Bob finally lifts his head enough to look at you. And the devastation in his expression nearly cracks your heart open. “I couldn’t lose you.”

The honesty in his voice is terrifying. Absolute. Like the thought alone nearly destroyed him.

Your thumb brushes weakly against his cheek. “You won’t.”

His eyes close briefly at that. Then carefully—so carefully—he leans down and presses a trembling kiss against your forehead.

Protective and reverent. Like he’s thanking the universe for letting you stay. Behind him, the rest of the team exchanges silent looks.

Because they’ve all seen Bob dangerous before. But this?

This was different. This was love sharpened into terror.

And somehow the scariest part wasn’t his rage. It was the way he came apart the second he realized you were still breathing.

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Thank you so much for reading! 💙 all interactions are highly appreciated

Pairing: Cameron Cassmore x female reader

Summary: You find him in a very vulnerable state. And he feels ashamed for you seeing him like this.

Warnings: hurt/comfort. dating Cameron. crying. healing. love confessions. mental health. lonely people healing each other. no use of y/n.

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The soup is probably getting cold.

You realize that halfway to Cameron’s house, hands curled carefully around the container balanced on the passenger seat beside you.

Tomato soup and grilled cheese wrapped in foil. Because Cameron once admitted, almost sheepishly, that he mostly survives on takeout and cereal when nobody reminds him to eat properly.

And because loving someone, you’re beginning to learn, sometimes looks very small.

Showing up without being asked to. A porch light left on. Remembering the things they say casually.

The house is dark when you pull up. Not completely, because the warm kitchen light glows faintly through one of the windows.

Good. He’s awake.

Rain taps softly against your umbrella as you walk up the porch steps balancing the food carefully in your arms.

You knock once. No answer. You try the handle gently. Unlocked.

“Cameron?” you call softly as you step inside.

The house smells faintly like coffee and dish soap. A loud crash explodes from somewhere deeper inside the house.

You jump violently. “Cameron!?”

Nothing. Your stomach drops instantly. You hurry toward the sound, heart pounding now. “Cameron!”

Still nothing. Then you round the corner into the kitchen ... and stop abruptly.

A ceramic bowl lies shattered across the floor. One of the chairs has been knocked sideways. And Cameron ...

Oh God.

Cameron is standing at the kitchen counter with both hands braced against it like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

His shoulders are shaking. He doesn’t even notice you at first. He’s crying so hard he can barely breathe. Not quiet tears. Not movie tears.

The kind that come from somewhere deep and ugly and exhausted. Like his whole body finally gave out trying to carry something too heavy alone.

Your heart breaks instantly. “Cameron…”

His head jerks up. For one awful second, pure panic flashes across his face. Like he’s horrified you’re seeing him like this.

He turns away immediately, wiping harshly at his face. “I’m fine.”

The lie barely survives the shaking in his voice. You set the food down quickly on the nearest counter. “Hey,” you say softly. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” His laugh comes out cracked and miserable. “Jesus Christ.”

He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes hard enough to hurt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t know you were coming.”

The apology nearly kills you. Like this is somehow inconvenient for you.

You step carefully around the broken ceramic pieces. “What happened?”

Cameron shakes his head immediately. “Nothing.”

Another lie. His chest is heaving too hard for “nothing.” You glance at the shattered bowl. Then at him and suddenly you understand. Not the exact reason., just the feeling.

One thing too many. One thought too loud. One moment where holding yourself together becomes impossible.

Bad nights still happen. Even when you’re healing. Especially then, sometimes.

“Cameron,” you say gently.

And something in your voice must crack through whatever wall he’s trying to build because suddenly his face folds in on itself again.

“I was doing okay,” he whispers.

Your chest aches so hard it feels physical. “I know.”

“I was.” Tears spill down his face again immediately, frustrated now. “I don’t even know what happened. I just…” He gestures helplessly toward the kitchen. “I dropped the stupid bowl and then suddenly I couldn’t -”

His breath catches violently. “I couldn’t stop thinking.”

You move closer slowly. “What were you thinking about?”

He laughs bitterly to himself. “All of it.” The words come wrecked. “My mom. My dad. The years I wasted. The fact that I still feel like I’m twelve years old pretending to be a person half the time.”

Your eyes sting instantly. Cameron shakes his head hard.

“And the worst part is I thought maybe I was getting better.” His voice cracks. “But then nights like this happen and it feels like I’m still broken underneath everything.”

“No,” you say immediately.

But he keeps going like he can’t stop now that it’s finally coming out. “I’m tired,” he whispers. “I’m so tired of feeling lonely all the time.”

The room goes painfully quiet. Because there it is. The real wound underneath all of it. Loneliness.

An ache that never fully leaves.

You reach him carefully then. Your hands settle softly against his arms. Cameron goes still immediately. Not pulling away. Just… stunned somehow.

“You are not broken because you had a bad night,” you whisper.

His eyes close hard. “But it keeps happening.”

“Yes,” you say softly. “Because healing isn’t linear.”

He laughs weakly through tears. “That sounds like something from a therapy poster.”

“Probably,” you admit quietly. “Still true.”

Cameron’s breathing shakes unevenly. “I hate this,” he whispers.

“I know.”

“I hate that you’re seeing me like this.”

Your heart cracks clean open. “Cameron.”

He finally looks at you. Completely devastated. Completely human. And somehow you’ve never loved him more.

“You know what I see?” you ask softly. He shakes his head once. “I see someone who’s trying.”

Emotion flashes painfully across his face.

“You keep waking up every day,” you continue gently. “You keep letting people care about you even though it scares you. You keep hoping things might feel better someday.”

A tear slips down his cheek.

“That’s not weakness.”

His mouth trembles slightly. “You came over with soup,” he whispers suddenly, voice breaking again.

You blink. “What?”

“I saw the container.”

Your chest aches. “Yeah,” you murmur.

Cameron lets out this tiny wounded sound that almost doesn’t sound human at all. Like kindness hurts him sometimes. “You’re so good to me.”

The words unravel something in you instantly. You step closer without thinking and wrap your arms around him. And for a second Cameron freezes.

Like he forgot people are allowed to hold him when he falls apart. Then suddenly he’s clutching you back hard enough to shake. His face buries against your shoulder. And he cries. The kind someone only does when they’re exhausted from pretending they’re okay.

You hold him through all of it. Your hand moving slowly up and down his back. “It’s okay,” you whisper softly. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out.

“No.” You pull back just enough to look at him. “No apologizing for hurting.”

His eyes shine miserably. “But you came over and now I’m -”

“You’re human,” you interrupt gently.

Silence. Rain taps softly against the windows. The kitchen light hums quietly overhead.

Cameron’s breathing begins to settle. He still looks wrecked. But less alone.

A few minutes later, you’re both sitting on the kitchen floor beside the broken bowl. The soup is warming on the stove now.

Cameron’s shoulder rests lightly against yours. “I really thought getting happier meant this part would disappear,” he admits quietly.

You glance at him. “The sadness?”

He nods.

You lean your head gently against his shoulder. “I think maybe it just gets easier not to face it alone.”

Cameron goes very still beside you. Then his fingers slowly find yours. Holding on carefully.

Outside, rain continues falling softly through the dark. The soup sits half-finished on the coffee table. Neither of you has touched it in several minutes.

The rain outside has softened now, turning the whole house quiet except for the occasional creak of pipes and the low hum of the lamp beside the couch.

Cameron sits hunched forward slightly, elbows on his knees. Still tired. Still emotionally wrung out. But calmer now.

You’re tucked against his side beneath a blanket, your hand absentmindedly tracing slow patterns against the sleeve of his sweater.

For a while, he just watches your fingers move. Then he says “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You look up slightly. “Hmm?”

Cameron swallows hard. “When I said I feel lonely all the time.”

Oh? Your chest tightens immediately.

He won’t meet your eyes. “I don’t want you thinking…” He laughs weakly to himself. “God, I don’t even know how to explain this right.”

“You can try.”

Silence stretches for a moment. Then Cameron exhales shakily.

“You make me happier than anyone ever has,” he says quietly. “Like, by a lot.” Emotion flickers softly through you.

“But sometimes the sadness is still there anyway.” His voice sounds ashamed of it. “And I got scared you’d hear that and think you weren’t enough.”

Your heart breaks a little. Not because of what he said. Because of how guilty he looks saying it. You shift immediately, turning toward him fully beneath the blanket.

“Cameron.” His eyes finally lift to yours. “I know exactly what you meant.”

He blinks slightly. “You do?”

“Yes.” Your fingers slide gently through his. “Sadness like that doesn’t disappear just because something beautiful enters your life,” you whisper. “It’s not a reflection of how much you care about me.”

His face softens slowly as he listens.

“You can feel deeply for someone completely,” you continue quietly, “and still carry grief. Or loneliness. Or old wounds.”

Cameron’s throat bobs hard.

“I think people like us…” You smile sadly. “We feel things deeply. The good and the bad.”

His eyes shine slightly at that.

“And honestly?” you murmur. “I never once heard you say I wasn’t enough.”

A shaky breath leaves him.

“I heard someone scared that they’re too damaged to enjoy being loved properly.”

That one hits him hard. You can see it. His expression crumples around the edges.

“Hey,” you whisper softly. “Look at me.”

He does.

“You never make me feel unwanted.” Your thumb brushes gently across his knuckles. “You make me feel seen.”

The silence after that feels fragile somehow. Cameron stares at you like he’s trying to absorb every word directly into his bloodstream. Then suddenly he laughs quietly to himself.

“What?”

He shakes his head once. “It’s just…” His voice turns rough unexpectedly. “I don’t know how you do this.”

“Do what?”

“Understand me.”

Your chest aches warmly. Because that’s all lonely people really want, isn’t it? To be understood without having to translate themselves first.

“You understand me too,” you whisper.

Cameron looks down at your joined hands for a long moment. Then very softly he whispers “I love you.”

The words slip out accidentally. You can tell immediately. The second he says them, his entire body stills. Like he didn’t even realize they were waiting there.

His eyes widen slightly. “Oh.”

Your heart practically stops. Cameron looks genuinely stunned with himself. “I—” he stammers quietly. “I didn’t mean to just—”

But you’re already smiling. Like some part of you already knew. And that expression completely undoes him.

“You don’t have to take it back,” you whisper.

His face warms immediately. “I wasn’t going to,” he admits after a second.

Your eyes sting a little. Cameron shakes his head softly, almost overwhelmed now.

“I just…” He looks at you helplessly. “I really love you.”

The honesty in his voice nearly cracks your heart wide open. You move closer without thinking, your hand sliding gently against his cheek.

“I love you too.”

Cameron closes his eyes for one tiny second like hearing that physically hurts in the best way. Then he leans into your touch instinctively. So trusting. So careful with his heart.

He kisses you.

And it’s tender in the most devastating way imaginable. Not desperate or hurried. Just Cameron holding your face like something precious while his mouth moves softly against yours.

Like he’s trying to say every feeling he’s ever struggled to put into words. The kiss tastes faintly like rain and cooled-off soup and relief.

Your fingers slip into the hair at the back of his neck, and Cameron melts immediately at the touch, a tiny broken sound escaping him before he can stop it.

The sound nearly ruins you. Because nobody’s ever kissed you like this either. Like they’re grateful for your existence. Like they’re kissing a person instead of trying to take something.

Cameron pulls back only slightly, forehead still resting against yours.

His eyes stay closed for a second longer. Like he wants to live inside this moment forever.

“I thought maybe the lonely feeling meant something was wrong with me,” he admits quietly.

You brush your thumb beneath his eye softly. “No,” you whisper. “I think it just means you’ve spent a long time carrying things alone.” His breathing catches slightly. “But you don’t anymore.”

And something in Cameron finally eases at that. Not completely. Healing never works that way.

But enough. Enough for him to pull you gently into his arms again. Enough for him to rest his forehead against yours again with this tiny, disbelieving smile.

Enough for the loneliness to loosen its grip for one quiet moment.

Outside, rain continues falling softly through the dark. But inside?

Wrapped together beneath warm lamplight and half-forgotten soup and trembling confessions love settles carefully between two aching people who finally found someone willing to stay.

_______________________

Pairing: Cameron Cassmore x female reader

Summary: He may be not good with words but he needs to tell you how much you mean to him.

Warnings: love confession. first kiss. yearning big time. no use of y/n.

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The rain starts just after closing time. Of course it does.

For some reason, every important thing in Cameron’s life seems to happen in the rain. Cameron has been walking for almost an hour. No destination and no real reason.

Just wandering through damp streets with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket while his thoughts circle the same thing they’ve been circling for weeks now:

You.

The way you laugh softly like you’re surprised by your own happiness. The way you understand silence without trying to fill it. The way being around you makes the loneliness in him quiet down for a little while.

And God ... he likes you so much it almost hurts. Which is a problem. Because Cameron has become very good at wanting things quietly.

From a distance.

The café glows warm against the rainy street when he passes it. Soft yellow light spilling onto wet pavement. Cameron almost keeps walking. Then he sees you through the window. And suddenly he stops.

You’re alone inside.

Hair tied up in a messy bun. Sweater sleeves pushed up. A broom moving lazily across the floor while some song Cameron can’t hear clearly crackles through the café speakers.

And you’re dancing. Not performatively. Just little sleepy movements while you clean up for the night, mouthing lyrics to yourself with this tiny smile on your face.

It’s so painfully human that Cameron’s chest physically aches. Because you look so happy. Not pretending-to-be-okay happy.

Actually happy. And suddenly all he can think is: I would do anything to keep that look on your face.

Rainwater drips steadily from his hair while he stands there staring like an idiot through the window.

Then you spin slightly with the broom and finally notice him. You jump hard. Cameron immediately lifts both hands in apology, horrified.

“Oh my God, I'm so sorry!”

Your eyes widen. Then brighten instantly. And there it is again. That smile, the one that is so special to him.

You hurry toward the door. The little bell above it jingles softly as you pull it open. “You scared me!”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Cameron says immediately, already laughing nervously. “I wasn’t trying to be creepy, I swear.”

“You were being just a little bit creepy.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “That’s fair.”

You grin, stepping aside to let him in. Warmth wraps around him immediately after the cold rain outside. And somehow that feels dangerous. Because lately, you feel dangerous to him too.

Not in a bad way. In a I could really fall for you if I’m not careful kind of way. Too late, probably.

“What are you doing out there?” you ask, tucking one strand of loose hair behind you ear.

Cameron shrugs awkwardly. “Walking.”

“In the rain?”

“Feels thematic.”

That earns a soft laugh from you. God. He loves that sound.

You lean the broom against the counter. “Well, now you’re wet and weird in my café.”

“Your hospitality is incredible.”

“I try.” The teasing settles warmly between you. Easy and familiar.

But tonight there’s something else underneath it too. Something tighter. Cameron feels it every time your eyes meet his for more than a second.

You tilt your head slightly after a moment. “You okay?”

And there it is. That terrifying gentleness you always have with him.

Cameron exhales shakily through his nose. “Yeah,” he lies automatically.

Your expression says you don’t believe him for a second. “Cameron.”

The way you say his name... Soft. Careful. Like it matters. It completely ruins him. He looks down briefly, rainwater still dripping from the sleeves of his jacket.

Then laughs quietly to himself. “I had this whole speech in my head earlier.”

Your brows lift slightly. “…That sounds ominous.”

“Yeah,” he says weakly. “It kinda is.”

Your smile fades into concern. And suddenly Cameron realizes something horrifying:

He’s actually going to say it. Oh no.

He rubs nervously at the back of his neck. “I think about you all the time.”

Well. There it is. Your breath catches slightly. Cameron keeps going before he loses courage completely.

“I try not to,” he admits with a shaky laugh. “But then I see something funny and wanna tell you about it, or hear a song and wonder if you’d like it, or…” He swallows hard. “Or I just miss you for no reason.”

The café feels very quiet suddenly. Rain taps softly against the windows. Your eyes stay fixed on him like you’re afraid to interrupt.

“I know we’re both kinda…” Cameron gestures vaguely. “Sad people.”

That pulls the tiniest smile from you.

“But when you’re happy?” he says softly. “Like just now, dancing around with your broom like a dork…”

You laugh through a surprised breath.

Cameron’s chest tightens at the sound. “When you’re happy,” he repeats more quietly, “it makes me feel like maybe things can be okay.”

Your eyes start shining immediately. Oh no. Oh God.

Cameron panics instantly. “No, hey...don’t cry, I didn’t mean -”

You cover your mouth suddenly, tears spilling over anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Cameron says quickly, horrified now. “I swear I wasn’t trying to upset you -”

“You didn’t.” Your voice breaks around the words.

Cameron stops. You shake your head quickly, laughing shakily through tears. “You didn’t upset me.”

“Then why are you crying?” The question comes out so genuinely concerned that you almost cry harder.

Because there he is again. That sweet aching boy who cares so much.

You wipe at your eyes helplessly. “It’s just…” You laugh weakly. “Nobody’s ever said something like that to me before.”

Cameron’s heart cracks clean open. “What? Seriously?”

You nod once. And something fierce and tender blooms in his chest all at once. Because how could nobody have told you? How could nobody have looked at you and thought: there you are.

He steps closer carefully. Slow enough to stop if you want him to. “I really really like you,” he says softly.

Your eyes close briefly like the words physically hit you. “I like you too,” you whisper.

Cameron lets out the breath he’s been holding for what feels like centuries.

Then you laugh shakily again. “You already make me happy, you know.”

God. The look on his face at that ... Like someone just handed him something sacred.

“Yeah?” he asks quietly.

You nod. “Yeah.”

The silence that follows feels enormous. Tender and fragile. Cameron glances at your mouth before he can stop himself.

Then immediately looks away again. But you noticed. Of course you noticed.

Your voice comes softer now. “Cameron?”

“Yeah?”

“You can kiss me if you want to.”

His entire brain short-circuits. “Oh.”

You laugh wetly. “That was not smooth at all.”

“No, I just -” Cameron shakes his head, smiling helplessly now. “I’ve wanted to do that for, like… an embarrassing amount of time.”

Your smile turns shy. “Good.”

And then finally ... Finally -

He kisses you.

Careful at first. Like he’s still half-convinced he imagined this whole moment. But the second you kiss him back, soft and warm and real, Cameron melts.

His hand comes up gently against your cheek while yours grips the front of his rain-damp jacket.

And the kiss feels exactly like the two of you always have:

Quiet. Tender. A little sad. But hopeful.

When you pull apart, both of you are smiling so hard it almost hurts. Outside, rain continues falling softly against the dark streets.

But inside the little café? Warm light wraps around both of you. And for once neither of you feels lonely at all.

______________________________

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x female reader

Summary: The Thunderbolts love to tease Bob about how down bad he is for you.

Warnings: flirting. teasing. fun times with the Thunderbolts. yearning a bit. touching (innocently). heart eyed Bob. no use of y/n.

__________________

The first mistake is introducing you to the team game night.

The second mistake is letting Yelena discover how easy it is to embarrass Bob in front of you.

Because now? She absolutely lives for it.

“Okay,” John says dramatically, throwing cards onto the table, “someone explain to me how Bob won three rounds in a row.”

“Statistical probability,” Bob answers quietly.

Yelena narrows her eyes. “Suspicious answer.”

You laugh softly beside him and Bob glances over immediately. And there it is. That look. That impossibly tender oh there you are expression he gets every single time you smile at him.

Ava notices instantly. “Oh my God,” she mutters.

Bob blinks. “What?”

“You’re doing the face again.”

Bob freezes. “What face?”

“The one where you look at her like she personally invented sunlight.”

Your face immediately heats up.

Across the table, Alexei gasps dramatically. “Yes! Puppy eyes!”

Bob looks genuinely alarmed now. “I do not have puppy eyes.”

“You absolutely do,” John says.

Yelena points at you. “And she likes it.”

Bob nearly chokes to death and you hide your smile behind your drink. “I think it’s cute.”

Complete silence. The entire table watches Bob short-circuit in real time.

His ears turn pink instantly. “…Okay,” he says weakly after a second. “You think I'm cute?.”

Yelena slams a hand against the table triumphantly. “He is blushing!”

“I hate all of you.”

“No you don’t,” you murmur affectionately beside him and Bob looks at you only to immediately softens again.

Ava groans loudly. “UGH. There it is again.”

The next incident happens during training. Which is unfortunate, because the entire team witnesses it.

You’re sparring with Bucky. Which is a bad idea, honestly. Not because you’re unskilled, but because Bucky fights like a brick wall with emotional repression issues.

One badly blocked hit later and you stumble backward with a sharp hiss. Bob is across the room instantly. Like genuinely superhuman fast.

One second he’s standing near the weights and the next he’s beside you gripping your shoulders carefully. “You okay?”

The concern in his voice is immediate. Sharp and protective.

You blink up at him. “I’m fine.”

Bob’s eyes scan you anxiously anyway. “Your wrist is hurt.”

“It’s just sore.”

Bucky watches this interaction silently. Then slowly glances at Yelena.

Yelena grins like a maniac. “Ohhhhh he is DOWN BAD.”

Bob closes his eyes briefly. “Please stop saying that.”

“You moved at speed of light,” John says. “That was insane.”

Alexei points proudly. “Power of romance!”

“It was a reflex,” Bob argues weakly.

You smile slightly. “That’s kinda sweet, actually.”

Bob looks at you. And once again ... Puppy eyes.

Ava physically throws her hands into the air. “I cannot keep watching this every day.”

But the real disaster happens two weeks later. At IKEA. Nobody knows how it happened. One minute the team is discussing tactical equipment. The next somehow everyone is wandering through IKEA on a “quick stop.”

Which is already dangerous.

Then John and Alexei discover the fake apartment displays. Which becomes catastrophic immediately.

“You two,” Yelena says suddenly, pointing at you and Bob. “Pretend to be a married couple.”

Bob nearly walks into a fake wall. “What?”

“Yes,” Alexei agrees enthusiastically. “Tiny domestic experiment.”

You’re already laughing, but Bob looks deeply suspicious. “This feels targeted.”

“It is,” Ava confirms.

Before Bob can escape, Yelena physically grabs your wrist and shoves you both into one of the fake living room setups. “Go go go.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Bob asks helplessly.

“Domestic activities.”

“That is not an activity.”

John immediately sprawls across the fake couch. “Oh my God, look. Bob already looks like he pays taxes.”

The team loses it instantly. Meanwhile Bob stands frozen in the middle of the staged living room while you laugh beside him.

Then you casually fix the collar of his jacket. A tiny gesture. Nothing dramatic. But Bob stills immediately. His eyes flick down to your hands and then back to your face.

And suddenly the teasing around you fades into background noise, because he’s looking at you again. Like that.

Soft, warm. Entirely gone for you.

Your expression melts a little too. “Your collar was weird,” you murmur quietly.

Bob smiles faintly. “Thank you.”

And unfortunately the team notices EVERYTHING.

Yelena screams from across the showroom: “THEY ARE FLIRTING IN SCANDINAVIAN LIVING SPACE.”

Bob physically folds in half from embarrassment. You laugh so hard you accidentally lean against him. And instinctively his arm wraps around your waist. Easy and protective like it belongs there. Natural such as breathing.

The whole team goes silent. Because for one tiny second, the joking fades. And they all see it.

How careful Bob is with you. How much calmer he looks around you. How you automatically lean into him like you trust him completely.

It’s sweet enough to hurt. Even Bucky softens slightly. Then Alexei ruins the moment instantly. “You should buy fake couch for kissing.”

The entire group erupts again.

Bob drops his forehead directly onto your shoulder in surrender while you laugh helplessly into his hair. And somewhere underneath all the chaos and teasing and ridiculousness, something warm settles quietly into Bob’s chest.

Because for the first time in a very long time, being loved doesn’t feel frightening.

_________________

Thank you so much for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated

Pairing: teacher Steve Harrington x female reader

Summary: Steve notices how a creepy dude is making you uncomfortable. And he won’t let that slide.

Warnings: creepy dude (not Steve duh). damsel in distress. dating Steve. teacher Steve. reader being made uncomfortable. protective boyfriend Steve Harrington. no use of y/n.

____________________

The fluorescent lights are buzzing. Someone keeps coughing directly into the silence every thirty seconds. Principal Coleman has now been talking about “budget allocation” for what feels like seven consecutive business years.

And worst of all? Mr. Godfrey from the science department will not stop staring at you.

Steve noticed it almost immediately. At first he tried to ignore it. Maybe the guy was zoning out. Maybe it was accidental.

But then Steve caught the way your shoulders kept tightening every time the older teacher leaned closer during discussion.

The way you started avoiding looking in his direction entirely. And then came the smiling.

Too familiar. Too lingering. The kind that makes your skin crawl.

Steve’s jaw clenches hard enough to ache. Beside him, Robin scribbles something on a sticky note and slides it over.

your eye is twitching

Steve writes back instantly.

he’s being weird

Robin subtly glances across the room. Then immediately winces.

oh ew

Exactly.

By the time the meeting finally ends, everyone looks half-dead. Chairs scrape loudly against the floor while teachers gather binders and coffee cups.

You lean toward Steve briefly. “I forgot my bag in my classroom,” you murmur. “Meet you outside?”

Steve softens instantly. “Yeah, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks turn pink automatically every single time he calls you that. It’s adorable.

You smile softly before disappearing down the hallway. Steve watches you go. And unfortunately so does Mr. Godfrey.

Something cold twists in Steve’s stomach immediately.

The older teacher stands slowly, gathering his things with absolutely no urgency whatsoever before heading in the exact same direction you went.

Robin sees Steve’s expression. “Oh boy.”

Steve exhales sharply through his nose. “Tell me I’m overreacting.”

Robin watches the hallway for one second. “…I cannot responsibly say that.”

Steve mutters a curse under his breath.

Five minutes pass. Then seven. Too long. Way too long. You should’ve been back already. Steve’s stomach sinks instantly. Without another word, he pushes away from the wall and heads down the hallway. Fast.

His heartbeat starts thudding harder the farther he walks. Not panic exactly, just his instinct kicking in.

Because Steve knows you. Knows the difference between shy and uncomfortable. And he knows the look you had during that meeting.

The hallway near the history classrooms is dimmer than the others. Only a few overhead lights still glow. Steve rounds the corner and immediately sees him.

Mr. Godfrey stands far too close to you beside your classroom doorway. One arm braced casually against the frame. Blocking the exit.

Your bag is clutched tightly against your chest. And worst of all ... you’re doing that polite nervous smile Steve has learned means: I want this interaction to end immediately.

Something ugly flashes hot in his chest.

“C’mon,” Mr. Godfrey is saying with this gross low chuckle. “One drink isn’t gonna kill you.”

You laugh awkwardly. “I really should go"

“You’re too pretty to spend all your time working.”

Steve sees your shoulders tense. That’s it. Absolutely not. “Hey.”

The word cuts through the hallway sharp as glass. Both of you turn instantly. And Steve has never seen someone look more relieved than you do right now.

Your entire face changes the second you spot him. Mr. Godfrey straightens slightly. Steve walks forward slowly. Calm and controlled. But there’s steel underneath every step.

“Everything okay here?” he asks. His voice sounds deceptively casual.

You answer immediately. “Yep.”

Too fast. Too tight.

Steve’s jaw flexes hard.

Mr. Godfrey gives this lazy smile that instantly makes Steve dislike him even more. “We were just talking.”

Steve steps directly beside you. Close enough that your shoulder brushes his automatically. And only then does he realize how tense you actually are. Your fingers are gripping your bag strap so tightly your knuckles are pale.

Protectiveness floods him instantly. “Cool,” Steve says evenly. “She was just leaving.”

The older teacher laughs softly. “She can answer for herself, Harrington.”

Steve smiles. But there’s absolutely no warmth in it. “She already did.”

Heavy silence spreads and he could see that his words made Godfrey very uncomfortable. Good.

Mr. Godfrey’s expression tightens slightly. Steve doesn’t move, he doesn’t back up. Just stands there beside you solid as a wall. It becomes very clear very quickly that he is not leaving you alone with this man again.

Finally the older teacher scoffs quietly. “Alright, alright.”

He grabs his briefcase. But before leaving, his eyes flick toward you again. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Steve’s temper spikes so fast it nearly makes his vision blur.

But you speak first. Soft voice. Firm words. “I won’t.”

The older teacher finally leaves. And the second he disappears around the corner your entire body deflates.

Steve turns toward you immediately. “Hey you alright?”

You exhale shakily. “I’m okay.” But your voice wobbles slightly around the edges.

Steve’s chest aches. “You don’t have to do that.”

You blink. “Do what?”

“Pretend stuff like that doesn’t bother you.”

Your eyes drop briefly to the floor. And Steve suddenly realizes something that makes his heart hurt:

You probably spent years convincing yourself discomfort was something you had to politely survive.

His voice softens immediately. “He was being creepy.”

You laugh weakly. “Little bit.”

“Little bit?” Steve repeats incredulously. “Sweetheart, he was one cardigan away from becoming a true crime documentary.”

That startles a real laugh out of you. Thank God. Steve’s shoulders loosen slightly at the sound.

Then his expression softens again when he really looks at you. “You sure you okay?”

This time you hesitate. Then quietly exhale. “I didn’t know how to make him leave without sounding rude.”

The sadness in your voice makes Steve furious all over again. Not at you. At the fact that you even had to worry about that.

“Hey.” He steps closer carefully. “You never owe politeness to someone making you uncomfortable.”

Your eyes lift to his slowly.

Steve reaches up gently, brushing a loose strand of hair back from your face. “So next time?” he says softly. “You tell him to back off.”

A tiny smile appears. “That would be very scary of me.”

Steve grins. “You’re terrifying. I’ve seen you explain the French Revolution to eighth graders.”

You laugh again. Better this time and warmer. And God, Steve loves that sound.

His thumb brushes lightly against your cheek before he even realizes he’s doing it. “You scared me a little,” he admits quietly.

Your expression softens instantly. “Why?”

Steve nods once. “When you didn’t come back.”

The honesty in his voice wraps around your heart immediately. You step closer without thinking, your hand sliding gently into his sweater near his waist. “I’m okay,” you whisper.

Steve exhales slowly. Then presses a soft kiss against your forehead. Protective. Tender. Relieved. And when he pulls back, his brows knit slightly again.

“What?”

“You’re walking to your car with me forever now.”

You smile helplessly. “Steve ...”

“Nope. Too late.” He grabs your bag dramatically. “I’m in full protective boyfriend mode now.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Correct.”

But he still keeps one warm hand settled carefully at your lower back all the way to the parking lot. Just in case.

____________________________

Thank you so much for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated 💙

Pairing: teacher Steve Harrington x female reader

Summary: Steve is trying to keep his cool around you but fails in every way possible.

Warnings: flirting. secretly dating Steve. fun. kissing. yearning. no use of y/n.

__________________________

The problem starts with the kids noticing. Middle schoolers are horrifyingly observant when they want to be.

And unfortunately for Steve, his students have apparently decided his emotional downfall is this semester’s group project.

It begins during fourth period.

Steve’s halfway through explaining baseball drills to a group of deeply uninterested seventh graders when the gym doors open behind him.

You step inside carrying a stack of folders against your chest. “Sorry,” you say softly. “Front office said Coach Wilson left these in here?”

Steve turns around automatically and immediately smiles. Not even on purpose. Just instant and warm.

“Oh, yeah.” He walks over quickly. “I can take those.”

You hand him the folders with a grateful little smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

There’s a tiny awkward pause. Not uncomfortable, just the kind filled with things neither of you has figured out how to say yet.

Then you brighten suddenly. “Oh! I finished that documentary you told me about.”

Steve lights up instantly. “Seriously? What’d you think?”

And that’s it. That’s the fatal mistake. Because suddenly you’re both standing there in the middle of the gym talking excitedly while thirty middle schoolers stare in dead silence.

You’re animated now, hands moving while you ramble enthusiastically about historical inaccuracies and costume design.

Steve watches you like you personally invented happiness. And behind him ... a thirteen-year-old whispers: “Oh my God.”

Another kid gasps quietly. “Mr. Harrington has a crush.”

Steve nearly chokes to death.

You blink. “What?”

Every student in the gym suddenly becomes fascinated by literally anything else.

Steve whips around. “Okay! Wow! Everybody run laps immediately!”

Groans erupt instantly.

You stare at him suspiciously while he avoids eye contact with the intensity of a wanted criminal. Then slowly very slowly - a smile starts pulling at your mouth.

“Oh my God,” you whisper.

Steve points at the students dramatically. “Children are evil.”

Your smile grows wider. “You have a crush on me?”

Steve’s face goes bright red instantly. Several students audibly lose their minds. “RUN LAPS,” Steve yells desperately.

You absolutely do not let him live it down. Not even a little.

The next morning Steve walks into the teachers’ lounge and nearly drops his coffee when he sees a sticky note attached to his thermos.

Hope your crush has a nice day :)

He whips around immediately. You’re sitting at the table grading quizzes while trying very hard not to smile.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re dramatic.”

Steve pulls the sticky note off with exaggerated offense. “You weaponized office supplies against me.”

“You survived.”

“Barely.”

You laugh softly into your coffee cup. And Steve ... God. There it is again. That warm aching feeling. Like his life got brighter the second you walked into it.

You’re still shy in crowded rooms. Still quieter around other teachers. But with Steve? You soften more every day.

You start stealing fries from his lunch without asking. He starts bringing you coffee every morning exactly how you like it.

You wait for him after staff meetings. He carries your grading boxes without being asked.

And every single person at Hawkins Middle School notices. Especially the kids.

One rainy afternoon, Steve finds you in your classroom sitting on top of your desk while a group of students crowd around listening to you tell some dramatic historical story.

“And then,” you say intensely, “Napoleon literally crowned himself.”

The kids gasp. “No way.”

“Yes way.”

“That’s kinda iconic.”

You point at the student immediately. “Thank you.”

Steve leans against the doorway smiling to himself. You spot him instantly and your whole face changes.

Softening immediately, like your heart recognized him before your brain did. It hits Steve so hard every single time.

“Mr. Harrington,” one student says loudly, “are you here because you miss her?”

The classroom erupts instantly. You hide your face in embarrassment.

Steve places a hand dramatically over his heart. “You know what? I try very hard for all of you and this is the respect I get.”

The kids laugh. And while they’re distracted you glance at Steve again with a tiny smile and fond eyes.

Something gentle and certain passing quietly between you. Home.

That’s what this is starting to feel like.

Later that evening, the school empties slowly around you both. Rain taps softly against the classroom windows while you organize papers at your desk.

Steve sits in one of the student chairs watching you. Completely lovestruck.

“You know,” you murmur without looking up, “staring is weird.”

“I’m appreciating.”

“You’ve been appreciating for like ten minutes.”

Steve grins lazily. “You’re cute when you organize things.”

You laugh softly. “You’re cute when you bother me for attention.”

His chest does that stupid warm thing again. Then you finally glance up. And your expression softens immediately when you see him looking at you. Not lustful, just deeply, terribly admiring.

“What?” you ask quietly.

Steve shrugs one shoulder. “I dunno.” His voice turns softer. “I just really like you.”

The sincerity in it makes your heart stumble. You set your papers down slowly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Rain hums softly outside. The classroom glows warm gold in the evening light.

And suddenly Steve looks almost shy. “I think…” He rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I think meeting you made me happier.”

Your eyes sting unexpectedly. Because he says it so simply. You walk toward him slowly until you’re standing between his knees. Steve’s hands settle automatically at your waist. Warm and familiar.

“You make me happy too,” you whisper.

His face softens instantly. Then he tilts his head up slightly. “Kiss me?”

Your heart absolutely melts. It's not demanding or assuming, his words are just sweet.

You smile. “Okay.”

And when you kiss him this time, slow and smiling and warm in the middle of your empty classroom Steve kisses you like someone grateful life surprised him with something good.

_________________________

Thank you so much for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated 💙

Pairing: teacher Steve Harrington x shy female reader

Summary: You are the new teacher at the Hawkins middle school and Steve notices you immediately. He can’t help but falling for you.

Warnings: shy reader. pet names. flirting. mocking (in a sweet kinda way). yearning. no use of y/n.

___________________

The first thing Steve Harrington notices about you is that you look lost.

Not someone call the authorities lost. Just standing in the middle of the darkened hallway at Hawkins Middle School after sundown with a stack of papers in your arms and the expression of someone who took one wrong turn twenty minutes ago and has been too stubborn to admit it ever since.

Honestly? Kind of adorable.

Steve watches through the glass doors for a second after leaving the baseball field, still carrying a crate of sports equipment against his hip.

The school’s mostly dark by now except for scattered classroom lights glowing warm against polished floors.

You disappear around the corner and Steve frowns slightly. Who the hell is still here this late?

He steps inside, letting the door shut behind him with a heavy clunk. The hallway echoes quietly.

Somewhere farther down, papers rustle. Steve follows the sound automatically. And then you suddenly step out of one of the classrooms directly into his path.

Both of you scream, papers fly absolutely everywhere.

“Oh my God!” you gasp, clutching your chest.

Steve nearly drops the equipment crate. “Jesus Christ ... sorry!”

You stare at each other in horrified silence for one beat. Then simultaneously burst into laughter. The tension breaks instantly.

“Oh no,” you groan, crouching quickly to collect your papers. “That was so embarrassing.”

Steve drops beside you automatically to help. “No, no, I think I screamed louder.”

“You absolutely did.”

“That feels false.”

You laugh again. And Steve’s kinda done for already.

Because you’re wearing this oversized university hoodie with your hair thrown into a messy bun that’s definitely halfway collapsed after a long day, and you scrunch your nose while you frantically gather worksheets from the floor.

Cute. Unfairly cute.

“You new here?” he asks, handing you a paper upside down.

You take it with a soft snort. “Yeah. History department.”

“Ohhh.” Steve nods seriously. “So you’re the brave soul replacing Mr. Jenkins.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Was he awful?”

Steve winces dramatically. “He once showed a documentary from 1973 for three straight classes because he forgot where he left his lesson plans.”

You laugh so suddenly and brightly that Steve actually forgets what he was about to say next. It echoes softly through the empty hallway. Warm and easy.

God.

“Good to know the bar’s low,” you say.

Steve grins. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

You tell him your name. And maybe Steve’s imagining it, but he swears something soft shifts in your expression when he repeats it back to you.

The next morning, he sees you again immediately. Mostly because you walk directly into a classroom door. Not hard but just enough to make Steve choke on his coffee trying not to laugh.

You whip around instantly, mortified. “You saw nothing.”

“I saw a tragic betrayal by architecture.”

“You’re annoying already.”

“And yet you’re smiling.”

Your face goes pink immediately. Steve beams for the rest of first period.

After that, it starts happening constantly. Little collisions. Tiny moments. You in the teachers’ lounge muttering furiously at the copy machine while Steve tries very hard not to laugh.

Steve walking into your classroom during lunch only to find you passionately ranting to an entirely empty room about medieval political propaganda.

“You know nobody’s in here, right?”

You nearly launch your yogurt spoon across the room. “Steve!”

“What?” he laughs. “You were waving your arms around like a history wizard.”

You point the spoon at him threateningly. “The Tudor dynasty was deeply fascinating.”

“I believe you,” he says solemnly. “You looked extremely emotional about it.”

And that’s the thing. You’re quiet around most people. Shy in staff meetings. Soft-spoken around parents. Nervous when too many teachers gather in the lounge at once.

But alone with Steve? You talk. And talk. And talk.

About history. About books. About weird historical facts that apparently keep you awake at night. And Steve listens to every single word like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever heard.

Because honestly? When you get excited, your whole face lights up.

You stop fidgeting. Stop second-guessing yourself. Stop shrinking.

And Steve thinks it might be the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

One afternoon he finds you sitting cross-legged on your classroom floor surrounded by papers.

“You alive in here?”

You look up with the exhausted expression of someone three grading assignments away from losing consciousness. “Debatable.”

Steve steps inside holding two vending machine coffees.

Your eyes immediately soften. “Oh, you’re my favourite person.”

His heart does a stupid little somersault. “Oh yeah?”

“You brought caffeine. That’s basically romance.”

Steve almost walks directly into a desk.

And then suddenly it’s the winter ball. The gymnasium glows with cheap fairy lights and crepe paper decorations while middle schoolers scream and sprint around fueled entirely by sugar and chaos.

Steve’s been assigned supervision duty near the snack table. You’re helping chaperone near the dance floor. Which mostly means repeatedly telling twelve-year-olds not to climb things.

“This feels less like education and more like wildlife management,” you mutter as Steve joins you.

“You’re doing great.”

“I just confiscated six Pixy Stix from one child.”

Steve gasps dramatically. “You monster.”

You laugh tiredly. God. There it is again. That warmth blooming in his chest every time he makes you smile.

A slow song starts playing unexpectedly. The kids immediately react with horror.

“EWWWW.”

“THIS IS GROSS.”

“WHY ARE THEY PLAYING OLD PEOPLE MUSIC?”

Steve snorts loudly. You hide your laugh behind your hand. And then without really thinking Steve holds out his hand toward you.

Your eyes widen slightly. “Oh?”

“C’mon,” he says softly. “One dance before someone throws punch at a seventh grader.”

You glance around nervously. The gym is still chaotic. Nobody’s paying attention.

Still ... “You serious?”

Steve smiles gently. “Very.”

Your face turns pink immediately. But after one tiny hesitant second you place your hand in his and Steve swears his heart physically stumbles.

He leads you behind the stage curtain where the lights are softer and the noise dulls into distant muffled music.

Private and hidden. Your hand still rests in his.

“You know,” you murmur shyly as he settles one hand carefully at your waist, “I haven’t danced with someone since high school.”

Steve grins softly. “Lucky me, then.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling too hard for it to work properly. Slowly, you start swaying together beneath dim golden light while the song drifts softly through the curtain.

And Steve’s pretty sure this is what hope feels like. A shy history teacher in an oversized cardigan looking up at him like she can’t believe he’s real either.

“You smell like chalk dust,” he murmurs teasingly.

You gasp quietly. “Rude.”

“And mint.”

Your expression softens immediately. Steve’s chest tightens.

“You notice weird things,” you whisper.

“Only about you.”

The words slip out naturally. Honest. And suddenly the space between you changes. The air turns softer somehow. He watches your eyes flick briefly to his mouth. Then back up again.

Nervous an a little hopeful.

“Steve,” you whisper.

Steve’s hand tightens slightly at your waist. “Can I kiss you?”

Your breath catches. And then you give him the tiniest nod.

That’s all it takes.

Steve kisses you gently beneath the glow of cheap winter-ball lights while kids scream and laugh somewhere on the other side of the curtain. And it feels so sweet it almost hurts.

Your fingers curl softly into the front of his sweater as he kisses you carefully, like he’s scared to rush this. Like he understands that some beautiful things need patience.

When he pulls back, both of you are smiling helplessly.

“You know,” you murmur breathlessly, “this is dangerously close to feeling like an eighties movie.”

Steve grins. “Sweetheart, we literally live in the eighties.”

You laugh so hard you accidentally hide your face against his shoulder. And Steve wraps his arms around you instinctively, holding you close while fairy lights glow warmly through the curtain folds around you.

Outside your little hiding place, the gym is loud and chaotic and messy. But here in this tiny corner of warmth and music and shy laughter ... Something lovely begins.

____________________

Thank you so much for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated 💙

Pairing: Cameron Cassmore x female reader

Summary: Cameron finds you whenever you need him the most.

Warnings: talk about loneliness. hurt/comfort. little bit yearning. no use of y/n.

_______________

It’s raining the second time Cameron finds you.

Not heavy rain. Just that soft gray drizzle that turns the whole marina quiet and silver, the kind that makes the world feel smaller somehow.

Most people avoid the docks when it rains. But loneliness likes places like this. So apparently, do you.

Cameron spots you from halfway down the pier.

You’re sitting at the very edge of the dock, sneakers abandoned beside you, feet dangling above the dark water below.

You’re not holding an umbrella. Of course you aren’t. For a second, he just watches. Not in a creepy way. Just… making sure.

You look so still it almost worries him. Then you tilt your face slightly toward the rain, eyes closed for a moment, and something in his chest pulls tight.

God. You look lonely.

The kind of lonely he recognizes instantly because it lives in him too. The wood creaks softly beneath his steps as he approaches.

You glance over your shoulder immediately. And the second you see him you smile.

Small and tired but so real. Something warm unfolds painfully inside him at the sight.

“Hey,” Cameron says softly.

“Hey.”

He gestures vaguely toward the rain. “You know normal people usually go inside during weather like this.”

You hum lightly. “I’ve never been accused of being normal.”

That earns the tiniest laugh from him and you join in with a little chuckle. He likes making you laugh. Probably too much.

“Can I sit?” he asks after a second.

You shift slightly in silent invitation. Cameron settles beside you carefully, close enough to share space but not enough to crowd you.

For a while, neither of you says anything. Rain taps softly against the dock around you. Water moves in slow dark ripples beneath your feet.

It should feel awkward. Instead it feels like exhaling.

“You disappear when you’re sad.” The words slip out before Cameron can stop them.

You glance at him. He winces slightly. “Sorry. That sounded weird.”

“No,” you say quietly. “You’re right.”

Cameron picks at the sleeve of his hoodie. “I just noticed.”

Your expression softens in a way that makes his chest ache. “Yeah,” you admit after a moment. “I do.”

“What about you?” you ask softly. “What do you do when you’re sad?”

Cameron huffs a quiet laugh. “Usually?” He shrugs. “Drive around too long. Pretend I’m fine. Write songs nobody hears.”

Your smile flickers faintly. “That sounds lonely.”

“Yeah,” he says honestly. “It is.”

The rain grows a little steadier around you. You pull your knees closer to your chest.

And then, so quietly Cameron almost misses it you say “I think I forgot how to connect to people.”

He turns toward you immediately but your eyes stay fixed on the water. “My mom used to say I was sensitive when I was little,” you murmur. “Like… too sensitive.”

Your voice carries softly through the rain. “I felt everything too much. Other people’s moods. Rejection. Being left out. All of it.”

Cameron’s chest tightens.

“And eventually,” you continue, “it just became easier not to get too attached to anyone.” You laugh weakly to yourself. “Which sounds dramatic, now that I say it out loud.”

“It doesn’t.” His answer comes immediately.

You finally look at him then. Rain catches in your lashes. “I just got tired,” you whisper. “Tired of feeling like I cared more than everyone else did.”

God. Cameron feels that sentence like a bruise. Because he knows exactly what you mean. The exhausting imbalance of it.

Wanting people harder than they want you back.

“I think…” he says slowly, “some people just feel things deeper.”

You blink at him.

“And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

Your expression crumples slightly around the edges. Not crying but close. “You know what’s embarrassing?” you ask softly.

“What?”

“I almost didn’t come talk to you that night at the bar.”

Cameron stares. “Seriously?”

You nod. “I thought you’d think I was weird.”

A disbelieving laugh escapes him. “I spent like ten minutes convincing myself you were only talking to me because you felt bad.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “No I didn’t.”

“I know that now,” he says, smiling a little.

And there it is again, that feeling between you. Not flirting exactly. Not yet. Something quieter. Like two people slowly setting down the weight they’ve been carrying alone.

Rainwater darkens the sleeves of your sweater. Without really thinking about it, Cameron reaches up and brushes a damp strand of hair away from your face.

The second he does it, he freezes slightly. Like he surprised himself. You go very still too. But not uncomfortable. Just aware of his touch.

Cameron’s hand drops quickly. “Sorry.”

“No,” you say softly. “It’s okay.”

His heart stumbles stupidly hard at that. You look at him for a long moment after. Really look at him.

“You know,” you murmur, “you seem lonely too.”

Cameron laughs quietly under his breath. “Yeah.”

The honesty of it hangs there. Raw and uncomplicated. The rain softens again around you both and before he can overthink it Cameron nudges his shoulder lightly against yours.

Tiny contact. Careful. Like a question and you lean back, just a little. Enough to make his chest feel suddenly too full.

Neither of you says anything after that. You just sit there together at the edge of the dock while rain taps softly around you and the ocean breathes beneath your feet.

Two lonely people. Not quite so lonely anymore.

__________________________

Pairing: Cameron Cassmore x female reader

Summary: You hear Cameron sing at the bar and somehow the two of you feel connected.

Warnings: hurt/comfort. meet cute. talk about loneliness. no use of y/n.

______________

The bar is loud in the way lonely places usually are. Not joyful loud. Just crowded enough that nobody has to sit alone with themselves.

You almost didn’t come tonight.

But your apartment felt too quiet again, and your thoughts had started circling the drain in that familiar, exhausting way, so eventually you grabbed your coat and walked until you found somewhere with music leaking out the front door.

Now you sit hunched over a drink you barely touch while someone near the tiny stage tunes a guitar.

You aren’t really paying attention until he starts singing. And then suddenly you are.

He’s not polished. Not in the way people in movies usually are.

His voice catches slightly on the higher notes. His shoulders are tense. Like he’s trying very hard to pretend he isn’t nervous.

But there’s something raw about it. Honest.

Like he isn’t performing so much as quietly unraveling in front of strangers. And somehow that’s worse ... or better.

You can’t tell.

The whole room softens around the edges while he sings. Like everyone’s accidentally holding their breath.

When he finishes, applause scatters through the bar. He ducks his head immediately, almost embarrassed by it. And your chest aches unexpectedly. Because you know that look.

The please don’t look at me too closely look.

You don’t mean to approach him afterward. You really don’t. But somehow your feet carry you there anyway while he’s awkwardly packing up his guitar near the back hallway.

“Hey.”

He startles slightly before looking up. Up close, he looks even softer somehow. A little tired around the eyes. A little guarded.

“Uh hey.”

You gesture vaguely toward the stage. “You were really good.”

His cheeks tint pink immediately. “Oh. Thanks.” He says it like compliments confuse him.

You smile faintly. “No, seriously.”

He shrugs awkwardly, gaze dropping to the guitar case in his hands. “I kinda messed up the second verse.”

“You’re the only person who noticed.”

That earns the smallest laugh out of him. Tiny and surprised. Like it slipped out accidentally.

“I’m Cameron, by the way,” he says after a second.

You tell him your name. And for some reason, he repeats it softly after you say it. Like he’s making sure he gets it right.

There’s an awkward pause. Not uncomfortable. Just two people equally unsure what happens next.

Then Cameron clears his throat. “So…” he says carefully, “what’d you think the song was about?”

The question catches you off guard. You study him for a second. “You want the honest answer?”

He nods once.

You glance down at your drink. “…It sounded like someone trying very hard not to admit they’re lonely.”

Silence. When you look back up, something in Cameron’s expression has gone completely still. Like you accidentally hit something very real.

“Wow,” he says quietly.

Your stomach twists immediately. “Sorry, was that too much?”

“No.” He shakes his head quickly. “No, it’s just…” He laughs softly to himself. “That’s kinda exactly what it’s about.”

Something warm and sad blooms in your chest. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I figured.”

He offers to buy you another drink. You almost say no out of habit. Then you look at him properly.

At the nervousness hiding under his smile. At the way he keeps fiddling with the edge of a napkin like he doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands.

And suddenly he doesn’t feel intimidating at all. He feels familiar.

So you say yes.

Talking to Cameron feels strangely easy after that. Not effortless exactly. You can tell he overthinks everything he says two seconds after saying it. But there’s a gentleness to him that makes silence feel safe instead of awkward.

You end up talking for almost two hours.

About music. About leaving home. About feeling stuck between places, versions of yourself, lives you thought you’d have by now.

At some point he admits, very quietly, “I always feel like everyone else got handed instructions for life that I missed somehow.”

Your chest tightens painfully. Because God. You know that feeling. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Me too.”

He looks at you then. Really looks at you. And something shifts. Not attraction first.

Recognition.

By the time the bar starts emptying, rain is tapping softly against the windows outside.

Cameron glances toward it with a sigh. “Great.”

“You walk here?”

“Yeah.”

You grimace. “That’s miserable.”

He smiles faintly. “Character building.”

“You sound thrilled.”

“I’m thriving, obviously.”

That pulls a laugh out of you. And Cameron ... Cameron looks visibly delighted by it. Like he accomplished something important.

Outside, the rain is colder than expected.

You stand awkwardly beneath the tiny awning together while he adjusts his guitar case over his shoulder.

“Well,” he says softly.

“Well,” you echo.

Neither of you moves. The city hums quietly around you.

Then, before you can overthink it ... “You know,” you say carefully, “for someone who writes songs about loneliness…” Cameron glances at you. “You made me feel a little less alone tonight.”

The words hang there between you. His expression changes instantly. Softening into something almost fragile. And for one terrible second, he looks like he might cry.

“Oh,” he whispers.

Rainwater drips steadily from the awning beside you. Cameron swallows hard, eyes dropping briefly before lifting back to yours.

“You did that for me too.”

Your heart stumbles. Neither of you says anything after that. You don’t need to.

Because somehow, standing there in the rain beside this awkward, aching boy with tired eyes and music still clinging to his voice both of you understand something important at the exact same time.

Sometimes healing doesn’t start with being saved. Sometimes it starts with finally being seen.

And for the first time in a long time, neither of you feels quite so invisible anymore.

__________________

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x female reader

Summary: Coming home after a mission to an empty tower. You are injured and Bob is there to help you… unaware of your feelings for him.

Warnings: blood. mending wounds. talking about trauma. hurt/comfort. love confession. insecurities. no use of y/n.

________________

The mission goes sideways fast. Which honestly isn’t unusual. What is unusual is the amount of blood currently soaking through the back of your suit.

“You’re hit.”

You glance over your shoulder at Bob while the quinjet hums through the dark sky. “It’s fine.”

Bob stares at you. Not convinced for even a second. “You’re bleeding through the seat.”

“…Okay, maybe not fine.”

His mouth tightens immediately. And there it is again—that expression he gets whenever you’re hurt. Like your pain physically reaches inside his chest.

It would almost be sweet if it didn’t make your heart ache so badly. Because Bob never lets himself want anything from you.

Not really.

He hovers carefully around you like someone standing too close to sunlight. Warmth he doesn’t think belongs to him.

By the time you return to the tower, it’s nearly 2 a.m. The building is silent. Most of the team is away on other assignments, leaving the entire upper floor dim and empty except for scattered lights glowing softly through the common area.

You peel off your gloves with a grimace. “Okay,” you mutter. “That officially hurts now.”

Bob immediately steps closer. “Sit down.”

The concern in his voice is so immediate, so genuine, that something warm twists painfully inside you.

You try for a teasing smile. “Bossy.”

“You got stabbed.”

“Technically sliced.”

“That’s worse somehow.”

You laugh softly despite yourself. God. Even exhausted and bleeding, he still manages to make you feel safe.

The med kit sits open on the kitchen counter while you struggle awkwardly with your tactical suit zipper.

The cut burns sharply across your upper back. “Seriously,” you mutter. “Who designs these things?”

Bob hovers nearby looking deeply uncertain about where to stand. Or where to look. “You okay?” he asks quietly.

“Mhm.” You are absolutely not okay.

Finally you manage to tug the top half of the suit down enough to expose the injury. A long cut stretches across your shoulder blade, angry and bleeding sluggishly.

Bob visibly winces. “Oh, wow.”

“Yeah, not my favorite.”

You reach back awkwardly with antiseptic gauze. And immediately fail. Your arm barely reaches the wound before pain shoots through your shoulder.

“Damn it.”

“Here.” Bob says it automatically. Then freezes.

You glance up at him. His eyes widen slightly.

“I mean—only if you want—I can—”

“Bob.” He stops rambling instantly. You hold out the antiseptic. “…Please.”

The look on his face nearly undoes you. Like being trusted by you means everything. He takes the gauze carefully. So carefully.

The kitchen feels strangely intimate suddenly. Quiet. Warm light spilling softly across marble counters while rain taps faintly against the giant tower windows outside.

You sit on one of the stools with your back partially turned to him while Bob stands close enough that you can feel warmth radiating from him.

And God ... your heart is beating too fast. Not because of the injury. Because Bob’s hands are shaking. Just slightly.

“You can tell me if I’m hurting you,” he murmurs quietly. The gentleness in his voice physically aches.

“You’re okay.”

His fingers brush lightly against your skin as he cleans the cut. And immediately your entire body goes still.

Not uncomfortable. Just aware of his touch. Bob notices too. Of course he does.

His hand pauses instantly. “Sorry.”

“What? No.”

“You tensed up.”

You swallow hard. “That wasn’t a bad thing.”

Silence. Then Bob continues carefully, movements impossibly soft. Like he’s terrified of damaging something fragile.

Your chest tightens more with every passing second. Because this is what he does to you. This devastatingly lonely man who speaks to you like kindness is something sacred.

“You know,” you murmur softly after a moment, “you don’t have to act so nervous around me.”

Bob almost drops the gauze. “I’m not nervous.”

You glance at him over your shoulder. Bob immediately folds under the look.

“…Okay, maybe a little.”

You smile faintly. “A little?”

His laugh comes out quiet and embarrassed. “You’re making fun of me while actively bleeding.”

“I’ll survive.”

Bob shakes his head softly to himself. And for one brief moment, he smiles. Really smiles. Not forced. Not hiding exhaustion underneath it. Just warm and it nearly wrecks you.

Because he has no idea how beautiful he is when he forgets to hate himself.

“You know everyone loves you, right?” The words leave Bob quietly. Absentmindedly. Like he didn’t mean to say them out loud.

You blink slightly. “What?”

He focuses carefully on taping gauze over the cut instead of looking at you. “You just… make people feel safe.”

Your throat tightens. Bob shrugs one shoulder awkwardly.

“Yelena talks about you like you hung the moon. Ava likes you. John likes you. Even Bucky likes you, which honestly feels medically significant.”

A soft laugh escapes you. But Bob doesn’t smile this time.

“And you deserve that,” he says quietly. “You deserve people who are good.”

Something in his tone makes your chest ache. You turn slightly toward him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bob finally looks at you then. And there it is. That sadness. That terrible endless sadness he carries around like it’s stitched into his bones.

“It means,” he says softly, “that someone like you should probably stay far away from someone like me.”

Your heart drops immediately. “Bob.”

He laughs once under his breath. No humor in it. “You know what I am.”

“No,” you say firmly. “I know what happened to you.”

His expression flickers. Pain and disbelief. Longing so intense it almost looks frightening.

“You look at me,” he whispers, “like I’m worth something.”

The confession hangs there between you. Raw and unprotected. And suddenly you realize something devastating:

Nobody has ever loved him gently enough for him to believe it could be real.

Your chest hurts. Actually hurts. “You are worth something.”

Bob looks away immediately. “That’s the problem,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“I want to believe you.”

The honesty in his voice almost cracks you open. You stand before you can overthink it. Bob immediately steps back instinctively like he’s afraid to take up too much space.

God. That hurts too.

“Hey,” you say softly.

His eyes lift to yours carefully.

And maybe it’s the exhaustion. Or the painkillers. Or the way he looked at you while cleaning your wound like your body was something precious and breakable.

But suddenly you can’t hold it in anymore.

“I like you.”

Bob stops breathing. Literally. His entire face goes blank with shock. “…What?”

You almost laugh nervously at how stunned he looks. “I really like you,” you repeat softly.

Still nothing. Bob just stares at you like his brain completely shut down. “You can’t just say things like that,” he whispers finally.

Your chest squeezes. “Why not?”

“Because—” He cuts himself off harshly, running a hand through his hair. “Because you’re you.”

You blink. “That is possibly the least informative sentence anyone has ever said to me.”

That pulls a startled laugh out of him. But his eyes still look wrecked.

“You’re good,” he says quietly. “And kind. And everyone around you gets brighter when you walk into a room.” Emotion rises thick into your throat. “And I’m…” He shakes his head once. “I’m me.”

The self-hatred in those words nearly destroys you. You step closer. Bob immediately stills.

“You know what I think?” you whisper.

He looks at you carefully.

“I think you’ve spent so long believing you’re dangerous that you forgot you’re also gentle.”

His expression cracks slightly.

“You patched me up like I was something precious,” you continue softly. “You always make coffee for the team before missions because you remember how everyone takes it. You apologize when you accidentally stand too close to people.”

Bob’s breathing turns uneven.

“You care so much it hurts you.”

Silence. Then, so quietly you almost miss it—

“I’m so in love with you.”

Your heart absolutely shatters. Because he sounds terrified of it. Like loving you feels catastrophic.

You reach for him slowly. Giving him time to pull away. He doesn’t. Your hands settle softly against his chest. And Bob looks at you like this alone might kill him.

“You don’t have to be scared of me loving you back,” you whisper.

The sound he makes ... Small. Broken. Hopeful. It’s the saddest thing you’ve ever heard. Then finally...

Finally...

Bob kisses you. Like he’s been starving. Not rough or desperate. Just overwhelming tenderness held together by years of loneliness and restraint.

His hand cups your face carefully, trembling slightly, while your fingers curl into the front of his shirt.

And the second you kiss him back fully Bob melts. A shaky breath leaves him like he still cannot believe this is happening.

When you pull apart, his forehead drops gently against yours. “You have no idea,” he whispers roughly, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

You smile softly, eyes burning. “Yeah?”

Bob lets out a weak laugh. “I was trying so hard to be noble about it.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It was horrible.”

You laugh quietly. And for the first time all night Bob smiles without sadness hiding underneath it.

Outside, rain streaks softly against the tower windows. But inside in the warm kitchen light two lonely people stand impossibly close, holding each other like they finally found something worth staying for.

_________________

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