HIYA!!😻😻
So, I saw this really intense TikTok about a woman being followed by some random creepy guy for a very long time to a point where she was getting uncomfy.
But then- she walked up to a lone-standing young man- complete stranger- and acted like he was a friend/boyfriend to lose the other guy. The younger guy immediately played into the role and placed himself in between the woman and the creep and it was just really sweet- he even checked in with her afterwards.
That's so Bucky coded, I'm crying 😭😭 So- how do you think he would act if he was in the younger guy's position?
As always, have a great day!! Love your writing. ❤️
did you know this is actually a thing?!?! like your body recognizes when it's being watched by unknown eyes. that's insane
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It starts as a feeling before it becomes a certainty.
That prickle between your shoulder blades. The way your neck tightens, like you’re bracing for a touch that never comes. You notice it halfway down the block—footsteps that slow when you slow, speed up when you do. You pretend you don’t see the reflection in the darkened storefront glass, but your stomach sinks anyway.
He’s been there for three blocks.
You cross the street. He crosses too.
Your phone is dead. Of course it is. The city feels louder all of a sudden—cars rushing past, laughter spilling out of a bar you didn’t plan on passing, the hum of streetlights overhead. You tell yourself not to panic. You tell yourself you’re probably imagining it.
But then you stop short, pretending to fumble with your bag, and the footsteps stop too.
Your heart starts to race.
You keep walking, faster now, eyes scanning ahead. That’s when you see him.
He’s standing outside a bodega, leaning against the brick wall like he’s waiting for someone. Broad shoulders under a worn leather jacket. Hands shoved casually into his pockets. He looks… solid. Grounded. The kind of person who takes up space without trying to.
You don’t think. You don’t hesitate.
You walk straight up to him.
“There you are,” you say, breathless, forcing a shaky smile onto your face. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
The man blinks.
For half a second, panic flares in his eyes—confusion, surprise, the sharp awareness of a stranger suddenly in his space.
Then he looks past you.
His gaze flicks over your shoulder, sharp and assessing. You feel it when his body shifts—subtle, but deliberate. One step closer. One arm lifting, settling around your shoulders like it’s always belonged there.
“Hey,” he says easily, voice low and calm near your ear. “You okay? You look upset.”
The change is immediate.
The arm around you isn’t tight, but it’s firm. Protective. He angles his body just enough that you’re shielded from the sidewalk behind you. You can still breathe. You can still move. But suddenly, you’re not alone.
You swallow, playing your part. “I’m fine now,” you say. “I just—got turned around.”
The man hums softly, like he understands. His thumb gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze.
That’s when the footsteps stop behind you.
The silence stretches. You don’t look. You don’t need to. You can feel the weight of someone watching, deciding.
The man beside you lifts his head, eyes locking onto something over your shoulder. His posture shifts again—subtle, but unmistakable. Like a warning.
“Can I help you?” he asks.
His voice isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be.
There’s a pause. Then the sound of footsteps retreating—quick, uneven, disappearing back into the noise of the street.
You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until your chest stutters on the exhale.
The arm around you loosens immediately.
“You okay?” he asks, quieter now. Real concern in his voice. “He bothering you?”
You nod, fingers curling into the front of his jacket before you even realize you’re doing it. “He was following me,” you whisper. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You did the right thing,” he says instantly. No hesitation. No doubt. “You’re safe.”
He steps back just enough to give you space, hands lifting in a clear, non-threatening gesture. You notice then how careful he’s being—how aware.
“I’m James,” he adds. “But Bucky’s fine.”
You tell him your name, voice steadier now that the adrenaline is ebbing. Your legs still feel weak, but the ground beneath you feels solid again.
“Do you need me to walk you somewhere?” Bucky asks. “I can stay until you get home, or call someone for you. Whatever you want.”
The choice is yours. Entirely.
You hesitate for a moment, then nod. “Would you… walk me? Just a couple blocks.”
“Yeah,” he says, already falling into step beside you. Not too close. Not too far. “Of course.”
You walk in comfortable silence for a minute. The city noise settles back into something normal again.
“Hey,” he says gently. “If you ever need to do that again—use me, I mean—you don’t have to explain. I’ve got you.”
You glance up at him, heart doing something unfamiliar in your chest. “Thank you. Really.”
He shrugs, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Everyone deserves to feel safe.”
When you reach your building, you turn to face him. “I owe you.”
He smiles a little wider this time. “Nah. Just… pass it on.”
You watch him walk away, hands in his pockets, disappearing back into the city lights.
And for the first time all night, you feel okay again.
Daryl Dixon
Fandom: The walking dead
Words: 732
*Trigger warnings* Post-apocalypse, Animal injury (mild), Themes of isolation/loneliness, Implied past hardship,no explicit violence, death, or gore
It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him — Daryl Dixon.
Maybe the fourth. Fifth, if you counted that time in the woods when you weren’t sure if it was really him or just the wind catching a glimpse of a crossbow through the trees.
But this time, it wasn’t him you found.
It was the dog.
Thin, muddy, limping slightly, but tail wagging the moment he caught your scent. You’d seen that leather strap on his collar before, the carved “DOG” letters worn smooth from use. You didn’t know much about Daryl, but you knew enough to realize the animal didn’t belong to just anyone.
“Hey, buddy,” you murmured, crouching. “You lost your man, huh?”
Dog whined and pressed his nose into your palm. That was all it took. You brought him back to your safe house — a half-collapsed cabin tucked against a line of pine trees, a place quiet enough that even the walkers didn’t bother much anymore.
By the time Daryl found you, three days had passed.
You were sitting on the porch steps, Dog sprawled across the boards beside you, his head resting lazily on your boot. A small fire crackled in an old tin barrel just off the porch, the smell of something real — actual meat — drifting through the cold air.
Daryl stepped out of the tree line like a ghost. Crossbow slung over one shoulder, face half-hidden behind dirt and a week’s worth of stubble.
Dog was the first to move, jumping up and bolting toward him with a bark that echoed through the woods.
You watched them reunite quietly — Daryl kneeling to grip the mutt’s neck, whispering rough, low words into his fur. Then his eyes lifted to you.
“You the one been keepin’ him fed?”
You shrugged, lifting a canteen to your lips. “He found me. Guess we saved each other.”
Daryl gave a small nod, almost like approval, and his gaze drifted toward the cabin. “That your fire I been smellin’?”
You grinned a little. “That depends. You planning to rob me, or sit down and eat?”
A corner of his mouth twitched — almost a smile, though it looked foreign on him. “Ain’t robbin’ nobody.”
“Then come on,” you said, getting up. “I’ve got stew. Real food. Not the canned crap.”
That got his attention.
Inside, the cabin was warm and dim. The windows were covered with cloth, the table covered with salvaged supplies and a few candles. You handed him a dented tin bowl, filled it with the thick stew, and sat across from him as he dug in.
He didn’t speak for a while — just ate. Quick and quiet, like someone who hadn’t had a hot meal in weeks.
When he finally looked up, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ain’t had nothin’ like this in a long time.”
“I can tell,” you teased, leaning back in your chair. “You breathe between bites, Dixon?”
That got a huff of laughter out of him. Small, rough, but real.
The night stretched easy after that. Dog settled between you both, snoring softly. The fire popped. Somewhere outside, an owl hooted.
“Guess we both been out here a while,” Daryl said eventually, staring into the flames. “Ain’t used to… people.”
You tilted your head. “Then I’ll talk less.”
He gave you a sideways look — something halfway between amusement and gratitude.
Silence wasn’t awkward between you two. It was comfortable. A rare kind of quiet that didn’t demand anything.
You leaned back, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “You can stay here tonight, if you want. Dog seems to think it’s safe.”
He hesitated, then nodded once. “Appreciate it.”
Later, when the fire burned low and the air turned colder, you caught him watching you across the dim cabin. Not in a way that felt heavy — just curious. Like he was trying to figure out why someone like you was still being kind in a world like this.
You met his eyes, offered a small, tired smile.
“Get some rest, Dixon,” you murmured.
He did — eventually — on the floor beside Dog, his crossbow within arm’s reach.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, the night didn’t feel like survival.
It felt like something close to peace.
We seek it so often that we tend to forget those we know well or just talk a lot to on the net. However I have to say this since I'm now in a very safe environment: If you feel like you could fall asleep while in call with a specific group of friends, those are the ones closest to you.
It took a mass internet outage from a god awful internet company to realize how close I was with a particular set of friends I made and kept on discord. I was yearning to just hear their voices, see their messages, and witness the daily chaos. When I was in a dangerous environment I would feel safe with only them in vc if I was on it at night.
Recently I sent those people a screenshot of a message to my second account from main, I have a second for incase I get hacked and a qna ARG I'm running, and I was sent messages of something I didn't realize I needed until I saw them: acceptance. They accepted being part of my found family and to some extent it felt (but I doubt it) as if I was accepted as part of theirs.
Nothing will ever be stronger than that. And to the teens who managed to find this post, you will have the power to leave your dangerous situations but if you feel safe enough to fall asleep with your friends near by keep them. Those are the ones who you'll discover to be part of your found family. Take it with a grain of salt, but you'll be safe one day I promise.
