Hi! I would like to request "They only realized they were holding hands the entire time, the moment they had to let go" with Zayne please. Thank you for sharing your writings with us!! ^-^
I don't want to let go of your hand
When you by chance ran into Zayne in a faraway city, and all the "goodbyes" turned into "see-you-agains."
୨୧⠀⠀˙⠀⠀˖⠀Tags: fluff and lots of fluff, soft and sweet. First time holding hands after reunion. Mention of Tara. Reader is MC.
୨୧⠀⠀˙⠀⠀˖⠀Thank you so much for requesting 💙
୨୧⠀⠀˙⠀⠀˖⠀ Prompt by: ❀
midst the bustling crowds of an unfamiliar city, you caught sight of a familiar figure of a certain doctor.
Zayne’s dark hair stood out against the gloomy sky of early winter. His eyes, a blend of blue and gold, radiated warmth the moment they found you, standing just ten paces away as you waited for the next tram.
"Hello, Doctor Zayne!" You spoke up first as he walked toward you. "I never expected a mission in a place this far away would lead me into you."
The corners of Zayne’s mouth curled upward slightly. Lately, he had been showing up by chance at the locations where you were on mission with increasing frequency.
"It's quite a coincidence," replied Zayne. "I was invited as a guest lecturer at a nearby medical university. What about you? A new mission this time?"
"Yes." You nodded.
Following that, silence settled in. Zayne and you were waiting for the tram, which was the fastest way to get around this city. But your mission was over, and you were in no rush; Zayne had finished his work at the university, too. He glanced down at his watch, somewhat restless, then turned to you and spoke:
"If you're not in a hurry, I know a really good pastry shop nearby."
You smiled. That was all it took; you no longer had to wait for the tram to return to your rented room alone. You spent that afternoon with Zayne, sampling pastries at a shop he had chosen. Between the treats, the hot tea, and the casual, rambling conversation that drifted from one topic to another, you completely lost track of the time for your dinner date with Tara—your colleague and close friend. It was not until a text message from her, urging you to hurry, popped up on your phone screen that you hurriedly said goodbye to Zayne.
He walked you back to the tram stop, even though you did not share the same route. The area was more crowded than before since it was rush hour, and a small festival was taking place nearby.
"I'm not going to make it in time..." you whispered, but Zayne heard you. He smiled and tugged gently at your hand.
"It's fine," replied Zayne. "Your next tram arrives in three minutes. We'll make it."
Thus, Zayne utilized his height to navigate through the crowd, his sturdy back shielding you from bumping into others. You reached the stop just as the tram pulled in.
Yet you were not ready to say goodbye.
Your hand lingered in Zayne’s grasp. The moment you realized your fingers were tightly interlaced with his was the very moment you had to let go. Zayne spoke gently:
"Get on now."
You took a step toward the rear entrance of the vintage-style tram, yet your mind stayed set on the warmth of Zayne’s hand, a touch you were reluctant to part.
Sensing this, he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. Doctor Zayne began to pace alongside the slow-moving wheels, as if the tram was waiting for you to finish saying your goodbyes.
"Zayne… I…"
I don't want to leave.
I don't want to let go of your hand.
Zayne hastened his pace as the tram began to pick up speed. He spoke rapidly before it carried you away:
"I'll see you. Tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be… I’ll be at the pastry shop."
You nodded, beaming, as your fingers slipped away from his palm. Stepping onto the tram, you watched Zayne’s silhouette stand out against the lights of an unfamiliar city.
There was no need for a goodbye, just a simple "See you again" would be enough.
GM reader is soo fun to read 🤭. In my defense...its like we need a crowbar to pry the LIs from MC.
Can I please request the LIs reaction to GM reader turning to a cat? Like during her date with MC GM was affected by a protocore that turned her to a cat for a week and MC managed to hide her 🤣
I'm very glad you like reading GM!Reader- I love writing them. Both in the main fic and in these side/alternate stories. Lmfaooo-
We can do that! It's such a fun idea omg.
This request is for my 200 Follower Celebration!
Again, none of this will make sense unless you're familiar with the main fic!
Summary: Headcanons on how each Love Interest would react when you turn into a cat.
I'm a romanticist cat, making this heartbroken city glow
"Meow." You regarded her with the most unimpressed look you could give in your... current form. "Mrrp."
She scooped your feline body into her arms and squished at your paws as she buried her face into your fur.
How had you ended up in this predicament? Well, long story short, you were on an outing with her and a Protofield had opened up at some point, leading to you and her fighting off some Wanderers together.
There must have been something off with the Protocores the Wanderers left behind. Or something with the Metaflux that messed with reality. Because the moment you put yourself in front of her to shield you, you had turned into a fluffy feline.
That had been a couple of days ago, and from what you could tell, she had simply contacted others with no more information than the fact that she was going to hog you for the next couple of days.
You flicked your tail in annoyance. You loved her, yeah, but you missed seeing other people.
A knock at the door. Her arms tightening around you to try and stop you from wriggling out of her grasp, but she was unsuccessful and you were on the floor in an instant.
Nothing can stay secret for long, and you weren't going to let her hide you for longer.
With agility and dexterity that was unnatural for a 'real' cat, you leapt up to the doorknob and opened the front door.
Zayne
Is the one to scold the main character as he takes you in his arms. Why did she not inform him of this situation? He was your personal doctor and he should have been made aware of this.
Loves it. Resident cat lover. Worried too, kind of, but when he's told that it's temporary and won't last long, he is taking you everywhere with him. His office at the hospital? Yes (once hygiene issues have been addressed ofc). When he's attending to the med-bay at the main Syndicate building? Also yes.
He is cold, and you're covered in fur. You will squirm inside of his shirt when you get too hot. He will not make a move to stop you. Cats don't tend to like him- either because of his evol or some reason that's unknown to him- so he will take advantage of your feline form. You are rarely allowed to walk on your own... feet? Paws?
Genuinely melts when you purr against him. He will go completely still when you start purring until you bat at him to keep on petting you. Smiles when your purrs grow louder. He sneaks so many pictures when you're not looking.
As much as Zayne loves taking care of you in that cat form, he infinitely prefers when you can wrap your arms around him.
Sylus
Honestly understands the main character. Because he too would hide you away in that form to have all your time to himself. He lets you claw up his leg, uncaring of the way your sharp claws tore into his clothes.
Loves it part 2. He is instantly enamoured. It's you. And your small and covered in fur. You are adorable and feisty. Will tease you to make you swipe at him with your little claws. He thinks you're cuter than normal because you can't do a lot of harm in that form. He immediately gets you a collar so that you can match him.
Finds it very, very amusing when you and Mephisto play around. You in your feline form batting at Mephie's quick movements... The man is entertained for hours, seeing you pounce and chase after the mechanical crow before said crow turns the table to chase after you. Mephie records everything.
Adores it when you stretch to smack at his face with your small paws to get him to lean down. When he does and you bump the top of your feline head against his chin, this man softens. So much. The twins take several photos, get caught by him doing so, and are 'convinced' to send them to him.
Sylus finds you to be very cute when you're in a more feline state. But he finds you to be much cuter when you tuck yourself under his chin in a more human shape.
Valko
Instantly scoops you in his arms and shoves his face into your fur. Does not care that much about the implications (because he knows you'll be fine).
Enjoys you being a cat. Man will shift to his fully wolf form to keep you company. Marvels immensely at the difference in size. Instincts tell him to hold your feline head in his jaws. And he does. Constantly. Eventually, you are able to tell when he's going to lovingly shove your head inside of his mouth and everything turns into a chasing game.
In your feline state, you'll be around the same size as the younger pups in their shifted forms. He likes watching the pups jump at your tail and likes seeing your very unimpressed 'expression' as you climb up him to avoid them.
He loves it when you get into a 'hunting' posture. The silent wriggle, the way your pupils dilated. The stretch and the pounce... at his tail. He likes the chittering meow you make when you have his tail at your mercy. Will encourage your feline hunting behaviour. Will be utterly enamoured when you blink up at him slowly with his tail in your smaller jaws.
As much as Valko like it when you too have a more beast-like form to run and hunt with him in, he likes it much more when you're human, when he can run with you perched on top of him.
Caleb
Sighs. Of course you'd get into this situation when he's not shadowing you. Thank whatever higher being is out there that he was tracking you and his meimei with the CCTVs in Linkon. He uses his Evol to catch you before your paws can hit the floor.
He doesn't love that you're a cat, but he still enjoys the shift in position. He's much bigger than you now, and for all intents and purposes, you're more dependent on him than you usually are. You are carried everywhere.
Teasing. Extremely so. He will take advantage of all the cat instincts you now have. Grins when you chase after a laser pointer. Laughs when you look utterly confused when it turns out you didn't 'catch' anything. Buys several cat toys just to see how you react to them. Many, many videos are filmed.
He'll lie down anywhere just to get you to knead at him. Make biscuits on him. You've always said that you liked how beefy he was in the game, so he's giving you full reign over where to make biscuits.
But, as much as Caleb likes the small, fluffy version of you, he's eager to have you back. In his eyes, the human version of you is the best version of you.
Xavier
Blinks slowly and just... lifts you in his arms. Cradles you close to his chest. He's more than aware of the risks of the fluctuations in energy of the Protofields, so he's not too surprised that something like this happened.
Is honestly neutral on your feline state. He's not concerned, because he assumed that this will be temporary, and got that assumption confirmed by Jeremiah. It was just a matter of when. You're a warm weight that curls up on his lap. His hands are always on you, brushing at your fur absentmindedly.
He offers you catnip at one point. Mainly because there were some lying about and because he was curious as to what your reaction would be. Very amused when your eyes grow wide and make the most excited of cat sounds. Still amused when the catnip makes you hiss at him when he tries to take it away from you.
If you make the high trilling sounds, you have him in a chokehold. He relaxes when he hears that. He feels welcome and very loved when your feline eyes find him and when you make that trill.
That's not to say Xavier doesn't miss the way you find find him in a room or the way you greet him with a small smile. He can't wait until you're back to normal again.
Rafayel
Immediate scrunching of his pretty facial features. That doesn't mean he wouldn't immediately catch you when you leap up to him. The fact that he's complaining about you being a cat doesn't mean he's not worried. He gathers the fact that your mind was still yours and that comes as a huge relief to him.
Oh, hates it. Hates it, hates it. But... it's you, so he'll get through this. He may not like cats, but he sure does love you, so he'll survive. And maybe it wasn't too bad. You were... cute when you were perched on top of one of the shelves to regally look down at everything. But that was only because he knew the cat was you.
He feeds you a lot of seafood. Mainly because he doesn't think it's right to feed you cat food when your mind is still yours. Also, he had tried offering at one point, and you had immediately rejected it. Very happy when he watches you eat. He thinks it cute.
In utter denial of how cute he thinks you are when you meow at him. Or when you curl up by his side and blink slowly at him. Or when you take one of his fingers to drag him to 'your cushion'. But he can't stop himself from being enamoured when your ears flick at his voice or when your paws press at his cheek.
Rafayel wants you back. Yes, you as a cat, he could reluctantly admit was rather cute. But it wasn't you. Not really. He wanted fingers he could entwine his with, a face that could smile at him, and a voice that could actually talk to him.
All together now! (poly)
Your tail flicked at the floor, making your discontentment very, very clear. The boys were crowded around you, phones out and filming you. When Sylus' fingers reached over to brush at your 'face', you hissed and bat away at them.
You were sick and tired of being a cat. You wanted to be a human again! Temporary or not, it's already been a little over a week and you wanted to have thumbs.
"Don't be so distressed, my moon."
You let Xavier's hands gently pick you up, even if you made your annoyance clear by clamping your teeth around his hoodie's sleeve. You did loosen your grip on it when you felt him press a soft kiss on the top of your head.
"There're people looking for a way to get you back to normal." Caleb pressed a quick kiss onto your cheek. "Valko's family are also scouring their texts just to see if there could be any lingering side effects that could potentially make you similar to them."
"The consensus that they've reach is 'no', Vallko said, as he gently grabbed one of your ears to press his lips fleetingly on it.
"A shame, really." Sylus avoided your half-hearted swipe before kissing your other cheek. "You do make a fantastic cat."
"Thank the gods." Rafayel said, as he kicked at Sylus, who avoided the other man with a smirk. "I love you, boo, but my thoughts on cats have not changed."
You meowed in understanding, to which the Lemurian smiled and pressed his lips to your forehead in response.
Zayne didn't say anything but gingerly grasped at one of your paws to gently kiss it.
Something shifted suddenly, and when you blinked, you were on top of Xavier, who was in turn, lying flat on his back on the floor.
You blinked, readjusting to a more colourful vision.
"I'm back." You looked down at your hands, then at your lovers and smiled. "Oh thank god I have thumbs again."
"Welcome back, darling." Zayne said, his cool fingers brushing at your fur-less cheek. "You were sorely missed."
୨୧⠀⠀˙⠀⠀˖⠀Requested by fleurettesnow (X), based on the prompt "Wanna hold hands with me?" by: ❀
"Wanna hold hands with me?"
You extended a hand. Zayne gazed at you. His eyes, fixed on you, revealed an entire secret universe.
"I'm fine," Zayne replied. "Thank you."
However, he did not seem to be doing well. It was a drizzly autumn afternoon when he finished work just as your appointment at Akso Hospital was ending.
Then you asked him to join you for dinner. You only wanted to thank him for taking care of your health during this time. You had planned an excuse to leave immediately if Zayne refused, though he said yes. You had to suppress your enthusiasm to avoid dancing about with joy on the hospital grounds.
The restaurant you picked was not far from there. You and Zayne decided to walk, and you took the opportunity to spend a little more time with him. The rain had ceased by the time you left the hospital, but the chill remained. And Zayne did not appear as well as he had said.
You noticed that the puddles on the pavement where you had walked, or more specifically, where Zayne had walked, were covered with frost. He instantly put his hands in his pockets, although you had seen this happen in the past when you were both children. And you knew instantly what was wrong with him.
Back then, he used to hide both of his hands in the coat pockets like this. The sun was blazing, yet he was always dressed from head to toe, secluded in a corner. You found him when no one else could. And you asked him the same question.
"Wanna hold hands with me?"
"I'm fine… Thank you…"
It was the same response when he was a child. Yet with determination, you pulled his hand out of his pocket. It was freezing cold. Soon, snow began to cling to your tiny hand as well.
"Let go," Zayne told you. But you stubbornly clung on tighter. A surge of strength radiated from you, resonating with Zayne and helping him stabilize it. This continued until the snow melted and his hand warmed up again.
Years had passed, but you never forgot that boy. Never forgot Zayne.
You gazed up at Zayne. He seemed to be reminiscing about those old memories as well. Perhaps he knew what you were about to do; it had to be something similar to what the little girl had done years ago, so he extended a hand for you to see and said:
"I'm fine. Really. I can control my Evol better now."
You closely examined his hand. After that, you intertwined your fingers with his and smiled.
"Then this is your reward. Holding hands."
A hint of astonishment flickered across the doctor's face. Then he bowed his head, smiled softly, and gave your hand a gentle squeeze.
"Thank you."
The bustling streets rushed past the sidewalk. But you and Zayne would never lose each other's hands.
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ › the tide has a way of bringing old things back to shore. and as the rain refuses to leave town, so do the memories you've spent months trying not to revisit.
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ › bucky x female reader
ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ › mature themes, character death (readers mother), grief, 5+1 with a twist, five stages of grief + one stage of love, stage three: bargaining, emotional rollercoaster, hurt/comfort, self blame, semi slow burn, lowkey grumpy x grumpy, storm symbolism (i tried sorry if it suck/feels repetitive) not beta read we die like... everything
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ › 5.4k
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ › halfway there >:) also ive decided that editing is writings evil cousin bc WHY does it suck so much pls cant i just wave a magic wand and make the spelling errors go away
ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ
The storm refused to leave.
It settled over the coast like an unwelcome guest, filling the sky with heavy gray clouds and turning daylight into a muted, washed-out version of itself. Rain drummed against the cottage roof morning and night, sometimes gentle enough to disappear into the background, sometimes loud enough to shake the windows. The weather report insisted it would move offshore tomorrow, tomorrow came and it stayed. By the fifth day, you'd stopped checking altogether.
Instead, you found yourself sitting on the porch each morning, wrapped in your mother's old knitted blanket, a mug of coffee cooling forgotten in your hands.
The repaired half of the railing remained sturdy, the unfinished section remained cordoned off by a pair of old sawhorses. An ugly reminder of last week, of words you couldn't take back. Rain blurred the horizon until the ocean and sky became one endless sheet of gray. Even through the weather, you watched the tide. It came in, and went out. Again, and again, and again. Your mother used to say that if you watched the tide long enough, you'd realize the ocean never really lost anything, it only borrowed it. Shells disappeared beneath the waves only to wash ashore somewhere else, driftwood floated away before returning months later, smoother than before, even footprints weren't erased forever. Just carried somewhere else, the looming promise of its return fizzing away in the foam caps.
You used to roll your eyes whenever she said things like that.
"You make everything sound like a life lesson."
She'd smiled over the rim of her coffee.
"That's because everything is one."
At fifteen, you'd thought she was unbearably sentimental. At twenty-eight, sitting alone on the porch she'd loved so much, you wished you'd listened more carefully.
The tide rolled away from shore, then returned. Give. Take. Give. Take.
Your thoughts had begun doing the same. Every quiet moment became another negotiation, another impossible bargain.
If I'd called more... The thought arrived before you could stop it. You'd called every Sunday and most Wednesdays. Sent pictures throughout the week, but maybe, maybe every Sunday hadn't been enough. Maybe she hadn't told you she was lonely because she didn't want you to worry. Maybe she spent evenings sitting in this very cottage wishing you'd come home.
If I'd visited more... You'd always meant to but work was busy. Projects piled up, clients demanded impossible deadlines. There would always be next month, next summer, you used to tell yourself. The holidays, there was always another visit waiting somewhere in the future.
Until suddenly there wasn't.
If I hadn't left... That one stayed the longest. You imagined impossible versions of your life, one where you'd never accepted the promotion, one where you'd stayed in town after college, one where you'd bought a little house down the road. You pictured stopping by after work and fixing things around the cottage, cooking dinner together, insisting she let you carry the groceries.
Would she have gone out that morning if you'd been here? Would you have driven instead? Would she still be alive?
Your rational mind answered immediately. You know that's not how this works, yet your grief ignored it completely. Instead, it continued rewriting history, searching desperately for the version where everyone lived. You found yourself replaying your final phone call with her, not the words but the spaces between them. Had she sounded tired? Had she paused longer than usual? Had she been trying to tell you something?
You couldn't remember and that frightened you most. You were already forgetting, not the important things, but the ordinary ones. The exact sound of her laugh. Whether she'd still said "goodnight, sweetheart" at the end of every phone call, whether she'd preferred daisies or sunflowers. You'd spent your entire life assuming there would always be time to ask again.
Time had quietly disagreed.
The cottage creaked behind you as a gust of wind rattled the windows, the lights flickered once, twice then steadied. You looked toward the ceiling instinctively. The storm wasn't showing any signs of slowing down and the weather radio had warned about possible outages all morning.
You sighed. One more errand.
You'd hoped to avoid town for another few days but apparently life had other plans.
An hour later you found yourself pulling into the hardware store parking lot beneath a sky the color of wet concrete. Rain tapped steadily against the windshield as you sat there for a moment watching droplets race one another down the glass. The store's fluorescent lights glowed warmly through the windows while people hurried inside carrying umbrellas. You pulled your hood over your head and stepped into the rain.
The automatic doors whooshed open and warm air smelling faintly of sawdust and fertilizer wrapped around you. You headed toward the lighting aisle, your list echoing through your head, flashlights, lanterns, extra batteries and a few oil lamps, just in case.
Your mother always kept oil lamps ready for hurricane season.
"Electricity's nice," she'd always said. "But candles and lanterns don't care about power lines."
The memory almost made you smile. Almost.
You reached for the last hurricane lantern on the shelf as another hand reached for it at exactly the same time. You closed your eyes before you even looked. Of course.
"You've got to be kidding me." You muttered.
Across from you, Bucky looked equally unimpressed. Rainwater dripped from the ends of his hair onto the shoulders of his jacket.
"Not my fault you keep showing up where I shop."
You let out a disbelieving huff.
"I'm fairly certain this shelf existed before either of us walked into this store."
He considered that.
"...Probably."
Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth threatened to move. You caught it before it could. Thunder rolled across the coastline once more, echoing through the store. Though you couldn't see it, beneath buzzing fluorescent lights and the smell of fresh-cut lumber, the tide quietly shifted again.
For a second, neither of you reached for the lantern as rain drummed steadily against the roof overhead. Someone pushed a cart down the next aisle. The ordinary sounds of the hardware store settled around the silence neither of you seemed eager to break.
You shifted your weight.
"So..." you looked down at the lantern between your hands. "I should probably apologize."
He tilted his head slightly. "For what?"
You blinked. "The porch."
His expression stayed neutral.
"You know..." you gestured vaguely. "The part where I told you to get the hell out of my house like a crazy person."
"Oh."
"Yeah." Heat crept into your face despite the cool air humming from the store's vents. "I'm really sorry about that day."
The words came easier than you'd expected.
"My life is kind of..." You laughed softly, humorless. "...a mess right now."
You rubbed absentmindedly at the back of your neck. "And you didn't deserve any of that."
The admission hung awkwardly between you. "You probably think I'm some crazy unstable person."
Bucky's shoulders lifted in a small shrug. "I don't think you're crazy."
A breath escaped somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
"Well..." you looked toward the ceiling. "Maybe you should."
The corner of his mouth twitched, not enough to become a smile but enough that you noticed. The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, just, thoughtful. Outside, thunder rolled again closer now.
Then, quietly—
"It's not your fault."
You looked up. "...What?"
Bucky leand one shoulder against the shelf beside him. "Whatever's eating you alive inside."
His voice remained calm, matter-of-fact.
"It's not your fault."
You stared and your heart gave one strange, uncertain beat.
"...What?" The word came out much smaller this time, almost afraid. How did he—had someone told him? Had Mrs. Patterson said something? The diner? The grocery store? Was the entire town talking about you?
Your stomach twisted.
Bucky shook his head as though answering a question you hadn't asked.
"You have this look." He gestured vaguely toward your face, toward all of you.
"Every time you walk into a room..." he searched for the words. "...you brace yourself."
You frowned. "For what?"
"For what you think is going to happen."
His eyes stayed on yours.
"Then nothing does." Another pause. "And you still look devastated."
Your throat tightened. Nobody had ever described grief like that before. Not as sadness, not as crying. Bracing. As though every ordinary moment carried the possibility of another terrible phone call, another loss, another rug pulled out from beneath your feet.
You hadn't realized you were doing it.
Apparently everyone else had.
"...That obvious, huh?"
His answer came immediately. "Yeah."
You winced.
He looked away briefly. Then added, almost absentmindedly—"Well... I know that look pretty well."
Something about the way he said it stopped you from asking. There was no bitterness, no self-pity, just recognition. Like two strangers unexpectedly speaking the same language. Your eyes drifted, almost involuntarily, toward the sleeve covering his metal arm and you thought about the first day on your porch. The way he'd noticed you staring and the way he'd quietly let the moment pass.
Nobody ended up carrying that kind of history without learning something about loss.
"I'm sorry."
The words slipped out before you thought about them.
Bucky looked back at you. "You said that already."
The tease was gentle, light enough that you felt yourself smiling. A real one this time, small but real.
"Yeah well..." you glanced down at your shoes. "I mean it."
"I know."
Another silence settled between you. This one softer than the others.
The rain battered the windows harder, and the wind howled around the building.
You inhaled slowly, held the breath, then let it go.
"Can I..."
You stopped. God, this felt awkward.
"...Can we..." another deep breath. "...like..."
You laughed quietly at yourself. "Can we start over?"
Bucky looked at you for a long second, his face remained completely unreadable and your stomach sank. He's going to laugh. He's absolutely going to laugh. Instead, he shifted the lantern into his other hand, then held out his right.
"I'm Bucky."
You blinked. A surprised laugh escaped before you could stop it as you nodded your head. Your fingers slid into his hand, warm, solid and steady. The simple contact startled you more than it should have. You couldn't remember the last time someone had shaken your hand, the last time another person had reached for you without pity or obligation, without condolences waiting behind their eyes. Just... hello.
His palm was warm against yours, comfortingly so. You realized, with a strange ache in your chest, how long it had been since you'd touched another human being. You hadn't noticed the absence until the warmth returned.
You gave your name. "It's nice to meet you, Bucky."
His smile arrived slowly this time, small and almost shy.
"You too."
The handshake lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary as neither of you seemed in much of a hurry to let go. Eventually, you did, almost reluctantly.
"So..." he nodded toward the lantern in your cart. "Preparing for the apocalypse?"
"The power's been flickering."
He glanced toward the ceiling as another crack of thunder echoed overhead. "...Fair."
The lights buzzed once and flickered then recovered. Then the rain intensified all at once, not just rain anymore. Sheets of water slammed against the storefront windows hard enough to blur the parking lot into gray. Several people stopped what they were doing to look outside.
Someone muttered, "That's not good."
Bucky frowned toward the entrance. "My bike."
You followed his gaze to the motorcycle that sat completely exposed, already disappearing beneath the downpour.
"You can't ride in that."
"I've ridden in worse."
Lightning cracked somewhere uncomfortably close. Both of you instinctively looked toward the windows.
"...Maybe not today."
Without really thinking about it, you spoke. "I can give you a ride."
"You sure?" His eyes shifted back to you.
You nodded. "It's the least I can do."
He considered the offer, then smiled faintly.
"Then I accept."
Relief settled somewhere inside you.
"...But."
You should've known there'd be a but.
"I drive."
You frowned.
"What?"
He took your keys from your open palm before you could protest. "I don't need you backing into any more stationary objects."
You let out an offended laugh. "I hit one motorcycle."
"You hit one motorcycle that belonged to me."
You waved your hand. "Details."
"They're pretty important details."
Despite yourself, you found yourself laughing again. Quieter this time and without the sharp sting of guilt that had followed the first one. Not gone, just less immediate.
The drive began exactly as expected. Rain pounded the windshield as the wipers struggled to keep up. Roads disappeared beneath standing water.
You assumed he'd direct you toward town. Instead—
"Left here."
You frowned when he didn't take it.
"My cottage's the other way."
"I know."
Another turn. Another unfamiliar road.
"Bucky..."
"It beats sitting in that old cottage with no power waiting for the walls to blow down."
You looked out at the storm. The trees beginning to bend beneath the wind and the relentless rain. Part of you wanted to argue, to insist you could handle it, that you'd spent the past several weeks proving you didn't need anyone. But another part, a quieter part, was simply tired. Too tired to spend another night pretending isolation was the same thing as healing.
So, for once... you didn't argue.
You simply watched the rain race across the windshield as Bucky drove toward a place you hadn't expected to end up. And for reasons you couldn't yet explain, you didn't mind nearly as much as you thought you would. Bucky's house sat at the edge of town, tucked beneath a stand of old live oaks that leaned toward the shoreline as though they, too, had spent their lives listening to the ocean.
It wasn't large. Just a weathered one-story cottage with faded blue shutters and a wide front porch that had clearly been repaired more than once over the years.
Some porch chairs rocked gently beneath the covered awning despite the storm. The windows glowed warm against the gray afternoon. Home. The thought came uninvited. Not your home. Just someone's.
The engine quieted, rain continued drumming against the roof.
"You coming?"
You blinked, realizing you'd been staring.
"Right."
The dash from the truck to the porch lasted only a few seconds, still long enough to soak the hems of your jeans, for the cold rain to sting your cheeks.
Bucky unlocked the front door.
"Watch the rug."
"What?"
"It likes to slide."
Sure enough, your foot caught the edge. You stumbled and Bucky reached out instinctively, steadying your elbow before you could fall.
"See?"
"I wasn't going to fall."
"You absolutely were."
"I recovered."
"You were recovering and I caught you."
You rolled your eyes.
"I liked you better when we were strangers."
He laughed quietly as he disappeared into the kitchen.
"Liar."
The house smelled like cedar and coffee. Something simmered in a slow cooker somewhere, while fresh rain drifted in every time the wind rattled the windows. It wasn't immaculate. There were books stacked on side tables, a flannel thrown over the back of the couch, a toolbox sitting half-open near the fireplace. Evidence of someone actually living there, not performing the idea of home but just existing inside it.
You found yourself standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room unsure what to do with your hands. Unsure what the etiquette was for unexpectedly taking shelter in a near stranger's house.
"You drink tea?"
His voice carried from the kitchen.
"Usually coffee."
"I've got coffee."
You hesitated.
"...Coffee sounds nice."
"Good answer."
You heard cupboards opening, the clink of mugs, water beginning to boil. Normal sounds. Ordinary sounds. They settled something restless inside you. Your gaze wandered toward a bookshelf, to the photographs lined the top. Friends, family, people smiling beneath summer sunlight. You looked away before examining them too closely, it felt private.
The rain intensified again. Hard enough that conversation would've been impossible outdoors yet inside, everything felt wrapped in warmth. The mugs arrived a few minutes later, one was set carefully into your hands. The ceramic radiated heat through your chilled fingers, you hadn't realized how cold you'd become.
"Thanks."
"Mhm."
Bucky settled into the armchair opposite the couch. Not beside you, not close enough to crowd but present enough to feel normal. Steam curled lazily from your mug and you watched it disappear into the air.
One breath. Then another.
Neither of you spoke. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, it simply existed, like the storm, like the ocean. Eventually, your eyes settled on the rain streaking across the windows. You could feel your thoughts beginning to form and figured now was better than ever.
"I..." the word caught.
You tried again. "My, uh..."
Your fingers tightened around the mug. "A few months ago… my mom died."
Saying it aloud still felt impossible, like speaking another language. The room remained quiet around you two. Bucky didn't interrupt, didn't offer sympathy, didn't tell you how sorry he was. He simply listened.
"I tried to keep going." You laughed softly, without humor. "Back in the city."
Another pause.
"I went back to work."
The meetings, emails, presentations and business lunches. You remembered every single one feeling wrong. Like wearing someone else's clothes.
"It all felt...wrong. So," you looked down into your coffee. "I sold almost everything I owned and quit my job."
The sentence sounded absurd now that it was out loud, pulling another quiet humorless laugh from you.
"I packed three boxes," your throat tightened. "And I came back."
Back here. Back to the town you'd spent years convincing yourself you'd outgrown.
"I thought... I thought it would make things better."
The storm answered for you. Rain battered the windows, wind sighed through the trees and up against the door. Howling through the air
Your voice cracked. "I think I'm just unraveling."
Silence settled between the two of you. Not empty or echoing, just patient.
Bucky looked into his own mug for a long moment before speaking. "I lost someone."
You looked up.
"My..." he smiled faintly to himself. "My best friend."
His thumb traced absent circles against the ceramic.
"He was the closest thing I had to a brother. To family."
Something softened in his expression. Memory.
"I think..." he breathed slowly. "I think a part of me always knew it was coming."
The admission seemed difficult, like lifting something heavy.
"But it still hurt."
He looked toward the rain, his voice remained steady.
"I knew he deserved peace. I just didn't know how I was supposed to find mine without him."
The words settled somewhere deep inside your chest. Because that was it, that impossible contradiction. Wanting someone you loved to stop hurting, then not knowing how to continue once they had.
You looked down at your hands. "...Did you?"
He blinked. "What?"
"Find it."
His eyes looked out toward the window. Beyond it, the ocean churned beneath dark skies. The tide continued its endless rhythm despite the storm. Coming in. Going out. Taking. Giving.
A small smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.
"Yeah." He leaned back in the chair. "Took a little while."
The smile grew, barely.
"But... " his gaze drifted toward the shoreline visible through the rain. "I'm happy here."
There was no grand revelation in the words. No dramatic speech, just quiet certainty as though happiness wasn't something he'd found all at once. As though it had arrived slowly piece by piece, like driftwood washing ashore after a storm.
You followed his gaze to the ocean. The waves were rough, the sky still dark, nothing about the view suggested peace. And yet sitting here, wrapped around a warm mug in a house that smelled like coffee and cedar while rain beat steadily against the roof... you found yourself believing him.
Maybe peace wasn't the absence of storms. Maybe it was simply finding somewhere safe enough to wait for them to pass.
Your eyes burned and the tears arrived quietly this time. Not with the overwhelming force they'd carried these past months, just a slow sting gathering behind your eyes. You blinked once, twice and the feeling eased, you'd cried enough in front of strangers. You weren't sure Bucky counted as one anymore. The realization caught you off guard. That somewhere between repairing porch railings and sharing coffee during a storm, he'd become... something else. Not quite a friend, not yet. But no longer a stranger.
You let the thought settle without examining it too closely while the rain continued its steady assault against the windows. The tide churned beneath an angry sky, the water rushed toward shore. Pulled away again. Give. Take. Give. Take.
Your mother would've liked this house.
The thought arrived gently and not with the sharp ache it usually carried. She would've complimented the porch swing, asked Bucky entirely too many questions, probably insisted on bringing over blueberry muffins after learning he lived alone. The image lingered, then floated quietly away before you realized you were smiling. It was small, almost invisible.
Bucky noticed anyway.
"What?"
You shook your head. "Nothing."
"Hm."
He didn't press.
Instead, both of you watched another flash of lightning brighten the horizon. The silence settled comfortably around you once again. Eventually, curiosity won.
"So..." you turned toward him. "How'd you end up here anyway?"
He glanced over.
"You don't exactly look like the beach local type."
The words left your mouth before your brain had fully approved them.
You grimaced. "...No offense."
"Offense."
The reply came so dryly you couldn't help it, a laugh escaped, short and soft.
"You are impossible."
"I've been told."
You tucked one leg beneath yourself on the couch.
"So?"
He rubbed a hand thoughtfully across the back of his neck.
"My buddy Sam."
"The one in the pictures?"
He nodded.
"Lives outside Delacroix."
The unfamiliar name rolled around in your head.
"I spent some time down there." His gaze drifted toward the rain-speckled windows. "Needed somewhere to land."
The words were simple but you suspected there was an entire story hiding behind them. One he wasn't ready to tell and you understood that.
He continued.
"Turns out..." a tiny smile appeared. "Life by the water isn't too bad."
You looked toward the ocean. "It grows on you."
"It does."
The room fell quiet again.
Then another question slipped free.
"So why didn't you stay there?"
Bucky's expression became perfectly serious.
"I'm not a fan of the local marine life."
You frowned.
"...Marine life?"
It took your brain a second. Then—
"You mean—"
"Alligators."
"You left an entire state because of alligators?"
"I saw one smile at me."
You stared.
"They... don't smile."
"They absolutely do."
"They don't."
"They literally do."
You laughed again, longer this time.
"You are making that up."
"I wish."
"You've got to be kidding."
"I'm telling you."
He held one hand out dramatically.
"Eight feet long."
Your brows furrowed with amusement. "You know they get bigger than that."
"I wasn't sticking around to measure."
You shook your head.
"So you traded alligators for hurricanes?"
"They're easier to reason with."
"Hurricanes?"
"They usually announce they're coming."
You laughed hard enough to shake your head.
"That's terrible logic."
"It hasn't failed me yet."
"No..." you smiled into your coffee. "I suppose it hasn't."
The warmth in the room settled deeper. The storm still raged outside, wind bent the sea grass nearly flat, rain blurred the horizon into watercolor streaks of gray and blue, the tide continued its endless conversation with the shore. Coming. Going. Taking. Returning. Neither of you spoke for a while, you simply watched.
The strange thing about grief was how loud it usually was. It demanded attention, filled every corner of your mind until there wasn't room for anything else. Yet somehow, sitting beside someone who wasn't trying to fix it, who wasn't pretending to understand every part of it, who wasn't offering hollow reassurances or carefully chosen condolences… it grew quieter. Not gone, just, less alone. You thought back to the endless what ifs that had occupied every waking moment since your mother's death.
If I'd called more.
If I'd visited sooner.
If I hadn't left.
Questions with no answers.Questions that only circled back to themselves like waves chasing the shoreline. You looked toward the ocean again. The tide was beginning to turn, pulling gently back from the beach, making room for the next wave. Your mother had always believed the sea had something to teach people willing to sit still long enough.
You'd spent years dismissing that as one of her charming little philosophies. But tonight, watching rain streak across the glass while a near stranger quietly shared your silence, you wondered if maybe she'd been right. Not because the ocean had answers, but because it never stopped moving no matter what it carried away, no matter what it brought back.
Eventually, the lights flickered once more as a strong gust of wind howled up against the side of the house.
Bucky sighed theatrically. "There goes your excuse to avoid fixing that porch."
You rolled your eyes.
"There it is."
"What?"
"The sarcasm."
"I was worried you'd started to miss it."
"I definitely hadn't."
"Liar."
You smiled into your mug. Maybe. Just maybe.
The storm finally broke three days later.
The first morning the sun returned, the entire town seemed to spill outside at once. Windows opened, porches filled, children raced toward the beach carrying towels nearly bigger than they were. The ocean glittered as though nothing had happened, as though it hadn't spent the better part of a week throwing itself against the shore.
You were halfway through your morning coffee when someone knocked. Three quick taps.
You opened the door to see Bucky stood there, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.
"Morning."
"Morning."
He nodded toward the beach.
"Wanna take a walk?"
The invitation hovered between you.
You should've said no. It would've been easier. Safer.
Instead you set your coffee down on the end table. "...Sure."
Just a walk, right? That's all. The thought came quickly. You're not making friends, you're just walking, there's a difference. Just finally taking in the sun after it was sorely missed over the past week. That's all. You repeated the same excuse the following afternoon when he asked again, and the afternoon after that. It's just coffee, just conversation, just company. Nothing permanent because so long as it stayed that way it couldn't hurt you, temporary things couldn't become something you lost. You clung to that logic with surprising determination.
The beach stretched wide beneath the afternoon sun. The tide had gone out, leaving smooth wet sand that reflected the sky like glass. Neither of you hurried, sometimes you talked, sometimes you didn't. Bucky seemed equally comfortable with both until he stopped suddenly, bent down and picked something from the sand.
"What?"
He held it out. A small piece of pale blue sea glass rested against his palm, its edges had been worn perfectly smooth.
"You know what this is?"
"Sea glass."
"I figured you'd know that much."
You bumped his shoulder lightly. "I grew up here remember."
"Fair."
He rolled the tiny piece between his fingers.
"It starts as broken glass like a bottle."
You looked down at it. "Or a jar."
"Something somebody threw away." He skipped it lightly across his palm. "Spends years in the ocean. Moving through the waves and sand."
His thumb brushed over its smooth surface.
"And eventually..." he handed it to you. "...it transforms and becomes this."
You turned it over carefully as it caught the sunlight. Soft, translucent, and beautiful.
"It doesn't even look like glass anymore."
"Exactly."
You stared at it for a long moment. The ocean whispered around your ankles, a gull cried somewhere overhead.
"Is this your cryptic way of giving me advice?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "It's just glass."
There was a brief pause between you two before he bent down to pick up another piece, this one still jagged, the edges rough and not yet worn by the sea.
"Used to be something you loved, then it broke and you cast it out because it hurt you. But eventually it comes back, and after some time you realize how beautiful its become."
His words weren't lost on you, the ache in your chest that your mother left hasn't truly subsided nor do you think it ever will. Finally, you shook your head.
"I don't think people work that way."
Bucky looked at you.
"I think some do."
"I don't."
The words came quietly.
"I think..." you swallowed. "I think some things stay broken."
His gaze remained steady. "So do bottles."
You looked away.
"Bottles don't have to fight their way through everyday to get..." you searched for the word. "...fixed."
"I didn't say fixed."
You frowned.
He nodded toward the sea glass still resting in your palm.
"I said transformed."
You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to. Instead, you closed your fingers around the glass and handed it back to him.
"Well until I throw myself into the ocean and get thrashed around for a couple years I think I'll stay this way."
Bucky didn't argue, didn't insist otherwise. He simply smiled that quiet little smile of his.
"Keep it."
You looked up.
"What?"
"The sea glass."
He shrugged. "I found another."
"But that ones not smooth yet."
"I like it this way."
There was a strange thump in your chest as you slipped it into your pocket, something you didn't recognize until a few moment later as your heartbeat. Skipping a beat. You decided not to shed any more light on that as you continued your walk with him, the glass shifting lightly in your pocket with each step. You didn't take it because you believed him, even though a quiet part wanted to, but now somehow it felt wrong to throw it back.
A few mornings later, Bucky knocked on your front door again. When you answered, he looked oddly uncertain, something you hadn't seen before.
"I made something." He blurted out, his usual sarcasm nowhere to be found as he held out a small bundle wrapped carefully in an old handkerchief.
You unfolded it slowly.
It's a necklace, simple leather cord, tiny knots woven carefully by hand and in the center the pale blue sea glass.
You looked up. "You made this?"
He rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck with a shrug. "I had some extra cord."
Your thumb traced the smooth glass.
"I figured..." another shrug. "...it looked better around you than sitting in a drawer."
For a long moment, you couldn't find any words. Nobody had made you something in years. Not bought, but made. Something about that mattered more than you could explain.
"It's beautiful." You voice was quiet.
The compliment seemed to embarrass him.
"It'll probably fall apart eventually."
You laughed softly. "I'll take my chances."
He smiled. "So will I."
That night, after he'd gone home, the cottage felt different. Not less lonely, just less silent. There was a strange warmth to the air as you moved about. You changed into pajamas, made yourself tea all while the necklace rested against your collarbone, cool against your skin.
Your phone sat charging on the kitchen counter. Waiting. Seven voicemails, still. You stared at the notification for a long time. Then, before you could change your mind you pressed play. The speaker crackled softly.
Then—
"Hi, sweetheart."
Your mother's voice filled the quiet kitchen, bright and ordinary.
"Just wanted to remind you that the strawberries at the market are finally in season."
You laughed through the tears already gathering. Of course she called about strawberries.
"I know you'll probably forget to eat actual fruit if somebody doesn't remind you."
A pause. You could hear a grocery cart rolling somewhere in the background.
"Anyway..."
The familiar warmth in her voice wrapped around you.
"Call me when you get a chance."
Another pause.
"Love you."
The voicemail ended with the soft click of her hanging up.
That was it. No final wisdom, no hidden goodbye, no feeling that she'd somehow known. Just strawberries and groceries. A reminder to eat fruit on an ordinary Tuesday. Somehow, that hurt more than anything else. Because life hadn't ended with a grand farewell, it had ended in the middle of an ordinary conversation. Just another voicemail you'd planned to return after work.
You stood alone in the quiet kitchen, tears slipping silently down your face. The necklace rested over your heart. Outside, the tide continued its endless rhythm. Coming in. Going out. Borrowing. Returning. And for the first time since your mother's death, you allowed yourself to miss not just the moment she died—
But all of the beautifully ordinary moments she should have still been here to live.
The moment you crack your eyes open is the moment you realize that something is wrong. Not wrong in a dreadful kind of way but wrong enough to pull you out of your dreams, even though it’s Sunday and you have nowhere to be today – except right here, snuggled into your blanket, next to your boyfriend, who had cuddled you to sleep the night before with all the diligence he could muster.
With a quiet groan, you press your hand against your lower stomach and swing your legs out of bed. Your steps are barely audible as you tiptoe out of the bedroom, making a beeline for the bathroom. Of course it had to come today. Not three days prior, like your tracker had told you, or tomorrow when you at least could’ve gone out to stock up on supplies, painkillers and maybe chocolate. (Though, knowing Valko, there’s at least one chocolate bar in the snack drawer, possibly more.)
You barely make it to the sink when the next wave of pain hits you, and this time, it feels like some invisible entity has reached right into your abdomen and squeezed. Hard.
A soft gasp escapes you as you reach out to steady yourself and wait for the cramp to pass. Only then do you catch a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror. Tired eyes and sallow skin greet you, and you grimace at yourself before opening the cabinet next to the sink to look for supplies, silently praying to find at least enough to get you through this day. Your gaze scans the shelves, only to pause and then check again. The small basket is full, although you could’ve sworn that you forgot to actually pick these things up during your last trip to the drugstore. And yet, here they are – your preferred brand, too.
“Odd,” you mumble but decide to wonder about it later. For now, the only thing that matters is that you have more than enough and won’t have to worry about running out.
***
In the bedroom, Valko stirs awake. With his eyes still closed, he rolls over and reaches out, expecting his hand to meet your warmth like every morning, but instead he’s only touching air. He cracks one eye open. Your side of the bed is empty. There’s a dent in your pillow and your duvet is pushed back carelessly, although he’s pretty sure you told him yesterday that you planned to spend the entire morning in bed.
But then again, maybe you’ve just gotten up to get a glass of water, and so, Valko waits.
Only when you haven’t returned fifteen minutes later does he realize that you’re not actually coming back to bed, and he sighs. You promised him cuddles the day prior and now you have disappeared into thin air? This is unacceptable.
He sits up and rubs his eyes, then stretches his arms over his head before slipping out of bed. With a yawn, he pads out into the hallway, then follows the familiar scent of your face cream into the kitchen where he finds you leaning against the counter with one arm wrapped around your stomach.
“Sweetheart,” he says, keeping his voice low so as not to startle you. He stops right behind you, his arms gently wrapping around your midsection and pulling you back against him. “Cramps?” he mumbles as he nuzzles against your hair. He’s seen this before, and he knows the first day is usually the worst for you.
“Mh,” is all you reply before you inhale sharply when another cramp hits you. “It’s… really bad today.”
“I figured,” Valko says and leans in further to press a kiss to your temple. “You should go back to bed.”
“No, I was just about to make breakfast.”
“I can do that.”
You let out a quiet sound, maybe your attempt at a huff that got cut off by another whimper of pain. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” Valko insists and carefully places his hands on your shoulders to turn you around so that you have to face him. “You’re in pain. Go back to bed and let me take care of this. I’ve got you.”
You bury your face into his chest for a moment, mumbling something inaudible. Valko laughs quietly. “For the sake of my sanity, I’m going to pretend you just agreed with me. Now go.”
Valko gives you another gentle squeeze before he releases you from his embrace and watches you padding down the hallway. Your steps are heavier than usual, your movements a little more careful, and there’s a tightness in your shoulders that suggests that the pain is worse than you want to let on. Which honestly baffles him a little bit – you’re his girlfriend, you shouldn’t feel the need to hide your discomfort from him. But then again, you have always been stubborn, especially with letting someone take care of you.
Well. It’s not like that’s going to stop him from pampering you today.
With that thought in mind, Valko gets to work. He fills your water bottle, grabs the hot water bottle as well as pain medication from the cabinet in the hallway and brews a cup of your favorite tea. Once that’s done, he prepares two slices of plain toast because he knows that despite being hungry, the pain sometimes makes you nauseous. Still, he retrieves one of his favorite chocolate bars from the snack drawer, just in case you’re craving something sweet, before grabbing the tray and making his way back to the bedroom.
You have already curled up in bed again, your knees drawn up to your chest as if to make yourself as small as possible. Even though you’re buried under your duvet, he can tell that you’re shivering, and he carefully sets the tray down on the nightstand before sitting down on the edge of the bed.
“Hey,” he says softly. “I brought a hot water bottle and ibuprofen if you want some.”
You don’t answer right away, and for a moment the only sound in the room is the quiet ticking of the radiator. Eventually, though, you reach out for the painkillers.
Once they’re washed down, you settle back into the small mountain of pillows that always seem to migrate to your side of the bed, even though at least one of them definitely belongs to Valko. On a better day, he probably would’ve teased you about it. But today, he only wraps the hot water bottle in a towel before easing the edge of the duvet back just enough to slide the warmth against your stomach. “There,” he mumbles. “Better?”
You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah.”
He smooths the duvet back over you, but instead of getting up, he lingers on the edge of the mattress. After a few quiet seconds, you shift toward him. “Will you stay?”
His expression softens. “Sunshine, you don’t even have to ask.” He slips beneath the covers beside you, careful not to jostle you, and opens his arms in silent invitation. You curl into him almost immediately, resting your forehead against his chest while he wraps you in a loose embrace. One hand rubs slow circles between your shoulder blades; the other settles lightly over the hot water bottle to keep it in place.
“Try to get some sleep,” he whispers. “I’ll be right here.”
You give the smallest nod before you burrow your face deeper into the soft cotton of his shirt. His heartbeat is slow and even beneath your ear, and before long, the familiar sound, paired with the soothing warmth surrounding you, has carried you into the land of dreams.
***
When you wake again, nothing has changed except the light. You’re still tucked against Valko, one of his arms wrapped around your shoulders while his free hand holds his phone to check his work emails. However, as he notices you stirring, his attention is immediately on you. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Feeling a little better?”
“Mhm.” You shift until you can look at him properly, your mind still pleasantly foggy from sleep and the blissful absence of pain. “I noticed something. This morning, I mean. Did you, by any chance, restock my period basket?”
Valko’s expression remains neutral, as though you’ve asked him whether he locked the front door last night. “Yeah.”
“Really?”
He nods. “I noticed you were running low a couple of days ago. I picked up the same brand you usually buy, another box of ibuprofen, those little heat patches you sometimes use…” He pauses, thinking. “Snacks, too. There’s plenty of stuff in the kitchen if you get hungry later.”
Something in your chest tightens with the quiet realization that he'd not only noticed these little things, but had quietly made sure you had everything you needed before you even realized you were running low. “I… thank you.”
Valko just smiles. “It’s no big deal. You don’t have to look at me like I did something extraordinary. I just went to the drugstore, sunshine.”
“Maybe not to you,” you say, unable to return the smile without feeling your throat tighten. Stupid hormones, really. They always make you a bit emotional on the first day. “To me, it is.”
Valko brushes a loose strand of hair from your forehead. His gaze is soft as he shifts and gathers you against his chest as if that’s where you were always meant to be, one hand settling at the small of your back, the other right between your shoulder blades. You melt into him with a contented sigh, feeling lighter than you had all day.
Maybe the cramps would come back. Maybe tomorrow would still be miserable.
But right now, wrapped in his arms, you can’t be bothered with worrying about that.
Thank you for reading! 🫶🏻 Feedback and reblogs would mean a lot to me. Requests are also currently open.
hello. i hope it's okay to ask for lads guys to comfort a reader who's going through grief and is depressed cuz of it, i thought i'd keep the request general in case anyone else is going through grief in different ways or more than one way yk? been in this state for since the loss i experienced and i can't find a fic for comfort, so i thought i'd try to ask at least once.
thanks in advance, it meant a lot
Author’s Note: follower, I hope this post finds you well. You have my deepest condolences for your loss. To keep this request general, as requested, I have written it in the form of headcanons. I truly hope this brings comfort to all who need it. ❤️
Synopsis: a collection of headcanons exploring how each Love and Deepspace LI comforts you while you're grieving
Trigger/content warnings: grief, emotional distress, mentions of trauma, mention of past characters loss
WHEN YOU'RE GRIEVING
XAVIER (word count : 159)
-> Throughout his long life, Xavier has experienced many losses - from his parents and his home planet, Philos, to his fellow Backtrackers, some of whose lives were ended by his own hand. He carries each one with him.
-> He stays by your side as a silent companion, a quiet sanctuary without ever rushing you to feel better.
-> He offers gentle, low-energy comfort, whether that's holding your hand or simply sharing a quiet space with you.
-> He doesn't say much. Instead, he quietly matches his breathing to yours, giving you a steady, rhythmic heartbeat to ground yourself in.
-> He'll bring you out onto his balcony, wrap a warm blanket around your shoulders, and gently pull you against him until your head rests on his shoulder as the two of you gaze up at the stars.
-> He'll press a soft kiss to the top of your head, his fingers loosely intertwined with yours. “I'm right here,” he whispers. “I'm not going anywhere.”
-> As a doctor, Zayne is all too familiar with loss. He has watched countless lives slip through his fingers. He has also experienced the tragic loss of someone he cared deeply about - his close friend and colleague, William. It is a burden he carries with him to this day.
-> He does not offer empty platitudes. Instead, he quietly makes sure your basic needs are taken care of.
-> He doesn't ask if you've eaten; he simply places a warm meal in front of you.
-> He doesn't remind you to sleep; he simply carries you to bed and holds you close until you drift off.
-> If you've been neglecting yourself, he'll gently remind you to take care of your body. He'll run you a warm bath and help wash your hair.
-> He'll sit beside you in tender silence, letting you lean against his steady presence.
-> His voice remains calm and steady as he quietly whispers, “You don't have to be strong right now. Just breathe. I have the rest covered.”
-> Rafayel, who carries his own profound history of loss and hurt, validates your pain intensely.
-> He knows what it's like to bury your pain beneath a smile. He'll never ask you to hide yours from him.
-> He doesn't try to cheer you up with jokes or distract you from what you're feeling. Instead, he sits on the floor by your feet, looking up at you with eyes full of fierce empathy.
-> He'll coax you out of the darkness, ensuring you know that your feelings and emotions are completely safe with him.
-> He'll tell you to let it all out, gently wiping away your tears.
-> He won't rush you to heal. He'll stay with you through every moment, until you're ready to put yourself back together.
-> He'll pull you into his arms, resting his forehead against yours as he holds you close. “Let it hurt,” he whispers softly. “Cry until it's gone.”
-> Sylus provides mature, pragmatic reassurance, giving you the space to process your emotions while reminding you that he is right there to support you.
-> He doesn't offer empty words or pressure you to explain your pain. Instead, he takes control of the physical environment, ensuring you have a safe space where you can fall apart without the outside world reaching you.
-> He'll silence your phone, draw the heavy curtains, and lock the doors so no one can disturb your peace.
-> He pulls you back against his chest, his large hands resting securely around your waist, as if creating a barrier between you and everything hurting you. “The world can wait,” he murmurs, his voice rough but steady. “Lean on me.”
-> Caleb acts as a safe harbor, showing open concern and doing everything he can to bring even a small trace of lightness back into your day.
-> He'll immediately drop whatever he is doing to bring you your favorite snacks and drinks.
-> He doesn't need to ask what's wrong. He simply meets you where you are, quietly sitting down beside you.
-> He knows he can't erase what hurts you, but he can make sure you never have to face it by yourself. As long as you need him, he'll stay right there beside you.
-> He'll wrap you in a tight, enveloping hug, letting you bury your face into his chest while he rubs soothing circles along your back.His voice is thick with genuine care as he whispers, “I've got you. You're safe with me, always.”
-> When you are grieving, Valko's protective instincts kick into overdrive - treating your sorrow as something he needs to shield you from. He wouldn't leave you alone.
-> Instead, his intense presence remains close, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.
-> If you start to spiral, he grounds you through gentle gestures - nuzzling into your hair or resting his head against your shoulder, to anchor you to the present moment.
-> He may not always understand human grief, but he understands pain. And more than anything, he understands the instinct to protect what matters to him.
-> He wouldn't offer polished answers or empty platitudes. Instead, he would look at you with his striking golden eyes and remind you, “The world is cruel, but you don't have to face its alone. Cry, scream, or break something if you need to. Whatever it takes to make yourself feel better.”
All credit for the provided divider belongs to @strangergraphics
Tag list : @cordidy @thehyperfixationgirly
Thank you for reading and if you’re interesting in more Love and Deepspace fanfics, feel free to check out my masterlist 😍
A/N: @kilibaggins hey! So it's been ages since you requested this on my previous account, @shaynawrites23, and I'm so sorry for the wait! I've been on a long life-hiatus and decided it was time for a fresh start. I don't know if you're still active on here but if you are, I hope you enjoy it! Hope you're doing well, my friend 💚
“Curse these stupid curtains,” you groan, flopping back face-down on your bed after your nth attempt to close them in a way they block out all the sunlight. But the previous tenant of your apartment was the type who enjoyed things that looked fancy or expensive but weren’t as effective as the cheaper version. These curtains were one such example–they were designer brand, according to the gold embroidery somewhere along the bottom, but they were slightly too small to cover the windows entirely. The previous tenant must not have minded, but today you decided you did.
Especially with your pounding headache.
You can’t help but groan again at how your attempts to sink into complete darkness by burying your face in the mattress, the pillow, or the blanket each prove unsuccessful. Even the slightest fraction of light feels like it amplifies the pain in your head, and the painkiller you took an hour ago has yet to take effect.
“You sure you’re alright, doll?” Bucky stands in the doorway of your bedroom, expression filled with concern and holding a glass of what you can only guess is more water for you.
“No,” you grumble, now trying to cover your face with both your hands, but holding them there simply requires too much energy to allow you to nap and sleep off the headache. “Too much light and my head is killing me.”
“‘m sorry,” he murmurs sympathetically as he places the glass down on your nightstand and touches a hand–his cool, metal hand–to your forehead. “This help?”
It does, slightly. The cool sensation is just enough to ease the headache by a fraction, but it’s not enough relief for you. “Yeah,” you sigh, grabbing his wrist to keep his hand there. “But I know what would help more. Will you come lay on top of me?”
His brow furrows. “You mean lay with you? Sure, I can do that.”
“No, on top of me.” Batting away his hand, you lay flat on your back and open up your arms to signal exactly what you want. “Like a weighted blanket, or something. Please? It’d be comforting.”
Bucky Barnes, six foot hunk of a super-soldier, can’t decide whether to gently tell you he shouldn’t, out of fear he’d squash you like a bug on accident, or give in because you seem to really need it. But then you look up at him with the most pleading, puppy-dog eyes he’s ever seen, and all protests die in his throat.
“Okay, darlin’, but if I get too heavy or you can’t breathe, you gotta tell me. Just push me or somethin’ and I’ll get off, yeah?”
You nod, eager to experience weighted blanket-boyfriend before he changes his mind. He’s got one arm on each side of your head as he lowers himself onto you, and not only do you get to enjoy the comforting way his body presses yours into the mattress, but the way his arms encase your head envelops you in the darkness you’ve been seeking your respite in for so long. He shifts slightly, just enough to hug you to him with an arm sliding under your back, but you don’t protest; you only need to bury your face in his shoulder to keep the light out. Your arms wrap around his waist and you sigh in contentment, whispering a muffled thank you as your eyes flutter closed.
“Anytime, doll,” comes the reply as he presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head.
And that’s how you finally drift off to sleep, in Bucky’s embrace.
Almost immediately, he panics. Fear strikes his chest as he sits up, searching for your figure. Sure, you'd had an argument before bed, but you hadn't left, right?
Right?
When he stumbles into the living room, about to run out the door and see if your car still sits in the driveway, the figure on the couch makes him stop dead in his tracks. Were you really so upset that you couldn't even bear to sleep next to him?
He doesn't want to wake you, but he can't allow this, seeing your hunched form on the not-great-for-sleeping couch, tucked under a too thin blanket. Crossing the room quietly, he scoops you into his hold, lifting you from the couch.
You stir, but miracously don't wake, relaxing as he takes small steps up to the bedroom.
He's made it up in his mind to sleep in the guestroom once he lays you down on your side of the shared bed. Zayne wants to respect your wishes after all, even if he knows he won't get a minute of sleep being apart from you.
But when he goes to pull away, your grip on his shirt tightens. Before he can unclench your fingers, you tug, and he finds himself climbing into the bed beside you.
The pinched expression on your face eases, shifting closer to him. He can't bring himself to move away, and instinct has his arms wrapping around you. Something in his chest eases the moment he holds you, the tension leaving his body.
"I don't like going to sleep mad." Your words nearly make him jump. He'd believed you were asleep this whole time, but of course you were awake.
"Me either." He murmurs, holding you a little tighter. You relax into him, melding your body against his in a way that sends butterflies through his stomach.
With your warmth pressed close to him, he can finally sleep.
when a misunderstanding causes both you and Valko to walk on eggshells, Em becomes the voice of reason.
TW: implications of depression/mental health issues, implications of low self worth, implications of past self harm, implications of fear of abandonment
**
He never found out why you were sad.
You refused to tell him, for some reason, but it had been weighing on him ever since he left your apartment. The apartment you had nearly refused to let him into the first time you met, but had somehow managed to become more of a home than his own place.
“You alright?”
He perked, peeking at the woman beside him. “Em,” he murmured, wondering how long she’d been there. “I, uh, yeah. Just thinking.”
She didn’t make a snarky comment or joke as usual, frowning slightly in a way that somehow reminded him of you. There were certain things about you both that had him at a loss sometimes, but the main difference was that while Em did smell nice, you made his head spin.
You were addicting in every sense of the word, actually.
Your smile, as rare as it was, always managed to stun him into silence. The way it gently touched your eyes before retreating behind closed lips that pressed thin.
Your laugh had a similar effect. The sight managed to invoke something ugly in him—possessive and raw. He wanted the image and sound of you laughing to be just for his eyes, his concern mixing with greed and making something that would probably terrify anyone who wasn’t you.
Because despite the wall you kept between the two of you, never had you rejected him.
Open arms would be a stretch, but you’d given him food. Shelter. Concern hidden behind exasperated sighs and rolled eyes.
So could anyone blame him for being so damn worried?
“Is it about her?” Em questioned curiously, tapping him in the head with the file in her hand to get his attention. “The girl you’ve been visiting at night?”
Valko didn’t deny it, canines digging into his lower lip.
Em sighed. “She still down in the dumps?”
“Yeah,” he sighed, dropping all attempts at professionalism. “Something is wrong and I know that…but she seems…”
He trailed off, unsure of what you seemed.
You weren’t happy. That much was clear from watching you when you thought he wasn’t. You weren't entirely sad, either, though. It was almost like you were in a constant state of walking along a tightrope, unsure whether to continue across or remain where you'd managed to maintain balance.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, crossing his arms and deflating slightly.
“Maybe ask her outright what’s going on? Or I can if you want?”
“No.”
A raised brow.
“No?” she questioned, reminding you an awful lot of that doctor she was currently engaged to.
“I don’t want to pry.”
“Maybe she needs you to.”
He squinted. “I doubt that.”
He’d grown up with too many women to believe that could be the solution to this issue. Space was important…more than anything else someone could give to a person attempting to make sense of the world around them.
“Trust me. Just ask.”
He did trust her. More than most people.
“What if I push a boundary?”
“You could never,” Em snorted. “You once felt bad for weeks because you ate my last piece of candy by accident.”
Valko heated in the cheeks. “You were so bummed about it and almost cried….”
“And now I have a year's supply because of a certain someone,” she chuckled with a smile. “Well, a month, if I’m lucky. Hubby loves them, too. But back to the topic at hand…she probably wouldn’t mind sharing what’s wrong with you of all people. You might still think you’re practically strangers but she trusts you to a certain degree if she lets you into her apartment.”
“You give me too much credit,” he sighed, sure his ears would have gone flat if they were visible.
“What’s her favorite food?”
“Empanadas with her mom’s homemade sauce on the side.”
“Favorite thing to do?”
“Listen to music and rain sounds.”
“Any hobbies?”
“She really likes researching flowers and arrangements,” he said with a slight smile at the thought. “But she has the worst luck with keeping them alive if not at the shop.”
Em gave him a look that he couldn’t quite understand.
He pouted. “I’m confused what any of this has to do with helping her, Em.”
“Of course you are,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “My point stands. Ask her. Be straightforward but sensitive.”
Deciding that maybe a change in approach was indeed the way to go, he stood, palms pressed against his desk as he removed his glasses and began to remove his white coat.
Em stood as well, eyes narrowing.
“Where are you going?”
Valko folded the coat, placing his glasses on top of it. “To be straightforward but sensitive,” he said as if it were the most obvious answer in the world, Em calling to him about the deadline but only receiving the most infuriating answer in return.
“I trust you!”
**
Just ask was a lot easier to say than commit to.
He’d been pacing outside your door for five minutes now, wondering how to approach the topic.
Would asking right away be too much? Should he make small talk first? No, that would seem insincere, wouldn’t it? He should just be honest and–
“Valko?”
He paused in his pacing, turning to see you with a grocery bag in one hand, and a dripping umbrella in the other. The bottom of your jeans was still somewhat soaked, but you, thankfully, seemed bone dry.
“Hey,” he whispered, walking toward you and talking the bag out of reflex.
You let him.
“What are you doing here? It’s pouring out,” you said with a frown. “You’re lucky you didn’t get caught in the mess.”
Your concern was enough to make his heart flutter. Valko cleared his throat so it wouldn’t fly up and out of his throat.
“I wanted to talk. To you.”
You scanned his face for any reason to be worried, but when you saw nothing but honesty, you nodded once.
“And this couldn’t have been a text or phone call?” you joked lightly, pressing your thumb to the touchpad and opening the door. Valko grabbed it for you to let you go first, following you in and removing his shoes at the door.
“I prefer face to face communication.”
“Well…I suppose this is an improvement,” you said with a smile. “From you attempting to break in via my balcony.”
Valko let out a breath of disbelief, his free hand resting on his chest.
“I have never broken in.”
You squinted at him, but you let it go for the time being in favor of dumping your umbrella into the kitchen sink. That last time you’d opened it and placed it in the bathtub, Valko had nearly had a heart attack. You had found it adorable, apparently, while he was trying to think of all the people to call to reverse your bad luck.
“Want anything to drink?”
You didn’t wait for his answer, seeming to be moving on auto pilot which was parts impressive and parts concerning. Exhausted wasn’t the word anymore…whatever you were feeling was obviously much deeper than that.
“Whatevers easiest,” Valko said as he moved closer, leaning against the kitchen island as you boiled milk. In his cup was hot chocolate–the one with no marshmallows because it ruined the chocolate taste. He had expected you to call him childish the first time he mentioned it, but instead, you’d hummed thoughtfully and mentioned how you’d never paid much attention to the difference in taste. It was more something to do than something for enjoyment.
In your cup was the opposite of his own…coffee.
He hated the stuff, but with you, he found that the smell had become tolerable. It mixed perfectly with your scent even if he would prefer you not drink anything with caffeine so late into the day.
He watched as you grabbed the handle of the pot, pouring the perfect amount of milk into each mug.
He tried not to focus too hard on the fact that they were matching, in a way.
“So,” you started as you moved to the island and placed his mug in front of him. You leaned against it as well, staring up at him curiously while cradling the mug in your hands. “What did you want to talk about that you would visit in such nasty weather?”
Oh, right. His reason for showing up at your place and actually using the front door.
Valko picked up the mug, sloshing the liquid from side to side as he forced the words he needed out.
“Well…I just…I was curious about something.”
You nodded once, egging him on with a patience he didn’t feel he deserved.
He was stalling and you probably knew that. Yet here you were, blowing on your coffee and waiting anyway.
“I’m worried about you.”
There was no explosion. No rage or smashing of the mug at his feet. No warning about minding his business.
Instead you straightened up and looked at him with wide eyes.
“...pardon?”
Your voice was softer than he’d ever heard, his heart clawing at his chest and throat to leap out of him and run off.
“You always look so…tired. Or sad. Or like something is weighing on you. I didn’t want to ask at first because I was scared you’d think I was overstepping, but I found I felt more scared that you’d think I didn’t care at all.”
Valko cleared his throat, tugging on his tie slightly.
“So I’m here because I want you to know that I do care. And I’m prepared to listen if you ever need or want me to.”
He’d said it. He’d said it out loud and now all he had to do was look up and see what sort of expression you were making–
“Val…?”
“Yes.” He snapped his head up while he answered, noting the look on your face was much more neutral than expected.
“If I told you that you were partially right…would you still want to hear me out?”
“Of course.”
“And if I told you that what was weighing me down might involve you….even then?”
His eyes widened. “Me? Did I do something?”
“In a way,” you murmured, and he felt his heart shoot up to his ears. "but it is mostly my fault."
What the hell had he done to make you feel such negative emotions? How could he ever make up for it?
“I’d…want to know even more, if I’m being honest.”
You chewed on your lower lip, placing the mug down and opting to wring your hands instead.
“...okay.”
You held out a hand to him, amber eyes tracing over it and committing the sight to memory: the small scar across the lines of your palm. The one that matched just a bit lower on your wrist.
He took it as carefully as he could manage, allowing you to lead him to the living room so you could sit on the couch. You didn’t let go of his hand even once both of you sat down, but he squeezed your hand in reassurance that he genuinely didn’t mind.
In fact, he was nothing short of malfunctioning at the fact you didn’t hate him enough to avoid his touch entirely.
“First things first, I was sad…but not because of anything you did. I don’t think you meant to do it which makes it all the more…embarrassing.”
He noted how your voice wavered, as if a wave of shame hit you the moment the words escaped.
“So…” Valko began, but you cut him off.
“I've fallen for you.”
He froze. You let out a shaky exhale, as if in shock that you’d actually said it.
“So much that I was scared you’d avoid me if you ever found out. So I kept it a secret. Lately. though, it has been a lot harder to hide. I don’t want to hide it. So I haven’t wanted to talk much because I might do what I'm doing now.”
Valko waited for you to continue, but when you didn’t, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.
“You like me.”
A bashful nod.
“And you were scared I’d stop coming by if I knew?”
Another nod.
"So when you were 'sad' that was...?"
"Me trying very hard not to fall into some daydream that you might for some reason like me back," you said with a self-deprecating chuckle. "So please don't feel like you have to return my feelings."
He could hear how your hear slammed into your ribs in the same unforgiving rhythm as his own, skipping each time he got anywhere near your pulse.
You were pulled into his arms before you could fully finish your sentence. He felt how you stopped breathing against him. He wondered if you were comfortable in his arms. If his warmth provided comfort. If how large he was made you feel safe rather than suffocated.
“Oh, sweets,” he sighed as he scented your hair, your neck, your cheeks.
“What’re you–?” you choked out, chewing your lower lip to keep quiet.
“I like you, too. So much that I was going a bit crazy trying to figure out why you weren’t talking to me.”
Your nails dug into the front of his dress shirt as you processed his words. It was a feeling he’d love to get used to, but he tried not to get ahead of himself.
“No bullshit?”
He chuckled and pushed you back just enough to meet your eyes, inwardly pleased at your partially unfocused gaze.
“No bullshit,” he promised, pressing his forehead against your own. “So tell me if this is too much too soon but I would really like to kiss you right about now,” he whispered.
You nodded once, stiff and awestruck but more than willing.
He leaned in, starting with a quick peck on your lips to test the waters. You repeated it back to him, eyes fluttering closed before opening to scan his expression for signs of discomfort. It was almost like a game, in a way, with each of you taking turns until the timing between kisses grew shorter.
Before the hesitation was replaced with mutual desperation.
One of his hands rested on the side of your neck, thumb pressed to your pulse and guiding you gently. The other rested on your lower back, moving to your hip and squeezing in a way that made you whimper.
He pulled away with a small curse under his breath, noting how your eyes took longer to open, half lidded and dazed.
“Fuck, you’re cute,” he said before leaning in again, this kiss fueled by every emotion that had prevented you both from doing this weeks.
“Val,” you whispered weakly, pressing your lips to his again as your palms slid up his chest so your arms could loop around his neck. He groaned, your world tilting until you were on your back, staring up at him with a look that was practically begging him to keep going.
And you both might have considered it if not for your stomach choosing that moment to let out a small growl of protest.
Your face heated for a different reason as Valko turned his head away and snorted.
“Shut up.”
“Sweets…”v
Valko’s tongue swiped over his canines in one of the greatest debates of his life, but care for your needs far outweighed the need to claim you.
“Valko,” you warned, smacking his chest with one hand before habitually rubbing the area in a soothing motion. Even while pouting, you didn’t want him actually hurt.
For now.
Leaning down to press a kiss to your nose, he shoved his face into your neck again and let out a deep breath to calm himself. You shuddered at the feeling.
“Food first. You need to eat.”
A grumble of agreement that had him smirking.
You sucked in a breath when he bit you: enough for you to feel him but not enough to leave any marks just yet.
“And when you’re done…” he started, licking the area to soothe it and enjoying the strained noise that left you.
a/n: i watched the livestream and im an impatient chud …. take this … might be ooc but hashtag idgaf (i do gaf please tell me what u guys think)
“so when you wear headphones…” you trail off as your eyes focus on the set of fluffy burgundy ears atop his head.
“i put them on my ears like everyone else, dollface” valko replies, brows slightly furrowed as he stares at you. “where else would i put them?”
“which ones though?” you ask, valkos mouth opens slightly at your question, a small huff of laughter leaving his lips. he grab the headphones from the coffee table, slipping them over his head and sliding them over his human ears.
“like this, obviously,” he smiles at you, amber eyes softly looking at the way you cock your head slightly, adorable. “what did you think i did?”
“don’t your other ears hurt though?” your hand reaches for the ears pinned under the headphone band, letting them free from where they were pinned and scratching softly. valkos eyes flutter shut for a moment, opening them quickly when he feels you take the headphones off his head. “what if you wore them like this instead?”
you giggle slightly as you placed the muffs on his wolf ears, laughing as valkos eyes widened slightly.
“doll this is ridiculous-” his protests are cut short as the headphone lose their balance and fall on his face. you gasp sljghtly, smile wide on your face as you reach out to move them. valko only shakes his head slightly, eyes narrowing playfully at you. “that’s why i don’t wear them that way,” he mumbles, eyes still trained on you.
you can’t help but flush under his gaze, snatching the headphones off his head quickly. he shakes his head, an angry pout of his lips as he stares at you putting the headphones back on the table.
“are you satisfied now?” the scowl on his face only makes you wanna jump his bones even more. you pretend to think for a second.
“if you wore jeans in your wolf form-" valko doesn’t let you finish your sentence, immediately growling and tackling you onto the couch. he wastes no time in letting his face nuzzle into your neck, nipping slightly before taking in a deep breath.
“no more hypotheticals dollface, only cuddles.”
“greedy wolf” you mumble out, smiling when he lets out a high pitched whine, tail wagging slowly as your arms wrap around him. “my greedy wolf,” you correct, biting back laughter when his tail smacks roughly against your leg as it wags.
masterlist
taglist: @hirayalia @violasepals @txtworlddom @mrs-lixiaqin @pjselee @luvyizhou @colonelkaboom @xyzsbaobei @ellavelysworld @floatingpalelilies ; ask to be added :]
C’s corner: This fic is loosely inspired by Mean Girls by KATSEYE, because sometimes the internet can feel like a glitter-covered battlefield where people forget there’s an actual person behind the screen. So if you’ve ever been belittled, picked apart, talked down to, or made to feel small by someone online, please know you’re not alone. Their words do not get to decide your worth. Their bitterness does not get to dim you. Keep shining like the queen you are. Fix your crown, take up space, and remember that you were never too much. They were just too small to hold all that light. 👑✨
WARNINGS: online hate, hate comments, cyberbullying, mean girl behavior, insecurity, self-doubt, reader feeling belittled, loss of appetite mentioned, emotional distress, crying, hurt/comfort, soft angst, protective Bucky Barnes, Thunderbolts found family being emotionally nosy.
✍🏽WC: 5K+
SUMMARY: You’re the Thunderbolts’ sunshine behind the camera, always capturing the team’s softer, chaotic moments for the public. But when cruel comments start tearing you down, your usual spark begins to fade, and Bucky is the first one to notice. What starts as quiet concern turns into soft comfort, found family protection, and feelings Bucky can’t keep hiding anymore.
The Thunderbolts were not easy to photograph. That was the polite way of saying it.
The honest way was that trying to make the team look approachable for the public was like trying to put a sweater on a raccoon with diplomatic immunity.
“Do not make me look friendly,” she warned from the couch, arms folded, legs crossed, expression flat enough to iron shirts on.
You lowered your phone. “You’re literally holding a juice box.”
“This is for intimidation.”
“It has a cartoon penguin on it.”
“Exactly. Nobody expects violence from penguin.”
Across the room, John Walker was attempting to look heroic near the window, which would’ve worked better if Alexei hadn’t been standing behind him with two thumbs up and a grin wide enough to qualify as federal infrastructure.
“Move,” John said without looking back.
“I am making you look powerful,” Alexei said.
“You’re making me look adopted.”
Bob drifted past in the background, holding a bowl of cereal at three in the afternoon, completely unaware he was about to become a blurry cryptid in another official Thunderbolts post.
Ava, sitting at the kitchen island, glanced up from her coffee. “You know you don’t have to post us every day, right?”
“Yes, I do,” you said, framing the shot. “The public needs to know you’re more than government-funded property damage.”
Bucky, who had been leaning quietly against the far wall with his arms crossed, lifted his brows.
You pointed at him. “You especially.”
“I don’t do property damage.”
“Barnes, you ripped a car door off last week.”
“It was locked.”
“That’s still not how doors work.”
His mouth twitched.
Not a full smile. Bucky Barnes didn’t give those away for free. His smiles had a waiting list, references required, possibly a background check. But you’d gotten good at catching the small ones. The corner of his mouth. The faint crease near his eyes. The little duck of his head when he tried to hide amusement and failed by half an inch.
You took the picture before he could stop you.
Bucky saw the phone go up and sighed. “Delete it.”
“No.”
“Please delete it.”
“No. You look broody and expensive.”
“I look tired.”
“You always look tired. This one has dimension.”
Yelena leaned over to look at your screen. “Post it. Caption should be, ‘Man allergic to joy survives another day.’”
Bucky pointed at her. “Don’t help.”
“I am helping the brand.”
The brand, according to Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, needed softening. The team had too much baggage, too much blood on their boots, too many government meetings where people said words like optics and rehabilitation while avoiding eye contact with the people they were talking about.
That was where you came in.
You weren’t a soldier. You weren’t enhanced. You weren’t a spy, assassin, super-soldier, disgraced captain, ghost, god-adjacent being, or whatever category Bob fell into depending on the hour.
You were PR.
Which meant you spent your days following the Thunderbolts around with a phone, a camera, a tablet, and the constant exhausted hope that nobody committed a crime before lunch.
And you loved it.
You loved the chaos. The noise. The accidental tenderness hiding under all the sharp edges. You loved showing people the little things. Yelena labeling everyone’s leftovers with increasingly specific threats. John making coffee exactly how everyone liked it but pretending he only did it because he was already there. Alexei falling asleep during movie night with his mouth open. Ava fixing the flickering hallway light because maintenance had taken too long. Bob leaving sticky notes on the fridge that just said things like, “Good morning. Sorry if I floated.”
And Bucky.
Bucky standing slightly outside the frame, always pretending he didn’t want to be included. Bucky holding doors open with his metal hand because he forgot he was doing it. Bucky looking at you when you laughed. Bucky watching you with a quiet focus that made your stomach trip over itself and land face-first in a field of wildflowers.
You told yourself it was harmless. A tiny little crush. A barely-there, totally manageable, definitely-not-consuming-your-entire-nervous-system crush.
Then one day you posted a picture of the team after a briefing.
It wasn’t even special.
John was mid-rant about scheduling. Yelena was stealing one of his fries. Alexei was wearing sunglasses indoors. Ava was half in frame, unimpressed as always. Bob had somehow ended up with three napkins stuck to his sleeve.
Bucky was behind you. Not really posing. Not really smiling. Just standing close enough that his shoulder almost touched yours, his eyes angled down toward you instead of the camera.
You didn’t even notice until after you posted it.
The internet did.
At first, the comments were normal. Cute. Funny.
A few people calling the team unhinged. A few people asking if Yelena’s jacket was thrifted. Someone demanding John drop his arm workout. Someone asking whether Alexei was single, which made you shut your phone off for twelve full seconds to recover.
Then the other comments started.
Not all at once. Just one here. One there. Tiny little knives wrapped in pink ribbon.
Why is she always in the pics?
She’s trying so hard to be one of them.
Does she actually do anything or just follow them around?
The way she’s standing near Bucky is embarrassing.
Some girls will do anything for attention.
You stared at the screen, smile fading before you even realized it was gone.
You told yourself not to care. You knew better. You worked in PR. You knew comment sections were little haunted forests where logic went to die wearing glitter lip gloss.
Still, your thumb moved. You kept reading.
She’s not even pretty enough to be acting like that.
Bucky would never.
Imagine being that desperate.
The words sank under your skin before you could stop them.
You turned off notifications. Then turned them back on. Then checked again. More comments. More usernames with cute profile pictures and cruel little hearts in their bios.
Girls with glossy hair and sharp opinions. Girls who didn’t know you. Girls who had never seen you coax Bob through a panic spiral, never watched you sit with Yelena in silence after a nightmare, never helped John fix a statement after an interview went sideways, never noticed Bucky leaving the room when cameras got too close.
They didn’t know you. But they knew exactly where to cut.
By dinner, you weren’t hungry.
By the next morning, you wore a hoodie and kept the hood up.
By the end of the week, you stopped putting yourself in pictures entirely. You stayed behind the camera. That was where you belonged anyway. At least, that was what the comments kept telling you.
The team noticed in pieces.
John noticed when you stopped stealing fries from his plate.
“Okay,” he said one afternoon, narrowing his eyes at you across the kitchen. “Who are you and what have you done with our tiny snack criminal?”
You forced a smile. “I’m just not hungry.”
He frowned like he wanted to argue with your entire digestive system.
Ava noticed when you stopped humming while editing.
“You’re quiet,” she said from the couch.
“Busy.”
“You’re never too busy to make that little victory noise when you fix lighting.”
“I don’t make a victory noise.”
“You absolutely do.”
Bob noticed when you didn’t laugh at the sticky note he left on your laptop that said, “You are doing a good job. Unless this is not your laptop. In that case, sorry.”
Yelena noticed because Yelena noticed everything. She watched you delete a draft three times, then leaned against your desk. “Who needs stabbing?”
You blinked up at her. “What?”
“You are sad. Someone caused this. I am offering solutions.”
“No stabbing.”
“Fine. Psychological warfare.”
“No.”
“Mild haunting?”
“Yelena.”
She held up both hands. “You are impossible to support.”
You laughed a little. It sounded wrong. Thin. Temporary. Paper pretending to be glass.
Bucky noticed that too. He noticed everything about you, apparently.
You found that out late on Thursday night, sitting alone in the media room with your laptop open and your untouched tea cooling beside you.
Everyone else had gone to bed. Or wherever people like the Thunderbolts went after midnight. Possibly vents. Possibly rooftops. Possibly government-mandated emotional containment chambers.
You were editing a new post. No faces this time. Just a picture of the conference table after a briefing. Coffee cups. Notebooks. A sunbeam across the polished wood.
Safe. Boring. Empty enough that nobody could accuse you of wanting attention.
You stared at the caption box until the words blurred.
Then a voice came from the doorway. “You’ve been hiding.”
Your fingers froze over the keyboard.
Bucky stood there in a black shirt and sweatpants, hair loose around his face, metal hand catching the dull light from the hall. He looked soft around the edges, sleep-warm and tired, but his eyes were awake.
“I’m working,” you said.
“You always work.” He stepped inside. “You don’t always disappear.”
“I’m not disappearing.”
“You haven’t posted yourself in eight days.”
You swallowed.
Bucky took another step closer. “You stopped taking pictures with us,” he said quietly. “You stopped eating lunch in the kitchen. You stopped making fun of Walker’s tactical pants.”
You tried for a smile. “That last one was personal growth.”
“No.” He pulled out the chair beside you and sat, turning toward you. “That was a warning sign.”
Your throat tightened.
It was ridiculous. You knew it was ridiculous. You were grown. You had survived worse than strangers on the internet. You’d handled crisis statements, hostile press, mission leaks, Valentina before coffee.
But something about Bucky noticing made all your careful stitching come loose.
“I’m fine,” you said.
His eyes softened.
You hated that.
Not because it was bad, but because it was kind. Because he didn’t look unconvinced in a dismissive way. He looked patient. Like he already knew the lie had thorns, and he was willing to wait until you stopped gripping it.
“Who said something?” he asked.
You looked down at your laptop. “Nobody.”
“Doll.”
That did it. One word, low and gentle, and your eyes burned. You pressed your lips together hard.
Bucky’s posture changed instantly. Not dramatic. Not panicked. Just focused, every piece of him shifting toward you like you’d become the only signal in the room.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Talk to me.”
You gave a small, miserable laugh. “It’s stupid.”
“I’ll decide that.”
“Bucky.”
“I’ve got a lot of experience with stupid.” His mouth twitched, but his voice stayed careful. “Try me.”
You stared at the screen. The post was still open. You hadn’t meant to click the comments again, but there they were, stacked beneath the picture from last week like mold blooming on something clean.
You turned the laptop toward him before you could talk yourself out of it.
Bucky read.
You watched his face change.
It didn’t twist into anger right away. That would’ve been easier. Louder. Something you could push back against.
Instead, he went very still. Winter still. The kind of still that made the room feel suddenly aware of him.
His jaw tightened. He scrolled once. Then again. Then he stopped.
You reached for the laptop. “Don’t.”
He let you close it.
For a second, neither of you said anything.
Then Bucky exhaled through his nose. “Those are children with Wi-Fi and no home training.”
A laugh broke out of you before you could stop it. It cracked halfway through.
Bucky’s expression softened again, and somehow that was worse.
“I know I shouldn’t care,” you said quickly. “I know that. I tell the team not to care about this stuff all the time. I literally build public strategy around ignoring noise, but then it’s about me and suddenly I’m twelve years old again wondering if I’m too much or not enough or standing wrong or smiling wrong or breathing in a way that looks desperate.”
Your voice shook. You looked away, embarrassed.
“I just wanted people to see you guys the way I do,” you whispered. “That’s all. I didn’t think they’d look at me and decide I was the problem.”
Bucky was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “You’re not the problem.”
Your eyes stayed on your hands. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“You’re biased.”
“Extremely,” he said.
That pulled your gaze back to him.
His face was calm, but there was something naked in his honesty. Something that made your heart trip again, softer this time, less wildflower field and more candle flame in a dark room.
Bucky leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “You know what I see when you’re around us?” he asked.
You shook your head.
“I see Walker stop talking like he’s on a podium. I see Yelena let somebody take pictures of her without threatening murder every five seconds. I see Ava stay in the room longer. I see Bob smile more. I see Alexei try harder to be gentle.” His gaze held yours. “And I see myself wanting to be where you are.”
Your breath caught.
Bucky glanced down, almost shy for half a second, before looking back at you. "So no,” he said. “You’re not desperate for standing near me. I’m usually the one finding excuses to stand near you.”
The room went quiet. Your pulse was suddenly everywhere. Throat. Wrists. Fingertips. The hollow behind your ribs.
“That’s not funny,” you whispered.
“I’m not being funny.”
Your eyes searched his.
Bucky didn’t look away.
He looked nervous, though. That undid you a little. The great James Buchanan Barnes, former Winter Soldier, current professional brooder, sitting beside you at midnight looking like your answer could crack him open.
“You like me?” you asked.
His mouth lifted faintly. “That what you got from that?”
“I’m in a fragile emotional state. Be direct.”
That made him smile for real. Small, but real.
“Yes,” he said. “I like you.”
Your heart flopped over like a fainting couch actress. “Oh.”
“You don’t have to say anything back right now.”
“I like you too,” you blurted.
His eyes widened a fraction.
You looked horrified with yourself. "I mean, obviously. Terribly. Annoyingly. I’ve been very normal about it.”
“Have you?”
“No.”
His smile warmed, and something inside you loosened so quickly it almost hurt.
Then the comments came crawling back.
Your smile faded. “But they’re going to keep saying things,” you said.
Bucky’s expression settled. "Probably.”
You laughed weakly. “Comforting.”
“I’m not gonna lie to you.” He reached out slowly, giving you enough time to pull away. When you didn’t, he covered your hand with his. His right hand. Warm. Calloused. Careful. “People like that don’t stop because they find truth. They stop when they get bored. Or when they find someone else to bite.”
Your fingers curled under his. “So what am I supposed to do?”
“Don’t hand them the keys to your life.”
You swallowed.
Bucky looked at your closed laptop.
“You taught us that publicity isn’t the same thing as permission,” he said. “You get to decide what people see. You get to decide what they don’t. But don’t erase yourself because some mean girls got loud in a comment section.”
The phrase stung.
Mean girls.
It sounded so small. Almost childish. But cruelty didn’t need to be big to bruise. Sometimes it wore lip gloss and heart emojis and knew exactly how to make a person fold inward.
You looked down at your joined hands. His thumb brushed once over your knuckles. Soft. Barely there.
“I don’t want everyone to know,” you said.
“They won’t.”
“I don’t want Yelena to go hunting.”
“She might.”
“Bucky.”
“I’ll talk her down to light intimidation.”
Despite yourself, you laughed.
He looked pleased, like that one tiny sound had been worth digging for.
Then he squeezed your hand. "Come on.”
“Where?”
“Kitchen.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I know.” He stood, still holding your hand. “You’re gonna sit there while I make toast badly.”
You blinked. “Badly?”
“I’m trying to set expectations.”
“You’re over a hundred years old and can’t make toast?”
“I can make toast. I said badly because last time I used the toaster, it smoked.”
“Bucky, that’s not making toast. That’s starting a tiny appliance rebellion.”
He tugged gently until you stood. “Good. Insult me more. You’re coming back online.”
You followed him into the kitchen, wrapped in your oversized hoodie and the leftover ache of a bad week. Bucky moved around the cabinets like he knew where everything was because of course he did. He pretended not to care about domestic spaces, but he learned them. Memorized them. The coffee mugs, the tea you liked, the snacks Bob panic-bought, the bowl Yelena always stole.
He put bread in the toaster with theatrical suspicion.
You sat on the counter.
“That thing has personally wronged me,” he said.
“It’s a toaster.”
The toast popped up two minutes later, slightly too dark on one edge.
Bucky looked at it.
You looked at him.
He sighed. “Don’t start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
“My face has freedom of speech.”
He buttered the toast, added cinnamon sugar from the container John claimed nobody knew about, then handed you a plate.
You took a bite. It was fine. A little burnt. A little too sweet. Perfect in the way midnight food could be perfect when someone made it because they noticed you hadn’t eaten.
Bucky leaned against the opposite counter, watching you with a careful softness that made your chest ache again.
“What?” you asked around a small bite.
“Nothing.”
“That’s a very intense nothing.”
“I missed you,” he said.
The words landed gently, but your breath still caught. “I was here.”
“No,” Bucky said. “You were around.”
Your eyes burned again. You looked down at your toast. “I didn’t know anyone would notice.”
“I noticed first day.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Thought maybe you needed space.” He paused. “Then you gave Walker your fries and I knew it was serious.”
You snorted. “Medical emergency.”
“Near fatal.”
You sat there together in the kitchen, eating toast under the low light while the tower slept around you.
At least, you thought it slept. Until the fridge opened.
You and Bucky both turned.
Yelena stood there in pajama pants, holding a spoon. She looked at your joined hands.
Because at some point, Bucky had reached for you again. Because at some point, you had let him.
Yelena’s eyes narrowed. "Finally,” she said.
Your face went hot. “Go away.”
“No. I am getting yogurt.” She grabbed a cup from the fridge, then pointed the spoon at Bucky. “If you make her sad, I’ll put you in the wall.”
Bucky nodded solemnly. “Fair.”
“And if internet gremlins make her sad again, I would like names.”
“No names,” you said.
Yelena looked offended. “You’re very controlling about my hobbies.”
“Your hobbies are crimes.”
“Some are misdemeanors.” She left with her yogurt, muttering in Russian.
Bucky watched her go. Then he looked back at you. “You okay?”
You nodded, but it wasn’t entirely true.
He seemed to know. “Come here,” he said quietly.
You slid off the counter.
He opened his arms, giving you a choice.
You stepped into him.
Bucky held you carefully at first, like you were made of cracked porcelain and stubbornness. Then your hands fisted in the back of his shirt, and he tightened his arms around you.
Solid. Warm. Real.
His chin rested lightly on top of your head.
You closed your eyes.
For the first time in days, your body unclenched.
“I hate that they got to me,” you whispered into his chest.
“I know.”
“I hate that I believed them.”
“I know.”
“I hate that I stopped being myself.”
Bucky’s hand moved slowly up and down your back. "You’re still yourself,” he said. “You just got quiet for a minute.”
That made the tears come.
Not dramatic, no cinematic sobbing. Just a few hot tears against his shirt while he held you in the quiet kitchen, one hand on your back, the other cradling the back of your head.
He didn’t tell you to stop crying. He didn’t tell you they didn’t matter. He just stayed. That was the thing about Bucky. He didn’t always know what to say, but he knew how to stay.
Eventually, you pulled back and wiped your face with your sleeve. “I’m sorry.”
His brows drew together. “For what?”
“Crying on you.”
“Doll, I’ve been shot at by aliens.”
“That doesn’t make my tears less gross.”
“They’re very polite tears.”
You laughed wetly.
Bucky smiled again, and this time he didn’t hide it.
The next morning, you woke up to chaos. Not regular Thunderbolts chaos. Organized chaos. Which was worse.
You came into the common room to find John standing in front of a whiteboard with the words OPERATION COMMENT SECTION written across it in aggressive blue marker.
Ava sat at the table with coffee.
Bob looked concerned.
Alexei wore a blazer over his pajamas.
Yelena was sharpening a knife with no clear reason to be doing that in a PR meeting.
Bucky stood near the window, looking deeply guilty.
You stopped in the doorway. “No.”
John held up a hand. “Before you say anything, this is a measured response.”
“Nothing about this room says measured.”
Alexei nodded gravely. “We are defending honor.”
“My honor does not need a war room.”
Yelena lifted the knife. “Agree to disagree.”
“Put that down.”
She did not.
You turned to Bucky. “You told them?”
Bucky winced. “Not exactly.”
Ava raised her hand. “I figured it out.”
“Yelena eavesdropped,” John added.
“I gathered intelligence,” Yelena corrected.
“Bob saw you crying,” Ava said gently.
Bob gave you an apologetic little wave. “I didn’t mean to. I was trying to find cereal.”
“And I,” Alexei announced, “felt disturbance in little family.”
You blinked. The room blurred slightly. Not from hurt this time. From something warmer.
“Oh,” you said softly.
John cleared his throat, suddenly awkward. “Look, we’re not gonna make it worse. We know you know this stuff better than we do.”
“That has never stopped any of you before.”
“Correct. Growth is happening.” He tapped the whiteboard. “But we thought maybe today’s post could be about you.”
Your stomach dropped. “No.”
“Not like that,” Ava said. “Not forced.”
“Absolutely not,” you said again.
Bucky stepped forward. “Not your face if you don’t want,” he said. “Not your name. Nothing you don’t approve.”
You looked around. They were all watching you.
Even Yelena, knife lowered now.
Bucky continued, “But maybe people should know the team doesn’t happen without you.”
Your throat tightened.
John scratched the back of his neck. “I was thinking a behind-the-scenes post. Your desk. The camera. Some of the pictures you’ve taken. Caption about the person who keeps us from looking like a felony lineup.”
“That’s actually not terrible,” you said.
John pointed at you. “Thank you.”
“Don’t ruin it.”
He lowered his hand.
Alexei leaned forward. “Can I say you are tiny brave captain of image machine?”
“No.”
“But it is true.”
“You may not say that publicly.”
He looked devastated.
Yelena slid a paper toward you.
You glanced down. It was a handwritten caption draft.
The first line read: Our PR person is scarier than us.
You looked at her.
She shrugged. “Compliment.”
Your lips trembled. Then, somehow, you started laughing. Not the fake laugh you’d been wearing all week. A real one. Messy. Bright. Yours.
The room seemed to breathe again.
Bucky’s eyes stayed on you, soft and relieved.
You spent the next hour building the post with them.
No pictures of your face.
Just your camera strap on the table. Your color-coded folders. A shot of your hand holding a marker beside the whiteboard. A carousel of photos you’d taken over the last few months, each one catching the team in moments no official press photographer ever could.
Yelena asleep with Lucky the pizza dog’s head in her lap.
John burning pancakes while insisting the smoke alarm was too sensitive.
Ava laughing at something Bob had said, blurry because you’d taken the picture too fast.
Alexei crying during a nature documentary.
Bucky standing in the doorway with a mug in his hand, smiling at someone outside the frame.
You.
He had been smiling at you.
You stared at the picture for too long.
Bucky leaned beside you. “Use it.”
Your cheeks warmed. “It’s a good photo.”
“Not why I said it.”
You looked up.
He was close. Close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.
“Why did you say it?” you asked.
“Because that’s how I look at you.” His voice dropped. “And I’m tired of pretending I don’t.”
The room behind you went suspiciously silent. Very suspiciously.
You turned.
Every Thunderbolt suddenly became fascinated by something else.
John studied the ceiling.
Ava looked into her empty coffee cup.
Bob pretended to read a napkin.
Alexei covered his face with both hands, delighted.
Yelena whispered, “Kiss, kiss, kiss.”
“Yelena,” Bucky warned.
“What? I am boosting engagement.”
You covered your face. “I hate all of you.”
“No, you don’t,” Ava said.
You didn’t. That was the problem. You loved them.
This strange, dangerous, badly adjusted group of people who had somehow become your favorite place to land.
The post went up at noon.
The caption was simple.
Behind every mission, interview, briefing, and public disaster we barely survive, there’s someone making sure the world sees more than the damage. Today’s post is for the person behind the camera.
John insisted on adding: Also, she keeps us from looking like a felony lineup.
You let him.
Alexei was allowed one comment from the official account.
He wrote: TINY BRAVE CAPTAIN OF IMAGE MACHINE.
You regretted many things immediately.
The comments came fast.
Most were kind. Some were funny.
Some people recognized your work. Some thanked you for showing the human side of the team. Some said the photos made the Thunderbolts feel less untouchable. Less frightening.
And, of course, a few mean comments still slipped through.
Because the internet was the internet.
But this time, before the words could sink their claws into you, Bucky sat beside you on the couch and took your phone gently from your hand.
“Break,” he said.
“I have to monitor engagement.”
“You’ve monitored enough.”
“That’s my job.”
He set the phone on the coffee table, then slid it out of reach with two fingers.
“Your job gets boundaries today.”
You stared at him. “Did you just PR my PR?”
“Maybe.”
“That was hot.”
He froze.
You froze.
Across the room, John made a strangled noise.
Yelena slowly lowered her book.
Ava whispered, “Incredible.”
Your face burned hotter than a server room fire.
Bucky recovered first. He leaned closer, eyes bright with quiet amusement. “Yeah?”
You covered your face. “No.”
“No?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
“I’m walking into traffic.”
He laughed. Bucky Barnes laughed, warm and low and almost surprised by itself.
Then his fingers circled your wrist gently, pulling your hands away from your face.
“Don’t hide,” he murmured.
Your breath caught.
The room faded a little.
Still there, unfortunately, because the Thunderbolts had the collective subtlety of a marching band in a library.
But softer around the edges.
Bucky’s thumb brushed the inside of your wrist.
“You don’t have to be happy all the time,” he said. “You know that, right?”
You swallowed. “I don’t?”
“No.” His eyes moved over your face. “You’re allowed to have bad days. Quiet days. Angry days. Days where you don’t sparkle for anybody.”
Your chest tightened.
“But don’t let people who don’t know you convince you the sparkle was fake.”
You stared at him. “That was very poetic for a man who fights appliances.”
His mouth twitched. “I contain multitudes.”
“You contain burnt toast.”
“And affection.”
Your heart stumbled.
He looked nervous again.
You loved that too.
“So much affection,” he added quietly, “that it’s getting inconvenient.”
Your voice softened. “For who?”
“Everybody, apparently.”
“Finally,” Yelena muttered.
Bucky didn’t look away from you. “Mostly me,” he said.
You reached for him before courage could abandon you. Just your fingers at first, touching the edge of his sleeve. Then his hand.
Then you leaned in.
Bucky met you halfway.
The kiss was soft. Careful. Sweet in a way that made your ribs ache.
Not dramatic. Not movie-perfect. No swelling music. No rain against the windows. Just Bucky’s hand at your cheek, his thumb gentle near your jaw, his breath catching like he’d wanted this longer than he knew what to do with.
Behind you, Alexei made a sound that was suspiciously close to a sob.
John whispered, “Do we clap?”
“No,” Ava hissed.
Bob clapped once.
Yelena threw a pillow at him.
You pulled back laughing against Bucky’s mouth.
He smiled at you, real and unguarded, and for a second the ugly comments felt far away. Still out there, maybe. Still buzzing somewhere beyond the walls.
But they weren’t in the room.
In the room, there was Bucky.
There was his hand holding yours.
There was Yelena threatening to delete the internet.
There was John pretending he wasn’t emotional.
There was Ava smiling into her coffee.
There was Bob apologizing to the pillow.
There was Alexei declaring that love had saved public relations.
And there was you.
Not behind the camera. Not erased. Not too much. Not desperate. Not whatever strangers had tried to make you believe.
Just you.
A little bruised. A little brighter. Still here.
Bucky leaned close, his lips brushing your temple. “Post whatever you want,” he whispered. “Hide whenever you need. But don’t disappear on me again, okay?”
You looked up at him.
His eyes held yours, blue and steady.
You squeezed his hand. “Okay.”
Yelena raised her phone from across the room.
You pointed at her immediately. “Don’t you dare.”
She paused.
Bucky turned slowly.
Yelena lowered the phone with the expression of someone making a great personal sacrifice. “Fine,” she said. “But for the record, this would’ve healed the nation.”
You laughed, tucking yourself against Bucky’s side.
He wrapped an arm around you like it belonged there.
Maybe it did.
Maybe tomorrow there would be more comments. Maybe next week you’d have another bad day. Maybe the world would always have girls with pretty profile pictures and sharp little teeth.
But tonight, Bucky’s thumb moved lazily over your shoulder.
Tonight, the team argued over whether your first couple photo should be tasteful or “deeply humiliating for brand authenticity.”
Tonight, your phone stayed face down on the table.
And for the first time all week, you didn’t reach for it. You reached for Bucky instead. He was already reaching back.
So you had a bad day, but thankfully, you have your supportive boyfriend Valko to make it better.
💚 Valko Masterlist 💚
Valko can tell you’ve had a bad day before you even say a word. The second you walk through the door, he studies your face for half a second before quietly taking your bag. “Long day?” Is all he asks as he pulls you into his chest.
He firmly believes a hug should last at least ten seconds because he once read that it boosts oxytocin. If you’re having a rough day, he’s timing it in his head while gently rubbing your back. If you try to pull away too soon, he just tightens his arms with a laugh. “Science says we’re not done yet.”
If work has completely drained you, he starts a bath or queues up your comfort movie while you decompress because he knows that once you sit down with him, you’re not getting back up.
Valko has absolutely calculated your protein intake in his head. If you skipped lunch because work got busy, he quietly starts making dinner with extra protein and slides your favorite drink onto the counter. “Muscles don’t build themselves, baby.”
If he overhears you getting stressed out during a Zoom meeting, he’ll silently appear beside your desk and slide over a piece of chocolate, a shot, or little note that says, You’re killing it. If the meeting finally ends and you look defeated, he’s already waiting with open arms.
Valko loves solving problems, but he’s learned to ask first, now. “Do you want solutions, or do you want me to tell you they’re idiots?” He’ll happily do either.
He always keeps pads, tampons, chapstick, and hair ties for you in his car.
When you’re emotionally exhausted, he convinces you to have a rot night. Blankets, popcorn, comfort food, face masks, no responsibilities, and absolutely no checking work emails. He declares it scientifically necessary.
If he notices you’re doomscrolling because you’re anxious, he gently steals your phone and pats his lap instead.
Valko gives the best scalp massages. Every time you shower together, he happily washes your hair, slowly massaging shampoo into your scalp until your knees nearly give out. He swears stress lives in your scalp and shoulders, and he’s determined to evict it.
He loves playing with your hair while you vent. Braiding it, twirling a strand around his finger, gently scratching your scalp, anything that helps you relax while he listens.
Whenever you apologize for being emotional, he immediately disagrees. “You’re allowed to have bad days. You’re a person, not a machine.”
He notices when you’ve been clenching your jaw all day and gently massages the muscles near your cheeks while reminding you to unclench. He’s weirdly proud every time he catches you relaxing.
Valko loves carrying you after bad days. If you look even remotely exhausted or sad, he scoops you up without warning and carries you to the couch or bed despite your protests.
He never lets you end the night dehydrated. While you’re brushing your teeth, he’s already filling your water bottle, setting out your vitamins, and plugging your phone in before climbing into bed beside you.
On especially difficult nights, he pulls you against his chest and starts absentmindedly explaining some random protocore concept or gym science fact in that calm, steady voice of his. You barely understand half of it, but listening to him ramble is somehow comforting enough to lull you toward sleep.
His favorite compliment after you’ve survived a rough day is, “you’re one tough cookie.” Then he kisses your forehead and immediately follows it with, “…But even tough cookies need milk,” before handing you Awoo Milk with the biggest, goofiest grin.
summary: assigned on a freezing mountain rescue mission, you were tasked to locate and bring back survivors, while zayne tended to the injured. overwhelmed by the guilt of bringing in a child late, you bore your wounds in silence, leaving your husband unaware of the patient he should have noticed the most— and that's where he breaks.
tags: zayne x non-mc f!reader, angst/comfort, hurt, zayne loses composure, non-canonical events, no proofread
content warning: mentions of blood, death, injuries, hospitalization, heavy medical inaccuracies, rescue mission inaccuracies
word count: 3.6k
a/n: i would like to apologize in advance for the medical and rescue inaccuracies, as i am neither a medical nor a rescue personnel. google was my friend for this. i had to search stuff like “what equipment…”, “can blood loss…” and many other more lmao. thank you for your understanding, and enjoy reading!
It had been a few months since you and Zayne got married. Long before you got married and were dating, you gradually grew accustomed to each other's schedules. Sometimes, you would be assigned to a rescue mission, and he would sometimes join you, because it just so coincidentally happened that he was dispatched with the medical team.
And it was one of the few times.
You were assigned to a rescue mission on a freezing mountain, where a Wanderer attack had left countless civilians stranded across the snow-covered terrain.
As soon as you arrived, the cold mountain winds greeted your skin with a chill that seeped through the layers of your clothes. Snowfall seemed to have blanketed the terrain, burying an uneven ground beneath its surface. And somewhere beyond the ridge, emergency beacons continued to flash against the skies, marking the locations of stranded civilians.
The rescue personnel moved in hurried steps and huge strides around the temporary command post. Radios fuzzed with reports, stretchers were unloaded from transport vehicles, and medical personnel hurried between supply crates, checking the equipment one final time before deployment.
You stood near the edge of the staging area behind one of the tents, tightening the straps of your climbing harness over your thermal rescue suit as you shifted slightly beneath the thick black jacket, which was heavier than your usual uniform. After fastening the avalanche transceiver securely to your chest harness, you clipped your radio to your shoulder before reaching down to secure the crampons beneath your boots.
"Hold still."
A familiar, cool voice came from behind. Before you could react, gloved fingers brushed against your shoulder, pulling one of your harness straps tightly.
"It wasn't locked properly," Zayne said as you glanced at him, watching him refasten the buckles on your harness.
"Oops. I should've noticed."
"You would have noticed," he replied, tugging the strap firmly to ensure that it would not come loose. "Just later than I did."
A small smile formed across your lips. "Always checking my work, Doctor Zayne?"
"I'd rather check it now than regret not doing so later."
For a brief moment, your eyes met his, and the moment they locked into yours, his gaze softened.
Your eyes lowered, and you reached to straighten up the uneven collar of his jacket. Then, your hands, tucked beneath the gloves, moved to caress his cheeks.
"Remember to take naps whenever you can, my love." You gently traced your thumb on his cheek.
"I'll try."
Before either of you could say anything else, a sharp burst of static cut through the air.
"Alpha Rescue Team, move out."
Zayne briefly held your hand, then looked at your eyes again. "Be careful."
"You too."
Just a few minutes later, the wind grew harsher as you climbed higher, some of it blowing snow that stung against your face despite the protection of your goggles. Feeling dehydrated, your lips began to crack as you often swallowed.
["Beacon's picking up two signals northeast,"] one of your teammates reported over the radio. You glanced at the GPS briefly. ["Let's move."]
The climb was nothing short of difficult. Several parts of the mountain had partially collapsed due to the Wanderer attack. At some point, you even found your knees slightly weakening upon seeing the far mountain ledges. You somehow felt grateful that the locations were not too far from the camp.
Just when you arrived at a victim's location, you saw the group of victims cluttered beneath the remains of a collapsed cabin.
"There are four!" You yelled as some of your teammates gathered to help you. There were two adults and an elderly man. However, your eyes were glued on the young girl beside them. Her ankle was pinned beneath a timber.
You dropped to one knee immediately and brushed away the snow covering her legs to her ankle.
"You're alright, sweetheart," you reassured softly. "We're here now."
You turned to your teammates and signaled them. "On three." Together, they lifted the timber just enough for you to slide her leg free. "Easy... easy." The girl's tears fell from her eyes as she gripped tightly onto your sleeve. "I've got you, honey." You shushed her.
You quickly secured a splint around her lower leg before wrapping a thermal blanket over her shoulders.
Suddenly, a static came out of the radio, alerting you and your teammates. "Rescue Team Three requesting assistance. Wanderer activity detected in approximately three hundred meters east."
"Escort them back to base." You instructed your teammates. "I'll go ahead with Team Three."
"Are you sure you'll be fine on your own?" Your teammate asked, and you replied with a quick 'Yes.'
As soon as you turned around to respond to the radio, your teammates immediately set out. "I am the closest. I am on my way."
You tightened your grip around your axe as you picked up your pace, your boots sinking into the snow. The radio clipped to your shoulder fuzzed with static every few seconds before falling silent again. The farther you ventured from the command post, the eerier, quieter everything became.
"Team Three?" you called into the radio.
There was no response.
Your brows furrowed, and you clicked your tongue as you continued towards the last transmitted coordinates. Suddenly, a child's weak cry broke the silence.
"Please... help!"
Without another thought, you found yourself breaking into a sprint. The sound led you beyond a cluster of snow-covered pines. As soon as your eyes landed on the child, your heart sank.
A little boy was crumpled against a fallen tree, one hand desperately pressing against his thigh. Blood continuously seeped through the gaps between his tiny fingers, staining the snow beneath him with a pool of red.
However, your eyes were caught by a creature, a Wanderer. Its limbs scraped across the frozen ground as it slowly closed the distance between itself and the helpless child.
"Hey, you stupid!" The Wanderer immediately turned towards you, lunging forward.
The creature's claws sliced through the air as you narrowly avoided its first strike, countering with a swing of your axe that forced it back several steps. Snow erupted under your boots as you aggressively pressed forward, refusing to let it come near the child again.
The Wanderer shrieked and charged one more. You sidestepped, striking the edge of your axe into its side before kicking it away.
For a brief second, you thought the fight was over.
Suddenly, a second Wanderer burst from beneath the snow, leaving you no time to react.
You felt a sharp pain rip through your side. "Ah—!"
The Wanderer's blade buried itself beneath your ribs before the creature could push any deeper.
Gritting your teeth in pain, you twisted your body and drove your axe into its chest, and you heard it let out a final screech before dissipating. The other Wanderer followed shortly after.
You breathed heavily, mustering your strength to walk towards the boy, your breathing becoming more ragged. Warm blood immediately spread beneath the layers of your thermal suit, but you paid it no attention.
You nearly stumbled towards the little boy, and you knelt beside him. "Hey, look at me."
His face, drained of color, turned towards you, his eyes meeting yours. His eyes were glossy with tears, as if begging you to stop the pain.
"It hurts so much..." he whimpered.
"I know, my dear." You held one of his hands, trying to help him muster strength. "Let me see it, yeah?"
Carefully moving his blood-soaked hand away, you examined the wound. There was a deep laceration that stretched across his upper thigh, blood steadily seeping from the injury.
Your expression immediately hardened. "You're going to be okay, dear. You're very strong." You reached for the pouch strapped to your belt, retrieving a tourniquet. "This is going to hurt, but I need you to be brave for me," you warned gently. "Then later, when you're healed, you can eat lots of yummy foods, yeah?"
The little boy nodded through his tears.
You secured the tourniquet high around his thigh and tightened it, following it with a dressing over the wound before wrapping his body in a blanket.
And only after you dressed his wound did you hear the loud thumping of your heart.
You were afraid.
You hastily pressed a wound dressing on your side, blood soaking it within just seconds. Then, you pulled your jacket closed and carefully lifted the child into your trembling arms.
The child will die if you do not hurry.
"Hold on to me tightly, okay? I'll keep you safe."
By the time the camp came into your view, your legs felt heavier with each step. The little boy had long stopped crying, his head resting limply against your shoulder, his tiny fingers weakly clutching the front of your jacket. His face was frighteningly pale beneath the dirt and dried tears.
You tightened your hold around him. "Stay with me, sweetheart." The words came out as a plea.
As soon as you crossed the perimeter, several medics rushed toward you.
"Pediatric trauma!" one of them called.
You carefully lowered the boy onto the stretcher. "Male, approximately seven to eight years old," you reported between shallow breaths. "Deep laceration to the upper thigh. Tourniquet applied..." You briefly glanced at the time displayed on your wrist device. "... thirty minutes ago. Significant blood loss before hemorrhage control." A red triage band was secured around the child's wrist as the stretcher was wheeled towards the tent.
"Doctor Zayne!"
Zayne looked up from another patient. The moment he saw the incoming stretcher, he crossed the tent in long strides. "What happened?"
"Severe thigh laceration," the medic answered. "Tourniquet applied in the field, approximately thirty minutes ago."
"Blood pressure?"
"Seventy-eight over forty-six. Heart rate's one-fifty."
"Get two-bores of IVs. Warm the fluids. He's going into hypovolemic shock."
"Doctor Zayne, we're down to one unit of O-negative."
Suddenly, another medic came in. "We have another red tag!"
The tent descended further into chaos. Radios buzzed over one another. The heart monitors beeped without pause. Medical personnel hurried from one stretcher to the next, and a few doctors transferred from one bed to another.
You instinctively took a small step back, making room as another team wheeled an injured patient between you and Zayne. For a brief second, your eyes searched for him. Zayne was tending to the child, his eyes exhausted and hair disheveled.
You then heard the whisper of one of the nurses. "Had this child been brought late by just a few minutes, he would have passed away," she said as she looked at the child that you brought.
Maybe if you were a little faster, he would have been tended to much earlier.
Meanwhile, Greyson lowered the radio from his ear, and his expression stiffened. "The supply trucks have been delayed because of the weather. Earliest arrival is approximately twenty minutes."
Just a second after, you heard a nurse's panicking voice. "A patient's going into cardiac arrest!"
Your eyes scanned around the tent. The tent was cramped, and some nurses were almost bumping against each other. Due to the shortage of beds, some patients remained on the stretchers. Doctors kept moving everywhere, including Zayne. They had no time to pause or rest.
The sounds gradually blurred together in your ears. Their voices overlapped. The rattling of the surgical equipment, children crying, someone shouting— it all rang in your ears.
No. You could not bear it any longer. You could not bear to hear any more of people wailing in pain.
Without saying a word, you quietly stepped away from the treatment area.
You slowly trudged your way towards another tent, gathering your remaining strength in each heavy step. Your hand drifted to your side beneath your thick jacket, feeling a warm liquid seeping into your fingers.
As you pushed aside the flap of the tent, you felt your breathing become more uneven. Your eyes landed on the sealed boxes of dressings and emergency equipment that filled the space.
You drew in a shaky breath. "... I have to bring these."
Endless thoughts flooded your mind.
Those patients were going to die. Maybe if you could help them just a little bit. Maybe if you could help that child just a little bit.
You stepped towards one of the supply shelves and reached for a crate. However, before you could even reach for it, a sharp pain tore through your side, and your vision swayed.
You instinctively reached for the edge of the table to steady yourself, but your legs gave out before you could regain your balance.
A sharp gasp escaped your lips as you collapsed into a seated position, your back hitting the metal table behind you. Your breathing came in uneven, shallow breaths.
"No... no..." Your hand slowly pressed against your side as you winced in pain. With trembling fingers, you unzipped your thick rescue jacket.
The dressing you had hastily put on the mountainside had long since soaked through. Blood continued to seep from beneath it, staining your inner shirt before dripping towards the floor.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The small crimson stains gradually merged into a growing pool beneath you.
"...I have to stop it."
Your hands fumbled through one of the opened trauma kits beside you until you found a clean dressing. You peeled away the soaked bandage with a pained hiss before pressing the new dressing firmly against the wound. You wrapped the bandage around yourself as tightly as you could. However, the strength left your body with your last pull.
Suddenly, the flap of the tent opened.
A nurse hurried inside, her eyes immediately scanning the shelves.
"Where's the—"
Her eyes froze as soon as she saw you.
"... Mrs. Li?" The color drained from her face. "Mrs. Li!"
She rushed towards you, knees dropping to the ground. "Oh my god, you're bleeding!"
Your head remained lowered, hand limply clutching against your side. Your breaths had become slow and shallow. The corners of your vision darkened, and the sounds outside the tent seemed to drift farther and farther away until they were little more than muffled voices.
You could no longer comprehend the words coming out of the nurse's mouth, so you let out a whisper.
"I'm sorry... I was a bit late..." The words barely escaped your lips. "I couldn't help much..."
Just a second later, your vision drifted into darkness.
You felt something warm.
Something warm was brushing against your skin.
Your eyelids felt heavy, and it took you a few attempts before you managed to pry them open.
The white ceiling above you slowly came into focus, and you heard a steady beeping somewhere beside your bed. On the other hand, your throat felt dry. Your fingers twitched weakly against the blanket, enough to stir the figure seated beside your bed.
"...You're awake."
Turning your head slowly, your gaze landed on Zayne.
And oh, he looked nothing like the man who adjusted your harness before the mission.
His lab coat had faint creases, wrinkling the once-neat fabric as though he had been wearing it for a long time. His hair, which was usually kept in place, had begun to fall over his forehead. Dark circles lingered under his eyes, and exhaustion weighed on his usually calm face.
You tried to move your fingers a little, reaching for his hand. Seeing your attempt, he intertwined his hands with yours, meeting your gaze with pained eyes.
"My love, have you slept?" You asked. "You look tired."
A chuckle escaped his lips, but there was no sign of amusement in it. "... Not much." He breathed. "I was afraid to."
You tilted your head slightly in confusion.
"If I closed my eyes..." His thumb absentmindedly brushed over your knuckles. "...I was afraid I'd wake up, and you wouldn't be here."
Your heart clenched. "Zayne..."
"I've watched your monitor for two days. I know how many blood transfusions you received."
Silence settled between the two of you. Your gaze was fixed on his pained expression, then you gently squeezed his hand.
"I'm sorry, Zayne..."
He did not speak, but his gaze fell to the ground.
"What happened to the little boy?" You asked.
"He survived," he replied, making a relief wash over your face.
"What about the others?"
"They survived."
"That's enough for me to hear—"
"No," his voice cut through. It was not loud. Not angry. But firm enough to make you freeze. "You do not get to play the hero," he said, and the room fell silent.
You stared at him in disbelief. "Zayne, those children and people needed you. If you hadn't tended to them quickly, they would've—"
"And what about my wife?" His voice cracked. For a second, you were unable to identify his tone. It was not anger. It was something more fragile. "... my wife who carried a child on her arms while enduring a stab wound?"
You met his eyes, and this time, his entire face fell into nothing but absolute fear and sadness.
"My wife who ran, bleeding on her own." His other hand raised, his palm briefly covering his eyes. "My wife who collapsed alone because she thought she mattered less than others."
You had never seen him like this. Never.
Zayne was the calmest person you had ever known. Not until now.
"Zayne, I'm alive—"
"You were lucky. And what if a nurse did not see you?" His head lowered. "You would've bled to death." His voice trembled. "I ran into that tent, and I saw you. I saw you bathing in your own blood." He breathed and swallowed. "I thought..."
You raised your hand slowly and caressed his cheek.
You could clearly see it. Tears were falling from his eyes, from Zayne's eyes, and his expression was broken.
You brushed your thumb to wipe his tears away. "I'm here, my love."
"I should have noticed," his breath hitched. "I should have noticed how pale you were." His hand trembled as he gripped the hand you placed on his cheek. "I should have taken a proper look."
He let out a bitter laugh. "What kind of doctor can mend countless lives yet fail to see his wife's pain?" He tightened his grip, as if it was a lifeline. "What kind of husband becomes the last person to know that his wife is hurting?"
"Zayne, none of this is your fault."
"No, no. It was my fault. I was too complacent." He shook his head.
You moved slightly upright, alerting Zayne to press his hand against your shoulder to stop you from moving. His eyes were swollen, small tears falling from them.
"My love, won't you look at me?" You softly called.
At your endearment, Zayne hesitantly met your eyes, as if ashamed of his meltdown.
"My love, all of it was a decision that I made." You gently locked your eyes with his.
"And I hate that you had to."
For a few minutes, his hand settled between your fingers, and his trembling body gradually loosened with the warm brushing of your thumb.
"If something like this happens again," he placed a soft kiss on your palm. "I want you to scream at me," he paused. "Yell at me. Tell me that you're hurting. Tell me how you feel, please."
You softly raised his hand and placed it against your cheek. “Yes, my love. I will.” You kissed his palm, and somehow, his breathing became even. “I promise.”
“Don't ever decide for me that everyone else should come before you.” He leaned in closer, his forehead pressing against yours. Then, he placed a soft kiss on your forehead down to your cheek.
For a while, silence settled between the two of you. It was gentle, warm, like the sunlight spilling through the hospital window. His hand remained intertwined with yours, absentmindedly tracing slow circles across the back of your hand with his thumb. Every now and then, he would steal glances at your face, trying to reassure himself that you were awake.
You chuckled. “Goodness, what would the patients say after finding out that I made their Doctor Zayne cry?”
"My reputation will recover." His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek. "I'd be far more concerned if you didn't."
After a few moments, Zayne reluctantly pulled away. He stood from his chair and walked over to the desk near the window, flipping through the chart that had been resting there. You watched him quietly.
Without looking up, he spoke. "I'm issuing you medical leave."
You blinked. “For how long?”
“Two months.”
Your eyes widened. “Two months?!”
He briefly glanced at you before looking back at the charts. “At minimum.”
You let out an exaggerated sigh. “My love, are you trying to make me go broke?”
He looked up from the chart, his eyes hinting at amusement. “Are you underestimating my paycheck?”
You let out a small laugh. “Oh no. I wouldn’t dare.”
He closed the chart and returned to your bedside. "As your attending physician," he said in a matter-of-fact tone, "I'm ordering complete rest, no missions and no strenuous activity until I've cleared you." He then reached for the water jug and poured into an empty cup. “It’s doctor’s orders, and it’s non-negotiable.” He handed you the cup before tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Understood?”
You looked up, pretending to think about it. “Hmm… Understood.”
Satisfied, he intertwined his fingers with yours once again, and this time, he refused to let go.
You scoffed, shooting Valko a pointed look. You were a hunter. Of course, you were ready.
Except… you'd never seen whatever crazy ass thing he was doing right now. He sat in a roman chair, doing sit ups with his body weight.
But if you were being completely honest, just watching him made your core hurt.
"What the heck are you doing?" you huffed, crossing your arms.
"Give me a second. Just hand me that bar."
You blinked, staring at the barbell he'd pointed at. It had fives on either side of it, which was only 55. Not that heavy. But still. Weighted sit ups on a roman chair? Was he crazy?
"Are you serious?"
Valko nodded, gesturing toward the bar again. "C'mon. Help me out, babe."
You sighed, picking up the bar and carefully handing it to him. Then he started. He pulled himself up with his core, twisting the bar at the same time like some weird form of a Russian twist. He grunted softly on the way up, counting after each rep.
"How many are you doing?"
"50," he grunted.
The number made your jaw drop. Seriously. Fifty? You could do 100 normal sit ups. But fifty of whatever ass backwards this thing was?
You watched, arms crossed. He made it look embarrassingly easy. He also looked kinda hot doing it… The muscles in his biceps pulled tight from holding the bar, his brows pinched in concentration, a bead of sweat collecting at his temple from your exercises before this. But whatever. You could… probably do it.
"50!" he huffed, a large triumphant grin splitting his face. "Your turn."
You took the bar and placed it on the floor so he could get off. When his feet touched the floor, he rolled his shoulders. "Go ahead."
You blinked. "How do I even—?"
"Need me to help?"
Before you could answer, he was placing his hands on your waist and carrying you, helping you on the chair.
And fuck. Your core already burned from holding yourself up.
"You got it?" he asked, his lips curled in that little infuriating smile he always had when you struggled with an exercise. And it wasn't that he liked to see you fail, he just liked having an excuse to touch you. Like, guiding you through something.
And despite how cute your boyfriend was, you were too prideful to quit now. "Yep. Got it. And you know what?"
"What?"
"I'll go to 55."
Valko let out a quiet puff of laughter. "Great. Can't wait to see it." He handed you the bar and stepped around you, making sure to spot you. "Whenever you're ready."
You started, pushing through the burn that shot up your stomach. You barely had time to go all the back down before Vako was stepping in behind you, gripping the bar. "Slow down a little. Twist the bar like this."
He guided your movements. "Yeah. Exactly like that. Go again."
You fought the urge to roll your eyes as you started again, slower. You got to 15 when you started to shake. How the fuck did Valko do 50? But you couldn't quit yet.
"You still got it?"
"Yep," you breathed, your voice shaking.
20… 22… 23… 24…
Why did it feel like you were going slower now?
"No shame in tapping out," you heard behind you.
"Shut… up—"
27… 28… 29…
Fuck. No, nope—
Right before you could drop the bar on yourself, Valko stepped in, taking the bar and placing it on the floor before helping you off the chair.
"Aw. Baby's all tired?" He nuzzled into your sweaty neck, the gesture making you squirm.
"Get off! This isn't fair!"
Valko didn't let up. He kept his face in your neck, soaking up the salty smell of your sweat. "How?"
"You have crazy werewolf genes. You're stronger than me."
"You're just a sore loser."
"I hate you."
"Liar." He pressed a kiss to your temple. "Wanna move on?"
You sighed, finally leaning into him. "Yes please."
And then he proceeded to show you another crazy ass exercise that you tried to beat him in (again), and failed (again).
You decided you'd had enough. "Fine. You try one of my exercise."
Valko grinned, wiping at the sweat on his forehead with his shirt. "Alright. Show me."
You positioned yourself, showing him one of your hunter specific exercises.
He didn't even hesitate. He tried it at the same time, right next to you. More sweat beaded above his brow, his breath growing ragged. "Okay. This is kinda hard."
You smiled. "Feeling weak?"
"Nope."
But he very much was. He lasted about another minute before huffing and rolling onto his back to watch you. You instantly shot up, glowing. "Yes! I win!"
He laughed, eyes locked on yours. "That was hot."
You preened. "Me beating you?"
"Yeah."
He stood up, crushing you to his sweaty chest. "I love losing to you."
a/n: kept reader exercise vague cus i don't know what u can and can't do. i also had trouble finding something valko WOULDN'T be good at
when a misunderstanding causes both you and Valko to walk on eggshells, Em becomes the voice of reason.
TW: implications of depression/mental health issues, implications of low self worth, implications of past self harm, implications of fear of abandonment
**
He never found out why you were sad.
You refused to tell him, for some reason, but it had been weighing on him ever since he left your apartment. The apartment you had nearly refused to let him into the first time you met, but had somehow managed to become more of a home than his own place.
“You alright?”
He perked, peeking at the woman beside him. “Em,” he murmured, wondering how long she’d been there. “I, uh, yeah. Just thinking.”
She didn’t make a snarky comment or joke as usual, frowning slightly in a way that somehow reminded him of you. There were certain things about you both that had him at a loss sometimes, but the main difference was that while Em did smell nice, you made his head spin.
You were addicting in every sense of the word, actually.
Your smile, as rare as it was, always managed to stun him into silence. The way it gently touched your eyes before retreating behind closed lips that pressed thin.
Your laugh had a similar effect. The sight managed to invoke something ugly in him—possessive and raw. He wanted the image and sound of you laughing to be just for his eyes, his concern mixing with greed and making something that would probably terrify anyone who wasn’t you.
Because despite the wall you kept between the two of you, never had you rejected him.
Open arms would be a stretch, but you’d given him food. Shelter. Concern hidden behind exasperated sighs and rolled eyes.
So could anyone blame him for being so damn worried?
“Is it about her?” Em questioned curiously, tapping him in the head with the file in her hand to get his attention. “The girl you’ve been visiting at night?”
Valko didn’t deny it, canines digging into his lower lip.
Em sighed. “She still down in the dumps?”
“Yeah,” he sighed, dropping all attempts at professionalism. “Something is wrong and I know that…but she seems…”
He trailed off, unsure of what you seemed.
You weren’t happy. That much was clear from watching you when you thought he wasn’t. You weren't entirely sad, either, though. It was almost like you were in a constant state of walking along a tightrope, unsure whether to continue across or remain where you'd managed to maintain balance.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, crossing his arms and deflating slightly.
“Maybe ask her outright what’s going on? Or I can if you want?”
“No.”
A raised brow.
“No?” she questioned, reminding you an awful lot of that doctor she was currently engaged to.
“I don’t want to pry.”
“Maybe she needs you to.”
He squinted. “I doubt that.”
He’d grown up with too many women to believe that could be the solution to this issue. Space was important…more than anything else someone could give to a person attempting to make sense of the world around them.
“Trust me. Just ask.”
He did trust her. More than most people.
“What if I push a boundary?”
“You could never,” Em snorted. “You once felt bad for weeks because you ate my last piece of candy by accident.”
Valko heated in the cheeks. “You were so bummed about it and almost cried….”
“And now I have a year's supply because of a certain someone,” she chuckled with a smile. “Well, a month, if I’m lucky. Hubby loves them, too. But back to the topic at hand…she probably wouldn’t mind sharing what’s wrong with you of all people. You might still think you’re practically strangers but she trusts you to a certain degree if she lets you into her apartment.”
“You give me too much credit,” he sighed, sure his ears would have gone flat if they were visible.
“What’s her favorite food?”
“Empanadas with her mom’s homemade sauce on the side.”
“Favorite thing to do?”
“Listen to music and rain sounds.”
“Any hobbies?”
“She really likes researching flowers and arrangements,” he said with a slight smile at the thought. “But she has the worst luck with keeping them alive if not at the shop.”
Em gave him a look that he couldn’t quite understand.
He pouted. “I’m confused what any of this has to do with helping her, Em.”
“Of course you are,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “My point stands. Ask her. Be straightforward but sensitive.”
Deciding that maybe a change in approach was indeed the way to go, he stood, palms pressed against his desk as he removed his glasses and began to remove his white coat.
Em stood as well, eyes narrowing.
“Where are you going?”
Valko folded the coat, placing his glasses on top of it. “To be straightforward but sensitive,” he said as if it were the most obvious answer in the world, Em calling to him about the deadline but only receiving the most infuriating answer in return.
“I trust you!”
**
Just ask was a lot easier to say than commit to.
He’d been pacing outside your door for five minutes now, wondering how to approach the topic.
Would asking right away be too much? Should he make small talk first? No, that would seem insincere, wouldn’t it? He should just be honest and–
“Valko?”
He paused in his pacing, turning to see you with a grocery bag in one hand, and a dripping umbrella in the other. The bottom of your jeans was still somewhat soaked, but you, thankfully, seemed bone dry.
“Hey,” he whispered, walking toward you and talking the bag out of reflex.
You let him.
“What are you doing here? It’s pouring out,” you said with a frown. “You’re lucky you didn’t get caught in the mess.”
Your concern was enough to make his heart flutter. Valko cleared his throat so it wouldn’t fly up and out of his throat.
“I wanted to talk. To you.”
You scanned his face for any reason to be worried, but when you saw nothing but honesty, you nodded once.
“And this couldn’t have been a text or phone call?” you joked lightly, pressing your thumb to the touchpad and opening the door. Valko grabbed it for you to let you go first, following you in and removing his shoes at the door.
“I prefer face to face communication.”
“Well…I suppose this is an improvement,” you said with a smile. “From you attempting to break in via my balcony.”
Valko let out a breath of disbelief, his free hand resting on his chest.
“I have never broken in.”
You squinted at him, but you let it go for the time being in favor of dumping your umbrella into the kitchen sink. That last time you’d opened it and placed it in the bathtub, Valko had nearly had a heart attack. You had found it adorable, apparently, while he was trying to think of all the people to call to reverse your bad luck.
“Want anything to drink?”
You didn’t wait for his answer, seeming to be moving on auto pilot which was parts impressive and parts concerning. Exhausted wasn’t the word anymore…whatever you were feeling was obviously much deeper than that.
“Whatevers easiest,” Valko said as he moved closer, leaning against the kitchen island as you boiled milk. In his cup was hot chocolate–the one with no marshmallows because it ruined the chocolate taste. He had expected you to call him childish the first time he mentioned it, but instead, you’d hummed thoughtfully and mentioned how you’d never paid much attention to the difference in taste. It was more something to do than something for enjoyment.
In your cup was the opposite of his own…coffee.
He hated the stuff, but with you, he found that the smell had become tolerable. It mixed perfectly with your scent even if he would prefer you not drink anything with caffeine so late into the day.
He watched as you grabbed the handle of the pot, pouring the perfect amount of milk into each mug.
He tried not to focus too hard on the fact that they were matching, in a way.
“So,” you started as you moved to the island and placed his mug in front of him. You leaned against it as well, staring up at him curiously while cradling the mug in your hands. “What did you want to talk about that you would visit in such nasty weather?”
Oh, right. His reason for showing up at your place and actually using the front door.
Valko picked up the mug, sloshing the liquid from side to side as he forced the words he needed out.
“Well…I just…I was curious about something.”
You nodded once, egging him on with a patience he didn’t feel he deserved.
He was stalling and you probably knew that. Yet here you were, blowing on your coffee and waiting anyway.
“I’m worried about you.”
There was no explosion. No rage or smashing of the mug at his feet. No warning about minding his business.
Instead you straightened up and looked at him with wide eyes.
“...pardon?”
Your voice was softer than he’d ever heard, his heart clawing at his chest and throat to leap out of him and run off.
“You always look so…tired. Or sad. Or like something is weighing on you. I didn’t want to ask at first because I was scared you’d think I was overstepping, but I found I felt more scared that you’d think I didn’t care at all.”
Valko cleared his throat, tugging on his tie slightly.
“So I’m here because I want you to know that I do care. And I’m prepared to listen if you ever need or want me to.”
He’d said it. He’d said it out loud and now all he had to do was look up and see what sort of expression you were making–
“Val…?”
“Yes.” He snapped his head up while he answered, noting the look on your face was much more neutral than expected.
“If I told you that you were partially right…would you still want to hear me out?”
“Of course.”
“And if I told you that what was weighing me down might involve you….even then?”
His eyes widened. “Me? Did I do something?”
“In a way,” you murmured, and he felt his heart shoot up to his ears. "but it is mostly my fault."
What the hell had he done to make you feel such negative emotions? How could he ever make up for it?
“I’d…want to know even more, if I’m being honest.”
You chewed on your lower lip, placing the mug down and opting to wring your hands instead.
“...okay.”
You held out a hand to him, amber eyes tracing over it and committing the sight to memory: the small scar across the lines of your palm. The one that matched just a bit lower on your wrist.
He took it as carefully as he could manage, allowing you to lead him to the living room so you could sit on the couch. You didn’t let go of his hand even once both of you sat down, but he squeezed your hand in reassurance that he genuinely didn’t mind.
In fact, he was nothing short of malfunctioning at the fact you didn’t hate him enough to avoid his touch entirely.
“First things first, I was sad…but not because of anything you did. I don’t think you meant to do it which makes it all the more…embarrassing.”
He noted how your voice wavered, as if a wave of shame hit you the moment the words escaped.
“So…” Valko began, but you cut him off.
“I've fallen for you.”
He froze. You let out a shaky exhale, as if in shock that you’d actually said it.
“So much that I was scared you’d avoid me if you ever found out. So I kept it a secret. Lately. though, it has been a lot harder to hide. I don’t want to hide it. So I haven’t wanted to talk much because I might do what I'm doing now.”
Valko waited for you to continue, but when you didn’t, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.
“You like me.”
A bashful nod.
“And you were scared I’d stop coming by if I knew?”
Another nod.
"So when you were 'sad' that was...?"
"Me trying very hard not to fall into some daydream that you might for some reason like me back," you said with a self-deprecating chuckle. "So please don't feel like you have to return my feelings."
He could hear how your hear slammed into your ribs in the same unforgiving rhythm as his own, skipping each time he got anywhere near your pulse.
You were pulled into his arms before you could fully finish your sentence. He felt how you stopped breathing against him. He wondered if you were comfortable in his arms. If his warmth provided comfort. If how large he was made you feel safe rather than suffocated.
“Oh, sweets,” he sighed as he scented your hair, your neck, your cheeks.
“What’re you–?” you choked out, chewing your lower lip to keep quiet.
“I like you, too. So much that I was going a bit crazy trying to figure out why you weren’t talking to me.”
Your nails dug into the front of his dress shirt as you processed his words. It was a feeling he’d love to get used to, but he tried not to get ahead of himself.
“No bullshit?”
He chuckled and pushed you back just enough to meet your eyes, inwardly pleased at your partially unfocused gaze.
“No bullshit,” he promised, pressing his forehead against your own. “So tell me if this is too much too soon but I would really like to kiss you right about now,” he whispered.
You nodded once, stiff and awestruck but more than willing.
He leaned in, starting with a quick peck on your lips to test the waters. You repeated it back to him, eyes fluttering closed before opening to scan his expression for signs of discomfort. It was almost like a game, in a way, with each of you taking turns until the timing between kisses grew shorter.
Before the hesitation was replaced with mutual desperation.
One of his hands rested on the side of your neck, thumb pressed to your pulse and guiding you gently. The other rested on your lower back, moving to your hip and squeezing in a way that made you whimper.
He pulled away with a small curse under his breath, noting how your eyes took longer to open, half lidded and dazed.
“Fuck, you’re cute,” he said before leaning in again, this kiss fueled by every emotion that had prevented you both from doing this weeks.
“Val,” you whispered weakly, pressing your lips to his again as your palms slid up his chest so your arms could loop around his neck. He groaned, your world tilting until you were on your back, staring up at him with a look that was practically begging him to keep going.
And you both might have considered it if not for your stomach choosing that moment to let out a small growl of protest.
Your face heated for a different reason as Valko turned his head away and snorted.
“Shut up.”
“Sweets…”v
Valko’s tongue swiped over his canines in one of the greatest debates of his life, but care for your needs far outweighed the need to claim you.
“Valko,” you warned, smacking his chest with one hand before habitually rubbing the area in a soothing motion. Even while pouting, you didn’t want him actually hurt.
For now.
Leaning down to press a kiss to your nose, he shoved his face into your neck again and let out a deep breath to calm himself. You shuddered at the feeling.
“Food first. You need to eat.”
A grumble of agreement that had him smirking.
You sucked in a breath when he bit you: enough for you to feel him but not enough to leave any marks just yet.
“And when you’re done…” he started, licking the area to soothe it and enjoying the strained noise that left you.
Hi pips! i seen youre taking valko requests? Please, im dying for some period comfort, i start any day now and my cramps have been awful to the point that im nauseous, its so exhausting im on the verge of tears, can you please send me some valko cuddles😭💕?
Your stories are so sweet; Thank you! 🤍
˚.⋆꒰১ ໒꒱⋆.˚ valko comforts you when you get bad cramps
a/n: heard a lady was in need and immediately had to write this!!
Biological reasons aside, why did you need to have a period? It turned you into an irritated little heap of blankets and heating pads once every month, and right now it was bad. Like, bad bad.
There was a constant ache that started in your navel and flared up your abdomen. You groaned when you felt it again, squeezing your plushy impossibly closer to your chest. You weren't even on your period yet and your body was already torturing you.
You'd spent most of the day curled up in bed, watching your favorite comfort show until Valko came home.
You heard the door click open, then his footsteps. When he finally peeked his head into your guys' room, he furrowed his brows. "Hey. You okay? You're usually in the living room."
You frowned. "I'm not feeling that good."
He stepped in, his nose scrunching up the slightest bit.
"Are you about to start your period?"
Your stomach dropped. How the hell did he even—?
"What?" you breathed. "Can you smell it?"
You suddenly felt 100 times worse. Did you stink or something? You could already feel an embarrassed heat crawling up your neck.
"No," he answered, plopping down on the bed beside you. "Well, kinda? I can't smell it. But you do smell different. Your hormones grow stronger is all."
You sighed. "Yeah. I'm supposed to start in two days but I feel like crap." As if on cue, you got anotjer nasty cramp that made bend forward and squeeze your stomach.
Valko frowned, rubbing your arm. "I know. Let me take a shower and I'll take care of you, okay?" He pressed a small kiss to your forehead, then he was gone. The minutes that he was away were agony.
You didn't want to be dramatic, but your cramps were insanely bad.
When Valko stepped out his hair was damp and he was in his comfy sleeping clothes. He immediately got into the bed beside you, pulling his shirt off.
He always ran hot, so he was like your personal heating pad.
He laid back and pulled you on top of him, draping you across his chest.
"You're so warm," you gushed, instantly melting into him, your cheek pressing against his warm chest.
Valko laughed, lifting your shirt up to run his fingers up and down your back, just the way you like. "I know. Perks of having a werewolf boyfriend, huh?"
"Mhmm."
"Want me to order some snacks?"
You gasped, nearly sitting up. God, you would kill for some right now. Sure, you could've gone to the store, but you barely wanted to move today.
"Yes please!"
He let out a small puff of laughter, pulling his phone out of his sweats, while keeping one hand around your waist to keep you steady. "Okayy, your favorite chips. Candies…" he trailed off. "Are you feeling ice cream today?"
"Mm... Sure!"
"Got it. Ice cream aaand chocolates?"
You rolled your eyes at the last bit. He was always trying to get you to give him some chocolates. "You know I'm not sharing those with you, right?"
You groaned, his grip on you instinctively tightening. "Come on. What did I do?"
"Valko, they make you sick."
"So? We can be sick together."
"You're impossible."
Fifteen minutes later, there was a stash of snacks at the foot of your bed. Your show was playing in the background, but you were too busy enjoying the warmth of his palm on your stomach. It made the ache in your core melt away.
"Feel better?"
You sighed, pressing your back closer to his chest. "Yeah. Thank you, Valko." You waited a second before asking: "When I actually get my period, will you take care of me again?"
"I'll always take care of you. Whatever you need," he answered, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head.
