#hurt comfort fic

[dystopicjumpsuit]

I Know.

A/N: Cursed with insomnia again. Here’s what I wrote last night.

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader (GN; reader has nightmares and nonspecific trauma) 

Rating: T

Wordcount: 1.3k

Warnings and tags: angst; nightmares (not described); hurt comfort

Summary: Sometimes, the people who have the most complicated history with you are the ones who know you best. Set pre-Skako Minor.

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You awoke with a flinch. Your heart raced as you stared into the darkness, the pulse of it thundering in your ears. Your breath came fast and hard, and you forced yourself to slow down and breathe through your nose. Gradually, your body let go of the panic, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. Not when you knew what waited for you once you drifted into unconsciousness.

You sat up slowly, pausing to clear your head before you slipped out of the bunk. As quietly as you could, you made your way to the front of the Marauder, grabbing your datapad as you passed the data terminal. Judging by the snores, Wrecker and Tech were out cold, but you’d be willing to stake every last credit in your account that your pounding heart had awakened Hunter before you even opened your eyes. Still, he was silent as you moved stealthily to the cockpit.

It was strange to be back on the Marauder after all this time. Familiar, yet different. The squad welcomed you back with varying degrees of enthusiasm—or at least acceptance—but there was a distance between you that had never been there before. A sense of caution, of unspoken but deep vigilance, as though you all felt a compulsion to weigh your words before speaking. The easy laughter, the banter, the closeness and connection—it was though none of it had ever existed.

The faint glow of the instrument panel illuminated Crosshair’s lean form as he sat in the pilot’s chair, arms folded over his chest as his long legs stretched out in front of him. He glanced up as you passed, but said nothing. Outside the viewport, it was far too dark to make out the landscape of the wilderness, but the stars above shone brilliantly through the unclouded atmosphere. You curled up in the copilot’s seat and wordlessly flicked on your datapad. 

You tried to read. The holonovel you opened seemed too daunting, so instead you scrolled through your usual collection of holonet sites for a long while, but your brain refused to process any of the text. Your eyes felt heavy and gritty, and the words seemed to blur together no matter how hard you squeezed your eyelids shut to try to clear your vision. Eventually, you closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the headrest.

“You all right?” Crosshair’s voice was barely audible.

“Can’t sleep,” you whispered without opening your eyes.

“Still?”

“Yeah.”

You both fell silent for a moment. The pilot’s seat creaked as he adjusted.

“Same nightmare after all this time?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

You opened your eyes and rotated your head toward him, only to find that he was already watching you, his dark, intense eyes unreadable in the dim light.

“You ever talk to anyone about it?” 

You shook your head. “Just you. The others—they don’t understand. They don’t know. The details.”

“They still care, though,” he said quietly.

“I know. I just…” You swallowed. “Can’t. I don’t want them to know.”

He didn’t reply, only watched you.

You took a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t want them to see how broken I am.”

The silence stretched out for a moment, before he replied very quietly. “I never saw you that way.”

Your throat tightened, and your vision blurred for an instant before the tear overflowed from the corner of your eye and slid down your temple. You could barely see a damned thing in the dark, but Crosshair saw you. He always had.

Slowly, he reached out and smoothed the tear off your skin, then he dropped his hand to your wrist and gently but insistently tugged on you until at last you complied with his unspoken request, crossing the short distance to the copilot’s chair and settling onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around you and coaxed your head down to rest on his shoulder as you curled your legs up and around his body.

“I don’t want to fall back asleep,” you confessed, feeling slightly ashamed of your childish fear.

He stroked your hair. “Then… don’t sleep. Stay with me.”

You nuzzled softly against his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. It had been such a long time, but you’d know it anywhere. 

“You don’t mind?”

“Why would I?” he whispered.

The weight of lost time was heavy in the silence before you replied. “I thought you might prefer it if I left you alone.”

His jaw brushed against your forehead as he turned to look down at you. “I don’t mind having you here.”

The tension in your body gradually drained away as you relaxed against him, lapsing once more into silence. He rested his cheek against the top of your head as his thumb traced slow, lazy circles on your shoulder. Your heavy eyes began to drift shut, your anxiety lulled away by the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and the steady thump of his pulse beneath your ear.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” you whispered.

His only response was a quiet, brief hum at the back of his throat, but he pressed his lips against your hair. You raised your hand slowly and trailed your fingertips from the corner of his jaw, down the line of his neck, to the notch at the base of his throat, and when you reached his chest, you flattened your palm against him, directly over his heart. His hand closed gently around yours, holding it there, and you brushed your thumb over his knuckles.

“I’ve missed this,” he whispered. “Holding you like this.”

“Me, too.”

You relaxed further against him, and he tightened his arms around you, holding you securely so you didn’t slip off his lap. When you spoke again, your voice was very soft.

“Cross?”

“Mhm?”

You hesitated a moment before you whispered, “Why did we end it?”

He didn’t move, didn’t react, didn’t even change the pattern of his breath, but you could hear his heart speed up at your whispered question.

“I don’t remember,” he replied.

You took a few slow, shallow breaths. “Me either.”

His hand glided slowly up your shoulder until he reached the back of your neck, and he stroked his thumb along the shell of your ear.

“We were good together, weren’t we?” he asked quietly.

You tilted your head and brushed your lips against his neck in a caress so feather-light it was almost imperceptible.

Almost.

“The best,” you whispered.

He swallowed hard, the sound plainly audible to your ears. The two of you sat unmoving for a long, long time, simply holding each other. He took a shaky breath.

“I—” his voice failed, and he fell silent again.

“I know,” you whispered, kissing his neck. “I know.” You pressed your lips against his jaw, and then the corner of his mouth. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Finding the right words.”

The hand on the back of your neck slid up to hold your head, and he turned to gaze into your eyes, your faces so close together that you could feel his soft, warm breath on your skin.

“What can I say that would be enough?” he asked, his voice quiet and unsteady.

You rested your palm against his jaw, feeling the rough, familiar prickle of his facial hair. Your thumb stroked across his cheekbone, then over his lips.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you whispered. “I already know.” You kissed him softly. “I’ll always know you.”

He pulled you closer, cradling your head in his hands as his lips brushed against yours. His familiar taste flooded your senses. The kiss was gentle and slow, his tongue just grazing between your lips before the two of you parted reluctantly. He rested his forehead against yours as he brought his hand around to caress your cheek. 

“Do you think you could ever love me again?” he asked.

You were silent for a moment before you confessed, “I never stopped.”

The rise and fall of his chest paused for an instant, then resumed.

“Neither did I.”

---

Want more Bad Batch fics? I have two for Hunter: First Kiss ficlet (sfw) and "I Wish All Readers a Very Hunter Life Day" (very spicy).

Ragu list:

@secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino spicy-clones @wings-and-beskar @523rdrebel @merkitty49 @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella @cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @mandos-mind-trick @littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu @starqueensthings @clonemedickix @marierg @idontgetanysleep @moonlightwarriorqueen @dudewhynotthis @sleepycreativewriter @tcwmatchmakingau @littlemissbshine @multi-fan-dom-madness @heavenseed76 @wizardofrozz @bobaprint @sweetcream-coldfoam @banksys-rat @skellymom @pickleprickle @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @dickarchivist @cw80831 @kimiheartblade @meredithroseg @flyiingsly @lightwise @swcowgal

#tbb crosshair #crosshair bad batch #crosshair x reader #star wars #the bad batch #sw tbb fanfic #crosshair fanfiction #hurt comfort fic #hurt/comfort #gn reader

[jcryptid]

Did i impulsively spend weeks on rendering after getting hooked on a Batfam fic? Yes.... Yes I did.

for real though guys, the author of this fic is an absolute angel. So... @lulurythmea: Happy Birthday.... thanks for making me cry and go feral.... can't wait to see what the hell you do next you crazy son of a bitch ;)

the fic in question is Across the Sands on Ao3, go check it out if you also want to go feral and get some of that sweet sweet hurt comfort!

#batfam #jason todd #damian wayne #damian al ghul #talia al ghul #catatonic jason todd #league of assassins #batfamily #batfam fic #red hood fic #batman #Jason being a good older brother #despite everything #and you can wrench this trope from my cold dead hands!!! #hugs #mental conditioning #hurt comfort #hurt comfort fic #fanfic art #fic art #fanfic recs #batfam fic rec #batfam fanart #red hood #baby damian wayne #dc #happy birtdhay Lulu #gonna drop this bomb and laugh evily as I imagine your reaction #hope you enjoy #Across the sands

[itsmeatballworld]

| stitches |

summary | matt cleans you up after you’re injured trying to help someone.

pairing | matt murdock x fem!reader (female body parts mentioned)

wc | ~1800

warnings | cursing, hurt reader, nudity but not sexual, mentions of bruising, fighting, weapon (knife), injuries, and blood.

a/n | hi all! I love the ‘stitching up the one you love’ trope. Matt obviously fits that bill - but uno reverse baby. It’s reader who needs the fixing. Also this is my 1st time writing for Matt so I hope it’s alright  (established relationship btw)

dividers by @/firefly-graphics​ <3

Your body gave out the moment his apartment door swung open.

Your knees buckled, hands bracing your fall as you splayed out on the hardwood floors. Coughs riddled your body as the tight, squeezing pressure in your chest made it hard to breathe.

Ribs were broken, you could feel it. Blood soaked through your plain clothes from the gash on your side. Hopefully, this was nothing more than just a busted rib, a cut, and some bruising.

You could handle that. It’s what you’d mend for your boyfriend when he’d come home injured from fighting.

Anything else and you’d need help. 

“M-Matt?” your voice merely whispers in the dark.

The place was silent. Not an echo of life beyond that door. No bare feet shuffling on floorboards or a hum of the shower running.

Right, he wasn't home.

With a deflated groan, you managed to get back onto your feet.

He was at the bar with Foggy and Karen where you should’ve been too. But like your boyfriend Matt Murdock, you were a bit stubborn. 

It was dumb that you went out tonight when you felt like shit. It was even dumber that you went out after saying you’d stay home and rest. Your loving boyfriend left his place with every intention you’d still be in one piece when he returned.

—

“I’ll pick up some soup from that diner on 9th and west 46th street. What’s it called again?” 

“No, no.” You hushed him with a soft touch against his thigh. He was nearly crushing you from how close he sat down on the bed. It made you feel loved and wanted with him so close. And you loved it. 

He hovered over you, brown eyes focused on your groggy expression. “Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure. I’ll shower and get some sleep. Go meet Foggy and Karen,” you ran your fingers up to the callous hand now resting against your cheek. 

He smiled. “I can stay. I’ll take care of you. I want to.” 

“I’ll be fine. Go have fun, baby.” 

—

Fuck. You were really regretting going out. 

It was pitch black in his apartment, with only the neon glow of billboards outside to illuminate the space. You limped out of the entry hallway and to the bathroom.

The moment you shuffled inside, everything happened fast. You were in the shower. Water ran over your sensitive skin, soaking through your ruined clothes. A mewling groan escaped your lips.

You sat hopelessly under the constant water pressure. Streaks of crimson bled out from worn out clothes. 

In the end, you knew that you needed to rest more than anything and this shower wouldn’t do much else but wash away the evidence. 

“Shit,” you cursed as the gash on your side stung. Yet the idea of moving from this shower seemed like an impossible task.

You winced as you tried to tug your pants down. But like honey on skin, the fabric clung to your body, soaked from the shower. It was like cement. You whined like a helpless child.

The pain was excruciating but it was worth it. When you snuck out of the apartment, keys dangling from your loose fingertips with the intention of grabbing that quart of soup Matt mentioned, you never thought Matt’s martial arts sessions would be used. 

—

In the dark alley you saw a young mother yanking her purse away from a lanky man, screaming for help. Never mind the throbbing migraine or the fear crawling up your spine. What if he has a gun? You acted and went straight for his knee. He buckled.

Then he hit you. You struck back. He kicked and his heel slammed into your chest. Then a flash of silver. A knife. 

You felt the searing pain but kept moving. He kicked but so did you. Overpowering him with a move Matt showed you, the guy was on the ground, hands raised in surrender. 

“A’right! Christ, you crazy bitch! T-take the bag!” 

It didn't take much to knock him out after he let go of the bag. You groaned, grasping the purse and your side. His wide blue eyes and scruffy blonde hair were burned into your mind now. 

Possibly forever. 

The owner of a nearby bodega rushed into the alleyway with his cell, shouting he already called the cops. The mother was grateful and tried to get you to the nearest ER but you dropped your head to the little boy cowering behind the half-full dumpsters. 

“It’s okay now. Are you both okay?” 

“Yes–” 

“Thank you!” The little boy cried before racing to his mother’s side. 

—

It was worth it. Helping the mother tonight would be something you will never regret. Even if it hurt like a – you hissed when the water pressure hit your gash. You needed to move faster. Strip these clothes off and throw them out before Matt gets home. He’ll be worried sick about you.

You tugged on the fabric again, biting your split lip as the soggy pants finally slid down your waist and stopped at your knees.

Slowly, piece by piece, you moved the wet clothes down until you were naked on the shower tiles. 

“You’re bleeding?” 

The sight of your boyfriend was something you’d never forget. He was stiff, his hand gripping the doorframe until his knuckles were white. His chest heaved in and out rapidly.

When did he come in? Hell, it didn’t matter. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to. Plus, he could smell the bitter iron scent of blood better than a hound. There wasn't a chance of getting out of this without him knowing.

“You’re bleeding. Fuck. What happened?”

“I’m…okay.”

Usually it’s the other way around with Matt broken and bleeding. But not tonight. And he was petrified.

You tried to sit up, but he was already at the shower door. Matt’s hands were at your hips then up to the gash across your side. You winced. 

“Fuck, baby. You’re hurt. I can feel it.” His fingers danced back to the gash, moving softly against the bare skin. Matt was already judging how many stitches he’d have to place. 

He was still in his casual work clothes. Sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His glasses were off, revealing those eyes you fell in love with. 

“M-Matt–” 

“What happened?” He ignored the running water and dove inside the shower. You watched him swivel around your lax frame and plant himself in the reddish stained tile. “Can you stand?”

“I’m sorry.”

Matt frowned. “Don’t be sorry.” He knelt down at your feet, “Can you stand?”

“Um,” you winced, “I’ll try.”

Matt reached up, feeling for the valve, and shut the shower off. Silence settled over the room, coaxing you both into the familiarity of your bodies near one another. He touched your cheek, softly fixing his gaze around your face. You knew he could sense you—feel you. 

You lifted up to a seated position. Matt scooped underneath your armpits and helped you to the bedroom.

Immediately, Matt went to work. He knew your body like the back of his hands and he wasted no time in stitching and wrapping your injuries. When he was satisfied with his work, he slid one of his old t-shirts over your body. 

“Twelve stitches,” he muttered. “So that means bed rest.”

“Didn’t have to ask me twice—ow.” A light laugh nearly tore open Matt’s handiwork.

Like before he left, he plopped down onto the mattress and hovered above you. 

“Your wrist is sprained. Shoulder was badly dislocated, but it should heal in a few weeks. Two…” his fingers and palm ran down to your left side, just under your breast. “Three ribs are fractured.” 

“Mmhm. Anything else, doc?” 

Those hands that worked miracles seconds earlier clenched into tight fists. “I could have lost you,” he whispered your name. “Please. Please, don’t ever do that again.”

You pulled closer to his warmth. Fingers trailing up and down his dry sweatpants he changed into. “It was stupid, I know.” 

“It wasn’t stupid.” He sighed. “I’m glad. I was teaching you how to defend yourself.” He ran those callous fingers up your waist, to the stitched patch of skin. “I just never thought you’d use those lessons to save someone else.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You never have to apologize. I’m not mad, baby.” He brushed your cheek, “I was terrified. I could hear you wheezing and groaning. And the blood? I never wanted you to get hurt.”

He held your face in both hands, skimming his thumbs across your split bottom lip. He recoiled as if he could feel the surging pain coursing through your body.

Matt dipped his head until his forehead rested against yours. “But it could’ve been worse than this.”

“I know.”

He was silent for a moment. As if he was absorbing the situation, Matt kept his calm in the chaos. As always. 

“Tell me.” You moved enough back until your body was inches from Matt. 

“Tell you what?” 

“Tell me what’s going on inside that brain, Matt.” 

He exhaled. “You shouldn’t be out there trying to save people.”

It was the silence in the room that felt the heaviest. He was right to be scared and worried. But you weren’t trying to play hero. This was something you had to do. “It was one night,” you murmured. “I got hurt but I’ll be fine.”

“You weren’t fine when I found you.”

“Matt.”

“No,” he crumpled to the bed, his hands flying into his hair. “I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

“I’m not going anywhere. But you have to trust me when I say I’ll be okay. She needed my help and I know you would have done the same. You taught me that.”

He didn’t want to agree. You could see the anguish across his stricken features. The fact was - neither of you should be hurting yourselves to save complete strangers but you do. It might have been your first - and only - night fighting crime, but when someone needs help, the right thing to do is act.

Matt knew that.

“I don’t want you to stop helping people. I just want you to be safe.”

You moved closer as he folded into the mattress, sweeping you into his embrace. He smelled clean, like cinnamon and fresh linen. The smell of beer still lingers on his breath. But you were safe at home in your loving boyfriend’s arms. And that’s all that mattered.

“Promise me you’ll rest if nothing else. You’re in bad shape and I don’t need you walking around trying to fix things—“

“I promise.” You choked on the tears suddenly spilling down your cheeks, “I promise, Matty.” 

He lifted his head from your shoulder. Without a word, he kissed your temple and you were nothing but a puddle in his arms.

-xx-

-xx-

a/n: yikes i hope someone enjoyed this lil mess lol :0

#Matt Murdock #daredevil #daredevil fanfiction #matt murdock fanfic #fluff #comfort #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x y/n #reader x matt murdock #reader x matt #no use of y/n #murdock x reader #fanfic #tw: blood #tw: injury #fluffy matt murdock #hurt comfort fic #mcu #matt murdock x you #you x matt murdock #but nothing crazy bc this is soft n sweet

[angstyaches]

Hi!I love your fics so much and I saw your request things and thought maybe you could do Donnacha or Henry with an upset stomach that pushes them to the edge? Like they have to go go go all day long and it makes them like super overwhelmed but it ends all fluffy with the other character comforting them with belly rubs or a hot shower or smth?? Only do this if you want ofc!! Just a an idea! Ok bye!!

I was so sure that this hadn't been in my inbox for too long, but then I realised my original draft is named 'henry sickfic june' lmao thank you for the lovely request and for your patience, anon 🖤

CW: anxiety, depression, bad self talk, chronic pain, job interview scenario, death mention, emeto, stomach noises, platonic caretaking, belly rubs.

Word Count: 4,000+

___

Henry woke up feeling far too rested. 

Not a good sign.  

Even before he’d untangled his thoughts from the hazy dream he’d been having – the details were already retreating, but he was certain that Orlando Bloom had been somewhat involved – he knew in his bones that he had slept through his alarms. 

Cold spikes of adrenaline flipped him onto his back, joints protesting, so he could reach for his phone and his glasses. He pressed the glasses to his face and read the time on the screen. The taste of bile crept into his dry mouth. 

“Oh, fuck.”  

He scrubbed a hand over his face. He hadn’t shaved in ages, and his stubble was just short of a full-fledged beard at this rate. He’d intended to shave this morning, before sitting down to do a remote job interview that had been scheduled for one hour and forty-three minutes ago. 

Well. The company may as well have received written confirmation that he was no longer interested.  

Woops.  

He supposed he could call them up now and apologise for running late, and maybe they’d give him another shot –  

Henry’s stomach instantly turned at the idea, and he had to swallow very measuredly to avoid choking on a mouthful of bile. 

He had another interview lined up for later that afternoon, in case interview number one fell flat. Which it technically hadn’t. Now everything depended on the second – only – interview, a thought that had his stomach twisting again as soon as he had it. He almost regretted that he hadn’t managed to sleep through that appointment, too; at least then it would have been out of his hands. 

Henry hauled himself out of bed, grabbed his cane, and headed down the hallway for a quick, lukewarm shower. He thought about his day as he worked the grease out of his hair and the sheet-marks out of his face; his failure to make his first meeting of the day clawed at him, clinging to his skin despite the running water. As much as he’d been dreading the human interaction, he needed work – for the sense of purpose as much as the financial compensation. 

But... mostly the financial compensation. 

Digging through his clothes, he realised that the first thing he’d needed to do that morning was stick a bundle of his laundry into the washer-dryer, so he would have a decent shirt to wear for his interviews. Well, interview singular now. He dragged his laundry basket to the kitchen and filled the machine. His hip and back started aching with the effort of crouching, and head spun with urgency, frustration, and the overall unpleasantness of waking up to instant panic. His hair – now long enough to lick the neckline of his sweater – dripped cold water into his clothes. 

Alright. The dry cycle would be finished a measly fifteen minutes before he’d need a shirt. He’d really needed to wake up with that first alarm, but... it was fine. This was fine. 

While the washing machine hummed to life and water trickled into the drum, Henry gingerly righted himself, fingers working into the tension in his hip. Tears stabbed at the backs of his eyeballs and his jaws sat tense, but there was no sense in letting the pain steal his focus when he had things to be doing. 

He eyed the cupboards and considered dragging something out for a breakfast/lunch hybrid, but he felt his stomach do a queasy little backflip at the thought.  

He slinked back to his room, his heart thumping like he’d run a marathon, and lowered himself into his desk chair. 

___ 

Henry tried tapping around on Reddit to kill the time, but the constraints of both his laundry and his upcoming interview made it impossible for him to get absorbed in anything other than watching the time. His eyes skimmed over words and paragraphs without really taking anything in, and what little information his brain did let in only made him confused and angry. His mind was locked up tight, sealing itself up in fear of forgetting what he was supposed to do later. 

He typed the name of the company he’d be interviewing with later into a search engine. Maybe if he convinced himself he was being productive, his brain would give him a break. 

Light stabbed his eyes and Henry almost physically recoiled when their website appeared on-screen. No wonder they were looking to hire a web designer. The thing looked like it’d been created by a thirteen-year-old in 2004, despite the fact that the About Us portion stated that the company had been established in 2016.  

Henry was ready to click away from the site again – any longer in front of that wall of neon yellow and headers written in Bradley Hand, and he’d trigger a migraine – when a twinge of hunger sent his stomach into a spiraling churn.  

“Oh, great, now you’re hungry,” Henry murmured, gliding a hand over his belly.  

As indignant as he was about having to move, he was a little grateful to be given a task. He pulled himself out of the desk chair with a resigned sigh. After making himself a milky cup of coffee and a sandwich, using the last slice of cheese in the fridge, he hobbled over to the living room couch.  

He thought about turning the TV on, but the remote was out of immediate reach, so that decision was made for him. He ate in silence. 

He took a few bites of his sandwich that didn’t really taste... like anything. He hadn’t had anything to drink, since he’d woken late and in such a panic; maybe it was his dry mouth that was stopping his taste buds from doing their job. He took his coffee mug firmly by the handle and gulped down a few mouthfuls, stopping when the bitterness clung to the back of his throat. Not his best move, he thought with a shudder. He managed a few more bites and, unable to force himself to eat the crusts when his appetite was already so poor, called it there. 

___ 

Henry’s belly roiled. He could feel a panicky sheen of sweat gathering under his clothes. and his voice trembled throughout the meeting, It was so hard to sort through his dizzy thoughts that he struggled to answer the most basic of questions; what were his qualifications, what previous work was he the proudest of, what had he struggled with in the past and how had he overcome that struggle. 

“Thank you for allowing me to get to know you, Mr. Wilde,” the interviewer said now, smiling at him through the screen. “Your qualifications and experience are probably the most outstanding of all of our candidates so far. But I am just curious; what it is that interested you about this particular project?”  

Henry swallowed thickly. Despite this very immediate emergency situation, all he could think about was how Lucy would have passed away from second-hand embarrassment if she ever found out that the extent of his research on this company hadn’t gone beyond a brief skim of their website. 

He mumbled something about potential, even though all he could think about was the potential of him taking a nap directly after this interview ended. To his left, his bed lay beneath the armfuls of clothing that he’d moved out of his webcam’s line of sight, yet it seemed to peer out at him with a warm, tempting gaze. He could call it a day here, and hope she’d hire him based on his credentials alone. 

A warm, sickly belch crawled up his throat. He managed to stifle and muffle it, but his fist jerked towards his lips out of instinct, his cheeks puffing out slightly. The air settled back into his stomach with an acidic slosh, and he eyed his interviewer carefully. 

“Excuse me, sorry,” he mumbled. 

She blinked, regarding him with a hint of distaste, but moved along. “So, if we were to hire you for this project, where would you begin?” 

Henry cleared his throat, removing his fist. He was becoming irritated now; it felt as though she were tricking him into giving her instructions for whatever sap she hired, be it him or somebody else. But sometimes, you just had to jump through hoops to get ahead. Or stay afloat. 

“Well...” He cleared his throat. “I think I would begin by implementing some basic changes to the optics of the company’s home page. It’s the first impression of your company that many customers will get, so I feel it’s important to provide a good visual impact.” 

“Visual.” The interviewer – shame curdled in Henry’s gut as he realised he’d already forgotten her name – raised an eyebrow. “This project doesn’t concern any graphic work.” 

Catastrophe bloomed amidst the existing unease in Henry’s belly. He could let himself off the hook for not knowing the company inside-out, but not knowing the details of the position he was applying for was a whole other level of unpreparedness. The Lucy in his head was slapping her forehead and shaking her head, disowning him. 

“But you’ve intrigued me,” the interviewer said. “What optics are you referring to?” 

If you want my input, hire me, Henry wanted to snap at her. 

“Well, there are some scenarios where websites such as your current one would lend a certain retrospective, nostalgic charm,” Henry said, adjusting his glasses with a shaky hand, “but since I have no reason to believe that this was the intention here, the current website makes your company appear out of touch, and the previous designer seem like an incompetent amateur.” 

With a deep nod of her head, the interviewer looked down at the notepad she’d been clutching since the call had begun. She tucked a nonexistent strand of stray hair behind her ear. “The previous designer was my deceased partner.” 

Henry’s throat froze over. 

“But I thank you for your feedback on her competence, Mr. Wilde, or... lack thereof, as it would seem.” Her eyes widened as she jotted something down. Her sudden lack of eye contact seemed intentional. “That’s all I need from you right now.” 

Henry fidgeted in his desk chair. He’d done such a great job of not fidgeting until that point. An apology danced on the tip of his tongue, but all that came out when he opened his mouth was, “Alright.” 

“Thank you for your time.” The interviewer didn’t even off a ‘we’ll be in touch’ before she ended the video call and vanished from his screen. 

Henry sat back in his chair, flung his glasses across his keyboard, and groaned loudly into his palms. When the groan didn’t seem like enough, he allowed himself something a little closer to a scream – why not? He was home alone, and the downstairs lot had been unoccupied ever since they’d moved in.  

The sound turned over painfully in his throat and made his eyes water. His insides felt like they were shrinking under the weight of failure, uselessness, despair, and hopelessness, and his shoulders crumpled inwards until his head was resting on the edge of his desk. 

It felt like forever before a sob finally tore loose, and with it came the sickly belch he’d swallowed on the video call, only this time, it came with interest. His stomach was churning wildly, feeling full to the brim with acidic mush. 

Jesus Christ, he hadn’t even said sorry for his remark, or thanked the interviewer for taking the time to speak with him –  

Vision blurry, Henry’s hands scrambled to find the metal bin he usually filled with sticky notes and chocolate wrappers and noodle cups. He shifted his chair forward in the search, jamming one of the wheels against his own foot. He yanked the bin into his lap as his stomach muscles imploded.  

No, he thought, tossing the bin back to the floor. Puking in his bin would mean washing it later, and Henry didn’t trust his energy levels to be up for an extra task after all of this.  

He gripped the edge of his desk, flinching to his feet and setting his stationery holders rattling. His hip seized up as he straightened, and if that wasn’t bad enough, a spike of tension pierced his temples. He staggered into the hallway and towards the bathroom, and, mercifully, made it to the toilet bowl before his stomach could really get going. 

The pressure at the base of his oesophagus felt like too much laundry being pushed into a washing machine drum at one time. It took far too long for him to retch up even the tiniest splatter of burning-hot bile; the liquid ejected from his stomach probably amounted to less than the liquid he’d squeezed out of his eyes.  

Still, his body seemed satisfied with that for now. The nausea retreated, leaving only that stubborn pain in his belly and the matching pain left behind by the clenching in his throat. 

He sank to the floor, knuckles pale and jutting as he gripped the toilet seat with both hands. He forced up a burp that was pressing at the base of his ribs, grimacing and desperate for relief, but it only brought that hot, heavy feeling back. His stomach burbled. His hip ached. His goosebump-ridden body shuddered. His heart curdled into a lump of despair that sat at the back of his throat. 

He belched again, and this time, up came his sandwich. 

___ 

“Henry, it’s Flatmate Friday,” Donnacha called through the door, as drily as he might have said that it was raining outside.  

Henry groaned quietly into his pillow. Flatmate Friday generally involved pizza delivery and a nostalgic movie or two, while three people sat crushed together on the couch and the fourth either took up residence on the floor or on a dining chair. 

“Hen, you alive in there?” Donnacha asked. “More importantly, are you decent?” 

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to convince Donnacha not to come into his room, Henry gave in to the inevitable. He tugged the duvet out of the way of his mouth and called out, “Yes.” 

“Look,” Donnacha sighed as he breezed into the room. His eyes lingered on the mess of clothing that lay between the door and the bed, but only for a few seconds. “I know Lucy brought you your slices last week, but I don’t agree with that! I’m sorry if it sounds harsh, or whatever, but the point of Flatmate Fridays is... you know. Hanging out with your flatmates on a Friday. If I can be civil with Payton in the spirit of Flatmate Friday, then you can at least manage the ten paces it takes from here to the couch...” 

There was a brief flash of silence. 

“Jesus, Hen,” Donnacha said softly. Ha shimmied around the clothes mountain. His weight tipped one side of the mattress, creating a slope that pulled Henry’s legs towards the warmth of Donnacha’s back. “What’s going on? Bad day?” 

Henry shrugged. 

“Those... those new meds messing you up?” There was a soft, sympathetic melody to Donnacha’s voice now. He wove his fingertips into the fluffy mess of Henry’s hair.  

The gesture took him so much by surprise that tears sprang to Henry’s eyes, almost as uncontrollably as vomit. 

“Hen,” Donnacha exclaimed in a whisper, as though Henry had done something outrageous by tearing up. “What’s up? This is scary. Please tell me.” 

“I... fucked up so many times today,” Henry said numbly. It all felt so... inconsequential now that he was trying to summarise it for someone who wasn’t there. Someone who didn’t share his headspace. Someone who could smile and shrug and tell him to try again another day.  

Someone who, sweet as he was, didn’t understand.  

“What do you mean?” The sympathetic edge left Donnacha’s voice, leaving only disbelief. Genuine disbelief that Henry could have fucked anything up because Henry was older, Henry was smarter, Henry never left the apartment so when would he even have the opportunity to fuck anything up? 

“I-I woke up feeling like shit, and then I missed one job interview, and I really... really wanted that one.” He hadn’t admitted it to himself earlier, but now it hit him like a rock to the gut, that the interview he’d missed had meant so much more to him than the other one. “A-and then, I spectacularly fucked up the second one –” 

“It can’t have been that bad.” 

“I insulted the interviewer’s dead partner.” 

Donnacha’s lips hovered apart, wordless. Yeah, that’s what I thought, Henry wanted to spit. 

“And then I-I completely shut down for the rest of the day... I’m behind on my current deadlines –”  

“Hey, it’s okay,” Donnacha said. 

He didn’t even realise he’d started heaving with sobs until he felt Donnacha’s hands trying to still his shuddering shoulders. He leaned into his arms, the mattress rolling his legs and his torso closer to Donnacha’s weight as the larger boy edged a little closer. 

“And you’ve just been lying here all by yourself? Why didn’t you call out to any of us when we got home?” 

A small, bitter voice in Henry’s head wanted to snap, Why didn’t any of you think to check on me? but he knew that was unfair. Most days, he was fine, but still didn’t like having his flatmates entering his personal space without an invitation. 

“Why didn’t you tell me... tell us you had interviews this week?” Donnacha wondered. His eyes darted across Henry’s face, as though he thought he had a better chance of finding an answer in his pores and his eyeballs than of getting an answer verbally. “You don’t need to keep all this shit to yourself.” 

Henry shrugged. He honestly wasn’t sure. Part of him had wanted to avoid Career Guidance Lucy and her sporadic seminars on interview skills. Part of him had dreaded the inevitable words of encouragement that Donnacha and Payton would no doubt have offered him, making it feel like an even bigger deal, an even more profound failure, when he didn’t get the jobs. He’d wanted to secure a new gig in secret, and mention it casually to his flatmates after the fact.  

Anything else was just asking for too much attention, building up too many expectations... 

A weak gurgle broke the silence, and Henry instinctively covered his stomach with his palm. Donnacha’s eyes followed the movement. A second later, there was a deeper sound, a hollow grumble that Henry felt tickle at the back of his throat. 

“Have you eaten today?” 

“Yes. I’m not hungry,” he added, already knowing that Donnacha was going to suggest, once again, that he join the others for pizza and Flatmate Friday. It was just unfortunate that his belly decided to rumble for a third time. 

“Somehow, I think you're lying to me.” 

“No - you don’t get it,” Henry sighed. Noting that Donnacha had left the door ajar and that Lucy was just down the hallway in the living area, he lowered his voice and leaned a little closer to Donnacha’s shoulder. “After my second interview... my only interview, in the end,” Henry growled, kicking his past self yet again, “I felt so sick to my stomach that I threw up my lunch.” 

Donnacha looked positively wounded with sympathy. Henry wondered how the hell he managed it.  

“Hen...” Donnacha’s hand pushed gently into Henry’s hair again. 

It was all Henry could do not to whimper and melt into the touch. He settled for letting his eyes flutter shut. He didn’t deserve the tingling pleasure that was flowing from Donnacha’s fingertips into his skull, softening the sparking, frayed edges of his nerves.  

“I’ll bring you your slices, if you want them.” 

Henry shook his head. He might have been trembling with emotion now, rather than nausea, but he still didn’t feel up to putting anything in his stomach.  

“I’ll bring mine, too. We can hang out in here, watch our own movie.”  

“No,” he choked out, pulling away from Donnacha’s hand and resting his head on the pillow again.  

“Just give me one minute.” Donnacha didn’t hesitate another second before getting up from the bed and tackling the obstacle course that was Henry’s bedroom floor one more time. 

Henry buried his face in his pillow, part of him hoping that Donnacha would somehow change his mind while he was out there and not come back. Part of him felt extremely cold and hollow at the thought of him changing his mind and not coming back. 

These feelings were confusing. Henry didn’t like it when feelings were confusing. Maybe that was what prompted him to groan in displeasure when Donnacha returned, carrying a plate laden with at least five slices of pepperoni pizza. The smell made Henry’s stomach growl with hunger that felt a lot like nausea, or... nausea that felt a lot like hunger. 

“You can’t be in here,” Henry muttered as Donnacha leaned over the mess to prop the plate on the edge of Henry’s desk. 

“Ah, ah,” Donnacha sang, darting from the room again. This time, he came back with his laptop, which he propped on Henry’s desk chair – after removing a few pairs of underwear that had been tossed onto it. “What were you saying?” 

Henry sighed and pushed himself up onto his side. That spike of agony still trailed from the outside of his eye socket to the centre of his brain. He couldn’t allow his mind to drift anywhere near the memories of the day without feeling the shame turn over in his belly. But he had to admit, Donnacha’s presence was a lot like a hot cup of tea on a chilly day. 

“It’s Flatmate Friday.” Henry waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the living area. “Flatmate bonding and whatnot.” 

“You’re my flatmate, too,” Donnacha pointed out. He looked away from his laptop and glanced about the room, no doubt analysing the mixture of washed and unwashed laundry littering the floor. “And I have a feeling I’ve... we’ve all been neglecting you a little bit.” 

Henry’s empty, knotted stomach attempted to do a little flip. “You sound like Lu.” 

Looking slightly pleased with himself, Donnacha gave a shrug. “Maybe she’s a good influence on me. Only Fools and Horses?” 

“Sure.” Henry didn’t particularly care for the 80s sitcom, but it always seemed to draw a chuckle or two out of Donnacha.  

Donnacha positioned himself at the lower half of Henry’s bed, one leg crossed under the opposite knee while his foot trailed off the side. It was a long way for him to reach to grab a slice of pizza from the place, but he did so heroically with only a tiny exhalation of strain. Henry took his pillow and pressed it to the back wall, forcing himself to sit upright even though it made his head spin and his bones feel like jelly.  

After five minutes of staring numbly at the laptop screen and listening to Donnacha chew not one but two slices of pizza, the spinning and the weakness started to pass, and the shifting in Henry’s stomach felt less like a natural disaster waiting to happen and more like an empty plea for sustenance. He gingerly reached for a slice of the pizza, and was oddly relieved when Donnacha didn’t make a big deal out of it; he just leaned around Henry and grabbed a third slice for himself. 

A few bites in, and Henry’s mind started to wander. Sleeping in, not feeling motivated enough, insulting the work of a dead person, lazily forgetting social etiquette – 

The spices in the pepperoni and the tanginess of the tomato sauce drained away until the next bite of pizza felt like a mouthful of cardboard. 

Henry chewed painfully  leaning over to place the half-eaten slice back at the edge of the plate. Chewing was an ordeal almost as unpleasant as that afternoon’s bout of dry-heaving, which he had no desire to repeat. 

He brushed the crumbs from his fingers onto the plaid fabric of his pyjamas pants, making a note to change them before bed, and sank back against the pillow. Dough and cheese and sauce sloshed around in his stomach, and he started to lift a hand to rub at it, but a large, protective one made it there first. 

Donnacha didn’t even look away from the screen as he rubbed his hand back and forth. “Doing okay?” 

“I think so,” Henry murmured, flinching as his stomach squelched under Donnacha’s palm and then began to settle into a gentler churning motion. He wondered if Donnacha had any idea the effect he was having. 

And then Donnacha laughed out loud at an on-screen joke that Henry just didn’t get, and Henry had to fight just to keep his eye-rolling subtle. 

#Lucyverse Henry #emeto #emeto sickfic #sickfic #hurt comfort #hurt and comfort #anxiety mention #anxiety induced sickness #depression mention #bad mental health mention #hurt comfort fic #platonic caretaking

[glxyaaandromeda]

Period Comfort | Preferences - Moon Knight

Summary: Moon Boys gave you comfort and help you around when you’re in period.

Pairing/s: Marc Spector x F! Reader / Steven Grant F! Reader / Jake Lockley x F! Reader Word count: 6k+ Warning/s: None, except fluff and a bit of sexual innuendo for Jake’s part (only if you squint) / hurt / comfort

A/N: I have nothing else to say except I love them so much. I don’t have enough knowledge of DID, my only source is from the tv series itself and if I portrayed DID incorrect, please let know. Feedbacks / coffee are very much appreciated! I hope you guys are doing well, have fun reading! xoxo. 

~~~

Marc Spector He knew what month would be next about your period, in fact, he have this period tracker installed on his phone. When you found this out by yourself, you keep teasing him about it that maybe he’s the one who’s having a period. Of course, after that, he didn’t uninstall it, even though there are times that he might be late to know that it’s your “time of the month” he never failed to buy your needs.

Groaning from the sudden pain in your lower abdomen, you decided to get up from the bed and headed straight to the bathroom. Of course, Marc noticed your sudden movements, checking his period tracker on his phone he realized that it was indeed your time of the month.

He then quickly grab your towel, pads, and your comfy clothes and a chair so he can wait patiently to you outside of the bathroom. Little did you know, Khonshu is reminding Marc your boyfriend that he got a mission for him. “Seriously, right now?” “Well? I’ll call Taweret if she needs help.” “No, she needed me so I’ll pass.” The god huff in annoyance and take his leave. “Babe?” “Hm? Oh – sorry, it’s just that-” “Khonshu?” “Yeah, but no worries I’ll stay.”

After Marc gave you the things that you need, he then decided to prepare something for your breakfast. Steven is actually insisting to help him out but Marc is a stubborn one who wants to prepare things for you, in the end, he , let Steven do the work out of sheer panic (just a bit, don’t worry).

However you heard the ruckus in the kitchen, but the boys are quick who’s to front. “Steven?” “No - I mean, he just went back to our headspace.” You sit in the dining area while he gives you oatmeal, there a mixed nuts on top with few a strawberries and you smiled at his actions. Mumbling ‘thank you, babe’ you started eating breakfast.

We can all agree that deep inside Marc Spector is a big softie deep inside, making sure you got what you needed, eat at least two or three meals if you’re not feeling well because of the cramps he will most likely to offer some painkillers, and a heating pad.

Since he’s not good with affirmations, instead of letting Steven front he asks what words he has to avoid while on your period, to help you out mentally and emotionally of course.

Steven Grant You suddenly stirred awake, not because of Steven whose currently cuddling you but the sudden sharp pain from your lower abdomen. ‘Time of the month huh’ You thought to yourself, moving Steven’s arms from your waist trying not to wake him up you get out of bed slowly.

Immediately check the bedsheet if there’s bloodstain and thankfully there’s none. There were also visible stains in your undergarments but nothing too much to worry about, so you take a shower and put on some comfortable clothes.

However as you came out of the bathroom, you found Steven sitting on the edge of the bed. “You’re early, love?” He yawns while he stands up and walks over in your direction. “You look pale… What happened?” cupping your cheeks gently with his large hands, he put one hand to your forehead to check if by chance you have a fever you chuckle at his actions but seconds later your expression went into a painful one “I’m on my period…” You hissed in pain, you don’t remember being this awful on your first day, and of course, Steven is worried.

 Since Steven never had a woman before he’s asking Marc for hygienic products that you needed, in a way that you won’t be annoyed.

He makes sure that there are enough snacks for you in the pantry, or if you ran out he will storm out and buy whatever you need.

He’s so attentive by the way, trying to remember all the foods that you want during your period, he makes sure that there are enough snacks for you in the cupboard or anywhere near you when you’re resting.

Whenever Steven is at work, he always tries his best to call you whenever he’s on break asking how are you holding up with your period, or what dinner and desserts you want so he can buy you when he comes home.

Jake Lockley The pain in your lower stomach wakens from your slumber, sadly Jake wasn’t around for you to snuggle over or help to ease your pain apparently he’s on a mission with Khonshu. You’re not sure when will Jake go home and as much as you want to stay in bed, curl and probably cry from the pain that you’re having, you decided to finally get up and clean yourself up.

You noticed that there were a small stain on the bedsheet so you decided to run in to the washing machine as you get yourself cleaned up. Usually, when Jake wasn’t around, you use his shampoo and soap, at least even from his scent you feel safe that he’s with you.

While having a relaxing shower, you didn’t notice that Jake finally comes home. His first instinct was to find and greet you with a good morning kiss but – “Princesa? I’m home!” When he found you coming out from the bathroom he dropped his duffle bag and immediately runs towards at you. He chuckle when he smelled you – exactly as him. “What’s the occasion princesa?” You hissed in sudden pain from your lower abdomen. “I’m not in the mood, okay?” You rolled your eyes, clearly irritated – looking back at his face it’s clearly that he got hurt from your remarks, a pang of guilt rush through you “I – look, I’m sorry papi - .” “Shh… It’s fine, you’re in your period. Do you want anything princesa?” Instead of answering Jake’s question, you embrace him.

Like Steven, he’s also cluless what’s going on with you and of course Marc with his past relationship with Layla he explained it carefully. He took note of what hygienic products that you often used when you’re in period.

Since he just came home from his mission, he’ll try his best to give everything you need. Especially in terms of food, whenever Jake got a chance he would cook anything that you want to eat and he will.

If he caught you on your phone trying to order something he would go full mode chef – “Princesa what did I told you? You could’ve just ask!” “I don’t want to bother you papi, plus you should be resting too -” “Princesa you are never a bother” He looks at you lovingly while he kissed your forehead “Just ask away what you need okay?”

There are some instances that he had to leave again because of his mission so he make sure that you have enough of snacks that you need in a pantry, just like Marc and Steven he tries his best to make phone calls whenever he’s away making sure that you’re doing okay.

#moon knight #moon knight fluff #moon knight fic #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #oscar isaac #Hurt comfort fic #mcu moon knight #headcanon #my fiction #please don't steal #feel free to reblog #okay? love you guys #writers of tumblr #mk system #x reader

[ineffableigh]

Y'all I cannot describe to you in words how good this fic is

It's a 'What if Aziraphale was removed from the Book of Life' scenario and it's fucking INCREDIBLE. I can't wait to read the rest when it's done.

Shoutout to @riathedreamer for some amazing work that absorbed me for the entire day. I couldn't stop reading.

P.S. I love all the historical info included with the interludes, I'm over here learning shit mid binge x'D

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #fanfiction #book of life #alternate universe #hurt comfort fic #i guess? #soon lol

[ambeauty]

Midnight to Morning

Summary: Her supernova light fills the dark night sky and he can’t look away. The tears burn at his ducts. The hard lump in his throat threatened to constrict his breathing. The swelling in his chest feels like a 300 pound weight. The heat flaring under his skin was ready to burn him alive, at least he’d be with her. Hi Daddy.  He blinks rapidly. Still his gaze fixed on the sky as the colors of blue, purple, red, orange surge in the night. Daddy, pick me up. Pure energy. Pure heat. Pure like her. Maybe we can figure it out together. They were supposed to do this together. No one manages alone. All of it. The rest of their lives. That wasn’t supposed to be tonight. He sank to his knees. He thinks he hears his name being called. The tears slide down his mask and caress his cheeks. She’s not— No. no. no. 

Link in the Title 🤭

Tags: @escapism-through-imagination @jonskory @lyanaalvarado @not-so-mundane-after-all @meerakory @selinascatnip @graysonfamfan2021 @koryvndr @meetmeunderthestarrynight

#dickkory fic #my fics #deserve you fic #post s4 fic #this was unexpected but it called to me #dick grayson #kory anders #hurt comfort fic #angsty with a little thirst on the side because that's how I like it #gifs are munz #Dickkory

[notfromcold]

A lot of good, compelling stories can be told about coercion. Sometimes those are the stories I want to read but they are not the stories I end up telling for whatever reason.

One of my favorite parts of writing hurt/comfort is making the comfort a love letter to consent. Hurt characters get told what's going on and asked for consent before being touched and they get listened to. And, sure, sometimes no one is happy with the options but whatever option is chosen is freely chosen.

I love writing characters asking to receive care. I love writing characters asking permission to give it.

#whump tag #consent and lackthereof #hurt comfort fic #medical cw #injury cw #nonconsensual touching #implied #medical trauma cw

[tobi-does-art]

This is a fanfiction I wrote based on an AU I came up with.

It’s a Hurt/Comfort fic between a little Bojack and a Universe where Beatrice is a good mom.

I hope y’all enjoy it, I’m updating every Monday-Thursday !

#bojack netflix #bojack horseman #beatrice horseman #butterscotch #princess carolyn #diane nguyen #mr. peanutbutter #todd chavez #fanfic #fanfiction #alternate universe #hurt comfort fic #my art #fanart #traditional art #bojackthoughts

[my-gf-is-kazuichi-soda]

Sort of a oneshot. What if older Kazuichi could comfort younger Kazuichi?

Kazuichi thought for sure that if she could talk to her younger self, she would criticize how dumb she used to look, how mean she used to be, how cringy, creepy, gross, stupid ...all the things people had told her over the years. All the things she spent years getting away from. But when she saw this teenager, this lost, scared child, she suddenly couldn't say any of that. Suddenly, she wasn't sure if she even felt that way about her old self anymore.

Because in that moment she realized that this is what Zoey saw all those years ago. This is who Zoey saw, and fell in love with. Zoey loved this girl, Kazuichi couldn't be mean to her!

"Hey, listen, these are not the best years of your life, not even close! It's gonna get SO much better than this, believe me! Just...hang in there, okay? You got this!"

"You'll meet someone who changes your life and somehow sees the best in you, and that's gonna get you to be a better person for her... and....and for yourself too... "

"Oh... oh man, I can't believe I used to hate myself when I was you, but looking at me like this.... you know, you are great right now! The way you are right now! I know you don't see it, but she will. And you'll be able to turn into what she saw! You're actually closer than you think right now! But... even before she loves you... you need to love yourself right now too, okay?! Please do that! You'll be okay! Everything is gonna be okay!"

#kazuichi soda #kazuichi souda #danganronpa 2 #fanfiction #sdr2 #trans girl kazuichi soda #my art #older kaz talking to younger kaz #hurt comfort fic #can you tell I cried writing this?

[myownpainintheass]

Hi

I'll just leave this here

Tomorrow I'll post it in my actual fic account

But till then, here's the ao3 link :)

I'm tired, bye

#Lockwood and co #Lucy carlyle x reader #Hurt comfort fic #Angst #Multichapter #Thank u 4 coming to my ted talk

[pinemai]

After the River

- A Suspicious River (2000) oneshot.

Millie's POV of the ending, with emphasis on hurt/comfort. AO3.

#suspicious river #suspicious river 2000 #film #molly parker #leila murray #lynne stopkewich #movie #fanfic #oneshot #fanfiction #whump #hurt comfort fic #hurt comfort fanfiction #hurt comfort #closure #hurt/comfort #hurt comfort trope #pinemai #ao3 fic #writers of ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 #ao3 author #ao3 fanfic #ao3 update #patriarchy #patriarchal society #tw sa

[onceuponaweirdo]

I just did something. I wrote a soulmate AU. A Kalex soulmate AU.

#kalex #kara danvers #supergirl #cw supergirl #alex danvers #romantic kalex #melissa benoist #chyler leigh #sentinel #soulmate au #hurt comfort fic

[angstyaches]

here is a Shayne and Charlie “first line” - asking on anon because for some reason my requests don’t always go through when I use my account, but this is @lisupanddown

“Later, Shayne had to admit that he hadn’t seen this coming, although with as uptight as Charlie had been lately, he probably should have. “ For Charlie getting sick because of stress over some particular (but not huge) issue that he’d been repressing. Only if you want and feel inspired, of course.

Hi, Lis! Thanks so much for the request 🖤 Time for some more Waters family drama!

Word Count: 855

CW: anxiety, emeto, mention of toxic family members.

AO3

___

Later, Shayne had to admit that he hadn’t seen this coming, although with as uptight as Charlie had been lately, he probably should have. Maybe this could have all been dealt with in good time, and not at the last minute.

Charlie’s breath was ragged as he tugged at the suit jacket that he had been wearing for less than two minutes. The seams pulled tight across his shoulders with every retch that had him doubling over.

“Here – I’ve got it.” Shayne reached for the Charlie’s shoulders. Charlie straightened his back and went slack, breathing deeply and shutting his eyes until Shayne got the jacket off. Now he was standing in his shirtsleeves, which Shayne now realised was far from ideal.

But before Shayne could suggest taking the shirt off too, Charlie clutched the back of the toilet and retched another stream of vomit into the bowl.

Shayne went to hang the suit jacket on one of the hangers that didn’t come free of the wardrobe railing. His hands shook, making the task a more prolonged one than it should have been, especially since he could hear Charlie continuing to be sick in the bathroom.

When Shayne got back, Charlie had a hand pressed to his stomach, and Shayne’s gut pulsed with sympathy before he realised that Charlie was holding his tie in place.

Shayne moved a little closer and slipped his hand around Charlie’s waist. Charlie had spent so long getting himself ready, and looked so polished and fancy, that Shayne almost felt as though he shouldn’t touch him and risk wrecking anything.

“Thank you,” Charlie whispered. He leaned forward with his hands on his knees, now that he didn’t have to worry about the tie. He let out a tight, quiet belch, and a groan. “Shit. Are we going to be late?”

“No,” Shayne said, even though he had no idea of the exact time. At least nobody was blowing up Charlie’s phone to say they were waiting in the lobby – yet. He tugged Charlie’s tie up over his shoulder, but still kept one hand on Charlie’s stomach. “Just… take your time. You're fine.”

“I don’t want to go,” Charlie groaned. His body shuddered with a dry retch.

He had said the exact same thing the night before, when they’d been casually discussing how many of Charlie’s unbearable relatives Jonathan had invited to Belle's christening. Shayne had thought that Charlie had just been venting; he hadn’t realised that his anxiety had been this bad.

Shayne looked at the glossy blue and navy pattern on Charlie's tie, held over Charlie's shoulder. Charlie had struggled with it earlier that morning, and had cursed at himself in the mirror and worked himself into a Charlie Two-level rage.

Shayne had kissed him and calmed him down and offered to tie it for him, which Charlie had listlessly agreed to. Shayne had been willing to accept that Charlie would be in a better mood after some breakfast and coffee.

Should have seen it. Shayne's chest felt tight, but he fought the weight of the guilt and tried to focus on what he could do. He knew Charlie wasn’t serious about not going; Shayne knew he couldn’t suggest skipping the church, not without suggesting that Charlie decline being Belle’s godfather. And that would break Charlie’s heart.

“Ugh.” Charlie stood and put his hand on Shayne’s, pressing them both into his tummy. He let out a strangled groan.

“Are you gonna be okay?”

Charlie sighed. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just wish my stomach would stop doing backflips.”

Shayne let go of Charlie's tie and wrapped Charlie in a hug. Even after being sick, Charlie smelled strongly of aftershave and hair gel.

“Careful – I don’t know how clean my shirt is anymore,” Charlie murmured sadly.

“You’re fine.”

“Mmmm.” Charlie pressed his forehead to Shayne’s shoulder. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I never used to be this stressed about seeing them.”

“I’ll be there, too.”

“I know,” Charlie groaned, as though that weren’t a reassurance, but a complaint. He gestured towards the bed. “If you want to just stay here and avoid dealing with all of them, I’ll understand.”

“Did you throw up your last brain cell? I’m not doing that.”

Charlie nodded. “Just make sure you sit with my mum in the church, okay?”

“’Course,” Shayne said, not only because Charlie had already told him to do so several times. He’d seen how uncomfortable Ingrid got at big Waters family gatherings, and was starting to allow himself to think she appreciated his company.

A buzzing rang out through the room; Charlie had left his phone sitting in front of the TV.

Charlie sniffled as he pulled back from the hug. “Shit.”

“You,” Shayne said, planting his hands on Charlie’s shoulders, “keep getting ready. But take your time.”

Charlie’s gaze wandered towards his phone. “But Jon’s gonna fucking yell at me –”

“I’ll answer it.” Shayne drew a breath. “Let him yell at me.”

“Aw.” A smile cracked through Charlie’s queasy expression. He smoothed down his tie against his belly as Shayne walked away from him. “That’s weirdly romantic.”

#StW Charlie #StW Shayne #emeto #hurt comfort #emeto fic #hurt comfort fic #drabbles #anxiety mention #anxiety fic

[glorious-spoon]

i know we all laugh (mostly fondly) about the paper-thin plots in porn that only exist to make the sex happen, but i was reading some old stargate fic over the weekend, and i really think we're sleeping on the paper-thin hurt/comfort plot that only exists to force the characters to FEEL THINGS.

like, is this scenario realistic? no. does it make any rational sense? no. does it provide a built-in excuse for a character to collapse, bloody and disoriented, into the arms of his beloved/friend/partner? obviously, that's the whole point of this exercise.

i love it. it's my favorite thing in the world.

#writing #hurt/comfort #much like smut it operates on the assumption that we all know what we're here for #obviously you CAN write a fully coherent plot with hurt/comfort elements just like you can write one with smutty elements #and those are lovely too #but there's something so charming about fics that are like #'look we all know what you came here for. i don't have to explain myself.'

[queers-gambit]

Curiosity Killed The Cat

prompt: after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 5.1k+

note: author wants things out of her drafts! also don't take this fic too seriously, it's not much at all - just me writing for the fuck of it until i'm ready to focus on my bigger projects.

warnings: modern AU, Mafia AU, obvious cursing, small hurt and comfort, brief depiction of physical violence and self-destruction in the form of: loss of appetite, lack of sleep, other symptoms of depression. NOT edited! author is ashamed because she knows she can give you something better but oh well.

browse the Clingy Baby collection masterlist here

Your feet planted, jarring you to a halt the moment you heard your name in a conversation you were not apart of.

You heard the hammering of your heart, echoing beats of your blood pumping with harrowing desperation. Hands turned cold and clammy, sweat breaking out on your brow and then freezing, feeling as if your throat had swollen to a new restriction and you were anchored in you in place.

Rooted.

But for now, all you could identify was the paralyzing anxiety that anchored you to your spot and made your heartbeat thunder in your ears. You stood outside the lounge, unable to comprehend relevant thought; still listening to low, docile tones continue their conversation, but you couldn't hear real words.

You were stunned. Panicked, confused, hurt - so very hurt. That seemed to register, too; you were really, really hurt.

This was perhaps why curiosity killed the cat.

You reprimanded yourself for listening in - transporting back to childhood during all the times your parents would scold you for eavesdropping. You knew it was wrong, you knew this was a private conversation meant to be shared between trusting confidants, but you couldn't help it - you heard your name and stopped. It was natural, right? To feel curious regarding a conversation seemingly about you that you, yourself, was not apart of?

Curiosity, indeed.

Blinking rapidly, you remembered the only other time you felt such mounting, pressurized fear, and while it might be dramatic, the only other time you could remember this level of anxiety was from about two months ago...

"Yes, baby, I got the bacon."

"And the jalapeños?"

"Uh-huh, the biggest they had."

"Cream cheese?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" You laughed into the phone. "I'm a professional housewife by now, you can relax. I got all you needed for your fancy little dinner experiment."

Bucky laughed down the phone, "Oh, please, like I didn't see you salivating when we watched the segment on Top Chef."

"Hush," you laughed, too. "I'm leaving the store now," you told him, pushing out of the heavy glass doors, "and should be home in, like, 10 minutes?"

"Lemme pick you up."

"I have legs to walk with, so, no thank you."

He sighed, "Well, I'll open the wine to let it breathe. Red's still good?"

"Let's do a white tonight, please."

"Good deal," he mused softly. "Hey, I was thinking earlier - "

"Hang on," you pleaded.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing. There's just a van slowing down, I don't want to get hit," you chuckled some, looking up and down the street before crossing. "Sorry, so, what were you thinking?"

"We haven't been to Paris in months."

You smirked, "I'm sure our plants in the apartment are dead by now."

Bucky laughed, "Oh, I am, too. But, look, how 'bout it, Peach? You, me, all the croissants we can consume this weekend. I'll take Monday and Tuesday off, we can leave tomorrow night."

"Oh, that sounds nice," you moaned. "Paris in the spring? Baby, that's so dreamy!"

"So, is that a yes?"

"It's a hell yes," you grinned. "Do you know the weather?"

"Supposed to be nice and sunny, not too warm or cold. Figured this would be ideal," he chuckled. "But does the weather matter if we're in bed the whole time?"

"No, we're not wasting our time!" You laughed. "We're gonna go do shit, okay? Stereotypical tourist-couple shit."

"I'll bring the camera."

"And I was hoping we could have dinner at that little place we love?"

"I wouldn't take you anywhere else," he mused.

"I think it's - FUCK!" Bucky froze when he heard the screeching of tires; a van coming up to a skidding halt, flurry of voices all yelling but he heard yours clearly. "No, no, no, hey, hey, what the hell's happening? Hey! What's this - hey, hey! Don't touch me! Ow, shit! No! Hey! Fuck's sake - oh, my God! Ow! Hey!"

"Baby!? Peach! Hey! The fuck's going on!?"

There was a thudding over the phone, and Bucky listened to more struggling - more fidgeting and fighting - and then the slamming of a car door. Still calling your name, Bucky heard a scrape over the line before a different voice answered your phone, "James Barnes. On behalf of HYDRA, you're overdue on your payment and we warned you there would be consequences. Deliver the full amount of 17 million - "

"It's 15," he growled.

"Two million more for the inconvenience of stalking your woman."

"If you even so much as touch her, I swear to God - "

"17 million at midnight, at the pier, or every minute you're late, she'll receive the brunt end of our frustration."

"Don't hurt her - "

"Midnight, Mr. Barnes, at the pier - you know where. Don't be late, she looks like she won't last long."

The line went dead after he heard your screech of pain, confusion, and fear. The moment the line cut, he dropped his phone and slowly lowered himself to sit on the kitchen floor, shock coloring his system. It wasn't that he didn't have the money, quite the opposite - but he and his men had a plan in motion to take out HYDRA, their org's competition, and this was totally against all they anticipated. After a minute to sit in his own worry, Bucky jumped to his feet, grabbed his phone, keys, wallet, and two handguns; holstering them both before shrugging his suit jacket on.

He made every phone call he could, gathering the men he trusted most to (one of) his warehouse(s).

For hours, you were strung up by your wrists in a joint-pulling position while the Brooklyn Mafia formulated a plan of attack. It was the most pain you've ever known, but then the abuse started and you were blinded by this new pain. You had bruises most places, cuts that wept blood; scars that would never heal, wounds that wouldn't ever close. You were delirious, miserable, confused, just dazed and confused; praying to a God who didn't listen.

"Oh, look at that," your captor mocked, holding a thick-bladed hunting knife in hand, "it's one minute til midnight, and I don't see your loverboy anywhere."

You sniffled, unable to respond.

He stared out the lone window, tisking and narrating, "Nope, I see not a soul - and with how protective he is over you, you'd think he'd want to ensure your safety. Not leave it to chance, huh?"

You whimpered as the clock struck midnight, your heart hammering in heavy-hung worry. You had tears in your eyes, heart nearly beating out of your chest, feeling incredibly nauseous. The desire to scream never lessened, just fearing what was to come; the men in the room making you fear for the state of your life, their knuckles cracking. You only begged, "Please. Don't."

The main captor laughed, "You can do better than that! C'mon, give me the satisfaction of tellin' ol' James you begged for mercy - but it wasn't enough to sway me. I'll lie, for sure, and say it happened but it will be so much sweeter if you actually do it."

"Please," you shook your head, avoiding eye contact. "Just don't do this, please."

"Oh, honey," he mocked, "it's not our fault he's late. Lads! Have at her, but leave her face for now - she's still real pretty."

You listened as he gave commands in Russian, understanding after the years at Bucky's side; whimpering when the first blow landed to your gut and knocked the wind out of you. The minutes drug by and you felt your resolve crumbling, heart still hammering to a never-before-felt speed that made it feel as if it were jumping out of your very body at every single pulse point. You struggled in your restraints, but it was futile by how tight you were bound; unable to protect yourself.

At 12:03 am, the doors blew open in a resounding blast; concrete crumbling and sprinkling the floor. You cried out as the smoke choked you, coughing through the haze; only barely able to make out certain figures to know Bucky had brought his best men. However, despite the sting to your eyes from the swirling dust and smoke, you saw a lone man stalk through the blasted wall, through the fray, and straight up to you.

"Bu-Bucky!" You choked in relief as he reached to untie your feet first. You dangled for only a moment as his metal prosthetic ripped off whatever held your wrists to the torture contraption. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Bucky, holy shit, baby, please, please, please," you rambled as he freed you and instantly caught you on his broad shoulders.

"I got you, Peach, I'm here, I've got you," he promised in your ear, hoisting your legs around his waist so they latched and then wrapping his arms around you securely. "Don't let go and don't look up, okay? Hear me, Peach?"

You nodded into his neck, only able to cry.

Bucky jolted and jerked slightly as he moved through the fight again, but not a minute later, you were stepping outside into the sobering, brisk spring air. This was the moment you understood how dangerous and fleeting life with Bucky could be, making a promise to yourself that if he says take the car, you'll take the fucking car.

And now, here you were, outside the high-rise apartment's lounge (which was just a converted bedroom), listening to your boyfriend complain about you some 2 months after the whole fiasco. HYDRA had been all but wiped out, and in the weeks since, Bucky's men had gone on smaller missions to eradicate the HYDRA members they heard rumor of being local. Yet you didn't feel safe, yet.

You didn't feel safe if you weren't around Bucky.

Everything made you jump: the beep of the done-dryer, that spritz of the automatic fragrance mister in the bathroom, the "duh-dunnn" of a loaded-up Netflix. Keys jingling, car horns, the barking of the dog in the apartment a floor below you... Everything.

Being around Bucky was just like holding a safety blanket. He would always protect you, and for about a week after your rescue, he laid in bed and around the home with you; being lazy; time off work to simply hold you and assure you were safe. Safe in his arms. Safe in his embrace, his presence.

So now... To hear this... You were devastated.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, it just sort of happened. It was still earlier in the morning, but Bucky hadn't been in bed beside you and based on the feel of the sheets, his body hadn't been there in a while. So, you made some coffee and then ventured around the home in search of your lover; coming upon the lounge and hearing voices from within.

You knew it was common for Steve Rogers and / or Sam Wilson to stay late or visit early, so, you weren't shocked by that, but did falter in announcing yourself when you heard Sam ask how you were doing since the kidnapping. He used your name specifically, making Bucky sigh, and for your curiosity to peak.

"She's different, man."

"How so?" Sam wondered.

"She doesn't like being without me now," he chuckled without humor. "I'm serious, she won't go to the gym until I do, waits to have meals together, won't leave the house if I'm out, and," he scoffed to himself, "you can forget going to the grocery store or anything - she's even stopped going to work - "

"You told her to stop working, like, two years ago when y'all first moved-in together," Sam deadpanned.

"I know," Bucky shrugged, "but it feels tenfold now that she's so reclusive."

"It's normal," Steve sighed gently.

"Yeah? Is it normal that I can't even go take a shit without promising her I'll be right back?" Bucky snapped in exasperation. "It's that bad, she's that fucking clingy, man. I go in the kitchen to make dinner, she's in there 30 seconds later to 'help' me. I take a shower, she finds a reason to linger in the bedroom, but that was better than before, when she wouldn't even shower by herself. It's just a lot, she's everywhere I look. I'm starting to find new reasons not to come home, man, she's always fucking here - and when I walk in the door, she's on me. I need to fucking breathe, but I can't tell her to stop, she'll get her feelings hurt and then I'm the bad guy."

"Man," Steve laughed, "you can't be the bad guy if you go to her in a calm and collected manner, but it's only been two months. She's still recovering."

"Exactly why if I say anything, no matter how calm and collected, I'm the bad guy. I get she's hurting and tryna recover, but Goddamn, does she have to be in every room I'm in? Do everything with me? How do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off? Let me breathe?"

Sam laughed, "You don't! You just said it - she's traumatized! Cut the girl some slack, she's got a lot to fuckin' deal with!"

"I'm not negating from that fact," Bucky argued, "I'm just trying to say, the way she's clinging onto me like she can't function without me is just grating at my nerves. I just need to breathe and recharge, but I can't tell her that - fuck's sake."

"Buck," Steve smirked, "you're worried Peach isn't gonna listen, but that's her literal superpower. Just communicate, she can't read your mind, but you need to remember how traumatic all of that was for her to experience - she's scarred from that kidnapping, man. So, sure, you need to recharge, but she needs the support."

"Is it wrong to ask for a day here and there to do that? To recharge?" Bucky asked quietly.

"If you communicate, it's perfectly reasonable to ask for," Sam assured softly. "And whatever you do, don't tell her you think she's clingy. Chicks hate that, that word is, just, like, taboo or something. Real heavy, negative connotations."

"But she is," Bucky growled quietly, "'s like she's afraid to let go 'cause I'll disappear or something."

"Oh, noooo," Sam mocked, "I'm Bucky and my girlfriend loves me too much and trusts me too much and actually feels safe and dependent on me too much - ohhh noooo!"

There was a thump, Sam's cried, "Ow!", and Bucky telling him to shut up. You slowly backed away from the door, trying to settle your breathing as you made your escape down the hall. When back in the kitchen, you whimpered and let the first tears fall... The first of many you shed in the hour it took you to prepare breakfast for everyone; doing your best to eat as you cooked so you didn't have to linger around the men. You took Bucky's words to heart, and maybe you were too sensitive, maybe you should venture outside again.

So, when the lads came out, you set the table without making eye contact with any of them. "Here," you directed, setting the pancakes down, "I made breakfast, come eat, it's still hot."

"Wow," Sam smiled brightly, "thanks, Peach!"

You hummed, still avoiding their eyes as you just set the abundance of food to the table. "You... Cooked without me?" Bucky asked you with skepticism.

"Mhm," you hummed, setting the coffee pot down to a hot pad, "and I'm going out shopping with Nat, so, eat up, lads, I'll do the dishes when I get home. Love you, boys, bye," you waved them off, snatching your keys and then moving to the door to stuff your feet into your sneakers.

"Woah, woah, woah," Bucky left the table, approaching you urgently, "hey, what do you mean? You're goin' out?"

"Yep, figured I've stayed in too long, might as well get out and remember life doesn't stop just 'cause I'm sad."

"Peach - "

"I'll see you when I get home, Buck, okay?" You mumbled, slinging your purse on your shoulder.

"Well, here, here, hey, wait, hang on," he pulled his wallet out, handing you over a wad of big bills. "Spend it all, okay? Have fun, call or text if you need me, yeah?"

"Sure."

Bucky leaned in to kiss you but you just opened the door, ready to leave. He frowned, watching you, barely managing to call a quick, "Love you!"

You didn't return the sentiment, feeling hallow and all too silly to return the affection. In your purse was your laptop, headphones, chargers, and whatever else, so, instead of meeting your friend, Natasha - being just a ruse to avoid Bucky - you started small and just went to the local café. You used to frequent it back in the day, but times were changed, and yet, they were all the happier to serve you the same as before. Getting cozy in the corner, you set up camp and ordered your favorite coffee basically every other hour - letting the day waste away as you caught up on work emails.

Might've wasted time on Instagram and Facebook and Pinterest. Got shopping done on Amazon. Browsed through Target's online selection. Checked out the sale items at Kate Spade. Perused Fenty Lingerie because you could.

Before you knew it, a message was coming in over your MacBook from Bucky, asking where you were - why had you turned your location off?

You packed up and with a to-go cup, made the short trek back home. When you got back, Bucky was pacing in the living room; staring at his phone and typing, then deleting, retyping, groaning, glancing up, typing again, then doing a double take. "Where've you been, Peach? Huh!?" Bucky demanded. "You're late!"

"Out with Nat," you eased.

He huffed through his nose, nodding slowly, "You have a nice time?"

"It was okay," you answered. "I'm gonna go to bed after I shower."

His brows furrowed, "I have a meeting tonight."

"I know."

"O...kay?" He let you go, wanting to ask why you didn't ask him to join like you had so often in the past few weeks.

And it didn't stop there, in fact, it got worse. When Bucky got home from his meeting, he was actually shocked to see you nestled in the bed; teetering on the edge of the shared space while snuggling a weighted body pillow.

When he tried to give you a snuggle, you stirred to life and pushed him back, muttering, "Too hot."

The following morning, he was relatively surprised to see you up and about before him; barely getting a word in before you were slipping out the door to go on a morning jog. He was confused by how all of a sudden, where you were once everywhere he looked, now, you were disappeared and distant and gone. You worked out alone, cooked alone - but always left him a plate, but long gone were the cute little sticky notes you left for him. You once haunted the apartment by never wanting to leave, and now, ghosted in and out of it on a daily basis.

You never bothered to go far from home. You liked hanging at the coffee shop and luckily, your job let you work from home most days, and the rare time you were due back in the office, it was only about a 20 minute walk. You got better at lying, couldn't even remember the last time you and Bucky had sex, and even now, the last time you had a meal together. You didn't text him about your day; where you once might've told him about an adorable dog you saw on the street, now, you only ever texted him if he asked a direct question.

Food lost appeal, your appetite vanished.

Sleep evaded you, plaguing you with nightmares when you did rest.

Interest dulled, passions were snuffed, and only fearful, confused anger remained. It showed in the way weight seemed to shift around your body, thinning; the lack of sleep creating dark rings and bags under your bloodshot eyes.

After two weeks of this, Bucky grew irritated and short with everyone around him. It reflected in his work, the way he spoke to everyone; even Steve and Sam getting the brunt end of his anger. Without you to assure him, Bucky was off his rocker; losing his cool; his patience stretched far too thin. So much so, the two mates approached an outside associate, Natasha Romanoff, after a particularly snappy meeting to plead for her to talk to Bucky.

"James," Nat greeted as she strode into his office without knocking.

"I know you're my oldest friend, but you don't have that privilege yet," he mused, never looking up.

"What?"

"Not knocking. What is it, Nat?"

"Just came to check on you, you know, like friends do."

"Hm," he chuckled without humor, "and what did Peach say to you?"

"About...?"

"Me."

"Nothing, I haven't gotten ahold of her for weeks."

Bucky paused, slowly lifting his head in confusion; brows furrowed and mouth set in a firm, straight line. "What?" He grit.

"Huh?" Nat wondered.

"She's been telling me that she's hanging out with you for the past two weeks," he revealed.

"Nope, not since the incident with HYDRA."

Bucky's (right) flesh hand crushed the pen in his grip, taking a long breath. "All right," he sighed, "so, why come today?"

"What's really going on, Buck?" She worried softly. "Is it really whatever's going on with Peach? You're this pissed off? What'd she even do?"

"She just..." He cut himself off with a long sigh. "It's nothing."

"Bucky," Nat gave a pointed look.

"She's just avoiding me," he muttered. "It's like she's barely home, almost like a ghost."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, and no," Bucky snipped, rolling his neck out. "I'm just worried about her now, she's never not communicated before."

"Something's bothering her," Nat shrugged. "She probably needs you right now, Buck."

"I can't do it all," he whispered. "I can't be who she wants and run this organization at the same time."

"She doesn't need that, she just needs you to be her partner," Natasha spoke softly. "She needs to feel loved and supported, and surely, she maybe felt weird about whatever you were projecting. Instead of taking it out on your men," she smirked, "why don't you just talk to her? 'Cause I hear you're bein' a more-than-usual asshole lately. You need to ease up or get laid, 'cause you're taking it out on good, loyal men, and that's entirely unfair."

"They can take it."

"Sure, but they shouldn't have to," Nat rolled her eyes. "Look, since you won't answer me, I'm assuming the sour mood is in regard to whatever relationship issues you have right now?"

"Sure," he tossed the pen away, opened a skinny drawer to his right and select an identical one.

"Bucky," she growled.

He sighed, "She's lying to me, Nat. Saying she's with you when she's not... Is this an affair? She's gone all the time now."

"No way," Nat laughed. "Baby girl doesn't have the energy to entertain anyone - let alone two men. You're just the exception."

"Why lie, then?"

"Maybe she didn't want you questioning her..."

"No shit."

"Well, did you get into a fight?"

"No."

"Any reason she doesn't want to be home?"

He shook his head with a sigh, "Not that I know of."

"You had to do something."

"Honest, I haven't. She was being all clingy, but then one day, a switch flipped."

Nat frowned, "You think... Your girlfriend is being clingy... Because she was kidnapped and beaten up... Because of your fucking job... And is probably scared...out of...her mind...? I get that correct?"

Bucky paused for a long moment, muttering, "Oh, my God."

"Yeah, you asshole. Think of it that way! She's afraid!" Natasha snapped. "And probably picked up on your energy, so, she made herself scarce."

"I didn't mean - "

"I don't care, go home, apologize to that sweet angel - she doesn't deserve this."

Bucky paused, "What is 'this' exactly?"

"James. Focus on the present - your woman. Go make this right. We all know you're this big, bad dude - but it's okay to be a little sensitive towards the woman who loves you without condition!"

Bucky relented, figuring the redheaded Russian mobster was right.

The entire drive home, Bucky considered the ways you had changed in the few, short weeks since he vented to Sam and Steve about your clinginess. You didn't take meals with him, didn't cook, work-out, or do anything you used to do together. Sex? Forget it. Dates? Nope. Cuddling? No, you're always 'too hot'. And when he thought about it, he remembers seeing the wads of cash he'd leave for you stuffed in his sock drawer - surely trying to make him think it was just another emergency fund he had hidden. You never spent his money, feeling humiliated by his choice of words.

Clingy...

You didn't text or call him when he was gone, you hadn't even so much as kissed him in what felt like ages... Well, more like you hadn't initiated any kisses...

His heart weighed in his chest as he realized he hadn't even so much as hugged you in days. You were rarely in the apartment together, and when you were, you were just silent and busy with chores. It was as if you operated on the exact opposite schedule as he did, went to new extents to avoid him, and his heart clenched in his chest.

When he got home, you were caught cooking in the kitchen - being obvious that you weren't expecting him. The door slammed and his baritone voice snapped, "Peach!"

You gulped, holding the sauce-covered wooden spoon to your chest. When he rounded around the corner, he found you and slowed down, sighing in relief. "What's wrong?" You worried in a timid tone.

He panted lightly, relaying, "Needed to find you."

"I'm here."

"I know," he relented, charging up to you and engulfing you in a tight, heavy hug. "I needed to talk to you, Peach," he whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"You. You're what's wrong."

"What the fuck does that - "

"No, no," he pulled back to stare down at you fondly, "I don't mean it like that, just that... You're struggling. I can see that. But you're not alone, I'm here with you, and I got a little caught up in my head when I realized someone was so very dependent on me - it fucking scared me. But then... Then you just shut yourself off and hid away from me, and oh, my God, it's so much worse, baby. Don't do that," he breathed, "okay? Don't ever shut me out - don't stop loving me, don't stop talking to me, don't give up on us. I can't read your mind, you can't read mine, it's not an excuse - but we understand better when we trust each other enough to communicate what's required. I'm so sorry I got caught up in myself, I didn't know what you needed - but I'm here now, I'm here - I'm not leaving you."

You collapsed into his chest, taking a shuddering breath.

"Don't ever stop talking to me, Peach," Bucky whispered, kissing the top of your head; keeping you close. "I'm so sorry, baby, if I - "

"If?" You snapped, pulling back to glare at him through your tears. "I heard you, Bucky. I heard you talking to Sam and Steve, and about how clingy I am."

"I was wrong," he insisted. "I was overwhelmed and tired and just stretched thin, the easiest thing to do is attack those closest to me, and that's you. It's not right, it's the worst I could do to you after all you've been through, and I'm so sorry. I was wrong, you're not the person to take this out on - and I'm so sorry, Peach."

You sighed, "I don't mean to be... I don't mean to cling - "

"Nah," he chuckled, caressing your cheek, "you cling as much as you want. Cling as tight as you want, baby, don't let me go. I'm sorry for what I said and the way it made you feel, it was wrong - so fucking wrong of me, and I see that. When you pulled away from me, I just... I couldn't think. It felt so wrong, and I knew it was my fault." He took your face in both palms, promising, "I'm so sorry, Peach."

You shrugged meekly, "It's okay."

"It's not."

"No, but apologizing is a step in the right direction."

He nodded, "What else can I do?"

"Nothing - "

"Peach."

You paused to think, smiling shyly, "Movie night?"

"Whatever my pretty girl wants," he nodded.

"Hmm... Get a bath with me?"

"All right... Sure, okay..."

"And face masks."

He sighed, "Okay."

"And mani-pedis."

"Baby."

"You said you were making it up to me, right?"

He smirked, "That's right... All right, yeah, sure, fine, we can..." He sighed again, "We can do all that, Peach, whatever you want."

"I just want you," you told him softly. "I didn't mean to be so clingy. I was just afraid... I felt afraid everyday, just so very unsure in this life. You're the only thing that makes sense to me, Buck, and when I heard you, I just... I guess I realized how dependent I'd been and wanted to give you space. Last thing I want is to smother you, to drive you away from me."

"Not ever gonna happen," he promised softly. "I just didn't handle it like I should've. I'm sorry, Peach, but I'm here now - for whatever you need. Want me to take a few days off, just be together? I'll arrange it. Want to get away for a bit? We can go."

"I just need you," you whispered. "Only you and I should be okay - I can be okay if I have you, but feeling like I lost you? Even a fraction? Buck... James, it was such a harrowing feeling, I wasn't sure what to do to move forward. So, I think I just panicked, shut down; thought if I could just get back to normal, you'd love me again..."

"I never stopped loving you," he swore, "I just had a bad lapse in my own judgement. Nothing against you, baby. Nothing."

You nodded again, letting him tuck you into his chest; perfectly snug under his chin as he coiled his arms around you. He let out a long sigh, his guilt swelling to new heights, but for that present moment, everything seemed okay.

Felt okay.

Appeared okay.

And you'd both do whatever it took to remain as okay as you possibly could.

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