#hurt/recovery

[serickswrites]

These Arms of Mine

Warnings: referenced captivity, referenced torture, hospital, nightmares, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hurt/comfort, caretaker and whumpee

@lurkingwhump requested this ages ago and somehow i am just getting around to this now. I am so sorry I forgot I was going to write this for you, friend. Please enjoy!

Caretaker hadn't moved from the chair at Whumpee's bedside. Not since the medical team had finally relented and let Caretaker in. Whumpee was through the worst of it, but still not completely healed.

"Don't touch or move anything," were the strict orders given to Caretaker. "The moment anything becomes off, you have to leave. They have to heal."

Caretaker had nodded their understanding. But it had been hard to agree. They had seen Whumpee right after they were pulled from Whumper's compound. Had seen what they had thought was impossible to recover from wounds. Had seen what they thought were fatal wounds. Had seen what they thought would be their last images of Whumpee.

And so to be proven wrong was a blessing. They would do anything to help Whumpee heal. Whumpee whined in their sleep, jolting Caretaker out of the memories of finding Whumpee. Caretaker put their hand on Whumpee's, rubbing soothing circles with their thumb. "It's ok, Whumpee. You're safe."

"No," Whumpee moaned in their sleep, still not waking at Caretaker's touch. "No. They will find me. Please. Stop. Help."

Caretaker's heart broke at the desperation in Whumpee's voice. "Wake up, love, it's just a dream."

But Whumpee didn't wake. "Help. Please. Please. PLEASE!"

Caretaker looked around to see if Whumpee's shouts had alerted a nurse. But no one came. Carefully, delicately, Caretaker climbed into the bed with Whumpee. Caretaker knew there would be hell to pay when a nurse walked in, but Caretaker thought it was worth it. They hadn't jostled any monitoring equipment.

As Caretaker took Whumpee into their arms, pressing their body the length of Whumpee's, Caretaker leaned down to whisper sing into Whumpee's ear. Whumpee visibly relaxed as Caretaker sang, their breathing becoming more even as their dream changed. And so Caretaker decided they wouldn't move. They would keep singing to Whumpee, keep holding Whumpee, for as long as they could.

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #tw referenced captivity #tw referenced torture #tw hospital #tw nightmares #hurt/aftermath #hurt/recovery #hurt/comfort #caretaker and whumpee #by request #queue

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Hello! I know you just posted part 3 of sleeping problems, but the ending was really good and I'd love to see a continuation of it if possible!

Hi Anons! I would love to! Thanks for requesting this, here you go! (P.S. Sorry this took so long to write!)

part 1, part 2, part 3

Part 4

Hero bolted upright in bed when they heard a crashing sound and shouting.

"Hero, run!" Villain yelled.

Hero sprang out of bed and ran, only to be stopped by... Supervillain!? Supervillain pinned Hero against the wall with a knife to their throat.

"I knew I shouldn't have left you to bleed out," Supervillain growled, "I should've finished you off when I had the-"

Villain came up from behind and tackled Supervillain to the ground. The knife fell from Supervillain's hand. Hero grabbed it and ran to help Villain.

"No!" Villain shouted, "leave this to me- go call the police!"

...

By the time the police arrived, quite a bit of damage had been done. Supervillain didn't need a knife to be lethal, after all, and they had roughed up Villain pretty badly. Blood dribbled down the side of Villain's head, and they were gripping their side tightly.

"You need a hospital," Hero said.

"I'm fine," Villain grunted.

"I don't think it's an option." Hero pointed to the ambulance pulling up to the side of the street.

"Great," Villain said bitterly, and they collapsed on the spot.

...

"Villain?"

Villain stirred with a groan but didn't open their eyes.

"Villain!?"

"What?" Villain mumbled, their eyes still closed.

"Villain, wake up, you're in the hospital."

Villain's eyes snapped open. They turned their head to the side and saw Hero sitting in a chair by their bedside. Sure enough, when Villain looked around, they saw an IV pole, medical equipment, and that they were laying in a hospital bed.

"Wha' happened?" Villain asked, wincing as they sat up.

"You blacked out," Hero explained, "Supervillain got you good, but you managed to take them down enough for the cops to be able to handle them."

“Are you okay?” Villain asked, looking Hero up and down for any new injuries.

“Am I okay?” Hero asked, “Villain, you have bruised ribs and a cut on your head! if anything, I need to know if you’re okay!”

Villain lifted their shirt and saw angry, purple bruises over their torso. They put a hand to their head and felt bandages there.

“Dang, Supervillain does a lot of damage in five minutes,” Villain remarked, “…when can I get out of here?”

“The doctors wanna keep you under observation for a day or so,” Hero said, “I thought I could maybe stay with you if you’re okay with that.”

“Hero, you don’t have to-”

“But I want to!” Hero interrupted, “I mean, uh, unless you’d rather I didn’t.”

Villain smiled.

“No, I’d really like that,” Villain said, “stay.”

…

It took about twenty-hour hours for Villain to get discharged. Hero stayed at the hospital the entire time, only leaving to grab lunch and dinner for Villain and themselves. When they finally left the hospital, Hero and Villain returned to Villain’s home to recover. There was just one problem.

“You take the bed,” Villain said, “you’re still recovering.”

“But it’s your bed,” Hero argued, “and you’re more freshly hurt than me anyway.”

“Well I can’t let you sleep on the floor,” Villain said.

“You can’t sleep on the floor either, Villain.”

“I can always take the couch.”

“No one wants to recover on a couch!”

There was an awkward pause between the pair.

“You know,” Hero continued, their cheeks turning pink, “…we could…maybe…share the bed?”

Villain’s cheeks matched Hero’s.

“I, um,” Villain started, “if that’s alright with you, then sure.”

…

Hero snuggled into Villain’s chest as they drifted off. Villain had an arm wrapped protectively around Hero; even in their sleep, Villain was determined to keep them safe. Neither Hero nor Villain had any trouble sleeping that night.

#hurt/comfort #hurt/recovery #recovery #aftermath #caretaker turned whumpee #whumpee turned caretaker #recovery whump #whump #hero x villain #hero x villain community #heroes and villains #supervillain whumper #hero whumpee #villain caretaker #villain whumpee #hero caretaker #only one bed #as requested #writeblr #writing #creative writing #med whump #hospital #hospital whump #bruised ribs #sleep problems #hero x villain fluff #fluff #hero x villain whump #superhero whump

[courtneygacha]

After Dark Pt. 2

Part 1

Tw: Hospital setting, mention of wounds, hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery

Caretaker’s arms felt heavy once they regained consciousness. The room was so bright they squinted for a while. Where were they?

The white comforter, the medical cabinets, the curtain divider, the beeping behind them…

“Hospital…” Caretaker muttered. “I’m in a hospital…”

They felt so weak, so tired, so sore. But then something snapped them back to reality. The thought of Whumpee. Where was Whumpee?

The room door creaked open as a tall nurse stepped inside.

“You must be Caretaker, hm?” They said, “I’ve been instructed to bring you medicine for your wounds-“

“Where’s Whumpee?”

“Who?”

“Whumpee ______.” Caretaker nervously said. “There was a person I had… where are they?”

The nurse paused. Was she thinking? Uh oh. Caretaker overthought and assumed the worst… what if Whumper followed them? What if Whumper saw them collapse and took Whumpee? What if Whumpee was…

“Oh, yes, the person next to you… yes we have them as well.” The nurse said.

Caretaker’s head flopped back and they let out a relieved sigh. “Where are they? Are they okay?”

“They suffered some large injuries but for the most part, they are alive.”

“Oh my god…” Caretaker cried. They did it. Whumpee and them were safe. They were going to be okay. “When am I gonna be able to see them?”

The nurse bit her lip, “Uhm, right about now if you’d like.”

Caretaker tilted their head. They weren’t a fan of the tone the nurse said that in. She stepped forward and drew the blue curtain back. Whumpee was laying in another hospital bed, unconscious.

“Oh, god.”

“They’ll be alright. It’s definitely going to take some time for them to wake up, however.”

The nurse then strode over to the tray next to Caretaker and placed the medication on it. “Take this whenever you’re ready. Can I get you anything else?”

“No, thank you.” All they really wanted was Whumpee, but that wasn’t coming right now.

“Alright then. I’ll see you once your medicine needs to be refilled.”

And her heels clicked their way out the room.

Caretaker laid their head back on the pillow and stared at their sleeping Whumpee, looking around their face for signs of movement and staring at their covered wounds.

“Hey Whumpee…” Caretaker said into the silence. “Take all the time you need to rest… I can wait for you…”

The room was bright and warm when Whumpee woke up the next day.

(Not sure how I feel about this ending?? What do you guys think? I feel like I could’ve wrote this better but I don’t know what to change…)

Taglist: @whumpy-whump-fanfics @whatwhumpcomments

#whump #whump writing #part 2 #hurt/comfort #hurt/recovery #hospital #this ending is weird :/

[nerdpoe]

Dick gets his drink mixed up with another persons in the library while visiting Barbara.

He was drinking some kale smoothie thing, for health and stuff, and he set it down to grab a book from the shelf. There was another guy next to him, who also had a smoothie in the same kind of shake-n-go bottle.

They swapped by accident.

Dick checked out his book, said goodbye to Barbara, and took a sip of his smoothie.

That's the last thing he remembers.

He wakes up two days later pinned down by a practically feral Jason, who's eyes are glowing a sickly Lazarus green, with Bruce, Tim, Cass, and Duke all showing signs of losing a fight. He's sore everywhere, and Damian is nowhere to be seen.

"Uh...." his voice cracks, and he's suddenly aware of how fucking painful his throat is. "Hi? What's going on?"

"...Is it really you, Dickwing? I swear to God if it isn't and this is another-"

"Jay I really don't know what's going on, man."

Jason doesn't believe him. Dick is cuffed with anti-meta cuffs and escorted to the cave, where Bruce demands test after test and Dick tells them the last thing he remembers.

Apparently, after taking that sip, his eyes had turned to Lazarus green, and he had beelined for the mansion. Along the way there, he had run into the Riddler.

He had broken most of the Riddler's bones.

That was when everyone had been called in to subdue Dick, who for some strange reason kept gunning for Damian. Hence, Damian was upstairs and not allowed down until they were sure Dick was okay again.

It's concluded that Dick drank some alternate form of Lazarus Water, lost his mind, proceeded to take everyone out with enhanced strength and speed except Jason, who had entered a Pit episode just to keep up, and worked through it two days after consumption.

But who the fuck transported a material as dangerous as modified Lazarus Water in a fucking shake-n-go bottle?

Danny, however, is a little sad that his ecto-shake was stolen by some rando at the library.

Their kale smoothie was pretty good though.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #phanfic #story prompt #dick kept gunning for damian because he wanted to take damian somewhere safe #his parental instincts mixed with ghostly obsession for a bit #ironically if they'd let him reach damian no one would have gotten hurt #he'd have just taken damian to his apartment and made him eat cereal #but the bats kept getting in the way #so he got territorial and saw them as a threat #jason went toe to toe with him only because he was raged out on the pit #bruce got his ass handed tp him because he tried to hold back and only restrain #dick needs some recovery time because human muscles weren't meant to exert that much force #also if the bats hadn't fought him the ecto would have been in his system for a week #but it sped up going through his system because of the fighting

[jordanstrophe]

Whumpee woke with a sobbing shout. They quivered and panted, memories hit them as if they were still on the floor at whumper's feet. They felt arms wrap around them and beeping heard overhead; the sound worsened the pounding already in their head. 

"Hey hey hey! It's okay. You got a lot of injuries, you've got to take it slow." Caretaker touched whumpees forehead and put them back against the pillow. They tightly gripped whumpee's hand and the other rested on their chest.

"Wh-where am I? How did I get here?" Whumpee panicked. 

"You're in a hospital. I'm here with you, everything's okay. You're going to be fine..." Caretaker sadly smiled. Whumpee stared up at them with wide eyes, breathing like a wounded animal, gripping the back of caretakers hand with every ounce of strength, which was hardly holding them at all.

Despite caretaker's calm demeanor, whumpee could feel caretaker's hand shaking as much as their own.

"You-" Whumpee breathed, trying to raise their hand to them, but they couldn't.

"Yeah, it's me," Caretaker smiled, collecting their collapsed hand in their own. "I'm here, I'm taking good care of you. You can keep resting, okay?"

Whumpee shook their head no, their body still in fight or flight mode, wanting nothing more but to jump up and assess their surroundings. Caretaker could see their legs twitching and slowly inching off the bed as they sighed and scooted on the bed with them, pushing their legs back to the center.

"No hon, it's too early to be doing that." Caretaker soothed, laying whumpee's head on their shoulder.

It was almost as if as soon as whumeee's cheek settled, they relaxed and their heart rate slowly returned to normal beat by beat. Caretaker looked up at their monitor and sighed with relief watching the numbers stabilize. 

#whump #whumpee #caretaker #caretaking #whump drabble #whump writing #hospital whump #hurt/comfort #comfort whump #injured whumpee #recovery whump #panicked whumpee #whump scenario #whump angst #stern caretaker #tw hospital

[midastouch013]

"Find Me Attractive Again"

Based on this request

Summary: You had a wonderful girlfriend, and so what happens when you discover she has an eating disorder

Warnings: Eating disorder, Hurt Nat, Sad Nat, Neglecting Y/n. Panic Attacks. Purging, throwing up. Major hurt/comfort, from both sides.

P.S I wasn't really satisfied with the ending, so I apologise. I also took my own spin on it since it was kind vague, so I hope you like it'.

P.S.S And also, after such heavy fics, I'd really like for someone to drop me a fluffy one, Not just Nat, any Marvel woman please.

-----------

It was a typical summer day in New York City when your paths first crossed. You, wrapped up in the chaos of your medical residency, were rushing through the streets, white coat flapping behind you like a superhero’s cape, while Natasha Romanoff, the infamous Black Widow, was navigating the crowds with the ease of someone who had seen it all.

It was at a street corner where fate decided to intervene, in the form of an iced coffee and a collision. Natasha, in her sleek elegance, accidentally bumped into you, sending her cold drink cascading down your front.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” Her voice was a mix of genuine contrition and a hint of amusement.

You blinked, the cold seeping through your shirt, but you couldn’t help but chuckle at the situation. “Well, at least it’s a hot day,” you replied, trying to brush off the mess.

Natasha quickly handed you some napkins, her green eyes twinkling with amusement. "You're a humour one I see"

"That I am" you grinned "I've also cost you your coffee"

Natasha went to open her mouth, but you spoke instead.

“Let me make it up to you. Can I buy you another drink?”

"But I'm the one who spilt mine on you?" her eyebrow raised as she questioned.

"And?"

"I should be the one buying for you?"

You're smile didn't falter " Where's the chivalry in that?"

And that was the start of it all. What began as a clumsy encounter turned into a friendship neither of you expected. Natasha’s charm, mixed with her trademark snark, drew you in like a moth to a flame. Soon, the two of you were spending your precious free time together, swapping stories over drinks or taking long walks through the city.

Despite her guarded nature, Natasha opened up to you in ways she hadn’t with anyone else. You became her confidante, her sanctuary in a world filled with chaos and danger. And in turn, you found solace in her presence, a respite from the relentless demands of your residency.

As your friendship deepened, so did your feelings for her. You found yourself falling for the enigmatic Avenger, captivated by her strength, her wit, and the vulnerability she only showed to you. And one day, gathering every ounce of courage you had, you asked her out on a date.

To your delight, Natasha said yes, her smile lighting up the room in a way you had never seen before. And just like that, your friendship blossomed into something more, a new chapter in both of your lives.

Now, as you walked hand in hand through the bustling streets of New York, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. With Natasha by your side, you felt invincible, ready to take on whatever challenges life threw your way.

Little did you know, however, that behind the redhead’s confident facade lay a secret she was desperate to keep hidden. An invisible battle she fought every day, one that threatened to consume her from within.

And so, all it would take for you to find out, as a plate of untouched food, and certain other stuff

---

The elevator door opened with a ding, admitting you into the familiar warmth of your shared home (Floor in the compound that Tony had so happily given) with Natasha. The faint scent of breakfast lingered in the air, a reminder of the meal you had meticulously prepared before your short 12-hour shift at the hospital.

But as you stepped further into the living space, your brow furrowed in confusion. The plate of food you had set out for Natasha sat untouched on the dining table, a solitary fork resting against the edge.

"Nat?" you called out, your voice echoing in the quiet apartment. There was no response, just the eerie stillness of an empty room.

Concern gnawed at the edges of your mind as you ventured further into the living space, scanning every corner for any sign of your elusive girlfriend. But Natasha was nowhere to be found.

However, before you could think what to do next, the sound of retching echoed through the apartment, sending a shiver of dread down your spine. Without a moment's hesitation, you bolted towards the bathroom, your heart pounding in your chest.

As you flung open the door, the sight that greeted you was enough to make your stomach churn. There stood Natasha, hunched over the toilet, her face contorted in agony as she forced herself to purge.

Instinct took over as you rushed to her side, your hands reaching out to grasp hers and pull them away from her mouth. "Nat, stop," you urged, your voice laced with urgency and concern.

For a moment, she resisted, the muscles in her arm tense with the effort of her struggle. But slowly, reluctantly, she relented, allowing you to pry her fingers away from their self-destructive task.

The sight of her trembling form, tears glistening in her eyes, tore at your heartstrings like nothing else. You wanted to wrap her in your arms, to shield her from the demons that haunted her, but you knew that this was a battle she had to fight on her own terms.

Gently, you guided her away from the toilet, leading her to the sink where you wet a washcloth and pressed it against her clammy forehead. "It's okay, Nat," you murmured, your voice a soothing balm against the turmoil raging within her.

As you helped Natasha up from the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, her silence weighed heavily in the air, a palpable barrier between you. You guided her to the bed, her movements sluggish and unsteady, and gently urged her to sit down while you prepared a bath.

With practiced efficiency, you filled the tub with warm water, adding a few drops of lavender oil to help soothe her frazzled nerves. But as you turned to help Natasha undress, you noticed the way she recoiled from your touch, her body tensing at the slightest contact.

Your heart ached at the sight, a pang of sadness settling in the pit of your stomach. You had always prided yourself on being there for Natasha, on offering her the unwavering support and love she so desperately needed. But now, faced with her silent withdrawal, you felt utterly helpless, like a bystander watching helplessly as a storm raged on the horizon.

With a heavy sigh, you stepped back, giving Natasha the space she seemed to need. You watched in silence as she rose from the bed, her movements slow and deliberate, before making her way to the bathroom.

It was only then that you noticed the small click of the lock as she closed the door behind her, a barrier sealing her off from the outside world. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, a stark reminder of the walls Natasha had built around herself, walls that even you, with all your love and devotion, could not penetrate.

For a moment, you stood there in the empty room, the weight of Natasha's silence bearing down on you like a leaden cloak. But then, with a resolute shake of your head, you pushed aside your own doubts and fears, determined to stand by her side no matter what.

Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and made your way to the bathroom door, your hand poised to knock. But at the last moment, you hesitated, the sound of running water and Natasha's soft sobs echoing through the wood.

But when the sound of retching pierced through the closed bathroom door, a surge of panic shot through you like a bolt of lightning. Without a second thought, you abandoned your plans to change and rushed back to the bathroom, your heart pounding in your chest.

With a swift motion, you twisted the doorknob, but to your dismay, it refused to budge. Locked. The realization sent a fresh wave of fear coursing through your veins, igniting a primal instinct to protect Natasha at all costs.

"Nat, open the door!" you called out, your voice tinged with desperation. But there was no response, just the sickening sound of her struggle echoing through the small space.

With a burst of adrenaline-fueled determination, you threw your weight against the door, the wood groaning in protest as it gave way beneath your force. For a moment, everything seemed to blur together in a haze of motion and sound, until finally, the door swung open with a resounding crash.

And there she was, hunched over the toilet once more, her body wracked with violent spasms as she forced herself to purge. Without hesitation, you rushed to her side, your hands reaching out to grasp hers and pull them away from their self-destructive task.

"Nat, please stop," you pleaded, your voice cracking with emotion. But this time, there was no resistance, no struggle against your touch. Instead, Natasha collapsed against you, her tears mingling with the cool touch of your skin.

With a sense of resolve, you refused to leave Natasha alone in the bathroom this time. Instead, you stayed by her side, offering silent support as she struggled with the demons that haunted her.

As the water continued to run, filling the tub with warm, comforting steam, you gently guided Natasha towards it. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes cast downwards, before finally sinking into the water with a heavy sigh.

You stood by the tub, your presence a silent reassurance as Natasha submerged herself beneath the surface, her shoulders tense with the weight of her burdens. With a soft exhale, you reached for the shampoo, pouring a small amount into your palm before lathering it into her hair with gentle, soothing strokes.

"I won't look," you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I promise."

Natasha remained silent, her gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the confines of the bathroom. But you could sense the tension in her body, the invisible barriers she had erected to keep you at arm's length.

Undeterred, you continued to wash her hair, your fingers working through the tangles with practiced precision. With each stroke, you hoped to chip away at the walls she had built around herself, to offer her a glimpse of the love and acceptance that lay waiting on the other side.

But despite your best efforts, Natasha remained distant, her silence a heavy weight in the air between you. It was as if she had retreated into herself, lost in the labyrinth of her own thoughts and fears.

With a heavy heart, you finished washing her hair, rinsing away the suds with gentle care. Then, reaching for the washcloth, you began to bathe her body, moving with slow, deliberate motions as you washed away the stains of the outside world.

Gently, you lifted Natasha from the bathtub, her body feeling almost weightless in your arms. The sight of her frail form, bones protruding beneath the thin veil of her skin, sent a shiver of concern down your spine. It was a stark reminder of the toll her eating disorder had taken on her body, a silent battle she fought day in and day out.

With tender care, you carried her back to the bed, laying her down with the utmost gentleness. You tucked the blankets around her, the soft fabric a comforting cocoon against the cold reality of her struggles.

As Natasha lay there, her eyes distant and unfocused, you made your way to the kitchen, your mind racing with thoughts of how to help her. You knew that she needed nourishment, both for her body and her soul, but convincing her to eat was a battle in itself.

With a determined resolve, you rummaged through the pantry, searching for something light and easy to stomach. Finally, you settled on a plate of sliced fruit, the vibrant colors a stark contrast to the darkness that threatened to consume Natasha from within.

Returning to the bedroom, you found Natasha still lying there, her gaze fixed on some invisible point in the distance. Carefully, you placed the plate of fruit on the bedside table, hoping that the sight of it would stir something within her.

"Nat," you said softly, your voice a gentle reminder of your presence. "I brought you a snack. It's just some fruit. Would you like some?"

For a moment, there was no response, just the steady rise and fall of Natasha's chest as she breathed in and out. But then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, she reached out a trembling hand, fingers curling around a slice of apple.

You held your breath, watching intently as Natasha brought the fruit to her lips, her movements hesitant and uncertain. But then, with a small nod of encouragement from you, she took a tentative bite, the sweetness of the apple filling the air between you.

A sense of relief washed over you as you watched Natasha eat, each bite a small victory in the battle against her eating disorder.

As Natasha slowly nibbled on the fruit, you settled beside her on the bed, the familiar weight of her body a comforting anchor in the storm of uncertainty. With a soft click of the remote, you turned on the television, the familiar theme song of F.R.I.E.N.D.S filling the room with its nostalgic melody.

You glanced over at Natasha, her gaze fixed on the screen, her lips curved ever so slightly in the beginnings of a smile. It was a small victory, a glimmer of light in the darkness that threatened to consume her.

With a tender smile of your own, you wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close against your side. The warmth of her body pressed against yours, the steady rhythm of her breath a soothing lullaby in the quiet of the night.

Together, you watched as the familiar antics of Ross, Rachel, Monica, Chandler, Joey, and Phoebe unfolded on the screen before you. The laughter of the characters, the camaraderie of their friendships, served as a reminder of the bonds that held you and Natasha together, even in the darkest of times.

And as the episode came to an end, you turned to Natasha, the ghost of a smile still lingering on her lips. "Feeling a little better?" you asked softly, your voice a gentle caress against the silence of the room.

Natasha hesitated for a moment, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. But then, with a small nod of her head, she leaned into your embrace, her body relaxing against yours.

It was a small victory, a flicker of hope in the midst of despair. But for now, in this moment of quiet intimacy, it was enough. Together, you would face whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing that as long as you had each other, you could weather any storm that came your way. As you snuggled into Natasha, the fragile contours of her body pressed against yours, you couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion welling up inside you. With each delicate curve of her form, you could feel the sharp edges of her bones, a painful reminder of the toll her eating disorder had taken on her.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you held her close, the weight of her fragility pressing down on you like a leaden weight. "Why, Nat?" you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Why do you do this to yourself?"

For a moment, there was only silence, the weight of Natasha's unspoken pain hanging heavy in the air between you. But then, as your grip tightened around her, almost as if you were clinging to her for dear life, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I..." she began, her words faltering as if caught in the tangled web of her thoughts. But then, with a small shake of her head, she fell silent once more, the words hanging between you like an unspoken promise.

--

As you thought Natasha had drifted off to sleep, you reached for your phone, the glow of the screen illuminating the dimly lit room. With a deep breath, you dialed the number for the hospital, your heart pounding in your chest as you prepared to make a decision that would change everything.

"Hello, this is Dr. Y/l/n," you began, your voice steady despite the nerves that churned in the pit of your stomach. "I need to take the next month off."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, followed by the sound of a hesitant voice. "Dr. Y/l/n, are you sure? We're short-staffed as it is, and your patients—"

"I'm sure," you interrupted, your tone firm and unwavering. "I've already made up my mind."

The person on the other end of the line hesitated, clearly taken aback by your sudden decision. "But Dr. Y/l/n you're one of our top surgeons. We can't afford to lose you—"

"I understand that," you replied, your voice tinged with frustration. "But right now, I need to take care of someone who needs me more than anyone else."

There was a moment of silence as the gravity of your words hung heavy in the air between you. And then, with a resigned sigh, the person on the other end of the line relented, agreeing to grant you the time off on the condition that you'd go unpaid for the month.

As you ended the call, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you. You knew that taking time off from the hospital was a risk, but in that moment, the only thing that mattered was being there for Natasha when she needed you most.

But as you turned to check on her, you realized that she had been awake the whole time, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Natasha's voice cut through the silence of the room, her words heavy with emotion. "Why did you do that?" she asked, her eyes searching yours for answers.

You met her gaze, the weight of her question hanging heavy in the air between you. Taking a deep breath, you reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, your fingers lingering against her cheek.

"Because you needed me," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Because I love you, Natasha, and I would do anything for you."

Tears welled in Natasha's eyes as she listened to your words, her expression a mix of gratitude and disbelief. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. "For everything."

As Natasha's words hung in the air, a heavy silence settled between you, punctuated only by the soft hum of the room's ventilation system. You could see the turmoil swirling behind her eyes, the weight of her burdens threatening to crush her beneath their weight.

"Why did you do that, Natasha?" you asked gently, your voice laced with concern. "Why do you hurt yourself like this?"

Natasha hesitated for a moment, her gaze drifting away from yours as she searched for the words to explain the unexplainable. "It's… it's complicated," she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Try me," you urged, your tone soft and understanding. "I want to understand, Natasha. I want to help you."

With a heavy sigh, Natasha began to speak, her words halting and uncertain at first, but gaining strength with each passing moment. "It's not just me," she confessed, her voice trembling with emotion. "It's… it's the comments, the stares, the whispers behind my back."

Your heart ached as you listened to her words, the pain and anguish etched into every syllable. You knew all too well the harsh realities of the world Natasha inhabited, the constant scrutiny and judgment that followed her wherever she went.

"It's like… like I'm never good enough," Natasha continued, her voice cracking with emotion. "No matter how hard I try, no matter how much I achieve, it's never enough. And the news, they… they only make it worse."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you watched Natasha unravel before you, the weight of her suffering a burden too heavy for her to bear alone. In that moment, you felt a surge of anger rise up within you, a burning indignation at the injustices Natasha had endured.

"And..." She trailed off

"And?" You pulled her into your arms, holding her close as if to show that you were there for her. You could feel the ache in her voice, the raw vulnerability laid bare before you.

"I just... You," Natasha began, her voice trembling with uncertainty. "You used to look at me with such... such longing. You'd initiate everything, your touch, your kisses... But lately, it's like you don't even see me anymore."

Your heart clenched at her words, unsure of what to do or say.

"I thought... I thought maybe it was because of how I looked," Natasha continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought if I worked out more, if I stopped eating, if I... if I purged, maybe you'd find me attractive again."

Your breath caught in your throat at her confession, the pain of her self-inflicted suffering tearing at your heartstrings. How could she think such a thing? How could she believe that her worth was tied to her appearance?

But you remained silent, allowing Natasha to speak, to purge the demons that haunted her soul. For in that moment, you realized that the only way to help her heal was to listen, to truly listen, without judgment or condemnation.

"I just wanted to be enough for you," Natasha whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. "But I was so wrong, wasn't I? I was so wrong."

And as she buried her face in her hands, her words seemed to sink in, making you feel like the ground beneath you is crumbling away, leaving you adrift in a sea of guilt and self-loathing.

Your hands trembled as you pushed yourself away from Natasha, the weight of her words crashing down on you like a tidal wave. You stumbled backward, your eyes wide with shock as you realized the role you had played in her pain.

"Oh my god," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the sound of your own ragged breaths. " I did that"

Natasha's eyes widened in concern as she watched you retreat, her voice tinged with fear. "Y/n? Are you okay?"

But you couldn't answer, couldn't bring yourself to face her, not when the guilt threatened to suffocate you. You hated yourself in that moment, hated the way you had let work consume you, the way you had neglected the person you loved most in the world.

And then it hit you, a wave of overwhelming emotion crashing over you like a tsunami. You sank to the floor, your body racked with sobs as the weight of your own self-loathing bore down on you like a heavy burden.

Natasha's voice was a distant echo in the darkness, her words lost amidst the chaos of your own thoughts. But you could feel her presence beside you, her hand reaching out to touch your shoulder in a silent gesture of comfort and support.

But you couldn't bear it, couldn't bear the thought of her touching you, not when you were the reason she was in pain. So you pushed her away, stumbling to your feet and retreating further into the shadows.

"I'm sorry," you choked out, your voice barely audible above the storm of your own despair. "I'm so sorry, Natasha. I didn't mean to… I didn't know…"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the words tumbled from your lips in a frantic mantra, each repetition a desperate plea for forgiveness. But the only one you blamed was yourself, your own self-loathing swallowing you whole.

Natasha's voice was a distant echo in the chaos of your mind, her words lost in the tumult of your own despair. But you could feel her presence beside you, a steady anchor in the storm.

But even as she reached out to comfort you, you recoiled from her touch, the weight of your guilt too heavy to bear. You felt betrayed by yourself, , the person who had allowed this to happen.

"I'm sorry," you choked out once more, your voice hoarse with emotion. "I'm so sorry, Natasha. I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't mean to…"

But the words fell flat, empty and hollow in the face of your own self-condemnation. And as you sank further into the darkness, the weight of your own despair threatening to consume you, you knew that there was no escape from the demons that haunted you.

"Y/n, listen to me," Natasha's voice was firm, cutting through the haze of panic that clouded your mind. "You need to breathe. Deep breaths, okay?"

You nodded, your chest heaving as you struggled to regain control of your racing heart.

"That's it," she encouraged, her voice a soothing balm against the storm raging within you. "Inhale... and exhale. You're okay, I've got you."

You focused on her words, on the steady rhythm of her breathing, allowing them to anchor you in the present moment.

"I'm not going anywhere, Y/n," Natasha continued, her grip on your hand reassuringly firm. "I'm right here with you, and I'm not letting you go."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you clung to her, the weight of your own self-loathing threatening to crush you beneath its suffocating embrace.

"I'm so sorry, Natasha," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "I didn't-"

Natasha silenced you with a gentle finger against your lips, her eyes soft with understanding. "Shh, it's okay," she murmured.

With trembling hands, you grasped Natasha's palms in yours, feeling the warmth of her touch seeping into your skin like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Without a word, you pulled her into a tight embrace, needing to feel the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against your chest.

"I love you, Tasha," you whispered, your voice cracking with emotion. "I love you more than anything in this world."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you pressed kisses against her forehead, her cheeks, her neck, each touch a silent testament to the depth of your love for her.

"I'm sorry for everything," you murmured between kisses, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry for making you feel unloved, for neglecting you when you needed me most. I promise, I'll do better. I'll be better for you, for us."

Natasha's arms tightened around you, her own tears mingling with yours as she buried her face against your chest. "I love you too, Y/n," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "And I forgive you. We'll get through this together, I promise."

---

Over the next few days, you devoted yourself wholeheartedly to supporting Natasha, determined to make amends for your past neglect. You woke up early to prepare nutritious meals for her, ensuring that she had the sustenance she needed to fuel her body and soul.

You gently guided her through each day, offering words of encouragement and reassurance whenever she needed them. You deleted all the news apps from her phone, shielding her from the harsh judgments and scrutiny of the outside world.

And when you learned of the agents who had dared to badmouth Natasha, you wasted no time in tracking them down and giving them a piece of your mind. With a fiery determination burning in your eyes, you confronted them head-on, refusing to let them tarnish Natasha's reputation any further.

"You have no idea what she's been through," you spat, your voice laced with righteous anger. "She's one of the strongest, most resilient people I know, and she deserves nothing but respect."

The agents cowered before you, their faces pale with guilt and shame. And as you walked away, leaving them to ponder the consequences of their actions, you felt a sense of satisfaction wash over you.

Every time you sensed Natasha spiraling, you were there, a steady anchor in her stormy sea. You showered her with kisses, peppering her face with affectionate gestures, a silent reminder of the love that enveloped her. Your touch was a constant presence, your fingers entwined with hers or softly tracing patterns on her skin, a tangible reassurance that you were there for her, always.

You made sure she had everything she needed, anticipating her wants before she even voiced them. Whether it was a warm meal or a comforting hug, you were always one step ahead, ready to offer her solace in her moments of need.

But even as you tended to her, Natasha noticed the turmoil brewing beneath your surface. Despite your smiles and jokes, she saw the shadows lurking in your eyes, the weight of your own struggles weighing heavily on your shoulders. And though you tried to hide it, she knew that your sleepless nights were spent wrestling with demons of your own.

---

As the time came for you to return to work after a month of devoted care for Natasha, a sense of dread settled in the pit of your stomach. The thought of leaving her alone, vulnerable to the demons that had haunted her in the past, filled you with a gnawing anxiety.

You found yourself making up excuses, delaying your departure in a futile attempt to hold onto the precious moments you had shared together. But Natasha saw through your facade, her eyes searching yours for the truth that you were desperate to hide.

"Y/n, what's going on?" she asked, her voice gentle but firm. "You've been acting strange lately, avoiding going back to work, making excuses to stay. Is something wrong?"

Your heart constricted at the concern in her voice, the weight of your own fears threatening to suffocate you. But you couldn't bring yourself to voice the truth, to admit to the depths of your own insecurities.

"I… I just don't want to leave you," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm afraid that if I go back to work, things will go back to how they were before. I'm afraid of losing you Tasha."

Tears welled in your eyes as you spoke, the vulnerability of your confession laying bare the depths of your fear. But Natasha's response was immediate, her arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace, her warmth a comforting balm against the storm raging within you.

"Y/n, listen to me," she said, her voice steady and unwavering. "I'm not going anywhere. We've been through hell and back together, and I'm not about to let anything tear us apart."

With a heavy heart and a sense of resolve, you made the difficult decision to resign from your position, knowing that your place was by Natasha's side. As you prepared to leave, a fierce determination burned within you to make the most of the time you had left together.

With a hunger born of love and longing, you pulled Natasha into your arms, your lips seeking hers in a passionate kiss.

An so as you hold Natasha close, your heart overflowing with love and devotion, you feel the need to express the depths of your feelings to her.

"Nat," you begin, your voice soft and tender, "I need you to understand something. I love you more than words can express, more than I ever thought possible."

You press a gentle kiss to her forehead, savoring the warmth of her skin against your lips before continuing.

"I love you for who you are, not for your past or your appearance. Every part of you, every scar, every imperfection, it's all part of what makes you so incredibly beautiful to me."

Your fingers trace the contours of her face, your touch reverent and adoring.

"And I want you to know that my love for you will never waver. No matter what challenges we face, no matter what obstacles come our way, I will always be by your side, loving you with every beat of my heart."

Tears shimmer in Natasha's eyes as she listens to your words, her own heart swelling with emotion.

"I love you too, Y/n," she whispers, her voice choked with tears. "More than you'll ever know."

---------

#avengers #black widow #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov #natasha x reader #natasha x you #anon ask #anonymous #natalia alianovna romanova #natasha marvel #natasha romanoff hurt/comfort #natasha x y/n #natalia romanova #eating disoder recovery

[jasmines-library]

Hello sugar <3! (im very sorry if theres any spelling errors, english isnt my first language <3)

I would love to request some angst/comfort with the batfam? Maybe with the reader (tw: sa, rape) struggling with some sexual assault/rape issues, something they haven't told the family yet? The reader acting different for weeks, months even, and the whole family being suspicious and noticing their sudden fear of being cornered, touches and certain smells maybe?

its totally fair if you don't feel like it, I just really really love your way of writing the characters, and your writing over all. I swear, i swallowed your whole page in the matter of a few hours, I loved every second!

Kristy, Are You Doing Okay?

Note: My gosh im so sorry this literally took me over a month to get to, but it's here. I'm so glad you like my page and thank you for requesting! (Title name from song)

Warnings: SA, r*pe (non explicit but this fic deals with the aftermath. Please read with caution.), Panic attack of sorts.

Word count: 2.1K

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

Please remember, if you are ever struggling you are not alone. It may be difficult at first but there are many places for you to reach out to, many of which are anonymous and do not need the involement of of name, if you are just needing for someone to talk to. There will always be someone out there to help you. As an alternative, my DM’s are always open for a chat! Remember: You are loved and you are so much stronger than you realise.

⛤

You hadn’t meant to drift away. It sort of just…happened. And it wasn’t even something you were conscious of really. The thoughts were just constantly there and you couldn’t shake the feeling of his hands roaming all over his body; the ghostly touch of his fingers lingering flush against your skin, burning an invisible bruise into your flesh. You tried to shy away from it but it was always there, buried into the front of your mind festering away like an old, unforgotten wound oozing with pus and blood that would only create more problems the longer it was left. 

The night it happened was cold and bitter. A shallow fog had cast itself over the city as you staggered back to the manor with makeup running carelessly down your face. You shut yourself away, turning the lock on your door and burying yourself under the covers to try and  shy away from the situation. But it never left. It just kept growing, weeding its way back through the open cracks like a stubborn plant that refused to leave no matter how many times you doused it with poison. You didn’t sleep that night. And you didn’t leave your room the day after. In fact the only time anyone saw you that day was when you slunk downstairs in the middle of the night to try and revive the growling of your stomach without having to see anyone when you bumped into Tim who was finally dragging himself up to bed. The interaction was odd. At first he thought that you had just been busy all day and that was why no one had seen you: It wasn't uncommon for one of you to disappear into your room for a few days to catch up on school work or to finally get more than 4 hours of sleep. But something about you was off. You were quiet and lacking that charisma that usually shone from you. You were jumpy too, recoiling as soon as Tim rounded the corner unexpectedly. 

When you finally managed to bring yourself out of your room, you were still withdrawn. Instead of donning your normal seat next to Jason at the table, you sat at the end alone pushing your food aimlessly around the plate until someone had finished eating and you took that as a cue to leave. You didn’t mean to leave them in the dark. Really, you didn’t but the thoughts crept into your mind every time they got near. Every hand outstretched sent a shiver crawling down the nape of your neck as if someone was running an ice cold digit along your spine. The thoughts were worse. Intruding. Obnoxious. You felt so…dirty. And your mind seemed to like to make sure you remembered that. You couldn’t help but feel like somehow the whole situation was your fault, which of course it wasn’t, but you were stuck with being guilt ridden; trapped within your walls. 

Your skittishness didn’t go unnoticed. The boys tried many times to talk to you or to get you alone, but each time one of them hastily trailed after you as you slunk out of a room you would pick up your pace until they got the hint and stopped dejectedly in the halls. You had just skittered off into another part of the manor when Damian decided he had finally had enough. 

He pushed his way back into the library rather frustratedly, stomping his feet so hard against the floor that they continued to pound through the room even as he moved from the polished wood to the carpet amongst the centre of the room. His brothers were still lounging around the room, their legs slung carelessly over the arms of the chairs or folded beneath them as they engrossed themselves in their phones or an ever growing pile of books. They barely even acknowledged that Damian had even returned from his pursuit of use, besides lifting their gaze as he huffed his way back into the room. 

“Something is wrong with Y/N.” Damian declared, planting his feet into the carpet in the centre of the room and placing his hands on his hips. 

Dick felt as though he could laugh. Damian’s statement was so obvious that you may as well have had a huge, yellow sign above your head that screamed ‘i’m not okay.’ It didn't matter how much effort you put into trying to hide the bags that dropped across your skin, or the way that you couldn’t stand to be in the same room with any of them for too long without your skin crawling, they were prominent amongst your saddened features. “Yeah, No shit.”he said, looking up from his phone that he had been mindlessly scrolling on to distract himself from the feeling that gnawed at his gut.

The room fell into a pregnant silence before Damians angry scoff broke the silence. 

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?” He spat. “You’re not worried?”

Jason pushed himself up onto his forearms and spoke out defensively. “Of course we’re worried… It’s just…”

“What?”

“She won’t let us help her, Dami.” Tim said. “We’ve tried, but each time she’s run.”

“Well then try harder!” He said. It was unusual for the youngest Wayne to react this way when it came to his siblings. But, then again it was unusual for you to shy away like this and although Damian would never admit it, he had a soft spot for you and seeing you hurting like this killed him a little inside. 

“Damian.” Dick reprimanded sternly. 

He sighed and swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry. I just can’t see them suffering like this anymore.”

There was a general agreement between the four of them. Tim chewed away at his bottom lip as he thought for a moment. “What do you propose we do?”

The whole room seemed to think together as one for a moment. 

“We corner them.” Damian said. It might have seemed cruel, but it was the only thing he could think of that would stop you from slipping away again. “If they keep running there’s no way we’re going to be able to help, so we just have to compromise.”

~

You knew that Jason was behind you. You could hear his careful footsteps, evenly spaced by his long strides as he tried to catch your attention. He was loitering outside of your room, trying to catch you as you left. It surprised you to see him as you peeled open the door. You had flashed him as much of a grin as you could muster up as he greeted you, trying to draw you into a one sided conversation that you were itching to get away from the moment it started. You tried to remind yourself that it was just Jason. That he wasn’t going to hurt you. But your mind still thought it was funny to play cruel tricks on you and soon you were making up a poor excuse and fleeing down the halls. 

You didn’t make it far though before you collided with a tall figure marching down the other end of the corridor, who braced his hands on your shoulders. Yelping at the unexpected contact you spun on your heel to turn back the way you came only for your breath to get stuck in your throat when you were met with the red of Jason’s shirt. When you backed up, you collided with the eldest vigilante again. Spinning around frantically, you searched for a way out. There was none. 

You were trapped. 

The thought consumed you quickly, dragging you down like a ton of bricks tied to your ankles until you were drowning in the thought of being imprisoned again. It was all you could think of. It screamed throughout your mind, pumped in your blood. It was nauseating. You could see the other two approaching and panic set into your already scrambled mind. You weaved, trying desperately to spot an exit but the two vigilantes were much bigger than you and their hefty frames took up most of the corridor. 

“No. No no no.” You rambled as your heart rate skyrocketed and your breathing came in sporadic, panicked gasps. 

Tim furrowed his brow. He didn’t think you would react like this. He reached out to grasp your forearms to ease your shaking body, but you nearly screamed, yanking your arms away from him and backing up against the wall. 

“Don’t touch me!” You stuttered, barely audible between your spiralling state. Fat, hot tears tracked along your face as you sunk to the ground to bury your face within your knees which you clutched to your chest. 

The four boys exchanged an anxious glance. 

“Y/N…”

“Please…” You gasped. “Stay away from me. I-I can’t anymore… no more. Please.”

“Y/N? What's wrong?” Dick queried. “Talk to us, please. We want to help.”

“No…” You whimpered. 

Damian squatted down beside you resting on the balls of his feet before reaching out slowly towards you, ignoring the warning glance that Jason sent his way, and placing it gently on your shoulder. 

Flinching, you squeezed your eyes shut. He could feel the way you trembled like a leaf under his touch but he didn’t let go.

“It’s just me Y/N. It’s Dami.”

You registered his words, but you still felt like you were back in that room. You allowed your body to relax just the smallest amount.

“It’s just us, kid. You’re okay.” Dick cooed. 

You sniffled. The four of them were crouched around you now.

“You can trust us.”

Your body tensed as you were hit with reminders of that night. The way he had led you away to commit his act of betrayal that would cut deeper than a thousand knives. 

“That’s what he said.” You hiccuped. 

“Who?” Tim asked tenderly. “Talk to us Y/N.”

You shook your head, biting down on your lip. You didn’t want to bring up the memory stuck in your mind. 

“Kid… we can’t help you if we don’t know what’s happening.”

“He- he… took me away from the crowds… He said to trust him- and I thought I could. B-but then he-” Your voice split into an unholy sob. 

“Oh..Y/N/N…” Dick said, suddenly understanding. 

“I can’t stop thinking about it. I can still feel him. Hear him. Just make it stop please!.” You begged, sobbing into your hands.”

“It’s okay. You’re safe.” He told you, reaching out gently to place a hand on your forearm, you tensed slightly but didn’t pull away. “We’re not going to let anyone hurt you. Ever.”

“We promise.”

You peeled your head away from your arms to reveal your bloodshot, teary eyes. From close up they could see how clearly the ordeal had taken a toll on you. Not just on your body but your mind too.

It took some convincing and a lot of gentle touches of reassurance to get you off of the floor, but the four of them managed to ease you back into your room. They refused to leave you alone after that. Insisting that at least one of them stay by your side at all times until you decided on your own terms that you were ready to take the next step in your recovery and stay the night alone. It was a slow process, but each small milestone made them extremely proud of you. They were there when you awoke suddenly in the middle of the night, crying and shaking, and they were there when you managed to move forwards too.  They were there to remind you that recovery isn’t linear, and that it was okay to move backwards. It’s all part of the process. The four of them showed you a different kind of gentleness that you had never seen before, and they tried their hardest to bring a smile to your face everyday. And it was their kindness that began to wash away those feelings. It was them who made you realise that you were loved, strong and would find your way back from the darkness and into the light.

#batfamily x reader #batfam x reader #batfam x gn reader #batfam x little brother reader #batfam x little sister reader #batfam x hurt reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd #dick grayson x reader #dick Grayson #tim drake x reader #tim drake #damian wayne x reader #Damian Wayne #SA #hurt/comfort #recovery #mental health #angst #dc x reader #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #batfam fanfiction #batfam x sibling reader

[luna-lovegreat]

So... Warriors

It is obvious by now he's not ok. He's irritable and tense.

I've had thoughts and ideas on this for awhile, so I think now's a good time to speak them. Very important detail at the end.

There are some really big and some small things adding to his stress

The drama with the sword. Wild went against the agreed plan, and lashed out in anger fear for twilights injury. From things Jojo said, Wars is mad about it for a while.

I have said this in other posts, but based on things Jojo has said and some details, I do not think Wild likes wars. He has not really gotten close to him, which adds on to the negativity between them

But Wars... is a captain. This journey is different, and he's doing amazing at setting aside expectations of how to work with rank. But that is still a clear stressor- to him that was unacceptable in battle

^this is one big thing we watched go wrong and has clearly been upsetting since

Another thing is

Wars has been taking on too much. We've seen him break up a fight at the inn, comfort Time (time!), and tell him he'd take care of the others.

Twice he said "let them", and "let him be"-making others have space they needed. He asked Four what was wrong and followed up with helping with smithing.

^^These are all small things. None of these are huge- practically tiny tasks. But they add up- all the attention to others feeling but not his own

... and

Wars has not smiled. Yes, he smiled, but it was not his smile. Since Twilight went injured to the inn, there has only been smiles in a way expected, but not much beyond when he found out his friend wasn't dead. (And when he helped Four at the blacksmiths)

In the updates, I have seen others saying how cool/pretty he looked. Which he did! But emotion wise, I only thought he looked angry. Even when teasing Twilight...

^Not his smile

But here's the biggest thing that I believe is bothering him...

I've wanted to point this out for awhile. The thing is, Wars was really hurt when he found out Twilight didn't tell him about Wolfie

It's small details. A few sentences and facial expressions. But they add up over the chapter, and I don't think he felt trusted or trusting when he found out

He tried to find out who else knew

And why he was one who didn't

*read the blurred words:

"No one said anything to me, I'm just left out of the loop. Who else knows? Just us?"

Wolfie being secret wasn't necessarily about trust, but wars took it personally. He really didn't understand or want to accept that Twilight would have told some of the others but not him...

Wars is distinctly closer to the ones his age, who the younger ones often turn to. And as someone who's been through war, who bonds closest with those he feels he works with best?

Twilight having a major secret he didn't share with Wars, but did with others,

Felt like a knife to the (back?) chest.

And it hurt him

Look at his face when saying "we couldn't do a thing for him". He's looking away, directly after asking four and wild if they knew. I don't think he felt trusted. Or trusting. From thinking someone wasn't who he thought he was, and maybe was closer to others...

^^this is what I think is perhaps the biggest stressor- yet most unnoticeable

Wars never spoke to anyone about his feelings. He pushed it aside and went and helped.

This is ok. Between people so close, anything can be worked out. This is very revealing of how much Wars cares about twilight and the others

As far as Warriors pushing aside his needs and focusing on others... it's hard.

But I can confidently say this: Warriors would never want to not help all he could, when the others needed him

Here's this screenshot that makes me laugh (and somehow sky is just chill with this?)

Wars: oh my god my friend just came back from a wolf what the Hylia who can I even trust I'm having an invisible crisis

Sky: oh yay the sword helped he's back :)

Twilight: I'm fine *currently dying*

Wars is stressed right now. He's taken on too much, he's probably still mad at Champion, and... he feels betrayed (god wars should never have to feel betrayed) and untrusted

Like literally everyone ever others, wars deals with his hurt. Sometimes he can't deal with it alone, and sometimes he can. It will all work out, and I love how much he loves his brothers.

But nothing, I repeat nothing

Will be ok

IF HE DOESNT START WEARING THE DAMN SCARF SOON CMON WE HAVENT SEEN IT IN LIKE TEN UPDATES

PUT ON YOUR EMOTIONAL SUPPORT SCARF CMON MAN

Ok I'm calm <3

.

Art and comic by Jojo @linkeduniverse :D

#petition to bring the scarf back 2024 #linked universe #linkeduniverse #no hate towards any for accepting Wars help #they were all overextended. now for recovery #my fanfic authors know what I'm talking about with trust and betrayal #he's not ok #I cannot make a post only exploring the dark sides of relationships #with love strong enough to hurt- how is there not beauty to be found there? #I only like the scarf to want it back. but. I have given up. have at it wars simps #Lu wars #I feel like some of my wording was too harsh- perhaps from just discussing an uncomfortable topic #but if I have said anything offensive let me know I want to learn :D

[steddieas-shegoes]

someday soon

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is having hope for the future'

rated t | 1,237 words | cw: ptsd, injury recovery, negative view of self (Steve) | tags: angst with a happy ending, getting together, hurt/comfort, falling in love

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Steve ignored his bat bites for too long.

That's what all the doctors and nurses said when he'd been rushed into the ER by Robin, panicked when he passed out and woke up with very little memory of what they'd done that day.

She assumed it was the concussions catching up to him, but it turned out to be a hell of an infection. The infection had spread from the worst bite on his side to his hip and down his leg. They caught it in time to save the leg, but it would be weak for months, if not years, and he'd need to do physical therapy to keep the muscle dense enough to walk.

Everyone was pissed at him, but mostly just happy he was finally getting taken care of. That was a difficult thing for him.

Eddie joked that it was his turn to keep him company in the hospital now, but Steve wasn't up for jokes. Not when he'd become such a burden. Not when he was pulling attention from things and people that actually needed it. He was using up resources that were already barely available for people much worse off than him.

When he was finally fever-free, showing signs of improvement, and promising to keep taking the antibiotics for two more weeks, he was set free. Eddie and Robin brought him to Eddie's trailer to ensure he would actually take care of himself, and he didn't have the heart to argue with either of them.

He felt ridiculous, every single time he got stuck on the couch because his leg was too numb to stand, every time Wayne would grab whatever thing he couldn't quite reach from the top shelf of the cabinet because he couldn't stand on both of his tip toes, whenever Eddie would half-carry him to the shower and wait by the door in case he fell on his bad days. It was all so stupid. He was stupid.

He spent his days doing what he was supposed to, but only the bare minimum. He did the exercises, but only alone in Eddie's room while he was busy at work or picking up Steve's slack. He took the meds when he was in pain instead of "suffering in silence" like Robin told him to. He packed Wayne's lunches for work as a thank you for letting him stay even though Wayne always insisted he didn't need to do anything to deserve a roof over his head and people to care.

He ignored the stupid churning in his stomach that started when he thought about what would happen when Eddie brought him back to his empty house. He ignored the butterflies every time Eddie got home while he was faking sleep on the couch and covered him with the blanket that was by his feet. He ignored the way his heart fluttered every time Eddie would make him the tea he secretly liked instead of the coffee he normally forced himself to drink.

He pretended that the love that grew in his chest was made up, that Eddie was only doing what any friend would do.

Steve only let his imagination run away with him on the nights when Eddie was at Hellfire late, when he was curled up in Eddie's bed at Eddie's insistence that he sleep there. He let himself picture a future like this: waiting up for Eddie to get home from work or a show, curled up with a pillow that smelled like him against his chest, wearing a t-shirt that had holes from being worn too much, and the mixtape Eddie made for Steve playing low in the background.

It was a perfect future.

He fell asleep to the thought of Eddie's arms around him, holding him because he wanted to, not because he had to.

He woke up to Eddie's arms around him, the dark and silent room around him making him panic until Eddie's grip tightened and he pulled him closer.

"You awake?" Eddie whispered against the top of his head.

"Yeah." Steve didn't pull away, couldn't make himself even though the alarms were going off in his brain telling him to put space between them before Eddie realized what this meant to him. "When'd you get back?"

"Hour ago maybe. Didn't mean to run so late, sorry," Eddie's fingers were tracing patterns up and down his spine.

"It's okay. You can do whatever you want," Steve let himself have this moment. He nudged his face further into Eddie's shirt, smiling at the warmth of his chest. "You sleep at all yet?"

"No, I was busy."

Steve's brows furrowed in confusion. "Doing what?"

"Watching you."

Steve turned his head so he was looking up at him. "Watching me sleep? Why the hell were you doing that?"

He should probably sound more upset, maybe more concerned about being watched while he was unconscious. But a pretty big part of him was fine with it, wanted it, hoped it meant more to Eddie too.

"The corner of your mouth twitches a lot in your sleep, did you know that? And when you're in pain or having a nightmare, it stops. Sometimes I just watch to make sure you're sleeping okay," he answered simply. "Been at least a few nights since you've had any nightmares right?"

Steve nodded, speechless at the fact that Eddie had noticed something like that.

"You curl the blanket in your hand when you sleep, too. Or my shirt. Sometimes your own shirt if you can't find anything else," Eddie continued.

Steve felt his fingers loosen in Eddie's shirt, not having noticed the way they'd been holding on for dear life this entire time.

Eddie's hand covered his, squeezing something that felt like reassurance and love right into his skin.

"You're not the same Steve you used to be, but you still worry about what people think. You can just be you. Just be Steve. I promise the Steve you are is the Steve we love," Eddie smiled down at him.

"I-" Steve took a breath. "I just don't wanna ruin it all."

"Stevie, sweetheart." Eddie shook his head. "You couldn't ruin it. When are you gonna get it through that thick head of yours that we're all stickin' this out with you?"

"But you don't have to."

"No, we don't." Eddie squeezed his hand again. "But we do. And we will."

"Even if I'm always like this?"

"Like what?"

"Recovering. Having nightmares. Scared. Robin says I might be depressed? I'm probably gonna limp forever."

"Stevie, look at me," Eddie said, tilting his face back towards him. Steve hadn't even realized he'd turned away so much. "I love you. Okay?"

"You do?"

"Do you think I notice what other people's lips do when they're sleeping?"

Steve snorted. "No, I guess not."

"I love you and sometimes that might mean I have to deal with your shit, but I want to, okay? It won't always be this much shit. I can hold your hand through it," Eddie smiled. "Now, you should go back to sleep."

"You didn't kiss me yet," Steve said around a yawn.

"We've got plenty of time for it, sweetheart. Go to sleep."

Steve believed him.

He knew it would still be shit. He knew he wouldn't always believe what Eddie said. He knew he'd still feel like a burden.

But they had time to wade through it together.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddielovemonth #love is having hope for the future #angst with a happy ending #established relationship #hurt/comfort #injury recovery #ptsd

[serickswrites]

Stay. Please.

Warnings: kidnapping, captivity, torture, restraints, forced to watch, self sacrifice, broken bones, bruises, blood, unconsciousness, rescue, hospital, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

The bruises beneath Smallest Teammate's eyes were so pronounced, Teammate One had never seen them so dark. As far as Teammate One was aware, Smallest Teammate had yet to go to sleep since Teammate Two and them had found Smallest Teammate. And Team Leader.

Team Leader lay completely still in the hospital bed. Their face was bruised and still swollen, but improving. The ventilator whirred and hissed quietly, the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor were all things that told Teammate One that Team Leader was still alive.

Because they should be dead.

Finding Smallest Teammate standing in cuffs in Whumper's compound had been jarring. Finding Team Leader covered in blood, unconscious, and hanging like a dead weight in chains just one cell over had been an entirely different feeling. Teammate One was so convinced that Team Leader was dead that they hadn't wanted to go in there. Hadn't wanted to confirm that their friend was dead. Their fear had them frozen. They couldn't move. Couldn't bear to see or think that they had failed Team Leader once more.

Teammate Two's voice came from Smallest Teammate's cell. But Teammate One couldn't hear Teammate Two's voice over the blood roaring in their ears. Couldn't hear Smallest Teammate's begging and pleading as they shoved past Teammate One to Team Leader's body. Couldn't hear Smallest Teammate's sobs as they desperately tried to get Team Leader's body down from the chains.

But they did hear Smallest Teammate's cry of delight. "They're alive. We need help. Please! Stay with me, Team Leader Stay. Please."

The words had Teammate One springing into action. They were moving without thinking. Team Leader was alive. Needed help. They could help Team Leader.

And Team Leader had stayed alive. They had stayed alive to make it to the hospital. Stayed alive through the emergency surgery that the medical team wasn't sure they would live through. Had stay alive with three broken ribs, a skull fracture, countless cuts, and burns. Team Leader had stayed alive.

"It should be me," Smallest Teammate finally whispered.

"What?" Teammate One couldn't be sure they heard Smallest Teammate right. Smallest Teammate hadn't spoken in days.

Smallest Teammate never looked up from Team Leader's face. Never stopped stroking Team Leader's hand that they clutched in both of theirs. "It should be me. Whumper," Smallest Teammate sniffed, "Whumper had wanted to hurt me. Wanted to do everything that happened to Team Leader to me. But Team Leader wouldn't let them. Wouldn't let Whumper hurt me. So I had to watch. I had to watch as Team Leader was tortured to death. Instead of me." They began to sob.

Teammate One sat down next to Smallest Teammate and put a hand on their shoulders. "It's ok. It's ok. You're both ok."

Smallest Teammate shook their head. "It is not ok. I owe them my life. I'll spend my whole life trying to pay them back. And it won't be enough."

Teammate One stared at Team Leader's face. "Somehow, I think Team Leader would rather you be in this chair than them. I think they won't see it your way. But we all owe Team Leader so much."

Smallest Teammate nodded. "Stay with me, please?"

Teammate One gave Smallest Teammate's shoulders a squeeze. "Sure."

#serickswrites #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whump community #tw kidnapping #tw captivity #tw restraints #tw torture #tw forced to watch #tw self sacrifice #tw broken bones #tw bruises #tw blood #tw unconsciousness #rescue #tw hospital #hurt/aftermath #hurt/recovery #whumpuary #whumpuary 2024 #day 9/10 #prompt: can't move #prompt: “stay please” #prompt: kidnapping #queue #team whump

[zee-rambles]

———-

Hard Work

First I Prev I Next

#rottmnt #save rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #unpause rottmnt #save rise of the tmnt #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt raph #mental health #ptsd #therapy #family #love #resilience #mental health recovery #recovery care #hurt and comfort #cartoons #animation #rottmnt nightmares comic #zee draws rottmnt

[chiharuuu22]

One thing that made Caretaker feel relieved was when she finally saw Whumpee crying.

Whumpee, who has never shown specific emotions, never complains, always carries on, and gets through all his difficulties and suffering. Alone.

That day, Caretaker just sat opposite Whumpee. Staring into his eyes while holding his hand. Saying that now Whumpee is safe, everything is finished, and he can let out all the things he has been holding back.

Whumpee was silent at first, but when finally Caretaker took him into her arms and gently rubbed his head and back, Whumpee sobbed and started crying. Whumpee cried loudly in the Caretaker's arms, complaining of pain from all the wounds on his body, saying that he was scared, saying that he was tired, and explaining haltingly and incoherently everything he had been through.

Caretaker didn't say anything; she just kept quiet and rubbed Whumpee. Even though Caretaker felt a prick in her heart, she honestly also felt relieved. Whumpee, who always stood up straight, finally collapsed with a cry. Until finally, Whumpee fell asleep in Caretaker's arms and was then slowly laid down and covered by Caretaker. Sometimes, Whumpee sobbed in his sleep, but at least he didn't wake up until morning.

The next day, when the sun was high, Whumpee finally woke up with puffy eyes. Caretaker smiled and helped him wash his face with cold water and compress his eyes. Whumpee smiled a little, and Caretaker felt it was another step towards Whumpee's recovery.

#whumpee #caretaker #whump #caretaking #whumpee x caretaker #caretaker x whumpee #whump writing #whump scenario #recovery whump #whump dialogue #crying whumpee #comfort #comfort whump #hurt/comfort #whumpblr #whump prompt #whump tropes #whump fic

[meggalice]

Another Instagram prompt this time asking for some movie aftermath; which I am more than happy to provide

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #tmnt 2018 #rise donnie #tmnt #rise leo #rise raph #rise mikey #my art #they hurt for little bit but everyone makes a full recovery and lives a long happy life in this timeline #they suffered enough #especially Raph

[echoingalaxies]

Whumpee and Caretaker have never been very touchy with each other - they're not very close in any way - but one time Whumpee gets really upset about something in front of Caretaker, and Caretaker takes their hand to comfort them.

Whumpee freezes, because they have never touched each other like this before, but the touch is still so distinguishable, and Whumpee doesn't understand how, since this is the first time. Caretaker has a wide scar across their palm, so their hand on theirs feels unique, and somehow, so familiar.

Whumpee racks their brain, trying to remember, to understand why. Then Caretaker squeezes their hand slightly, and that feeling brings up a hazy memory of Whumpee, laying in hospital bed, sick and delirious after rescue. They couldn't really see, they couldn't really speak, only remembering little glimpes that could be days apart.

But there was always someone beside them, Whumpee remembers, and every time they had a moment of clarity, when they tried to move, there was a hand holding their own, a thumb soothingly caressing the back of their hand.

They had assumed it had been the Medic, since they were always present. They hadn't remembered any of it afterwards, when they were getting better.

But now Whumpee was sure who it really had been. They look up at Caretaker, staring at them in confusion.

They didn't know Caretaker would care about them like that. Why were they there holding their hand day and night? And why had they not said anything when Whumpee got back on their feet?

#whump scenario #whump prompts #whump ideas #post rescue #recovery whump #hurt/comfort #whump #whumpee #caretaker #whumpee x caretaker #whumpblr

[jordanstrophe]

When whumpee was rescued, they were mentally and physically spent. They had no energy to cry and sob, no voice to speak to the police, or to tell the doctors what hurt.

They slept for nearly 24 hours, only waking because caretaker shook them to make sure they were still alive.

#whump #whumpee #caretaker #caretaking #whump prompt #caretaking prompt #rescued whumpee #recovery whump #exhausted whump #whump recovery #whump scenario #whump angst #whump writing #hurt/comfort #comfort whump

[foundfamilywhump]

truly i don't care who thinks it's stupid or boring or "doesn't count" or can't be as intense as what they think of as "real whump" or whatever else, whump with comfort and recovery and caretaker(s) is always going to be my style of whump and i'm gonna have a blast vibing with people who also enjoy that

#gav gab #saw a couple posts that annoyed me yesterday lmao but truly this is where it's at #whump #i reblog a lot of types of posts here #but i'm so bored of people who think comfort existing makes something inherently less whumpy #like lmao okay have your preferences but stop being a dick about them #'whump with caretakers is so INFANTILIZING and STUPID and ONE DIMENSIONAL and BORING' what all of it? #all of it eh???? #every single thing? #are you perhaps having a kneejerk emotional reaction to a word being used as a broad shorthand #rather than having to type 'the person who is helping to treat the whumpee's wounds or is a supportive presence in their life' #'who also has their own life and problems and feelings and interests and isn't just a one-dimensional servitor for the whumpee' #every single time you want to make sure not to piss anyone off #and thus being mean to people for no reason? makes you think #anyways hurt/comfort and whump are not disparate genres and comfort and recovery doesn't make something not whump thanks! #and it doesn't make it inherently or presumptively less intense either #or less dark or less violent or less whatever #it just means it's not Purely and Entirely about suffering and nothing else #shrug emoji