Hello! Here's my list of currently available fics, i will continue to update it as more are added. Feel free to send requests! I can't promise when/if i'll get to each one but i'll do my best :))
Want to request something? Please read my request guidelines 💜
Notes: All my fics are sfw and will include a list of any potential trigger warnings at the top as well as the word count. as a general rule, I write platonic and/or familial pairings, and most of these are fluffy/comfort/cozy type fics. The use of x/& in reader inserts means they can be read either as romantic or platonic <33.
Please let me know if I leave out any warnings you think I should have included (also welcome to do this through an anonymous ask if that makes you more comfortable!). I am always open to constructive criticism/advice!
MARVEL
Bucky
Here With You (Bucky x OC or fem!reader) - Realistic(ish) oneshot about helping Bucky take care of his arm, comfort/fluff
I've Got You (Bucky x/& GN!Reader) - Short oneshot of Bucky comforting Reader through a panic attack
Let’s Get Out of Here (Bucky x/& GN!Reader) - Reader has some self injurious behaviour and Bucky is there for them
Shenanigans with Loki (Loki x/& GN!Reader) - Short little oneshot where reader teases Loki and silly fluff ensues. This just makes me smile idk haha
Natasha
I'm Proud of You (Natasha x/& GN!Reader) - Short oneshot of Natasha comforting Reader through their anxiety & self-harm (sh is not graphic or focused on very much)
Yelena
Lacy, oh Lacy... - Inspired by Lacy by Olivia Rodrigo. I think that at some point, Natasha was Yelena's Lacy. So this is just a one shot based on that, with no dialogue. Sad & angsty lol
Agents of SHIELD
Strength (Coulson x May) - Filler moment with Coulson and a slightly injured May, somewhere towards the end of season 5.
I know the title might make this seem obvious, but apparently everyone is mad at me.
I (30M) have these two coworkers who have become friends, let’s call them L (26M) and J (26F). Anonymous post since I work for the government.
Anyway, I’ve worked with J and L for roughly six months. They’re pretty nerdy and awkward, so I thought I’d be nice and try to be friendly with them. I don’t understand most of what they say and they’re honestly really annoying, so this was a very charitable gesture on my part. Since they’re highly intelligent, the relationship does have certain benefits in the field.
On to the issue at hand. As I mentioned, I work for the government. So my SO (supervising officer) informed me of a covert operation that was of immediate importance and I was assigned to go undercover with J and L since their branch was under investigation.
At the end of the assignment we’re meant to cut ties completely, which I was prepared for. However, as it progressed it became evident that my SO expected me to terminate these agents. I’m trying to be vague as this is all highly sensitive, you understand.
But I’d become rather attached to J and L, they really are like awkward little lizards you keep around to add ambience, and I thought they could be valuable in the future. The idea of killing them was not appealing.
So, I made a very, in my opinion, logical choice to do what I could to save their lives. Instead of shooting them in the head as I was expected to do, I jettisoned them out of an airlock in a containment pod over the ocean.
I know that might sound bad, but as I mentioned they are incredibly intelligent and could plausibly find a way to escape (which, to be clear, they DID). I think this was an admirably ingenious decision, since I’d be clear with my SO as no regular person could have survived this, but also clear by J and L since I gave them a chance.
But now my SO is angry with me and insisting that I should have personally finished the job, plus I’ve heard through my contacts that J and L are “furious” with me and feel “betrayed?” Which seems very clearly irrational to me since I saved their lives.
So, AITA for saving my friends’ life and completing my assignment?
Edit: Yes, I suppose this could be construed as “attempted murder,” but the whole thing is that they SURVIVED as I knew they would.
Edit: Okay guys, stop attacking me. If you lack reading comprehension, just say that. I SAVED THEIR LIVES because they definitely would have died if I hadn’t done what I did.
And I don’t know where some of you got this idea that I’m in Hydra, because I’m not. But even if I was, that doesn’t make me a Nazi. I swear, you’re all so dramatic. Like watch the news?? SHIELD were the terrorists, and Hydra was only briefly associated with Nazis in the 1940s.
But this is all besides the point! I kept this anonymous for a reason. You know doxxing is a crime right?? Which I know because I’m a government agent, okay?? Do you understand the concept of a low profile? Obviously i can’t tell you what branch of government I’m in, but I’m not Hydra. Calm down.
Edit: Also! I was literally abused as a child, okay? So maybe I’m not great at forming friendships, but it’s not my fault. My brother gave me some profound trust issues and this is NOT helping. And I have, like, PTSD from all the incredibly confidential cases I’ve been involved in. You know you’re basically attacking a veteran, right? You should be thanking me for everything I’ve done for this country. It’s actually really ableist.
And this is not a platform for all your Hydra conspiracy theories okay? You’re completely derailing my original post with irrelevant speculation.
Edit: You can stop now! I get it. You think I’m the asshole. Whatever. And I am not “crashing out,” okay? As if I care about the opinions of a bunch of teenagers on Reddit. And that’s what it is: and opinion!! That doesn’t make you right. I’m deleting this.
I had the realization the other day while listening to Oliva Rodrigo that Natasha was Yelena's Lacy, and I made this. It's fairly harsh towards Natasha, which is obviously not my feelings, just attempting to show what I think Yelena's perspective was. This is set over the course of the Black Widow movie 🖤
Words: 700ish
Warnings: angst, regret, mentions of death, jealousy, grief, mentions of revenge, vague references to the trauma of the red room. this is sad lol
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Pain and suffering is every day and we are both still a trained killer. Except I’m not the one that’s on the cover of a magazine. I'm not the killer that little girls call their hero.
Yelena hated Natasha. She hated her beauty. She hated her success. She envied her freedom. Her stomach churned at her sister's naivety. That ridiculous belief that they could somehow make up for the horrors, that Yelena would ever truly be free.
She was not naive. She understood the truth of who they were. What Natasha suggested - what she seemed to believe - was impossible. Yelena lived with it every day; was haunted by that truth every day. She was convinced that nothing could ever make up for it, nothing. So why bother pretendending they were anything else?
And yet here was her sister- No, she thought, not her sister, because Natasha didn’t want that. Didn’t want her.
She despised her own jealousy. She shuddered at her own worship of the older widow. Her misplaced faith in the false god she had begged to rescue her.
But most of all, Yelena hated the love Natasha was met with everywhere her feet fell. That somehow, against the odds, everyone forgot who the two women really were.
No, she stoped herself again because, no, they didn’t forget who she was, they only forgot her would-be-sister, their precious “Black Widow.”
Yelena’s stomach tied in knots over everyone who loved her sister, the adoration that followed her like puppies. The family- the family she loved so much.
Why were the two of them so different? Why was she hated, pushed aside, forgotten- and yet Natasha had her own statue. Her face on a cereal box. A barbie, of all things. It would be laughable if it weren’t so horrible. Little girls cosplaying the effects of her abduction, her torture. Children playing at assasins, while her childhood had been ripped away.
And Natasha seemed to thrive on it, she had accepted it. Wasn’t she just the best thing to ever exist? Yelena scoffed.
Everything Yelena did, all the horrors she shut out, every time she broke control, every time she saved a life, every time she resisted; was poisoned by the knowledge that she could never live up to… to that.
Her heart twisted at her abandonment. Why had the Avenger never come back for her? Was she not worthy of avenging; her pain not as deep as the others? Or was Natasha really just that much better? So perfect that it covered over all the blood she’d spilled.
Yelena sat at Natasha's grave, every Saturday for three months. Her head rested on the hand gripping the top of her sister’s headstone.
And she apologized. Again, and again, she wept and she cried over the years wasted believing her sister; her Natasha, had abandoned her. Had left her to fend for herself. Had left her for the hero worship. For her fancy new family that must have been worth more than those precious few months in Ohio.
She apologized for making Natasha the villain in her story. She apologized for everything that had made her resent the woman she had far too little time with. She spoke to the empty space Natahsha had left, wishing for a last embrace, something to hold on to. I'm not doing well.
Her sister was angel dust and she was alone. Again.
Natasha never abandoned her. Even now, she hadn't left. She has been stolen. Ripped away, right as Yelena had learned she was loved by the sister she'd loathed and the sister she'd worshiped for so long.
No more dreaming of a perfect Natasha coming back for her, folding her into that coveted family. No more hope. She couldn't even be mad at her any longer. And she tried, it would have been easier than this; this all-consuming sadness. But she couldn’t. She couldn't hate Natasha.
And with this realization came another. That there was one person she could hate. One man that could pay for all those years of pain and longing and jealousy and profound loneliness. The man who had stolen that time, not only from her, but for himself.
Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader / requests are: open and encouraged
Summary: the Doctor asks about your touchy nature
CW: this is pure fluff
Doctor Who tag list: @nyxiethesimp @quickslvxrr (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)
___ ___ ___ ___ ___
“Look,” the Doctor says, startling you from your novel. You have one leg outstretched over his lap as he scans some sort of intergalactic e-newspaper. “I have a question, and, uh, if it’s too personal- do let me know. Sometimes I get mixed up with what people can ask and what they shouldn’t.”
You’re growing concerned. You put your novel down immediately. The Doctor does the same thing with his newspaper, waving the electronic signal away. You go to move your leg off him and sit up, but one of his hands whips out to stop you from moving it. His fingers squeeze comfortingly, and he lets out a little “don’t, please.”
You leave it there, asking the Doctor what’s wrong.
“Oh, nothing, nothing,” he assures you. “Just have a question, remember?” The Doctor clears his throat softly, adjusting himself on the lounge.
“I’ve noticed that you’re, well, you’re always touching me.” It’s not necessarily a question but more of a statement. You swallow thickly, scratching at your head anxiously. “Not that I don’t like it,” he quickly assured.
“I do like it actually,” he says, mostly to himself. “Brings me back when my brain gets far away. Big brain, I’ve got. Lots of memories. Lots of….”
You twiddle your socked toes, and the action snaps the Doctor out of his thoughts.
“It’s- I just, hmm,” you try to figure out a way to word it, to order it in your head. “It’s not a compulsion, I just- I’m touchy. I like textures, I like to feel you close so I know we’re both safe.” A flush creeps up your cheeks.
It wasn’t just that you liked to touch him, but that you liked to be in his space. You liked to fiddle with his clothes, straighten them or do up and undo buttons, smooth out the fabric of his coats. Playing with his hair was also high up on your list. Scratching at his scalp and twisting the longer locks of hair.
You just… loved to be close to him. It was as simple as that.
“Right, makes sense,” he replies, cuddling your leg closer to his lap. He drapes his arm over you. “Promise me something, then?”
You eye him warily, wondering just where this was going.
Summary: little filler moment between Coulson and a slightly injured May. Set somewhere around the end of season five (spoilers!!) as Coulson is grappling with his impending doom. Inspired by this prompt:
“I’m fine.” “You don’t look fine.” “I can stand. That’s enough.” “You’re leaning against the wall.” “I’m okay.” Person B walks over and hesitantly slides A’s arm over their shoulder. “You don’t need to pretend around me. I’m not going to let you down.” “That didn’t even cross my mind.”“Then why lie?” “I want. I want to be strong for you.” “I already know that you are.” (source)
Warnings: none really, spoilers for season five, a little sad but also sweet.
Words: 1,003
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Coulson sat in the disorganised space, trying to find something useful for the next stage of this ridiculous plan. Of all the cockeyed, deluded, unfathomably impossible-
He sighed. When had “impossible” ever stopped them before? He could hear the others shuffling around a few rooms over, taking stock after the latest incident, making sure all limbs were still attached.
The other “impossible” rose up in his mind as he glanced at the makeshift desk and the crumbled paper that lay there, laughing at him. He shook his head. Not the time.
A noise from the doorway brought his attention to a grinning May standing against the frame.
“You look like you’re trying to figure out time travel,” she joked at his clouded expression and he grimaced slightly. She could always read him.
“I’ll leave that to the British divison,” he answered.
An indignant, “I’m Scottish!!!” came from the other room and the two agents shared a silent laugh as May took a faltering step into the room, closing the door behind her.
Coulson eyed her suspiciously. She caught the look, and before he could say anything, she interjected with, "I'm fine, Director. Don’t look at me like that."
He internally questioned how accurate the title was anymore, but didn’t mention it.
“You don't look fine."
"Thanks,” she deadpanned. “I can stand, Phil. That's enough."
"You're leaning against the wall,” he pointed out helpfully.
"Shut up."
Coulson’s head cocked slightly, the concerned amusement evident on his face. He walked over and slid her arm over his shoulders.
He took her weight and said somewhat awkwardly, “You don't need to pretend around me. I'm not going to let you down."
“That’s clearly not the issue here."
"Then why lie?,” he asked as he helped her sit on the crates they’d been using as chairs.
She sighed, her eyes flicking back to the door, confirming that they would not be overheard.
“These kids need us to be strong. I am strong. I don’t break. Not ever. We can’t, you know that. Besides, with everything-“ She cut herself off abruptly, turning her head to study his face. She found it attentive and reluctantly continued, “You’ve had a hard year too. The kids aren’t the only ones I need to be strong for.”
The agent next to her had clearly let his guard down, otherwise his shock would not have been so easily detected.
Coulson was silent for a breath as he processed what May has said. Had he made her feel that way? That she needed to be strong for him? That was so far from his mind, he hadn’t even considered it. He relied on her of course, she was indispensable. They had always held each other together, stolen moments, the occasional drink; but they had both become so distracted lately.
Or, rather, he had become distracted, since apparently she was so clearly aware of what he needed her to be. He spent every waking moment with his impending death gnawing at him as he intentionally drowned it out. He had tried to write goodbyes but they all felt so… hollow. So disingenuous.
What was one to say in such a circumstance? You were always important to me. No. Too stale. And yet “I love you” was something he had not said in a very long time. He did feel it. For Daisy. For FitzSimmons. For his entire team. They were his family. Even Deke had grown on him. But to just say it was awkward, clunky.
And yet, if he let himself admit it, he felt love for the woman stood beside him. He had accepted it far before she had.
But she had married, so he sat back, telling himself that friendship was enough. That working together was at least better than not having her in his life.
And then everything had gone to hell, and they both told themselves that stolen moments were enough.
And now here she was, being strong for him? Proving herself? Or protecting him?
"I already know that you’re strong, May.” His voice was soft, and yet also somehow slightly scolding. What they had went mostly unspoken; never mind how painfully obvious it was to anyone who saw the two of them.
She was smiling slightly, and he could see the plotting behind her eyes. He knew the team was determined not to let him go. He was trying to prepare them, and he he knew that, eventually, they would have to accept it.
But May… May never liked to just accept things.
“What?,” he questioned, a teasing lilt to his voice as he tried to puzzle out what she was thinking.
She shook her head. “Nothing. Never mind. We finish this, properly, then I’ll answer you questions. Okay?”
He held her gaze as he nodded. “I suppose I can live with that.”
“Good,” she nodded with a note of finality which Coulson knew meant they were done talking about it. For now, at least.
As May stood, his hand found her wrist and she froze.
“What happened? Did Simmons check you out?,” he asked, referencing her injury.
She looked bewildered for a moment before remembering that she was, actually, in pain. She waved dismissively.
“It’s nothing.” Coulson made to counter her when she cut him off. “No, Phil, really. Or nothing to be done about it anyway, I’ll find some pain killers.” She had turned around and was gesturing over her shoulder as she confidently marched out the door; albeit with a slight limp. “Nothing broken or-“ Her voice faded as she disappeared down the hall.
Coulson rolled his eyes as he pushed himself off his seat and straightened his shirt. He might be the one dying, but somehow she was the one who never took care of herself. He followed her out, intent on ensuring that she would actually at least let him make sure she wasn’t bleeding or duct-taping herself back together. After all, injured agents were a liability on missions… yes, he told himself, that was why.
No other reason.
AN: hope you enjoyed 😊. It’s a bit random ig but I just thought the prompt fit them too well. I hope it’s not awkward, romance isn’t really my thing haha but I love these two 🤍
Summary: Reader has some self injurious behaviour and Bucky is there for them. Mind the warnings please <33
Warnings: self harm (over-excerise, split knuckles from a punching bag), mentions of low blood sugar from forgetting to eat a proper meal, Bucky physically stops them from hitting the bag by holding their arms (not forcing just helpful), some negative self-talk, emotional numbness, no y/n, gender neutral pronouns, reader has no physical descriptions. Comforting Bucky 🩵
Words: 1216
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Today felt longer than usual. You were up before the sun, running drills, assisting in the lab, even fetching coffee which, you had insisted multiple times, was a waste of your talents- but you did it anyway because you loved the lot of them too much.
The SHIELD rep that had been sent over to train the unpowered team members was relentless. And “relentless,” of course, was the polite way of saying absolutely horrible. These military types tended to have the same philosophy: yell really loud and hope you fell in line.
You hated falling in line.
This blockhead had been screaming about orders and protocols and life and death, and somewhere along the line, your anger changed targets. You were still mad at him, of course. But the self-doubt got stronger; you weren’t as strong as the others, your reaction time was slower than you wanted it to be, you got too emotionally involved-
The day was long.
After the agent finally left, you picked yourself up from the locker room bench, straightened out your rumbled clothes, and got on with it. “It” being more errands and a distinct lack of eating proper meals.
By the time the evening rolled around you were thoroughly pissed. Your blood sugar was hovering around that special low line that gave you an ever-present headache and the urge to maim anyone that crossed your path.
You found yourself back in the training room, rolling your neck and shoulders, and squaring up with the heavy bags. The first three minutes were measured, calculated. Your hits were precise, the combo drills having done their job and ingrained themselves in your mind. Your knuckles started to sting through the wrappings, the sweat beading on your forehead and trailing down your back. You’re breathing was heavier, the dizziness encroaching. You’d already lost track of time, the distinct feeling of bruising knuckles entering your foggy mind.
Everything had faded, muted, as you kept going. The echoing sound of your fists hitting the bags pounded in your aching head, drowning out the voices in your mind.
So you didn’t notice him until he was right behind you. Even then, you barely flinch as you feel Bucky’s hands settle gently on your waist. You roll your eyes, ignoring his presence as you continue to hit the bag. He stays silent for a few moments, waiting for you to acknowledge him, until he finally gives up.
You feel his hands move from your waist to rest on your elbows, trying to make you stop. Still, you ignore him, your elbows jostling his hands as they follow the motion of your fists. You hear him mutter something softly, though you don’t quite make it out.
His hands close around your forearms, gently but unmoving, as he slowly pulls them back to your sides. His chin comes to rest decidedly on your shoulder, his head leaning against yours. Your chest is still heaving hard, fairly gasping for breath, but you’ve stopped trying to hit the bag. He stays silent as you catch your breath, his thumbs softly rubbing your forearms as he holds you.
"You okay?" His voice is barely audible, slightly gravely from disuse.
You pull your lip between your teeth, not saying anything, as you let your head fall back against him. The numbness in your core is unsettling, but you always enjoy his warmth. You feel him take a deep breath. You know he’s worried about you; he’s always worried about you. You thought it unfair, with the life he’d had, that he would worry so much about you.
As if he can sense your brewing anxiety, Bucky turns you around, his hands moving from your forearms to your shoulders, to your face so he can cup your cheeks gently, holding your face. His eyes flit across your features, and you feel as though he can read your mind like a book with the way he studies your face. Every tensed muscle, every breath, every time your eyebrow twitches. You’re transfixed by those slate-blue eyes currently stripping you of every disguise. You can pretend with the others. Not with him. Never with him.
You take a slightly shuddering breath and his eyes soften further as his hands move again, to your back, settled across your shoulders, and he pulls you to his chest. He nuzzles his cheek to your head as he holds you tightly, his hands running your back. The silence should be deafening; and in a way, you suppose, it is. But this is safety. This is home.
You feel him shift slightly as he presses a kiss to the top of your head, and you realize with dismay that you are holding back tears. Numb and crying. Not the best of mixes.
He pulls back and takes your hands in his, examining the reddened bandages you’d wrapped with. “Let’s get you patched up.” His voice is somehow right in your ear and a mile away at the same time, but you nod dully, thankful the tears chose not to fall and have receded for now.
You let him lead you to the benches that line the edge of the training room, sitting down as he retrieves the first aid kit from the wall. They kept the gym cool, which was fine when you were training, but was awful when you stopped. You shivered slightly as the sheen of sweat evaporated in the manufactured breeze. Your attention is drawn back to Bucky as he moves into your line of sight again, and your eyes follow him as he kneels in front of you and begins to unwrap your swelling hands.
Your eyes follow his movements and you can feel yourself coming back, the numbness fading. He sighs softly at the sight of your multicolored knuckles, the skin splitting on a few. His eyes meet yours and you somewhat expect judgement, but they show only concern. He knows you don’t want to talk, not yet, so he says nothing, only rubbing the non-injured part of your hand softly with his thumb.
“You need to be more careful,” he muses gently.
You chuckle lightly. “I know.”
Your eyes meet again and he’s smirking slightly. You mirror his expression, both of you leaving the real issues unspoken; the fact that this was intentional. That the pain was not accidental.
He knew you were working on it, and you were. You know he’ll bring it up later, when your head is clearer. You know he’ll follow you to your next therapy appointment.
His gaze has fallen back to your hands, wrapping them gently in clean bandages. He braces a hand in his knee as he stands up, offering you his hand.
“Let’s get out here.”
You grin. Bucky had gotten in the habit of whisking you away, driving along wooded roads, finding the ocean or a lake, some weird little restaurant, anything that was a change of scenery. It worked. Eventually, it always worked. Escaping with him was a welcome release from your mind.
He would make sure you were steady, remind you to eat, bring up yet again that maybe you should take Sarah’s offer and get away from everything for a while.
You took his hand and let him pull you up, his arm settling lightly across your shoulders as you walked out.
AN: please let me know if you have any suggestions or if I missed any warnings 🩵
Summary: Reader has a panic attack and Bucky comforts them.
Warnings: panic attacks, headaches, hyperventilating, pet names (sweetheart, hun)
Words: 664
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(my gif :))
Bucky is well aware of your anxiety and does his best to help you, despite you not always making it easy on him.
You’d been doing fine for a few days, but there was always that buzzing under the surface. You could feel it rising and you knew you’d need to check out for a bit. You knew the super soldier would find you, follow the sound of your breathing; he couldn’t help himself.
Nonetheless, you tried to hide yourself away, hating the idea of being a burden. Your heart picked up as you made your way down the halls and you cursed under your breath, picking up your pace. You ducked around a corner, your knees weakening suddenly and you groaned in annoyance as you slid down the wall. You would’ve preferred more privacy, but the compound was quiet today and this would have to do.
You let your head fall against the wall and tried to control your breathing. Somewhere beyond the rushing blood in your ears, you sensed his not-so-light footfalls.
Bucky found you straight away, his instincts leading him right to you. He rounds the corner to find you sitting against a wall and breathing heavy. He rushes over to you and kneels in front of you, his voice quiet and with a barely restrained quality as he speaks to you.
"Heeey sweetheart, it's all okay. Can you look at me?"
"It’s f-fine, Buck. I'll be okay, I just need a minute. It just, it just n-needs to run its c-course then i'll be fine,” you ground out between breaths. You just wanted to be alone, embarrassed at the way you were practically gasping for breath. You'd be lying though if you said you weren’t comforted by his presence.
"No, hun. You’re gonna hurt yourself, you need to slow your breathing."
“Demanding,” you attempted to joke but just end up coughing. Your erratic breathing is starting to take its toll; you’re hyperventilating now and you can feel yourself getting dizzy as your chest starts to ache.
At the edge of your vision, you see Buckys hands raising towards you, but it slows before it can reach you.
"Can I touch you sweetheart?"
You nod a little as you fight to get air. He was always so careful. You teased him for it on your good days, but you were grateful.
He adjusts so he's sitting next to you against the wall and puts his arm around your shoulders. He takes one of your hands in his and places it over his heart.
"Just try to follow my breathing, okay? I know it's hard, just try to focus on the rise and fall of my chest. I’ve got you."
He starts taking exaggerated deep breaths and whispering encouragement. The way he was sucking in air would have made you laugh if you weren’t on the verge of passing out.
After a moment, you're able to follow his breathing and it slowly calms you down. As your lungs stop aching so much, you can more clearly feel the pain in your head, pulsing at your temples.
Bucky notices as you screw your eyes shut, grimacing at your pain. He starts rubbing your arm and gently pulling you closer.
"Put your head on my chest, catch your breath."
Your feigned reluctance to his affection having quickly drained away, you let yourself lean over and he starts softly running his fingers along your hairline.
"Close your eyes, get some rest."
Your anxiety starts to spark again and you squirm a bit. "But you have that thing with Sam, and-" He cuts you off, stilling you and putting your worries to bed.
"Shhh none of that, just rest. Steve can handle it. I've got time."
You hid your face in his chest as your eyes glassed over, slightly annoyed at how much you depended on him, how safe he made you feel.
But you pushed the feeling away and let yourself drown in his comfort.
A.N: as always, please let me know if I left out any warnings <33
10/30/2024 update - requests are currently closed due to me being very tired lol
Hi! Here are my guidelines for requesting fics. Please keep these in mind in regard to reader inserts, though they would also apply to other fics.
No’s:
No smut or nsfw requests
No romantic requests (more on that below if you want an explanation :))
No pregnancy
I won’t write severely suicidal characters (including !reader)
No fics about real people (just fictional characters)
Yes’:
mental health comfort (panic attacks, anxiety, etc)
chronic illness comfort (if you want, include specific illnesses so it can be more tailored)
most other wholesome comfort type fics :))
Fandoms I’ll write for:
Marvel (mcu, agents of shield, x-men, the gifted)
Doctor Who
White Collar
Some Arrowverse (I haven’t seen all of it, but shoot and I’ll see :))
Maybe others as well, if you’ve seen me post about it on my main blog, I’ll probably write it haha
Because of the sfw nature of my fics, I am comfortable with minors requesting/interacting with my posts.
Also: because of my own health issues/disabilities, I cannot guarantee a time frame from request to when the fic is posted. I also cannot guarantee that I will take a request, even if it matches all above criteria.
That being said, I will do my best to do as many as I can! This is fun for me, I just need to pace myself <33
And the basics: I do not give permission to copy and republish my fics anywhere 😊👍
Masterlist
More detail on pairings:
I find it a bit hard to explain the way I write pairings. I’m uncomfortable writing explicitly romantic or sexual things. I’m aroace, so it just doesn’t come naturally to me. (It’s important to me that you guys know I’m not shaming that in any way, this is simply a choice for what I am comfortable writing)
That being said, I do write physical affection and close relationships. Could be platonic, familial, or queer platonic relationships. I hope this makes sense, idk why but I feel a need to explain myself lol.
My fics may be interpreted as romantic, but for requests I won’t intentionally write romance. So things like marriage, pregnancy, etc are just not my vibe for my personal writing.
Summary: Natasha comforting the Reader through their anxiety & self-doubt. please do heed the warnings! this does contain some self-harm, though I don't think it's graphic <3
Warnings: mention & description of self-harm (hands under too-hot water) and anxiety
Word Count: 455
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(not my gif)
It had been a long day, helping Nat and Yelena with their current assignments. You were good at your job, you did your part. But the sisters were professionals and sometimes your insecurities crept up, an itch clawing at the back of your skull.
You sighed as you aggressively rolled your neck and shoulders, trying to dispel the shivering feeling. Some part of you knew that you were being too hard on yourself, but on days like this your irrational side would take over.
As you were putting together dinner for yourself and the widows and washing your hands, you let the water run. It was much too hot, you knew that; but it was settling your mind.
"Hey soldier."
You jump at Natasha's playful voice behind you, quickly shutting off the water and shaking the drops from your now aching and reddened hands.
"Hey! Yeah, sorry, I uh-,” you laugh a bit awkwardly as you try to gather yourself. “The food's almost ready. Sorry, I guess I got distracted. Just a few things left-"
"Woah, I'm not here to rush you," she cuts you off with a kind but teasing grin, though it wavers just a touch as she glances down at your hands. You turn towards the cupboards as the anxiety rises in your chest. Don’t ask, please don’t ask-
"You did really well today," she continues, interrupting your anxious thoughs and leaning against the counter easily. You let out a breath as you move to get the dishes from the cupboard. "I'm proud of you."
The plates clang a bit too loudly on the counter and you take a breath, thankful your back is to her. You force a laugh.
"I'm just blundering along," you brush off the praise, incapable of accepting it.
Natasha laughs a bit and moves around so she can look at you.
"We're all blundering along, we learn through mistakes. But you're doing really well, you know I don't just say that to hear myself talk, right? I genuinely think you're doing a really good job."
She holds your gaze for a few seconds, the eye contact somehow both comforting and intimidating. Her voice is soft when she speaks again.
"Do you need anything?"
You shut your eyes for a second.
"Not at the moment," you answer honestly, matching her tone and smiling a bit when you look at her again.
She's quiet for a few more seconds, but ultimately nods. Her voice is back to a lighthearted teasing as she grabs a few cooking utensils.
"Okay. Then let me help you finish this before Yelena gets impatient and just chugs the hot sauce."
You laugh as she bumps your shoulders together and helps you finish the dinner.
· · ─────── ·🕷· ─────── · ·
AN: i hope this is okay! i try to keep my self-harm related fics kind of vague in the hope that they won't be triggering while still being comforting. let me know if you have any suggestions, or send requests if you like! ♡
Summary: Reader teases Loki, ridiculous fluff ensues. This is just incredibly silly, but it makes me smile lol
Warnings: none really, pure fluff; slight tickling ig but it’s not the focus
Words: 238
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(gif is mine :))
It was quiet at the tower. Quiet was dangerous. So easily disturbed…
You grin mischievously as you watch Loki out of the corner of your eye. It had been too long since you’d messed with him.
"You know, you’re kinda greasy Lokes.,” you muse with a slight teasing edge to your voice. He puts a hand to his chest in mock shock.
"Greasy?! I am a prince, you adorable little troll," he says with affectionate contempt.
"Mm. A greasy prince." A wide smirk starts spreading across your face as you start slowly backing out of the room before turning and making a hasty retreat.
Loki looks after you with confusion.
"I believe they wish you to chase them, brother," Thor informs him with more than a little amusement.
"Childish games," Loki grumbles under his breath as he strides out of the room. As soon as he's rounded the corner and is out of Thor's view, though, he grins as he breaks into a run.
He finds you around the next bend and wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you up and spinning you around, halting your escape. You squeal, giggling like a child, as he lightly tickles your ribs.
"Stop! Stop, please, I yield! I yield! You win," you laugh, out of breath and he lets up but doesn't release you.
"I always do," he teases, pressing a quick kiss to your temple and letting you go.
Summary: In which the reader is dysphoric and Loki is incredibly helpful and comforting. Specifically, a genderfluid reader trying to adjust to accepting the fluid nature… of their gender… You know what, summaries are hard lol. Written as platonic <3.
Warnings: anxiety (possibly bordering on panic sometimes), descriptions of dizzy/fuzziness, dysphoria & some internalized transphobia (though the reader is unspecified in both birth and current gender identity so it's not too detailed)
Words: 1693
Masterlist
(gif is mine :))
You’d felt different ever since you’d woken up, maybe since last night if you were being honest. Something was off. Wrong.
No, you reminded yourself silently, guilt creeping into your brain. Not wrong. Just different. No matter how much you told yourself that, no matter how many times you tried to convince yourself that everything you felt was fine and valid - it just didn’t seem to stick.
You’d pushed through the morning, avoiding mirrors as much as possible. You’d done your best to subtly align your appearance with how you felt today, but the anxiety of ‘what if the others notice? what if they ask questions?’ was too strong to do anything too obvious. You should tell them, you knew that. You thought they would understand, be kind at least. It might take some explaining, but eventually -
The anxiety from the thought alone was too much. Not today; not yet. There really was only one person you knew would understand, but the confidence required to come clean seemed too daunting on its own.
The afternoon got harder. Maybe it was one too many gendered compliments, or the ridiculous decision to color coordinate the cupcakes at lunch, blue and pink, and being offered the wrong one, but it was too much. You hid in a maintenance closet (this really needed to stop before it became a habit… who are you kidding, it already was) and took some breaths, hoping the worst of it would pass.
Well, today might as well be as good as any other, you were going to have to face it sometime. And they would understand, that was a given.
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
It still took you a solid 45 minutes to hype yourself up enough. But now that you were standing in front of Loki’s door, it didn’t feel like you’d waited long enough. You stared at the greyish material as the minutes ticked by. What was this door made of anyway? Was that metal? Or just opaque plexiglass? Possibly an alloy…
You jumped a good three feet in the air at the sound of Jarvis speaking your name, the small light from the overhead camera blinking lazily.
“Mr. Laufeyson has inquired whether you would like to come inside or continue evaluating the structural integrity of his door.”
You winced at the mildly disapproving tone that tainted the AI’s speech. Jarvis was fed up with you. Great. You noted the use of Loki’s pronouns and breathed a sigh of relief that you would not have to ask. You always did, of course, but conversation was difficult and you liked to have as little of it as possible. Possibly using Jarvis to inform everyone subtly of your identity… Not yet. You stood up a bit straighter and took a breath.
A quiet ‘open’ called from inside, the door swung open, and you started.
“Oh don’t act surprised,” came the smooth yet lazy voice from inside the room, “You’d already decided to come in.” You rolled your shoulders a bit as you barely entered the room.
"Hey, Lokes," you started, anxiously smiling at him draped over an armchair.
"Peasant," he said simply, though there was no venom behind it and it sounded more like an endearment than an insult.
"Oh don't start," you laughed but sent him a glare, slowly inching more into the room. He looked up from the gigantic book on his lap and grinned.
"Apologies, darling," he laughed. "What can I do for you?"
Ha. Right. That. The door clicked shut behind you and you spun around just in time to see Jarvis’ warbling blue sphere disappear from the wall screen, leaving the both of you alone.
You turned back to the person who was watching you with a slight hint of amusement, and you smiled again, though it didn't quite reach your eyes. His face softened, seemingly understanding you instantly.
"You're troubled," he stated, not asking. He closed the large book with a soft thunk and stood, though not moving to you. You chuckled tensely.
"When am I not troubled?," you shrugged.
He shook his head slightly, a small grin pulling at his lips. “I am quite good at reading you, love, but I may need you to specify the current problem.”
You weren’t sure if that made you feel more or less uneasy and you shifted your feet a bit, your eyes drifting to the heavy book now laying on the impossibly-spotless glass coffee table. Brown leather, though perhaps it had been redder at some point. Repaired cracks along the spine, the stitching visible through the outer cover. Scratched gold gilding the cover-
“Darling.” You flinched hard at his hands on your shoulders, him suddenly in front of you. He went to pull back, but after looking at your face for a moment, thought better of it and left his hands gently resting on your shoulders, a breathing room of nearly arm's length between you.
His voice was impossibly soft when he spoke again.
"What do you need, love?"
You let out a quick, breathy laugh. "Nothing, really. Just wanted to see you." Right. Lying. Always helpful. You shook your head, taking a breath and trying again. "I just, I don't know. I was wondering - I was wondering if you; or if I could, well if you had-"
His hands moved to the middle of your shoulders, closer to your neck, the pressure of them increasing as he let the weight of his arms press down on you, grounding you. The shockingly instant relief swept over you, and he moved his palms to gently rub up and down your arms.
"Breathe. Take your time."
Of course, whenever he told you to breathe, you stopped. What else was the logical reaction? You closed your eyes, too hazy to be embarrassed. The room was quiet, the muffled outside noise creeping in. Shuffling footsteps, a phone ringing somewhere down the hall. A coffee machine bubbling…
Your breathing had slowed again, so thankfully now you had the clarity to be embarrassed as the heat crept up your neck. Wonderful. You opened your eyes and looked up at him sheepishly, a small smile barely tugging at your lips as you questioned what you were supposed to do now.
He laughed softly at your uncertainty before his face returned to a neutral concern.
“Now try again,” he prompted gently, removing his hands from your shoulders and stepping back once, as if physically giving you room to think. You took a breath.
"I just, I don't feel like I normally do. I'm still me, but different? Or maybe I've always felt like this, and I was just pretending? Or, I'm pretending now? It’s not like this is the first time this has happened. Maybe I just want attention. But I don't want anyone to know. Or maybe I'm just-"
"Darling?," he interrupted gently, though there was the slightest hint of amusement in his tone.
"Hm?"
"Spiraling."
"Right. Sorry."
He shook his head, a soft smile on his face. "You need not apologize," he put his hands back on your shoulders and pulled you close to his chest, resting his cheek on the top of your head and wrapping his arms snugly around you. He had apparently deemed his earlier strategy of distance a failure. "Just take a breath. And try again."
You took a dramatically deep breath but said nothing, instead opting to hide your face against him.
He seemed to take pity on you as he let his head lean slightly to one side, considering you.
"Are we trying different pronouns?," he prompted and you pulled back slightly to look up at him, surprised.
"Well you don't beat around the bush, do you?," you laughed, trying to cover up the wave of anxiety, or maybe it was relief, that shuddered through you.
"Why should I?,” he inquired, as if the very idea of being embarrassed about these things was foreign to him. Though given what you’d overheard of his conversations with some of the others, you guessed that was for your benefit.
“So, are you?," he asked slowly, leaning back again and drawing your focus back to him.
"Yeah, I guess," you mumbled, hesitant.
His hands clapped together suddenly, making you jump a bit. "Wonderful! What are you going with?"
He was smiling like a giddy child, seeming genuinely excited and you didn't know whether to laugh or cry. You told him what you were leaning towards and he grinned as you continued quickly, as though if you stopped for breath you would lose your nerve.
"I also kind of wanted to see if I could borrow some different clothes. And maybe just hang out with you for a bit? I don't know if I'm ready for anyone else yet."
His smile had softened and he was staring at you now, making you squirm.
"Why are you looking at me like that?," you chuckled awkwardly.
His grin widened a fraction before he shook it off. "No reason. Come on," he said, grabbing your hands and pulling you along. "I have quite the variety of outfits," he said with a tweak of his eyebrow and you grinned. That he most certainly did.
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
He helped you pick something that made you unbelievably comfortable, accentuating and hiding in turn what you felt needed to be. He was offering passive but very helpful suggestions along the way. At one point, he stood behind you at the mirror, his long arms wrapped around your middle, and you caught him looking at you like that again; like he thought you were the most perfect thing he’d seen, as if he were immensely proud of you, and you dropped your head to hide the hot tears you felt threatening your eyes. You felt him chuckle behind you, his arms tightening protectively as he pressed a kiss to your head.
You spent the rest of the afternoon with him. He somehow managed to give you very obviously gendered pet names and compliments that aligned with your current chosen pronouns, while also not making a big deal of it. He kept you on a steady supply of snacks and hot drinks as you watched movies.
· · ─────── ·❤︎· ─────── · ·
A/N: hehehehehehe nooo I’m not projecting🙃🤍. I know dysphoria and gender fluidity are different for everyone so this can’t fully represent everyone’s experience.
If I could improve it in some way or if something was unintentionally offensive, please let me know! I hope it was at least a little comforting even if it’s a bit messy :) 💜
Summary: In which the reader is dysphoric and Loki is incredibly helpful and comforting. Specifically, a genderfluid reader trying to adjust to accepting the fluid nature… of their gender… You know what, summaries are hard lol. Written as platonic <3.
Warnings: anxiety (possibly bordering on panic sometimes), descriptions of dizzy/fuzziness, dysphoria & some internalized transphobia (though the reader is unspecified in both birth and current gender identity so it's not too detailed)
Words: 1693
Masterlist | Request Guidelines
(gif is mine :))
You’d felt different ever since you’d woken up, maybe since last night if you were being honest. Something was off. Wrong.
No, you reminded yourself silently, guilt creeping into your brain. Not wrong. Just different. No matter how much you told yourself that, no matter how many times you tried to convince yourself that everything you felt was fine and valid - it just didn’t seem to stick.
You’d pushed through the morning, avoiding mirrors as much as possible. You’d done your best to subtly align your appearance with how you felt today, but the anxiety of ‘what if the others notice? what if they ask questions?’ was too strong to do anything too obvious. You should tell them, you knew that. You thought they would understand, be kind at least. It might take some explaining, but eventually -
The anxiety from the thought alone was too much. Not today; not yet. There really was only one person you knew would understand, but the confidence required to come clean seemed too daunting on its own.
The afternoon got harder. Maybe it was one too many gendered compliments, or the ridiculous decision to color coordinate the cupcakes at lunch, blue and pink, and being offered the wrong one, but it was too much. You hid in a maintenance closet (this really needed to stop before it became a habit… who are you kidding, it already was) and took some breaths, hoping the worst of it would pass.
Well, today might as well be as good as any other, you were going to have to face it sometime. And they would understand, that was a given.
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
It still took you a solid 45 minutes to hype yourself up enough. But now that you were standing in front of Loki’s door, it didn’t feel like you’d waited long enough. You stared at the greyish material as the minutes ticked by. What was this door made of anyway? Was that metal? Or just opaque plexiglass? Possibly an alloy…
You jumped a good three feet in the air at the sound of Jarvis speaking your name, the small light from the overhead camera blinking lazily.
“Mr. Laufeyson has inquired whether you would like to come inside or continue evaluating the structural integrity of his door.”
You winced at the mildly disapproving tone that tainted the AI’s speech. Jarvis was fed up with you. Great. You noted the use of Loki’s pronouns and breathed a sigh of relief that you would not have to ask. You always did, of course, but conversation was difficult and you liked to have as little of it as possible. Possibly using Jarvis to inform everyone subtly of your identity… Not yet. You stood up a bit straighter and took a breath.
A quiet ‘open’ called from inside, the door swung open, and you started.
“Oh don’t act surprised,” came the smooth yet lazy voice from inside the room, “You’d already decided to come in.” You rolled your shoulders a bit as you barely entered the room.
"Hey, Lokes," you started, anxiously smiling at him draped over an armchair.
"Peasant," he said simply, though there was no venom behind it and it sounded more like an endearment than an insult.
"Oh don't start," you laughed but sent him a glare, slowly inching more into the room. He looked up from the gigantic book on his lap and grinned.
"Apologies, darling," he laughed. "What can I do for you?"
Ha. Right. That. The door clicked shut behind you and you spun around just in time to see Jarvis’ warbling blue sphere disappear from the wall screen, leaving the both of you alone.
You turned back to the person who was watching you with a slight hint of amusement, and you smiled again, though it didn't quite reach your eyes. His face softened, seemingly understanding you instantly.
"You're troubled," he stated, not asking. He closed the large book with a soft thunk and stood, though not moving to you. You chuckled tensely.
"When am I not troubled?," you shrugged.
He shook his head slightly, a small grin pulling at his lips. “I am quite good at reading you, love, but I may need you to specify the current problem.”
You weren’t sure if that made you feel more or less uneasy and you shifted your feet a bit, your eyes drifting to the heavy book now laying on the impossibly-spotless glass coffee table. Brown leather, though perhaps it had been redder at some point. Repaired cracks along the spine, the stitching visible through the outer cover. Scratched gold gilding the cover-
“Darling.” You flinched hard at his hands on your shoulders, him suddenly in front of you. He went to pull back, but after looking at your face for a moment, thought better of it and left his hands gently resting on your shoulders, a breathing room of nearly arm's length between you.
His voice was impossibly soft when he spoke again.
"What do you need, love?"
You let out a quick, breathy laugh. "Nothing, really. Just wanted to see you." Right. Lying. Always helpful. You shook your head, taking a breath and trying again. "I just, I don't know. I was wondering - I was wondering if you; or if I could, well if you had-"
His hands moved to the middle of your shoulders, closer to your neck, the pressure of them increasing as he let the weight of his arms press down on you, grounding you. The shockingly instant relief swept over you, and he moved his palms to gently rub up and down your arms.
"Breathe. Take your time."
Of course, whenever he told you to breathe, you stopped. What else was the logical reaction? You closed your eyes, too hazy to be embarrassed. The room was quiet, the muffled outside noise creeping in. Shuffling footsteps, a phone ringing somewhere down the hall. A coffee machine bubbling…
Your breathing had slowed again, so thankfully now you had the clarity to be embarrassed as the heat crept up your neck. Wonderful. You opened your eyes and looked up at him sheepishly, a small smile barely tugging at your lips as you questioned what you were supposed to do now.
He laughed softly at your uncertainty before his face returned to a neutral concern.
“Now try again,” he prompted gently, removing his hands from your shoulders and stepping back once, as if physically giving you room to think. You took a breath.
"I just, I don't feel like I normally do. I'm still me, but different? Or maybe I've always felt like this, and I was just pretending? Or, I'm pretending now? It’s not like this is the first time this has happened. Maybe I just want attention. But I don't want anyone to know. Or maybe I'm just-"
"Darling?," he interrupted gently, though there was the slightest hint of amusement in his tone.
"Hm?"
"Spiraling."
"Right. Sorry."
He shook his head, a soft smile on his face. "You need not apologize," he put his hands back on your shoulders and pulled you close to his chest, resting his cheek on the top of your head and wrapping his arms snugly around you. He had apparently deemed his earlier strategy of distance a failure. "Just take a breath. And try again."
You took a dramatically deep breath but said nothing, instead opting to hide your face against him.
He seemed to take pity on you as he let his head lean slightly to one side, considering you.
"Are we trying different pronouns?," he prompted and you pulled back slightly to look up at him, surprised.
"Well you don't beat around the bush, do you?," you laughed, trying to cover up the wave of anxiety, or maybe it was relief, that shuddered through you.
"Why should I?,” he inquired, as if the very idea of being embarrassed about these things was foreign to him. Though given what you’d overheard of his conversations with some of the others, you guessed that was for your benefit.
“So, are you?," he asked slowly, leaning back again and drawing your focus back to him.
"Yeah, I guess," you mumbled, hesitant.
His hands clapped together suddenly, making you jump a bit. "Wonderful! What are you going with?"
He was smiling like a giddy child, seeming genuinely excited and you didn't know whether to laugh or cry. You told him what you were leaning towards and he grinned as you continued quickly, as though if you stopped for breath you would lose your nerve.
"I also kind of wanted to see if I could borrow some different clothes. And maybe just hang out with you for a bit? I don't know if I'm ready for anyone else yet."
His smile had softened and he was staring at you now, making you squirm.
"Why are you looking at me like that?," you chuckled awkwardly.
His grin widened a fraction before he shook it off. "No reason. Come on," he said, grabbing your hands and pulling you along. "I have quite the variety of outfits," he said with a tweak of his eyebrow and you grinned. That he most certainly did.
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
He helped you pick something that made you unbelievably comfortable, accentuating and hiding in turn what you felt needed to be. He was offering passive but very helpful suggestions along the way. At one point, he stood behind you at the mirror, his long arms wrapped around your middle, and you caught him looking at you like that again; like he thought you were the most perfect thing he’d seen, as if he were immensely proud of you, and you dropped your head to hide the hot tears you felt threatening your eyes. You felt him chuckle behind you, his arms tightening protectively as he pressed a kiss to your head.
You spent the rest of the afternoon with him. He somehow managed to give you very obviously gendered pet names and compliments that aligned with your current chosen pronouns, while also not making a big deal of it. He kept you on a steady supply of snacks and hot drinks as you watched movies.
· · ─────── ·❤︎· ─────── · ·
A/N: hehehehehehe nooo I’m not projecting🙃🤍. I know dysphoria and gender fluidity are different for everyone so this can’t fully represent everyone’s experience.
If I could improve it in some way or if something was unintentionally offensive, please let me know! I hope it was at least a little comforting even if it’s a bit messy :) 💜
writing fanfiction is just. i’m being so creative and original. i’m plagiarizing everyone by accident. i’m a genius. i’m cringe. i’m too angsty. i’m too cheesy. this is not in character. it doesn’t matter that it’s not in character because these are my characters now. i love my hobby. this is the worst possible use of my time. i’m seeking validation. i’m projecting my own personal problems onto this story and i’m barely hiding it. i know so many words and i’m using all of them wrong. im on tumblr posting about it instead of writing it.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC (could be read as an xreader if you like, oc uses she/her pronouns, and has a lower leg amputation. other than that, she is given no physical descriptions or name)
Summary: Semi-realistic one-shot about oc helping Bucky take care of his prosthetic. I thought it would be interesting if Bucky actually had to take care of what remained of his limb like real people who have lost a limb do. Basically, a safe, cozy little thing about taking care of Bucky and helping him. Set post CA: Civil War. Written as platonic <3.
Warnings: some descriptions of limb care, mentions of past trauma (nothing graphic), cuddling ig lol
Words: 1765
Masterlist | Request Guidelines
(gif is mine :))
She’d been paying plenty of attention to Bucky, as always. He had been shifting and rolling his left shoulder more than usual and she suspected the pain was getting worse. He was so private about anything relating to the arm, or Hydra, even his hair was a sore spot at times. He’d grown to trust her more, slowly, painfully slowly, but it was progress. She knew she’d say something eventually, she just hoped she wouldn’t push him away.
“Hey James,” she started quietly once they were alone in his room.
“Oh great,” he groaned.
“What?,” she laughed at his tone.
“You. You only call me ‘James’ when you’re worried about me.”
“Well by that logic, I’m worried about you most of the time - actually yeah, that checks out,” she chuckled lightly. “Does it bother you?”
“Nah, not really. I don’t know. Just spill it. What's on your mind?”
She laughed at him again. He was very fed up with everything lately. But you know, lovingly.
“I’m worried about the phantom pains,” she said cautiously. He stiffened a bit but didn’t brush her off so she went on. “I know you don’t like to talk about it, I’m sorry. I just hate seeing you in pain. And I know you don’t take care of your shoulder like you should.” She wasn’t chiding him in any way, just stating the truth. He hated to be reminded that the arm was metal, so he rarely removed it to tend to his shoulder.
“I want to help you with it, if you’ll let me.” She kept her tone neutral, not pushing him.
He sat in silence as the minutes stretched on awkwardly. She was used to his silence and let it rest, looking around the room so as not to stare at him.
Bucky knew she was right. It hurt like the dickens and he hadn’t properly cared for his remaining shoulder in far too long and things were happening. It embarrassed him immensely but he knew he wouldn’t do it on his own.
After a very long four minutes, he sighed and she turned her attention back to him.
“Okay,” he said simply and kept his voice as void of emotion as possible. She smiled gently and nodded, standing and going to where they kept the things they needed. It was hardly the first time she’d helped him. She would hold off bringing it up as long as possible, giving him every opportunity to deal with it himself. It was an effort to dignify him, but she realized she’d left it too long in between. He never seemed to be able to do it on his own.
Her own leg clicked quietly at the joints as she walked, it was hardly noticeable to anyone else. About five inches below the knee her left leg was amputated. After a mission had gone wrong, she had been forced to lose the limb and now she had her own prosthetic to care for. The time it took to properly care for the prosthetic was a bit of a nuisance, but she was thankful that the experience let her help Bucky when he needed her.
She reentered the room to find him sitting on the floor and fiddling with his metal fingers, his face clouded.
“Hey Buck,” she said softly, dropping down beside him and crossing her legs beneath herself. He gave her an amused smile and they sat there for a moment as she tried to give him some time. As she waited, she pulled her own prosthetic leg off and put it aside. She rubbed the nub and swung it slightly with a lopsided grin on her face and Bucky chuckled. She recrossed her legs, much more comfortable now that there wasn’t metal jamming into her butt, and she waited for him.
When he didn’t say anything after two minutes had passed she put a gentle hand on his back.
“Can we get this over with?,” she asked softly. He hummed distractedly in response and she gave the shoulder a slight squeeze.
He pulled his shirt off with an unsettled groan and rolled his neck a bit.
“Do you want me to do it, or-?,” she asked, keeping her voice quiet and completely undemanding. He was strong but she knew he needed gentleness.
He just gestured to it with his head slightly and she nodded.
“Okay.”
She moved slowly and made an effort to keep everything as silent as possible, though the arm whirred and clicked somewhat of its own accord. She pressed the sequence Shuri had taught her and the arm clicked off into her hands.
She heard a strangled breath from Bucky and she fought the urge to comfort him. He would need it later and she knew she had to keep it to a minimum for his sake.
After the arm itself was removed, there was a whole other set of instructions to follow to make the shoulder attachment release. He had needed further amputation and skin grafts after the Hydra arm had been removed. Having the metal fused to his skin for so long had had… undesired consequences. Try as she might, she couldn’t quite shake the image from her mind. It had made her anger flare up again seeing how awfully they had cared, or not cared, for him. She’d burst another heavy bag in the gym that night.
The attachment port hissed and clicked as it released from his skin and he took another shaky breath. She gently peeled off the sock and took a deep breath as quietly as she could manage. The skin was red and irritated, of course. She’d known it would be. It was fine. He was fine. He would be fine. She didn’t need this to make her emotional. She needed to be a rock for him and she would. She took her cheek between her teeth as she reached for the clothes and warm water.
“Ready?,” she asked quietly, though it was more like a heads-up than a question. He nodded and she put the soft cloth to his shoulder as gently as she could manage.
He made a small noise and she winced. It was extremely sensitive after being covered for so long.
“Let me know if you need a break,” she quietly reminded him.
She worked away, taking a long time because of how slowly she was moving. As she was rinsing the last of the soap off, she heard his voice croak just above a whisper.
“Can you stop? Please.” He wasn’t angry at her, she knew that. But the amount of restraint she could hear in his voice twisted her heart.
She backed off immediately, physically scooting away a few feet and laying her hands palms-up on her knees. She knew the routine. Distance, silence, clear display of harmlessness.
She wasn’t afraid of him lashing out. Never. She did, however, greatly fear triggering a PTSD episode, sending his mind back to that terrible place. She could hardly handle it, his shaking, the muttering, sweating, self-injurious regulation methods. He would hit himself and she wasn’t strong enough to stop him. Even if she was, it would just make things exponentially worse.
Bucky let out a long breath and shook his head, disappointed in himself. He was fine. He was safe. He hated this.
“Take your time,” she risked quietly, seeing the tension in his face.
They were silent as the minutes slipped by.
He looked at her for a moment and offered her a weak smile. “I’m good.”
She nodded, moving closer again, slowly, and softly patting the shoulder dry as well as the water that had slid down his side and onto the floor.
“I’m sorry,” he began but she quietly shushed him.
“You know the rules, you don’t apologize for things that aren’t your fault.” He looked in her eyes for a moment, his eyes traveling her face. Her lips quirked a bit at the look in his eyes though she couldn’t find a name for it. She moved her lips slowly to his freshly cleaned shoulder and left a soft, brief kiss there and was rewarded with a much more relaxed breath and a relaxing of his shoulders.
She applied the various creams and things he had in the kit they’d made up, soothing the still irritated skin.
“Can we let it breathe for a bit? I know you don’t like it, but this should really be uncovered for a little while if you can manage it.”
He looked at her and she knew how to read his expressions.
“I can stay, we can watch a movie.”
He grinned a bit and she smiled, relieved that he at least let her take care of him.
“That’s my boy,” she said teasingly as she cupped his jaw and kissed his forehead as she stood up. She hopped on her one leg to the other room. Bruce had chided her for it many times, she could easily fall and hurt herself. But she loved having the leg off and she hadn’t fallen yet so she risked it from time to time.
“Put a shirt on, White Wolf!,” she called from the other room as she put the stuff away and he laughed, pulling on a fresh tee and sitting back up on the bed, rolling his shoulder.
She came back with a fresh sock and lay it out next to his arm as she climbed up next to him on his right side and put her head on his chest.
“You okay?,” she mumbled.
“I’ll be fine, doll.” He knew the name somehow irritated her and made her happy at the same time.
She made a very slow fake punch to his gut and he chuckled, pulling her closer and rubbing her shoulder slowly.
“Thank you,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head softly.
She hummed and snuggled closer to him. “Anytime, Prince Charming.”
They layed in a comfortable silence for a bit, until she remembered the other issue.
“How’re the phantom pains?”
He chuckled.
“Well, I’ve got this awful cramp in my left little finger.”
“C’mon Buck-”
“I know, I know,” he sighed, squeezing her shoulder a bit. “It’s not bad today. I’ll tell if I need you to hold a mirror.”
“Promise?”
He let out a quiet breathy laugh again. “Promise.”
“Are you lying to me, Barnes?”
“Maybe just a little.”
“Mmm. Well, I’m a decent detective so I suppose I’ll just have to keep an eye on you.”
“Suppose so.”
And he pressed another quick kiss to her head.
· · ─────── ·❤︎· ─────── · ·
A/N: I hope you liked this! It assumes the limb is removable. I do not have a limb difference, so there may be inaccuracies but I did some research and watched some videos from those who do have a limb difference (I know people call it different things, so I hope this term is okay). Since we don't really have much information on how his vibranium arm works, I took some liberties in that area.
But please, please let me know if I should change something! If anything regarding the limb difference is offensive in any way, please let me know and I will fix it, it's definitely not my intention!
