#past trauma

[callisto-writes]

characters who freeze during a traumatic moment. characters who wish they'd fought back, that they'd done something. maybe someone else died, and they should have saved them, so that they could still be around. characters who blame themself for not fighting back, for being unable to fight back. characters whose first instinct during danger is to shut down, to dissociate from the trauma. characters that don't fight back.

[crashingcryptid]

what if living weapon reader has a period but their previous people had them on medications or whatever to stop it and so they go to price with their sheets and their underwear like “help. i’m dying.”

You woke up because of the cramps in your lower belly. You had been in pain many times in your life. The doctors that worked on you never cared about your pain. You were often injured on missions, a dull ache thumped through your body constantly, and you had just grown used to it. This was different than anything you had felt before. Like a writhing, twisting animals were trying to crawl their way out.

You sit up in bed, the springs creaking beneath you as you stand up on slightly shaking legs. That's when you see it, your heart dropping. Blood was smeared on your blanket and bedsheets, and when you look down, the crotch of your sleep pants is soaked in blood.

You were dying. You had to be. There was so much blood. You were in so much pain. You needed Price. Your captain would know what to do. He saved your life at the old base, he would save your life again.

You hesitant at his barrack door, trying to remember what Kyle had told you. "You can't just walk into people's rooms. You have to knock."

You raise your hand like Kyle had and rap your knuckles on the wood of the door. You didn't mean for it to be so loud, but in your panic, you weren't paying attention to your strength. Price jolts up out of bed, opening the door in seconds flat only to be greeted with your terrified face.

"I'm dying."

"Excuse me?" Price blinks hard to clear the sleep out of his head. He looks you up and down a second, trying to assess what the problem could be. When he sees the blood on your pants, his shoulders sag in relief. "Oh, kid. You aren't dying, I promise." He couldn't believe you had never had your period before, wondering how he was going to navigate it with you.

"What's happening, John?" You whisper, hicculing nervously as you clutch your lower abdomen. "It hurts." Price takes a deep breath and grabs your shoulders softly, guiding you to the showers.

"I'll explain everything, kid. But first, you need a shower and some painkillers, okay?" Price kept his voice level and calm, but he didn't try ordering you right now. You nod along with his words, ready to get out of your blood-soaked pants. "Did you bleed on your bed?"

The guilt in your eyes told him everything, and he hushes you before you can apologize. "Ah, it's alright. Perfectly natural. You can't control your period." He assures as you stand in front of the shower stall. "I'll be back with some clothes."

You start stripping down before he even leaves, getting into the shower to wash off your sticky, bloody legs. John rubs a hand over his face as he heads to your barrack. After he changed your sheets and got you new clothes, he would have to make a detour to Kyle's room.

[desultory-suggestions]

People who love you shouldn't make you feel ashamed of your interests and hobbies. What you enjoy is wonderful, even if it's uncommon, complicated, stereotypical, etc. Please keep sharing your lovely energy with the world.

[worldlywritr]

Oh yes, the past can hurt. But you can either run from it, or learn from it.

- Rafiki, The Lion King

[go-whump-in-the-night]

"Not again, not again. Please, not again..."

[lesboywriter]

I will always love a character/Whumpee that’s super cocky, strong, not afraid of anything, etc. But, when that one person from their past shows up or is mentioned, they panic, or freeze, or trying to get away/steer the conversation away from them. So much so that they’ll even freeze upon hearing their name.

[callisto-writes]

give me characters who've been to hell and back

characters that know when to hold their tongue, when arguing back is too dangerous

characters that flinch more than the others in their team, jumping at every unexpected sound

characters who brush off injuries because 'they've been through worse'

characters who can stay calm under the most extreme conditions

characters who make sure no one else has to experience what they've gone through

traumatised characters my beloved

[buckyseternaldoll]

Autopilot

Summary: You didn’t mean to break down mid-flight—especially not in front of him. But when your past crashes in, Bucky turns out to be the only steady thing left.

Warnings: Trauma resurfacing (reader), PTSD (reader), discussion of abuse and manipulation (reader), references to human experimentation (reader), flashbacks, hurt/comfort (kinda?), vulnerability, emotional intimacy, comforting touch, protective Bucky

You were always the brightest in the room. A walking sunbeam, your presence demanded smiles, laughter—hope. But that light wasn’t natural. It was cultivated. Forced, even. A projection of who you needed to be. Because if you didn’t hold that light, who would?

No one saw the toll it took. You were careful not to let them.

But today—out of all goddamn days—you were sent on a mission, 6,796 kilometers away from base. That’s 4,221 miles of distance from every safe corner you knew. And the only other soul onboard was Bucky Barnes.

The one person who never seemed to enjoy your company.

He was quiet, intense, and unshakably guarded. And you? Too much for someone like him. Too bubbly. Too loud. Too bright. His perpetual frown seemed more pronounced whenever you were near.

Still… something about him pulled at you. At first, it was a challenge. A game between you and Yelena. Break the stoic. Make him laugh. Get something real. But the more you noticed him, the less you could look away. The focus shifted. Became more than fascination. More than a crush.

You grew feelings for the man who seemed to wish he was anywhere but near you.

──

The Quinjet felt cavernous with only the two of you in it. His presence took up all the space anyway—broad shoulders drawn taut beneath his leather jacket, deep blue eyes flickering to the horizon, always watchful. He looked tense, but that wasn’t new.

What was new… was the trembling in your hands.

Your breathing had gone shallow. The pressure behind your eyes grew sharper with each flash—each memory clawing its way out of the dark. Cold metal floors. Screaming. Restraints. Vienna.

You blinked hard. Shut your eyes tighter.

Not now. Not in front of him.

But your body betrayed you. Your hands clenched in your lap, trembling. A tear slipped down your cheek, hot and unwanted. You didn’t even notice when Bucky glanced your way. Didn’t see the way his jaw tightened at the sight of you shivering.

You didn’t bring your meds. You hadn’t needed them in weeks.

Your breath hitched.

“Shit,” Bucky muttered.

He reached forward, fingers moving with precision as he flicked the Quinjet into autopilot. The subtle hum shifted—like the aircraft itself sighed in relief. He turned toward you, swiveling his seat fully. Then, without a word, he gently reached for yours and twisted it to face him.

You were startled, blinking through the blur of tears.

“Hey,” he said, voice low. Gentle.

His vibranium hand came to rest lightly on your shoulder. It wasn’t cold—not this time. Just… steady. Grounded.

“Breathe.”

You couldn’t. Not properly.

Your chest was tight. The walls were closing in.

“I said breathe, doll,” he repeated, softer, his hand squeezing your shoulder. “Look at me.”

You tried. Your vision was smeared, but the blue of his eyes cut through the haze.

“You okay?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. A sharp sob burst from your throat, and your whole body shook. You started crying harder—ugly, wracking sobs that made you fold inward.

And then Bucky pulled you in.

No hesitation this time.

His arms wrapped around you with care, drawing you into his chest. His fingers—flesh and metal—held you there like you might fall apart if he let go.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “Just let it out.”

So you did. You sobbed into him, fingers clutching at the front of his jacket like it was the only thing anchoring you to this world. Your cries were raw, laced with so much pain, you were sure he’d never look at you the same again.

But Bucky didn’t flinch.

He didn’t speak, didn’t ask questions.

He just held you, rubbing comforting circles into your back with his palm, and letting you come apart in his arms. His head dipped, resting against yours, whispering quiet reassurances that weren’t meant to fix anything—just to let you know you weren’t alone.

Eventually, your breathing steadied. The panic faded into exhaustion.

“Sorry,” you rasped. “God… I’m sorry, Bucky. I—”

“Don’t,” he said, voice firm but kind.

He leaned back just enough to look at you. His thumb wiped a tear from your cheek, the pad of it brushing gently across your skin.

“You don’t ever need to apologize for breaking.”

You looked away, throat burning. “I was a child,” you whispered. “Sold in Vienna. They said I was born to be used. Modified. Broken and rebuilt.” Your eyes met his again. “It’s stupid, I know. But—just being on this route is already… too much.”

Bucky went still.

He’d read your file. It was thin. Redacted. Former assassin. Vienna. Orphan. That was all they gave him.

Now he knew why.

“Oh, doll…” he exhaled, pained. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No,” he said quietly. “But it hurts. Knowing what you went through. You were always so bright. Magnetic.”

You leaned into him again, forehead against his collarbone. You felt the tremble in his chest when he spoke again.

“I wish I could go back and rip them apart for what they did to you.”

You closed your eyes. “You’re not the only one.”

His arms tightened around you.

“I’ve been there too,” he murmured. “Different room. Same kind of monsters.”

“I've heard.”

“You shine, you know. That’s why I never guessed.”

“I shine because I have to. Not because I want to.”

That got a small sound from him. Sad. Understanding.

“I see you now. Really see you, doll."

You stayed like that for a while. Until your nose ran. Again.

You groaned, reaching for tissues. “For the record,” you sniffed, “I was a trained assassin. I am strong.”

Bucky chuckled, a low rasp of warmth. “Of course, sweetheart. The strongest person I know.”

You looked up at him. His expression had softened, but his eyes were still watchful. Still worried.

“I’m okay now, Buck,” you said quietly.

“You sure?”

“I’m breathing again.”

He nodded, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Still. Call me next time it gets that bad.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to deal with me.”

He tilted his head, giving you that you can’t be serious look. “Why do you think you’re on this mission with me?”

“Because Val said so?”

He smirked. “Because I asked.”

You blinked. “Wait. What?”

“I asked for you. I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“Safe from what?”

“Anything,” he said simply. “Everything.”

You stared at him. “I thought you hated me.”

“I was trying not to stare at you like a lovesick idiot.”

“You’re just bad at emotions.”

“Terrible,” he agreed. “But I’m trying.”

You smiled, for real this time. “So… are we, like… lovers now?”

He let out a soft laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “God, doll. You sound like you’re from the 1800s.”

“I need verbal confirmation, James.”

“Well, then—yes. You’re mine. If you’ll have me.”

You pulled him in this time, your lips pressing against his in a slow, grateful kiss. He kissed you back, gently but deeply, one hand cradling your jaw.

And then—

Static. “Oh for the love of God,” John’s voice crackled through the intercom.

“Can you not make out on a mission jet?” Yelena groaned.

You gasped, pulling back. “Shitshitshit I hit the wrong button—!”

Bucky just grinned, lips swollen, cheeks faintly flushed. “Worth it.”

You leaned into him again, this time laughing through the tears that had dried on your skin.

The pain hadn’t disappeared. But it didn’t feel unbearable anymore.

Not with him there. Not now.