#Depressed reader

[softfem-dom]

the four times they asked about his sidekick and the one he realized why "worst" wolverine + deadpool & suicidal! teen! fem reader PROLOGUE 𝜗𝜚 series masterlist

a/n : so, yeah, I'm rewritting the story because I feel like I just jumped straight into the plot without giving context on reader's view of herself and the world and that just feels unfair to me lol😭

synopsis :

think of batman and robin. the steriotypical father-son relationship that every superhero has with their younger sidekick. deadpool has a sidekick too, as young and lost as Jason when Bruce found him. but, stop a moment. pause, rewind. What happened to batman's first robin?

or a glimpse into the universe where Wade has not triumphed, but taken the longest to fail.

wordcount : 900 — masterlist | navigation post

tags/warnings : dead dove do not eat, suicide centric, depression centric, sh themes, dark thoughts,, multiple batman/robin parallels, romantizicised suicide, romantizicised virginity, self-sexualization as a coping mechanism, idealized loneliness, reader belives in god and angels.

You sat at the edge of your bed, the room around you suffused with a delicate silence, as if the world was holding it's breath in anticipation. Outside, the sky was a pale canvas, as white as untouched snow, whispering promises of a purity you could never grasp. Lace hugging your body, each thread tangled with the color of things never touched, of a life never claimed.

The veil hung before your eyes, a soft mist, waiting to drape you in a wedding gown meant for a day you would never live to see—your own wedding turned a funeral, final vows exchanged with nothing but hollow echoes of your name, of who you could have become.

As a teenager that had never had her first kiss, never had a confession of silly highschool love whispered to, you had started to romantizicise being untouched, a bride for no one, body meant for no man’s hands, no lover’s kiss. Only the cold of the veil, the sweet surrender of lace, would be your company. The frills at the edges of your thoughts were like a dress stitched together from the fragile dreams of those who once whispered of futures you could never wear.

"She'll be a doctor" "no, she'll be an artirst" "a musician" "a teacher" "a lover" "a mother", those expectations were irrelevant now had they ever been relevant in the first place?

In this space, this stillness, you were an untouched promise—pure, soul as white as the ghosts that plagued the corners of your mind.

And in this quiet, you wondered if dying a virgin, untouched by anything but the loneliness in your chest, if having your body so clean to make up for the dirty of your mind, might be the only way of entering the pearly gates of heaven.

You'd step into the altar, covered in white frills and lace to hide the darkness inside your head, and marry the death that was slowly crawling closer and closer to you. Maybe that way you wouldn't disappoint the only person left to smile at you, maybe that was the only way to not turn into the villains he dispised so much.

softfem-dom© do not repost!!

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[wishful-thinking-is-dumb]

Platonic Yandere Simon Riley Headcanons with Depressed Reader

Low key likes how you have no energy to get out of bed. He remembers when he first brought you ‘home’. You would fight him and try to run away, but now you just sleep the day away, and he doesn’t have to worry about you escaping.

He does get irritated when you lash out at him, yelling at him to leave you alone and that you hate him.

He forces you to take a low dosage of antidepressants, he doesn’t want you to feel terrible all the time, and he doesn’t want to sedate you either. He doesn’t want you to get addicted to any sedatives.

He makes you get up to eat and exercise. If you have the energy to fight and kick him, he counts that as exercise. You would kick and scream at him for hours until all of your energy is depleted.

He gives you electronic devices, but they all have parental settings on them. He only lets you play games on his phone if he is in the room and watching everything that you do.

He makes sure that you maintain your hygiene, he will wash your hair for you if you don’t feel like doing it. He doesn’t care if you don’t like it

He calls you by name, he doesn’t use any pet names or nicknames. He only does it to get a reaction out of you so that you talk to him. (Or yell at him, he counts it as the same.)

He likes to be in the same room as you, if he’s working in his office he will get you to sleep on the couch while he goes through his emails.

Will not tolerate you hurting yourself, he will restrain you. He scolds you (more like screams at you) while you cry, bandaging any wounds that you may have inflicted on yourself.

[enderlovez]

How To Never Stop Being Sad

Spencer Reid x Female Reader WORD COUNT: 2900+

Summary: After the death of your parents, you have nobody to talk to, nobody to turn to for help. Spencer wants to help, but how can he when you don't want him to?

Content Warning: readers parents are dead, brief description of a car accident, insinuated abuse, readers dad was an alcoholic, readers mother was a drug addict, mentions of heroin and being high, mentions of overdose, self-blame, intentional sleep-deprivation is insinuated, metaphors about demons and God, prescribed drugs and irresponsible mixing of drugs and alcohol, reader is depressed and lonely, suicidal ideation, references to self-harm (nothing happens and it's not explicit)

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

Repeat to yourself that they're not really gone Time has proven that fooling yourself into believing a lie Is the most effective way to deal with things You have no control over

Realistically I know it's not really my fault.

I've made it clear time and time again that I never wanted to see them again, and yet, their car went off that bridge when they were on their way to come see me.

I was on my lunch break when I got the call. My parent's car had driven off a bridge into a river. My dad was intoxicated so he didn't see the truck driving head-on at them until it was too late to do anything but swerve off the road, and they found that my mother had a substantial amount of heroin in her bloodstream.

Enough to overdose, had she not died in the accident.

It's not my fault, I know it's not my fault...

But I can't help but think that maybe if I had been a little more clear about what I wanted from them, or better yet, sucked it up and stayed in contact, things might've turned out a little bit differently.

Growing up with a drunk dad and an addict mom was never easy, and it was a relief to leave home the moment I turned eighteen and move across the country, but they're dead now. They're my parents.

They were my parents.

What kind of girl kills her own parents?

Now I just try not to think about the bad stuff. Pretend that they're safe at home in Washington, still distanced from me, but breathing.

But they're not. Now they're just hunks of decomposing flesh six feet underground, like they never even existed in the first place.

Trying to convince myself otherwise only makes it hurt more.

Keep listening to the mixtapes they made you Overanalyze every single word you hear 'Was this a sign that things were going wrong?' No, no, you were the one that cared too hard, not them

My mom was much like me in the way she never really had any friends, partly because she didn't want to burden them with her addiction issues, but mostly because she never had the time.

'Hi, it's Rachel. I can't answer the phone right now, but please feel free to leave a message after the beep! BEEP — only kidding, that wasn't the real beep."

She sounds so chipper in her voicemail, but I know the truth. I was there when she recorded it, sitting right next to her on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate in my hands, she was high out of her mind the entire time.

It's one of my best memories of her — the only fond memory I have, actually, because it was the first night since I was a toddler she actually realized I was even in the room with her.

A low bar, but one I happily set for her.

I was a child, after all, what else was I supposed to think? All I knew was that Mommy was finally paying attention to me.

'Hi, it's Rachel. I can't answer the phone right now, but please feel free to leave a message after the beep! BEEP — only kidding, that wasn't the real beep.'

'Hi it's Rachel. I can't answer the phone right now, but please feel free to leave a message after the beep! BEEP — only kidding, that wasn't the real beep.'

'Hi, it's Rachel. I can't answer the phone right now—'

She may have been a terrible mother at times, but God do I miss her voice.

And sometimes I wonder if this little moment together was the real her breaking through the drug-induced haze she seemed to be in at all times. I wonder if this was a sign that she cared enough to make some changes for my sake, possibly run away from Dad with me.

For the love of her only child — her daughter.

But I know that's not the truth. I was always the one who loved her, not the other way around, and that's the way it always has been.

She was just a little delirious.

Stay up every single night staring at your phone Either attempting to gather up the courage to turn these demons, These constant reminders of your loneliness Into nothing more than a bad dream Or praying just for one second You could feel the warmth of equally returned love

Most nights I don't even go to bed anymore. Instead I lay on the bathroom floor with the light switched off, the bright light of my phone illuminating my face.

I'm not doing anything on it, just staring at my home screen, as if that'll fix all my problems for me.

I think I'm too far gone to even be fixed.

Maybe it would be better if I just... didn't exist anymore.

It's a thought that frequently crosses my mind. My coworkers never speak to me enough to be considered my friends, yet they're the closest thing I have to them. My parents never had another child, and they themselves were only children, so I have to family I can talk to.

Really, when you think about, there's not that many people that would care if I were to die tonight.

But I'm already shattered beyond human comprehension. I don't want to be seen as weak, too.

So here I am — not religious in any sense of the word, but silently praying to anything that might be listening as I stare blankly at my phone screen. To bring anyone along that'll keep me from being completely alone, anything that'll give me a reason to continue living.

A person to love me. Just for a moment or two, just enough to keep me here a little while longer. To free me of the burning chains shackling me down.

Only God could relinquish these demons, is the conclusion I come to, and for a single, morbid moment, a thought crosses my mind —

What if that relinquishes me, too.

Go out for coffee four times a week by yourself Always bring your notebook, never stop writing Leave little comics and thank you notes with your tip Watch them smile as you get in your car

Coffee doesn't mix very well with the antidepressants I'm on, it makes me all anxious and jittery. But the pain of the adrenaline racing through me at all times, it's like an addiction.

I hated coffee when I was younger. Still do hate the bitter taste of the stuff, but the effects it has on me are like a drug.

Coffee doesn't mix well with the antidepressants I'm on, it makes me anxious and makes it harder to sleep at night. But the pain of having to keep my eyes open, it's like an addiction.

I hated coffee when I was younger, and I still do hate the bitter taste of the stuff, but it's effects are like a drug.

The worn pink notebook in front of me is open, its pages filled with my thoughts and whatever random ramblings I come up with that I have nobody to share with.

It's the only way I can properly get my thoughts in order, having them written down. It's what my therapist suggested I do. Not going out for coffee, but sitting down and journaling. And she said that being kind to others might lead to more self-acceptance.

It won't, but surely there's no harm in trying.

Lately, I've been leaving little thank you notes with my tips as I leave the café I frequent. I have to admit, it lightens my mood a little to see the smile on the workers' faces as they tuck the little pieces of paper into their pockets, but I wouldn't say it makes me feel any better.

Not about myself, anyway.

Still, I continue to leave them on the table for whoever cleans up my mess to find, car idling out front until the smile brightens their face.

Talk down to yourself whenever possible 'My life is shit because I deserve it, right?' You must have done something really bad It's nearly impossibly for you to cry now

There are times that I wonder if I'm worth all the trouble.

I'm so battered and damaged and broken, there's really not much point trying to put me back together.

There's this one man I work with — Spencer — who I think is trying to undo all the hurt. He's extremely intelligent and a profiler, so I think know he can see everything that's wrong with me.

And I hate it, more than anything.

I hate being so vulnerable in front of someone, that's the one thing he doesn't seem to realize. The discomfort I feel when he watches me, peels my psyche apart piece by piece like I'm some kind of project.

But the thing I hate the most is how much I enjoy his presence. I've had friends in my life, but they're few and far between, and they almost never want to deal with me.

Spencer is unlike anyone I've ever met. He doesn't seem to mind the extra weight I carry on my back or how it's often hard for me to communicate — doesn't care that I'm practically never okay.

I've told him so much about myself, more than I've ever told anybody before, practically everything I can think of. Never having someone to talk to leads to major oversharing, but he doesn't complain, just quietly listens.

The one thing I don't bring up much is my childhood, but I'm sure he can deduce that it wasn't very good, from the things I've already said.

'Sometimes, I wonder if maybe I deserve this,' I told him once, face blank of any emotion as I typed on my computer. He never commented on that, but responded with a non-question of his own.

'You never cry when you talk about this stuff,' he'd mentioned one time while he was sitting in my office with me, eating his lunch as I worked. 'Generally speaking, when someone's talking about something that upsets them, the natural reaction would be to cry.'

I wanted to tell him that nothing about me is natural.

'Suppose I just don't have any tears left.'

And in true Spencer fashion, he rattled on about how you physically can't just run out of tears.

Avoid your friends for weeks even though They're the only sense of consistency you have left in your life If they really wanted to see you they'd come, but they won't Who cares?

Spencer is my friend, there's not doubt about it. He does his best to make me feel better about myself when I'm down, which is all the time, and horrifyingly enough, it works.

Horrifyingly enough, I hate the feeling of it.

So, for that very reason, I've been avoiding him whenever possible. It's been weeks now, and the only time I've seen him is when he shows up at my office before I can rush out for my lunch break. His sad puppy-dog eyes only work to make me feel worse, as I leave.

My address is with the rest of my information, which is (strangely) quite easy to access. Admittedly, I've been hoping that he'll find it and show up at my door. That he'll care enough to make sure I'm okay. That he likes being around me enough to come see me himself.

But he never does.

I can't really blame him for that, though. I think I would do the exact same thing, if I were in his shoes.

The truth is that I miss him, more than I've missed anyone before. I miss his constant ramblings about things too complicated for my understanding, and the sympathy he shows me when I share just a little too much about my life. It's comforting, and that disturbs me.

Why does that disturb me.

I don't want his comfort to disturb me as much as it does.

Allow yourself to lose interest in the things you love Watch as you begin to take a backseat To the world around you, don't fight it Become a secondary character in your own motion picture

Spencer is standing outside my front door.

Why is Spencer standing outside my front door?

"Why are you here?" I ask, more snap in my tone than I mean to have.

He doesn't flinch at my hostility, holding something out towards me with a small smile on his face. "I thought you could use the company, so I brought you some food," he replies, as if it's the most casual thing in the world for him to be here. "We don't have to talk, but I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone."

I'm always alone, though.

The hidden meaning in his words is not lost on me, but I don't say anything about it — I don't want you to do anything to yourself, so I'm here to keep an eye on you whether you like it or not.

I hesitantly take the warm dish into my own hands and step aside so he can come in. My apartment is a mess, enough to color my face with embarrassment, but he says nothing as he sits on my couch and looks around the place. He's never been here before. Nobody's been here before, nobody except myself.

So just... nobody, then?

Spencer is the first person here, ever.

It's clear when he spots the easel in the corner, a half-finished painting on the canvas upon it.

"I didn't know you like to paint," he says softly as I sit on the couch beside him, peeling the foil off the top of the ceramic dish. I'm not quite sure what it is, but it looks homemade, and smells better than any of the takeout I've been eating recently.

He watches me curiously as I stand to grab two plates and two forks from the kitchen.

"I used to like doing a lot of things," I mutter, dropping back down beside him and handing him a plate and a fork. "There's not much I like doing anymore."

Painting, reading, writing — you name it and I've probably enjoyed doing it at some point in my life.

"That's understandable. You've been thorough a lot," he says. A faint smile flits across my mouth before it evaporates again. I place my plate onto the table, appetite next to gone, and let myself curl up onto a ball, pressing my face into my knees as I begin to silently cry.

I have been though a lot, but I barely ever cry about it anymore.

This is the first time I've cried in months, and it's in front of Spencer, the only person I have left now.

I don't want to scare him away.

He doesn't say anything, gently rubbing my shoulder for a short moment before removing it and (presumably) putting some food onto his plate. I want him to touch me again, to comfort me.

"You should eat something," he says, using his thumb to carefully lift my head and handing me a plate. I'm not hungry, but I take it from him anyway and place a small bite into my mouth.

But most importantly Drown every single one of your feelings in old stolen rum Learn to love the taste of it dripping down your throat Find comfort in the warmth coming from your stomach You're drinking bottled love now

It was never my intention to end up in the same situation that my father found himself in most nights, laying limp in an armchair with a half-empty bottle of whiskey in my hand.

As a child I'd promised myself it'd never get to this point — promised myself that I'd never turn to alcohol like he did, scared to hurt the people I love the way he hurt me.

But here I am, and I'm ashamed of myself.

Spencer is standing across the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. I don't know why he's even still here. Most people would run for the hills the second they hear how messed up I really am, let alone when they actually have a chance to see it.

He's probably so disappointed in me — isn't everyone? Disappointed in the... miserable creature I'm turning into.

It's not like I can stop, though. The fuzzy feeling in my head is the only thing that can take me away from it all nowadays, the warm tingling in my stomach bringing me more comfort than anybody in my life ever has.

Not for the first time, I wonder if this is what it feels like to be loved.

"It's a bad idea to mix drugs and alcohol," he says. I don't know why he cares so much about what I do. Nobody ever has before.

"It's none of your business," I slur, words barely coherent.

"Mixing antidepressants and hard liqueur increases the risk of overdose and blackouts," he sighs, pushing off the wall and stepping towards me, "so it actually is my business."

'Please help me,' my mouth begs to say. 'Please don't let me end up like him.'

Anger bubbles up inside me instead. "Piss off, Reid."

And for some reasons beyond my comprehension, he doesn't.

Spencer doesn't leave.

And I think I might be kind of in love with him.

You don't need other people to drive away your loneliness You just needed to find a way to talk to it

[iaminpainfr]

Imagine being the most pathetic darling on earth.

Silly, depressed work woman. Slightly a femcel.

Even the yanderes don't wanna get straight to sexy time, they gotta take care of you and all that. Cause you can even barely convince yourself to get up for work.

The conversation once they kidnap you would go like this:

Darling: *is literally bounded and tied to a chair* "wow, a boyfriend/girlfriend. I never had one, I'm too useless to have one... just don't expect any intercourse. Will you cook for me? Or bath me?"

Yandere: *utterly confused, because they just kidnapped darling and expected them to beg for her life* "I'm sorry, what??"

I feel like pathetic darling would just wear a slightly loosened white button blouse and slightly baggy black pants and shoes (and her socks don't even match).

She even constantly just stays up late, reading those fanfics. I'd also find it really funny if she's picky with relationships. Or yanderes.

Pathetic darling would be pissed at the yanderes who chains them, sexually active, commands them.

You don't mind the obsessive part. But NO! You're supposed to feed me! Take care of me! Cook for me! You're supposed to be MY male wife! Not bound me, gag me, and treat me like some pet! You're a horrible lover!

The ideal yandere darling would want would be a malewife. (Ex: like Thoma from genshin :>)

a sweet and loving yandere, who isn't... such a slut for her.

Darling would absolutely hate the CEO, mafia boss, and rich brat yanderes. All of them will walk all over you, only to just treat you like trash. Not good at all. Not good malewife material.

If not any of those things, if they don't spoil you, you'll just have to guilt trip them to hell. Of course, all yanderes want one thing, and it's disgusting.

As long as they're your wife, you can love them forever. Just don't leave them....

Any thoughts?

[writerslittlelibrary]

How can I help you?

masterlist

summary: since you were small, your mom has always been able to help you feel better. fallen ice cream, scratched knee, your mom always knew the solution. but now? it almost seems that even your mother doesn’t know how to help you now…

pairing: Natasha x depressed daughter reader

warnings: depression, suicidal thoughts 

genre: angst, fluff

words: 1459

a/n: I’ve been in quite a weird period the past two weeks. my emotions have been weird and confusing, which is why I haven’t posted anything in a while. I apologise for not posting a lot, and I promise to get at least three small fics out this week :) 

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

You can’t really remember when it started. You were always fond of being in your room, yet at some point, being in your room wasn’t really your choice anymore. When you didn’t know who to blame, you simply blamed Covid. Ever since that virus came, your life has become confusing. 

Natasha would usually just blame it on your teenage years. You were going through puberty. Your body changed. Your mind changed. Everything changed. 

However, somewhere, deep down, you knew it wasn’t your age. 

You graduated last year, and because you weren’t sure what you wanted to study, you had decided to take a gap year. Natasha was incredibly supportive. She said she didn’t want you to choose anything because you felt like you had to, so you didn’t choose at all. 

The first few months of your gap year were amazing. You were enjoying all the free time you suddenly had, spending it with either gaming, reading, or watching your shows.

At some point, however, it started to become boring. 

You didn't want to go back to school. However, you also didn’t really want to stay at home anymore either. You didn’t know what you wanted.

Most days, you slept in until noon. Natasha would leave for work early in the mornings, and you would stay behind in bed. You only saw your mother when she came home late from work. You didn’t tell her about you sleeping in so late. Your mother has always followed a healthy lifestyle. Even on the days she was free she would wake up early.

She never shamed you for sleeping in. She never woke you up or told you you needed a better sleep schedule. However, still, for some reason, you felt ashamed. 

You didn’t tell her about your energy disappearing either. You didn't tell her you didn't have the energy to get out of bed anymore. You didn't tell her you lost the energy to eat. You never told her you lost the ability to take care of yourself. At one point, it just happened. 

You knew that if you ever told Natasha she would be worried sick. You knew she would do anything to make you feel better. She had done so since she adopted you.

When you were five you were in the park, and Natasha had gotten you ice cream. However, you were a little too excited, and after jumping once, your ice cream rolled off its cone. You stood there crying, while Natasha simply picked you up and assured you she would fix it. She kissed your tears away and got you another ice cream, in a little paper bowl this time. 

When you were 9, you were playing outside. You fell while your auntie Yelena was chasing you, and you scraped your knee. You clutched your leg and you wailed for your mama, and there she was. She picked you up and once again she kissed your tears away. She took you inside and gently cleaned your wounds. She allowed you to pick out a beautiful band-aid, and she gently placed it on your scratch, before kissing it better.

However, how could she possibly fix this? How could she place a band-aid on a wound she couldn't see?

You felt hopeless, and you felt as though the only way out would be to end it. You weren't very fond of the idea of ending your life. You didn't really want it to end, after all. You just wanted your current life to end. Your life was slow, and for some reason it felt as though you were merely floating around. 

At some point, you stopped existing. You stopped being you. You just became another dot on the map.

You weren't a person anymore. You were a thing existing in this world. You were existing, but you weren't significant. You didn't matter, so what difference would it make if you weren't there anymore at all?

Today was no different. Natasha had gone to work early, leaving you to sleep in. You were still in bed, even though it was already 4 pm. 

However, what you didn't know was that Natasha had been seeing something was wrong for a while. She knew you weren't yourself, and she knew you struggled taking care of yourself. Yet, for your entire life you've always wanted to do things yourself. You never wanted your mom to help you. And so, even now, she decided to give you time to figure things out for yourself. 

However, now she decided that time was up. You weren't getting any better, and Natasha was only growing more worried with the day. 

She had gone to work that morning, but at her job she told her boss that she was taking a few weeks off. Her daughter needed her, had been her truthful excuse, and her boss agreed. She went home around 4.30 pm, and when she entered the house she found out you were still in bed.

She walked towards your room and softly knocked on your door.

“Sweetheart? Are you there?” Natasha spoke as she opened the door, her eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness in your room. 

“Are you alright, honey?” Natasha asked as she walked into your room, closing the door behind her and sitting beside you on the bed. You barely acknowledged her presence, humming softly while you pulled your blankets up a bit, trying to shield your face from the light coming from the hallways.

Natasha let her hand gently stroke your hair, feeling the oily and knotted hair that rested on top of your head. 

“Are you okay?” Natasha then asked, and before you even had time to respond, you started crying.

Natasha didn't hesitate to pull you into a sitting position, pulling your body so it could lean upon hers. She allowed you to sob into her shoulder while she gently stroked you back, letting you know you were safe.

“I don't know why I feel this,” you sobbed out.

“It's alright, sweetheart, you don't have to know,” Natasha explained softly as she gave you a kiss on your hair. She held your head tightly to her chest, allowing her lips to rest upon your head.

“I don’t feel good, mama. I don't wanna be like this,” you sobbed out, and it didn't take long before Natasha realised what you truly meant by that. 

However, being the understanding mom she is, she didn't comment on it. She didn't suddenly sprung you with motivational quotes, telling you you have so much left to live for. She simply held you, sushing you as you cried and sniffled in her shoulder. 

“Can I help you?” Natasha softly asked after a few minutes, waiting for your confirmation. 

When you gave a small nod and let out another sob, Natasha lifted your body out of your bed, carrying you towards the bathroom and putting you down on the toilet cover. 

She turned the water on, allowing the bathtub to fill with hot water as steam filled the room. 

“I’m gonna grab some clean clothes alright? I'll be right back,” Natasha stated as she went back into your room, grabbing some clean clothes before returning to the bathroom. She set the clothes on the rack, helping you off the toilet seat and out of your clothes.

After you were settled in the bath, Natasha pulled out some shampoo, massaging it into your head before rinsing it out, repeating the process with the conditioner.

After your hair was clean, Natasha grabbed a comb, gently working on the knots and matted parts of your hair. After she finished, she washed your hair again, enjoying the feeling of the now silky soft hair in between her fingers. 

After finishing your hair, she helped you wash the rest of your body, before helping you out of the bathtub and drying you off. 

Natasha didn't allow you to walk yourself, instead lifting you up into her arms and carrying you down the stairs. Luckily she was crazy strong, so despite your age, she could still easily carry you as if you were merely a small child. 

After you were settled on the couch, Natasha went into the kitchen, preparing you a nice and healthy meal.

For the rest of the day, you simply sat on the couch, leaning on your mama while she gently stroked your back. It might have seemed lazy to the normal person, but for you, it was change. You weren't alone, for starters. There was daylight in the living room, and there was social interaction, even if little was being said. 

In the end, you realised, that despite the wound not being visible, your mama would always be able to stick a band-aid on it. 

Fic tags: @prentissluvrz @natsbiggestfan1

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @nova-kyle @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @tia-thesimp @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @n0txn3vee @lorsstar1st

[huffelpuff210]

Taken Car of Soft Dark Steve Rogers x Soft Dark Bucky Barnes x Reader

Taken Care of Soft Dark Steve Rogers x Soft Dark Bucky Barnes x  Reader 

Summary: You suffered the loss of a still born baby, You are best friends with the two super soliders, but what happens when they come to comfort you 

Warning: Mentions of a loss of a baby, mentions of depression, mentions of drinking, baby trapping, breeding kink, forced relationship, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, Non Con

You stare out the window of your small town house home, a blanket draped over your shoulders as you watch the snow fall, a small cup of hot chocolate in your hands, you catch a gimps of your refection, your hair a knotted mess, dark circles under your eyes, your eyes puffy from all the crying, 

It had been three months, since it happened, you close your eyes at the memory when you first found out you were pregnant you were so thrilled, you were excited at the thought of being a mom, 

You didn’t really have any parental figures growing up your parents died when you were ten, and you jumped foster homes, running away at just fifteen, learning to survive when you realized you had a talent for hacking and building stuff, 

At age eighteen you were recruited by Tony Stark and shield Now only twenty two you had an amazing job and place to call home, that’s where you met Steve and Bucky, you and the two super soliders were close,

You met your ex boyfriend at the nearby coffee shop on your break, the two of you dated for about a year and a half when you found out about being pregnant he was less than thrilled about the news, when you told the two super soliders Bucky told you he was a dick and needed to be taught a lesson, Steve on the other hand said he didn’t deserve you, But still He was trying sort of, his first reaction was for you to abort the baby, but that was not how you worked, the two of you fought for two weeks about the situation, 

When he realized you were not going to do that he left you, you didn’t care, you were so happy to be having a baby, setting up your spare room as a nursery, 

You wipe a tear away from your cheek, 

You were 39 weeks, when you got your ultrasound finding out that he wasn’t moving, they did an emergency C-Section and he was still born, Meaning he wasn’t alive. It broke your heart, you knew it was from all the stress your Ex had put on you. 

You took a leave of absence from the avengers for the time being, they understood, Steve and Bucky had been away on a mission when everything happened, no one was allowed to call them since they were undercover and you didn’t want to frankly, 

Everyone tried calling you or coming by to at least check on you but you never answered, you just didn’t have the heart to talk about how you were, 

You were a mess, your home was a mess, you no longer ate, or slept, all you could think about was losing him, your child, you never got to witness his first cry, or see him open his eyes, You were never going to see him smile for the first time, or celebrate his first birthday, you could feel the tears falling from your face again, setting the coco down and burying your head in your knees, 

Suddenly there was a loud knock on the door, You didn’t bother moving, you just assumed it was Wanda or Nat they both checked on you daily but you never would answer, 

The knock was loud, You look at the clock it was past three in the morning, 

“Y/N, we know you are in there open the door.” You hear Steve’s voice, 

Still you don’t make any attempts to move, 

You keep your head buried in your knees, the knocking gets louder, 

“Y/N open the damn door before I knock it down!” You hear Bucky, 

They must have just gotten back for their mission and heart the news, 

You sigh, standing up walking down the stairs to the living room where it is littered with bottles of beer, water bottles and all sorts of trash, you are a Meticulous cleaner, you keep your place and work space clean as a whistle but you didn’t have the energy to care, 

the blanket still draped over your shoulders, wearing a black spaghetti strapped tank top, and red plaid pajama pants, you unlock the front door, cracking it slightly seeing the two super soliders, 

“What do you want?” Your voice raspy from crying, they looked at each other 

“Let us in.” Bucky says 

“No.” You try to shut the door in their faces but Steve’s hand stops the door, 

“That wasn’t a request.” He says they both walk past you. 

“Tony says you haven’t been in work for three months, or answering anyone’s calls.” Steve says 

You sigh shutting the door. 

“So.” You say walking past them, 

“Do you two want anything to drink?’ You say walking into the kitchen. 

“We didn’t come here for refreshments kitten.” Bucky says 

“Then why did you come?” You asked looking over your shoulder as you are looking in the fridge bent over

“We are worried.” Steve says 

“Don’t be I’m fine.” You say

“Really? Because by the looks of this place and you, it doesn’t seem that way.” Bucky says 

All you had in the fridge was beer and juice so you grabbed a beer, opening it, They were highly concerned because you were not a big drinker, But you didn’t care, you didn’t care you didn’t care about anything you just wanted this pain to stop, just as you were about to take a sip Bucky took it from your hand, 

You sighed, 

“Why are you to here?” You ask, 

“Because we heard what happened,” Steve says 

You sighed again walking towards your couch sitting down. 

“Look I appreciate it but I’m fin-” You began, 

“No your not, and we are not leaving now that we see the condition you are in.” Bucky says 

You look him in the eyes and for the first time since they arrived you can see a hint of anger but concern in his eyes. 

[blue-blue-blooms]

When Love Isn't Enough

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Part 1

1.6k words

Summary: Steve can feel you pulling away. You haven't been yourself in a while, becoming more and more withdrawn. It doesn't help that there's an evil wizard on the loose and you meet the checklist for the perfect prey.

Warnings: Some angst. Talks of depression, loneliness, and suicidal ideation.

"Y/N hasn't been herself lately. And, I don't know, she's been pulling away recently. Not physically. More, like, she's there but she isn't. She's in the room with me and she's pretending to listen, but I can tell she's thinking about something else. And it isn't like she's bored or, like, daydreaming, she just seems...distant. She keeps saying she's fine, but I know that she's not. I mean, she thinks I haven't noticed, but she doesn't eat much anymore. She barely sleeps and she claims it's because of school, or work, or whatever excuse she has...Robin, are you listening to me?" Steve rambles, one hand on the steering wheel and the other running through his hair in frustration, as he drives Robin to the pep rally. 

"Yes, yes, I'm listening!" Robin exclaims, desperately trying to keep her hand steady as she applies her mascara. 

"Really? What'd I just say then?" Steve asks.

"Something about how obsessed you are with Y/N and the smell of her hair," Robin guesses, immediately backtracking as she sees the look on Steve's face, "I'm sorry! But there's always so much going on in your love life. I can't fully grasp the labyrinthine complexity that is your and Y/N's relationship!"

"It's not that complex, I'm worried about her!" Steve says, "Like just today, she calls me and says not to drive her and Dustin to school because they're biking. She doesn't even own a bike!"

Robin stops applying her makeup for a second and looks over. Realizing the severity of Steve's emotions, she lets out a little sigh and gives him a gentle nudge with her hand. 

"I'm worried about her, too" She confesses, "I don't think she's mentioned this to anyone so please don't bring it up with her, but her grades have been slipping. A lot."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and I've seen her at the counsellor’s office" Robin admits.

"Ms. Kelley?"

Robin nods. 

"Well...Why didn't she say anything to me?" Steve asks, his face falling as he tries to come up with reasons as to why you aren't opening up. 

"I...I don't know. She hasn't been speaking to me, either. We sit together during lunch, but she barely talks to me. I just talk at her, and she just sits in silence," Robin replies, "Have you tried bringing this up with her?"

Steve pauses for a bit then says, "No...I didn't wanna push her. It just feels like...like she's teetering on the edge these days, and if I say the wrong thing, she'll run."

♡♡♡

Most days start like this: you wake up gasping for breath, one hand on your chest and the other stifling your sobs. Another nightmare. Sometimes it's about the Russians, sometimes it's about finding a Demogorgon eating your cat, sometimes it's about Billy and the Mind Flayer, sometimes it's about losing Hopper, but every time it hurts just as bad. You wish you hadn't gone to Mike Wheeler's that day to check up on Dustin. You wish you hadn't found out about Eleven or the lab or the Upside Down. But everything in your life is so deeply intertwined that you would have found out one way or another. It's beyond you how everyone else in Hawkins has remained so oblivious. 

Even though you wish you could rewind and take back every moment that led you to where you are now, you know in your heart that you wouldn't. If it wasn't for all the shit you had to go through, you wouldn't have the people you have now. You wouldn't have ever befriended Nancy Wheeler. You would've never met Robin Buckley. You and Dustin would never have grown as close as you are now. You wouldn't have the golden-dusted, happy memories that you made last summer with Max and El. You never would've learned how to play DnD with Will. And you never would have fallen in love. 

You never saw Steve coming. Well, you did see him coming that day when you and Dustin were at the Wheelers looking for everyone. He had roses in his hands, and he was mumbling to himself. For a second, you thought he'd caved into the insanity of what he'd gone through and lost his mind. 

"Are you talking to yourself?" you'd asked loudly, making him quickly turn around, "Do you need help?"

"What? No! I was just-" he'd stuttered, "What're you two doing here? Actually, who are you?" The last question was directed at you. 

"Who am I? The bitch that sat behind you in English for two years. I've been lending you pencils for months. Are you serious-" you'd snapped at him, a little offended at him for not recognizing you. 

"We don't have time for this!" Dustin yelled, interrupting you, as he took your hand and dragged you to Steve's car. 

You always laugh a little when you remember that particular memory. It wasn't the first time you two had met (maybe for Steve) but it was the first time you'd both become aware of each other. And it was like something had clicked into place because now that you both knew each other, you couldn't drift away. Suddenly Steve was everywhere. The summer after El's bitchin new makeover and the whole debacle that was closing the gate to the Upside Down, you and Steve spent every day together. He'd started working at Starcourt and you worked at the Kiosk across from him, which meant you saw each othera lot. Soon, those days of eating free ice cream in the back turned into shy glances, nervous laughter, and stolen kisses. You were his and he was yours. It was almost perfect. Almost. 

Because even with all this love, joy, and friendship, you can't forget that you're rotten to your core. That there is something deeply wrong with you, something gory and disgusting that's been eating you alive. You don't know how to tell Steve that he doesn't know. If he knew you, he'd leave you. You're so broken inside that it's almost comical. Every day starts and ends with a nightmare. Then the headaches. Sometimes the nosebleeds. Always the loud voices in your head reaffirming the beliefs you have of yourself. You're not good enough. Never have been. You're a fraud. Always have been. You don't know what's worse, when you can't breathe or when there's too much oxygen. 

You call Steve and tell him you don't need a ride. Then you make Dustin bike to school, and you wait for your mother to leave for work before climbing back into bed. These days, it was getting harder and harder to do the mundane, everyday tasks. You couldn't get out of bed. You couldn't take a shower. Everything required willpower that you just didn't have.

God, I'm so pathetic. 

You've nearly fallen back asleep when you hear a knock on your door. You ignore it, hoping whoever it is goes away. The knocking continues, growing louder and louder. You let out a curse and hop out of your bed, begrudgingly going to the front door. You open the door and find Steve standing outside. 

"I knew it!" He exclaims, "Why aren't you in school?"

You don't have the energy for this. You just want him to leave. 

"I'm sick," you lie, adding a half-assed cough, "You should be at work."

"If you were sick then why didn't you just say that when you called this morning?" Steve enquired, folding his arms across his chest, and raising an eyebrow. 

"I got sick after" you shrug, "How'd you know I wasn't in school."

"Dustin, he called about some DnD shit and mentioned you weren't in when I asked why you couldn't play," Steve explains, his eyes scanning your face, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you say.

"No, you're not" Steve replies, coming in through the door and making his way into your room. You silently follow and fall back into bed. 

"Baby, what's going on?" Steve asks softly, getting into bed behind you and laying down.

"Just a headache," you mumble, "I'm fine."

You feel him padding his fingers through your hair and you find yourself lulling back to sleep. But before you can, you hear him start to speak again.

"Not just today, Y/N. What's going on with you? You haven't been yourself lately."

You don't know how to answer this. How do you articulate the absolute mess that is your mind? How do you tell him that you feel like you're on the verge of going insane? How do you tell him that all you feel is agonizing despair and the only reason you're alive is because you're too much of a coward to die?

"I just...haven't been feeling well," you say, "Just haven't been doing so well."

"How can I help? Can I do anything?" Steve asks, holding you close as he brushes the hair out of your face and lays a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead.

"I don't think anyone can fix it," you reply, turning to face him.

The sun peeks through your blinds and you can just about make out his face in the dark. You lean over and softly kiss him. He's everything that you're not but you're too selfish to let go.

"I just wish you'd speak to me, tell me what's going on in your head. I just feel locked out, baby." Steve whispers.

The only response you can manage to give is a mumbled sorry. But there's so much more you'd like to say. Sorry that you're stuck with me, you deserve better. Sorry that I'm like this. Sorry that I'm this broken, this wretched. Sorry that I've fooled you into thinking I'm better than I am. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

You close your eyes and lay your head on his chest. In the darkness of your room, you pray that this moment lasts forever. But as another nightmare sinks its claws into you, you're not sure if you'll make it out alive.

[sadseungmin]

♡ dating a psychotic kim seungmin while suicidal ♡

psychotic kim seungmin x suicidal reader | gender neutral | dead dove

✧･ﾟ: psychotic!seungmin is overbearingly controlling *✧･ﾟ:*

Seungmin's response to your suicidal tendencies is to exert even more control over your life. He insists on being with you every moment, monitoring your actions and interactions. He removes any objects that could be used for self-harm and restricts your access to potentially dangerous places. Seungmin justifies his overbearing behavior as necessary for your protection, making it clear that he is the only one who truly cares about your well-being. You will feel suffocated by this constant supervision, but Seungmin's relentless presence leaves you no room to act on your impulses.

"You’re so fragile, puppy, but don’t worry! I’ll always be here to protect you."

✧･ﾟ: psychotic!seungmin is emotionally manipulative *✧･ﾟ:*

Seungmin uses your fragile mental state to bind you closer to him through emotional manipulation. He frequently reminds you of how much he loves and needs you, while painting himself as your savior. He leverages your vulnerability to make you feel guilty for your suicidal thoughts, convincing you that you're hurting him by thinking this way. You will feel trapped in a web of guilt and obligation believing that your well-being is intrinsically tied to his happiness and stability.

"If you kill yourself, I'll be forced to kill myself too! I would never let you die alone."

✧･ﾟ: psychotic!seungmin comforts in a twisted way *✧･ﾟ:*

Seungmin acknowledges your pain but subtly makes you dependent on his support. He isolates you from other sources of help, claiming that no one else can understand or help like he can. While he listens to your struggles and offers solace, he simultaneously reinforces the idea that your survival depends solely on his presence in your life. This creates a toxic dependency where you will feel that you cannot survive without him, furthering his control over you.

"Without me, this cruel world would swallow you whole. You need me to stay alive, pup."

[jumexju]

REQ !! : Can you write a denji drabble/fic where denji sees readers SH scars and comforts them? if this makes you uncomfortable please ignore!!

COLUMBA

Pairing !! : Denji / Reader

Fic Type !! : One-Shot, Comfort, Fluff

CW !! : Mentions of self harm scars & depression.

Summary !! : Denji comforts you after seeing your scars.

Note !! : Depression/Self Harm scars shouldn't make anyone uncomfortable, we should accept people with their scars and not despite them. This blog will always be a safe space for my fellow depressed and anxious ppl.. ❤︎

✦ MASTERLIST

“_____?” 

You turned to look at Denji who was sitting at the edge of your bed, his eyes looking at you with curiosity. “Yeah?” 

“What are those?” the blond asked, getting up from the bed and walking towards you. You were in the middle of fixing your hair, wondering what he was talking about. 

“What d’you mean?” You looked around wondering what he could’ve been talking about. You were still looking until he softly took your arm in his warm hands and ran his fingers along the prominent lines on your skin. 

“These.” His honey eyes inspected the healed wounds, wondering how it is that you’d acquired them. 

It was then that you were reminded of your past. The moments in which you felt completely swallowed by the dark shadow of emptiness and solitude. “Oh.” You hadn’t meant for him to see them yet. It was hot so you had absentmindedly took off your sweater, completely forgetting about your scars. How could you explain it to him? 

Would he think they were ugly? 

What would he think of you now if he knew your past? 

“They’re scars,” You sighed, allowing him to see them instead of pulling your arm away from him. 

A look of curiosity flared upon his face, “Where’d you get ‘em? In a fight?” He seemed to think they were cool.. If only he knew. 

“They’re self-harm scars, I..” You looked away from his eyes and down at your arm. You couldn’t bear to see the look on his face when he realized. “I did them.” 

Denji’s brows knit together, “You cut.. Yourself?” He tilted his head a little, struggling to understand. “How come?” 

“I was in a bad place, mentally. I felt like that was the only thing I could do..” You tried to explain it to him but you wondered whether he would understand. “I still feel the urge sometimes, but I don’t do it anymore though-” 

“You can come to me if you ever feel like that y’know? I don’t mind.” Denji’s amber eyes met yours, his hands holding yours while he assured you of this. You smiled a little and pulled him into a hug. Honestly, Denji felt bad that you had gone through all that, growing up the way that he did — he could empathize with you. Many times he wondered if he’d ever get out of the slums, but now that he had, he knew that there was hope. 

He only hoped that you had found the same hope now. “If you ever feel like doin’ it again jus’ come t’me, okay?”  You nodded and pulled apart from him before gazing into his eyes. 

“You really don’t think they’re.. Ugly?” 

A look of confusion washed across his face, “Ugly? Hell nah..! I actually think they’re kinda cool,” He smiled when he heard your chuckle in response to his words. 

“Cool? How?” 

“Well, they’re kinda like battle scars if y’think about it,” he smiled, his pointy shark teeth shining at you. He wasn’t always this optimistic but you could tell he wanted to make you feel better about your scars. 

“You don’t think they’re a little.. Off putting?” 

He shook his head, “They’re part of you n’ I care about all of ya, I ain’t gonna hate them jus’ cuz you were goin’ through a hard time!’ His warm words reassured you. Truly, Denji was being genuine. You could feel it through his words and the things he said. 

You could feel it through this moment. 

Denji hoped that his words were enough. That you could feel what he was saying and receive it well. He could never hate you for things that you couldn’t control. Maybe he was a little stupid at times, but he always knew the right things to say to you. 

He could always comfort you when you needed it.

[whore4gwen]

FOOLS GOLD･ﾟ･｡

Alcina Dimitrescu x Fem!reader

Tags; Angst, blood, hurt/no comfort, slight Dom/sub dynamics, nothing much other than reader being depressed

Authors note- HELLO LOVELIES! Ik I haven’t written anything in quite some time.. recently things have been very difficult and I have a ton of exams I’m doing rn. I’m really trying to get back into writing & hopefully I can publish regularly again! <3

‼️MEN DNI‼️

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Everything about Alcina was absolutely riveting. From her mannerisms to her facial expressions. She reeled you In, only to toss you out when she was finished.

The matriarch was temperamental and didn’t have time for disobedience. If she wanted you, surely she’d have you. That, seems to be something you forgot.

How could you?

How could one ever forget something such as that? You’re merely a pawn. Something to sustain, to entertain the lady before she decides you’re no longer whimsical.

You ride the high horse till she finds a fairer mare. It’s been two weeks since you’ve been outcasted, tossed to the side as if you were tainted and no good.

Together they laugh and joke, read and talk about the fine arts just as you had done.

You’re all used up, all your vibrant colors that once drew her so close have washed away. Back to the dull, tedious life you endured before. Before heaven, before luxury, before love.

You feel crass for admitting so, for being so incredibly dim witted for falling for the great Alcina Dimitrescu. Of course you’re not the first, nor the last, but the thought still sickens you to your very core.

How could she be so heartless? So callous? So warm and inviting to someone she no Intention on keeping longer than a few weeks?

How long will this one last? You wonder. She’ll probably think she loves her and she’s the luckiest person to roam the Earth. That she’s been sent a gift from the Gods and Goddesses themselves. How incredibly, miserably wrong she is.

If I am not yours what am I? I have tired to catch your eye. Even just a fleeting glance. Not even the smell of blood arises a reaction from you anymore. Your eyes are cold as winter. Not the gentle, loving ones I grew so used to peering into.

You’ve changed, I tell myself. Or maybe I just never noticed before. So engrossed in the way you loved me, I never saw the beast behind the shadows begging, waiting, to be released.

[npookie0]

A Mind Too Loud. - Angel x depressed g.n.reader

Content warning: depression, possible spoilers for Angel's route. The reader may not be completely inclusive.

Angel helps you during your worse times, while she also has a chance to help herself.

Being you wasn't always as cheerful and fun as you wanted to show it. It was exhausting, you were exhausted.

Struggling with depression didn't help you with your writing or maintaining your relationships, it actually made it all extremely hard, but who would expect anything else? Maybe the people who made it an aesthetic or those who thought that hardships brought people closer and filled them up with inspiration.

But no. What you were going through was even half as inspiring as you wished it was, it was actually a nightmare.

You were rotting in your bed, unable to move unless you absolutely needed to. Your phone somewhere in your bed with a dead battery, your unfinished writings scattered all over the floor, multiple dirty dishes with, or without, food on them piling up on your desk. It all made you even more exhausted, even more unwilling to get up.

And the worst part? You completely cut off your friends and your girlfriend. For a week now you haven't contacted anyone, you slept through your days, just hoped that staying in your bed would help. Surely, if you slept long enough it all would be gone, the exhaustion, the lack of motivation, the unwillingness to contact anyone or their image of you would be ruined.

Did you feel terrible? Yes. You knew that not contacting Angel was wrong, you knew how she was and how her previous relationships were. You knew that, yet you still couldn't bring yourself to do so. Why? You didn't know. Maybe you were too exhausted, or maybe you were scared that seeing you like this would disappoint her.

"Ronin are you sure they live here?" You opened your eyes, hearing someone's voice outside of your front door from your bedroom. It was muffled, but you could tell that it belonged to a woman.

Then followed a few knocks. You weren't in a state for anyone to see you, but you didn't care. You couldn't bring yourself to wash your home, why the hell would you wash yourself? You got out of your bed, trying to figure out if you actually had to open the door. Unfortunately, the person behind your front door wasn't giving up and you didn't really want to make your neighbours angry with you, arguments were too exhausting right now.

You opened the door and behind them you saw her. Maria de la Rosa herself. Your girlfriend, a serial killer and a popular model with a channel of her own. She looked beautiful, sweetness laced with teeth of those she killed. You had to blink a few times before you realised that it was Angel. You weren't ready to face her, not now, probably not never.

"Angel. .. I-" You wanted to say something, greet her, but before you could do that, she wrapped her arms around you and pulled you into a hug. Holding onto you like she thought she would lose you.

"Angel, are you... Okay?" You asked, your voice was raspy, obviously dry after not drinking or talking for a while now. She didn't reply, just held you tightly until she finally let go and invited herself into your home, closing the door after you entered behind her.

"Y/N... Why didn't you tell me?" She asked, her eyes full of worry. She looked broken, a little bit more than usual that is. The perfection wasn't there, these were her raw emotions.

"Tell you what? Oh...." Oh. So she knows. Well, that saved you some explaining, but also brought up a new one. "How do you know?"

"Ronin wanted to look more into you when you went missing, he was also worried even though he wasn't really showing it.". A weak chuckle left her mouth. "He found your medical records, they really did a shitty job hiding your name, his words not mine." She sighed and looked down at her hands. "Why didn't you say anything?"

You looked away. Shame filling you up. Finally something else than this notorious emptiness.

"I... I didn't want to worry you, to disappoint you." You answered, tone weak, barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry Angel." You looked at her.

She took a breath. Took your hands in hers and cupped her face with your hands, leaning into the touch. "Love, you could never disappoint me, not with something like this at least. But, this conversation will wait for a moment when you feel better."

She looked around your hallway, then looked at you again. "You should eat something, I brought lunch." She smiled gently.

Angel was looking at you throughout the whole meal. She felt like she was looking at someone who's dead. You weren't there with her. You looked at your plate, stabbing through your food, eyes emptied of all the energy and motivation, you were obviously exhausted. It broke her heart to see you like this, so different from how you usually were.

It also reminded her of herself, so empty, so deprived of emotions because they were too exhausting.

"Maria?" Your voice brought her back to the moment. Your plate was half empty while hers was still full. "You should eat too."

Right. She should eat. She actually didn't ever since you were gone and she couldn't reach you, worried sick about you. But she should eat now. For herself and for you. If she showed you that she also fought her own battle then maybe you would be willing to fight through your own? Maybe you could win this, return to be more than a moving body without a soul. Maybe with her help this thing would be easier for you?

She wasn't a healer. She could only kill to help her friends, but for you she was willing to try. She was willing to wrap you in her embrace, lay with you in your bed, listen to your problems, and slowly clean your surroundings for you.

She wanted to do all these things, in a way it was helping her. Letting her be a mess, drop the perfect Maria de la Rosa and be just Maria, Maria helping her lover and helping herself.

Helping herself with a mess of her own while you two were fighting your battle.

It felt grounding, seeing the light in your eyes slowly shine again, watching you write and get out of your house. You were alive again. You weren't just a walking corpse too exhausted to show her emotion.

You were alive and it was reassuring.

[paxdlove]

D-16 x depressed! pet! Reader | I was depressed so I wrote this | comfort

He likes to hold you at night, cradling your fragile form, stroking a finger along the shaking curve of your back.

The way you curl into his hold, the way he can see you face tense with worry or stress or some other negative emotion he desperately wants to understand.

“Hey, hey, shhh,” Dee tries to reassure you, voice hushes as to not startle you, “It’ll be okay, I’ve got you…”

He knows you can’t understand him, but he likes to imagine you do, especially when you quiet down and grow a bit stiller, tiny hand reaching out to weakly grip onto the plating of his palm.

You still look flushed, eyes swollen and the little sniffles making his spark break in two. He wants to hold you closer, make you smile again and make that cute tinkling sound that he thinks is laughter.

You only lean into his hold more, and he presses his finger down your back again, the pressure on his spark easing as you finally seem to relax.

“I’ve got you,” he repeats.

He hates seeing you sad. Hates not knowing what it is that bothers you. Is it him? Are you upset with your life here, in his care hidden away until the late hours when he isn’t working? Is it your past life, a history so unknown to him that he can’t help but wonder if you were stolen away from somewhere worse? Or, and he hopes not, is it that you miss it? That you yearn to return to your previous life, whatever it may be?

He doesn’t know. All he knows is that you have your bad days, where no amount of treats or pets or attention will pull you out of it, if anything, the frantic attention can often make you retreat further.

He has learned to settle with keeping you company, quietly letting you cry and shake or stare off into space as a haunted blank look over takes you.

He hates it. But he doesn’t hate you.

His large hands, a faded black riddled with scratches and dents, strong enough to get him to the top of his mining sector, but not strong enough to pull you out of your mind and its depths, always only able to stroke your body fondly, using a massive finger to touch at the soft mess upon your head.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, and he watches your face tilt up to him, cheek smushed against the plating of his servo, eyes looking up at him tiredly, but not with dislike.

“I wish I could help you,” He whispers.

The only response you make is a soft yawn, the open span of your mouth revealing such tiny looking teeth, a soft off-white.

You settle down and he watches as your breathing evens out, your body growing lax even under his unending stare.

As you rest, he can only hope that one day, these days would come less to his little human.

[shingekinomyfeelings]

too much, not enough (Reiner x gn reader; hurt/comfort)

swf. unspecified setting/timeline. ~450 words. mild warning for depictions of depression

Reiner finds you in a vulnerable state and offers an assurance.

notes: I wrote this after a nasty fight with someone left me feeling like a POS, because I guess this is the kind of thing I wish I had someone to tell me when I'm fucked up. It's super short and I'm pretty sure I was crying my eyes out while I wrote it, but it did make me feel better, so I hope it does the same for someone else.

Reader is gender neutral, and this could easily be either canon universe or an AU; it's up to you, friendos.

Originally published March 2023.

You’ve been staring at the wall for longer than you realize, curled on your side on the bed, wrapped in an air of listlessness and lethargy. That’s how Reiner finds you, as he has before, and he doesn’t need to see your tired, reddened eyes to know that you’re struggling again.

He makes his voice soft – as soft as he’s able, anyway – as he calls your name, and you respond with a delayed lift of your hand before you let it flop back to your side. Reiner crosses the room and clambers onto the bed to lay curled around you as best he can.

“Hey, dove.” He tugs you against him and rests his chin on your shoulder, his stubble scratchy against your skin, and you can feel his voice rumble in his chest as he asks, “You wanna talk?”

You’re slow to speak, knowing that when you do, the tears will start flowing again, and reply haltingly, “Do you ever feel like... you’re somehow simultaneously too much for everyone, and not enough for anyone?”

Reiner blinks, considering how to answer the question. He could tell you, and he’d mean every word of it, that you’re never too much for him, that you’ve always been enough, but he knows as well as anyone can that simply telling someone that their self-loathing assertions are wrong doesn’t really make them disappear. So, after a brief pause, he answers honestly, “Not as often, since I’ve been with you.”

You take a deep breath and try to steady your voice, but it still comes out as a half-whimper, “Sometimes I don’t understand why you put up with me.”

“Hrmm…” Reiner tucks a few errant strands of hair behind your ear and out of your weary face. “Same reason you put up with me?”

You can’t help but sound borderline offended as you reply, “But I don’t ‘put up’ with you, I love you. Even when you do make me aggravated now and then, it’s always been worth it for all the other times I have with you.”

He very gently raps his knuckles against the top of your head, his voice still soft. “So, same reason, then.”

This brings on a fresh wave of tears as you reach to take his hand in yours and press your lips to his fingers, trying not to tremble or cry. He kisses your jawline and intertwines his fingers with yours to give your hand a tight squeeze. “You can cry if you need to. I’ll stay here.”

And then all you can do is let yourself cry softly, until the tears slow and the sound of his breathing lulls you into a rest.

And outside, you can hear birds singing...

[asphyxiamp3]

Comfort - Yuta Okkotsu x Reader

You can feel the sunlight peer through your window, the curtain failing to conceal the bright light that sought to wake you up. Usually, you’d groan, roll over - but this time, you were too tired to care. 

You had been lying in bed for around 2 hours now, occasionally checking your phone, but most of the time was spent lying down, thinking about everything. It went from the most mundane things, such as what you had for dinner yesterday- (if you had it at all, your appetite had decreased) to the most heavy questions, pondering the meaning of life. In the middle, you had a plan. To end it all. You knew it wasn’t right, but who cares? Fuck this all.

Your thoughts were interrupted by two knocks on your dorm door. Probably because it’s been an hour since class started and you hadn’t shown up. Your classmates had texted you, but you didn’t reply. Who cared about class, anyways? It’ll end eventually. Everything ended, eventually.

Pretending to be asleep, you wait for the person outside your door to stop, and leave. Then, you’d do it. To your surprise though, the door opened quite smoothly, and you cursed remembering the fact you had forgotten to lock it before you went to sleep.

“Y/N?” A soft voice called out to you, and you recognized it to be Yuta. You didn’t know who you hoped it would be - Maki would beat your ass if you told her the reason you stayed in bed, Inumaki wouldn’t give you the words of comfort you needed, and Panda was, well, Panda. Yuta was the best option, but he was perceptive, meaning you had to tell him everything before he picked up on it himself.

Footsteps came closer to your bed, and stopped close to it. “Y/N, class started a while ago. You weren’t responding to your texts.” You didn’t reply, you just kept silent, hoping that he’d abandon you and leave you to rot. But maybe…

“Yeah. I saw them.” You spoke, more aggressive than you wanted it to be. You could see due to peeping from your duvet that Yuta had blinked, unsure of why you were angry. He gestured at the bed, asking if he could sit down. You nodded.

“Y/N…are you okay?”

You felt tears forming from your eyes, threatening to fall. He had noticed them, and placed his hand on your cheek, wiping them away. “It’s just…you’ve been different recently. Every laugh feels forced. You’re skipping more often. You gave away all your jewelry to Maki, and you love your jewelry. You don’t talk to anyone anymore…you’re always here alone. You eat less, too, and your face looks tired, like you aren’t sleeping.” He takes a breath, looking at you with concern. Not pity - pure concern. Concern from a place of love.

“Yuta…” you say, hesitatingly.  “Mhm?” “Can you lie down with me?” 

The boy looks a bit shocked at the comment, but his eyes soften. “Sure.”

You pull back the duvet and true to his word, he lies down beside you. Your eyes are facing him, and you took a moment to observe. Beautiful, dark teal eyes framed by dark hair. A pale face, eye bags, but a look of love in the expression he wore. 

“I’m severely depressed, Yuta. I was actually going to end it all today, but you came, and now…” Tears spill from your eyes as you start to shake, trying to suppress the cries you so desperately wanted to release. Immediately, he shuffles closer, wrapping his arms around you and rocking you gently. He’s whispering into your ear, you don’t know what, but it’s comforting. 

“Y/N, I’m so proud of you for not doing it. Whenever that happens, please tell me, okay? I’m only a dorm away.” You cry harder, sobbing as he continued to rock you, whispering sweet things in your ear. You could make them out now.

“It’s okay.”

“I’m here now”

“I love you.”

You were shocked, and you buried your face into his chest, breathing heavily to calm yourself down. Yuta noticed this and began to go through a breathing technique.

“Inhale - that’s right. I know you can do it. Now, exhale. Great, you’re doing it.” He repeated this a few times until you had calmed down fully, regaining your composure. You were still clinging onto him, and you were sure your snot and tears must have gone on his clothes. But he didn’t seem to care. All that mattered was you. 

“Yuta…”

“Hm?”

“I love you too.”

His eyes widened, and you brought your face closer to his. Your noses were touching, and you could see Yuta blush. 

It happened so gently. Your lips met, and suddenly, for a moment, everything was okay. Flowers bloomed in your mind, azure hues of the sky housing clouds which danced softly, as the birds sang a melody only you knew. You knew your problems wouldn’t disappear. You’d wake up tomorrow, and possibly feel the same. But at least now, you had Yuta. And maybe, that would be enough.

[patty-08]

Too much

daemon targaryen x niece!reader

warnings: suicidal thoughts, death, depression, suicide attempt

Author’s note: This is my first work and English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Pain and hate, all I felt was pain and hate. The pain of losing my mother and brother. Hate towards father for sacrificing my mother for the male offspring. Self-hatred, not about any specific issue, but just like that. The pain of being betrayed by my uncle who named my dead brother "heir for the day". It was all too much and that's why I'm sitting on the balcony of my room, thinking about jumping. One tear rolls down my face and then... I'm ready, ready for the pain to end. To be free....

Suddenly strong arms wraps around my waist and stop me from jumping

'Let me go, please let me go' I cry, trying to free myself from his embrace

'its ok its gonna be ok' Daemon. It was a Daemon

I fell to my knees and he fell with me 'no no no its not gonna be ok let me go let me die... please let me die' I sobbed madly as daemon tried to calm me down

'hey hey its ok' he said hugging me to him 'just let it all go' He whispered when I stopped fighting his hug and sobbed into his shoulder

When I stopped crying, Daemon took my face in his hands

'never do that again. Do you hear me, never' Then I see it. Daemon had tears in his eyes and one of them rolled down his cheek. He was crying, I've never seen him cry before. He hugged me again and I don't know how long we stayed in each other's embrace

It still won't be okay for a long time, but it's the first step to being okay

[huffelpuff210]

King Loki Laufeyson x Shy Reader

Loki Laufeyson x Reader

Summery: Loki is king of earth now defeating the avengers who are broken or dead, He rules the Earth with an Iron fist, the people bring him sacrifices or trade humans for merchandise their people are in despite need of, But when he meets you everything changes, 

Warning: slavery, abuse, blood, threats, dark themes, swearing, depression, insecurities, self hatred, suicidal thoughts, 

A metal collar is around your neck, the prongs inside your skin were excruciating, but pain is something you lost a long time ago, the small pain is there but not as bad as it once was, shackles around your wrists,your arms in front of you,  a chain connected to the collar as you are led by your father, 

The guards escort your father as you obediently follow, Your clothes torn, a white sheet over your head the length stops at the back of your knees, 

You hopped and prayed that King Loki would just kill you, that your death would be quick and painless, as you stepped in the throne room, 

Your father ordered you not to speak before you both arrived here, you just simply nodded, you gave up on speaking a long time ago, it only made the torture and punishments that much worse, 

You kept your eyes to the ground, not looking up once, it was something you have always done, as far as you can remember, You father and brothers despised your eyes, called you a monster, you have two different colored eyes, Once is a icy blue, while the other is a bright green, so you never look up or make eye contact with anyone, 

They also blamed you for killing your mother, she died giving birth to you, They always told you, You are nothing, just a useless slave who deserves to suffer, 

“Your highness.” Your father speaks, 

“Rise.” You hear Loki’s voice, 

“I have brought you a trade, my daughter for some food and supplies.” Your father says 

It was the first time he’s ever called you his daughter, 

“She is very obedient and will do anything you ask.” Your father says yanking the chain hard making you step forward, you take a few lazy steps, you were barefoot and in a torn green dress, it looked like something someone dug out of the trash, you could see the open wounds in some places, but you didn’t care, you just hopped you would just die, so the pain and suffering would come to a end, 

You hear footsteps, 

they stop a mere feet from you 

“What is your name mortal?” He asked but you did not dare to speak, 

“She does not speak your highness-” Your father began 

“Was I talking to you?” Loki’s voice had a hint of menace behind it, 

To say he was intrigued was a bit of an understatement, Most sacrifices or trade offs cowered or wept when in his presence or begged for mercy, 

But not this one, You remained silent, still and Loki could clearly tell why, you were not treated kindly, wounds that were still bleeding, you looked half starved and on the verge of collapsing, Loki hooked his fingers under your chin to get a good look at you, making you look up into his eyes and what he saw stunned him, two different colored eyes,

It was said in Asgard two different colored eyes, is said to bring fortune, and luck and sign of love and tranquility, 

But he saw something else in your eyes, he knew that stare, the distant stare of someone in anguish and pain, it was as if you had given up completely on life, just waiting for death to come, He smirks down at you letting go of your chin yanking the chain out of your father’s hands, 

“I will take this, but you get nothing in return.” Loki says 

“What!?” Your father raised his voice, 

“Do you really think I’m going to offer you something for bringing me a trade in this condition, don’t insult me.” Loki says with venom in his voice, 

“Then there is no trade!” Your father yelled, 

“Watch your tone.” Loki says with menace 

Your father clams up, 

“And you speak as if you have much of a choice, I am King. I take what I want,” He says 

“B-But.” Your father tries to argue, 

“Guards imprison this bafoon, he has insulted the crown.” Loki says 

“Yes, your majesty.” The guards say 

you hear your father being dragged away as he yells and tries to fight, 

“Come my pet, we have much to discuss.” Loki says leading you away gently 

You're bare feet patted on the tiled floor as you silently followed behind Loki, You're eyes trained on the floor, the only noises that could be heard was Loki’s footsteps and the clinking of the chains, 

You had no idea what was in store for you but you hopped your death would be quick and painless. 

Loki opens a door and you follow him inside, the door shuts 

suddenly the sheet was ripped off of you revealing your hair, your eyes and sadly some injuries, 

“Now let me have a good look at you my pet.” Loki says hooking his fingers under your chin making you look at him as he tilts your head from side to side examining you, looking at the injuries to your face, 

The fresh bruises and scrapes, 

You try not to make eye contact with him, 

“Hmm, your are sunning for a mortal, we will have to clean you up,” He says 

Still you don’t speak or nod, you just stare past him, 

“But first these need to go.” He says waving his hand, and suddenly the collar and shackles were gone, revealing the punctures in your neck from the collar, 

Loki was appalled at the amount of injures you had, surely you had suffered, but the collar was the icing on the cake for the god, he wanted to torture the man who caused you such pain you were treated worse than an animal. 

With a wave of his hand most of your injures were healed, 

“There that should feel much better.” He says smirking 

You just nod, suddenly his fingers are under your chin again, 

“I want you to look at me when I speak pet is that understood?” He asked 

You nodded and he smirked pleased with your answer even if it wasn’t a verbal one.