#hurt/comfort exchange 2023

[drabbles-mc]

Worse Before It's Better

Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff

Written for the 2023 Hurt/Comfort Exchange

Warnings: 18+, angst, blood/injuries, scars, ptsd

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: I just really fucking looooove writing for these two. I love letting them be angsty together and soft together. They're so good for that.

Marvel Taglist: @garbinge @artemiseamoon (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

There had only been one real exchange of words between them the entire time. When Natasha had finally found him, finally gotten to him, she could hardly believe the state of him. She recognized him, because she would always be able to recognize him, but he hardly looked like himself.

“Barnes?” the name fell from her lips like a question, like a plea.

Eyes red from tears and pain, his face littered with cuts and bruises, he looked back at her, his voice grated but just as desperate as he said, “Natasha?”

That was the only thing he’d said to her. Everything else that was said, was all Natasha. It wasn’t as though she even said all that much, but what little she did say, Bucky didn’t offer any responses for. With his metal arm slung across her shoulders and her arm braced against his lower back, the two of them made their way towards freedom as quickly as they could. Natasha gave directions and quiet reassurances as they walked, none of which Bucky replied to. What little energy and strength he had was going into keeping himself upright. At that point, Natasha was all but dragging him along as she went, but they hadn’t tumbled. The adrenaline amplified her raw strength, and they were both lucky for that otherwise Bucky wasn’t sure if they would’ve made it out, if he would’ve made it out.

But then they were in the car. Natasha was behind the wheel, speeding down roads so fast that it wouldn’t have mattered if the cops tried to pull her over, because they never would’ve caught up to her. Her hands were wrapped tight around steering wheel, grip so severe she wondered if the wheel was going to be permanently formed to her hands after the fact.

Meanwhile, Bucky sat in the passenger seat. Natasha had buckled him in since he hadn’t made any move to do it for himself when he had sat down. For as large of a man as he was, he had never looked as small as he did right then. He sat there, nearly motionless except for the clenching and unclenching of his metal hand. Everything else about him was eerily still—it was hard for Natasha to even see the rise and fall of his chest even though she knew that he was breathing.

When the car came to a stop, it was the first time that Natasha really saw Bucky turn and try to look around at where they were. She didn’t know if he would recognize it. The area, maybe, but to the extent of her knowledge, he’d never been to this particular safehouse before. It wasn’t one that was sanctioned by anyone—it was one of her personal hideaways, of which she had precious few now.

“Come on,” she said as she cut the ignition.

She knew that Bucky wasn’t really going to make any move on his own, but she still had to say it. She unbuckled herself and quickly strode around to the other side of the car, head on a swivel to make sure that no one was around and watching them as she pulled the passenger door open. She saw Bucky turn to look at her, but he didn’t say anything or move at all as she reached across him to undo his seatbelt.

Looping her arm behind him once more, she pulled him towards the edge of the seat. He didn’t fight her on it, swinging his legs so that his feet landed on the blacktop. It took him longer than it normally would, but he did eventually get himself upright onto his feet. Once he regained a bit of his balance, he could’ve walked in on his own. He allowed himself the small comfort of Natasha’s arm being around him, though, the sound of their footsteps being in-sync with each other’s. It was all he had for the moment.

He watched as Natasha took out her keys. He leaned against the wall beside the door as she unlocked it. His eyes were glued to her hands, unable to focus on more than one thing at a time as she slid the key into the lock. Key in the palm of one hand, Natasha put her other into Bucky’s giving him a gentle tug through the door so that she could shut and lock it behind them, putting them in to as much safety as they could be afforded given everything that had happened.

Even though Bucky didn’t seem any more comfortable or relieved than he had a few moments before, Natasha’s shoulders slumped in relief once the door was locked and they were alone. She flipped a few of the lights on, not all of them as an act of mercy to Bucky who seemed like he was on the brink of flinching at just about any and every change. It was more light than she’d had up until that point, though, and it was enough for her to get a better look at his injuries, how bad they were.

Before she could stop herself, she whispered, “What did they do to you?” as she reached, fingertips brushing against the cold metal of his arm.

He didn’t answer, could hardly bring himself to meet her eyes when she asked him the question. Part of him wanted to tell her. If anyone would understand what he’d been through, it would be her. But he knew that if he opened those floodgates, started to talk about what they’d done, he’d shatter in a way that would take too long to be put back together.

Clearing his throat, despite how raw it felt, Bucky didn’t his best to sound as level as he could as he asked, “Shower?”

Natasha nodded instantly, her brain kicking back into gear. She went to take his hand again, purely out of habit, but she noticed how he flinched away this time. She tried not to let the emotional sting of that linger, tried not to think too much into it because of the circumstances.

Allowing her hand to fall back to her side, she nodded towards the other end of the house. “Yea, this way.”

Bucky followed her dutifully through each room. Normally he’d be more observant about where they were, what Natasha had in her house, but he didn’t have enough spare energy for that. All he could afford to focus on was her, and where they were going.

The bathroom was small. It felt just this side of cramped as the two of them both standing in it. Bucky kept himself pressed back against the closed bathroom door, waiting and watching as Natasha maneuvered around the room getting things set up for him. She grabbed fresh towels and facecloths for him. She said something about helping himself to whatever soaps and shampoos and whatever else she had in there, but Bucky wasn’t particularly listening.

The sound of the water sputtering for a few seconds out of the shower head, warming up after going so long without use, made Bucky's head snap towards the sound. Every muscle in his body tensed, and even when he realized what it had been, he couldn’t fully relax.

“Here,” she said, holding her hand out in an offer for him to take it, “let me help.”

He didn’t take her hand, but he did pry his back away from the door. It only took one step on his part to put the two of them nearly chest to chest. Looking past all the bruises and cuts, Natasha could see that there was still fear in his eyes. She wished that she could just reach up and wipe it all away, the injuries, the panic, the memories, all of it. Bucky looked down at her, and he could’ve sworn that he could feel the warmth radiating off of her even though they weren’t touching. He wished that he could feel the comfort that it should’ve been providing him. Everything that she’d done to rescue him, all that she’d risked, and he felt too blocked up to even properly try to thank her.

Feeling like if she didn’t prompt him somehow, he wasn’t ever going to actually undress and get into the shower to try and clean himself off, Natasha reached for the bottom hem of Bucky’s shirt. Her fingertips lightly grasped the fabric between them. She started to gently pull it upwards when suddenly Bucky reached, snatching her wrist in the cold, harsh grasp of his metal hand. His grip tightened enough to not only cause Natasha to let go of the cloth between her fingers, but to make her let out a shocked whimper of pain.

Bucky realized what he was doing as soon as she made the sound, and he tried to get himself to let her go, but he couldn’t. All the fear that was causing him to crumble from the inside out was making it impossible for him to fully let her go. The best he could manage was slightly loosening his grip, saving her from snapping any bones.

Despite the tears of pain in her eyes, when Natasha breathed in and spoke, it was all steady. “You’re safe here, James.” She nodded when his grip loosened just a little bit more. “It’s okay.”

Finally wrenching his hand open, he pulled it away from her just as quickly as he’d reached for her. He shook his head, trying to make himself sound much more assured than he really was as he said, “I’m good. Sorry.”

She frowned, seeing how much effort it took him to try not to fall apart in front of her. She couldn’t blame him, really, not when she was usually doing the same thing. But after everything that he had just gone through, it would make more sense if he fell apart rather than not. And if he didn’t feel safe doing that in front of her, who else was there?

“It’s okay if you’re not,” she said, tempted to reach out to try and offer a comforting touch but unsure about what response it would trigger in him.

“I am,” he lied again with a nod.

She didn’t want to turn it into an argument. So, instead, she just gave in as she tried to slip past him towards the door. “I’ve got some extra clothes for you in the car. I’ll grab them while you’re, you know…” she trailed off as she nodded towards the shower.

He tried to hide the tremble that was starting in his bottom lip as he nodded. “Thanks.”

By the time that Natasha came back to the bathroom with a spare set of clothes for him, Bucky was already in the shower, his clothes in a tattered heap on the floor. The entire room was filled with steam, mirror already fogged up as she set the t-shirt and lounge pants on the counter of the sink.

“Clothes are on the counter,” she said, her voice quiet but just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the running water.

She waited for a response that never came. Turning to look at the tub, she could just barely make out Bucky’s silhouette on the other side of the curtain. She could see that he was sitting down, and it broke her heart. She wished that she could say or do something that would make it all better. She wished she could slide in with him, wipe away the blood and the dirt and the pain. Since she couldn’t, she just took a deep breath and quietly grabbed his clothes from the floor as she slipped back out of the bathroom, lightly shutting the door behind her as she went.

Bucky heard the door click shut behind Natasha, and he let out the breath that he had been holding, one that nearly turned into a sob as he dropped his forehead forward so that it rested against his knees. The second after he’d stepped into the shower, he’d crumpled to the floor. Arms wrapped around his legs, forehead pinned against his knees, he felt the water beating down his back and against his hair. He could see the first layers of blood and filth darkening the water that flowed towards and then down the drain. He wanted to have the strength, the wherewithal to scrub the rest of it away, but he didn’t yet. So instead, he let the water do what it could, which would have to be enough for now.

He lost track of how long he had been sitting there, but it must’ve been longer than he realized because he heard another knock at the bathroom door, followed by Natasha’s voice saying, “Just making sure you didn’t drown in there.”

He wished that he had the energy to smile at that. His voice came out heavy as he said, “Not yet.”

“Are you…” she trailed off before deciding to rephrase, “Do you need help?”

He shook his head for a moment before remembering that she couldn’t actually see him. “No.”

Taking a deep breath, Natasha nodded to herself as she said, “Okay. Let me know if you do.”

When he heard the door shut again, he finally forced himself to actually make use of the shower. Even when he was done, though, he still didn’t feel clean. He didn’t know when he would again, if he would again. But at least the dried blood was gone now. All of his injuries were visible now, and so were all of his scars. There was no filth to cover up the bruises and the cuts anymore—it was almost enough to make him wish that he hadn’t cleaned himself off in the first place.

Shutting the water off, he pulled the curtain back and dried himself off. He tried to move quickly, desperately wanting to cover himself up, but any movement that was too fast sent a jolt of pain through him. Finally tossing the towel aside, he dressed himself in the clothes that Natasha had set out for him. There was a tiny twinge of comfort that went through him at the fact that everything fit the way he liked, that Natasha had somehow come to know him like that. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Once he hung up the towel, he finally opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom, releasing a slew of steam along with him. Raking his fingers back through his hair, he pushed it back out of his face, still able to feel some of the water dripping onto his hair and his shoulders. He couldn’t deny that he felt the tiniest bit better, just a touch more human thanks to hot water and the soaps in Natasha’s shower.

As he wound his way through the house, he wished that he had paid closer attention on their initial walk through so that he would have a better idea of where she would be. He jolted slightly at her clearing her throat, turning himself towards the direction of the sound. Sure enough, she was sitting at the small table in her kitchen, coffee mug in front of her. There was still steam coming off of it, but it didn’t seem like she’d drank any of it, more just made it out of habit.

“Any better?” she asked.

He gave a small nod. “I think so.”

A weak smile crossed her face for a moment. “Good.” Standing up, she gestured to the table. “Sit, I’ll make you some coffee.”

Bucky knew that he wasn’t going to be drinking the coffee that she made him either, but he didn’t fight her on it. They could sit at the table together, both not drinking their coffee, both not quite sure what to say to the other about any of it.

When Natasha was walking back to the table with the mug, she saw that Bucky was starting to bleed through the shirt he was wearing in a couple different places on his back. Taking a deep breath, she fought the urge to reach out and move his shirt to see what was going on. Instead, she set the mug down and waited for him to finally look up at her.

For a moment she almost couldn’t see past the bruises and cuts on his face. Pressing her lips into a thin line for a second, she got herself together enough to say, “You’re still bleeding.”

“What?” his hand was hovering above the coffee mug, just close enough to feel the steam off of it.

“Your back,” she specified, “it’s still bleeding.” When Bucky didn’t move, didn’t say anything, she asked, “Can I look?”

He didn’t want her to. It was bad enough that she had seen him in the shape that he’d been in when she rescued him. Still, there was a part of him that knew that he wasn’t going to get out of this one. It wasn’t that he really owed her for what she’d done for him, but to make himself feel a little better, he could still try to tell himself that he at least owed her this.

“Okay,” he finally forced out.

He peeled the shirt off before she could reach and try to do it for him. Natasha was glad that he wasn’t looking at her as she looked at his back. It was easy to tell which cuts were the ones that were staining the shirt he’d had on. A couple of them would be fine with a bandage over them. One she could tell just by looking at it was going to need some stitches. Those weren’t what were unsettling her, though. What was causing her stomach to turn were the litany of bruises, of burns, of old scars that she’d never seen before, marks that weren’t ever going to go away.

“How bad?” Bucky’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

Clearing her throat, she tried to push her emotions back down as she said, “Not bad. I can take care of them for you.”

“Yea?”

“Yea.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

She rested her hand on his shoulder for a moment, warm palm to warm skin. “Be right back.”

When Natasha reappeared with the first aid kid, Bucky had repositioned himself on the chair. He was sitting on it backwards, arms braced across the top of it and his forehead resting against his forearms. Despite the sadness of the scene, there was also something about it that caused Natasha to let slip the tiniest bit of a smile.

“Didn’t think you’d be such a good patient,” she joked softly as she pulled her own chair over so that she was sitting behind him.

He hummed, the best he could do in place of a laugh. “Didn’t think I had a choice.”

She opened her first aid kit, which had grown and expanded over the years. It was no surprise to anyone that the standard kit wasn’t going to meet her needs, or the needs of anyone else that might find themselves within the walls of her safehouse. A lot of modifications and additions had been made over the years.

“You know the drill,” she said as she put a pair of gloves on.

“Worse before it’s better,” he muttered as his fists clenched, preparing for the incoming sting of alcohol, of stitches.

She nodded even though he couldn’t see her. “Worse before it’s better.”

They were both silent as she worked. For a few brief moments, she wondered if the circumstances had been different, if they would be talking, joking even. She wondered if there would be snarky banter between them if he hadn’t been in so much pain, if there wasn’t such a heavy emotional sitting in his chest.

Natasha didn’t need a long time for what had to be done. Within a few short minutes, she was packing up her kit and tossing her gloves in the garbage. She was telling him what she’d done as she ran her fingertips along his back, skating around her work and over the old scars, ghosting over the fresh bruises. Bucky tensed, keenly aware of the stark difference between the feeling of the gloves against his skin, and the pads of her fingers.

“Sorry,” Natasha apologized as she pulled her hand away.

“No,” he said, not lifting his head from where it was still perched against his forearms, “it’s, it’s okay.”

She hesitated for a moment, but then she allowed her palm to come back and rest against the skin of his back again. She expected him to flinch again, to pull away, but he didn’t. She could feel the way that he sighed, trying to breathe into the feeling, let it be comforting rather than something he was supposed to be avoiding. The entire reality of it all made a lump start to build at the back of her throat as she ran her hand up and down, careful not to aggravate the scatterings of fresh injuries.

Her silence spoke volumes, and Bucky couldn’t stop himself from saying, “That bad?”

“What?”

“You’re not saying anything,” he said, “so it’s gotta be…”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her palm flattening against him.

“You didn’t—”

“For all of it,” she said, her voice soft.

He sucked in a deep breath at that. It wasn’t on her to apologize for what had happened to him, not this time around, not all of the times before, either. But there was something in the weight of her voice, the genuineness behind it, that he hadn’t heard from anyone in a long time, especially not about something like this. Most things that happened to him, people assumed were his fault, or that in some way he deserved them. Most of the time he felt that way about it all too, and the mess that Natasha had just saved him from was no exception to that. But now she was sitting with him, cleaning his wounds, trying to smooth over his scars, and apologizing to him for things that weren’t her fault. It was hard to find hate for himself in a moment like that.

“Nat?” the word came out, so soft and small as he felt her hand running over the ridges and scars where the metal of his arm bound itself to his shoulder.

She stilled her movements, not sure where the next sentence was going to go. “Yea?”

He tried to clear his throat, but his response still came out raspy, tears still gathering at the edges of his closed eyes as he said, “Thank you.”

Natasha couldn’t stop herself as she leaned forward, her forehead pressing against his back as his forehead rested against his arms. The breath she let out was ragged, uneven, bubbling over with all the feelings that she had been trying to keep under control because it hadn’t been the right moment for her to be emotional.

She slowly pulled herself away from him before standing up. Her hand was still resting on his shoulder, fingertips still brushing along the scar tissue that lined the metal of his arm. “I’ll get you an extra shirt.”

He finally lifted his head, turning to look at her as her hand began to fall away from her shoulder as she went back through the house. It took him a moment, but he forced himself up out of the chair that he had been sitting in. His movements were stiff, slow, but he managed to follow Natasha and catch up to her when she stepped into what he assumed was her bedroom.

Even though she’d heard him following her, she couldn’t stop the look of surprise on her face when she turned around and looked at him. The spare shirt that had been in her hand fell to the floor when she took in the sight of him. It shouldn’t have been surprising to her that his chest and stomach were just as bruised and battered as his back, but for some reason it still knocked the wind out of her. She’d never been one to shy away from things like that, but there was something about seeing him standing there like that, that put her back on her heels.

Bucky watched as she walked closer, finding himself fighting the urge to take one step back for every step that she took forward. Despite how badly he wanted to, his feet seemed rooted to their spot. She materialized in front of him, head tilted back just enough so that she could look him in the eyes. Bucky’s eyes darted back and forth between hers, and her hand that he could see coming up to rest against his chest.

Even with the purple blemishes blooming across his chest, Natasha could still see the goosebumps that rose up across his skin as her palm rested against him. His hand came and wrapped around her wrist again, but this time it was a gentle hold. The metal was still cold against her skin, but it didn’t feel as harsh this time. She started to pull her hand away, thinking that that was what he was going to do, but instead he applied more pressure, pressing his palm against the back of her hand, and her palm against his chest.

The action was practically a green light. Bringing her other hand up, she gently rested it on the side of his face, thumb tracing along the bottom of his jaw. Unlike all of his prior hesitations, his recoils, Bucky found himself melting right into the touch that she was offering him, eyes closing as he leaned into the soft warmth of her palm.

With one hand on his chest, Natasha could feel the newfound steadiness of Bucky’s heartbeat. It was impossible to not feel relieved, accomplished even. There was so little that she could do for him at this point, now that so much damage had been done, but she could still give him this.

Tilting her head up just a little more, Natasha closed the distance between them and brushed her lips against Bucky’s. She didn’t linger, pulling away almost as quickly as she’d leaned in. Before she pulled too far, Bucky reached and placed his other hand on the small of her back, pulling and guiding her back to him again.

It was difficult for him to wrap his head around for a moment, the fact that he was experiencing something so soft and gentle after everything for him had been so harsh. But he tried to soak it up. He leaned a little deeper into her, arm wrapping a little tighter around her back. When he felt her bring her other hand up to cup the other side of his face he didn’t pull away, didn’t even flinch.

He relaxed into her, shoulders dropping their tension as he kissed her back. Underneath all the marks on his face, the worry lines began to fade as Bucky felt Natasha’s hands slide from he sides of his face to the back of his neck, fingers threading through the damp locks of hair that rested there. Part of him wanted to pull her closer, hold her tighter, but whether it was the lingering physical pain, or the fact that he couldn’t remember the last time someone had ever been so careful with him, he didn’t try to make it into anything more than what it was.

Bucky had been more than ready to sleep on the couch, or even on the floor. But it felt like he’d blinked and suddenly he found himself lying on Natasha’s bed with her, faces so close that their noses brushed if one of them shifted at all. He could feel her breath against his skin as she exhaled, could feel her hands still moving, roaming over his chest and sides. He wondered if she was checking to make sure nothing more was broken than what she already knew of. A small part of his brain was still trying to get him to recoil from her touch, to not let anyone know him like that, but he fought it. Natasha already knew him like that. He took a slow, calculated breath, trying just to think about the warmth of her body against his, imaging that each time the pads of her fingers traced over a scar, she got a little closer to smoothing it away.

Bucky’s eyes might’ve been closed, but Natasha’s weren’t. Even in the darkness of her room, she was still studying his face. “James?” she whispered.

Eyes still closed, he mumbled out a soft, “Mm?”

She didn’t know what she had thought she was going to say, but instead of trying to figure it out, she pressed her lips to his again in another soft kiss. He still didn’t open his eyes, but for the first time all night, the ends if his mouth tried to lift up into a smile against all the exhaustion and pain. Natasha took the win, letting her forehead come back to rest against his and finally letting her eyes close too.

#hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort exchange #hurt/comfort exchange 2023 #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x natasha romanoff #bucky barnes fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfic #winterwidow #buckynat #marvel #mcu #marvel fanfiction #mcu imagine #mcu fanfiction #my writing #drabblesmc #fanfiction

[myth-blossom]

Lacrymosa

I wrote a fic for the Hurt Comfort Exchange! If you like angst, romance, and a healthy balance of hurt/comfort, check it out at the link below ❤️ (Bonus: check out the song that helped inspire it!)

Fandom: Hitman (Video Games)

Relationship: Agent 47/Diana Burnwood

Rating: Explicit

Summary:

Diana finds herself imprisoned by Providence, kept alive but unsure why. Arthur Edwards pays her a visit one day with the answer and a bitter surprise in tow.

Be sure to check out the amazing Hitman exchange fics HERE!

#hitman #hitman fandom #hitman fanfiction #agent 47/diana burnwood #agent 47 #diana burnwood #hurt/comfort exchange 2023 #hurt/comfort exchange

[diana-fortyseven]

Sign-ups for the Hurt/Comfort Exchange are closed now!

Just sharing my letter with all my prompts and tags here, in case anyone forgot to sign up but really wants to write a treat. xD

Here are all requests from all participants who requested Hitman, in case anyone really wants to write a treat but not for me. xD

#Hitman Fandom #Agent 47/Diana Burnwood #Hurt/Comfort Exchange 2023

[knightmareaceblue]

Merry Christmas and happy holidays to everyone! And especially to @water-lemon-alex, who's my AVA/AVM Secret Santa recipient! Sorry to keep you waiting, I... didn't have as much free time leading up to Christmas as I anticipated. Still! I hope you like it.

The request was for Second and Purple interacting, either romantically or platonically. Don't know if this counts as romantic or not, but I'll tag for ships anyways. Happy New Years, everybody!

#Animator vs Animation #Animation vs Minecraft #ava gift exchange #ava gift exchange 2023 #Purple #The Second Coming #TSC #AVA Ships #I think? #Fluff #Hurt/Comfort #Nightmares #water-lemon-alex #The rest of the CG are there too #Green even gets a second cameo lol #I thought having little dialogue meant it wouldn't take as much time as a normal comic #My mistake #AVA #AVM #Knightmare Art #Happy Holidays to everyone!

[teleiapotami]

AAN Gift Exchange

It's gifting day for the @allaboutnalu exchange!! Happiest holidays to you @nostromo13!! I hope you like it. EDIT: Oh, and as always, thank you to my amazing Beta, @kaleighkarma, you rock!

Wishes Granted

The flower shop on the main market street of Magnolia was always busy. The noisy crowds, floral scents, and the emotions attached to the errand left Natsu feeling so overwhelmed that he usually had to spend half an hour recovering from the headache he got when he had to go. The old woman who ran the shop had offered to deliver them, but the walk had become part of his ritual, and he didn’t want to change it. Removing any part of the process would be disrespectful; like she wasn’t worth his full effort anymore, and she was. Sweet Mavis, she was worth it.

But today was different. Today he was letting Lucy come with him, and she wasn’t about to let him suffer through the flower shop. He considered arguing with her, but explaining why it mattered that things be done just this way would require other explanations that he wasn’t quite ready to give her. So he gave her a mumbled ‘thanks’ and watched her disappear into the shop.

Inside, Lucy stepped around the clumps of people working with the florists to create custom arrangements and leaned against the counter gently. She took a slow, deep breath, basking in the medley of floral scents that surrounded her. It reminded her of a night, long ago, when a Rainbow Sakura tree had floated past her house, raining its petals into the canal. The scent of the tree had permeated the street for days afterward.

“How can I help you dear?” the shop owner asked, stepping over to Lucy.

“Um, I need a bouquet of….” she paused, pulling a slip of paper out of her pocket. “Nine carnations, in red, pink, and white.” The woman nodded and turned to the wall of blossoms behind her.

“Such a simple gathering, but a powerful message. Giving them to someone special?”

Lucy shook her head and looked out the window at her pink-haired partner. “I’m picking them up for a friend. He has a sensitive nose.” The woman followed her line of sight and nodded.

“Ah, the young dragon-slayer. He is usually in a hurry when he comes. Here you are, dear,” she said kindly. Lucy paid for the flowers and thanked her before stepping back out to join Natsu. He smiled at her, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Lucy bit her lip, worried for him.

“Thanks, Lucy. Come on, I wanna show you something,” he said, offering her his hand. He slipped his fingers between hers easily when she took it and led her out of the city. They followed the usual path to his house, but instead of going in as she expected, he led her up the hillside behind it and then on until they came to a narrow, winding river. A large weeping willow stood at the side of the river, with a few of its vines trailing into the water, dancing in the current.

Natsu let her hand go and smiled around at the view. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but the stars are incredible,” he said with forced ease.

Lucy shook her head. “It’s really nice Natsu. But…we could have gone to Star Hill if you wanted to look at the stars tonight. You didn’t have to bring me somewhere special.”

“That’s not the only reason I brought you here,” he said quietly, moving to the willow. He pulled back a section of the vines and jerked his head inside the sanctuary. “She’s in here.”

Lucy hesitated, biting into her lip again. “She who?”

He vanished into the greenery without answering. She stared at the veil for a heartbeat, then followed him. The thick curtain of vines created a cool, shaded clearing under its canopy. The babbling sounds of the river’s current were hushed, and the sun shone between the branches, creating columns of light that slanted through the secret place.

Natsu was squatting in front of a stone monument close to the tree trunk, brushing stray grass and twigs away from it. She stood a bit behind him quietly, reading the words carved into the stone.

The eternal adventure awaits.

Thank you for our future.

“I know they can’t put up a monument for her in the capital and all, but she deserves one. I think she would have wanted to be out here under the stars.,” he said softly. He lifted a hand and traced the letters slowly.

Lucy felt a tingle run down her spine as realization struck. This was a memorial to her. Future Lucy, who had survived unthinkable horrors just to give everything she had and more to save a future she would never get to see. Lucy wiped her eyes before the tears escaped them and upset him.

“Oh, Natsu,” she whispered. “Yeah, you’re right. She would have loved this place.” She saw his shoulders shake for a moment, but she couldn’t be sure of what emotion he was suppressing. She laid her hand on his shoulder softly as he laid the gathering of carnations beside the stone. “I’m… going to set up the picnic out by the river. Take your time,” she said softly. She made her way back out of the shrine glancing back at him before parting the vines again.

Natsu shifted to lay back in the grass beside the stone. “Hey, Lucy. Sorry that it’s been a while since I brought you flowers. Things got kinda crazy for a while there.” He stretched his arms out behind his head and sighed slowly. “I just…I wanted to talk to you.”

“It feels like it’s over now. Zeref is dead…and Acnologia is gone now too. I think her future is safe now.” He closed his eyes, basking in the rare breeze that ruffled his hair. “Now that it’s over I can’t stop thinking about her. I wanna hold her. I’m tired of pretending.”

He opened his eyes and watched the light dancing between the vines. “What do you think? You’d know her better than I do….is she ready?” he asked the stone. “Did your Natsu ever manage to tell you how he felt? I don’t think he would have…”

“He didn’t have to watch you die,” he whispered falling silent. He stared blindly up at the branches for what felt like hours before rolling over to look at the stone. “I think about that a lot. Did he love you as much as I love her? Did you love him too? ……Does she?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I wish things could have been different for you and him. I hope you find each other again,” he murmured. He pushed himself into a squat and gazed at the flowers he’d left.

“Happy Birthday Lucy,” he said gently before standing up. “Wish me luck.”

*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ *~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“I’m sorry I’m keeping you from the guild party,” Natsu said softly. He was lying shoulder to shoulder with Lucy on a blanket beside the river. Lucy smiled slightly and pressed against his shoulder so lightly, he wasn’t entirely sure she had actually moved.

 “Don’t worry. They’ll throw another one. Fairy Tail never needs an excuse to go all out. I’d rather be out here with you anyway,” she replied easily. Her words made his heart swell and he shifted, slipping his arm under her neck, and pulled her against his side. She squirmed for a moment, rolling onto her side, and resting her head on his shoulder. Her arm tentatively slipped around his chest, relaxing into place at his hum of pleasure.

“You were right about the stars. I think the view here is even better than Star Hill’s,” she murmured.

Natsu chuckled softly and lifted his chin to rest on her head. “Nah….it’s just the company that makes it better. We don’t have to listen to half the city talking.”

“Or Jet and Droy crying over Gajeel snuggling with Levy,” Lucy giggled.

“Yeah. It’s better because we’re together….alone,” he said, smiling slightly at the way her atm tightened around his chest slightly. “I got you something,” he said, pulling a box out of his pocket and offering it to her.

“You didn’t have to do that Natsu! Coming here with you was enough,” she protested as she sat up to take it. He shook his head.

“Nah. Not this year. This one’s special.

He watched her unwrap the silver paper and open the box, his heart in his throat. This was either going to go perfectly, or horribly. Lucy gasped softly, tracing her finger over the necklace inside. A delicate silver chain held a star-shaped crystal that was filled with what looked like glittering water.

“Natsu, what…” she breathed, looking up at him. He smiled slightly and looked away.

“It’s water…from Aquarius’s urn. I had Loke help me out,” he explained, turning back to her when he heard her sniffle. “I hope you like it…” he mumbled.

“Natsu I love it!” Lucy dropped the box, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed his cheek. Natsu froze against her momentarily and she pulled back, blushing. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to do that…” she whispered, mortified.

Natsu blinked a few times, then reached out and cupped her cheek gently. “I came out here for more than just your birthday. I wanted…to talk to her before I told you something really important,” he said gently, brushing her bangs out of her eyes.

“I love you, Lucy. I-I’m in love with you, I mean. I have been for a long time…longer than I knew it I think. It didn’t feel right telling you before Zeref….well, you know.” He dropped his hand from her cheek and leaned back to stare up at the stars. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I don’t expect you to, eapecially after the whole demon thing…but—”

“Natsu, you idiot,” Lucy snapped. He blinked, looking at her. “Demon, Dragon, Human, I don’t care! You’re you, and that’s all that matters,” she said firmly.  “You’re my Natsu, and I love you,” she whispered.

“Really?” he asked, sitting back up. She nodded, letting out a choked giggle when he shifted to one knee and kissed her softly. Her arms came up around his neck as she let him guide her to lay back on the blanket. He pulled back after a moment and smiled slowly.

“What?” Lucy said, fighting a blush.

Natsu kissed her gently again. “I love you,” he said, savoring the words. “I’ve wanted to say it for so long….I think you’re gonna get sick of me saying it,” he chuckled.

Lucy laughed, cupping his cheek. “Not a chance.”

He was about to close the distance between them again when Lucy let out a gasp. “Look Natsu, a shooting star! Make a wish,” she said with a grin. Natsu turned back to her, watching the stars shine in her bright eyes, and shook his head.

“I don’t need to,” he said as he laid back next to her and pulled her against him. “I’ve already got everything I ever wanted.”

#fairy tail fanfic #fairy tail nalu #natsu x lucy #lucy heartfilia #natsu dragneel #fairy tail #creative writing #hurt/comfort #love confessions #friends to lovers #gift exchange #nalu gift exchange 2023

[goexchange-mods]

Post-apocalypse hurt/comfort! Crowley invites Aziraphale back to his, but has to clean up the mess first... we're sure you know who he means! We're also sure you'll love the touching dialogue in this fic...

“Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale turned around to see Crowley propped up on one elbow, his casual pose belied by the pleading in his yellow eyes. “Yes?”

Crowley swallowed and looked to the side. “Stay?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. 

Gifts on the Good Omens Exchange are made-to-order to the requestors' prompts, but you'll love each and every one! Share the love by reblogging the links - and leaving comments for the creators!

#2023 exchange #good omens exchange #good omens #aziraphale and crowley #hurt/comfort #post apocalypse #please reblog

[lavendertheys]

Length: 21,433 words (4 parts) Rating: T for language and heavy themes TWs: childhood trauma

“Laudna's doin’ great. I think. I made everything nice and comfy for her, and showed her the toys I bought, and I've already figured out some of her rules, so…” Imogen notices Ashton snickering under their breath and takes a bite of food. “What?”

Ashton shakes their head and reaches across the table for a packet of sauce. “You would try to out-support your emotional support animal.”

.

Imogen adopts a rescue cat, who turns out to be a person, and also maybe her soulmate. Modern AU. Title from "Now That I Found You" by Carly Rae Jepsen.

#critical role #ao3 fanfic #cr fanfic #imogen temult #imogen x laudna #cr imogen #cr laudna #imodna #cr deanna #cr fearne #cr ashton #ashton greymoore #fearne calloway #ITFC fic exchange 2023 #hurt/comfort #angst and fluff #mental health #neurodivergent #autistic characters #actually autistic #cr xandis #cr delilah #delilah br #delilah briarwood #modern au

[cakelanguage]

Guess who finally wrote stuff that they’re posting? ME. I got to write a gift for @twistmyleg for the IgNoct 2023 Gift Exchange @ignoctgiftexchange. I hope you enjoy this fic!

You can also read it HERE

-

Battles against Nifleheim’s Magitek soldiers weren’t out of the ordinary at this point. Ignis had perhaps grown too used to the rumbling of the aircrafts overhead and the mechanical clanks of the soldier’s joints as they marched disjointedly alongside each other. 

That didn’t make any of the encounters less harrowing than the last. But repetitive encounters did make one grow lax to certain features. The soldiers tended to attack in swarms and focused their attention on Noctis for the most part, using their numbers to try to box Noct in. Having Noctis be cut off from their protection had panic clutching at Ignis’ throat the first few times, but the soldiers weren’t particularly strong. Gladio could take out a soldier with a single swipe of his broadsword and Prompto had gotten quite adept at aiming his bullets at key joints in the armor to remove limbs with jubilance. 

Ignis preferred infusing his daggers with magic or a polearm to create distance between him and his opponent. If a tiny bit of the reason he preferred the daggers more was that Noctis’ magic was warm under his hands—no matter what elemental he’d channel through the blades—no one had to know. 

But as he’d mentioned, repetitive encounters didn’t mean they’d always be the same. There were still times they were caught unaware or the soldiers did something unpredictable. Which led them into the situation they were in now. 

The air in Duscae was humid and heavy with the scent of incoming storms. They’d had a day of hunting, collecting money so they’d have enough to not only pay Cid for the repairs of the Royal Vessel but money for weapon upgrades and more healing supplies as they’d grown terribly low over the course of the week. With everything that had gone down in the Steyliff Grove ruins and Gladio’s self-discovery trip with Cor, they’d worn themselves down perhaps a bit too much. 

While most of the group had been more than happy to accept some leisurely time spent at Cape Caeum with Iris and the gang, Gladio had been full of vigor to continue to power through. He seemed to have found a renewed passion for not only his duty but his belief in his own power. Gladio’s enthusiasm had only spurred Prompto into giving in to the older man’s desire, though Ignis had a feeling it was so Prompto could snap more pictures of Gladio’s new proclivity to forego wearing his shirt for extended periods of time. Noctis hadn’t had much of an opinion on the matter so that had been that. 

With exhaustion tugging at his limbs and four contracts completed for the Hunter’s Guild, Ignis thought they were doing fine. Tired, but fine.

Until the aircraft showed up. 

Dread hammered at him as the aircraft came to a standstill not twenty feet away from them. Gladio was the first to summon his sword. “Looks like we’ve got company,” he grunted. 

Prompto let out a sound between a whine and a groan. “Can’t they leave us alone for a day?” Prompto asked, summoning his guns to his hands. 

“The world would end before they did that, Prompto,” Noctis said. 

Prompto whipped his head around with a glare. “Don’t give the world any ideas.”

Ignis couldn’t suppress the tiny smile that always came out when the group teased each other. “Duly noted, Prompto,” Ignis said. With a shatter of luminous crystals, the weight of his daggers settled in his hands. Despite the long day they’d already had, the familiar weight of the blades was just as comforting as always. “Shall we gentlemen?”

Noctis flashed him a confident smile, bright and boyish despite everything. “Bet I can defeat more than Gladio; what do you think, Specs?”

Ignoring Gladio’s vehement denial, Ignis made a considering hum. “Perhaps if Gladio decides to try and show off again, you can take out an extra soldier while he postures for one of his spins.”

“It’s an effective move!” Gladio argued over Prompto and Noctis’ laughter. Rolling his eyes, Gladio turned his eyes back to their enemy who was jerkily making their way over. “Whatever, you're on, Noct.”

Noctis’ engine blade gave a rumble as he too turned his attention to the soldiers. “Let’s do this.”

Watching Noctis toss his sword and warp towards the enemy in a shatter of crystals, Ignis dashed forward letting lightning crackle through his daggers. With a deft strike to the left, he struck the neck of one of the Magitek soldiers. The body jerked angrily, a feeble swing of its sword missing by over a foot before falling into a heap of metal. 

Turning towards the sound of gunfire, he caught Prompto and Gladio coordinating a combo that involved Prompto using Gladio’s back as a springboard to come down on a soldier with his chainsaw weapon he was still mastering. The whoop of success from the two must’ve meant the two had nailed the combo they’d been trying to get down for a while. 

He focused back on his next opponent and switched his daggers out for his polearm to sweep the three soldiers that had gotten too close to a more manageable distance away. He contemplated pulling out a flask of ice to halt the soldiers in place but knew it would do more harm to the team than good. Close-quarter fighting was not the time to use Noctis’ bottled elements. They’d all learned this the hard way on multiple hunts with burns and threatening hypothermia. 

A yelp jerked his attention towards Noctis, who was surrounded on all sides. Ignis immediately clocked the stream of blood that flowed from the cut on his upper arm. He couldn’t tell if it was serious, but by the way Noctis was clenching his jaw, it was at the very least painful. 

Ignis threw a dagger at a soldier that was getting distressingly close to Noctis’ back while the man in question was focusing his assault on the three soldiers in front of him. Ignis tried to follow the path of his dagger, pulling his polearm back out to vault himself into the air to come to Noct’s aid when he felt it. 

Shooting pain radiated from his shoulder as he was impaled on the end of a soldier’s sword. Hot blood gushed from the puncture and instinctively Ignis grabbed at the blade that stuck out of him to try and prevent the sword from being pulled out. The bleeding would only increase if the metal was removed and he couldn’t risk that. 

He’d been distracted, too caught up in making sure Noctis was defended even though he had two additional people he could rely on to watch Noctis’ back. It wasn’t even a lack of trust that caused him to react in such a way. Gladio was Noctis’ shield for Astrals' sake. No, it’s just that Ignis had a hard time stopping himself from constantly trying to be at Noctis’ side. To provide aid in any way he could.

An electrical current travels down the blade and through his shoulder in a dazzle of red bolts. He chokes on a scream, body jerking uncoordinated in its failed attempts to distance itself from the bolts frying the edges of the wound. It's an odd mix of detachment and all too aware agony that the current flows through him.

A gurgling moan reached his ears and vaguely realized it was coming from himself. Ignis could hear an uproar around him and maybe his name, but none of it was registering as more than nonsense in the wind. That wasn’t good, especially since they were all in the midst of battle. Ignis needed to get out of this situation. He needed to go help Noctis.

With an angry cry, Ignis shifted himself to the right in a quick motion, dislodging the sword from the soldier’s grip and somehow managing not to have the sword shift in his body. Probably because his collarbone and shoulder were doing an excellent job at halting the sword’s progress. Panting, he blindly backed away from the soldier who was quickly taken out by a swing of a glowing sword.

Ignis frantically tore his gaze toward the location he’d last seen Noctis only to be met with the sight of broken Magitek armor. The shattering of crystal breached his senses and he turned once more to the sky to see Noctis levitating off the ground, his arsenal floating around him in a defensive circle. 

Spectral swords of old reigned terror on their foe, but Ignis had eyes only for his prince. Furious and terrifyingly beautiful—no, this wasn’t just his prince, his king, this was Noct. His precious Noctis. The boy who used to walk hand-in-hand with him in the royal gardens donned with flower crowns. The boy he tucked close to his side up in the highest tower, blankets around their shoulders as they stared up at the constellations they could make out amongst the light pollution from the city. The young man who tried to live up to everyone’s expectations no matter how monumental a task that might be.

Despite Ignis’ fading vision, he couldn’t bring himself to tear his gaze from Noctis’ rampage. Even when he felt hands grasping at his shoulder to try and maneuver him into a better position to supposedly try and treat his wound, his focus was on Noctis. 

“Iggy, you’ve gotta lay down,” Prompto said, his voice cutting through the fog. 

Ignis wanted to protest, to urge Prompto’s attention back to the battle, but all he managed to croak out was, “Noct?”

Prompto let out a nervous, high-pitch laugh, the kind he let out when he wasn’t entirely sure how to handle the situation and he needed to break the tension. “Noct’s got it under control.” Prompto prodded delicately around the sword still lodged through him and Ignis hissed at the fresh wave of pain that cut through the numbness that was threatening his consciousness. “Shit, okay sorry, Iggy. We’ve gotta get this thing out of you.”

Ignis lazily shook his head. “The bleeding.”

“No, I know you’re bleeding, that’s why we need to heal you.”

He wasn’t positive but he knew their stock of potions was running low and he was determined to make sure Noct was looked at first. “Save them for Noct,” Ignis grits out. 

There was a thud beside him and a meaty hand joined Prompto’s in inspecting his wound. “Yeah, Iggy, don’t even start with that crap,” Gladio said. “Noctis will throw a fit if he hears you say that.” Perhaps, but Ignis could be stubborn about this until he knew the extent of Noctis’ injuries. “Can’t believe I have to do this… Noct, get over here!”

He squinted at the blast of crystalline magic that Noctis’ practically erupted out of in his mad dash to reach him. It was almost laughable, the way his limbs almost got tangled up in each other as he collapsed in a messy kneel on his good side. Maybe he was a bit worse off than he originally thought. 

“Hey, Iggy,” Noctis said. Noctis’ voice was always so soft when he said Ignis’ name. A hand cupped his cheek and Ignis leaned into Noctis’ hand because it had to be his. He recognized the callouses against his skin, the little scab on Noctis’ thumb from a mishap with one of his lures that he figured would heal on its own. “You seem a bit pinned down.”

Ignis let out a weak, amused snort. “Didn’t quite make the cut I suppose.” Not his best work as far as puns go, but he blamed the blood loss. 

Noctis’ chuckle was music to his ears. “That was terrible, Specs.”

“You still laughed.”

“It was a pity laugh.”

Ignis gave a noncommittal hum. “Maybe so, but a laugh is a laugh.”

 “Can we heal Ignis now, or are you two going to continue flirting?” Gladio asked. “Because you’re seriously losing too much blood.”

Ignis probably would’ve had an intelligent retort about Gladio and Prompto’s own flirting attempts if he didn’t lose consciousness before he could respond. 

He comes to with a familiar grogginess clinging to his mind. It should alarm him that he's used to waking up like this, the dredges of a potion still faint in his mouth. But Noctis has taken to experimenting with the different drinks he uses to make his healing concoctions and always tries to give Ignis the Ebony-flavored ones. 

The weight of a hand curled tightly around him pulls his attention toward his companion. Noctis is hunched over beside him, his head periodically dropping as he fights sleep. Ignis knows that Noctis will be regretting that posture later when his scar tissue flairs in angry stabs along his back. He wants to reach out and correct it or at the very least pull him down so that Noctis is laying beside him. He just can't get his arm to cooperate.

Settling to verbally get Noctis' attention, he quietly cleared his throat. "Noct," he said, voice rough with sleep. Ignis can't quite hold back the snort of laughter he lets out at the disgruntled jerk Noctis makes at the noise. "You should lay down."

"Ignis," Noctis breathes, a smile wrinkling his eyes in the beautiful way Ignis wants life to document Noct's joy. "You had us worried."

The battle is fresh in his mind, the pounding of boots as Magitek soldiers swarmed them. He remembers the flash of steel before it'd skewered him through the shoulder. The Lichtenberg of electricity that'd raced down his arm and fanned out from his fingertips. The spasming of his limbs as the power took its toll on him.

But mostly he remembers Noct. He remembers the fury in Noctis’ actions and the gentleness he returned to Ignis’ side with. He vaguely remembers sharing a few words together, a contentedness warring with the state of his body at the time, and then nothing. 

He wets his lips and tilts his head to examine Noctis closer. “Are you alright?” Ignis asked.

Noctis rolled his eyes with a huff and flopped over beside him like a child. “Of course, that’s the first thing you ask,” Noctis said, but he didn’t sound upset, more disgruntled than anything. “I’m perfectly fine, you’re the one who was really injured.”

“Good thing I had you to come to my rescue.” The soft teasing at his own expense is a small price to pay for Noctis’ annoyance shifting to a familiar smirk. 

“I’d always come to your rescue, Iggy.” The smirk shifts to a quiet, honest smile. “Always.” He still looked concerned as he ran his free hand down the new scars on Ignis’ arm. “Would you let me use another potion?”

Noctis knows that he’s plenty capable of doing what he wants, but the fact that he still asks Ignis these things reminds Ignis of how much his lover cares about Ignis’ opinion. He may not always listen, but he asks. 

The numbness in his arm is still strong, but the Lichtenberg pattern that had crept towards his hand has faded some since it first marred his flesh. Likely a hi-potion will take care of any lingering effects but Ignis is hesitant to use a resource that they're running low on when he can allow the wound to heal after a night's rest. "I'll be right as rain tomorrow," Ignis reassured.

Noctis sent him a skeptical look, his other hand not currently holding Ignis' reached up to cup Ignis' face. "Promise me that if it still hurts in the morning you'll use another potion," Noctis said.

Any reluctance he had about using a potion wilted under Noct's pleading face. “If it will assuage any fears you might have about my well-being, I promise.”

The victorious grin he received made his heart flutter violently in his chest. He tugged Noctis’ hand closer to him until Noctis picked up on his desire and shuffled closer until he could plaster himself to Ignis’ side. He carefully laid his head against Ignis’ chest and let out a content sigh. “Wake me if you need me?”

“I always need you.”

A muffled whine was buried against his chest. “Sap,” Noctis whispered like it was a secret how much they cared about each other. 

Ignis only pressed a kiss as well as he could against Noctis’ head. 

#ignoct #ignoct fic #ffxv fic #ignoct 2023 gift exchange #gift fic #protective ignis #protective noctis #bamf!Noctis #fluff #hurt/comfort #my fanfic #my fic #fanfiction #ffxv fanfic #final fantasy xv #final fantasy xv fic

[alchemist-shizun]

Trinity

Word count: 51,826

Summary: Xue Yang's entire stance froze the moment he laid eyes on Song Lan. He kept his head turned towards him, whilst his eyes went blown wide. His grin, though, that twisted smile Song Lan really wished he could punch repeatedly, that one stayed, growing even wider, eerie. Impossibly still. Xue Yang let out one singular strained laugh before his expression turned … wrong. « Oh fuck. »

Or of how Song Lan is led to what he thinks is a simple mountain village without knowing he has booked a ticket straight to finding out that Xue Yang is still alive and it eventually ends up with the most uncharacteristic duo working together to restore Xiao Xingchen's broken soul.

(author's note under the cut)

A/N: Hi! Welcome to the biggest project I ever wrote somehow, this is both my first mdzs fic and my first time participating in an event like this so this was all very exciting from start to finish! I wanted to give a huge shoutout and big thanks to the organizers and moderators for making this happen, your work has been incredible <3 Huge round of applause to my wonderful beta reader @star-crossed-shipper as well, who pretty much saved me in extremis, you're the best (from ao3)

WOOO I completely forgot to put this on tumblr as well, ngl I'm still a bit obsessed with this universe and I am daydreaming about a little sequel mostly based on the next gen kids idk, I'm going crazy. Anyways if any of this intrigues you go check it out :3 make a lil guy happy <3 Stay tuned for more sxx content (very VERY slowly coming to you. sorry bout that)

#songxuexiao #xue yang #song lan #xiao xingchen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #the untamed #idya's writings #sxx exchange 2023 #and first cameo of best boy deming #theres angst and hurt comfort and some fluff too i highly recommend #alright im done sorry have a good one

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

The Finish Line.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here.

authors note - in honour of the london marathon being held today, and my dad running, enjoy this little blurb.

word count - 1.3k

in which, harrys wife is running the london marathon, having been signed up by her sister in law gemma as a joke and now as she is nearing the finish line, harry is determined to be there to greet her.

2023.

As you sit in your cozy living room on your birthday, your husband Harry by your side and your one-year-old son peacefully asleep on the cushion next to him, you feel content. Gemma, your sister-in-law, suddenly interrupts the tranquil moment with a mischievous grin on her face.

"Happy birthday, sis! I've got another present for you," Gemma announces, holding out an envelope with excitement.

You accept it, exchanging puzzled glances with Harry. "Oh, Gem, you didn't have to get me anything else. You've already spoiled me enough."

Gemma shakes her head, insisting, "Trust me, you're going to love this one. Open it!"

With a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, you tear open the envelope. Your heart skips a beat as you pull out a letter. Your eyes widen in disbelief as you read the words:

"Congratulations! You've been signed up for the 2024 London Marathon."

Your jaw drops, and you stare at Gemma in shock. "What?! Are you serious?!"

Gemma's grin widens. "Absolutely! I know you've been talking about wanting to challenge yourself, and what better way than running a marathon, right?"

You can feel the panic rising within you. "But Gem, I've never even run a half-marathon before! This is insane!"

Harry chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, looks like you've got some training to do, m’love."

You shake your head, still in denial. "No, no way. I can't do this. I'm not ready for something like that.”

2024.

And now, just under halfway through,just seconds away from reaching mile ten,doubts start creeping in, and your legs feel heavier with each step.

The cheering crowds blend into a blur of noise around you.

Just when you're on the verge of giving up, a familiar voice cuts through the chaos, calling your name.

You glance up and spot Harry and your son standing behind the barricades, their faces lit up with pride and encouragement.

With a surge of determination, you veer towards them, pushing through the throngs of runners, apologising when you get in the way.

When you reach them, you're breathless and exhausted, but seeing their smiling faces fills you with a renewed sense of hope.

"H-Harry," you pant, trying to catch your breath. "I don't think I can do this. It hurts."

Harry wraps his arms around you, offering comfort and support. "Hey, hey, you've got this. You've trained so hard f’this moment. Y’stronger than you think."

Tears well up in your eyes as you lean into his embrace. "But what if I can't finish? What if I let everyone down?"

Harry gently tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. "Listen to me, m’love. You've never been a quitter, and you're not about to start now. Remember why you're doing this – for yourself, for our family, We believe in you, and we'll be right here cheering you on every step of the way."

You glance down at your sleeping son, his innocent face a poignant reminder of the love and support surrounding you.

With a determined nod, you straighten up, wiping away your tears. "Okay, I'll keep going. For us."

Harry flashes you a proud smile, planting a kiss on your forehead. "S’my girl. Now go show 'em what you're made of. We'll be waiting for you at the finish line."

It takes you around another two hours to near the finish line, every step feels like an uphill battle.

Your ankle throbs with each stride, threatening to give out beneath you, and a wave of nausea washes over you. The cheers of the crowd blend into a distant hum as you focus all your energy on putting one foot in front of the other.

Your vision blurs with tears of pain and exhaustion, but you can see the finish line looming ahead like a beacon of hope. With every ounce of determination left in you, you push forward, the crowd's encouragement spurring you on.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you limp across the finish line. Tears stream down your face as you collapse onto the ground, the rush of emotions overwhelming you. The volunteer at the finish line rushes over, their concern evident as they kneel beside you.

"Hey there, are you alright? Do you need medical attention?" the volunteer asks, their voice filled with genuine concern.

You manage to nod weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I-I think so. Just... just give me a moment."

The volunteer nods understandingly, offering you a bottle of water and helping you sit up. "Take your time. You did an amazing job out there. You should be really proud of yourself."

As you cling to the poor volunteer, you turn to the her with a hopeful expression. "Um, excuse me, could you... could you help me over to my husband, please?"

The volunteer nods understandingly, offering you a supportive arm. "Of course, let's get you over there."

With the volunteer's assistance, you limp over to Harry, each step feeling like a small victory. As you draw closer, Harry's eyes light up with relief and love, his arms open wide to welcome you.

"Thank you so much," you murmur to the volunteer, tears still streaming down your face.

She smiles warmly. "It's my pleasure. Congratulations on finishing the marathon. You're an inspiration."

You nod, touched by her words, before turning your attention back to Harry. His eyes are filled with love and pride as he opens his arms to you, and you melt into his embrace, feeling the warmth and safety of his love surrounding you.

"Oh, Harry," you whisper, tears of exhaustion and joy streaming down your cheeks. "I did it."

He holds you close, his embrace a comforting anchor in the midst of your overwhelming emotions.

"Yes, you did," he murmurs, his voice soft and full of admiration. "I'm so proud of you, m’love. You're incredible."

You bury your face in his chest, inhaling his familiar scent and reveling in the feeling of being wrapped in his arms. "I couldn't have done it without you," you admit, your voice muffled against his shirt.

He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his touch tender and reassuring. "Y’stronger than you know, darling. And I'll always be here to support you, every step of the way."

Your heart swells with love for him, overwhelmed by the depth of his devotion.

"I love you, Harry," you whisper, your words a vow of gratitude and affection.

"I love you too, my darling," he replies, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity. "Now let's get you some rest. You've earned it."

Your son looks up from the stroller, his face breaking into a wide grin as he reaches out for you.

"Mama!" he exclaims, his little arms outstretched.

"Hey there, my little champion," you coo, scooping him up into your arms. His giggles fill the air as you pepper his chubby cheeks with kisses, each one a testament to the overwhelming love you feel for him.

Harry watches with a tender smile, his eyes shining with pride and adoration.

"Look at you two," he says, his voice filled with warmth. "My heart could burst with how much I love you both."

You laugh through your tears, the exhaustion and elation of the moment blending together in a whirlwind of emotion.

"I love you too, Harry," you say, your voice choked with emotion. "So much."

With trembling hands, you reach for the medal hanging around your neck, the weight of it a physical reminder of the journey you've just completed. Carefully, you drape it around your son's neck, the metal cool against his warm skin.

"There you go, my little marathoner," you say, your voice catching in your throat. "You deserve this just as much as I do."

Harry wraps his arms around you both, holding you close as you bask in the glow of this precious moment.

"I couldn't be prouder of you, love," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear.

"You're my hero."

#musicforastylesrestaurant #harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles imagine #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fake ig #harry styles headcanon #harry styles x oc #harrystylesdrabble #harry styles fake social media #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harrystylesxreader #harry styles one shot #harry styles x yn #harry’s house #harrystylesxyn #dad!harry #dadrry

[drabbles-mc]

Retelling the Story

Stede Bonnet x Edward Teach

Written for the 2023 Hurt/Comfort Exchange

Warnings: none really, hurt/comfort with big emphasis on the comfort

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: The hurt/comfort exchange really got me out of my comfort zone in terms of writing for new characters and fandoms! I'd never written for Our Flag Means Death before but I had such a fun time writing this little story! Hope y'all enjoy!

Stede didn’t remember falling asleep. The last thing that he remembered, aside from feeling insanely light-headed and dizzy on top of the exhaustion that had been plaguing him for days, was Ed’s voice. He didn’t remember what the man had been saying, but he remembered how he sounded.

He slowly started to force his eyes open bit by bit, allowing everything to gradually begin to come into focus. He was thankful that there was no harsh sunlight beaming directly into his eyes. It also wasn’t too dark, either. He wasn’t trading in one form of pitch black for another. It felt like just enough.

The lighting was the only thing that felt at all comfortable. His body was still riddled with aches, his brain pounding away inside his skull. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep for, but it clearly hadn’t been enough to put any real dent in the exhaustion he’d been feeling. It was unfortunate, really.

Finally reaching the point where he could register things outside of himself, he could hear someone rustling around inside his room. He heard the sound of fabric shuffling, the dull, split-second sound of someone’s boots touching the floor. His eyes hadn’t focused enough yet to try and make out who it was, and that that point it could’ve been anyone in his crew.

Then he heard the humming, and he knew that it could only be one person.

“Ed?” he rasped out. His face instantly contorted when he heard the sound of his own voice, knowing that he didn’t sound at all like himself. There was nothing that he could do about it now, though.

The humming paused for a moment. Stede blinked his eyes a few times, hard and slow with the sole intention to bring the rest of the world out of the fuzzy aura it was existing in for him. Once he could see everything again, the first thing he saw was Ed perched in the chair that he’d pulled up alongside Stede’s bed.

Ed was leaning back in the chair, dressed in clothes that Stede knew for a fact the man had stolen from his closet. He didn’t mind, of course. It brought a bit of a smile to his face in spite of how tired he was feeling. Ed had one leg propped against the other, the ankle of one leg draped against the knee of the other. He had a book in his lap, perched open in the space his bent leg created.

Despite the open book in his lap, Ed’s eyes were focused solely on Stede. One hand kept the book pages from turning themselves, the other was toying with the ends of his beard. Anything to keep his hands busy and fighting the urge to toy with Stede’s hair, stroke the side of his face. It’d been awfully tempting while Stede was still asleep, when he knew that the man wouldn’t mind it too much. Just a fleeting caress, something that could prove to be comforting for the both of them.

Stede tried to clear his throat as best he could as he repeated the singular word he’d said before, “Ed?”

It was only then that Ed realized how long he’d been sitting there just silently staring at the man in front of him. He looked nearly as dazed as Stede did only he didn’t have the cover of illness. He sniffed, nose twitching as he tried to gather himself and his thoughts.

“Thought we might’ve lost you there for a minute,” he finally replied, trying to sound nonchalant and not even fooling himself.

“Ah,” Stede made a lame attempt to wave his hand dismissively, “you know it’s not going to be nearly that easy to get rid of me. It’s going to,” he coughed, “going to take a bit more than…whatever this is.”

Ed’s lips started to twitch into a smile, noticeable even with his thick beard and mustache. “I can see that.”

Stede tried to prop himself upright, at least somewhat. He would���ve settled for being able to rest his weight on his elbows, lifting his torso just a bit off the bed. It was futile, though, each attempt just resulting in him collapsing back against the mattress and pillows beneath him.

Resigning himself to his completely horizontal position, he turned his head to look over at Ed. “How long have you been sitting there?”

He shrugged. “Since I heard you asking for me.”

Stede coughed in shock. He wasn’t sure what was more surprising to him, the fact that he had apparently been asking for Ed, or the fact that Ed had not only showed up, but that he’d stayed. Stede tried to clear his throat again, not that it did him any good.

“When…when was…could you tell me when I started doing that, per chance?” Stede asked, feeling more embarrassed than he would ever admit to.

Ed shrugged, drumming his fingers against the page he had opened the book to. “Two days ago, maybe? Yea,” he nodded, “two days. That sounds about right.”

“Two days?!” Stede exclaimed, instantly sending himself into a coughing fit. “You’ve been sitting there for two days?”

Ed tilted his head slightly. “You asked for me. Least I could do was be here when you woke up.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been sitting there for two days.”

“Wasn’t just sitting here, was I?” He gestured around the room. “I poked around, rearranged some of your trinkets.” He pointed to the windows, the ones that currently had the curtains drawn. “Bird-watched.”

Stede nodded towards the book in the man’s lap. “Made use of my library, did you?”

He shook his head. “Grabbed this for when you finally came about. Was starting to doubt I’d get the chance to open it.”

Stede hummed quietly in amusement. “Lucky you then, I suppose.”

“Lucky me?” Ed said, shock apparent in his voice. He shook his head. “No, no. Lucky you. Because you get to listen to my retelling of one of your favorite stories.”

Surprise crossed Stede’s tired face before he could even think to try and subdue it. “Really? You’re going to read that to me?”

“You surprised that I want to? Or that I can?” there was the slightest twinge of hurt lingering at the back of his words.

Even in his sick and tired daze, Stede picked up on it. He tried to recover. “Didn’t think that the classics were quite your thing, is all.”

Ed let slip a small smirk. “That’s why it’s a retelling, mate.”

Stede chuckled softly, the first time he was able to do anything of the sort without descending into a fit of coughs. Rolling onto his side so it was easier to look at Ed, he readjusted his blanket so that it was tucked up right underneath his chin.

“Retell it, then,” he said with a smile. Suddenly the tiredness wasn’t so bad, the heavy limbs keeping him bed-bound not seeming like such a bad thing in the moment. At least now he got to lay here and stare at the man sitting in front of him, listen to whatever a dramatic retelling by Edward Teach really had in store.

Ed could feel Stede watching him, and could also feel the warmth spreading across his own face. He tried not to let it show, instead dramatically licking the tips of his fingers before turning the page and smoothing it out.

“Now,” he said dramatically, “as I was trying to say…”

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd fanfic #our flag means death fanfic #edward teach #stede bonnet #stede x ed #blackbeard #stede x blackbeard #edward teach x stede bonnet #ed x stede #stede bonnet x edward teach #hurt/comfort exchange 2023 #hurt/comfort exchange #hurt/comfort #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[myth-blossom]

The Hurt/Comfort Exchange 2023 fics are posted!!! I received this wonderful gift from a lovely author, please go show their work the love it deserves!!! ❤️

You can read more wonderful Hitman Hurt/Comfort fics from the exchange HERE! ❤️

#So grateful for the amazing authors in this fandom! ❤️ #hitman #hitman fandom #hitman fanfiction #diana/47 #agent 47/diana burnwood #hurt/comfort exchange 2023

[iovesia]

❛⠀SEEING DOUBLES.

kinktober 2023. — entry three.

synopsis. don't answer the door, don't leave the house, don't pick up the phone, but most of all, don't scream.

✶⠀ ׅ⠀ ࣪⠀warnings. ghostface!john wick 𝑥 f!reader 𝑥 ghostface!john constantine — threesome. breaking and entering. extremely dubious consent. non con elements. use of knives. oral (m receiving). reader's hair can be grabbed.

josie's little note .. ignore the fact that this is a month late.. i'm so sorry y'all. i hate writing threesomes, so probs my last time doing it LMAO but i hope you guys enjoy !!

YOU WERE HOME ALONE. 

How cliché.

The muffled sound of the ads on tv filled the eerie silence in your house. You laid comfortably on your couch, flicking through your newest edition of 'Seventeen’ magazine. Your roomates were out for a night in the city, leaving your recluse self to enjoy proper solitude for once.

The landline snaps you from your reading as the obnoxious ring echoes through your desolate house. You groan annoyedly, tossing your magazine to the side as you lazily stroll to the kitchen. 

“Who the hell is calling me now?” you huff. 

Taking the white phone off the wall, you put it to your ear, gently toying with the phone cord. 

“Hello?” You sigh, a tinge of annoyance in your voice. The hoarse breathing on the other end makes you quirk your brow. “Uh… hellloooo?”

The voice breathes hoarsely before clearing its throat, then a gravely melody follows. “Hello.”

A long silence fills the phone line. A sudden crackle of the popcorn cooking on the pan snaps you into conversation. “Who is this?”

“Who’s this?” The gravelly voice repeats my words back. 

“You called me, man,” you roll your eyes, resting your head against the wall. The raspy voice just breathes quietly on the other line, slowly ticking you off. A second wave of silence washes over this dry exchange. “Okay, then…”

You hang up the phone. Just as you turn away, the damn landline starts ringing violently again. With another groan, you harshly grab the landline. “Hello?” Your tone switched 180, getting more irritated the longer you’re away from rotting on the couch with your magazine.

“What’re you up to?” The same raspy voice chuckles softly. You squint your eyes, raising a brow as an incredulous laugh escapes your throat. 

“Is this your pickup line? Calling random strangers and asking what they’re up to?” You retort, holding the landline with your shoulder as you walk further into the kitchen and rummage through some snacks. 

“Aw, I wouldn’t say we’re strangers,” the unknown man replies with faux-hurt in his voice. Resisting to roll the eyes out of your skull, you hum in response. You take out a small packet of popcorn.

“Oh yeah? You don’t even know my name,” you scoff, using your teeth to rip the plastic wrap before carelessly tossing the popcorn package into the microwave.

“I’d like to,” the raspy voice teases, and you can envision the cheeky grin. The gravely stranger finally manages to weasel out a weak laugh from you. 

“Is that so?”

“Don’t be a tease.. How about we play a game for it?” The voice offers. Now you were intrigued. The microwave beeps in the background as you rest against your marble countertop. There’s a pregnant pause before you shrug.

“Fine, what the hell,” you indulge this stranger. “What game?”

“20 questions. Think of someone, and I’ll guess.”

A snort and giggle comes through your nose. Jesus, how old is he? 

You take a brief glance out your kitchen window, eyeing the empty garden and illuminated pool in your backyard. You roll your shoulders back, elbow resting on the countertop. There’s quiet breathing on the other end again before it coughs. 

“Ew,” you whisper at the sound of the hacking cough.

“Are they a woman?” The voice murmurs in your ear. 

“Yeah,” you smirk. Trying to screw with this guy a little, you think of yourself, knowing this random stranger would never get it. 

“Are they famous?”

“I wish,” you snicker, enjoying your own little inside joke. Your childish snickers suddenly died at this mysterious stranger’s next words. 

“Do they like to read girly Seventeen magazines, like the one on your couch?”

Beep. Beep. Your popcorn finished snapping in your microwave.

The landline nearly fell from your hand as you froze. You felt your chest tighten, and you furrow your brows in confusion. “What did you say?” Your voice drops to a mere whisper, the colour draining from your face. Goosebumps swim on your skin, and out the corner of your eye, you glance back at the living room.

The magazine was gone.

“I’m more of a Playboy guy myself,” The voice continues, completely ignoring your worried tone. “Maybe I’ll see you on the cover one day,” he teases.

“This isn’t funny, asshole!” You blurt angrily, but the voice cracks alert him of your fear. Your mystery caller simply laughs at your cursing, his voice sounding more ominous than playful by the second.

“At least now we’re not strangers anymore.”

“I’m calling the cops,” the threat is empty, but you hope to strike fear into this (hopefully) prank-caller. Your bare feet pad against the wooden floor, rushing to the front door and checking the locks. 

“Aw, but I still have 16 questions left..” the voice pouts mockingly. 

“Fuck you,” you spit, hanging up the phone with a trembling hand. The sound of your shaky breath fills the vacant home. Crickets chirping out the window fail to ease your nerves as they set in your unfortunate reality. 

You’re home alone.

Immediately, you rush to your porch to make sure the door’s lock and immediately come to see a dark figure standing by your lit pool. A bloodcurdling scream erupts from your throat at the sight, and you stumble over your feet to lock the glass sliding door. 

The light of the pool barely illuminated the figure’s face— a mask. The pale white mask, with a long mouth, and big blacked out eyes. His silhouette was concealed by the long black cloak.. Like a babadook. The face of a ghost. The unknown stranger lifts his hand up, revealing a small black flip phone. He waves it mockingly before holding it to his ear.

Ring. Ring.

Your landline rings again, unbreaking your eye contact with the looming stranger in your backyard. Cautiously and carefully stepping back from the glass door, you reach for the phone once again.

“H—”

“Hang up on me again and I’ll gut you like a fish,” this time the voice was at least 4 octaves lower, and growled at you. Your lower lip trembled, as your eyes stung with tears. 

“W-What do you want?” You whisper, swallowing a lump in your throat. 

“Next question..” the voice pauses. “Does she have an unlocked backdoor?”

Suddenly, a booming crack of wood followed by the sound of shattering glass echoed in the back of the home. Another weak squeal leaves your lips when you instinctively turn your head to the hallway, seeing a broken vase on the ground. When you turn your head back to the porch, and scream again when the stranger is pressed up against the glass door. His mask now flashing in all its plastic glory.

“Let me in, baby..” his disgusting pet name only makes you whimper. Your big eyes well up with fearful tears and you quake right where you're standing.

“Go away.. Please go away..” you sob. 

His black gloved hand pressed against the glass, his index finger tapping in a rhythm against the transparent door. Your brows furrowed in confusion, more sobs falling from your quivering lips. 

A breath hits your neck.

You watch as the stranger pressed against the door starts laughing, his head lolling back and his ominous laughter rings in your ear. Turning around painfully slowly, the landline falls from your hand, smashing to the ground. 

Any sound dies in your throat, jaw dropping when you crane your neck up to a twin of your intruder on the porch. With the same jarring ghostface mask, and long black cloak, the second stranger tilts his head to the side. 

Your wobbling legs only take you so far back away from the nightmarish figure, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist. Held in his vice grip, you instinctively start kicking and sobbing desperately, accidentally (yet successful) managing to shove your foot into the groin of the second intruder.

He lets out a sharp groan, barely bending in pain as the first intruder continues holding you in his tight grip. He’s unrelenting in his hold and damn near picks you off the ground, as if you were a sack of flour. 

“Oh, now you’re gonna get it.”

The once comforting feel of your living room carpet felt like smaller daggers as the broken glass of your porch door dug into your knees. The two matching intruders towered over you, the shorter one holds a tight grip on your hair, while his blade rests under your chin. 

“Please—” Your begs were silenced when the blade pressed against your delicate skin, a small slice stinging your neck. The taller masked figure’s scratchy gloved fingers stroke the side of your tear covered face. 

“Question 15... is she a pretty crier?” the slightly shorter ghostfaced figure tugs your hair, making you whimper. 

“Enough, Constantine,” the other chimes in. His voice much lower than his partner in crime’s— a baritone, authoritative sound that did nothing to soothe your fears. It’s clear the accomplice with a death grip on your scalp was the one on the phone, his husky voice that was a melody to your ears, had this been under any other circumstance.

“I thought we said no names, Wick.”

Constantine and Wick. You finally matched names to the two psychos.

“It’s not like she’ll be alive to remember them.” 

The two go back and forth, their argument silenced when “John” grabs the bottom of his plastic mask, and whips it off his face. Your lips part slightly, eyes widened at the sight. An older man, mid 40s at most. His short black beard decorated across his lower face, and his piercing black eyes piercing down at your trembling figure. His calloused hand reached for your chin, redirecting your head side to side, as if you were cattle being inspected.

“She’s pretty,” he hums, almost sounding impressed. This older man speaks as if you’re not even forcibly knelt down before him. The other man, who you now know to be Constantine, tugs your hair once again and this time makes you gasp sharply. 

“Ow—”

“Be quiet,” Constantine hisses, the blade pressing an millimetre deeper, releasing a few droplets onto your tight t-shirt. The cool metal shifts from under your neck, and now presses against your cheek, a faint crimson line staining your face. 

“Please just let me go. I won’t say anything!” your voice is shaking, as you desperately plead with the two burglars. “Take whatever you want! I won’t say anything! I promise!”

A pregnant pause fills the air, and the two men share a sly glance. The sinister look in their matching dark irises only made you squirm more. Like a mouse caught under the sharp metal trap.

“Anything we want?” Wick raises a brow, his monotonous tone barely masks the innuendo in his words. The older man nods to Constantine, and your second assailant finally reveals himself, taking off his own ghost mask. 

Constantine was presumably a few years younger than Wick, lacking in the facial hair department with only a 5 o’clock shadow, but it defined his sharp jawline more. He almost mimicked Wick to a T. 

The sinister look in their matching dark irises only made you squirm more.

“I think you need to apologise for your little tantrum earlier,” Constantine taunts, his tug on your hair, forcing you to crane your neck fully upwards to Wick. Horror hits you like a bucket of ice water when Wick’s large hand slowly rubs over his clothed groin. “Maybe you should kiss it better—”

“Fuck you!” You blurt out, absolutely appalled at the suggestion from these two devilish older men. Another pathetic whimper echoes from you as Constantine, still death gripping your hair, shoves your face against the rough felt material of his cloak. The sadistic asshole only chuckles at your whimpers whereas Wick remained stoic, and unreadable.

“You can either make it up to my friend here,” Constantine’s taunting tone shifts to menacing, “or we’ll find out what your insides look like with this little thing,” he pats the cold blade on your each with each word. 

A bead of sweat rolls down your face, mixing in with your salty tears. The hiccups and measly cries release from your frozen figure. Helplessly you watch as Wick rolls his cloak up to his hips, the sharp sound of the belt unbuckling jumps your heartbeat. 

“Just one little kiss..” Constantine coos with mockery, his hand finally loosening ever so slightly. Wick’s eyes betray his stone demeanour when you notice a cruel glint in his iris. Biles builds in your throat at the ominous zip of his jeans opening. 

Your eyes grew in disbelief when Wick actually took his cock out from under his pants. His cock was flushed, and already hardening. A thick vein ran from the bottom of his thick shaft all the way up to his pink mushroom tip that leaked pre-cum. You look up at him tearfully, almost begging for mercy, only for him to shoot it down by tapping his large dick against your cheek and lips.

“You know what to do..” Wick finally speaks, his baritone voice was soft on your ears. The salty pre-cum made you grimace as Wick pressed his tip against your plump lips, slowly penetrating your mouth. You let out a loud gag and couch, your lips fully stretched around Wick’s cock, and his tip almost hitting the back of your throat.

Constantine’s hand grips your hair tightly again, guiding your harsh movements like a ragdoll. He tugs you back and forth on the older man’s cock, before suddenly forcing your nose against Wick’s short pubes, his shaft fully lodged in your throat. 

Guttural moans fall from Wick’s lips, as he clenches his cloak tight, his knuckles widening. You struggle to breathe as you gag on the intrusion in your mouth. Your fingernails found their way to Wick’s thighs, pinching through his jeans. Constantine holds you in this position, until your eyes begin to roll backwards. 

“She’s already crying...” Constantine scoffs when he tugs you back. A thick string of spit and saliva connects from your puffy lips to Wick’s glistening cock. You cough harshly, as your throat already begins to ache, and globs of spit dribble down your chin.

“I think you can do better than that..” Wick purrs, his large hand grips your jaw, before gently patting your cheek. You hiccup on your spit, eyes fully blurred with tears when Wick presses the tip of his cock back onto your lips. You flatten your tongue against the underside of Wick’s shaft, taking kitten licks to stall time. Swirling your tongue around his tip, tasting his pre-cum once again, you elicit another husky groan from Wick.

Meanwhile Constantine’s hands venture down from your hair and lower on your body as he kneels behind you, his gloved fingers meticulously feeling each bump of your spine before reaching the swell of your ass. His hot breath hits the back of your neck, and his intruding fingers slide in between your legs, over your silk pajamas shorts.

You squeal suddenly, turning your head to look over your shoulder. Wick grabs your hair once again, focusing your attention back on him, his dick promptly thrusted right back in your mouth. 

“I think she’s enjoying this,” Constantine’s chuckles darkly, his thick fingers sliding under your flimsy shorts, feeling the damp spot on your panties with his digits. He presses hard on your bundle of nerves, and a girly whimper is muffled by Wick’s intrusion. Your toes curl, and your hips involuntarily buck when Constantine’s digits move in a slow circle. 

“So pretty with my cock in her mouth..” Wick says with a smug smile on his lips, his hand pushing your head aggressively. Your head bobs up and down Wick’s thick cock, your throat sore and your jaw aching as you cling to the fat of his thighs for support. 

“She does fucking like it. What a dirty little girl..” Constantine’s slippery fingers managed to hook your panties to the side, your juices coating his digits and only making him laugh cruelly at your expense. Two of his thick fingers slide past your folds, and your spongy walls clenched tightly. 

This seesaw movement of your hips grinding on Constantine’s hand as Wick abuses your mouth, has your body trembling, and legs burning from the uncomfortable position. But the two older men drink in every whimper, every cry and every tear— sickeningly getting off on your pain.

Your hair is ruthlessly pulled once again by Constantine. Coughs fill your lungs as you try to catch your breath, your lips completely smeared in spit and pre-cum. Wick’s fingers gather the globs of white spit and shoved into mouth, making you choke. Your throat throbbed, eyes borderline fluttering closed, and your knees were definitely bruised. 

Like a fucked out doll, your body was rendering submissive to your two burglars. 

“Last question..” Constantine snickers, his lips pressed against your ear. 

“How long can she last before she breaks?”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fin.

— taglist. @alwaysinblck @sickzmbie @nyxblessed @hearteyedbambi @worldsgreatestsinner @slutforsoldierboy @rizunaur @alox @sughcashsaiki @cillivnz @starrgurl46 @beansricejc @97keanu @the-trash-site @keanuthot @sulibbyyyyy @20s7nn @aerangi @alyssagames01 @nogr4vity @gea-chan96

#𓂃 josie's kinktober ˚ ₊ ‧ #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #john wick x reader #john constantine x reader #john wick imagine #john constantine imagine #dark.josie #nsfw.josie #banner cr: cafekitsune

[system-to-the-madness]

Midnight At Osanbashi Pier - Dazai Osamu x Reader

Pairing: Dazai Osamu x fem!Reader Genre: hurt/comfort - fluff Word Count: 2 611 Warnings: OOC!Dazai (sorry), sexual harassment (not by Reader or Dazai!) Summary: Your date for New Years starts getting pushy but luckily Dazai is there to interfere A/N: For @un-lawliet ... and the photographs are actually from taken from Osanbashi Pier in Yokohama on New Years Eve 2023

Masterlist

Behind your back, blue lights of the harbour illumination were sparkling brightly in the last minutes of the old year, but their glitter did nothing to easy your discomfort. You really regretted having agreed to this date with the barista from the café you always picked the Armed Detective Agency's order up from. Especially since the longer the date progressed the more you wished you had instead agreed to spend New Year's Eve with the other members of the ADA. The man, John, was cute, with huge blue eyes and lazily sideways swiped hair, the American accent in his voice giving his speech a charming tilt.

And he was a welcome distraction from those coffee-brown eyes that kept haunting you.

Dazai was your coworker, you kept telling yourself, and he was the flirtiest man you knew. He flirted pretty much with everything and anything that crossed his path, except for you. In the beginning you had been rather happy he hadn't focused on you the same way he did with everyone else, but the better you got to know him, the more you hoped he'd also pay attention to you the way he seemed to do with everyone else. Sure, receiving the attention you had been craving for the past year would probably only make your feelings for him worse and end in heartbreak, considering he could never be serious. You had seen him go out with enough girls only to barely acknowledge them after, as if one date had been enough for him to completely lose any and all interest in them entirely. You feared if Dazai were to ever direct his attention to you, you'd end up meeting the same fate.

Your thoughts got interrupted by two warm and strong hands on your waist, making you tense up. Your date, John, had tried being handsy with you all evening and honestly, the more he tried the more your alarm bells rang. Not to mention that the date didn't go as planned at all. First he had been late and had dragged you to some cheap pizza place instead of the rice bowl restaurant you had agreed on. Then he had continued talking only about himself and how amazing it was for him to have scored a place in the exchange program to Japan before he even started making degrading comments about your "office job" because, unwilling to explain to him about abilities and the ADA, you had told him you worked as an assistant in a detective agency, which he had somehow understood as an invitation to look down on all office workers ever.

You should have called it quits after that, telling him you wanted to end the date there and instead have called up Kunikida to pick you up, so you could spend the rest of the evening with your coworkers and friends. But John had convinced you to come to Osanbashi Pier with him, so you had only sent a quick text to Atsushi, complaining about your situation.

Sure, the view over the harbour towards night-time Yokohama was fantastic and the light show, the illumination and the music creating a beautiful atmosphere, but with John sticking to your side, trying to pull you in every chance he got, you'd be lying if you said it didn't destroy the mood.

"Only ten seconds left of this year now," he whispered his tall frame towering over you, warm breath fanning over your ear, making you shudder.

The crowd around you began a count down, and you pressed closer to the balustrade of the pier, trying to avoid the overbearing contact with John's body, but he only stepped closer.

The Ferris Wheel at the other side of the harbour counted down the remaining seconds, colourful lights shining through the cool December night. You wondered what their light would look like reflected in Dazai's eyes.

Just when the countdown hit two, John spun you around to face him, and leant in. Panic surged through you, and before his lips could touch yours, you twisted in his arms, pushing away from him.

"What do you think you're doing," you shouted over the cheering of the crowd around you as the clock stroke midnight. The Ferris Wheels lit up in all colours of the rainbow.

"New Year's Kiss, what did you think," John grinned broadly as if he were proud of himself, reaching for your waist again to pull you back in.

"No thanks, I'm good," you denied.

His expression shifted from overly cheerful to threatening.

"I think I deserve one, don't you? I've been very patient with you the whole evening!"

"I said no." You tried sounding strong, but somehow a proper fight was a lot easier than standing up for yourself. Carefully you took a step back.

"What do you mean, no?"

Another step back and you collided with something warm an firm; the chest of another guest.

"I do suppose she meant it in the way it usually is used, as a denial or rejection," a male voice interrupted, the voice belonging to the man you had stumbled into. A shiver ran down your spine as you recognised it as Dazai's. What was he doing here? "But do correct me if I'm wrong, my love." Affectionately he patted your head as he always did. The contact sent excited sparks through your body.

"Who the hell are you," John snarled, taking a threatening step towards Dazai and you. Instinctively you tensed, preparing to defend yourself, but then Dazai's hand slipped from your head to rest on your shoulder instead, and you knew he was ready to pull you behind himself, should the need arise.

"The person who will make sure to snap your hands off at the wrist if you dare touching her again without her explicit wish."

You knew Dazai's words were directed at John to protect you, but you still couldn't help the shiver that ran down your spine at the ice in his voice. Feeling you tremble, Dazai squeezed your shoulder gently through the long coat you were wearing, his caring touch such a strong contrast to the threat in his words.

"Dazai-"

Carefully you turned around to face him, trusting him to warn you in time should John try to move in. His usually warm brown eyes were hardened with disgust, leaving no doubt about how angry he was on your behalf. Behind your back, somewhere over the harbour, fireworks exploded in the night sky, earning "ahh"s and "ohh"s from the crowd around you. The reds and greens lit Dazai's face up from one side, making him look even more threatening. But you also couldn't help but think that if the expression in his eyes had been softer, he would have looked angelic.

"What's your problem, man," John asked, sounding truly annoyed now.

"My problem is that you tried to kiss her when she clearly told you she didn't want you to. We might go as far as calling it sexual assault," Dazai hissed, trying to take a step forward, but you placed your hand at his chest, stopping him. With every deep inhale he took the cool fabric of his open coat shifted slightly over the smooth material of the expensive waistcoat he wore, giving away how worked up he was. Immediately his brown eyes flickered down to your hand on his chest and then your eyes.

"Don't," you mumbled and Dazai's eyes softened immediately.

"What? You gonna let her put a leash on you like some fucking dog?" John's continuously raised voice started drawing the attention of the people around you to the dispute, making you want to hide against Dazai's chest.

"Oh, kinky," the detective chuckled. "Are you into that, my love?" The last part was directed at you, driving heat to your cheeks.

"Hey-"

John took a step forward, but before you could react, Dazai had shoved you behind him.

"If you take one more step, we'll find out if I can throw you far enough that you'll actually hit the harbour and not the street below," Dazai warned, the playful edge in his voice having vanished again entirely, leaving only a sharp cold. "What do you think, my love? It's quite far to the water. Think he'll make it?"

Tightly gripping onto Dazai's arm, should he actually plan on making good on his words, you directed your attention to John again.

"You should leave," you advised.

Much to your surprise John didn't disagree and instead turned away from you with a clearly audible "bitch" on his lips.

When the next firework exploded in a rain of reds and oranges in the sky above you, he had disappeared in the crowd. Immediately Dazai turned to you, grabbing you gently by the shoulders and leaning down to eye level.

"Are you okay? Are you cold? You're shivering." The concern with which Dazai treated you now was the exact opposite of the way he had talked to John just a second ago. At his question you realised he was right. You were indeed shivering, but not from the cold and rather the stress the past minutes had caused you.

"How did you find me," you asked instead of answering as Dazai shrugged his coat off and threw it over your shoulders, tucking it into place without meeting your eyes.

"Atsushi showed me your message about how you wanted to leave and didn't know how. I got worried," he admitted and somehow he sounded unfamiliarly sincere, still evading your gaze.

"Thank you," you mumbled, leaning your forehead against his shoulder when you realised he wouldn't look at you.

"Can't have anything happening to you, you're too important to me," Dazai whispered, wrapping his arms around you, and holding you close, nuzzling his nose against your hair. He faintly smelled of green tea and ginger cookies.

For a moment you stood still like that, only processing what he had said.

"Why do you always call me 'my love'”, you suddenly asked, trying to pull away far enough to look at Dazai's face, but he kept you pressed to his chest.

"Can't you tell?"

Blue and purple fireworks lit up the night.

"Would I ask if I could?"

He sighed gently, placing a kiss against your hair. "You're not some tempting looking berry that could kill me with the first bite. You're- well, my love."

This time when you tried pulling away, he let you. His eyes reflected the glow of the Ferris Wheel behind your back and the sparks of the fireworks in the sky above the pier. The little light was enough to reveal the vulnerability in his gaze. It was strange. Dazai Osamu didn't do vulnerable. He was wrapped in bandages, protecting the traces of his hurtful past from preying eyes, always wore a cocky smile to hide the sadness that sometimes threatened to shimmer through. You knew him well enough to have seen him pull up these walls more than once. But now instead of throwing the gates to his soul shut, he pulled them wide open, letting you see everything, the pain, the fear, and seemingly infinite amounts of love. For a moment you thought you should be scared of being let in, being presented with all his heart like this. But instead all you felt was overwhelming gratitude and relief at finding your feelings returned.

Reaching up, you brushed a strand of his hair out of his forehead. His skin was cool to the touch and his eyes flickered closed for a moment before he forced them open again, giving you a long and intense look which finally pulled the words from your lips which you had held back for too long already.

"Please kiss me."

Dazai's eyes widened surprised at your request and flickered to your lips, but he hesitated. Instead of leaning in, his gaze grew absentminded for a moment, a muscle in his jaw ticking. Still focused on the way you nervously but your lip, he slowly spoke.

"If you let me kiss you now, you'll never get rid of me again," he warned.

"Who says I want to?"

"I mean it," his eyes finally found yours again as if he had snapped back into the moment. "I know you think I'll just move on like I do with everyone else, but the reason I can't stay with anyone else is because they aren't you."

Instead of answering him, you just kept looking at him, challengingly. Usually, Dazai was not one to easily loose a staring match, but this time he caved far quicker than you had anticipated. The only warning you got was a twitch of his nose before he leant in, pressing his soft lips against yours, making your eyes flicker closed. The smell of green tea filled your nose, as golden stars exploded over your heads, shining through your closed eyelids. Dazai's kiss was careful but determined as he placed his hands on your waist, pulling you against him and when you wrapped your hand into the short hair in his nape, he quietly sighed into the kiss, sending another shiver through your body.

Your heart was beating so hard in your chest that you could have sworn Dazai had to feel it and as if he had read your thoughts, he moved one hand from your waist, and instead slowly ran it up and down your back, gently comforting you into the kiss only to teasingly run the tip of his tongue against your lips once you had relaxed into his arms, making you inhale sharply at the foreign sensation and the sweet taste. Your reaction pulled a warm chuckle from his lips and heat into your cheeks but when you tried pulling away, he only let you do so for a moment before he grabbed the back of your head and pulled you back against his lips, this time more urgent, making you gasp which in turn allowed him to slip his tongue into your mouth.

It felt like he had taken up all your senses, his hair smooth under your fingers, the scent of green tea filling your nose, his breath and your heartbeat in your ears equally drowning out any other sound, his subtle taste of ginger cookies and mints making you dizzy. And when you pulled away, blinking your eyes open and gasping for breath, you met his eyes, fireworks of gold and silver reflecting in dark pools of brown that seemed to have found their own glow from within, shining with something you had never seen this strong in his eyes before. But it had been there for a long time, you suddenly realised, this softness with which he considered you, affection, that usually was well guarded behind the mask he always wore so meticulously. But now he had dropped that mask, for you. And that had to be the greatest gesture of trust you could imagine.

A smile pulled at Dazai's lips as he watched you study his face, not the usual teasing or silly smile, but an honest, heartfelt one.

"Happy New Year," you mumbled, reaching up, brushing the back of your fingers over his cheek. You could have sworn a slight hint of pink dusted over his face but in the dim and ever-changing light of the fireworks it was impossible to be certain.

Dazai laughed quietly, placing his hands at your waist, under his coat which he had thrown over your shoulders earlier, but over your own jacket and pulled you against him until your hips were flushed against his.

"Happy New Year," he whispered back before he leant in to kiss you once more.

#dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x you #osamu dazai x you #dazai x y/n #dazai osamu x y/n #osamu dazai x y/n #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #bungo stray dogs x y/n #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #mad bsd #mad fluff

[guacamoleroll]

𝖈𝖗𝖞𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎𝖓 𝖇𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖘 「𝔣𝔶𝔬𝔡𝔬𝔯 𝔡𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔢𝔳𝔰𝔨𝔶」 ༉‧₊˚

content. f!reader. not-safe for work content (MDNI 18+), hurt/comfort, implied/referenced (avoided) character death, vaginal sex, spoilers (bsd s5 ep 11). not proofread.

author's note. sometimes, the best way to cope with your emotions is some good old-fashioned smut. here is a brief little drabble, which is a very stark contrast from my previous fic.

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

Quivering hands cupped his cheeks, pallor flushed against soft caresses as eyes traced over each scratch and scar, breath caught in her lungs at the bruises that contrasted pale skin. He only leaned into her sweet touches, too debilitated from the strain of upholding the will of the heavens, a messenger of God passing his judgment upon the world. In her arms, he was human once more — neither a demon nor an angel. Purely human. Imperfection in its purest form. Her eyes glistened with tears; broken sobs escaped loosened lips as she tried in vain to hold herself together.

He planted a kiss in the center of her knotted brows, reveling as she unraveled underneath him, entirely attentive to him and him alone. She locked her gaze with his, glimmers of fresh liquid sorrow lining her lashes at internal flashes of undeveloped grief. But they both knew this would not be the end of them. He traced his fingers across the sensitive flesh of her hips, cooing at her whimper-laced shivers as he slowly sunk his cock into her weeping pussy, kissing away the cries that escaped her lips.

"Я тут, любимая. Все будет хорошо."

And they held each other tight as stars faded into the morning sun, entangled in one another as they worshipped each inch of their bodies, weak moans and kisses melting into woe-imbued pleasure until their bodies could no longer remain upright. So they lay there, exchanging breaths with each passing moment as they prayed, thankful to remain at one another's side for another day.

𝗥𝗨𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗔𝗡 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗦𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 —

я тут, любимая. все будет хорошо. = i'm here, my love. everything will be okay.

taglist: @imhandicapableofmath @seisitive @solandiss @ruru-kiss @ishqani @zyilas @lovesick-fairy @kotysluny

© 𝗚𝗨𝗔𝗖𝗔𝗠𝗢𝗟𝗘𝗥𝗢𝗟𝗟 2023 — 𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆 𝗈𝗋 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇. 𝗁𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋, 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘀 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽!

#muse's anthology ‧₊˚ ⋅ #starring: fedya .ೃ࿐ #MDNI .ᐟ #f!reader #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd smut #bungou stray dogs x reader #fyodor bsd #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor smut

[goexchange-mods]

A friend – a really good friend – helps their friend with whatever mundane task they've decided to undertake that day. But more importantly, a friend – a really good friend – looks up the resources and tries their best to help their friend through emotional/physical crisis.

Our Secret Author offers a story of hurt/comfort as Aziraphale tries to help Crowley with panic attacks caused by deep-seated trauma.

Friendship rare, friends that care! Our Secret Creators of the Good Omens Exchange have used prompts from other participants to devise gifts made of love to share with the entire fandom. Support them with a comment today; you don't need to be a member of Dreamwidth to show your appreciation!

#2023 exchange #good omens #good omens exchange #aziraphale and crowley #hurt/comfort #please reblog