#// hurt comfort | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whiskeyghoul · 2 days

Text

With a stranger's kiss || [The worst!Logan x Reader]

A/N: Okay so this needed to be written. I am obsessed with the new song released by one of my favorite bands. I heard it and this idea for a the worst!logan fanfic just filled my head. So please enjoy the hurt and a little comfort. My first time writing Logan too so I am quite excited, though it might mean it is a little ooc.

Recommended listening: Hotel flamingo - Kelsy Karter and the heroines, Tangerine - led zeppelin

WC: 3,4K

Tags: angst, fluff, hurt comfort, logan, soft logan, the worst!logan, alternate timeline angst, strangers to lovers, wolverine x reader, maybe a bit ooc.

Warnings: mentions of death

Your pov.

You were sitting at the bar on a Saturday night. Music was loud, people were chattering carefree. It smelled like beer, fruity mixed drinks and mingled perfumes. There was a highball glass in front of you, condensation on the outside dripped down. The wet stain on the napkin grew ever bigger as you stirred the drink with the straw. You leaned your head on your hand, absentmindedly staring into space. There to heal a broken heart that had left you feeling empty the past few months. Needing a distraction and willing to give it a try tonight.

You had known before going into a relationship with Logan that it would end in tragedy. He was much older, rougher, beaten down by the world around him. The first weeks of knowing him he was angry. Angry at the hand life had dealt him. It was attractive in a way, you wanted to see why this man was so bitter. See if he was able to warm up. He managed to open up to you eventually, your constant prodding and incessant need to be close to him. It weakened his defenses. It turns out he was kind too, flirty, funny at times. You remember the late nights together with him, listening to his heartbeat as you laid together. Silent, needing nothing more than each others company. His hand trailing absentminded patterns on your skin. How he’d kiss your temple, murmuring sweet nicknames and affectionate compliments. Which you gladly returned. Running your hands through his hair, kissing his jaw as you whispered into the intimacy of the night. He was everything to you. And then you lost him.

Wade had tracked you down afterwards, wanting more information on your late lover, to track him down as he said. Which at first had caused you much distress. Angry at Wade for even bringing up the idea. Logan wouldn’t do that to you. Not ever. You remember how the emotions ran its course, grief running its course again. How hot tears rolled down your cheeks as your throat closed. That was a few days ago. You had calmed down again but needed a change of scene. Your apartment was filled with memories of the past. The bar was close to Wade’s place, it was one of the few that played the classic rock songs you loved so much. You had asked Wade to come out but he never had responded. Probably on some weird mission that deserved all his attention. Though you hoped he would show up, so you wouldn’t be alone. Drinking your sadness away, pretending to be fine when in reality you don’t know if you ever could be fine again.

The ice in your tequila sunrise clinked as you raised the cup of the bar. Taking a few big sips, downing the drink in one go with a sigh. Placing the glass back down with a thunk. “You always put away drinks like that, sweetheart?” A familiar, deep voice spoke up maybe 2 seats away from you. You looked over, a familiar face, younger than you last saw him. His hair wasn’t enveloped by the salt and pepper yet, with those little peeks you had only seen in old pictures of Logan. Kitty ears, as you had called them. His arms flexed under a flannel shirt. A cigar, unlit, held between the fingers of his left hand as his right held a glass of whiskey. Logan. Maybe it was the alcohol, or you were dead and this was heaven. Maybe it was a cruel joke played by the universe. But it was him.

No. no. This wasn’t real. This was a delusion. A grief filled hallucination conjured up by the worst parts of your brain. A liquor filled haze that would have you end up in the bathrooms in 10 minutes if it went south. Though this was just your second drink, and your vision was crystal clear. “Only when I have a reason to drink.” your voice was a little choked as you answered him. Feeling that if you kept staring, with no answer, he would think you were crazy. Locking eyes with the man across from you there was a sadness, a loneliness in his eyes. This wasn’t Logan, but he looked a hell of a lot like him, sounded like him. “What’s the reason today?” His voice didn’t carry too much over the music but you were so tuned in to him you could hear him perfectly. As if your body moved on its own you stood up from the high seat. Taking two steps closer. You watched his eyes flicker over you, a moment of something else in those hazel eyes, his lips part as if he was about to say something else before closing them. Swallowing away whatever he had almost confessed. “Life has never been this hard.” You answered as you sat on the chair next to him. Offering a wry smile to him which he returned with a somber nod.

“Even for the prettiest girl in the bar?” His words were sincere, not the empty compliments that you had heard from men before. His eyes held yours with intent, like he was searching for something. Maybe you were looking for something in him too. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, before using that movement to take the whiskey glass from his grip. “Even for her.” you answered as you took a sip, letting the familiar taste shock your senses for a moment. The burn, the warmth, the smell, it was all a memory of him. “What about you, does the most handsome man always drink by himself on a Friday night?” You asked as you placed his drink back for him, your lipstick stain adorning the rim. Though your fingers loosely stayed around the cold glass. “Not just Fridays.” His answer was short as he picked up the glass. Fingers barely brushing yours as he took it. Calloused, large, but gentle. He wasn’t a hallucination, he was physical, real. Following his movement you watched as he put the lipstick stain to his lips, sipping from the same spot. An indirect kiss.

There was a moment of electricity, a connection between the both of you. Two strangers who were so familiar to one another. “Well then, please let me hold you company.” You waved to the waiter, motioning for another round of drinks for the both of you.“I won’t mind that.” He said placing his now empty glass on the bar. It was only a few moments before the new drinks were placed in front of you on the bar. Taking the cold glass in your hands you raised it, “To two people drinking alone, together.” you said with a soft smile. He returned your smile, just the barest uptick of the corner of his lips. “I will cheers to that, sweetheart.” The way he said it, sweetheart, it made your heart ache. The roll of the r, the lilt in his voice as it dipped slightly lower. You heard it so many times, yet you never got your fill. Quickly, you took a sip of your drink, hoping the cold would bury the feelings of sadness under them. Like a layer of snow covering the ground, preventing sprouts until the time was right.

“Someone used to call me that a lot. Sweetheart.” You confessed to him, a morose chuckle leaving your lips. Not knowing why the words bubbled up. They left your lips before you could think them through. “That why you drinking alone?” He asked, as he leaned a little closer. A waft of his cologne crashing into your senses. Like a wave enveloping you, leaving you under the surface, weightless. “One of the reasons.” Another sip of your drinks as you held eye contact. His stare was heavy, he wetted his lips with his tongue before he spoke. “We must be in a similar boat then.” He shifted in his seat, ever so slightly closer. “I moved away because I lost a lot of people. You remind me of the girl I used to call that all the time.” That confession caused another ache to shoot through your heart. He was a little broken, like you, losing the person you loved most. His eyes drifted away from you and to the cigar in his hand. “I’m heading out for a smoke. Join me.” he nodded his head towards the door. Shifting and standing up, you took your drink in your left hand ready to follow him out through the crowd of bodies that separated the bar seats from the door. You felt his hand take yours, chilled finger tips from his drink, looking up to see the cigar already between his teeth, the whiskey glass in his right hand. You thought he winked before quickly turning. An image that would be forever burned on to your brain. He was pulling you through the mass of people, and out into the night.

The outside air was cold compared to the inside of the bar. The smell of weather turning in the air, like at any moment the clouds could break and rain could soak you through. The moon peeked through the clouds every so often. The music is still audible though ever so slightly muffled. Your drinks were placed on the table near the bouncer. There were other people outside, leaning against the brick wall as they talked and smoked. The neon flamingo sign lit the surroundings in a pink hue. Standing with your back against the brick you watched him pull out a lighter, taking a flame to the end of the cigar and inhaling the smoke. Breathing out you watched as the tendrils faded into the night sky. Eyes lingering on his lips, wondering if they would feel the same. Your body was yearning for the touch of Logan, months without it, grieving the loss of him, it had been torturous. And now, a vision of the past that stood in front of you, close enough to reach out. He took another drag of the cigar, holding in the smoke for a moment before breathing out again. Tapping off the ash he held it out to you, quirking a brow up inquisitively. “I don’t smoke.” You said, a shrug of your shoulders as you wrapped your arms around your torso, it was colder out than you had thought. “What do you have to lose?” He urged with a smirk, looking down at you. The pink light casting shadows on the side of his face. Making him look more like the man you lost. You reached out, gently taking the cigar from his hand, fingers lingering a second too long.

You brought the cigar to your lips, breathing in, holding it a second and letting the smoke settle in your system. Your eyes fluttering close. It was just like when you used to kiss Logan, smoke and tinge of sweetness. Though he used to take great care not to kiss you immediately after taking a smoke. Because you would scrunch your nose, feign disgust, because you had been disgusted the first few times. Before getting used to the taste that was uniquely him. Opening your eyes again after a few seconds you blinked away the tear threatening to form. You exhaled, watching those wispy tendrils leave your own mouth. Your gaze locked on him, his expression was weirdly soft as he took you in, like he was burning your image into his memory. Or perhaps he was transported back to the past, to the girl he used to call sweetheart. Holding out the cigar for him you smiled softly, “Yeah, not for me.” you tilted your head, smile fading as you pressed your lips together. Holding back from letting sadness take over. He took the cigar back, eyes glancing at the lipstick stain left behind on the butt, “S’alright. It’s not for everyone.” his voice was barely above a whisper, but you heard the slight quiver in the tone. Emotion taking over. Watching as his Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed away the feelings.

He took another drag, lips pressed where you had left a mark for the second time that night. When his lips left the cigar you saw the tinge of red on his lips. Like how it would have looked when you had kissed Logan, it used to be his favorite shade on you. Instinctively you reached out, overwhelmed, “Sorry, you have something here.” your thumb connected with his bottom lip. As the rest of your fingers splayed out over his cheek, feeling the scratch of his beard against your skin. You wiped at the lipstick stain until he caught your wrist in his free hand. It was surprising, yet his hold was so gentle. His eyes bore into yours, “That’s okay, sweetheart, I don’t mind.” He said before moving your hand, pressing a kiss just below your thumb. It was tender, a fleeting moment, a living reflection of the past. His lips left just as soon as they had connected with your skin. Still, his grip on your wrist didn’t loosen, he lowered your arms together, to hang between you. As if a bridge connecting two islands. “Was that too far?” He asked. You shook your head no, though it was barely a shake. If he hadn’t been staring you down he might not have even noticed it. “Not at all.” You said softly. He nodded his head, as if to say ‘good.’ before taking the last drag of his cigar. Letting the small stub fall to the ground. Stepping on it to put it out.

The music changed inside. An all too familiar melody started playing. Tangerine. You let out a choked laugh, the irony not lost on you. “You like this song?” he asked. You slipped your hand down, where he had been holding your wrist you were now holding his hand. “I think it’s pretty. Sad, melancholic but so filled with love.” Your fingers found their way between his. Running your thumb along the skin of the back of his hand almost absentmindedly. It was something you used to do quite often, not just a comforting gesture for Logan. It was almost self soothing, to feel his warmth at your fingertips. He hummed in agreement with your sentiment. Something about the scene in front of you made you think back to when you last heard this song, when you had danced together with Logan in the living room. Old songs playing in the background. You had leaned your head against his chest as he had held you close. His heartbeat mingled with the soft acoustics, the rumble of his voice whispering along to the song. Now that his mirror image stood there in the pink neon light, you couldn’t help yourself.

Pushing yourself off of the wall you stood closer, tugging on his hand to force him closer. He let you, a little too easy, so you looked up and stood nose to nose. “Dance with me?” You asked, peering in those hazel eyes, seeing the shift in his demeanor. How his eyes softened as he breathed in. “Anything for you.” His response was quick, easy, like he had said it a thousand times before. His left hand found its perch on your hip so effortlessly, his thumb stroking over the velvety fabric of your dress so carefully, like he had done so a million times before. You let go of his right hand, it quickly went down to your hip. You were letting both of your hands slip up his chest to his shoulders. Feeling the heartbeat under his skin for a moment before latching your fingers together behind his neck. Feeling the brush of the hair at his nape. He started to sway softly, as you stood almost chest to chest, the warmth radiating between the two of you. A coil formed around your heart, tightening with every sway, every small step you made together. Everything around you was falling away. All you could hear was the music. The only thing you saw was him. The only thing you could feel was his touch as the second verse set in.

Thinking how it used to be.

Does she still remember times like these?

To think of us again.

And I do.

Breathing in sync, he leaned slightly closer, his nose nudging yours. There was an edge of hesitation. His eyes searching yours for something he couldn’t seem to find. A brief second, before he sighed and created a little more distance, looking almost defeated. You wanted him to kiss you, even if it was just to see if his lips felt the same. If he kissed with the same hunger. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, leaning his forehead against yours, “I can’t. ‘Cause you aren’t her. Even though you are just like her.” You closed your eyes, taking in the words you knew were true for the both of you, leaning into his touch. “I know, Lo…” the name slipped from your lips like it was nothing. Because every neuron, every fiber in your body was saying it was him.

In that moment he stood just a little straighter, his touch on your forehead left. You opened your eyes. His were intense, on you, filled with devotion. Your name sounded from his mouth. It lay heavy between you.

Tangerine, tangerine.

Living reflection from a dream.

I was her love, she was my queen.

But now a thousand years in-between.

The hands behind his neck unclasped each other, your fingers raking through the soft, short locks at his nape. Realization dawned. A tear escaping your eye, just the singular one as a sad smile was on his lips. “You’re not really him, are you?” you didn’t want to ask, but you had to know for sure. Wanting to live in this moment where you were back together, just a glimpse of what was. “I am. Just not yours, just like you aren’t mine.” Logan’s right hand cradled your face, thumb wiping away the tear that had rolled down your cheek. A similar soothing motion you had done just moments prior. Leaning into his touch your eyes stayed on him, catching every expression, every little look and emotion. “I wasn’t gonna look for you, didn’t think I could handle seeing you.” He said softly, “But when I saw you, with pain in your eyes, I couldn’t help myself. I never could help myself around you.” He continued, stroking your cheek continuously. Soft motions, keeping you grounded, his grip on your hip tightening ever so slightly. A barely there twitch you wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for the fact you were completely engulfed by him. Like he was afraid you weren’t real. Like you could slip away at any moment. Just like you couldn’t fathom him being there.

The pain you felt when you saw him for the first time soothed with the knowledge it was Logan. Not yours, like he had said. But a version of him that had loved a version of you. You had both lost each other, and for some inexplicable reason, had found each other again. A little more broken. A little more weathered. But a little lighter too.

“In this moment, you could kill me if you wanted to. I would be happy, just to have been able to see you again. Something I never thought would happen.” You spoke up, “In fact, for a moment, I thought this was heaven.” Logan let out a soft chuckle at that. The idea of a bar, filled with drunk people chattering, being heaven was a strange thought. But it felt like heaven. And so did being outside in the cold of the night. “I thought I saw an angel, too.” There was a slight humor in his tone. His smile is a little lighter, a little sweeter. It was infectious. Biting the inside of your lip, holding back the smile. “Would I be a terrible person if I asked to kiss you anyways?” You asked, knowing he had pulled away before. His gaze softened as he searched your eyes again. “You could kill me if you wanted to.” he echoed your words, your sentiment.

The moment felt weightless as he leaned in. Hand moving from your cheek to the back of your head. Tilting your head gently. Your eyes shut automatically. The soft press of his lips against yours followed. It was so gentle. Sweet and smokey. Filled with regret, pain, loss, passion, love. Your hands slid to the front of his shirt. Holding on to the soft fabric. His left hand squeezed your hip just a little more. You pulled away for a moment, a smile spreading as you watched him. “Nice to meet you, Logan.” He laughed, short, but genuine. A melodic sound that made your heart skip. “Nice to meet you too, sweetheart.” He said before his lips found yours again. Letting yourself melt into the feeling. There was a lot that needed to be figured out. Or explained. But you could do that later. When you would both be getting to know each other again like it was the first time.

A fresh start with a familiar stranger’s kiss.

25 notes · View notes

comfort-questing · 14 hours

Text

caretaker, very nervous and fast under their breath: "you're okay you're okay you're okay" to someone who is very obviously Not

#whump #hurt comfort #whump dialogue #whump prompt

20 notes · View notes

creativepromptsforwriting · 7 months

Text

Hurt/Comfort Dialogue Prompts

Part IV

"It's going to be okay. I promise you."

"Let me feel your temperature."

"Can you just look at me? Please?"

"You can trust me. I hope you know that."

"Is there something I can do to make it easier?"

"Please talk to me. I need to hear you."

"We'll be fine. I know it."

"Let me wipe those tears away."

"You're doing amazing, I'm so proud of you."

"It would make me feel better to know that you're alright."

"Can't you see that you are being loved?"

"Do you want me to hold you?"

"You're comfort is more important to me."

"Thank you for sticking by my side."

"I never want to be a reason for you to hurt."

Hurt/Comfort Masterpost

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee or become a member! And check out my Instagram! 🥰

#hurt comfort #dialogue prompts #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #prompt list #writing #creative writing

2K notes · View notes

a-reader-and-a-writer · 2 months

Text

Sweeter Than Revenge Masterlist

Summary: A surprise visit to see your brother turns sour real quick when he doesn't share your hopes of mending your strained relationship. Rudely dismissed by Scott, you seek to give your brother the biggest possible middle finger by joining forces with his rival. Yet the more time you spend with Tyler, the more you begin to discover that there are some things sweeter than revenge.

TW: Romance (potential eventual smut), Fake Dating Becomes Real, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Language, Family Drama, Strained Family Relationship, Reader is Scott's Younger Sister, Tyler Picks Up Reader, Brief Description of Reader's Clothing, f!reader, more to come/specific's listed on each part

Status: On-Going

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight (coming 9/30)

More to come!

453 notes · View notes

whumpster-dumpster · 11 months

Text

100 Ways to say "I Care"

See the original 100 Ways to say "I Love You" list here: [x] I was inspired to make one of my own for caretaking themes 💕

"I'm here."

"Stay still."

"Trust me."

"You're safe."

"I've got you."

"I don't mind."

"I'm not mad."

"Lean on me."

"I understand."

"It's no bother."

"I'll clean it up."

"Take my coat."

"Need a hand?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'll handle this."

"Happy to help."

"Get some rest."

"Can I hug you?"

"I'll get the light."

"I can't lose you."

"Shh, don't cry..."

"My door's open."

"Take small sips."

"Stay behind me."

"I'll walk with you."

"Feel better soon."

"You're not alone."

"How'd you sleep?"

"I just want to help."

"I've got your back."

"Please be careful."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I'm a good listener."

"Let me help you up."

"When I say run, run."

"I'm glad you're okay."

"You're not a burden."

"I made your favorite."

"I'll see what I can do."

"How are you feeling?"

"We'll get through this."

"That's it, just let it out."

"I'm worried about you."

"I'll start a bath for you."

"I'm coming right back."

"I can stay up with you."

"I wish you had told me."

"It's okay to not be okay."

"Your health comes first."

"You need a ride home?"

"Sit tight, I'm on my way."

"I'm not here to hurt you."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Just looking out for you."

"I'm sorry, I know it hurts."

"Let me worry about that."

"Stay as long as you want."

"I'll take care of everything."

"It's fine, I'll take the couch."

"I came as soon as I heard."

"You really gave us a scare."

"I'm not leaving you behind."

"I'm never too busy for you."

"I'll stay until you fall asleep."

"You don't have to apologize."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's okay, it was just a dream."

"You ready to eat something?"

"Don't strain yourself, I'll get it."

"I've missed seeing you smile."

"Do you need another blanket?"

"You didn't deserve any of this."

"Follow my breathing. In...out..."

"Don't scare me like that again."

"I'll wake you in a couple hours."

"It's really me. I'm here, I'm real."

"I won't let them near you again."

"You first, I'll be right behind you."

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"I know I don't have to. I want to."

"You can hold my hand if it helps."

"I've got your next round of meds."

"Let me put on some fresh sheets."

"It's good to see you up and about."

"I'm with you every step of the way."

"I'll be outside if you need anything."

"Hey, you're supposed to be resting."

"You're the strongest person I know."

"Is there anyone you want me to call?"

"If you're not up for this, let me know."

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I just hate to see you hurting like this."

"Tell me what you need most right now."

"I called off work. You've got me all day."

"You've got my emergency contact info."

"I know you. You don't seem like yourself."

"I have a change of clothes ready for you."

"I'm so proud of you, and how far you've come."

"Call me if you need me. I don't care how late it is."

"They want to get to you, they'll have to go through me."

#whump #whump prompts #writing prompts #dialogue prompts #caretaking #angst #hurt comfort

1K notes · View notes

thatmexisaurusrex · 4 months

Text

What if in the big first disaster mini-arc of season 8, Tommy's helicopter crashes close to where the 118 are. Gerrard decides that the helicopter, and everyone that is in it, is a lost cause and that they shouldn't be wasting resources or his team trying to help anyone out of the crash. What if the entire team mutinies to go find Tommy, his team, his helicopter, and the patients he was transporting?

What if the people in the helicopter crash are scattered - some in the helicopter, some flung out of it? What if Tommy was one of the people flung out of the helicopter; lost and out of range?

What if the 118 manages to find the helicopter, only to see that Tommy is missing? But they have to secure the scene, they have to call for back up, they have to make sure everyone still in the helicopter is okay. But maybe Hen takes over the scene and tells Chimney and Buck to keep searching the woods for other survivors.

And Buck feels guilty that he's relieved that Hen chose him to go sift through the woods of this mountain for other survivors, but there's really no time to think about that. There's no time at all.

Lives are on the line.

Tommy is out there.

And in the woods, Tommy is hurt. He's hurt, but he can hear someone calling for help. So, he moves despite knowing full well that might be bad for him. He moves because he's a first responder and will always try to help someone in need. And he finds one of his patients worse off than before. And he feels guilt that due to bad weather conditions and how the fire in the woods traveled (did I not say there was a fire? There's a fire and it's threatening to reach their side of the mountain at any moment), he lost control of the helicopter (and I would like to think there would be another twist too, like the 118 find something was already messed up with the helicopter to begin with, so it was a miracle that Tommy could even fly it at all).

But Tommy could do this.

He could save this one person.

So, Tommy's doing his best. He's working through his own pain as he puts a splint on this person's leg, as he pops this person's dislocated arm back in, as he makes the split decision to burn a cut closed because he doesn't have the supplies and that was the best he could do without the person bleeding out during a hike. And he makes a fucking board out of low branches he rips off trees. And, damn it, he knows his radio is basically busted, but he tries for help, only getting broken static back.

But he is going through.

He just can't hear the other end.

But his words are getting through the radio - they're reaching Buck. And Buck is desperately trying to answer back, he's trying to far longer than he should, he should have realized the first four tries that Tommy can't here him.

But he knows which direction Tommy is going. Because he and Tommy hiked up this mountain before. Buck knows which trail Tommy is trying to get to, so it's a race against time - will Buck and Chimney get to Tommy and the patient before the fire gets to them?

And the answer is that they get there just as the fire does. Nipping at Tommy's heels, but it ends up being stopped by a water drop just in time. Tommy is stunned when he sees Chimney and Evan, he's truly stunned.

He didn't think anyone heard him.

He didn't think they were going to be found in time.

And Buck calls it in, asks for backup, asks for help. Chimney checks on the person Tommy did first aid on.

And Tommy.

And Buck.

They run to each other.

They collapse into each other's arms. Exhausted and running on adrenaline alone. And they're checking if the other is okay - both are very worse for wear. And things seem okay as they wait for help to get to them. Things are going great for Hen too, she successfully saves everyone else in the helicopter crash with Eddie and Ravi's help.

But then.

A tree nearby is unstable.

Tommy sees it just in time.

And Tommy pushes Chimney out of the way, only to be caught under the tree.

And this is bad.

Back breaking bad.

Body crushing bad.

Buck tries not to panic, but it's clear this has shaken him. Chimney is doing his best and is calling for more help.

Help gets there, help finally gets there. And they manage to pull the tree off Tommy. Buck rides with Tommy to the hospital, holding his hand. He paces, distressed, as he waits for the longest surgery in his life.

And Tommy? Tommy should make it. But he's out, he's been put into a medically induced a coma as he heals. And at first, that's okay. Buck can be there. He can make sure Tommy's warm. He can hold Tommy's hand and read to him, and sleep in a rolled in bed.

Until that stops.

Mysteriously, he's not allowed into Tommy's room.

He's not allowed any information.

He's not Tommy's family.

And Tommy's parents are, somehow, technically still Tommy's next of kin - they're in charge of his medical treatment. They're in charge of who sees him.

Buck tries to explain who he is.

They reject the very idea of it.

And it's devastating. Buck didn't think about this. He didn't know this could happen. Tommy hadn't spoken to his parents in over twenty years, yet they're just allowed to come and do this to him.

Buck doesn't know what to do. He can't eat. He can't sleep. People have to force him to do anything for himself as he wonders how Tommy's parents are treating him.

Are they reading to him? Are they spending time with him? Are they making sure he's warm? Are they doing anything at all? Is this all for spite?

Somehow, other people are allowed to visit.

Just not Buck.

Buck is blacklisted.

Eddie is allowed; Christopher too. Chimney, somehow; probably because Tommy had saved his life. Maddie, even. Hen isn't, they can tell something is queer about Hen. Ravi isn't either. Bobby was allowed at first, before he made a case to the Kinards to let Buck see Tommy and it went south.

But definitely not Buck.

And Buck? Buck is camped out in the waiting room. The waiting room he kissed Tommy in. He basically has grown a short beard in that waiting room, he hasn't been shaving.

And all Buck can ask when he sees Eddie or Chimney or Maddie is - how is he doing? Is he doing okay? Is his favorite blanket still on him? What did you talk to him about? What did you read him? How did he look?

And the nurses - they know Buck. They've known him for years. And some take pity on him one night, and let him at least near the room when the parents are gone.

And the parents file for a restraining order against Buck, but it was worth it just to see Tommy.

Tommy looked better than last time.

That was good.

That was what mattered.

And a few more days go by like that with Buck in the waiting room, unable to leave.

Until Tommy wakes up.

He wakes up.

He asks his parents to leave.

He asks for Evan.

And a band of nurses and maybe Chimney rush over and tell Buck the news.

And Buck is running.

Sprinting.

To get to Tommy's room.

He knows where it is.

He memorized where the room was.

And he sees Tommy awake.

And part of him hadn't realized that he wasn't sure if Tommy would wake up. That some little, horrible part of him thought that Tommy would never wake up and he would never see Tommy again.

Tommy makes a joke about how Evan looks like a caveman.

Buck laughs. And cries. And sobs as he rushes frantically over to Tommy and collapses into a hug.

Tommy holds Buck as best as he can in his state while mumbling fondly that Evan smells like a caveman too. Buck offers to go, get cleaned up, but Tommy holds onto him.

Asks Evan to stay.

Apologizes for his parents, that he hadn't expected them to come. That he is going to change his will as soon as he can.

And he just wants Evan there.

With him.

And Buck stays.

[ made a fic based on this on AO3 in my Denial-Verse series ]

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #bucktommy fic #911 speculation #911 s8 speculation #hurt comfort #angst #tevan #kinley #kinkley #my fics #i guess this sort of became a fic lol whoops

280 notes · View notes

astarioffsimpmain · 3 months

Text

Won't Lose You

Astarion x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: This kind of became...whump? Whumpfort? It's angsty but with fluffy comfort at the end, and even a sprinkle of humor.

Synopsis: After your victory against the Netherbrain, you wake up without Astarion beside you. With the curtains opened and the sunlight streaming in, you fear the worst.

Author's Note: I FINALLY finished it, @icybluepenguin !!! 🥰 Thank you so much for your gift, and I hope you enjoy mine to you!

It was over, and all it cost him was his life in the sun.

Trance did not find him easily that night, but not for the reasons he was accustomed to. His arms tightened around your bare body, sleep having taken you hours ago. Sure, he had felt the sun burning his waxen skin for the first time since he escaped Cazador's grasp once the brain was defeated, but it hadn't lasted too very long, what with you sacrificing your cloak to him in an instant, draping it around his shoulders and casting darkness to hide him from the light.

Because of you, he had remained a part of your happy band of misfits in the sun and had been able to participate in the following celebrations. Although he'd never admit it to anyone but you, he had enjoyed watching Gale’s feeble attempts at dancing and the product of Karlach's endless stream of beer. But what he enjoyed most was being by your side. If you hadn't given him care enough to keep him safe, he would have had to depart your little festivities early and wait for the dark to come. He shuddered at the thought of being thrust back into an icy loneliness after all the warmth he had known. He wasn't sure he would have survived it.

But he shook those thoughts away with a turn of his head and burrowed his nose into your hair, breathing in the lather you both shared in the bathroom earlier in the evening. This made him smile; reminded him of why sleep would not come. He had been tangled up in you all night; experiencing you, touching you, loving you, and being loved in return. Your touch was soft, but it demanded a measure of kindness to himself that he had never known, and at times, it would overwhelm him. But you were patient, so endlessly patient with him, and you let him come to you, your arms open and waiting for him to trust you, and trust you he did.

He had trusted you for a long time now, despite every instinct he had telling him not to. He had trusted you to keep him safe, then to keep him fed. Even later down the road, he trusted you to let him choose, then he trusted you to set him free, and finally, after many trials and hard days bleeding into hard nights, he had trusted you to show him how to be loved, and you had not let him down. Not once. He was free, he was fed, and he was loved, and gods, he was giddy about it. The prospect of a whole new life with you was so intoxicating that he felt like he was floating off of the mattress, and his undead heart did phantom flips in his chest.

In the hours since the tadpole had been removed from his brain, he had felt his vampiric strength begin to return to him. As he laid with you, he clenched and unclenched his fingers, feeling unmistakably stronger than he remembered being even before the tadpole. "Perhaps it's simply because I no longer starve," he thought to himself as he took to admiring his fingernails in the dimly lit room. "Are they longer than before?"

He let his hand fall and turned his head to the side to gaze out into the night sky. You had insisted on closing the thick drapes over the window in case he fell asleep, but the moment he felt your breathing even out against him, he'd wrenched them back open. You had taught him to appreciate the moon again by your love of it. For the longest time, even before the possibility of the ritual was presented to him, he had worried that you would abandon him in favor of the sun. Not too long ago, he would have done so to you, and the thought never ceased to eat away at him. But you assured him over and over that the moon was your beacon, not the sun, and him, your North Star.

And when the comfort of the light abandoned him, you kept your word. Now, he couldn't imagine giving you up for anything. You were his sun. He would never need anything else. He smiled to himself as you snuggled closer to him in your sleep. With your warmth pressed against him, he found himself relaxing into a state of comfort he didn't realize he was still capable of, and he drifted into a blissful, peaceful trance in your arms.

Light pooled on your eyelids as you woke, warming your face with its rays, and you stretched, barely conscious of the world around you. Belatedly, you threw your arm to the other side of the bed, expecting to feel Astarion's cold body there beside you, as you had for the last several months. When you felt only bed sheets beneath your palm, you cracked an eye open, and your sleep-addled mind began to catch up with you all at once. "Ast- Star?" You mumbled incoherently, your mind beginning to race as you rubbed your eyes. The final battle. The Netherbrain. The sunlight burning beautiful pallor skin. Casting darkness. It came back to you in flashes and your heartbeat thumped ominously in your chest as you sat up and finally took in the open curtains of the window near to you, and the empty spot in the bed beside you.

A full-bodied panic arose with in you, and you pressed a firm hand against your chest as you called his name brokenly into the empty room. "Star? Star?!" Your voice cracked and your hands patted furiously across the side of the bed where his body should be laying, and altogether at once you found your reason and forced yourself up to run to the bathroom of your room, praying he had opened the curtains for you and then ducked away to take a bath before you rose. You prayed to as many gods and goddesses as you could name in the short number of steps from the bed to the bathroom door, but your heart stuttered to a near stop when the door creaked open and your lover was not there.

You clapped a hand over your mouth to keep in the sudden wave of nausea that overtook you as the thought came crashing down all around you. 'He wouldn't have gone to sleep with the curtains open. He wouldn't. He wouldn't do that. Not after everything. Not after-' "Oh, goooods." You wailed, stumbling back into the bedroom and nearly ripped the curtains closing them. A heartsick sob burst from your lips as you fell to your knees in front of the empty bed, raking your hands over it again and again as if to summon him into it. "Astarioooooon," you moaned, your face meeting the bed as you wept, continuing to pray that he had left you in the night instead, preferring that to the alternative.

A small, high pitched squeaking sound pierced your ears, but you couldn't find yourself to be bothered with it, any vermin in the room with you a small, insignificant intrusion upon the altar of your grief. You fisted the bedsheets and clenched them hard in your hands, taking shuddering breaths as you tried to reach another conclusion. In the meantime, the squeaking became louder and louder until you were forced to raise your head and meet its source: a small, white bat had crawled to you from under the covers of the bed, its furry head cocked to the side as it stared at you with beady red eyes. You sniffled, staring back at the bat, which seemed only to have eyes for you. It crawled ever closer until it reached your white-knuckled hands and stretched its wings over them as if to hug them.

You blinked hard, willing the tears away enough to observe the bat better. 'How did this little guy get in here?' You wondered as it crawled up your arm gently, only taking repose once it reached the crook of your neck and nestled close. "Wait," you paused, fingers already tenderly trailing over the bat's fur. "You came in when Astarion left, didn't you? He's alive, isn't he?!" You cried, and when the bat squeaked, almost in response, you let out a delirious laugh that then morphed into a choking sob. Elation and despair mixed as it sunk in. 'He's alive. He left me.'

You twisted to lay your head against the side of the bed, and the bat took flight, leaving to fly somewhere behind you. You didn't look. You couldn't move. The memories of you and Astarion were playing like a carousel in your mind; each touch, every kiss, all of his gleaming smiles, and heart-wrenching tears. You couldn't live a life without him, not after all you'd gone through to finally find one another. Did he still resent you for urging him not to ascend? Your heart clenched as you remembered the betrayal in his eyes when you had not given in to his desire for power. He didn't speak to you for an entire day afterward. You had been a mess; but nothing compared to what you were now.

Your hands shook as you brought them up to your face. “He said everything was alright. He said he was glad.” You murmured into your palms softly, brokenly. But was it? You heaved suddenly, but all that emerged was a desperate sob. He was gone. How would anything be alright ever again? Your thoughts swirled as you leaned against the mattress, face buried between your fingers. So loud was its pain that you missed the faint popping sound from behind you.

“...darling?” A soft voice whispered in your ear, and you choked, your head whipping behind you in the direction of sound; that voice, so achingly familiar.

“Astarion?” You croaked weakly as your eyes fell upon your pale lover's own.

“My love,” he cooed gently, his face contorted in pain.

“A-Astarion?!” You cried, turning to him and launching yourself at him. He caught you swiftly and pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest while you sobbed in relief.

“I- I don't know how it happened.” He sputtered. “I… I fell into trance and woke up as-”

You sniffled, wiping your eyes as it dawned on you. “-as a bat?”

“Well…yes, as a bat.” He replied dumbfoundedly as he continued to stroke your hair and cheek. “It must be a product of my vampiric powers returning since the tadpole is no longer…well, sucking them away.”

“I thought- “

“I know. I heard. I'm so sorry, darling.”

You sniffled again, shaking your head as if to send the thoughts away, and pulled closer to your lover, burying your face into the cold skin of his bare chest. After several moments of quiet calm, you let out a small chuckle.

“Darling?” Astarion asked tentatively.

“You're really cute as a bat.” You chittered quietly, and Astarion huffed out a laugh.

“I am beautiful and majestic in every form, my little love.” he crooned in your ear, and you smiled, your crusted cheeks pulling taut with the movement.

“You certainly are.” you replied, then fell silent for a moment before chuckling again.

“Yes, darling?” Astarion asked playfully.

“If your clothes didn't shrink with you when you became a bat, where did they go?” You snorted softly, running your hand up and down his bare side.

“Gods if I know, but if you know what's good for you, you won't take this opportunity for granted.” He replied cheekily, and you giggled, pulling away from his chest - with great effort, as your skin had somewhat fused upon drying off.

“I love you, Astarion.” You whispered, meeting his ruby red gaze.

He cupped your cheeks tenderly and held your eyes. “I love you too, darling. I will not abandon you. Not for death, not for the sun, and not for fear. I am not angry with you. Gods, I'm the happiest I can remember ever being.” His eyes narrowed, and one eyebrow shot up. “You'd have to well and truly fight me til death if you wished to remove me from your side.”

Then you laughed, full and sweet, and leaned in to press your lips to his. “Well then,” you mumbled against them. “It's quite the relief that I have no plans of ever getting rid of you, hm?”

“I'd say so, little love.” He replied before leaning in to capture your lips once more. One of his hands crept to the back of your head to keep you in place and the other made its home at your hip, pulling you flush against him and squeezing the skin there as he deepened the kiss.

You moaned softly into his mouth and let your arms twine around his neck, but pulled away before he dove any further. “Hey, Astarion.” you mumbled against his mouth.

“Mm?” He hummed, his eyes lust blown and lidded.

“Can you turn into a bat next time we have a bath together? The tubs in this inn are really quite small…”

“Oh, gods.” He rolled his eyes, and you laughed, pulling him back in and kissing his face until it went red. He would never live this down, but he was not sure he minded all that much; not if it was you.

♡♡♡

fin

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion x gn reader #batstarion #batstarion bg3 #astarion bg3 #bg3 whump #whump #whumpfort #hurt comfort #astarion hurt/comfort

272 notes · View notes

jordanstrophe · 2 months

Text

When whumpee woke up, they felt hollow and sore. They slowly lifted their head and saw an IV pricking their arm. It was bruised, and they didn't know what they were looking at. They tried to tug at it but hand snatched their wrists and stopped them.

"No sweetheart. Leave that in." Spoke a gentle voice.

"You need it, trust me."

#whump #whumpee #caretaking #whump scenario #whump prompts #whump angst #whump writing #caretaker #whump prompt #hurt comfort #hospital whump #medical whump #recovery prompts #recovering whumpee

333 notes · View notes

babygorewhore · 4 months

Text

Safety

Rafe Cameron x fem reader

After a night of horrors with your ex-boyfriend, Sarah finds you pregnant, beaten and bruised on the street. She takes you to Rafe, someone you used to have a crush on in high school and he swears to protect you and your baby girl. W.C almost 3k

Hiiiiii so I NEVER thought in a million years I’d write pregnancy but I was heavily inspired by the movie The Invisible Man! And this is also in honor of my princess, @oceandriveab who has officially made me obsessed with Dad!Rafe. I hope you love baby!!! Dividers by @xxbimbobunnyxx I’m also very nervous because I’ve never had a baby but I have been in an abusive relationship so I hope you find comfort!

Warnings! Reader’s ex boyfriend is abusive! Talks of abuse! Reader is briefly attacked by him! Brief violence! Fingering! Choking! Unprotected sex! Non graphic description of childbirth! Daddy kink! Angst! Hurt comfort! Happy ending!!

You sat on the concrete sidewalk, trembling as rain trickled on your body as you hugged your middle. Your baby shifted around in your stomach, recently finding out the gender a few weeks ago. It was a girl. You named her Jennifer after one of your favorite movies. “I won’t go back, baby…” you whispered to your rounded belly and started crying.

A voice called your name, getting your attention and you saw Sarah Cameron rushing towards you with concern in her dark eyes. “Hey, are you okay? What are you doing out here alone?” She gasped when she finally took in your appearance as you shifted on the ground.

Your clothes torn, bruises on your face, arms and even your stomach. “Oh god..did he-did your boyfriend do this to you?” You didn’t respond and she wrapped your arm around her shoulder. She helped you stand. “Here. Come on. I’ll take you to Rafe’s house.”

His name caught your attention as she helped you in the passenger seat. “Rafe? What about your house?”

“You know my brother. He’s always had a soft spot for you. You’ll be safe there. No arguments.” She sternly told you and you didn’t have the energy to argue.

You used to babysit Sarah and Wheezie while you were in school. You were over at their house all the time and you didn’t complain considering your crush on her older brother Rafe. But he was always too busy partying to notice you at the time and eventually you met your current boyfriend Jake.

It was the worst mistake of your life.

You arrived at Rafe’s large house, wincing as Sarah tried to help you out of the car but you tearfully spoke, “I can’t move.”

“Wait here. Don’t worry,” she rushed inside and you felt pangs of heartbreak. Here you were, being rescued by someone you used to care for. seconds later, you saw Rafe rushing out with her, jogging towards the car. He was still wearing his work clothes, dampening from the rain.

“Hey, come on,” Without warning, he scooped you in his arms bridal style and carried you in the house. His warm, strong embrace soothed your chilled body as he maneuvered through his living room and set you on the couch.

“There you go…good girl,” he mumbled under his breath, his eyes roaming over your injuries and ripped clothes. His jaw tightened when he noticed the bruises, especially on your protruding stomach. You placed your hand over it, feeling your baby kick underneath your palm.

“What happened? What the fuck did he do to you?” His question brought on more tears and you buried your head in your hands, shoulders shaking.

You felt palms on your arms as you sobbed.

“Can you-get her some clothes or something? She’s fucking freezing!” Rafe fussed at Sarah and gestured with his hand rapidly. “Get something of mine!”

“Um why don’t you do it?” Sarah hissed and Rafe gave her a death glare. “Fine.” She walked off as he gently tugged your hands off your face.

“I never liked that guy. Knew he was up to trouble and now he put his hands on you?” His blue gaze was murderous as he stared at your stomach.

“I didn’t think-I didn’t think he’d hurt her. I didn’t think he’d go that far.” You breathed rapidly and shrieked as thunder clapped across the sky, the loud sound reminded you of your boyfriend’s voice.

Time passed and you sat at the table with Sarah and Rafe. You wore one of his shirts, after taking a warm shower. It was loose around your torso and comfortable around your middle. Sarah also fixed you something to eat, anything to satisfy your needs considering Rafe’s clean diet.

Your hair was lightly damp, braided from Sarah’s nimble fingers and you stared off in the distance as they both watched you. Waiting for you to speak. But Rafe grew impatient.

“When I find him, I’ll kill him.” He said simply and you flinched. “You don’t have to worry about anything. You can stay here. Are you in pain? Are you-fuck I don’t know any pregnant girls-do you-“

“I didn’t know he switched my birth control pills.” You whispered, making Rafe’s mouth close. “I had been taking them secretly. He was obsessed with…trapping me with a baby. He figured I’d never be able to leave then. Jake controlled everything. What I did. What I said and eventually, she happened.” You look down at your stomach. “But if he didn’t like what I did, he would…” you trailed off.

“Hit you?” Sarah answered softly and you grimaced.

“Among other things.” Rafe stood out of his chair, making your head snap in his direction and he started to pace. “I ran from him this morning. He went crazy last night. I thought he wouldn’t stop. I didn’t know what he’d do and I couldn’t let him hurt her again.”

“He won’t.” Rafe growled. “No one is going to hurt you. Ever again. I’ll make sure of it. I’m seconds away from-“ He was breathing heavily but he seemed to swallow back his rage enough to calm down at the sight of your discomfort.

“Let’s get you to bed.” He doesn’t give you the option and he lifts you into his arms. Your feet dangle as he carries you up the stairs to his spare room.

Instead of setting you down, Rafe lays your body on the bed and adjusts the blankets over you. His hands ghosting over your stomach before he pulls them away. “If you need anything-yell for me-I’m right down the hall.” You nod silently and he hesitates, trying to search for something to say.

“He won’t hurt you again. I won’t let him.” He turns but you have a surge of emotions and grab his arm.

“Rafe. Will you stay with me? Just for tonight. Please, when I sleep alone-I dream about him and I can feel his fists on me,” Without a second thought, Rafe climbs into bed with you and his taller body tucks himself next to yours.

You didn’t speak but your eyes drifted closed. Exhaustion taking over your body and your head moved to rest on his shoulder. He stiffened briefly before his arm wrapped around you, hand cupping your waist.

Rafe helped you-well insisted that you tell the police about your ex-boyfriend. And you did, even gaining a restraining order. It was vital you did that for another important reason the longer you stayed away from him. A month in a half had passed, in the state of your pregnancy, you needed regular doctor appointments. Rafe also was insistent on you seeing the best in the city and he took you to all of them.

But for the most part, you hid away in the bedroom. Shame, guilt and terror keeping you a prisoner. Rafe hadn’t slept next with you since that first night even though you desperately craved it. Everything was a mess.

You were tired of being in here though. You missed your old self. Rafe did so much for you and you wanted somehow to repay him. You had an idea, you could cook something for him. A nice meal when he gets home from work. Straightening your back, you managed to walk down the stairs and to the kitchen.

As you fixed something to eat, you were then startled fifteen minutes later by a knock on the door. You assumed it was one of his sisters, the only two who knew you were there but you couldn’t have been more wrong when you opened the entrance.

It was Jake.

The dark look in his eye sent chills down your spine and you tried to slam the door shut but his strength easily overpowered yours. “It’s time to come home,” He whispers lowly and you shake your head.

“Never. Get out!” You screamed and tried to run but he reached for your hair. Yanking you back as you struggled, trying to grab whatever you could and stabilize yourself.

“You will never get away from me. You shouldn’t have run away like a fucking coward!” He bellowed and you clawed at him.

The attack was short lived as you felt his grip yanked off and you crumbled to the floor. You twisted to see Rafe slamming your ex to the wall, his fist pummeling into his face repeatedly. His expression was morphed into blind rage as your ex’s eyes, nose and mouth bled. You finally croaked, “Rafe! Stop!” He didn’t and you said it again louder, getting his attention.

He jerked his head towards you, nostrils flared from seeing your body on the ground. “Call the police.” He ordered and you pulled out your phone but you could still hear his threat as you called.

“If you ever mess with my girls again, I will fucking kill you. She and the baby belong here. With me. if I ever THINK I see you, I will kill you. Do you understand? You touch her and you fucking die.” You trembled as you waited for the police to arrive as Rafe held him down.

After his arrest and his removal from the home, you rushed towards Rafe, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m sorry-I had no idea he’d just show up. I was so scared this would happen-“ He quickly places a finger against your lips, stopping your tangent.

“Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” His hand drifted down but he stopped himself. He always did and this time you encouraged his hand to press against your belly.

He sharply inhaled as Jennifer kicked and you smiled. “She likes you,” You told him, your anxiety lessening as the moment went on.

“Did you really name her after Jennifer’s body?” Rafe asked, a playful tone in contrast to the earlier violence.

“It’s my favorite movie,” You laughed loudly. Rafe lowered his head.

“I like that sound. Haven’t heard it in a really long time.” His lips brushed against your forehead and you leaned into his touch.

“I thought he was going to kill me one day, Rafe. He’s gotten so close and when I saw him I was so scared.”

Rafe’s large hands cupped your face and he looked you directly in your watery eyes. “Listen to me, baby. I promised you he would never hurt you again and I meant it. I know he fucked you up but you don’t have to be scared here. You’re both safe with me. As long as you want.”

“I tried to cook for you and he showed up. I just wanted to do something nice for you,” You shrugged and looked away but he wasn’t having that.

“Stop. Stop worrying. It’s not good for you or the baby.” You smiled again and you leaned up, meaning to kiss his cheek but Rafe met your lips with his instead.

His deep kiss poured all his emotions, something he didn’t express with words and you met his pace with your hands cupping his sharp jawline. It had been so long since you’d genuinely kissed someone you cared about and you melted into his chest. Rafe’s hands dipped to pick you up, backing you both up to the living room where he had set up body pillows on the couch for you.

Your hands hold his neck as his feverish kiss consumes you, your back presses against the cushion as he hovers above you. Rafe pants and looks down at you with desperate eyes. “Princess-fuck I want you so bad but I don’t-“ You shake your head and pull him back down, sucking his bottom lip your legs separating as your panties dampen.

“I won’t hurt you?” He mumbles against your lips and you smile.

“No, baby. Never.” You promise him as he nods and peppers kisses on your neck, sucking the skin between the crook of your collarbone and shoulder.

His hands drift and he massages your swollen tits. “I fuckin love these, baby doll. You’re so pretty, making me hard all the time. Had to always take care of myself when I was alone.”

“Me too.” You whine and arch your back when he pulls down your shirt, circling his tongue around your nipple before sucking it.

“Yeah? You played with your wet pussy thinking about me, princess?” He mumbles against your chest and pays attention to the left one.

“Mhm, all the time. I wanted you to fuck me-“You confess and moan as he nips your sensitive tits.

“That’s my girl. But you’ll never have to go without again. You can fuck me whenever you want, suck me in with that pretty pussy.” Rafe pulls off your comfortable skirt and underwear, the soaked material tossed to the side as his thick fingers massage your clit. “You’re so wet for me, doll. Is this what you needed? Your mind emptied?”

You gasp and grip his shoulders as he slips two fingers inside you, curling them deep as the back of his hand continues bumping your clit. “Don’t tease me-please-“

Rafe can’t resist your pleas as he yanks off his belt, pants and shoves his boxers down. His cock slaps against his thigh as he pumps himself a few times, he brings your legs over his shoulders and slides in. “Fuckkk, you’re so fuckin tight, princess. I’m gonna plug you up with my cum, daddy’s gonna make you scream.”

You throw your head back as he pounds into you, the couch moves and your peak rises. A month of build up tension making you burst as you shriek as Rafe presses your legs even higher. Reaching a deeper spot in your cunt as you cream on his dick, his hand wraps around your neck as he fucks you through it.

“You look so pretty when you cum on my cock, princess. Never gonna let you go,” He groans and releases in you, his cum drips down his balls and pours from your cunt. You hiccup as he lets go of your throat, eyes fluttering as he continues to rock his hips.

Rafe moves your legs off his shoulders, pressing your knees together. “Not gonna let one drop escape. You are all mine, baby girl.”

You manage to let out a breathy, “Yes, daddy.” As a slight twinge of discomfort causes your back to ache, he sees it in your face and quickly adjusts himself. “You okay? Need me to help you?”

“Sorry, Rafe. I think she’s unhappy with me right now,” You laugh a little as he pulls his underwear back up and moves the pillow under your back. “That’s better,” You begin and your words leave you as Rafe dips down and presses a gentle kiss to your stomach.

“Can I talk to her?” You nod with wide eyes. Rafe clears his throat, his hands cupping your round belly.

“Uh, hey there. I know I’m not technically your father but I just want you to know that…I’m gonna take care of you and your mommy. Gonna fight all the bad guys, okay? I’m gonna be a better dad than my old man was.” His promise brings tears to your eyes and he leans up to cup your cheeks.

“I mean every fuckin word, baby. You never have to worry about that again.” You wrap your bare arms around him, your belly a slight barrier but he holds you tightly against him.

The last trimester of your pregnancy was decent with a few brutal moments. Your little girl growing in you made you feel constantly exhausted so you slept almost all the time. Rafe catered to your limits, taking it upon himself to create a temporary sleeping area in the living room because you couldn’t tolerate going upstairs. Your ex boyfriend was going to be in jail for a long time, bringing you a lot of relief enough to let you finally leave the house to go with Rafe. He went crazy with the baby supplies, going overboard but you loved his dedication.

He was also fiercely protective. He was willing to smack hands off your stomach if they weren’t wanted, or bark orders if you were feeling sick. Rafe loved reading to your daughter every night while you drifted asleep. He kept photos of the sonograms in his wallet and on his desk at work. And when your water broke, a week after your due date, he nearly panicked as he rushed you to the hospital.

While you were in labor, he was a little concerned you would snap the bones in his hands as you wailed and screamed. “I can’t do this!” You wept, sweat pooling down your face. “I swear to god, I’m never doing this again!” You yelled at him while you pushed.

“I know, baby but you can do it. She’s almost here, come on. You’re my strong girl, come on.” He coached and you squeezed his hand harder.

“If you ever get me pregnant-if I ever go through this again, I swear!” You promised in the middle of your agony before pushing harder and then the relief was immediate.

Your daughter was crying and then you both sobbed. The nurses placed her in your arms as you were speechless. She was perfect. Better than you could ever dream of. Rafe couldn’t hold it together as he was pressed against you. “That’s our girl…”You said in complete awe.

You extended her to Rafe and he cradled her gently, stroking her cheek. “Hi baby…I’m-“He choked on his words. “I’m your dad.”

It wasn’t a perfect story. It had a horrible beginning and you’d never be able to erase the memories of your past. But seeing Rafe with your child? You knew it was all worth it.

Tagging @marchsfreakshow @drewstarkeyslut @rafescurtainbangz @rafesthroatbaby @gri959 @voyeurmunson @starkeysprincess @rafeinterlude @redhead1180 @slvt4jamesmarch

362 notes · View notes

un-lawliet · 4 months

Text

“Fit For an Archon”

— in which the Hydro Archon is fascinated by you

a/n- happy pride month to all my wlw, i wrote this for us <3 im sorry for how long it is (gasp)

word count (7.1k)

You are the worst seamstress in Fontaine.

You’re sure of it.

Your hands seem to repel fabric, your needle poisoning the thread in which you clumsily stitch with and leaving you with a truly horrendous looking frock.

Chiori, bless her soul, had hired you as a a request from your Father, who, in Chiori’s defence, was a fantastic tailor, renowned for his intricate stitching and detailed attires- Truly a renaissance for Fontaine fashion.

And so when he left Chioris business, set to start his own amiss the bustling harbours of Liyue, you found yourself tucked away, working in his place for Chiori, who was currently frowning pensivly down at your work, as if it had personally offended her.

“…It’s bad isn’t it?” You state, looking intensely at your boss who chewed on her painted bottom lip, head cocked, wondering how in Tevat you were your Fathers daughter.

“It’s not…Awful” She tries, although not very well, her gaze fixed on the uneven stitching and the deplorable match of colour.

“Better than last time?” You question, a terrible sense of hope clouding your voice, hopeful that maybe, just maybe you were improving-

“No, no, definitely worse.” Chiori mutters, and your face falls.

She sticks a hand out and touches the skirt you had presented her with, lifting it up.

The seams fall and the skirt halves in her grasp, and you cringe silently, eyes closing in embarrassment.

“Hm.” She ponders, turning to stare at you from over her shoulder, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s…Meant to do that?” You try, shoulders raising in contention, only to be silenced again at the shake of her head.

“Take a break Y/N.” Chiori says, tired under attempts to support your terrible creations.

You don’t argue with her, immediately fleeing the boutique as if you were being hunted down by the God King Remus himself.

The bell on the door dings as you exit, waving goodbye to your co-workers who scoff at your exit, whispering words under their breath that you chose not to render.

You just needed to stick this job out until you had enough income to quit.

But- with the state of your designs and the even worse execution of said designs, you doubt you’d ever make enough to follow through with your intentions.

And really…You barely make ends meet as it is.

Oh God.

You kick a stone and watch as it skims across the tarmac, bouncing up and down until skidding to a stop metres before you.

You hate being a seamstress.

Making it to the manufactured river, you slump down, lazily throwing your legs off of the sides, your boots delicately touching the water surface below.

The same way they always did when Chiori sends you away.

How ridiculously boring.

Fontaine’s a-lot quieter in the evening, most people finding themselves at the Opera Epiclese to watch a spectacle, faces tinged red with excitement.

You prefer it when it’s quiet, when the streets are empty. It means you can lie backwards on the hard ground without too much judgement from your fellow citizens.

Your legs still bent down towards the water, with your back on the concrete dock, you allow yourself a breath.

You hear footsteps somewhere off to your right but pay them no mind. After all, passing judgement is only ever passing, and you’re sure whoever it is will waltz past you, giving you a confused once over before immediately forgetting your face.

You stretch one of your legs and break the surface of the river, feeling the tip of your boot soak up the water briefly, before you’re lifting it back out, shaking it gently to dry it off.

Someone cleared their throat behind you and you sign with the frustration of interrupted serenity.

Can you truly not have anything?

Pushing yourself up with your elbows, you turn your face the perpetrator, eyebrows drawn down to a frown.

You were gonna stare them out until they left you to mope at this stupid river, politeness be dammed!

It’s Focalors behind you.

Lady Furina.

Every retort resting on your tongue is swallowed up, getting stuck in the back of your throat and you choke on your words, chest heaving in shock.

The Hydro Archon stares down at you, watching your struggle, her arms crossed over her chest and a smug smile on her lips.

Her hair sways in the breeze, tickling her leg and she seems to be quite fascinated in the dress encasing your figure.

A long ruffly mess of colour and mesh with a corset that one would barely call fitting, you look like a run away mannequin, pathetically thrown together before your God.

“Lady Furina.” You wheeze, propelling yourself to your feet, dropping into a bow, your skirt following comically behind.

Why is she here? Is she not fond of the Opera house? Archons people wait half their lives to meet her and here you are face to face with God through pure circumstance.

She waves a gloved hand in your direction, dismissing your bow entirely, eyes still drawn to the fabric of your gown.

“Your..attire is quite interesting.” She states bluntly, walking two steps to the left to capture your dress from all angles.

Your face flushes, “Thank you Lady Furina, it’s an honour to be complimented by-”

“Were you supposed to be in the opera?” She cuts you off, turning her body in the general direction of the Epiclese.

“What?” You answer before finding your manners, “I mean n-no it’s my….” You sigh, shoulders slumping, “I’m a seamstress.”

Lady Furina pauses, her head lifting you look at your face, studying it with such precision that you feel yourself bite back the desire to look away.

“..A seamstress?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Oh.”

The pair of you look at each other for a moment before she throws her head back and laughs. It echoes around the empty streets of Fontaine and reverberates right into your ears.

“I suspected as much!” She guffaws, clapping her hands together.

You cock your head, confused, “No you didn’t?” You reply, unable to stop the offence in your voice.

Sure you weren’t good at your job but you liked this dress! And you were definitely not apart of any play!

Lady Furina’s laugh trails off and she stares at you, her lip between her teeth, holding back a grin.

“Tell me!” She begins again, and you shudder at the volume of her voice. “Why is it that you look so sad?”

“Huh?” You question, eyes widening in confusion.

Furina smiles, it brightens her face, before pointing at you then back to herself, “As your Archon it is my duty to right the wrongs of Fontaine, and you appeared so gloomy that I had no choice but to journey off my path to check up on you!”

Shame forces its way through your body and you shake your head, holding out your sweaty palms to face her, “Lady Furina you do not need to trouble yourself with my issues, trust me.” And you shiver against her unblinking gaze, “Please, continue on your way..” You awkwardly laugh, gesturing to the street, dying inside.

Furina blinks at you, “You don’t want to share problems for me?”

You take a step back, bashfully shaking your head, “I mean no offence…”

It’s awkward.

Furina tilts her head, studying you, confused.

She is far too use to Fontainians requesting her opinions on trivial matters so much so that the blatant avoidance from you is baffling.

You scratch the back of your hand in the silence.

Lady Furina watches you, dissecting you with her eyes, trying to go over every woe that past Fontainians had brought to her omnipresent ears.

You chuckle, trying to force her gaze off of you before you melt and join the water behind you.

“You’re not watching the play?” You say, gesturing in the general direction of the Epiclese, pleading silently for her to stop looking at you like that.

She shakes her head, closing her eyes, “I’ve seen it before, it gets quite tiresome seeing the same thing over and over again.”

“Oh”

Lady Furina grins, her opposing eyes still gracing your face as if you were so easy to figure out.

“Do you…Hate your job?”

You gawk at her.

She smirks.

Jack pot.

“I’m right aren’t I? You can save your praise, I know I’m truly otherworldly when it comes to intuition.” She fans her hand up and down at you, throwing her pretty head back dramatically.

“Must be a gift from Celestia then.” You conclude, turning away from her and sitting back down at your river side.

You’re slightly peeved at her reaction and would rather not disrespect an Archon so early in your life, so you do not face her with your glare.

“Come now.” Lady Furina says, strolling over to you, “I only joke.”

The Hydro Archon was now sitting beside you, kicking her feet in the water.

This truly cannot be real.

You sigh.

Well, if she’s asking, you may as well answer.

What’s another sinner to an Archon anyway.

“Do you ever feel trapped by the wishes of another?” You ask, defeat clouding your senses as you speak.

Lady Furina stills, but you do not notice.

“My Father, asked me to keep on his legacy in Fontaine, he’s a brilliant tailor, I mean, it’s like he was born to be one…”

You trail off, and splash your foot into the water, “And I just- I’m terrible at being a seamstress, I can’t even pretend to enjoy it because I am so utterly rubbish at it.”

She’s watching you, you can feel it. It’s as intense as your emotions, you almost shy away.

“Sorry.” You mutter, “I don’t know why I’m asking. It’s not like you have to struggle with these “mortal issues.”

You laugh bitterly in the silence of your confession.

Lady Furina’s hand slightly brushes yours and you wonder if she notices.

The pair of you sit quietly for a moment, your face growing warmer in the seconds.

You’re about to apologise again, your words on the tip of your tongue before she speaks, ripping the pages from your mouth.

“I always find it fascinating to hear how Mortals think.”

“Hm?”

“How they can voice their feelings so freely, it has always struck me.” Her voice is a lot quieter, you almost mistake her for someone else.

You glance, taking in the side of Lady Furina’s face, her soft features seem burdened, you hope silently that you were not the cause of her worries.

“An Archon admiring her subjects…” You say, slicing through the quiet, “That’s quite comforting actually.”

Lady Furina tilts her head, narrowing her dainty eyebrows quizzingly, “Pardon?”

You smile, and hope it reaches both your eyes and hers. “You care. It’s kind.”

She’s watching you again, her chest rising and falling in tandem to the gentle swish of the water.

You place an arm on your knee and rest you head in your palm, feeling bold.

“It must be lonely being a God.”

And her eyes grow wide, for a split second, before she’s blinking and resuming her facade of impassive control.

“What ever do you mean?”

“There’s no higher being to think about you.” You reply, introspection fluctuating in your words before it slaps you back into reality with a cold hand.

“Uh- Pardon me, I don’t mean to call you lonely I just-”

“It’s quite alright.” Lady Furina says, straightening up, her hair brushing your shoulder and her hand moving from yours. “You did not mean any harm.”

She moves to stand, and you watch, perplexed.

“You have the freedom to quit.” She says simply, “There is no higher deity forcing you to stay.” And she smiles, “All will be ok.”

She leaves as fast as she had arrived and you’re left alone to think.

Strange you think.

You hope you didn’t offend her.

—

When it’s not raining, the sun has a habit of overstaying her welcome.

It’s absolutely roasting in Fontaine, and so when Chiori asked if you would stay behind to finish your garment after work hours, you jumped at the opportunity to relish in the cool breeze of the back rooms.

Besides, you feel less embarrassed working by yourself, with nobody around to mock your gowns.

You flinch as you pierce the skin of your finger, watching as a maroon red slides into your palm.

You wipe it on your dress, it clashes with the colour.

“Do you always make a habit of wearing the most..peculiar garments?”

You jump, dropping your needle onto the sickly pink fabric, you wince as it falls, sure to be lost forever.

“L-Lady Furina?” You gasp, turning your body towards her, your dress swishing in your movement as you try pathetically bow your head in her exuberant presence.

“Yes “tis I.” She replies, her arms opening dramatically but her eyes stay focused on your choice of apparel. “Honestly.” She muses, “It’s no wonder they keep you back here…”

Lady Furina glances around your cluttered work room, taking in the flurry of vibrant coloured ribbons dripping out from their boxes, half finished corsets falling apart at their seams and the tatttered fabric unevenly pinned to a mannequin standing just inches away from her.

You step in-front of her, your eyes wide as you try conceal her vision of your failures, a sheepish grimace on your face.

“Um, we’re closed today, it’s only me in- uh how did you get inside-”

“I am the hydro archon.” Furina’s voice booms out, the exaggerated drawl making you cower away from her slightly, “I merely walked in.”

“I thought I had locked the door?” You questioned, taking a step back from her.

“A locked door is no enemy of mine!” She laughs, regarding you with a look oozing with pride, her chest puffed out and head raised.

“Right..” You mumble, picking at the skin on your fingers, nervously swaying back and fourth.

Your fingers are adorned with pricks from your needle, they would bleed should you continue your childish picking, yet you persist, unable to stop your absentminded jittering.

Lady Furina watches your movement, satisfaction appearing to glow in her eyes.

“Now!” She exclaims, wondering over to the only empty surface in the room, an old blue chair, faded with age.

“I need a new ribbon for my hat.” The chair creaks when Furina sits, crossing her legs and staring at you expectantly.

You think the chair isn’t even worthy enough for you to sit on, let alone the God Of Justice.

“I can..Write an order down for a ribbon for when Chiori returns?” Your voice trails off, thwarted by the dull look she regards you with at your suggestion.

“No, no, no!” Furina shakes her head, her actions reminding you of a child, “I want you to make it!”

“I beg you pardon?” Your eyes widen, and you glance around, taking in all your terrible, terrible works of fashion.

“Me?” You breathe, “Lady Furina, if I may- I clearly lack the talent to create anything, let alone something in which an archon should wear.” You hands shake slightly as she stares at you, willing yourself not to blink or look away in her ever present intensity. “You know this.”

“But I demanded it?” She cocks her head, reaching up to take her hat off, outstretching her arms to look at it intently.

Her hair falls down, it cascades down her shoulders like water and you hold yourself back from counting the waves between each strand, instead choosing to look away.

Ribbons are simple, you remind yourself.

You’re not entirely deficient in the art of fashion, you’re just…Well- you’re just you.

“So?” Furina says, her voices drags you from the inner monologue whispering in your ear, she pushes the hat in your direction, twirling it so you can view its simplicity from every angle.

Your clasp your hands together, head tilted like a dog.

“I’m thinking.. here.” Her finger rests on in the space between the crown and the brim, “A blue ribbon thats doesn’t blend in with the rest of the hat but adversely will not stand out…”

You nod, it’s curt, Furina smiles, it stretches her face and she all but glows, cheeks flushed.

“You’ll do it then?”

You scratch your arm, and sigh.

“It will look horrid.”

“It will look like it was made by you.” She replies, sweetly, her voice like the silk in which she adorned, you take a second to truly feel the implications behind her words and suddenly feel yourself become quite bashful.

Your heart ticks within your chest and like clockwork you reach your hands out for her hat, avoiding her gaze.

“A blue that doesn’t blend in but also doesn’t stand out?” Your voice is whispered, trying to act assertive but failing all the same.

“Indeed, a ribbon fit for an archon!” Furina appears to get louder the more she reminds you of her status, you cringe at her volume but turn so she does not see.

“I’ll try my best.” You hum, glancing at the box you pathetically labelled “Ribbons”.

You reach out and touch the cardboard confines, pulling it towards you and shuffling some fabric under your finger tips.

Red, yellow, green…the most hideous shade of pink ever- Dear God did you supply this?

Furina sits, twirling a strand of her hair as she watches you, taking in the chaos of your dress and your work space respectfully.

You really had such a unique flare to you.

Your dress was terribly put together, fabric seemingly falling off the skirt, which, in Furina’s opinion, was much too puffy for an average day at work.

When she leaned closer, she could see how the seams were pathetically stitched together, a bundled mess of experimentation that clearly did not work, the sheer fact she could see the stitching was enough of a sign to tell her that you had made this dress yourself.

Furina raises a hand to cover her the genuine smile that ripped across her features.

You truly were fascinating to observe.

“You chose to stay here then?”

You look back at her, a small frown on your face.

“Yea.” You say simply, “It’s just easier.”

She scoffs.

“What?” You reply, indignantly, “I’m still getting paid.”

“You’re staying for the money?”

“I’m staying to save up the money.” You retort, “As soon as I have enough I am gone, you’ll see.”

Furina laughs, you can help but feel melodic, almost sad.

You don’t know what else to do, so you smile, watching as Furina breaks eye contact immediately, coughing into her glove.

“I hope I do.” You hear her say, and you try to ignore the giddy sensation that seems to course through your veins and into your heart.

—

“Lady Furina what an i-interesting bow.”

“I know, I know! Isn’t it just fabulous.”

“It’s um rather…big?”

“Yes? Is there a problem?”

“N-no! I was merely voicing that-”

“If there is no issue then I must bid you farewell. I have a meeting with a most important diplomat, I assume you have already placed the pastries?”

“Yes Lady Furina…”

“Good.”

—

On days when you aren’t in the boutique, you write to your Father.

You write pages upon pages of frustrated scribbles, voicing your resentment of his craft and the comparison to your own, writing furiously about how much you wish to be freed from your job and allowed to travel with him to nations far and wide.

In the end you send none of it, opting instead to write false truths about how honoured you are to work in the darkest parts of his shadow, and how gracious you are for his talents.

You lick the envelope seal and pop it thru the post office window, smiling softly at the old lady behind the glass.

It’s raining in Fontaine today, dark clouds pulsing in the sky, above you, soaking the fabric of your skirt.

It always seems to rain after a trial.

You shake your head. Damn, you should have brought an umbrella.

When you pass by a group of children you hear their yells, pitiful pleads of; “Hydro dragon, hydro dragon don’t cry!”

And you smile and whisper it under your breath as you look to the sky.

Your thoughts circle back to Furina, you hadn’t seen her as much, especially not with the growing fears of the flood of Fontaine.

You wonder if it’s true, wonder how she’ll solve it.

You have faith in her, you think.

There’s no way you’ll drown before you can leave to travel.

There’s no way Fontaine’s Archon would let you all perish under the power of Hydro when she herself is the embodiment of the element.

You have faith.

—

There’s nothing you truly dread more than presentations to the Archon and her people.

And there’s nothing you hate more than how Champvallon, who was standing in for Chiori due to her endeavours in Inazuma, was currently mumbling under his breath at your choice of dress.

You had been running late, quite literally, the ends of your dress stained with dirt, dying the pale blue fabric brown and green.

“You’ll have to stand in the back girl.” He grumbled, his moustache dipping slightly into his mouth, pushing your shoulders and making you move behind your fellow seamstresses, grey eyes pinched into slits as he chastised you.

You heard one of your coworkers giggle from behind her hand, whispering to another about your ill fashioned garments matching your deplorable creations of fashion.

You bit your tongue and glanced at the wooden floor beneath you.

She isn’t wrong, you think, thank Celestia that your tailoring would never see the light of day.

Lady Furina and her entourage enter the room moments later, you think Furina appears to glow and wonder if your eyes are playing tricks on you, or if this is some strange phenomenon one achieves when becoming an archon.

You shake your head and join your party’s collective bow.

You and Furina had grown closer, although, the margin of closeness was confined between her passing by the boutique window and waving in when she saw you, smiling cheekily as she took in your plethora of dresses that just appeared to get more ridiculous with time.

You had begun to crave these moments of seeing her, positioning yourself closer to the window, as to ensure you did not miss her.

You don’t understand why.

Maybe you just liked to see her smile.

…“Lady Furina, we at Chioriya Boutique thank you for allowing us to present our garments for you today.” Champvallon declares. You cringe at his sickly sweet voice that deepens in tone as he continues his speech.

The man behind Lady Furina is Neuvillette, you’re sure of it. High and mighty, his stature as impressive as his title.

And under your breath you repeat the pronunciation of his name, dragging out the syllables from under your tongue.

Lady Furina allows a moment to pass before she prompts, “Ah yes! Only Fontaines best is suited for your justice party.”

The presentation from the boutique takes hours.

Furina catches your eye a few times, and smiles, it’s subtle enough that you almost believe it’s not aimed at you. Ignoring the flutter of your heart everytime her eyes meet your own.

The final designs are being brought out when suddenly you see a creation that makes your heart drop.

Sitting on a cushion, is a broach.

An ugly, bedazzled broach that you were sure you had thrown out.

And it was being carried over to the justice team by a worker who stares at it confused.

“And here we have a broach for the Archon herself.” Says Champvallon, who is still yet to turn his head to view your horrendous work.

You’re paralysed, hands shaking trying to think of a way you can remove the jewellery without causing a scene.

“We hope you adore it as much as we adored making-” Champvallons voice trails off and he looks at the cushion, his eyes widening as he finally see’s what he’s presenting.

You hear the party behind Furina collectively stop their idle chatter and stare.

Everyone looks.

Nobody says anything.

“And who is behind the creation of this…thing?”

You want to die. Truly.

Your heart is in your throat and feel sick, raising a trembling hand as you step forward, your eyes stuck to the ground.

You’re sweating, palms clammy as you take a breath, preparing to be fired in-front of Lady Furina and her circle. Shame appears to drip off your brow and onto the crevices of your cheeks.

“It was me Sir.” You mumble, your voice weak, “But it was an accident I swear!”

Looking towards Lady Furina, you bow your head, pleading silently for her forgiveness, “I never meant to offend.”

“You foolish, troublesome girl.” Hisses Champvallon, his eyes narrowed as he walks towards you.

You bite your lip, and apologise profusely although you know it will not matter.

“Lady Furina.” Champvallon says as he reaches your side, plastering an ugly smile on his furious face, concealing his bitter dissatisfaction.

“I will send someone immediately to retrieve your actual broach, please, hand that one over to one of the maids, I will dispose of it as soon as possible.”

“No need.” Lady Furina says, halting the conversation instantly with a raise of her glove covered hand.

She glances at the miserable looking broach and then towards you, you hold her gaze for a moment before she smiles, recognition flickering across her decorated eyes, finishing her examination of your face.

“I’d like to keep it.”

“Lady Furina?”

Holding the broach in her hands, she raises it to her face, almost as if fascinated by the shameful stitching and the odd colour scheme.

“Lady Furina.” Champvallon stutters, moving away from you, “Your kindness knows no bounds b-but surely you would prefer something a little more..well pleasing to the eye?”

You stare at the back of his head as he leaves your side, counting the freckles on his neck to steady yourself.

“It’s unique, it’s different, Fontainians are known for their eloquence, and I as the God of Hydro must always be challenging these trends.”

Furina peers over her hands to stare at your boss, a dainty eyebrow raised.

“You wouldn’t dare to challenge an Archons will, would you?”

Champvallon splutters, his face warming to a putrid red, his arms rising up as if pleading to surrender.

“N-No I merely thought that-”

“Then it is settled.” Lady Furina laughs, leaning back in her chair and glancing at you.

In your daze, you barely register the tiny wink she sends you way, eyes too focused on the way you broach was now sitting snug, amongst the fabric of her outfit.

It stuck out like a thorn grips the side of a rose and you grimace.

It was ugly, inarguably so.

Neuvillette clears his throat, eyes sweeping over your trembling figure.

“It was you who made this?” He ponders, head tilted slightly.

Your eyes snap to his, and you nod, it’s clumsy and awkward and you hate yourself.

“Um, yes your Honour, I made it.”

“It’s very interesting.” His voice is light, as if trying to filter out the tension pulling the conversation to a standstill, “The yellow and the pink are an unusual yet unique combination, very bright to the eye.”

You breathe out a small smile, as Lady Furina nods her head. “Yes, yes, indeed.”

“Thank you Monsieur Neuvillette, Lady Furina.”

You’re bowing again, chastising yourself for never taking the time to learn how to properly bow for an Archon, and then you’re leaving, hands still shaking, but head lifted just a little bit higher.

Furina doesn’t see you leave, too busy tracing the colours of her broach, smiling down at the terrible stitching as if it were weaved in silk and gold.

The presentation finishes with an awkward finality, with all eyes subconsciously darting down to look at your broach on Furina chest, wondering what in Fontaine their Archon was thinking.

—

You don’t know how, but Lady Furina had became a regular in your life now.

Always managing to catch your eye when you’re walking the streets of your home land.

Popping up randomly behind you just to greet you before leaving.

It appeared she worked in patterns, as if she was use to working by a routine.

You almost assume she appears there on purpose, it’s always far too convenient for it to be by chance.

“Y/N!” You hear one day, you’re sitting outside enjoying your lunch break as Lady Furina approaches you.

You hear a bustle and suddenly Fontainians are flodding the streets, clamouring over to her, crowding her.

You smile as she appears to soak up the attention, flaunting her hands in every direction, acknowledging everyone, one by one.

The people don’t seem to think about the prophecy when Focalor herself is before them, too busy trusting her with their lives to care.

You catch her gaze after a moment, and she puffs out her chest, as if trying to impress you.

Your heart aches.

You blink.

…That’s a strange feeling.

“Now now, my faithful subjects.” She begins, “I must take my leave now, I have very important business to attend to!”

You hear the groans of her people, as they beg her to stay, but reluctantly they remove themselves from her and walk away.

It’s just you and her now and she gestures for you to follow her.

You grow nervous, knowing there are watchers.

You hear them whisper behind their hands, hear them questioning why the “crazy girl from the boutique was the centre of the Hydro Archons attention.”

You cringe, but follow her anyway, your steps timid under eyes.

You think you’d follow her anywhere, but that could just be your adrenaline talking, your heart thumping within the confines of your chest.

“Lady Furina,” You say when you reach an empty alleyway, away from the eyes of Fontaine.

You pause, taking in the cracked bricks in the surrounding walls. “This is…Well- I’ll be honest it’s creepy.”

“Huh.” She says, turning to face you, “It’s more private no?”

“It’s a dark alleyway.” You deadpan.

Furina laughs, taking your hand in a wild moment of humour.

Dear God you hope you aren’t sweating.

“Never fear!” She declares, “As long as I’m here, nothing can harm you.”

Her words draw out a feeling that you don’t allow yourself to delve into, choosing instead let her hold your shaky hand without pulling away.

“I never got to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

You blush.

“For saving my career the other day.”

You see Furinas eyes move, as if trying to recall.

“Oh! The showing.”

You nod, “Thank you for…being so kind.”

You smile at her, and her eyes drops to your teeth in one fast, graceful motion before travelling back to your eyes.

“Always.” She replies, as if it was the simplest concept to her, like washing your hands or falling asleep.

Your face is on fire.

Gods your hands are definitely sweaty now.

Lady Furina shakes her head, as if pulling herself together.

“Now! I’m inviting you to tea.”

What.

“Sorry?”

“Tea. With me, together.”

“No, no I-I got that.”

She smiles, “So?”

“Why in Teyvat would you want to have tea with me?” You question, hope blooming in your chest, overpowering your habit of avoidance.

Furina stills, her face filled with confusion that you don’t get.

“You don’t want tea with me?” Shadows seem to cover her face, and you pull your hand from hers to frantically wave them in front of you.

“No no! Don’t misunderstand me! I’d love to, oh my God there’s nothing I’d enjoy more it’s just that-”

“Just that what?”

“You’re an archon?”

Furina frowns.

“What does that have to do with anything? I’m asking you to join me as a friend, not as an Archon.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

You know of your less than extraordinary appearance, and the simplicity of your life. You know that imagining anything more with an Archon is a fantasy so baffling that it even embarrasses you.

But you still can’t fight the disappointment resonating in your chest at the stupid word “Friend”.

Furina doesn’t seem to notice your deflation, instead probing you for an answer. Her hand reaching up to hold your arm, tugging you closer to her.

There’s a hopeful, cheeky look in her eye that you think could persuade even the most hellish of Demons to stand down.

“Well? You’ll join me?”

You sigh, and try to throw on a smile.

You feel like a puppet, your grin has to be ugly, repulsive, even so, you maintain it with cracked continuity.

“Sure.”

—

What does one wear to a date visit with an Archon?

You hate everything you own.

You almost rip your nails off in frustration after the fourth attempt to dress yourself fails.

This is terrible, everything is terrible.

Archons why do you own such ugly clothes!

You hear a knock at your door, and you jump, lifting your head to see Chiori staring at you, her unwavering gaze filtered with confusion.

“Chiori?” You ask, trying to hide the mess of your room.

Or well, her room, saying you were technically leaching off of her house until you could save up enough money to move.

She raises an eyebrow, a silent question of your antics, and you sigh.

“I have nothing to wear.”

“Hm.” Chiori responds, her lip going between her teeth as she takes in the mess of your clothing.

“And since when do you care what you wear?”

You scoff, offended.

“I always care!”

“Right…”

—

You think Chiori was sent by Celestia.

No really, you do.

Especially now when you’re twirling infront of your mirror, admiring her artistry on your body.

“It’s beautiful Chirori.” You whisper, your finger tracing the delicate stitching, enamoured by the sheer amount of detail on your gown.

“It’s hardly my best.” She replies, batting your hand away to finish the seam, “But all my other work is being used for the Fashion festival.”

You grin.

“I get the leftovers then.” You say cheekily, daring to wink at her.

Chiori shakes her head, “You get what I feel is right for you, and this…” She gestures to your dress, “Does look beautiful on you.”

Thank you Celestia you repeat in your head, Thank you for finally giving me a break.

—

You meet Furina at the Palais Mermonia.

She spots you as you walk in, and beckons you to a room across the hall.

Tiny Melusines greet you, and you smile at them, reaching down to pat their little heads.

Furina stills as she takes you in, fully looking at you.

“You look different.” She states, and you stop your movements entirely.

“You’re dressed…” Furina trails off, and your face warms.

“Nicely?” You finish, a teasing smile on your lips, “For a change?”

She shakes her head.

“You always look nice, it’s just jarring to see you wear something so well fitting.”

Her eyes trail along your figure, and you flush, your mind unable to comprehend your compliment.

Furina suddenly pulls herself out of her trance and smiles, putting out a hand for you to take.

“Never-mind that now!” She beams, “Desert time! Come, come!”

And you’re alone with Furina, your hand in hers.

She leads you over to a table adorned with confectionery to last over a hundred life times.

“Do you drink tea? Or would you rather Fonta?” She asks, turning her head to glance at you, and you rip your eyes away from your conjoined hands.

“Uh, tea, tea is good.”

Lady Furina looks at you, her eyebrow raised, “Alright, sugar?”

“Huh!!?”

“Sugar? As in, do you want sugar?”

“Oh! Yes of course!”

You pause, and Furina continues to look at you.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you taking sugar?”

Dear God, how are you so pathetic?

“Yes please.” You say silently, embarrassment morphing your face, forcing your head to fall to look at the floor.

Furina sets your tea in front of you, before pulling a chair over to sit next to you.

She watches the way your body seems to shrink in on itself, you hand fiddling with the loose fabric of your gown.

You nervous, and Furina scowls.

She doesn’t like this.

“What’s going on hm?” She asks plainly, and you restrain yourself from jumping at her forwardness.

“I-I’m sorry?” You attempt to delay, taking a sip of your tea, burning your mouth.

“You seem..off.” Furina says, her voice slightly drawn out, a frown on her features. “Have I done something?”

“What? No! Absolutely not you haven’t done anything…” You stammer out, a fake laugh breaking the barriers of your teeth as you try to compose yourself.

“Then why-”

Your eyes dart around the table, choosing to make eye contact with the bread than with her.

“It’s just a lot like wow I’m having tea with a God!”

Furina stirs her tea slowly, her eyebrows furrowed.

“I thought we were past this?”

“Sorry?”

“You seeing me as a God?”

You blink, and Furina takes a sip of her tea.

“You..You are a God though, you’re my God?”

Furina thinks the tea turns sour in her mouth.

“Technically, I suppose so, but I believe us to be friends?” She sets her cup down, and looks at you, her cheeks slightly red. “Am I mistaken?”

You clamour to explain yourself, your arms reaching out as if trying to slow time, ignoring the painful tug of your heart at that stupid word again.

“N-No of course we’re friends!” You stammer, “It’s just…Well I-”

“Then there’s no reason for you to be nervous.”

You nod.

And then something happens.

Something switches.

And suddenly Furina isn’t merely looking at you,

She examining you.

“Unless.” She starts, and you feel a truly dreadful sinking feeling within your chest.

“Unless there’s..Something else bothering you?”

And every facial expression you display is analysed before you, every twitch of your eyebrow, the way your eyes widen and the way you seem to stop breathing.

Furina leans forward, an emotion so humanly desperate flickering across her face.

An emotion she is yet to understand.

Your lips part and you truly do not know what to say.

It’s foolish, to ever consider yourself worthy to share a reciprocated love with your God you remind yourself bitterly.

You’re confused, anguished, disheartened by her referral to you as a friend and yet, you do not know what to say.

So you clear your throat.

And breathe in.

“I do not know what you mean Lady Furina.” You whisper, and it’s wrong, wrong, wrong.

And Lady Furina waits only a sheer second, before she’s leaning back in her chair and raising her head.

Somethings off.

“Then let’s us drink together as friends.”

You could swear then, that Lady Furina looked human.

You would stand trial on the fact that you saw her deflate with disappointment in the most mortal like way. You’d swear an oath.

But then you blink and the Hydro Archon blinks back.

And you’re sure you were mistaken.

—

There’s rumours in Fontaine.

There’s rumours everywhere, this isn’t a new concept to you.

But this is different, this rumour makes your blood freeze in your veins.

You heard it after you walked home from the boutique, a group of local Poisson men whispering under their breath.

“Lady Furina isn’t Fontaine’s Archon.”

You pause, turning your head as subtly as you could, creeping closer as to listen to their words.

You’re not a silent stalker and so they see you immediately.

They glare at you as they leave and you’re left confused as they made their way back to Poisson.

The next you hear of them, they’re dead.

Dissolved in the rising water.

You throw up when you see their faces in the paper, along with the heading “Fontaine’s Archon Fails Her People.”

You have faith.

—

Your faith dies with your Archon on the day of her trial.

You don’t go, you never go to trials.

But you know the happenings as if you were there to witness.

You find yourself running towards the Opera Epiclese, tripping over your own feet when the words “Death Penalty” reach your ears.

It’s silent.

Oh so silent.

And then the rain starts, and the tides grow.

And you can’t make it to the staircase of the Epiclese due to the water filling your lungs.

You’re drowning.

Screaming out bubbles of prayers to an Archon that isn’t yours.

Betrayal wrecks through your body and you’re drowning.

You’re drowning.

—

Furina cries on her watery throne.

Mourning the loss of her people, her home, her facade.

She thinks of you, briefly, thinks of your face, your clothes, your eyes.

Letting herself smile gently, she allows her tears to wash away her role.

It was nice to play a God.

If only she could save them.

—

You’re nervous.

You keep pacing back and fourth, pathetically trying to figure out a way in which you can knock on the door of Furina’s house, and speak with her like humans.

After the flood, you found yourself bed bound, your lips tainted blue and breath engulfing you so vigorously that you coughed until your eyes stung red.

The man who saved you kissed your hand when you woke up, crying out that he thought you wouldn’t make it.

You smile at him and thank him.

“I owe you my life.” You had whispered.

Lady Furina was no longer Fontaines Archon.

Gone into a state like hiding from the public, terrified of their outrage.

The nurse that cared for you, informed you of as much, recounting how the Iudex Neuvillette had saved Fontaine, saved you.

And you cried when she left you, tucked up in a hospital bed, weeping over the unknown.

You can’t face her. You conclude.

Not because you didn’t want to but because you had absolutely no idea how to begin.

Would she still regard you with such kindness despite you knowing everything?

How do you convey how you feel for her, when you truly do not know who she even is?

You heart sinks to your stomach and you walk away, hands dropping to your sides. Forcing yourself to move on, and to let fate guide you as far away from Fontaine as it could lead.

You hear a door open, but don’t make the connection until you hear your name being called from behind.

“Y/N!”

You freeze, glancing over your shoulder timidly, staring towards the very God woman you had grown so fond of.

Staring at you humbly on her doorstep.

“Lady-Miss Furina.” You reply, your hands trembling and voice shaking, turning to face her fully.

Her cheeks were flushed as though she made her way to the door in a hurry, eyes narrowed and yet you could not see a trace of annoyance in the depths of her pupils.

“You-” She starts, breathless as if realising that her action of following you would lead to confrontation for the first time, “I saw you.” She pointed up to her arched windows and your face flushes, mortified.

Of course she had.

You say nothing, trying to think of an excuse, anything to dissipate the tension you feel in your bones.

“…You weren’t going to come in?” She questions, her voice small, unbefitting for a woman who use to bellow to the masses with the unfiltered confidence of a Deity.

And you stare, and stare and stare . Your eyes moving over her face, her attire, the stupid bow on her hat.

You’re utterly speechless, profoundly so.

Unable to say anything of value to the woman in which you swore that you-

Furina sighs, her shoulders dropping, hat slipping forward on her head.

Taking your silence for resentment, she accepts your unfettered anger as atonement for her sins.

“I see.” She mumbles plainly, turning to go back inside her house.

And it’s said with such bitter regret and vile disappointment that you find words spilling from the confines of your lips, desperate to call her back.

“I quit.” You frantically say, voice meek.

And Furina stops so you continue.

“Working for Chiori.” You clarify, taking a step forward.

The sun appears to intrude on your conversation, the early morning light presenting itself from behind the brazen buildings of Fontaine, eager to listen.

It makes her complexion golden, the blue strands of her hair, now short, appearing to glow in its wake.

Furina opens her mouth, then closes it, shaking her head defiantly before he’s facing you again, and you’re so close yet so far.

“I needed a change.” You whisper, and she appears to lean closer to hear you, to read the way the words fall from your lips.

You don’t know why this is the first thing you wish to discuss with Furina.

There’s countless other things you could spew, the mirage of questions you have resting in the back of your throat, the confused, recount of events, yet you chose to say none of it for sake of talking about yourself.

You’re selfish, perhaps cruel, but God you just wanted to talk to her.

Furina looks at you, her eyes wide, the sun catches the blue and draws out the sparkle as she looks at you. You drown.

“I’m…I’m glad.” She whispers, “You hated it there.”

“I did.”

You step towards her, keeping your hands still, resting at your sides limp.

“You-” You start, clearing your voice, terrified to overstep, “I mean- Did you hate being an Archon?”

Furina doesn’t move, her cheeks painted rouge with the mention of her role.

Then slowly, subtly, she nods, once up and once down. You almost miss it.

You smile, your eyes crinkling trying to express your endless empathy through one look.

“Then I’m glad you stepped down.”

And Furina wants to kiss you.

She feels it in her mortal soul, amid the beautifully soft way you voice your smile, the desire to be human with you and to make you hers.

She breathes and you watch.

“I’ll miss your silly clothes.” Furina sighs, and you giggle.

“I still wear my silly clothes.” You bite back, and she shakes her head before moving a finger along the underside of your jaw.

“You’re beautiful.” She says, and you take her role of silence, stunned.

Furina lifts her hand, and places it on your cheek, looking down avoiding your eye. “And so boundlessly fascinating.”

“I can’t quite explain it I just-”

You cut her off when you kiss her.

Breathing in her confession and replacing it with your own.

Two mortal souls intertwined as one on her doorstep.

She responds by pulling you closer, trailing her hand to the back of your head and smiling against your lips.

You’re not a seamstress and she’s not an Archon and yet, in this moment that’s okay.

Everything is okay.

feel free to leave a request!

Masterlist <3

artwork credits

A/N- when i say i have been wanting to write this for MONTHS i mean it- i am just so BOUNDLESSLY sick of wlw fics being fetishised and the lack of like a good wlw comfort fic in any character x reader was bothering me ! so thank u to anyone who gives this a try and reads it ! i appreciate you so so so much !!!

ALSO when i say the reader’s fashion is strange or unflattering I HAVE BEEN OBSESSED with insane 19th century dresses so i made a collection of outfits PSA when i say she (the readers) fashion is questionable I MEAN IT <3 i imagine my lovely little failed seamstress makes her own clothes from time to time bc although she’s not good at her job, she still enjoys being creative

if ur interested i made a post of her outfits here :)

thank u so so so much for reading i love u i love u i love u

#furina #furina x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #nuevillette x reader #genshin smut #genshin fluff #hurt comfort #hydro archon #wlw post #furina x female reader #AHHH

287 notes · View notes

aussiepineapple1st · 5 months

Text

Overwhelmed with love.

#aussiepineapple1st #ghoap #soap #ghost #call of duty #modern warfare #whump #fluff #comfort #hurt comfort #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish

311 notes · View notes

comfort-questing · 3 months

Text

waking up a sick or hurt character... hesitating by their sleeping form, because maybe for once they're almost peaceful, or maybe they've taken so long to reach sleep in the first place. but in the end they have to do it, to help them drink water or take medicine, or maybe to move them from their place to somewhere safer or more comfortable. so they regretfully, gently shake their shoulder or run a hand over their sweat-slick forehead, speaking in a soft voice, soothing them in their dazed drowsy confusion. it's all right, just a moment, I'll let you rest again in a moment.

#hurt comfort #whump #sickfic

638 notes · View notes

creativepromptsforwriting · 11 months

Text

Hurt/Comfort Dialogue Prompts

Part III

"We will get through this. Together."

"You can hold my hand, if it makes you feel safer."

"It will become easier. Maybe not today, but soon."

"Lay your head on my shoulder and try to sleep."

"There is nothing wrong with needing a bit of help."

"I'm here for you. Today, tomorrow and every day after."

"Please trust me to help you."

"Thank you for getting me through this."

"I'm really hoping to see you smile again soon."

"Nothing a good night's sleep can't fix."

"Show me that bruise please."

"I'm taking care of you now."

"Do you feel safe enough to come with me?"

"Let's dry those tears and get you some water."

"I'm going to be here when you wake up."

"This will all soon be in the past."

"Can I please hold your hand?"

"Sorry, I'm being so difficult for you."

"Don't apologize for needing help every now and then."

"Let's get you in the shower and we'll take it from there."

Hurt/Comfort Masterpost

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee or become a member! And check out my Instagram! 🥰

#writing inspiration #writeblr #prompt list #creative writing #writing prompts #hurt comfort #writing ideas #writers on tumblr #dialogue prompts

3K notes · View notes

tinalbion · 2 months

Note

heard you were looking for some Logan Howlett requests. What if his significant other was a human ouija board. Like maybe they can talk to dead people or even possess others. What would be Logan’s initiation reaction when they first met and how did they get together?

'𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲' ||

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Logan Howlett/ The Wolverine x gender neutral!Reader

𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞! Canon typical language, angst, feelings, some self-hatred (typical in mutants), softness, slight fluff, some comfort

𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡: 5k

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: Ahh this was such a fun idea, anon! I was very excited to do something like this considering I have a character who can do similar things to this reader, so the inspiration was easy peasy~ I hope you enjoy it💙

Also thank you Tumblr, for having the WORST handle for quality ugh. Making gifs for them to suck is the worst feeling, if anyone could help me in figuring that out, I'd appreciate it!

The first day you arrived in the mansion was one you would never forget, and no one would let you either, that was for sure. You’d managed to find out way almost halfway across the state to get to the mansion for gifted youngsters, and though the name had you fooled, you were given a place to stay and it made you feel as if you belonged. All walks of life walked the halls, some with incredible powers, while others had some that were questionable, but they were all amazing in your opinion. You would sit there in awe whenever a student would demonstrate their abilities, secretly praying in your mind that no one asked about yours, but naturally, all of the mutants were curious to see what other people like them could do.

You sat back, being one of the older people who were welcomed into the mansion, but Charles Xavier told you that there had been all walks of life in these walls, one of the mutants there being well over 150 years old. You thought this was incredible, knowing people of your kind could have prolonged lives, though the thought to you was terrifying.

“Could I meet them?” you asked him with excitement.

Charles chuckled and looked at you, seeing how hopeful you looked, though he wasn’t sure what kind of mood that particular mutant would be in. “That is a question I don’t know the answer to. You see, this particular mutant is a little…”

“Bitchy?” Scott said as he walked by with a playful scoff.

Charles sighed. “Touchy. We’re looking for ‘touchy’, Scott.”

“Sorry, Professor,” Scott said playfully and gave you a wave. “Hey, new kid, nice to have you here.”

“Thank you!” You said, your tone overly kind. You wanted to fit in, you knew it would be hard to do what with what you could do.

Whenever someone tried to shake your hand, you shook your head and smiled apologetically. “Sorry, can’t,” and you’d drop it there. Thankful people just assumed it was your power and didn’t try to press it, so you would continue with your day.

But the day you met the Wolverine was a day that had you rethink everything, especially being there in the mansion. You were a freak among freaks, even your parents wanted nothing to do with you, but after being in the mansion for several days, that’s how many of them felt. Classes had let out for the day and you were looking for the Professor to speak with him about how to further control your powers when you finally met him, or well, ran into him. The Wolverine.

You stopped yourself just short of running into him and gasped as you stared up at the man, his gaze menacing as he glared down at you as you gathered your thoughts and the books you almost dropped to the floor. “Shoot, I’m sorry, uh, oh!” You realized who it was, the infamous moody mutant.

“Mind watchin’ where you’re goin’, kid?” He snapped as he took a slight step back.

You almost caved under that pressure, your eyes widened and you looked at him in surprise, too stunned to say anything back. But it wasn’t due to his cold response, it was because of the woman you saw behind him. They all looked the same in general when they weren’t properly connected; ghastly pale, almost see-through with an inhuman luminescence. The woman behind Logan had smiled kindly at you and looked almost pained at the man she stood behind, there was a sadness in her eyes as her long, brown hair hung in ringlets and her dark eyes looked sunken in, sad.

You stood frozen to the spot and stared past Logan, but he thought you were terrified of him and had the same reaction when everyone got too scared of him, so he brushed past you, making contact against your arm as he pushed past you.

“Oh no,” you gasped as the woman was suddenly within you, taking over your body, pushing you back into your consciousness as if she were in the driver's seat. She stumbled into your body, not having a hold of you very well, her motor functions slightly off.

“James?” the voice from your body asked, her voice different from yours.

Logan stopped and spun on his heel to glare at you with a look of pure fucking anger, but his eyes widened, the look of fear etched into his face as he was standing face to face with his mother, Elizabeth. He was taken off guard, he couldn’t find his voice, and all he could do was stare at the woman before him.

“M-Mom?” Was he dreaming? He had to have been, he was still in the school as he stared at the long-deceased woman, he wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep or how long he was out…

The woman whose eyes seemed to glow despite being dark had reached out for her son, that looming sadness forever etched into her face. Her emotions seemed melancholic yet terrified, she wasn’t at rest and seemed to never have been at rest. “James, that’s you, my little boy..?” Her hand was still clasped to the man’s arm, her grip tightening. “Why… why did you have to be like him?”

Logan refused to move, staring at the woman as if he were in a trance, a never-ending loop of pain and suffering. “Mom, I-I…” His words fell short as he tried to push away these complicated feelings, these harsh emotions in which he buried. The face his mom wore the night he discovered his mutant ability, the night he killed his father… Her face haunted him for a long time.

“How could you kill your own father!” she wailed.

Charles had been coming to search for you but stumbled upon the scene and acted fast. “Logan, get her off of you!” He called out, and Scott had been walking with him, so he bolted toward you to tear your grip from Logan.

“Professor, what’s going on?!” Scott called to him as he yanked the strange woman by her shoulders, and suddenly, the person in his grasp was you.

You were gasping as you collapsed to the floor, your eyes wide with a thin layer of sweat coating your face. You hoped no one would ever have to figure out what your power was, but the one person you hadn’t formally met, the one many of the others warned you about, he had to be the one you went and probably pissed off. You lifted your head to search for him, and he was still there, much to your surprise, but his expression was not good, he was definitely pissed.

“Logan, I’m sorry-”

“What the fuck was that?! Huh?” He stepped closer, wanting to act out on impulse, on that boiling anger as he stared down into your scared, wide eyes. You trembled in fear of him truly acting on his animalistic urges that you could see reflected within his eyes, but once he caught your expression, he mellowed -only slightly. “What did you do?”

“I’m so sorry, Logan, I wanted to-”

“Logan, this is our new student, they came here in need of help with their powers. You’ve had it demonstrated firsthand, but they can see and speak with people who have passed on, and if they have physical contact, the spirits can use them as a conduit and speak for themselves.”

Logan looked from the Professor and then back at you, but you couldn’t read his expression, was it fear or disgust? You couldn’t tell as he suddenly straightened up and turned off, walking away from you all, leaving you feeling even more sick to your stomach than when you first arrived.

“I’m so sorry about, as I’ve said, he is a being of a complicated nature, give him time and he might warm up to you. He’ll understand.” Charles smiled up at you and clasped your shoulder, not afraid of the consequences. “Come now, we should get to our lesson.”

You looked back at the man who stalked off down the hall, and the overwhelming sadness you felt from the rejection had been a huge blow to you. But this was why you needed this man’s help, you never wanted to do this again unless you meant to do it.

You couldn’t be afraid of the ghosts anymore.

The months passed and Logan had barely stuck around to give you a second glance whenever you’d catch each other in the halls, but Charles assured you he was just still very raw about the nerve that was touched. He felt emotion on a strong level and didn’t know how to approach the situation. You had tried to believe that Charles meant well and that maybe Logan would give you a chance to explain yourself, but you hadn’t gotten one.

So you trained, you tried to take the feelings you had and channel them into learning how to use this power, and you definitely could be of some use around here instead of scaring the hell out of the rest of the students and staff. Charles had you train with Jean and Rogue sometimes, so that’s when you found your ‘mutant’ name, your code name, as the rest of the students called it. ‘Planchette’. It was simplistic, maybe a little silly, but it stuck with you and conveyed what you could do. Charles smiled when you told him the name, and he figured if you were happy then that’s all that mattered.

“Alright now, onto the next lesson,” Charles instructed. “I want you to channel this power without having to feel overly emotional, see if you can will it to happen, alright? And don’t become discouraged if you can’t do it right away.”

You had done what you could during each lesson, and each time you focused, the stronger your ties to the afterlife had become, and a lot of the spirits who would normally surround you had begun to help you with these powers. Some would lend you what power they had for your attacks, which developed rapidly, while others would assist in possession. You no longer stuck with possession of your own body, but could use the helpful spirits to possess others, which initially meant being able to use others for their powers in case things went south.

After a long session, you just wanted to rest and eat, but it had been later than dinner time, so everyone had already eaten while you shuffled into the kitchen, but to your surprise and discomfort, Logan was already in the kitchen. His eyes met yours and flickered away instantly, focusing on the bottle of beer in his hand. How he got beer in here without the kids finding it was a wonder.

“Hey Logan,” you greeted with a simple wave. He just nodded and barely looked at you, so you continued to remain halfway across the kitchen as you shuffled around to look for food.

The man took notice of your careful steps, your attempt to remain as invisible as possible now that he was in the same room as you, though some part of him appreciated the lack of annoyance, there was that side of him that considered you ignoring him was also rather annoying. Did he frighten you that bad that night? It sure as hell didn’t help that he walked out of the room whenever you were there, trying not to see the eyes of his mother as you looked at him. The way you looked at him was maddening.

“Leftovers are in the fridge,” he said simply.

You turned to look over at him and offered a small smile. “Oh, thanks,” you said and walked toward the fridge. You heated a small plate of food and grabbed a drink, then stood in the center of the kitchen, afraid to join him at the counter, but you had nowhere else to sit, he’d have to manage. You took the seat furthest from him and began to eat small bites, your eyes managing to catch glimpses of him until his eyes met yours, causing you to look down, now feeling the fear of being caught.

“You know,” he said with a heavy sigh, his finger tapping the side of the bottle, “I know you couldn’t… control yourself that day.” He wanted to apologize, he felt shitty for how he treated you because of something that was out of your control, but it took him a while to form a sentence that wouldn’t sound downright rude. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You looked up from your plate and placed your fork down, looking at him with a cautious gaze. “I should apologize,” you replied. “I tried to avoid it altogether, but sometimes when my emotions are too high, it can take over… I didn’t mean to upset you, Logan…”

Your discomfort was obvious to him as he looked over at you, staring at you in curious interest. “It’s fine, just… try not to make a habit of it,” he grumbled in his typical way, pushing away any true feelings other than mustering up the perfected resting bitch face.

“Charles has been helping a lot with that, actually, and I can control it… mostly. Sometimes I can’t if the spirit’s energy is too strong.”

Logan looked across the table at you and stared for a moment. “So that really was…”

“Yes,” you confirmed his suspicions, “that was your mother… Again, I’m sorry, I know my power is… inconvenient.” You didn’t want to cut yourself short at all, Charles had made sure you didn’t, but you couldn’t help the feeling of being a burden whenever someone would come into contact with you.

“And it happens when… you’re feeling strong emotion,” he said slowly, as if trying to understand how your power worked.

You nodded and offered a small smile. “I was nervous, scared, it’s all been a lot being here, getting used to being away from home. Then almost running into you, it was a lot all at once and my barriers broke.”

He sipped at the bottle in his hand and watched you quietly for a moment. “I get that.”

His replies were short and sweet, but you didn’t mind, you knew he was a man of few words, so maybe he’d listen now. “Look, Logan, I won’t make this a habit because it’s not my place whatsoever, but your mom… I could feel sadness and conflicting love. She loved you despite being scared, I don’t know the details and I don’t mean to pry, but it’s a message I wanted to pass on… She loved you, she did. She may not have conveyed that in the end, from what she’s told me, but-”

“Enough,” he snapped with a hand raised, signaling for you to stop. “That’s enough.”

You stopped, your eyes wide, afraid you’d upset him again.

“I… get what you’re tryin’ to do, but it’s fine. I buried that a long time ago. It’s done.”

You nodded in response and sighed. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, Ghostie, just… warn me before you do it again.” He grumbled and sipped at his beer.

You both remained in the kitchen for a little while and had some time to talk, got to know each other a little more, and that’s when you wanted to curse all those who told you Logan wasn’t worth the time. You sat there, gazing at him when he didn’t seem to notice, smiling at the way he face rarely change, but that faint smile he made when you said something funny or relatable was noticeable to you.

The rest of these people were fools; Logan was something special.

After that night in the kitchen, he didn’t outright avoid you anymore, though he was quiet most of the time as if deep in thought whenever you were around. Could you blame him though? Having to see his dead mother in over one hundred years would shake anyone who hadn’t seen strange things on a regular basis, but the hurt in his eyes spoke enough to you that he wanted to avoid a situation like that again. So, no hand-to-hand combat for the near future until you knew you had everything under control.

And you trained endlessly, even when Charles almost begged you to refrain, you wanted to get better and not have to worry about another situation like that ever again. At some point, you’d spoken to Rogue, another mutant who couldn’t touch anyone around her without doing something awful, but she envied you in a way, seeing how easy you had it. But because of the similarities, you bonded in a way, and she enjoyed your company whenever she had some downtime from her own training lessons.

Today you had both promised to hang out to have some time out by the fountain to talk about life, boys (mostly Bobby), and the occasional mission debriefing, but today she had seemed a tad off. Not in a bad way, mind you, but she kept looking at you with an impish smile, your eyes narrowed as you saw the smile she wore.

“What are you smirking at?”

“Oh, nothin’ much,” she hummed softly as she paged through some of the notes you’d written about your training lessons.

You kept a journal of sorts to keep track of your progression, and you wrote down anything that may have been of some use to remember for later, but you also tended to scribble things or random notes on random blank pages. You wondered if there was something that sounded silly or incoherent to her until you peeked over to see a sloppy sketch you’d done of Logan. Your eyes widened and you snatched it from her grasp as she began to laugh giddily at your reaction.

“Pretend you didn’t see that, besides, that was an awful recreation,” you mumbled as you slid the journal back into your bag.

Rogue just shrugged and watched you playfully. “Oh, I don’t think it looked bad at all, seemed almost too good,” she teased. “So, got a thing for Logan, huh?”

“N-No!” you squealed, laughing at how ridiculous it sounded, but only because it was coming from someone else’s mouth. “I mean…”

“Hah, I knew it!” Rogue giggled at your reaction and knew she had you cornered. “So what set it off, Ghostie?” Using the nickname Logan gave you was a low blow.

Your eyes narrowed and you shot her a warning glance. “Oh my gosh, stop calling me that,” you snorted out, laughing hysterically. “And that is well, I always thought he was handsome, obviously, but we got to talking and we’re actually cool I think?” you said with a tone of uncertainty.

“Okay, and now you’re all sweet on him?” She asked with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

You groaned and shook your head, completely stuck on how to answer her. “Rogue I did not bring you out here to grill me about my non-existent love life,” you mumbled and stuffed your books into your bag, making sure the journal was buried in the bottom.

“Well, we are friends, ain’t we? I talk to you about Bobby all the time,” she pointed out.

“Oh, I didn’t notice,” you said sarcastically with a smile, grabbing your bag as you stood.

Rogue watched you, confusion etched into her features. “Oh, we done already?” She asked, sounding disappointed.

You shrugged and smiled softly. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back later, hopefully! Charles trusts me with a small mission, so wish me luck.”

Rogue had walked you back to the mansion and prodded you for all the details of the mission, smiling as you both walked past a group of students while you told her what details you knew. As you looked up toward the Professor’s office, your eyes widened a little as you saw Logan leaning in the doorframe, speaking to the man. Rogue nudged your side while she held in a giggle, smiling wide.

“Oh, hey Logan!” Rogue called out obnoxiously louder than normal. “Your boyfriend is here~” She teased quietly.

You sunk within yourself and groaned as you spun around to bid her goodbye, your face betraying the forced kindness in your voice. “See ya later, Rogue, I hope to see you later so we can chat more,” you said disingenuously as you glared daggers at her.

She just giggled and waved. “Buh bye!”

You turned back to see Logan and Charles staring at you, the obvious flutter in your stomach was almost too much to ignore as you entered the room, feeling Logan’s eyes on you. “Hey Professor, hey Logan. So, about that mission…”

Charles smiled warmly and nodded. “Afternoon, Planchette, I wanted to debrief you on your mission, and I have to insist you bring a seasoned X-Man with you, and I suggested Logan. He said he had no qualms if you don’t.”

Your eyes widened at the thought of hanging out with Logan on a mission of all places, and your heart couldn't be beating any faster. “Oh,we-well that's great, what will the mission be?” You asked with a large smile on your face as you tried not to get distracted by Logan’s presence.

“He has me running errands?” You asked aloud to yourself as Logan drove. “This is what I’m subjected to? Errands. Wow.” You leaned your head against the glass and sighed in frustration.

Logan just scoffed and shook his head, his gaze focused intently out the window. “What, you expect to leap into danger the first chance you get? And then what, throw what talent you have away almost getting killed?”

“I wanted to do something useful, to prove myself,” you muttered.

“You are, Charles is giving you a hell of an opportunity right now just being out here with me and not babied by an entire team, like Scott,” he scoffed. “But there are always dangers in something simple as ‘running errands’ as you so graciously put it.”

You sighed again and groaned, knowing what he was saying was true, so you turned to him and gave him a face since you had to admit you were wrong. “Yeah, you’re right, sorry… I just… I wanted my powers to actually do something positive instead of make people hate me.”

“No one hates you, Ghostie,” Logan assured as he looked over at you, his eyes stuck to the disappointment etched onto your face.

The look you gave him when you turned to look over at him was priceless. “I was pretty convinced you did,” you chuckled softly.

Logan’s brows furrowed at you and he couldn’t hold back the scoff. “I don’t hate you, you just… threw me off is all, hasn’t happened since, either. Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah, guess you’re right.”

“For someone your age, you sure are clueless, ain’t you?” He grumbled with that sardonic grin.

“If you only knew,” you huffed and shook your head. “But I am glad you don’t hate me.”

Logan peeked over at you, his smirk growing wider. “Is that why Rogue called me your boyfriend?” He asked.

You’d never shot up so fast with your face flushing in embarrassment. “W-What?” You asked, unsure if you heard correctly.

“Oh you know, what she said to you outside of the office,” he pointed out.

You swallowed the lump that grew in your throat and looked back out the window, hiding your face. “Ah, yes, that, just teasing me is all, nothing to worry about!” You said in a higher tone than you wanted, waving off any accusations with a nervous smile. “I was teasing her about Bobby, so she got me back. Anyway-”

“Is it true, then?” He asked, once again, his tone playful as he avoided looking at you while he drove. “Wanting me to be your boyfriend?”

You weren’t sure how to look at him after he asked that, wondering just how much damage it would cause to what you two had built since that first day in the mansion. You weighed the pros and cons and there hadn’t been many cons in your mind, but despite everyone warning you of the ‘animal’ that he was, you weren’t sure you could see what they did.

As your mind was processing his question, Logan mistook your silence for embarrassment and he just chuckled. “Sorry, did I pick on you too much, Ghostie?”

“What if… I said yes. How much would that completely screw up our friendship?”You asked as you suddenly turned to look at him, his eyes met yours briefly as he drove, but went back to the road.

It was his turn to remain silent now, thinking about the weight of your question when he was just trying to tease you. In all seriousness, there was that ‘what if’ scenario that played in his mind, and even then, would he allow himself to feel that warm feeling that he sought out? Jean proved to be a real heartbreak, her dedication to Scott was almost nauseating, but he always respected her choice, it was her choice. But you? You weren’t her, no, you were something completely different and you never lived up to anyone’s expectations but your own. You’d fought hard to make a place for yourself in the school, you worked your ass off, and you proved yourself to Charles.

“I’d say… that it wouldn’t screw anything up,” Logan finally replied, his head turned slightly to look over at you with an almost stoic face.

The smile that grew on your face was one of a lovesick idiot, but it was one of the best feelings in the world as you sat here in the car with him, and you had to be sure to thank the Professor when you got back from running your errands.

When you arrived back at the mansion, you ran straight from the Professor’s office and then straight back to your room, needing time to process the words Logan had spoken to you in that car, thinking you were hearing whatever it is you wanted to hear. He had sought you out after you both got back, but you needed this moment, you needed to think. By the time you’d barricaded yourself in your room, the mansion was getting quiet, about time for the others to get to bed. Finally, some peace.

Your back was pressed against your door, you leaned your head against it, and let out a sigh. “Why am I running?” You asked yourself. “He’d just leave, shove me away like they did...” The mere thought of your parents caused your stomach to feel uneasy, you hated thinking of them and the faces they made when they found out what you were capable of.

A gentle knock on the door startled you and caused you to jump. “Hey, Ghostie, it’s me.”

Your hand was shaking as you reached to open the door, and you peeked out to see Logan standing there in his light grey hoodie, staring down at you. “You okay? You took off runnin’ as soon as you left the office.” He wouldn’t admit that he was worried, not quite yet, but he had to see for himself.

You nodded, unsure of the expression you wore, but you offered a small nod. “Y-Yeah, I’m good,” you told him.

He searched your face and huffed. “Bullshit. What is it? Did I say something? Was it what we said in the car?”

“No!” You gasped. “Well, yes, sorta… You see, my… powers may have been worked on, but, I’m scared to…hurt you again. I can’t do that again.” You stood between him and the door, but you weren’t sure if you should have moved.

Logan didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so he stared at you through the opening. “Ghostie, can I come in…?”

You hesitated but nodded after a moment and stepped aside to let him in. As you stepped off, you closed the door behind him and remained silent as you averted your gaze, afraid of anything that was to come of this moment, afraid of the rejection and disappointment you’d been so familiar with. “Seeing the dead isn’t natural, Logan,” you said softly.

The man sighed and looked down at you, wanting to embrace you in a moment of comfort, but with your high emotions, he didn’t want to trigger your power to burst through again. “Look, I never said this was gonna be easy, but I was bein’ serious back there, you know.” He held up his hand after waiting a moment, staring at you, expecting you to take it. This was him showing that he trusted you.

With a deep breath, you sighed and reached out slowly, allowing yourself to calm your nerves as you set your palm against his, your fingers wrapped instinctively around his. You both stood there, breaths stilled as you looked at one another, waiting for something to happen. When it didn’t happen, your body visibly relaxed as you let out a deep breath, your smile growing wide across your face.

“See? Nothin’ to be worried about, give yourself more credit.”

You continued to smile up at him and nodded, knowing he was right. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry for not trusting you sooner, I just… I never want to see you look at me like that again-” The way you could recall his face as he stared at you like some sort of… freak that first day, it haunted you.

Logan took a bold step closer and gave your hand a gentle squeeze, showing you that he was there, that he had you. “Ghostie, that was before everything, okay? I… I’m sorry.”

You nodded your head, smiling softly up at the man who seemed to surprise you around every corner, and you couldn't help but feel the way you did for Logan. “I'm sorry too,” you replied. “So, does this mean you really wanna hang around the Sixth Sense kid?” You chuckled and tilted your head to look at him, eyeing his softened gaze.

Logan couldn't help but chuckle as he released your hand, wrapped his arm around your shoulders, and pulled you into a half hug. “Good thing ghosts don't scare me much.”

232 notes · View notes