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pedge-page · 6 months

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Insatiable

Part 3/Finale to Cravings and Crash

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Summary: Frankie and reader spend some time apart before realizing that’s actually really stupid—and solid communication happens for once :)

Notes: it’s finally HERE! Thank you all so much again for your words of praise and keeping with these two absolute idiots in love. Honestly intended the first one to just be a one-off drabble throw away thought, but I’m glad everyone enjoyed it so much to ask for more! I’m spitting this out earlier than expected. Don’t know if I’ve done them reasonable justice but this is what I’ve got—hope you like it!

Warnings: unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampies, mentions of m oral, pussy eating king returns, cum eating, missionary, doggy, cowgirl, overstimulation, fingering, squirting, bit of possessive and jealous Frankie, mentions of drug use, drugs present, language

18+ ONLY

- - - -

You had cried when you got in your car. And again when you went to your cousin’s house to crash until you signed your new lease. And then again every night for a week straight.

You had NEVER cried this hard over a boy before.

Except this wasn't some boy—this was Frankie. The guy who comforted you through all your dates that stood you up, and shitty boyfriends, albeit few, that left you feeling less than worthwhile. The same Frankie who stood around you like a guard dog when you went drinking together so no one would even think to slip something in your cup, but who YOU have to comfort during horror movies because he's a big scared kitten. Who lets you sleep on his shoulder for five hours in the car no matter how uncomfortable it was for him, never once moving, but still ate the food you didn't like off your plate "because he's a garbage dump who'd eat anything, even mold."

The first guy to tell you that you were beautiful when you weren't even trying to impress him. Who brings a hair tie with him when you go to eat because you always forget yours and get your hair caught in your fork. Who pushed you to take charge of your life and break up with your loser first love, and it was the hardest and best decision you could have ever made.

And you know what? The ONLY guy who made you cum 9 fucking times the FIRST time he went down on you.

You called Santi that night because you needed to let loose, and the only other person you trusted to hold you up outside of Frankie was Pope.

“So how is he?” Santi asked, as you immediately double fisted your first two shots.

"I don't wanna talk about him tonight."

Santi nods, eyes widening as you don’t even resist the bitter taste going down your throat. He holds his finger up towards the waitress to order 4 more glasses.

You really didn't want to think about Frankie. The more you thought about him, the more confused you felt, and you couldn't afford to be confused about your purpose in his life right now. You knew battling addiction isn’t a linear healing process. That it would get worse before it got better at times. You're his friend. You're helping him. That's it.

Frankie spent a whole year being physically intimate with you, but never once asked or made a move for anything more emotionally. So why let yourself get carried away even thinking about something more?

To even consider if you wanted more...

You snatch the shot glass out of Santi's hand right before he was about to sip it and catapulted it down your throat, the burning sensation taking your mind out of the gutter.

Fuck Frankie for not keeping his shit together. Fuck him for being hot and cold. Fuck him for using you when that's exactly what you’re here for.

It's much easier to keep it all that way. Easy to encourage him with sex to avoid overthinking his intentions. Easier to constantly verbalize it, knowing he won’t deny it, as a means of reassurance to yourself.

But absolutely fucking HELL he’s being so difficult lately. The sex—wasn’t just good. It was fucking phenomenal. you could physically see how much better he was just moments afterwards, even if you were blacking out and falling asleep not too long after. He was so hungry for it too, why deny? But he’d been holding back too much now—getting too tense, crashing, then stressed again. You needed to get things back on schedule with him so he’d be happy again.

And gentle, nurturing, innocent, sober you just wasn't doing the trick for him anymore.

You barely hear Santi over the pounding in your head: "When we was the last time you got laid? You need a distraction from your Fix-a-Fish hobby."

You gulp down the last of the vodka on the table, suppressing a slight burp.

"I'm 'bout to do both tonight."

That was 4 weeks ago. You didn’t achieve either that night.

Fish didn't seem too upset when you left, ultimately making the choice much easier. You looked so fucking stupid walking in there, basically demanding sex from him when he made it clear all year that you were only there for HIM and not the other way around. He didn’t want you like that.

Good. Makes staying friends that much easier.

Or it did, for a little while.

You couldn’t get over the way he made you feel when all was well—when he’d serenade you so easily in affection like Querida, Carino, Hermosa, and you could barely contain the butterflies in your stomach each time. You had never once heard him even refer to his dates or ex girlfriends in the same manner. It was both confusing and arousing. He treated you like a best friend some times, but adored you like a lover more.

Hadn’t the man heard of friendship boundaries? Aside from the fact he made you orgasm every minute of the day, what was Frankie like as a lover? What more could he possibly do to cross that line?

Who the hell treats their friend like that?

That last month, however, felt more realistic. Grounded in the truth of your relation. You didn’t realize how much he had gotten to you with sweet words first that made the change in his attitude so unbearable.

You wanted to go back to being selfish with his unbridled love.

You hadn’t gotten off in over a week, a new record. But as you lay in bed, conjuring any and all pornos, audio eroticas, pillows, aching fingers, even the dusty vibrator still wrapped in its new plastic, nothing was getting you to that same addictive feeling that Frankie gave you every single day.

You should have called him to return his shirt you had accidentally packed in your bag in a haste to get out of there. But it still smelled like him. You felt perverted getting wet just by holding it in your hands, but it was doing the trick, and finally you could touch yourself without additional lubricant assistance.

All the memories that tumbled from then on only made the ache between your legs worse: The first night, Frankie between your legs, begging you to let go so he could force more orgasms from your shaking body. “Doing s’good for me, cariño. Give me more, fucking starving” ; when he held you in his lap as you grind down on his bulge, his head buried under his shirt that you were wearing as his lapped at your nipples, “Don’t you dare hold back those beautiful moans, wanna hear you singing when I’m devouring you”; when he’d come home from work and didn’t say a word, just grabbed your wrist and lead you to his bedroom, lied on the bed, slapped your ass a few times to get you to straddle him higher, higher, until you were right over his lips. He didn’t even wait for your hesitation, immediately bringing your hips down and crashing his lips on your pussy, shaking his head like a mad scientist at work, hell bent on discovering what makes you cry faster.

You pulled your fingers away from your slick cunt. No amount of memory would compare to the real thing—and it wasn’t all the acts that you needed, but the intimacy, the familiarity that came from Frankie—THAT’S what always sent you over the edge.

It scared you.

Santi was half right. You did need to get laid. Needed someone who wasn’t Frankie to remind you that you don’t rely on him for some shit like getting off (although you had developed a keen preference by now). You needed a new hobby that wasn’t thinking about Frankie all the time. YOU needed a distraction.

He was half wrong, however, because you knew very well that you’d be drowning in lame date after lame lay a million times before you got over the addictive feeling of being around Fish this past year.

It never felt like a chore. Well, obviously, you were getting ate out like a Sunday brunch. But it was everything else that made you want to keep staying around, even after he maybe didn’t need you anymore.

You realized then that leaving was the best for you and him. You had somehow managed to score a date tonight, the first one in over a year, with a James. Or Jonathan. Or Jimmy. Something J. I think.

I’m excited. I’m going on a date. I’m going to have fun. I’m excited. Im going on a date. Im going to have fun.

You didn’t even have the care to shave tonight before you begrudgingly left for dinner and a movie.

He couldn't say it then. Frankie remembered so vividly the image that he wishes he could forget: you standing there, so meek and vulnerable, spilling your tears as you tried to level your emotions with your feelings and confront the fucked up situation he put you in. Maybe if you had screamed, yelled at him and cussed him out for being such a dick, then he could have told you how he truly felt.

He was always better at being shouted at by others from being in the service. The guys would let their tempers soar and just shout, honesty tumbling through like a flood, and then everything would be out on the table, and shit would get DONE.

The apartment is unforgivably quiet and cold.

He's noticing little things you left behind: your nice moisturizer, expensive shampoo, a paper towel holder. He thinks you’re mocking him by leaving bits of you around his place, so he collects them in a bin and waits for you to come retrieve them. But you don't contact him for the first week.

He starts to think maybe you left those things for him. You bought all these things while you were here, forcing him to use them with you:

"Your face is as dry as a desert; you need moisturizer, not body lotion.”

"You can't use a 4 in one hair and body wash!"

"Who the fuck doesn't have a holder for their paper towels?"

It wasn't all just sex when you were here. He remembered coming in to the bathroom when your feet were soaking in the tub, and you explained you were rubbing your calluses off your feet. He joined you, sweats pulled up above his knee as you held him down to get the stone on his crusty feet, the whole time laughing and squirming because it tickled too much. He fell on his ass in the tub desperate to escape your strangely strong grip around his ankle, getting his clothes all wet.

And despite how well he had known you even before your arrangement, he continued to learn new things about you. Like you took night showers, and could only go to bed with your hair in braid. He'd come to see you, agitated in his room all morning, waiting for you to finally wake up so he could distract his craving. He’d walk into the kitchen where you were already cooking him breakfast, slip his arms around your hip, and pull your braids out lovingly to smell scent of your shampoo waft off in waves, closing his eyes and feeling his jitters dissipate, instantly calming him like no other remedy.

Found it funny that you couldn’t use a regular spoon for cereal, always replacing it with a tea spoon because the other ones are “too big” for your mouth to fully close around. A sentiment he suspected to be a load of BS when you had no problem swallowing his cock whole and then gulping down his cum without spilling a drop.

Or when you got red sauce all over the laundry and had to borrow Frankie's shirt to sleep in. He liked that you smelled like him, that it draped over you so pretty, and you'd never wear pants underneath. He'd put you in his lap and make you hold the shirt up with your teeth, showing off your perky tits. His thumb circled your hip bone, large hand clasping your waist to keep you upright while he'd kiss your nipples, and then make you both look down and watch as he rubbed his fingers through your folds, sucking the juices off as he finger fucked you over top him.

He can't help but feel his twitch of his cock stir in his pants at the thought.

Ok. Maybe the sexual parts were a big part—how could they not be? That’s all it was, at first. And he was able to pretend like it was too. But the more time he spent with you. The more time he got to really know you, live with you, breathe you in, unravel you and bind him to you so that you had no sanctuary untouched by him, it was all over before it began.

He sat down with Pope a week after you left:

“You look like shit.”

Frankie grumbled, shrugging it off. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten like he used to when you were around. His beard was growing in more patchy and less manicured than before.

“Have you talked to her since?”

“Don’t wanna talk about her tonight.”

Jesus, a broken record with these two, Santi thought. But he knew Fish much better, knew the exact reason why he called him out instead of all the boys together is precisely because he needed to get this off his chest. “She thought you were stressed, needed time. Clearly she was right.”

Frankie’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding so hard that he could form diamonds.

Santi cleared his throat, twirling the ice in his glass casually. “Course, I didn’t tell her you’re head over heels in love with her. Why didn’t you?”

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t think he could again. “Imagine how that would have gone? She was crying right there. Right in front of me, BECAUSE of me, after I’d treated her like shit for weeks until her breaking point. Would have given her some fucked up idea that that was my expression of loving her. If I’d said it then, she would never have believed me. Would have ruined everything. Including our friendship.” He pauses, staring down at his rough hands. “She deserves better,” he said weakly, more to convince himself than anyone else.

Santi leans back against the booth. He’d heard the Frankie pity train before, but this was much lower than usual. “And friendship is still good enough for you?”

“I’ll take whatever she’ll give me at this point. I can’t lose her.”

“You can’t? Or don’t want to?”

Frankie thought about that for a while. He had realized too late he didn’t actually still need you. He hadn’t really “craved” cocaine like before. He no longer needed you tending to his every reaction, overly serving his necessities and desires, always a few steps away to brighten his smile, or warm the house with your laughter, your cooking, your terrible taste in movies, all for the sake of keeping him sane and sober.

But damn it all, he still wanted you.

Frankie goes 4 weeks of the hardest withdrawal of his life. You were right, he was getting better at not thinking about cocaine. But without you here, he's more agitated than before. It's not that he craves it now, but rather craves a substitute to get him through your absence.

He's itching for his phone, for the number of his dealer he should have blocked and deleted so long ago.

He shouldn't. It would devastate you. You'd think it's your fault because you weren't here to distract him, only making the whole lie he’s been telling himself that you could still be just friends more abundantly evident. Pushing that useless tale even further, rooting it in your mind.

In truth, it is your fault that his entire happiness is now emotionally and physically tied to you, but he can't really blame you for leaving him since he's the big idiot. He had the entire year to make it right, damned be the consequences of your possible rejection.

He’s clenching his fist at his sides, debating whether to text his dealer. He doesn't even want that shit, at least not the way before. He just wants a distraction from the real aches that you've left behind.

And if he did... wouldn't you come back to him to make it right?

You’re so clear in his mind that doesn't even struggle, doesn't hesitate as he pays the money and carries the little pouch in his hands. He gets back to his apartment with vigorous haste, slamming the door behind him, and sits it on the coffee table, staring.

Even if you don't come back to him, getting just a little bit high would help take his mind off it all. He'd be able to stop thinking about you, even for just the night. Just to get some sleep.

Just to stop feeling.

He shakily tries to undo the tightly sealed bag, but few particle traces catch in his finger tips from outside the plastic, and he instantly wafts the infinitesimal scent of it on his finger tips. He stops, feeling something he's never felt before when staring down at the thing thats caused him so much trouble in his life:

Disgust.

You considered calling Frankie a million times, but how soon was too soon? Would he think you were just desperate to get ate out again? Would he deny you the second you wanted to see him, thinking it was just a booty call again? You had made some stupid choices, like going on a shitty date with a guy you weren’t even interested in, just to get over Frankie, so that you could avoid thinking about how badly you had shattered your friendship.

And going right back to being his friend, which included sharing one of your reckless decisions you make on your own, was one of them. He’d be interested in hearing about it, right?

You dial him up quickly.

You rock back and forth on your heels, unable to sit still.

The phone rings out to voicemail.

He’s never missed a phone call from you. Not even at 2am on a work night. He's never on his phone, and yet still always managed to answer your calls even if it’s on the last ring.

He's just avoiding you again. It's fine. Santi said he'll get over it eventually. That you’ve done enough worrying for him, and need to take care of yourself for a change.

You glance at the key he gave back to you, and not even a moment later, are soon slipping on shoes and heading out the door with it in hand.

You unlock the door and slowly walk in to the familiar layout of Frankie's apartment. It's entirely dark, curtains drawn save for a small crack in the shades. You call out his name tentatively, the eeriness of the place making you anxious. When you see the bathroom light on and door slightly ajar, hearing the rushing sink water running, you sigh relief.

Thank God.

You gently push open the door. "Fish?" You see him, heart skipping a beat at how much thinner, paler he looked now than before, eyes sunk from lack of sleep.

His eyes light up when he sees you, and your heart breaks at how different he looks but STILL has the brightest, softest, loving smile at you.

Your eyes drift down, smile fading, horror quickly overtaking your face at the unopened baggie of white powder sitting at the sink. And his face drops at the realization.

You take one step back, unable to close the gape in your lips, petrified. "Fish—I—holy fuck..."

You had never seen him doing it, never seen him freshly blown high from it. The closest you ever got was what the boys would tell you, or seeing the long aftermath of his crash. They were always first on the scene and quite frankly, ensured you were never the one to find in him these states. You had never been able to mentally prepare to have to handle it now.

"No—no no no! It's not, I didn’t, I didn't! Look—ok it looks like I did but I swear I haven't touched it. It’s still sealed! I’m. I'm dumping it down the toilet."

You don't trust his word, seeing as the bag is here, albeit fully wrapped up, seal unbroken like he said. But here, nonetheless. With him. In front of you with no denial that it was his.

He gets on his knees and wraps his arms around your waist. “Please don’t leave me. I didn’t want you to leave the first time…”

“And it’s taking you being high right now to admit that?!”

I’m not high, seriously. Check me.” You peer down closer, and aside from his rampant heart beating against your leg and big round eyes, there’s no trace of smell or lingering white powder anywhere on him. But you’re hesitant.

“I bought it but then realized It wasn’t what I really wanted…”

He licks his lips quickly, his brown eyes pleading up to you, biceps flexing against your ribcage.

Your chest is pounding, the encasing feeling of Frankie refusing to let you back away making you feel like a trapped rabbit.

“Please believe me,” he breathes.

"Your eyes are dilated as fuck Frankie!"

"That's because of you!"

You both hold your breath, a pregnant silence ringing in the air.

“I—I’m. Um. I meant." His eyes trail off sheepishly as a warm blush takes over his face.

He stands up, rubbing the back of his head. He can tell you’re patiently waiting for him to get over his blubbering awkwardness so he can explain properly. To find the words he’s combing his brain for. And find them he did:

"I miss you, Querida.”

He breathes slowly, time catching up and suddenly stopping.

You glance toward the bag, still fearful that he had gotten to this point while you were gone. “Frankie. I’m—I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. For your needs—“

“I don’t need you to fix me. I haven’t craved that shit for a while, still don’t even now. I just wanted you here with me.” He snatches the baggie and chucks it in the toilet, immediately flushing it.

You want to say that might not be great for the plumbing, but Frankie’s hands are on yours, holding them securely to his chest. “I just want you. I should have said it before you walked away. Should’ve said it a year ago, when I knew I didn’t want to pretend this was just some—some drug replacement.” He goes quieter. “I didn’t want this to be nothing. I thought when we had sex, maybe you’d feel the same, but you didn’t—”

“I was afraid about what would happen to you If our dynamic changed, Fish. I was worried it was just another high. So I tried to make things go back to how they were since it seemed to be working so well for you before,” you rambled. He can see the shininess in your eyes, feel how your body is no longer resisting him and instead, cradling his neck with affection, empathy, nurture, all the things he’d been depraved of for weeks. “But then it made everything worse and I didn’t know what to do—“

He cut you off, as if suddenly things didn’t line up. ”Why did you come back?"

You lick your lips, eyes unable to meet his. “Well I called, and you didn't answer. And I wanted to check up on you, and tell you... um—I mean I always tell you about… I went on a date, my first one in over a year."

Frankie's eyes blankly drift lower, down to your feet, his arms retreating. He takes an awkward step back. "How... how did it go?" He asks slowly, feeling the distance between the two of you growing again.

You throw your hands up in the air, unable to express yourself. “He was…Handsome. Funny. Charming. Paid for me, made me feel pretty, treated me real good—“

He nodded, unable to bring his eyes anywhere else but back to the back on the sink as he listened. “S’good. That’s what you deserve,” he says, jaw tensing.

“Yeah. Yeah it is what I deserve.” You pause, here goes everything. “Except the whole time, I hated the fact that he was nothing like you."

Frankie’s attention darts back to you as you cup his scruffy face in your hands. "You're irritable, and sassy, and needy and clingy, and you pout when you don't get what you want. And you don't listen to me or stop when I tell you to stop—“

A roasting fest? Now?? “OK, That's, Jesus, I get it—“

"And I love all those things about you.” You hold his gaze, feeling his breath seize in his chest. “And I miss being here. I miss waking up with you every morning, and your smug face being the last I see before I go to sleep. And it took me until after I left to realize how I actually felt about you. This whole year with you has felt like this perfect—“

"High?"

Your brows furrow shyly. “I didn’t want to put it that way, for obvious reasons. But fuck it. Yes. I don’t—I don’t wanna let that go.”

His fingers tense around your waist, almost begging you to say it, spill it out for him and don’t hold back ever again.

“You got me addicted to you, Francisco."

You aren't aware of how fast he moves, his hands grabbing your neck as he smashes his lips to yours. Your heart is beating out of your chest when he sucks every breath from you, barely separating from your lips to utter "I've waited—so long—for you—“ He hoists you up on his waist and brushes out of the bathroom with your legs wrapped securely around him, his kiss hot and full of passion the entire time. "Wanted you since you first let me have a taste of you.” He slams you on the bed, the familiarity of you two being in this exact situation settles on you. “Wanted you to want me. Want more.”

He continues to engulf your lips with his, his moans vibrating against your tongue. "I shouldn’t—“ he hastily bites your lip with a grunt “—shouldn't have pushed you away—treated you so bad.” He pauses his assault. “I was so scared you didn't want me like that. Couldn't handle pretending I could be okay with it.”

You place your hands on his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart matching yours. "Frankie, I want you."

"Good," he smiles, leaning up to remove his shirt over his shoulders. You whine at the sight. Draping himself over you, his lips never leave your body as he kisses down your chest then back to your lips. You’re unable to bring yourself to action as his body dictates both of your moves.

You feel his bulge pressing painfully against your core, eliciting an obscene moan from your throat. "Frankie—Let me take care—“

"No. Fuck no. I'm taking care of you tonight. And tomorrow, and every fuckin’ day after," he growls.

He kisses you once again but then slowly backs away. "Um, if... if you want that."

He feels your hand tangle in the hair behind his neck as you bring his face back to yours, teeth clashing for dominance. "I want it," you whisper, sucking his lower lip and biting it possessively.

His jaw hitches. “Prove it."

You unbutton your pants, taking his large hand and guiding it down your panties in haste. His digits make contact between your folds, the two of you sighing.

"Oh f-fuck. You want this, don't you?"

"Want you so bad, Frankie. It fucking hurts.”

His fingers dont leave your dripping cunt, spreading your slick around your swollen clit. His other rips your string underwear off with incredible strength. He then helps push your shirt over your head, and you immediately unclasp your bra. Frankie growls lowly at the sight of your perky breasts bouncing from their release. "Fuck, I missed these.” His mouth wraps around as much fat of your tit he could before biting, making you lurch.

“I—I’m not gonna be slow—I wanted to—“

"Jesus Fish, I don’t care, just take me!"

He plunges two of his thick digits into your soaking heat, making your back arch off the bed. He takes the opportunity to suck a nipple back into his mouth, half his body hovering over you to keep your form perfectly positioned between his mouth and fingers. They teasingly thrust in and out slowly from your hole, intentionally dragging out his torture against you. "So mean to me, baby." His teeth nip at your nipple with a smug grin. "Takin’ my sweet little pussy away from me like that. I barely touched you and you're absolutely soaked. Were you wet on your way here?"

"Frankie I haven't... haven't been able to get off in weeks."

"How long?"

You moan out loud, eyes rolling back as your brain turns to mush. Your hand tries to guide his wrist faster but he slaps it away, continuing his teasing ministrations.

"Answer me!"

"Since the last time you touched me!" You cry.

He haults his movements.

The girl who bragged about cumming an average of 6 times a day just grinding on a pillow, now telling him she hasn't been able to orgasm in a month, because of him.

Ohhhhhhh fuuuuccccckkkkkfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. “That why you went on your little date, huh?"

You nod shamefully.

"Did you fuck him?"

You whine, eyes burrowing in confusion that he still expected you have coherent thoughts while he had you in this compromising position, teetering on the brink of your much needed orgasm.

"Your date.” He repeats, his wrist slowing down entirely. “Did. You. Fuck. Him."

“No—no! I didn’t even let him kiss me goodnight. Couldn't even get wet for him, that's how bad—Frankie, fuck! please!—bad you've got me fucked up."

He speeds up his hands, satisfied with your confessions. They are thrusting perfectly in and out at record speeds as his jaw clenched around your tit, watching your eyes roll back as your first orgasm in WEEKS overwhelms you fast. You’re shaking violently, legs desperate to close but Frankie pries them open with his strong hand, continuing to dominate your cunt with his incessant fingers.

You feel something else coming as he continues to ram his wrist against you, fingers digging so deep, curling so effortlessly that you can’t stop the gush of liquid squirting out of you. “Oh shit, oh fuckfuckFUCK that’s it! That’s my girl, holy fuck yeah—yeah keep going, Cariño, so fucking good.” He continues to finger fuck you repeatedly, working you through it as your pussy continues to contract and release your spend.

You hardly have time to process your embarrassment as he's shifting below your hips, throwing your thighs over shoulder and giving your soaked pussy a longing look. Your clit twitches excitedly. Cool air is blown on it, making you fist his hair harder. He presses his large nose into you, inhaling your scent like bloodhound, growling like a man possessed at the sticky coating. "I fucking missed you, Hermosa," he groans, and his mouth latched right on to your pulsing cunt. You gasp, hands fisting his hair as he rolls your overstimulated clit with his tongue, jaw opening wide to practically swallow your pussy whole, sucking away everything you're giving him.

Whether he was talking to you or your pussy, it didn’t really matter to you. All you could process was the rough feeling of his fat tongue and scruffy face rubbing perfectly between your legs as Frankie got reacquainted with his former addiction. "FrankieFrankieFranke-ohFUCK!"

You can’t stop him, can’t even warn him as the overstimulation send you into a fit of gasps, cumming again, legs squeezing his head as painful pleasure courses through you. His upper back is littered in your scratches, the red marks raising his skin like tiger stripes.

You're struggling to catch your breath with ragged moans. He slows his licks to draw it out, letting your spasms pass. His sinful, lidded eyes have never left your face, absorbing every reaction from you, committing it to memory.

"You really have neglected this poor pussy," he teases, kissing your clit as his fingers begin to spread your glistening folds once again.

You can only nod, arms covering your face as he starts to rub the pad of his thumb on your swollen nub again. “It’s—not as good—unless it’s you.”

He grits his teeth in satisfaction. “S’okay. M’ gonna take care of you now. Gonna fuck you real soon."

You whine when he pushes his fingers back in to your tight heat.

"And then, when I’m done fucking you—We're gonna fuck again," he laughs.

You’re a bit frightened with how he’s looking at you: like he’s fucking possessed by a hungry, malicious demon.

He makes you cum on his fingers again, then his lips, then both at once. He’s pinning you down so harshly, you have no choice but to take the endless barrage of orgasms he’s forcing from you, almost as if he’s trying to make up for the time you two have been apart.

By the time his tastebuds are content, he brings himself back up to you, messily kissing your lips so you taste yourself, his beard and stache now soaked in your cum and rubbing along your chin.

You gasp when you feel his hard cock sliding along your folds. He rolls his hips against you, your copious slick letting him glide effortlessly, tip nudging your clit.

“Frankie,” you warn, unable to handle his teasing now.

He grabs the base of his dick. “Beg. Beg me for it,” He commands with a godly voice you’d never heard him use before. He slaps the underside of his throbbing member repeatedly against your pussy with a taptaptaptap. “Tell me you want it.”

You don’t care for the fat tears spilling down your cheeks as you whine like a bitch in heat. “Fuckyou, Frankie,” you seethe, anger building with your desperation. “I fucking want it, want it so bad, want you to ruin me, please, Fish, fucking please put it in already!”

He grins, big and sadistic as he watches your face contort with the first push of his tip into your wetness. “Oh F—“ he breathes, eyes closing as your tight walls do their best to accomodate his size.

Your eyesight is blurry, waves of pleasure rolling throughout your entire body, delirious as he bottoms out. Where he belongs. Where he’s always meant to be.

He presses his forehead to you as his hips start rutting.

He’s hardly fucked you for a few seconds, but the pressure building inside of you, desperate for this moment again after months, isn’t giving you a choice to savor it. “Fish—fuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK! ‘M not gonna last!"

He growls excitedly, driving his cock more harshly into you, reaching that special spot he’s decided is only his to abuse. “It’s okay, babygirl. You cum for me. You're always so good at it."

And you are, you really are. “OH FUCK FRANKIE!” You scream. Your body agreeing with him so much that your abrupt orgasm squeezes around him so hard, his movements stop altogether.

“Oh shit—“ he hisses, your pussy greedily milking the cum right out of him. He only pauses for a moment, shaking over you for a moment as his first orgasm subsides before his hips are moving of their own accord, his cum forced out with each thrust.

“Keep goin’, pretty thing. Give me more,” he grunts.

You nod deliriously, eyes rolled to the back of your skull as he pounds your battered puussy.

He pulls out, the sudden withdrawal making you whine with emptiness. He sinks to his knees again, yanking your knees up to your chest. Your pussy twitches, his cum spilling out and sinking down your ass.

He lets out of primal groan from the back of his throat before smashing his mouth on your cunt, sucking your clit and tongue fucking your hole like a cream filled pastry. You feel the descending bob of his Adam’s apple against your rear as he swallows the mixture of your cum, drinking it like liquid life from the source. “We taste—so—fucking—good, Princesa,” he taunts, tongue lapping your little clit in quick succession before shaking his head back and forth aggressively against your mound, smearing the obscene mixture across your folds and making a mess.

Oh fuck, he’s so gone.

He quickly gets on his knees, turning you over on your stomach like you weigh nothing. His hands grip around your hips, bringing them flush against his crotch again as you arch your back for him. He puts his palm on the small of your back, keeping you right there, pressed tight against him as his cock slides back into your eager and cum coated cunt.

“Fuck yeah,” he groans, setting a faster pace this time. You hadn't realized just how much Frankie was holding back the first time you had sex. He leans over your body, hands splayed past your shoulders, fisting the bed as he rails you deep, his thighs crashing against you with harsh slaps. Your temple lands against his cheek, meeting eye contact. He smiles, breath caught in his throat like running a mile at your fucked out expression.

He continues to fuck you like an animal. A soft hand grips your chin lovingly, tilting your head further back so his lips meet yours with each punishing grind. You’re surprised by how much you love the hold he has on you, willingly submitting to him without being told. Drunk on each other’s lust.

You suck greedily around his tongue, hand reaching behind the two of you to play with his soft brown curls, refusing to let him leave your mouth. He stutters with a few more thrusts before halting, eyes scrunched closed. “AUUGHHH—haaaahh!” You feel the twitch of him inside you, draining his balls some more of his plentiful seed.

“Fuck, fuck I love it when you cum inside me!” You confess. The action makes you fall forward, mouth burying into his pillows as you muffle your own cry of your release again.

He pulls out of you and flops to the bed. You think maybe he is done, after having cum twice now, bur Frankie is quick to bring you to straddle him, his dick never once softening as it presses incessantly to your entrance again. He licks his lips, watching his cum spill down your thighs, right to his creamy cock that refuses to fully part from you.

“Frankie,” you moan, unsure if you can take him again.

“Want you just like this. Ride me,” he breathes. He’s covered in sweat, out of breath and shaking with a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline if it were possible. His hands gently wrap around your waist as he guides you. Eyes so lidded, transfixed on the area where your mound slowly swallows him again.

You’re nodding, body taking over all actions, completely starved for the man under you.

He leans up to get a good look at you, taking it slow, burning this in head to remember.

"Thought about you... everyday.” He whispers, mouth parted in lust, gliding your hips along with steady rolls. “Couldn't sleep."

His hands down along the curve of your ass, to your thighs spread out over him, before rubbing up the length of your back, holding you as close to him as he can possibly bring you, your tits pressing against his chest. He struggles to breathe evenly as your creamy pussy continues to tighten around him each time he breaches you, the two of you moaning softly into each others’ open mouths. He occasionally catches your lips, slotting perfectly as you grind against him.

His mouth finds its way back down to your pebbled nipple, biting gently before kissing it better. He brings his face back to yours. “So perfect for me,” he whispers.

You start grinding on him more fervently, lifting yourself on your knees ever slightly and baring down on him. He grits his teeth, sinking further down into the bed, eyes never leaving you as his digs his nails into the meat of your hips, forcing you to bounce harder.

“That’s it, baby. Ride me just like that. MY girl, my beautiful girl.”

You bite your lips, feelings your clit catch on his public hairs. The sloppy squelching of his cum being driven out of your heat by his thick cock is no match to the heavenly sounds you were making atop him. The vein in his neck strains like he’s suffocating himself from air, refusing to slow down, to take a break, to let go for even just a moment.

“More. Give me more,” you moan, confidence soaring as you feel him begin to meet your hips with every thrust. “I want all of you, Frankie.”

He shouts out, lifting you up, his feet digging into mattress as he fucks you from below. “Fuck, fuck!”

You want to throw your head back, ride out this high, but the dangerous allure of him watching you brings your focus down to him, watching the way the two of you are getting off to the other falling apart.

“Just like this. You n’ me. Want it just like this. Forever.” He mumbles repeatedly, ragged pants uneven as he fills you the way you had been unknowingly wanting for months.

You feel the build of your umpteenth orgasm building in your lower tummy. “Frankie-F-Franke! I’m—I’m gonna—“

“Do it, Querida, do it f-for me.” He thinks he can starve off the low build of his third orgasm of the night, just enough to make you cum for him once more.

You feel the heavy knot in your stomach snap. With absolutely no hesitation, no doubt behind your word, you cry out, “I love you!” as you cum harder than any time before.

Lifting you both practically off the bed, Frankie’s hips seize, pressed so tightly against yours there was no room between you. He shouts loudly, animalistic, snarling with his teeth baring at you and 0 control left in him, immediately emptying his load deep inside with each heavy pulse of his cock against your cervix, painting your walls white with the last of his cum that his balls could give you.

You collapse on top of him, the two of you sucking air like you were underwater for years. Neither of you say anything, covered in sweat and cum, but finally being able to relax from the pent up release that’s been building there far longer than it ever should have been.

His hand rests against your lower back, somehow pressing your naked body closer to his.

“I love you,” you whisper again to his collarbone. He brings your eyes to his, and this time he knows you mean it.

Frankie wakes to a cold bed.

His arm reaches out subconsciously for your body, but only feels cool empty sheets at his side. His eyes fly open, head sitting upright as he scans his bedroom. There's no sign of you. None of your clothes are scattered on the floor, no immediate trace of your scent. He feels a strong pain in his chest suffocating and stabbing him all at once.

He lies back flat on his pillow, fingers rubbing his forehead. He has two thoughts: the first thought, the one he'd rather think is true, is that it was all dream. You hadn't come home to him.

Before he could bring himself to consider the pain of the second thought, the fear is instantly squashed when he hears the door creak open, your sweet soft smile and gentle eyes landing on him.

‘Hiiiii,” you whisper in a singsong, gentle morning voice. Tip toeing bare foot on the hardwood floor, he see’s you’re dressed in nothing but one of Frankies slightly torn over sized, faded band T shirts that swallows your body. Your bed head still evident, eyes baggy yet happy from the events of last night.

He didn't realize he had held his breath the moment before you walked in, afraid that rather than having dreamt it all, that it did happen, and you had left him anyway.

"I made you tea," you hummed, setting the two cups down by his bedside table.

Your ears go red at the image of him: sheet pulled half way up his hip, his bare chest and torso visible as he props himself up with his elbows to get a good look at you. And the WAY he's looking at you, like you’re the only thing that matters in the world, has you sheepishly avoiding his big brown pupils, sliding in to the covers and nuzzling your head against his shoulder.

He wraps his arms around you, unwilling to let you sneak off again. “Don’t wake up before me like that again.”

You giggle. “Frankie, it’s 4 in the afternoon.”

He checks his digital clock by the bed, true to your word. You both had fucked so hard, so long last night that he didn’t even realize it was well into the morning by the time you had drifted to sleep.

He lies back down in bed, encircling you to him again. He can more clearly see the damage of last night’s episode on you: bite marks along your tits, hickies against your inner thighs and swollen lips. he doesn’t even need to touch your pussy, feeling its puffy soreness pressing against his leg. He kisses you gently yet passionately this morning, cradling your head so you can’t back away. Not that you want to—he doesn’t feel any resistance in your movements as you devour his lips.

“I love you,” he says clearly. He can feel the way your breath hitches, the blush on your cheeks at the confession. “I love you, and I’m so sorry it took me so long to say it. I’m sorry I caused you so much confusion and I—“

“Okay, Fish. It’s okay. I know.” You bite your lip, pushing your hand against his chest so that he’s lying down on his back. “But I’m not sure I forgive you just yet.”

A brief moment of confusion wracks his face before you’re clambering on top of him again, your naked lower body straddling his under the sheet. You fist the t shirt of your head, letting your soft supple breasts fall. Frankie immediately grabs them tenderly with both of his warm hands, his breath quickening. His length twitches, hard as a rock and pressing right against his lower stomach as you glide your slick folds along him.

“I think you should keep making it up to me.” You align the tip of his throbbing cock against your swollen entrance and sink down, hands seeking purchase on his chest, scratching the skin there as he fills your sore cunt, taking him down to the hilt in one go.

You let out the tiniest, sexiest whimper, and Frankie is ready to drop everything he’s ever owned just to hear it again. So smitten with you, he’s grinning harder than he has his entire life. Like a big dumb idiot.

Your big dumb idiot.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Querida: I love you.”

Tagging people who either requested a part 2/3 or directly requested to be tagged. At least what i can remember (sorry if I missed you!)

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sunnybeewriting · 1 year

Text

Finding Purpose

Hey guys! So this is actually only the second thing I have ever written. As well, I’ve only watched the first Avatar a few times and I’ve only seen the second Avatar once since it came to theaters, so I’m not going to pretend I have a lot of knowledge when it comes to Avatar or the culture, animals, or people in it. But I also tried my best to get things accurate, so if things are not then I am sorry! Anyways, if you like it, please leave a like or a comment!

WARNINGS: None

TAGS: Family feels, fluff

WORD COUNT: 5,055

As you prepare for your first solo hunt, you discover what really matters to you and how far you would go to protect it.

Your mind groggily awakens, and your senses slowly come back to you. You’re lying in your bedroll, waking up after a restless night of sleep. You can hear the soft breathing of your siblings still in the room. As you awaken, your thoughts become less like drifting clouds and more of something solid. There was a reason for your restlessness, you recall distantly, something that had made it difficult for you to find sleep. Something that made your body and mind both buzz with anticipation…

Your eyes pop open and you jolt upwards from your resting position.

The hunt is today!

The full force of your elation surges through your veins once more and you quickly bounce from your bedroll and onto your feet. Your siblings are all still asleep in their own sleeping pads, all sprawled with long limbs and soft snoring.

Neteyam has one of his arms thrown around Lo’ak’s neck, holding him tightly in a way that seems almost like a chokehold. On his left side, his other arm is splayed out palm side upwards across Kiri’s stomach, who is almost completely out of her own bedroll. Sweet Tuk lays sleeping closer to the bedroll of your parents; she claims it’s because they don’t toss and turn as much as your shared siblings, but you also think it may be because of how she just likes to be closer to her mom and dad.

Your sleeping pad is on the other side of Kiri, close to the entrance of the tent. Sometimes, when you find it hard to sleep, you like to listen to the sounds of the forest, the calls of the animals and the buzzing of the insects. It’s a calming lullaby that soothes your restless mind and helps you drift back to sleep.

It’s visible through the fabric of your home tent that it is barely dawn, the morning light still climbing its way into High Camp. Early time of morning or not, it was still the day you had been eagerly waiting a very long time for.

Your parents are already up and out of the tent by this time, performing their duties. Mom was usually gathering fruits and seeds for your siblings to eat when they awakened from their slumber, while Dad was most likely either fishing or seeing to clan tasks. As Olo'eyktan, your father was often busy overseeing the safety of the clan and making sure everything was in order. There are some days when you don’t see him until the next morning when he’s exhausted and grumpy, but you couldn’t be prouder to have him as your dad.

You quietly push open the front flap of the family tent to step outside into the large, shared cave of your clan. The family tents of your people are spread out the entire length of the cave, and you can already see others moving around. The air is fresh and cool against your skin as you continue your path to find either one of your parents. You take a moment to tilt your head back and take a deep breath of cool air into your lungs. Your tail flicks behind you as you walk, and your sensitive ears twitch as you listen to the low murmurings of your people.

You try to remember that you are striving for a relaxed and wise persona as you walk, to show that you are indeed a responsible adult now. Instead of the over-excited and naïve child many of your people still thought you were, you wanted to be seen as an adult. Even with those thoughts at the front of your mind, you can’t stop the smile on your face or the thrilled spring in your step.

As you bound up the steps to a section closer to the entrance of High Camp, where the Omaticaya clan often cooks and eats their meals, you see the back of your mother. She wears her usual attire of leather and flora, her dark hair braided back with feathers and beads. Her tall, slender frame blocks your view of whatever she is working on with her hands.

You bounce up to her, hands folded neatly behind your back and what you hope is a charming grin on full display. She turns her head around, takes one look at you, rolls her large, golden eyes, and turns back to her work. You would have taken insult to such a lackluster reaction to your arrival if it hadn’t been for the fond little smile that had appeared on her face when she saw you approaching.

“Hey, Mom! Guess what day it is?” you ask gleefully, hugging her around her waist from behind.

Your mother scoffs and gently pats one of the arms around her waist. You let go and move to the side of what she was working on and begin to help, hands quickly and efficiently pulling apart pieces of fruit and placing them on leaf plates.

“Hmmm. Is it perhaps the day of Lo’ak’s first hunt? Or perhaps, Neteyam’s?”

“Yes, yes, very funny.” You say, rolling your eyes in the same fashion she had done earlier.

She grins back at you, wide golden eyes relaxed, and then sets down what she had been working on. She grabs your hands, curls her fingers around them, and then says, “Oh, Ayviiri, I am so pleased to be here to see your first solo hunt. I know you’ve been waiting for this for a long time, and I commend your patience, something you surely did not get from your father. It was not long ago when I feared I would never see this day. I thank the Great Mother for our blessings.”

Your grip on her hands becomes tight, and you can feel your eyes begin to sting. It wasn’t often either of you became overtly emotional, but on momentous occasions like this, it was a sure thing.

You had yet to be born when your clan’s ancestral Hometree and the Tree of Souls had been destroyed by the Sky People. Both places, sacred and thousands of years old, had been razed to nothing but ash in less than a day. Hundreds of your people had been slaughtered, along with an untold number of ikran and direhorses. Your own mother’s father had died in her arms.

The overwhelming and devastating loss of so many clan members, their home, and their sacred place had shaped your childhood. You grew up seeing what impact that kind of grief had on your mother, as well as The People. It had given you an early appreciation of the simple things, such as your own home and family members. Mom often praised the Great Mother, Ewya, for the health and well-being of her mate and children. She had made sure you and your siblings grew up aware and prepared for how quickly things could change.

“Thank you, Mother.”

She softly grips the back of your neck and presses your foreheads together briefly, eyes gazing into yours. You can see your own reflection in them; your own wide, golden eyes, shape and color matching hers.

Mom had been the one to teach you how to shoot a bow, and Dad had been the one to teach you how to handle a knife and throw a punch. One was to teach you how to hunt, and the other to teach you how to defend yourself and kill anyone who meant you or your family harm.

At your age, you had already completed your Iknimaya and claimed your ikran, as well as made your first kill under your mother’s close, protective observation. Now, it was your turn to prove yourself to the clan that you could provide for yourself, your clan, and your family on your own terms. It was another step closer to becoming recognized as an adult of the Omaticaya Clan. Soon enough, you would complete the Ulitaron and become one of The People. Then, you would choose a mate.

I’m not anywhere near ready for that, though, you thoughtfully acknowledge. Someday you would like a mate, but until that day comes and you met the right person, you are fine just on your own.

She pulls back from you and you both continue to prepare the food in comfortable silence. Once you are finished, she bids you to go back to the family tent and gather your siblings.

You walk back and toss open the front flap of the tent once more. By this time the light coming into High Camp was bright and fierce, and the opening of the flap caused the inside of the tent to light up. A beam speared itself across the faces of Neteyam and Lo’ak, who both flinched and groaned at the disturbance. Kiri, on the other hand, slept on peacefully. Waking Kiri up was often as effective as successfully waking the dead. It seemed like she could sleep through anything, any noise or physical commotion. With the sensitive hearing of your species, this was a rare and impressive thing for one of your people to be able to do.

Little Tuk was still curled up in her bedroll further into the tent, face smushed into the thin blankets and eyes hiding away from the light. You decide to get her up first before you even try to deal with Kiri. Neteyam and Lo’ak are mostly up already, though their flailing limbs as they struggle to rearrange their position both away from one another and away from the light never fails to make you laugh. Their grumpy complaining, mussed braids, and bleary eyes were hilarious to you.

You approach Tuk and gently lay a hand on her shoulder, rocking her back and forth softly as you rouse her from her sleep.

“Hey Little Tuk, it’s time to wake up. It’s morning already, Mom has food ready for us and everything.”

Tuk whines but lets you pull her from her blankets by her armpits. You heft her up and onto the side of your hip, where she hides her face into the curve of your shoulder to rest a little bit longer. By this time, Neteyam is standing and rolling up his sleeping pad, hair still messy and eyes squinting. Lo’ak, though, is simply sitting up in his bedroll and staring around the tent blankly, clearly still very tired.

“Come on Lo’ak, aren’t you hungry? Mom found some fruit and lionberry seeds, I know those are your favorite.” You say enticingly. “I think Dad might be fishing, too.”

He gives you a roll of his eyes, but he also seems to pep up a little bit at that, finally standing tall and stretching with a loud groan. He bends down to also put away his bedroll. By the time you turn to Kiri, he and Neteyam are already heading outside. They’re also already shoving and teasing each other, which would have made you roll your eyes in fond exasperation if you weren’t already used to it.

You’re still holding onto Tuk when you squat and put a hand on Kiri’s shoulder. This close to her you can hear her soft snoring. You tighten your grip and shake her, gently at first, and then firmer as her snores continued.

“Come on, Kiri! You sleep like the dead. Come on, time to get up, time to rise and shine, let’s go!”

Her grumbling becomes louder as she is rudely roused from her deep sleep, and a pair of bright green eyes blearily glare at you from behind her thin blanket. You smile at her in turn. You’re not usually so happy in the mornings, but it’s a special day.

“There you are! Alright, Mom has food ready at our usual spot. We’ll meet you there!”

It always takes her a few extra minutes to finally rise completely out of her dreams, so you leave the tent and head back to the entrance where your mother and now brothers would be.

Tuk stays on your hip all the while, but her head is now risen and her eyes are alert as she takes in the fresh air around the cave. You can hear her humming a tune just beneath her breath. It reminds you of your mother’s singing, and you smile. You nudge her head with the side of your face, her soft braids tickling your neck. She looks up at you, grins, and continues humming. Usually, she was a talkative little girl, but it was probably too early to expect much enthusiasm.

You reach your family members just as your stomach starts growling. Tuk reaches out for Mom before you even sit down, and you gladly shift your grip and hand her over, hungry and eager to eat. Mom tuts softly before shifting Tuk to her side and sitting down, legs crossed.

Neteyam and Lo’ak are already digging into the leaf plates you had prepared, and you do the same. You savor the sweet taste of the fruit and seeds, juice spilling around your fingers and mouth before you use the back of your hand to wipe it away. You eat until you are full. Mom takes her time eating, pulling apart small pieces of fruit and handing them to Tuk, who eats them just as eagerly as the rest of her siblings.

You turn your head just in time to catch the devious look Lo’ak gives you. You tilt your head and furrow your eyebrows in confusion, curious to see what sort of prank is about to follow. Before you can blink, he starts flicking seeds at Neteyam and then at yourself. Neteyam and you take the abuse for the first few seeds, before you share a look and team up against your brother, pelting him with seeds from both sides. You both laugh loudly as he squeals, shouting abuse. You only stop when your mother looks up from Tuk to give all three of you a stern look, and all three of you immediately sit back down. You share a guilty look with your brothers, but your mother’s potential disapproval doesn’t stop any of you from slyly smacking each other on the legs outside of her view, just for the fun of it.

So much for being more mature, you think.

You’re almost done with your plate by the time Kiri finally makes it out of the tent and down to your group. She grabs a plate of her own and starts eating before striking up a conversation with your mother.

You sit and listen to the talking of your family members. Mom wipes fruit juice off Tuk’s face and replies to Kiri’s question, while Lo’ak and Neteyam have long since finished their food and are having their own discussion. Usually you would participate, but today your thoughts are elsewhere, already out in the forest. You are still excited, but now that the initial thrill has faded with the early morning, nerves are beginning to fight their way in. You take in deep, full breaths to keep them at bay. You’ve been preparing for this for years, and you are sure you know what you are doing.

There’s no way you’re going to let such a little thing as nerves ruin this for you. Besides, if you weren’t ready, your parents would never allow you to do this. Their confidence in you means everything, and it speaks for itself. If they think you are ready, then you are ready, as simple as that.

That being resolved, you sit up straighter and nod your head firmly, confidence restored.

Lo’ak is saying something to Neteyam before remembrance appears on his face and he turns to you, interrupting himself mid-sentence to speak with you.

“Ayviiri! I had almost forgotten, today is your first hunt! Are you nervous, are you excited? Have you prepared your weapons? Have you picked your prey?”

Just like you, Lo’ak and Neteyam are eagerly awaiting their first solo hunt. While they have just completed their Iknimaya and claimed their ikran both, they have yet to make their first kill. Neteyam is only a year younger than you, Lo’ak two years, so it won’t be long before they are following in your footsteps and going on their own hunt alone.

Still, you are the eldest sibling, and it feels good to be doing something they have yet to accomplish. You laugh at your younger brother’s charming enthusiasm and say,

“Yes Lo’ak, my bow and arrows are prepared and waiting for me by the tent. As for my prey, Mom and Dad have suggested I choose something on the easier side, so I have chosen to hunt yerik for my first hunt.”

Choosing yerik, an animal certainly not known for its ferocity hadn’t been your initial pick, but you did so to relieve the stress put on your parents. Besides, a hunt was a hunt, and easy prey or not, there were always things that could go wrong. You didn’t mind being cautious, for now; you would have time to prove yourself a capable hunter and warrior in your own right to your siblings, your clan, but most importantly, to your parents.

As well, at least yerik wasn’t as easy of prey as fwampop would be, so there’s that. Yerik’s hearing is exceptionally good, and the scent organs on either side of its head help it smell the presence of a predator. While it wouldn’t be the hardest of hunts, it also wouldn’t be the easiest.

“Yerik. That’s awesome, Ayviiri! I can’t wait until I can go on my own hunt. I bet I’d take down three yerik on my own by the time I get to your age. Or, or talioang, all on my own. Yeah, I bet I’ll even be able to hunt palulukan – ow!” Lo’ak narrowly dodges Neteyam’s second hand that comes swinging over to smack him upside the head again.

“By the time you’re Ayviiri’s age, the only thing you’ll be able to hunt is fwampop, and even then, you’ll probably miss your first shot!” Neteyam throws his head back and laughs heartily at his own joke and his brother’s expense. You can’t help but giggle at the enraged look on Lo’ak’s face, upset at being insulted and having his dreams crushed in one swift blow. Even Mom has a smile on her face as she shakes her head fondly, Tuk giggling at her side as she always does when your brothers play fight.

“Anyways, as I was saying, that’s what I’ll be hunting.”

Mother lifts Tuk from her lap and stands up, resting her hands upon Tuks shoulders. “Well, my children, it is time to begin the day. We will complete our chores, and later today we will see our Marali off to her first hunt.”

And just like that, the excitement of the hunt makes you giddy once again. You leap to your feet, ready to get started. The faster you complete your duties, the faster your hunt begins.

-------

It took you a lot less time than normal to do everything you needed to do. By the time you and your siblings were done, you were all ready for another meal. You sat down beside your mom while Kiri, Neteyam, and Tuk sat nearby. Tuk sat in Neteyam’s lap, laughing at whatever Kiri was saying. You ate your food, careful not to scarf it down and choke in your eagerness.

“So, what’s Dad doing today?” You ask, picking up a slice of fruit and eating it whole.

“Your father had some issues to resolve within the clan today. Once those are taken care of, he will meet us at the entrance to see you off.”

You nod your head, picking at your plate once more.

“Hey, Mom?”

“Yes, my child?”

“Were you nervous when you went on your first hunt?”

You keep your eyes on your plate, chewing slowly. Your mother stills from where she had been picking up her own food, and then she sets it back down carefully.

“When I went on my first hunt, I wanted to be brave, to bring honor and to provide for my clan. But, I will admit, I was nervous when it came time to leave. I wasn’t so much worried about the kill than I was worried I would somehow make a mistake and come back with nothing, after all that fuss. It has happened before, with much less capable hunters who learned they have better skills in other places. In the end, I stopped thinking with my mind and started trusting my instincts and my skills, and that way I was successful in my first hunt.”

You nod slowly, finally looking up at your mother. She stares back at you, eyes caring and calm, before nodding herself and turning back to her meal.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Of course, my child.”

-------

You stand at the entrance of High Camp side by side with Neteyam. Mom, Tuk, Kiri, and Lo’ak stand to the side, having their own conversations as you wait patiently for the arrival of your father. Well, they might be waiting patiently. In your case, you are doing your best to remain relaxed, practically bouncing on your feet. The sincere discussion you had with your mother just a few hours ago had helped immensely with your nerves, but you still felt a little uneasy. Which was probably for the best, really; you should never go on a hunt completely calm. That’s a good way to lower your guard and get yourself killed. As your dad likes to say, a little fear is always healthy.

You snap out of your thoughts and realize you had been staring blankly at the ground. You blink a few times and straighten your back, and then realize Neteyam is staring at you expectantly, as though waiting for an answer to a question.

Whoops.

“Uh, what did you say?” You ask guiltily, grinning apologetically.

He stares at you, face serious, before reaching out and placing a firm hand on your shoulder.

“You know you’re going to be fine, right? I’ve been watching you since we were kids. You’re a good hunter, and a good fighter. You’ll do great.”

You look back at him for a few seconds, taking in the kind, sweet face of your little brother before smiling gratefully and placing your own hand on the one resting on your shoulder.

This kid. Sometimes it feels like he’s the older sibling and you are the younger.

“Thanks, Neteyam.”

He smiles back at you gladly before bringing his hand back to his side. He looks behind you, and his smile grows even bigger, transforming into a happy grin.

You’re about to turn to look behind yourself when a firm but gentle hand lands on the curve of your shoulder, and you know who it is without even having to turn around. It’s a familiar and loving weight, one that you’ve known since the day you were born.

You turn around quickly and met the proud eyes of your father, already smiling.

“Dad!” You shout and leap up to wrap your arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. You’d never say it out loud simply to save your pride, but you are very relieved to see him.

He laughs and wraps his own arms around your slender body, and it’s a sound that you feel deep in your bones. You bury your face into his hair, and suddenly everything feels like it’s going to be alright. How could it not, with such a father looking out for you?

“Hey, I saw you last night, you know!” He says, still laughing.

You let go of his shoulders and he drops you down to your normal height. He clasps his hands onto your shoulders and takes you in, all the way from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

Your hair is in loose braids like your mother, about the same length too, if a bit longer. In honor of such an occasion, your mother had gifted you new wrist and forearm covers she had made herself. Your dad gave you a pendant made from a rare metal he carved himself, to wear around your neck. You wear both items proudly today. What little attire you have on you is that of your people, leather and flora, mostly, with a few wrappings around your limbs and beads and feathers in your hair. You have the eyes and face shape of your mother, with the same smile as your father. The same heart, too, your mother once said. Strong. Protective. Kind.

It was the greatest compliment she could have ever given you.

“Look at you.” The words are said with pride. “My firstborn, my daughter, already onto her first hunt. There is no one I would rather have as one of my children. I know that you will make wise choices and will bring honor to our family and our clan. I am proud of all you have accomplished, daughter, and I know you will accomplish even more.”

For a moment you are struck silent, before your eyes well up. You’re barely able to make out a small, choked, “Thanks, Dad”, before he is pulling you in for another hug. When he releases you, he grasps your face and presses his forehead against yours in the same way your mother had earlier that day.

He looks into your eyes, you look into his, and you see him. Everything that he is, that he once was, that he one day will be. His strength, his ferocity, his love. And he sees you. You know this, deep in your very heart, your very soul. Your father sees you. Your determination, your love, your own ferocity that echoes both his and your mother’s.

You are seen, you try to say, I see you, Dad. But the words remain choked in your throat.

From the soft look on his face, though, you know he knows what you are trying to convey.

He lifts his forehead from yours, hand still on your face and neck, and says to your mother, “We have raised good children, Neytiri.”

Your mother approaches you and strokes a knuckle down your cheek. She looks her mate in the eyes, voice soft and quiet, and says, “Yes, my Jake, we have.”

Your father smiles gently and lets go of you to take your mother’s hand. Then he turns his attention to the rest of his children, and gestures for them all to come together. Lo’ak, Kiri, Tuk, and Neteyam all step forward into the circle of your parents and yourself, and you wrap one arm around the shoulders of Lo’ak and the other around Kiri, bringing them in closer.

Dad picks Tuk up quickly into the air, grinning when she lets loose a shrieking giggle. He uses the other hand not supporting her weight on his side to wrap an arm around Neteyam’s shoulder and bring him in close, hugging him to his chest and whispering words into his ear before repeating the process with Lo’ak and Kiri.

You’re glad to see you’re not the only one from the Sully family with watery eyes after your father speaks with them. Once Kiri is released, she steps back and pretends like she’s not wiping at her eyes with the corner of her shawl. Neteyam has to blink a few times to clear away his tears, and poor, sweet Lo’ak was the worst of us when faced with his father’s praise, swallowing a few times and blinking furiously.

You love your family.

It’s a fierce feeling, but not at all sudden or new. It’s a feeling you have every time your mother sits you down to carefully braid your hair, every time Lo’ak brings you in for a hug. You feel it every time Tuk snuggles into your side while you sit around a fire, listening to your father tell stories of his past.

It’s there when Neteyam laughs, or when he comforts you or your siblings. It’s there when an ever-curious Kiri asks a question or tells you a fact you had never known before. You felt it when your father taught you how to throw a punch, and it was there when you were thirteen and he taught you how to curse in his first language, far away from the ears of your mother.

This is your family, and you will do anything you have to do to protect it.

Suddenly, you have found your purpose in this world. This is it; nothing more, nothing less. You will protect those you love with everything you have, or you will die trying.

Your realization reignites your determination, and you shift into a more relaxed position. You know who you are and what you can do. All that’s left is to get out there and do it.

Your father turns back to you, and if he notices the change in your eyes, he doesn’t mention it. He simply takes the large bow from your mother’s hands, the bow your mother and father had helped you make, looks you in the eye, and presses it into your hands.

“Be strong. Be wise. Be safe. And remember, no matter what happens, Sully’s stick together.”

You return his gaze and nod.

He nods and takes a step backward, leaving you with your bow in your hands. You fix it over your back, double-check you have your knife and quiver of arrows, and look back at your family.

They stare back at you. Dad is still holding Tuk, his other arm wrapped around Neteyam’s shoulders. Mom has one arm wrapped around Kiri, her other holding Lo’ak to her.

You take one last moment to look at your loved ones, and then you turn and leave High Camp without a backward glance.

Once you reach the edge of the line that leads into the thicker part of the forest that contains your prey, you turn back around and raise your bow. You call out a warrior’s cry, and in the distance, you can hear and see your family do the same, arms raised above their own heads as they cried out.

You turn back around, and with the cries of your family echoing in your ears and your heart, you begin your hunt.

#avatar: the way of water #avatar the way of water #avatar 2 #avatar #avatar imagine #reader insert #Sully!reader #atwow #avatar way of water #jake sully #neytiri #oneshot #my writing #cross posted on ao3 #the way of water #avatar x reader #sully family #atwow fanfiction #avatar fanfiction

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daintyduck99 · 1 year

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"You've been kind of obvious" "what" for the reggie pairing of your choice!

Reggie can't overstate how much he loves his friends. They've altered how he feels about camping over the course of one evening, rallied around a bewitchingly bright fire.

Old memories of his father huffily attempting to instill 'manlier' hobbies in him are replaced with laughter and lopsided tents, smores and card games, ghost stories and squabbles and—of course—music.

But if he has to endure one more actual argument about who's sleeping where, he's bound to tear his hair out.

So when Julie leans in close to whisper in his ear, he can blame the way he shivers on the tension that's already in the air.

"Do you want to get out of here?"

God, yes, he mouths, grinning as she giggles, brilliant in the firelight. Where?

She tips her head towards the truck, and they quickly sneak away, letting out twin sighs of relief as the sounds of Luke and Carrie shouting start to die out. They're muffled completely as they climb in the truck and close the doors, thank fuck.

He's trying to remember where he put the blankets—he doesn't want to turn the engine on and risk garnering attention—only to startle as Julie moves the console, pushing it up into a seat.

"Oh—what's—" He swallows when she slides over next to him, blanking from the solid line of her body pressed to his. "Um."

Her lip scrunches like she's bitten it, but it's difficult to tell in the semidarkness. He shouldn't be able to tell at all, and yet.

"I was hoping," she murmurs, twining their fingers together, "you'd keep me warm."

There's no mistaking the sultry note in her voice. He has to be dreaming, but it sends a sharp pain through his leg when he pinches it, and he blinks at her slowly.

"Julie—are you flirting with me?"

She tilts her head, squeezing his hand.

"Yes? Did you not want me to flirt back?"

"Not—really?" He winces. She goes to pull her hand away, but he gently squeezes back. "But only because I was trying so hard not to flirt with you! Not more than I normally do, because—I didn't want to make it weird, but I'm so fond of you, Julie. I don't know what changed, or when. But it's like—you snuck up on me. I love you."

"I know," she says softly, only to huff a laugh as he sends her an incredulous look that must be visible even in the weak moonlight. "You've been kind of obvious."

Kind of—

????

But he was being so careful!

"What?"

She laughs again, low and warm in her throat, and what he wouldn't give to see her eyes dancing in the firelight right now.

"You've been doing all of these special little things for me. You do that for everyone, from time to time, but you've been especially considerate to me, and I remember what you were like with Kayla. I thought I was jealous of the way you worshiped her, but I was just…jealous!"

Reggie’s mind is racing. He realizes his mouth is hanging open and closes it.

"That was—ages ago, I mean—you only just broke up with Nick and—you deserve special things! I wanted—I—I want you to be happy so of course I—"

"Reggie." She puts her fingers on his chin, keeping his eyes on her silhouette, as if he could look away, partially blind or no. "Are you trying to talk me out of this? Because you snuck up on me, too. I love you too!"

His heart gallops away; it never did have much sense to begin with. He swallows.

"But—"

Julie makes a frustrated noise. The hand that's knotted in his fights its way free and clings to his shoulder, freshly knotting in the sleeve of his shirt.

"I broke up with Nick three months ago. And I mostly dated him to get over you, which obviously didn't work. So are you going to kiss me or not?"

His body is still abuzz with everything, not quite believing it, but her request makes it through, and when his lips touch hers it's like she's made him into a live wire.

It's—electrifying.

He'll think of a better, less cliched description later, when this is all a memory. All he knows right now is Julie, the tickle of her curls on his cheeks and the small of her back where his hand has splayed for support, the warmth of her skin and her smile pressed to his and the sweet sound of her satisfied humming.

Then she's in his lap, and whatever was left of his thinking capacity is officially fried.

It's not until she accidentally brushes against the horn in the slightest of beeps that they startle apart for a moment, and he gasps, struck with delayed realization.

"Wai—Julie! You Han Solo-ed me!"

She just giggles mischievously, and he has to steal the sound from her mouth.

And because she's braver than Reggie will ever be, she makes a beeline for the bonfire when they stumble out of the truck, which is still raging, along with Luke and Carrie. A few other people are literally asleep on their logs, slumped together.

"I'm sleeping with Reggie," Julie announces, and he thinks he makes an embarrassing sound, but it's thankfully lost to the spitting of the fire and her confident voice as she continues. "So keep it down while you sort your shit out. We won't hold back otherwise. Just. Keep that in mind."

So—yeah. All in all—

How Reggie feels about camping has definitely been altered for the better.

#fluffy crush prompts #rulie #reggie x julie #this one had so much potential and I really tried not to go the usual rulie route but #honestly I do love how it turned out #also are you gonna kiss me or not is a country song #ficlets with ash #julie and the phantoms

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magnetarmadda · 1 year

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Hi there! Like probably a lot of people, I'm quite jealous and in awe of the amount of reading you seem to get done. If you don't mind my asking, did you read this many books when you were in grad school? I'm in the last few months of my PhD (in paleontology!) and I've found that working on my thesis has absolutely killed my ability to get through books. Did this happen to you? Did your brain recover afterward? Or did you never deal with the reading slump?

Thanks! (And I hope you're having a good day, because you seem like a cool and nice person!)

Hey, hi! First, best of luck with your final months of grad school!!! Honestly, for me, they were so hard because of the lack of structure. Just, “finish your dissertation” and that was all the instruction really. If you ever wanna chat/vent about that, lemme know!! (Also paleontology!!! That’s so cool!!)

I always like to preface my reading habits with this: I have a very fast reading comprehension speed, and so for me, it averages out to about 100 pages of a novel in an hour and about 75 pages of nonfiction in an hour. In that way, I got lucky with the combination of early reading education, at-home book discussions, and genetics. So I can sit down and read a 300-page book in one evening, which meant that, even though I was only reading only one or two days a week, I was still getting through 50+ a year that way in grad school

I also listen to a lot of audiobooks and love trade paperbacks of graphic novels. The graphic novels can be quite fast reads for me, and this again is partly luck and genetics—my mom’s an artist, so I learned to look at images critically quite young, and can frequently find important info in them quickly. Then, for audiobooks, I do struggle with some chronic illnesses and chronic pain, and I frequently have to check out of life—but I cannot be left alone in my own head, or I rapidly catastrophize lol. I also can’t shut my own brain off when it’s time to sleep, so I listen to audiobooks then as well. I’d say this means I average about 4 audiobooks a month, where they’re usually between 8 and 14 hours (I do listen at 1.25 or 1.5 speed, because otherwise my brain stops paying attention)

I was also lucky with my advisor in grad school. She had a firm self-care policy, in that she cares more about her students’ well-being and health than timely progress. So I never felt like I was stealing moments or neglecting my work—I was trying to cultivate the healthiest version of myself, given all the other factors outside of my control. In the six years I worked with her, we actually spent more than one meeting talking about fantasy novels instead of research, which was lovely

But, yeah, there were a lot of reading struggles in grad school for me. I would go long stretches of time where the idea of opening a book and reading more words was unbearable, because god, didn’t I just spend all day reading and writing?? I also started to not care as much for the types of books I read before grad school, so now I’ve got a few stacks of books on hand I feel guilty that I haven’t read (but I’m trying to recognize that I’ll probably never read them, because tastes can change). So I might've had motivation to read, but nothing I had on hand sounded particularly good

Submitting that dissertation and knowing the hard part was over was actually the biggest relief, I think maybe of my life. I defended in mid-October and then submitted the finished manuscript about two weeks later, and then I spent a solid month just…reading whatever the fuck I wanted to lol. I have a postdoc now (and am applying for faculty jobs 🤞), and the responsibilities are waaaaaay less than as a grad student. In fact, my PI is adamant that I should not do more than 40 hrs a week, and so I’ve been able to plow through books like wild in the last few months

I also want to say: grad school is hard. It’s so absolutely difficult. Master’s programs are rough, and PhD programs are their own rodeo, and it sucks to say (because it sounds awful to most people, I know), but unless someone goes through grad school themselves, it’s hard to fathom what makes it so hard and exhausting. It’s totally okay to cut yourself some slack for finding you don’t have as much energy for other things, even the things you really enjoy. The books will be there waiting, and I'll admit it took me a solid 4 years to accept that myself lol

Thanks for the lovely ask, and I really do wish you well as you finish up 💜 again, I'm here--ask box or dm--if you'd like to take more about any part of the process 💜

#about me #reading #mad answers asks

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ydevang41 · 2 months

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Best Man Toast Just For A Brother - Ways Recover A Success

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pajamaslash24 · 1 year

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The Facts About Dark Ambient Music Revealed

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passingdaysthings · 1 year

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03.28.2023 - Just updating

Today is Tuesday.

I am currently preparing to begin my 3rd quarter of grad school, and I am 40% done with my degree. We’re almost at the half way mark! Yay! This coming quarter is going to be a hard one because I am taking Prob and Stats for Data Science and Python Software Dev which are two pretty difficult subjects, but I guess that is an understatement since my entire degree is difficult. I feel more motivated this quarter though, and I really wanna do well. I think my realistic goal is to finish both classes with a solid B (85%+) or if possible, I would like to just ace both of my classes. I have to be realistic though because I don’t want to set myself up for failure. I finished my last quarter with an 88%, and I actually feel pretty content with that because I felt like I tried. Of course, the discrete math half was really bad for me since I got a 75% on my mid-term, but I’ve never done discrete math and many have told me it’s actually a difficult subject. This is also me taking steps to not be so harsh on myself because that is what contributes to my poor mental health and learning abilities. My classes are already hard for me so I don’t want to discourage myself anymore.

As for my situation with Taylor, I feel like we have gone back to being normal friends, and it has been chill. There are days we talk more than others, and we play games and watch dramas when I am free, so it’s been good. There are times where I think about how we were before and miss it, but I know that it wasn’t a healthy relationship. I also find myself less bothered on days when he doesn’t wanna talk which is good because I use to think about it all the time. I would think that I upset him or something along those lines, but I have just stopped thinking about those things. I usually just forget that he isn’t talking to me or I just know he is busy/sleeping. Taylor has always been a fickle person also, and I think I have just finally accepted that fact. He also said that he wouldn’t being going to SF anymore, but who knows. I understand him on this though because he has anxiety, and it must be scary to me two people you’ve never met before along with some of their other friends. He would literally be spending time with people he has never met before. I am pretty sure it’s already a lot of meet me and Victoria both in-person at the same time because I know we are too much for him while we are gaming from time to time. It is also very dependent on his mood and day. He may be feeling alright to meet us one day, but all that could change the next. I think it’s also best that me and Taylor just don’t meet in-person for the longest period possible. It’s not that I don’t want to meet him or anything, but I would prefer for there to be as much as time as possible between us ending our other friendship and pursing this more normal one. Like.. I still think about sleeping with him from time to time, and I don’t want to have those thoughts while meeting because it is in the past for us.

That is all I really have to say. I wasn’t planning on writing, but I am procrastinating on my work LOL.

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kiridarling · 3 years

Text

𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓.

— 3.0k words

eijirou kirishima | hard dom + dubcon jic + f!reader + exhibitonism + face-fucking + dumbification + car sex + more! minors dni.

"Made me come all this way...it’d be a pity if I didn't get somethin' out of it."

"No, no, no, no, no—c'mon," you cry as your car engine spits and sputters to a stop in the road, coughing like an old man with asthma before it's dead for good. Jamming your heel on the gas pedal, you twist your key in the ignition, but there's no use. You're fucking stuck.

You sigh, before slamming your forehead against the steering wheel. It's hard enough to sting, and the blaring horn startles all unsuspecting birds in a five-mile radius, but you could care less. Stuck in the middle of the woods at one in the morning, AAA membership-less with nothing but the clothes on your back and the vehicle you came with. Short cuts are a fucking myth.

Mina's the only person you can think of calling—because frankly, she's the only one who'd know a mechanic who could help at this time of night if one exists. Which you doubt. Severely.

"[Y/N]?" Mina answers, semi-urgently. You wonder if you startled her out of a good sleep, but knowing the night owl, her evening is just beginning. "What's up?"

"I'm fucking stuck in the middle of nowhere," you groan, banging your head against the back of the seat though you know she can't see you. "Car's not working."

"Oh no," she coos, and her pity is useless. "Do you have AAA?"

"No. Do you have a mechanic?"

"A mechanic...at one am? I don—wait," she interrupts before you hear something akin to rustling sheets. "I might have a friend who could help! But don't get your hopes up girlie, he's a heavy sleeper."

You shrug, shaking your head. "At this point, I'm desperate."

"Alrighty!" Mina confirms, and now all you can do is fucking hope her friend pulls through. "I'll give him a quick buzz and then send his number over, sound good?"

"Sounds perfect," you breathe, relaxing (somewhat) with your chin against the steering wheel. "Thanks, girl."

"Of course!" she cheers, and you wonder how someone could have so much energy at this time of night. "Good luck!"

"Thanks," you snort. "I might need it."

Riiiing! Riiiing!

Eijirou's had a long day.

A pipe busted at the auto shop today, resulting in an immediate flood—meaning they had to get everything that could possibly rust out as quickly as possible, aka everything in the goddamn shop.

So, yeah. He's had a long day, and when he's finally able to get under the covers and go the fuck to sleep, Mina calls him with this.

"Hey...Eijirou, buddy, best friend—"

"Mina, I love you, but what do you want?" Eijirou grunts into the phone, voice worn and ragged from limited sleep and his terribly long day. One am is never an appropriate time to call anybody, but he figures something has to be up—Mina's not the type to call in the middle of the night.

"Um, well. My homegirl’s kinda stuck in the woods with car troubles—"

"The woods."

It takes Mina a second but she hums in confirmation, and Eijirou can see her head nodding from where he lays. He sighs, rolling on his back to blink up at the ceiling. "Yep!"

"What is she doing in the woods at midnight?"

"I don't know!" Mina exclaims. Eijirou runs a hand over his face. "I just—please, Ei? She doesn't have AAA or anything and it's really, really late. All you have to do is hotwire her car or something, right? It's not like she totaled it or anything."

And dammit. Eijirou hates being a nice person.

"Just give me ten."

Mina practically gasps out a thank you, "You're a lifesaver Ei! Really! I—"

She's interrupted by the buzz of his phone—this time, from an unknown number. Eijirou raises an eyebrow, "That her?"

"Should be!" The pinkette says. Eijirou's feet finally touch the floor and it's painfully cold. His bed has never looked more appealing, and that's counting all those instances in high school. "Thanks again, Ei!"

"Yep," Eijirou says, popping the 'p,' before clearing his voice and switching the line. Customer Service at one am, here he comes.

"Red Riot Auto Repair and Services, how may I help you?"

All he receives is a grunt on the other end of the phone: "My car won't turn on."

Eijirou waits for you to give him a little more to work with, but it's clear that's all you have to say when you ask hello to ensure he's still on the other end of the line. Runs his hands through his hair, he silently prays he won't have to leave the house to get your car to work.

"Did you try jiggling the key?"

"Yes, I'm not stupid," you huff, and Eijirou's eyebrows fold in exasperation. He insists you do it again though, and hears the weak splutter of your engine through the phone with a heavy heart. "'S fucking useless."

"Did you try tapping the battery terminals?"

"The battery whatsitals?" You say, too loud and smart-mouthed for the very thin amount of patience Eijirou harbors. He reaches for his hair tie, satisfied enough with the messy bun he makes on the first try.

"Just send me your location," Eijirou sighs, moving for a jacket before snatching the keys to the shed. He'd rather just get this over with than beat around the bush.

Luckily, you're not far.

"You drive that thing?" is your first comment, and Eijirou can't even appreciate your beauty before your first words shatter your image completely, and he's slamming the door to his truck with rolling eyes, rusted toolbox heavy in his hand. "It looks like Mater from Lightning McQueen."

Eijirou just stares at you for a second, just to see if you're really serious, and resists the urge to scoff when it seems like you are.

"It's a truck," is all he says, before marching around you and to the task at hand—your car. "Pop the hood."

You huff, but you listen, and Eijirou wastes no time in getting to work. You watch with your elbows balanced on the rim, curious but quiet, and that allows him to get in the zone enough to realize there are countless problems with your car.

"When was the last time you took this thing into the shop?" He probes. You click your tongue, eyes tracing the outlines of the trees as you search for an answer. That's never a good sign.

"Um...never?"

"And how long have you had it?"

"A few years," you nod, and Eijirou drops his head.

"It's a miracle you made it this far in the first place," he chuckles bitterly, shaking his head. What the hell is he going to do now? There's no way your car is moving anywhere tonight. You frown, jamming your hands on your hips.

"Well? Are you going to fix it or what?"

"I can fix it," Eijirou says with a shrug, closing your hood. "But not tonight."

"What do you mean not tonight?" You badger, breathing down his neck as he hikes back to his truck to set the toolbox down. There's no reason to carry it if he's not going to need it.

"I mean, your car's going to need a solid six months before it can run again, Sweetheart."

When Eijirou turns, you're much too in his face for his liking. He can practically feel your breath against his chest, and it has him rolling his eyes, leaning against his truck with arms crossed.

"Yeah, okay, but I need it to run tonight," you explain, gesticulating so wildly Eijirou fears his own chest may fall in the cross-fire. "Like, I need to get home tonight."

"I can't—" the redhead sighs, running his hand over his face. You're terribly difficult, and if Mina had given him a proper warning he probably wouldn't be here in the fucking first place. "Listen. My shop is out of commission for the next few days 'cause of a flood. I can work on your car or whatever, but it'll take a sec, so the most I can do is drop you at a hotel down the road or somethin'. Sound like a plan?"

"No," you growl, claws and all, and Eijirou wishes for nothing but death. "That doesn't sound like a plan! I don't know you, what makes you think I'll get in a car with you?"

Oh. My. God.

"Then you can spend the night in your car and have Mina come get you in the morning," he huffs, stomping over to the driver's side of his truck. "So it's either you're gettin' in, or I'm leaving ya."

With that, he slams the car door shut, shoves his key in the ignition, and counts to fucking ten, and on nine and a half you're flinging open the passenger door and bouncing in the seat, arms crossed over your chest in indignance. You don't even look him in the eye.

"Seatbelt," he warns. You tut.

"I don't need a fucki—"

"Put on the goddamn seatbelt."

You don't say anything, but he's satisfied by the click that follows. Eijirou shifts into drive and you two take off.

"The seat's so uncomfortable."

Not even twenty feet.

"Suck it up," is all the pity Eijirou has to offer. He's preoccupied with trying to get from this side road to a main road with, you know, actual civilization. The road is unsteady—unsteady enough that a bump sends the both of you flying towards the roof of his car, and naturally, you have something to say about it.

"Y'know, for a mechanic, you're not a very good driver," you say, and it has Eijirou's fists tightening around his steering wheel. His patience wears down until it has the height of a penny, and Eijirou worries for when it shatters because he has no clue what he'll do if it does.

"And it smells a little funky," you continue anyway, eyes wandering around the cabin aimlessly."Kinda like cheese. No offense."

Eijirou pulls over at that, teeth grinding. Is he really going to snap over cheese comment?

“Is this a condom?”

Yes. Yes, the fuck he is.

"Get out."

"Um—excuse me?" You blink, eyebrows raising in offense. "You're kicking me out. Because I found a fucking rubber?”

Eijirou glares your way and he's sure you can feel him radiating fury, and that's enough to convince you to hop out of the car without another word. He follows, slamming the door behind him.

"Okay? Now what?" You growl, and Eijirou loves it—the false display of confidence. Because he knows it won't take much to break you once he gets you under his thumb, and you'll look so pretty once he does. Cocking his head to his side, he tells you to come here without having to open his mouth. You follow.

"Now, on your knees."

You splutter at his request, rolling your eyes as if he wasn't being serious. Though you shut up once you hear the clink of his belt, lips widening in revelation, and Eijirou thinks you'd look much prettier with your mouth full.

"You made me come all this way—it'd be a pity if I didn't get somethin' out of it," Eijirou says, and the way you shiver implies that you like this more than you let on. He coos when you say nothing, "And for the first time today she's got nothin' to say. See? You're improving already."

He gives you a second to move. When you don't, he lifts an eyebrow. "Knees, Princess."

You do and Eijirou groans at the view, palming his hardening cock at the sight of your bambi eyes blinking up at him—and it's a pretty one, at that. Leaning against the door of his truck, he grunts, "Take it out."

Your fingers hook under the waistband of his boxers and Eijirou shivers upon contact with the cool air, but the warmth of your palm makes up for it. You spit on his cock with a curled lip and it's nothing short of crude, before you're swirling your tongue around the head and taking him as far as you can possibly go.

"Uh-uh," Eijirou tuts, grabbing you by the hair to pull your mouth off his cock. "We got at my pace, Sweetheart."

"Why?" You pout with a curled lip. Eijirou scowls.

"Because," he says, before stuffing half of his cock down your throat, "I'm gonna put that big fuckin' mouth to use at my pace."

With that, Eijirou thrusts into your mouth, using the grip he has around your hair as leverage. Your throat is impossibly warm and the way you choke has him keening, and that's enough for his hips to start picking up mindlessly.

"Shit—what a dirty fuckin' girl," he says, smirking when you moan around his cock. "You like this? You like sucking off a guy you just met?"

Your eyes flutter at that, nails digging into his thighs, and it nearly has him cooing. When you swallow around him Eijirou's hips stutter and he grunts, "In public, no less. Anyone could drive by and see you taking my dick down your throat...but you'd like that, wouldn't you? You want the world to know how much of a slut you are."

Your hand falls between your thighs and Eijirou grins like the devil as he watches you touch yourself on the dirty road, desperate just because knows how to push the right buttons. That's enough to have him caving, demanding you rise to your feet and get in the backseat of his car.

"Hands and knees," Eijirou urges, his body towering over yours from behind. It's not long before he's pinning your wrists to the windshield with one hand and using the other to land a harsh slap on your ass; harsh enough to make you jolt forwards from the force.

"Such a pretty ass," he coos before slapping it again, and your teeth dig into your bottom lip to muffle the sound. "And it's all for me, ain't it, Princess?"

You nod, but Eijirou spanks you again—he's looking for an answer.

"Y-Yeah, yes, all yours just—" your hips wiggle in search of his cock. Eijirou chuckles, leveling his lips with your ear.

"Want me to fill you up, Princess?"

You gasp out a yes, nodding vehemently. The redhead finds he likes you like this much better, chest rumbling with arousal. "Yeah? How bad?"

"B-Bad, please, I need t—fuck!"

Eijirou stuffs you full with one thrust, and even he needs a moment, freehand searching to hold onto your hip while his grip tightens around your wrists. You quiver under him, and he swears he can feel your gut contract around his cock, eyelids fluttering when you grind against him.

"Holy shit," Eijirou finds himself wheezing, not expecting you to be so tight. You drop your head against the cool windshield, whimpering like the pretty little thing you are, shuddering as he pulls out before ramming himself in again until he's balls deep. You scream, back arching from the angle.

And fuck. It's impossible for him to stop after that.

"Fuckin' look at you," Eijirou chuckles, body practically caging you against the seat, "Drooling all over my window like a slut. Fuck, you really know how to get a guy goin' huh?"

“Pull—pull my hair,” you request, words from his pistoning hips. Eijirou tuts and rips your hands off the window in favor of pushing your head into the seat, not making a move to yank on your hair once.

“I don’t think you’re in the right place to be making demands, Princess," he growls before his hot palm cracks against your ass, hissing from the way you tighten around him when he does.

You whine at that, pushing into him the best you can. It only spurs his hips on faster, and Eijirou lets go of your hands in favor of grabbing your face instead, groaning at the sight of the tears shining silver from the moonlight. He likes the fact that you can't do much but gasp and rock against him, your hands falling to clit to finally push yourself off the edge.

He looks at you and all he sees is his dumb little thing, who can't do anything, let alone get her car to work, and that's when Eijirou realizes he doesn't want this to be as much of a one-time thing as he initially thought.

"Gonna...gonna cum," you slur, cheek mashed flat against his window. Eijirou fucks you into the door of his truck, pace quick and bruising, as his mind thinks of all the fun you two could have together—all the fun he wants to have with you.

"Cum, Sweetheart. Make a mess of my cock and my leather seats, yeah? Show me how good I make you feel."

You tighten around his cock, tight, and that's enough to send him spiraling into an orgasm of his own, hips stuttering to a stop as he fills you up. Though his hips never stop, not until you're coming around his cock with a broken moan, curled toes digging into his car floor. He watches you catch your breath, splayed across the seat, with a sudden realization that he feels much lighter, but doubts it was the sex that did the trick.

"You fucked your anger out now?" You wheeze, breaking the silence, and Eijirou snorts.

"I—yes," he says before his eyes trail to the scratch marks around your hips and thighs. "Are you...okay?"

"Never been better," you toss your arms in the air like you're on a rollercoaster but lack the energy to scream. It's cute and it had the redhead re-evaluating everything, wondering how the day could start so shitty and yet, end so well. "Are you okay?"

His eyebrows furrow, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno," you shrug, and Eijirou finds it hard to stay focused when you look like that. "You asked me, so. Everyone needs a post-sex check-in, ya know?"

Fuck.

Fuck, yeah he's definitely keeping you.

#— 𝐄𝐈𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐔 #tw.dubcon #kirishima smut #bnha smut #mha smut #kirishima x reader

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spectaclespencer · 3 years

Text

P.H. // Part 1; Alone

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A/N; Here’s the first chapter! Let me know what you think <3 this is based off of this request I got. Any and all feedback is appreciated. Please know I know this theme/part has little to nothing to do with the actual meaning of the song, but some lines work if you ignore the rest 😅

Summary; After Gideon leaves, Reader takes up chess to comfort Spencer through the difficult time.

Category; Fluff, Angst(?), Hurt/Comfort

Content Warnings; Sad Spencer otherwise none!

Word Count; 3.5k

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Next

It started when I found Spencer one morning. He had fallen asleep on a chair at the bau, and he explained to me that he’d been waiting for Gideon because he promised to play chess with Spencer that night.

“Is Hotch in yet?”

“No, he will be soon. We have a case, JJ is gonna brief us and we leave in 30.”

He thanked me and left the room, with his head down. He kept the same mood during the briefing, he kept drifting off as JJ was talking. Spencer was known to be stuck in his head often, but this was far more unusual behaviour. I figured maybe he slept wrong, or maybe just was simply looking forward to playing chess with Gideon. That was their usual routine, to have a game or two after cases to relax. It was understandable to see him on edge after not hearing from him all night.

As we got on the jet he didn’t sit with me on the couch right away as he usually did, instead he walked over to Hotch in the back corner. I craned my neck to try and see what he was doing and hear what he was saying. He spoke in soft whispers, seemingly asking questions I assumed were about Gideon’s presence. I saw Hotch shake his head, to which Spencer’s expression dropped. He thanked him, then made his way over to the couch beside me.

“You okay?” I asked.

He gave me a quick nod -- yet didn’t meet my eyes -- then curled up at the end of the couch to presumably take a nap before we landed.

We were all worried about Gideon, none of us had heard from him since the last case. We figured he just needed a break from the chaos; having a loved one die would take a toll on any of us. It was logical really, any one of the team would need time to recover when presented with that situation.

Spencer remained more quiet throughout the case, not engaging in conversation when it wasn’t crucial to the work. We ended up sharing rooms but even then he didn’t budge. He mostly sat in the corner and played chess against himself, often zoning out and staring at the wall. It was hard to see, and even harder to sit back and let him try to get through it. I could tell he was fighting himself in his head, probably going over scenarios on Gideon’s whereabouts. I imagine the stress was affecting him heavily -- or at least it was clear with the way his forehead had been creased all night.

Chess. Nobody on the team had a fair shot at him besides Gideon. Sitting there staring at the pieces probably wasn’t doing him too good, only making him worry more.

It wasn’t that I didn’t care because I did, but when it comes to certain things Spencer can be defensive and refuse help, so I wanted to give him a chance to get better. It wasn’t unlike him to refuse help, and I didn’t want to make the situation worse by opening my mouth. Instead, I opted to ask, “Mind if I join in for a game?”

“What? Uh- no it’s fine. I mean, okay yes. Sure,” Spencer stuttered, spooked by my sudden appearance beside him.

“Stop slouching, you’re gonna make your posture even worse,” I chuckled lightly, patting his shoulder to remind him. He shot me a small smile, watching as I rounded the table to sit across from him. I wasn’t too good of a player, but I wanted to make Spencer feel just a little less alone.

“Do you even know how to play?”

“Ouch,” I mocked offense, slapping a hand over my heart. “So cruel, Spencer.”

He raised his eyebrows in a form of asking again, to which I replied with, “Kind of. I haven’t played for years but I’ve observed you.”

“Y-you’ve observed me?” Spencer questioned, resetting the chess pieces on the board.

“Well, yeah. Kind of hard not to. You’re a pretty interesting guy.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

I smiled when he finally made eye contact with me. He looked tired -- more so than usual -- with his eyebags a deeper shade than they were normally.

The game didn’t last long. In only seven minutes, he managed to beat me. I groaned at my loss, lips pulled into a tight line. Spencer didn’t react, however.

“Okay that’s enough for me,” I said, heading over to the bathroom to brush my teeth before bed. “Goodnight Spence. Get some sleep. No offense but you look like you need it.”

He hummed at me, cleaning up the table before he climbed into his own bed.

I could tell he didn’t sleep much that night, as he kept a lamp on and littered his bed with various books. He looked cute, all swaddled up in the blanket he brings with him on every case for a sense of stability. His glasses were perched on his nose, and he was chewing his fingernails -- a habit I’ve tried to get him to kick over the past two years.

We didn’t talk during the night, but we both knew that each other were awake. I was kept up by my thoughts, trying to figure out how to get Spencer out of his slump. Re-learning how to play chess seemed like a decent enough idea -- yet one that would take some time. I was proved tonight that my skill needed to be greatly improved. It was nice in the moment, but realistically it would take a few weeks, if not more, to get the hang of.

The next day at the precinct I was stationed at the map, trying to figure out our geographical profile. I heard faint chattering coming from outside, and looked over my shoulder to see Spencer and Derek talking. I couldn’t hear much, but I did get that Spencer mumbled about calling Gideon, to which Derek answered that he might’ve just missed the call. It was possible, but likely deeper than that.

“Six times? Six calls? Something’s wrong,” Spencer sighed, rubbing his eyes.

I didn’t intervene with the conversation, instead deciding to finally speak to him about it after the case had ended.

On the last day, we all headed to our rooms after grabbing some dinner, to get a good rest before we took off early the next morning.

“Hey Spence, you awake?”

He hummed in response, and I could hear the rustle of the sheets as he rolled over in his bed to face me.

“I know you’re worried about Gideon. How about when we get back tomorrow I’ll drive you down to his cabin? We can go check on him.

“Would you really?” he asked softly. I couldn’t see him fully in the darkness, but I could sense he was looking at me with pleading eyes.

“Of course. I don’t like seeing you this stressed and down. I want to help.”

“Thanks ____, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Spencer.”

After our conversation it was like a blanket of grey was lifted over his head. He settled in more, drifting off to sleep within minutes. I hated seeing him sad, and I did my best to try and fix his mood whenever I could. Spencer didn’t like change, I knew that, and the team knows that. A part of me had a sneaking suspicion that Gideon wasn’t coming back, and I had fear for what that would mean for Spencer.

-----

“Do you want me to come in with you?” I asked, pulling up in front of the cabin and turning off the engine. The only sounds were the faint hum of rain outside, splattering against the windows.

Spencer shook his head and took a deep breath, before unbuckling himself and opening his door. He mumbled something about being right back, as he headed off towards the building. It wasn’t dark yet -- only being four pm -- but it wasn’t too light either.

It looked as if the lights inside the cabin were off, and I could just hardly see Spencer as he knocked on the door. He waited on the porch for a moment, waiting to see if anyone would come to the door.

Nobody did.

It was hard to just sit there and watch, as his desperation grew stronger by the millisecond.

-----

I took deep breaths, trying to even out my intake of air and remain calm. When nobody answered the fifth time that I knocked, I reluctantly grabbed a hold of the knob and turned it. Much to my surprise the door opened, creaking inch by inch as I stood there unmoving.

“Gideon?” I called into the home, taking one step inside. “Jason?”

I wasn’t greeted with an answer, he didn’t come to the door and thank me for coming to visit. It was eerily quiet -- so quiet I took a few more steps inside to create some sort of volume.

“Hello?” I spoke again, louder this time. Shutting the door behind me I took off my jacket and hung it on the coat rack next to the entrance.

The place had been mainly cleared out, there weren’t many personal items behind. I stalked over to the kitchen, to see if there was any trace of someone within the last few days. It’s been officially a week and a half since anyone had last heard from him that I was aware of. I thought someone must have eaten, or at least left a bit of a mess behind them that would signal a presence.

As I turned the corner to enter the new room I noticed something on the table. I stopped in my tracks, leaning down to take a closer look.

Gideon’s badge, gun, and an envelope.

I swallowed thickly, walking around the table and took a seat in front of the items. When I saw the envelope had my name on it, my heart dropped. With shaky hands I picked up the paper and opened it, seeing there was a letter inside.

Spencer,

I knew it would be you who came to the cabin to check on me.

You must be frightened, I apologize for that. I never meant to cause you any pain. But then I also never envisioned writing this letter. I’ve searched for a satisfactory explanation for what I’m doing, all I’ve come up with is: a profiler needs to have solid footing. I- I don’t think I do anymore. The world confuses me. The cruelty, indifference, tragedy.

I stopped there, my eyesight becoming blurry from tears. I shoved the letter in my pocket, not caring at the moment if it got crumpled or not.

I was out of the cabin in no time -- choosing not to stay there and sulk in a deeper sadness.

-----

Waiting in the car for Spencer felt like torture. It was difficult, letting him go in there alone to be met with possibly no answers. I was thrown out of my thoughts by the sound of the cabin door slamming shut, Spencer jogging over to the car.

“Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked, red flags hanging immediately as he climbed in the car, tear soaked face pointed down towards his lap. It took me a moment to realize he was crying -- the rain had completely soaked through his top layer of clothes. He didn’t reply with words, instead reaching into his pants pocket to retrieve a piece of paper. He handed it over to me, still not meeting my eyes.

I unfolded it and began to read -- it was hard, through the tear stains smudging the ink across the page.

“Oh, Spence…” I whispered and stopped after the first few sentences, leaving the rest for him. I didn’t know what to say, how to comfort him.

“He’s gone,” Spencer sniffled, wiping his eyes on the sleeves of his nearly drenched jacket. “He just left. He didn’t say goodbye. He left me a note,” he froze, taking a few deep breaths. “Just like my dad did when I was a kid.”

“It’ll be okay. Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s okay,” I assured him. “You know he cares about you, right?”

“I know he is. It’s just-” he started, trying to find the right words between his gasping for more air. “Can you just take me home, please.”

I nodded, while turning the car back on to drive away. Spencer kept his gaze towards the window, refusing to let me see his face. I’m selfishly almost glad for it, because I don’t know if seeing his heartbreak is something I could handle.

It was a long, quiet drive, taking around an hour and a half to finally reach his apartment. He scrambled out of the car fast, but I still walked him up as I usually did. He got to the door before me, thanking me for driving him home. He shut the door just as I got fully up the stairs, leaving me standing with my mouth open.

‘Baby, when you fought me at the door

Kinda hard to force what's natural

Maybe you don't want what you need most’

-----

The next day when he came over after work he was almost back to normal. It was weird to see, to see such a shift in his behaviour after less than twenty-four hours. As much as he tried to hide it, I could tell just how hard it was for him. The sudden change didn’t go well with anyone, we’d all been informed that Gideon wouldn’t be returning and that he’d moved on from the BAU. It was especially hard on Spencer too, since Elle had just left not too long ago, and then Emily joined the team. First he loses a friend, someone who truly understood him as I did, and then someone he considered a father figure.

And neither of them had said goodbye to his face. It was scary, knowing a member of your team could walk out and never return before you know it.

We were seated on the couch, a game of chess displayed on the middle cushion between us.

It wasn’t anywhere near a fair game -- Spencer’s skills were still far ahead of mine. However I noticed it made him smile, and that’s all I wanted. For him to feel loved, and secured. It was a sense of grounding, a routine that was regular in his life. I still wasn’t very good -- not having played since high school and that night on the last case. But I downloaded an audiobook and several player’s guides for the plane ride home to study, because I wanted to learn for Spencer’s sake. However I soon realized it was easier to watch Spencer and how he plays, and to ask him questions. He seemed to enjoy it, having someone else in his life to play with.. And he loved to teach, to help people learn. He was so good at it too, his big brain being used to help people no matter the context.

Eventually he won the game as usual, causing me to groan in frustration..

“You bastard.”

“Not my fault you kinda suck,” he laughed bashfully, lips curling up into a small smile. It was nice to see a bit of happiness on his face, no matter how temporary.

“You’re so rude to me,” I joked, moving the board to the coffee table. “I thought we were friends.”

It was silent for a few moments, with me figuring out what I was going to say next.

“Spencer I know you haven’t wanted my help, but please tell me what I can do for you. Tell me how you feel, at least?”

‘Maybe you don't want what you need most’

“It’s nothing, ____,” he breathed, looking away from me and instead at the wall the couch was facing. He could see our reflection on the blank tv, and instead opted to just look down at his lap. “I’m better now.”

‘You ain't even there for me

Now you're scared to be alone’

“Respectfully, that’s bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh come on. I know you don’t want to talk about this but at least give me something. Don’t keep it all in. It’s not healthy.”

His face screwed up at my words, eyebrows furrowed and lips twitching. I could tell he knew I was right, as much as he hated it.

“I’m just- I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Spencer whispered, barely loud enough for me to hear.

‘Got me thinkin' that you scared of yourself, not me’

It all made sense -- the way he’d been distancing himself lately. It took me promising candy and Star Trek for him to come over tonight, and even then he almost declined. Too many blows to the heart made him afraid to get attached. He didn’t want anyone else from his life to disappear in a flash.

“Look at me,” I said, and he snapped his head to face me. “I’m not going anywhere. I can’t claim to be far in the future, but right now? I’m here. You’re stuck with me for a while, Spencer.”

He smiled, closing his eyes as a stray tear graced across his cheek. I used my thumb to wipe it away, and pulled him into a tight hug. He relaxed against me, I felt the tensions in his shoulders deflate as I held him.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. His breath shuddered, and he wrapped his arms around my middle tighter, pushing his face into my shoulder to muffle his crying.

We sat for a while, my hands tracing patterns along his back. It took a few minutes for his cries to calm down, but eventually his breathing evened out with only a few hiccups here and there. He was practically sitting in my lap with his legs flung over mine, suddenly not caring about his personal space. I couldn’t blame him -- the boy was so touch starved he so clearly craved all contact he consented to.

“Do you want to spend the night?” I asked, quietly so I didn’t scare him with the sudden sound.

“Could I please?”

“Of course,” I smiled, pulling away. He still held on tight, not wanting to let go.

We made our way to my bedroom, repeating our usual routine. This wasn’t the first time we’d had a sleepover, and it won’t be the last I’m sure. Sometimes after particularly harder cases he would spend the night, just to be close to someone.

I went into the bathroom to change, giving him the opportunity to do the same. When I returned, he was dressed in a t-shirt and flannel pants he left at my place for sleepovers like this. He was already in bed, and when he saw that I was done in the bathroom he lifted the side of the blanket to welcome me in.

I joined him, grinning as he scooted over and pressed his back to my chest. I felt him breathing softly, my right arm slung over his torso to bring him in closer. He held onto my hand, and didn’t let me drift away. I was happy to comply, happy to feel his body warmth radiate through me.

“Thank you, ____. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Spence.”

From that day on for the foreseeable future, I swore to myself to have check-ins with Spencer whenever it seemed necessary. Whether it was in the form of words, sleepovers, movie nights, or chess.

His smile got brighter everyday, and eventually he no longer felt as much weight on himself a few weeks down the road. He still cried to me about how he missed Gideon, but it had gotten less frequent. And I was always there for him, offering my shoulder and the promise of my embrace. I knew he appreciated it too.

After a few months since our first game, I beat him in a game of chess. We were on the jet on the way to Montana for a case, and Derek was sitting beside Spencer. He kept annoying him, doing little things like twisting his hair and fanning him with files. Spencer kept shrieking quietly -- trying not to alert Hotch of the bickering.

“Checkmate,” I said, biting back a smile.

“What?!” Spencer froze, arm raised in what looked like to be a poor attempt of whacking Derek’s head.

“Awe, pretty boy. You’ll get her next time,” Derek threw his head back in laughter.

“What?” Spencer repeated quieter, eyes darting across the board, likely running calculations in his head.

“Better luck next time,” I smirked, tilting my head to the side. I wiggled my eyebrows, my small victory boosting my ego.

Spencer tried to keep a neutral face, but I could see by the tension in his cheekbones that he was happy. He was enjoying it.

-----

Please tell me your thoughts on this chapter here!

You can also send me an ask to join this series’ taglist.

permanent taglist; @spencerscumrag @spenxerslut

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid series #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid x self insert #mgg #gublernation #matthew gray gubler fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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bogkeep · 2 years

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resentment is one of the most uncomfortable feelings i know of. it feels bad and gross and overriding what you WANT to feel about something. once it starts spilling over it becomes incredibly hard to put it back. however... like pretty much all emotions because emotions are neutral and not inherently good or bad, it's a very useful indicator.

i think that when you feel resentment, it's your brain grappling with unfairness or an imbalance, even when it hasn't registered as such to your Conscious Mind. being unfairly compensated for your effort, or expected to do more for less? resentment. having your boundaries overstepped because it's difficult to enforce them for whatever reason? resentment. having your time and availability taken for granted? resentment. it's like an alarm bleep for when your self worth is being overridden in some way.

HERE'S THE MAGIC TRICK THOUGH. it's not always that the solution is "other person just has to treat me better". sometimes it's YOU gotta step up and treat you better. sometimes situations are unfair even when it's nobodys Fault. sometimes a situation is unfair and it's YOUR fault.

if you're just such a very good nice host and everyone is welcome in your home always, no matter what, if it's okay that they sleep in your bed, and it's okay if they leave heaps of dishes and never offer to help clean, it's okay if you have no privacy, and it's okay if they empty your fridge, because you're a GOOD host, you're a NICE host, you do genuinely believe everyone deserves a roof over their head and you are able to provide that, you can't just say NO to someone because that would make you BAD and MEAN... and it IS true that everyone deserves to eat and have a roof over their head. but the resentment will build as you keep neglecting your needs and wants. you'll feel bad about yourself, and you'll feel bad towards other people who are not providing their homes for the good of all. it makes no sense to feel bad for being kind, so maybe the feeling of badness is an indicator of your morality, and that the problem is that you're not kind ENOUGH and need to step up......

spoilers: no, it's not. but that's the narrative we're so often taught, that to say no, to deny someone something is unkind and selfish and bad. that it's the people with healthy boundaries who set their limits who are wrong. your resentment feels like poison and envy, but it's TRYING to get you to reclaim your self-worth.

trying to extend yourself beyond your limits will just add to your resentment debt. if you have a friend that isn't putting as much effort into the relationship as you do, and it's not malicious, they keep SAYING they want to do better by you, they want to initiate more hangouts and text first more often, and they really do want to. but it keeps Not Happening. it might not be their fault at all - whether they're unable or unwilling doesn't really matter. what matters is that you keep waiting for them to step up and change. you keep waiting for them to go from their 30% effort to their 100%. or maybe you'll even settle for like, 70%. but what's 30% to you may be 100% to them. and you can't know this for sure, but you'll feel resentful, because YOU can give 100% that reads like 100% to you. and actually, you know what, you can give 140%. you can add that extra effort to make up for their lack of, right? together you can give a solid 170% friendship effort I'M SURE THIS WILL SOLVE THE PROBLEM.

spoilers: no, it won't. you're unbalancing the scales even further. of course you feel absolutely awful about a person putting in so much less effort than you, because you can't make up for that on their behalf, you're just burning out. and for what? it sounds wrong, but that friendship will almost certainly feel a lot better if you put LESS effort into it. maybe if you reshelve the importance of that friendship in your mind. it's not a cruel thing to do, it's just a natural progression of the ever changing nature of interpersonal relationships. we're allowed to change.

anyway yeah

#too long for twitter #ive had too little sleep and too much tea welcome to textpostland #my gf says i give good advice... im getting a good gradd in advice something that is normal to want and po

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harrysweasleys · 3 years

Text

know-it-all // g.w

summary: Could you please write a fluffy fic about George and a Ravenclaw reader arguing about an answer on an exam or an assignment. And in the end it turns out George was right. And I would love it if you could include the exchange, "Don't say it!" "I told you so." "I said don't say it."

warnings: mentions of food

word count: 1.7k

a/n: i am back with my twin fics! woah! it’s been a while, sorry about that. life has been wild and i didn’t have much motivation but here we go! i hope you all enjoy!! x

[i do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other platform!]

For what felt like the billionth time of that afternoon, you dropped your head onto the table and let your forehead smack against the solid wooden surface. You could feel different sets of eyes peering in your direction from other tables in the library, all silently questioning what was wrong with you.

The answer was simple: Potions.

Snape had set out a stupid assignment that, to be completely fair, was way out of your league. For every time you thought he was an awful professor, he sunk remarkably lower.

The topic of said assignment was one that you guys hadn’t even covered yet, and given by Snape’s tone of voice when a student had brought that very point up in class, he really couldn’t care less. It didn’t help that you were already ridiculously occupied with other end-of-year assignments — you didn’t want to get stuck teaching yourself a whole new branch of potion-making as well. You were barely sleeping nights and only showed up to dinner every second day, the library study hours becoming your very best friend.

It was just a lot.

It also didn’t help that you could see the golden rays of the sunlight pouring in through the dusty library window, signalling that it was once again the end of the day, and tomorrow, bright and early, you’d be handing in the assignment that you were nearly certain you’d botched.

Dinner was likely being prepared in the Great Hall right about now, the wonderful smell of roast potatoes and pumpkin juice running through your mind, but you honestly weren’t up to eating. You were feeling rather down in the dumps, forehead still pressed against the wooden table, and your mind reeling around the assignment.

“You look like you could use some assistance.”

You lifted your gaze, sure that there was now a bright red spot on your forehead, and glared over at George, who had just taken the seat across from you at the table. His grin was wide but his eyes were tired — you knew he was busy working on assignments of his own, as well his summer plans for opening the shop. Yet somehow he always found time to help you.

He tilted his head to the side when you gave him an exhausted stare, blinking rapidly before you processed his question.

“Do you remember doing this last year?” you asked, sliding over the assignment paper, giving a small cough to clear your dry throat. George, being in the year ahead of you, had quite the knack for Potions. He liked to say it was because it was just utterly fascinating and he was a purely, genuinely, naturally gifted student, but you knew he only did so well because he’s been brewing his own disastrous concoctions since he was a young boy. With practice comes skill, you always said.

And you prayed to Merlin that said skill would come in handy right about now.

His eyes scanned the paper and he gave a small shake of his head, “No, but I think you’ve got this wrong. You wrote Leech Juice here, but I’m pretty sure the answer is actually Acromantula Venom.”

You frowned, snatching the paper back from him — making him flinch and take a quick look at his fingers for any paper cuts — and stared down at your answer, “What? No. The obvious answer is Leech Juice. This was the only question I understood. I know the answer to this one, it’s the others that I can’t seem to figure out.”

He raised an eyebrow, “It’s Acromantula Venom, darling. That I know for sure.”

Though you were grateful for his presence and the fact that he was willing to help, you knew he was wrong about that one. Any first year could tell the answer was Leech Juice. But you didn’t feel like arguing with him any more than necessary with time running low, so you just gave your paper back and frowned.

“Can you help me with any of these? Professor Snape hasn’t said a single thing about any of these topics, and I’m sick of flipping through book after book, not even sure what I’m looking for,” you let out a sigh, “It feels like he’s purposefully setting us up for failure,” you muttered the last part under your breath, not wanting anyone other than George to hear your complaints.

His hand reached across the table and linked with yours, his soft fingers calming down the rapid, stressed-out beating of your heart, and gave you a small smile, “If he hasn’t taught you this, I’m sure that you’re not the only one having a hard time.”

You groaned, trying to pull your hand out of his, unfortunately failing as his grip was stronger than yours.

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” you said, voice low, “I don’t want to fail, even if everyone else does. That’ll always show up on my reports.”

He pursed his lips, giving you a small nod, “Alright, I get that. Why don’t you take a break? We’ll go eat, and then finish this up later, yeah? You can head over to the Common Room with me after dinner, I doubt anyone will say anything.”

A sigh left your lips as you began to place your parchment and books into a pile, George grabbing your ink bottle and quill — which had kindly left little indents in your hand due to aggressive use — and the two of you began to make your way to the Great Hall.

After leaving the library, you could feel a weight lifted off of your shoulders. As if the tense study environment that you had felt stuck in had now been leeched away from you. As if you could now think clearly. You gave George a small smile, thankful that he arrived when he did.

Merlin, why was sixth year so difficult? If it wasn’t for George’s calmness and sanity, you’d probably be a melted mess of failed papers and shining blue robes on the floor.

As you made your way into the Hall, heading towards the Ravenclaw table, George pressed a kiss to your forehead and muttered, “Acromantula Venom,” against your skin, shooting you a wink before he made off to his own house table.

You gave a small scowl, mouthing “Leech Juice” right back at him.

— —

“Oh, well, now would you look at that,” George grinned, looking down at the assignment you were shoving in his face. A bright smile donned your lips as you flashed the score, a bright red E.

Exceeds Expectations.

It wasn’t the O — Outstanding — that you were hoping for, but Merlin, did the E feel good. That meant you had done better than Snape was expecting — and better than a majority of the class, by the looks of it. They had all walked out with solemn faces and shoved their papers in their bags as quickly as possible. Even the Slytherin girl who sat behind you, the one who always bragged about perfect grades and how much Snape favoured her, had left without saying a word. That fact alone really boosted your pride.

“No thanks to your brilliant boyfriend,” George gave himself a pat on the back, giving you your now-crumpled paper.

“Oh, sod off,” you gave him a nudge in the shoulder as you sat down on the couch next to him, the Gryffindor common room rather silent for this early in the evening. Despite being a Ravenclaw, passing students didn’t mind your presence in their house. After three years of dating George and always being in the space, they barely even noticed the blue of your tie amongst the red ones anymore.

“Wait, what’s this?” George rapidly snatched the paper out of your hands — revenge for when you did it to him, most likely — and his eyes lingered on question number four, “Oh, well, would you look at that?”

You scowled, crossing your arms over your chest in preparation for his comment, “Don’t say it.”

His grin was so wide, you swore his cheeks would split, “You got Leech Juice wrong! And right here, scribbled in Snape’s hardly-legible writing, what does that say? It looks like A-Acro-,”

“Don’t,” you didn’t meet his eyes, a sour expression on your face as George rubbed it in.

“I told you so,” he leaned forwards, pressing a light kiss against your temple, arm slinging around you to bring you against his body. His warmth radiated through his sweater and it wasn’t helping the pettiness you were feeling in your chest.

“I said don’t say it,” you grumbled, snapping your head away from him and staring at the blank brick wall next to the fireplace. His laugh vibrated through your body, and it took everything in you not to turn around and laugh with him.

He placed one of his hands under your chin and turned your gaze to meet his, “Come on, I’m only playing. I’m proud of you, and I knew you’d do well. You were worried for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing!” you flailed your arms, letting them fall on your lap, “He sprung this out of the blue. Of course I was worried.”

“And you did brilliantly,” he pressed another kiss to your temple, sparks fluttering across your skin as his loving touch, “You always do, my brilliant little witch.”

You cracked.

A small smile made its way onto your lips as you leaned into his touch, loving the feeling of being close to him. And it felt even sweeter knowing that you hadn’t failed — that this was a victory hug.

“Love you,” he mumbled against your hand, bringing your knuckles up to his lips and pressing a kiss on each one. You leaned your head on his shoulder, bringing your lips to his neck to mumble the same words against his skin.

A victory.

taglist

@grierpilots @hxfflxpxffs @mikumana @msmimimerton @pit-and-the-pen @diary-of-an-onliner @thoseofgreatambition @theweasleysredhair @haphazardhufflepuff @awritingtree @thisismysketchbook @valwritesx @vogueweasley @hufflrpuffforfred @phuvioqhile @marvelettesassemble @shadowsinger11 @breadqueen95 @hahee154hq @inglourious-imagines @amourtentiaa @barneswidow @spacexcowgirl @lumos-barnes @gcdricreads @bolaurel @almostweepingbanana @ickle-ronniekins @iprobablyshipit91 @wand3ringr0s3 @susceptible-but-siriusexual @amhyeah @a-castle-of--glass @freddie1978 @lumosandnoxwriting @rosaliepostsstuff @darthwheezely @parseltongueswriting @pandaxnienke @esmeralda-a @freds-slut @slytherinlovesgryffindor

#george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #george weasley x reader #george weasley reader insert #george weasley one shot #george weasley one shots

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froggie-recs-fics · 3 years

Text

Fic Roundup (up to 9/26/21)

I'm gonna start collecting fics I've read recently to recommend them, because making trope lists takes too long and many fics fall by the wayside. Let me know if you like this new format!

The fandoms in this list are as follows: Marvel (SamBucky, HTP, SpideyPool, WinterHawk, WinterIron, Stony, Stucky, SpiderShield), DCU (Bane/Blake), Inception (Arthur/Eames), Teen Wolf (Sterek).

A * signifies a particular favorite (though I love all these fics)

Marvel

Sam/Bucky

double back by flowermasters (E, 12K, Post-Endgame, Time Loop, Time Travel)

Sam gets stuck in a time loop. In 1943.

Things could be worse, but they could certainly be better.

Companion piece here: quick time

I'll explain everything to the geese by napricot (Post-Endgame, E, 50K, Sam can talk to birds)

Bucky is so competent that it hurts my feelings is not a rational complaint to have about a person, and yet, after a year of being Captain America and partnering up with Bucky for the new and improved, post-Blip Avengers, that’s kinda how Sam’s feeling.

It’s not great. It maybe leads to Sam making some rash, ill-advised decisions like claiming he has a previously undisclosed superpower, and then getting caught in a web of lies when he ends up actually developing that surprisingly inconvenient superpower. Talking to birds had seemed like a harmless superpower, but it turns out that birds have a lot of opinions, and they don’t hesitate to tell Sam about them, especially when it comes to his supposedly subpar courting skills. Which is ridiculous, because Sam isn’t courting Bucky. Right?

Rumlow/Bucky

**blueprints for a better world series by itallstartedwithdefenestration @astralhux (CATWS, Post-CATWS, Noncon, E, 115K, Dark Main Character)

When Pierce discovers the asset is no longer capable of getting himself hard during recreational use, he tells Rumlow to figure out what the problem is, and to fix it. The solution turns out to be more complicated than anyone expected.

I can't recommend this series enough

Peter/Wade

*Dead Men Walking series by doctorestranged @lazystrawberrymilkshakes (E, 235K, Identity Porn, Slow Burn)

When a series of murders take place, Peter Parker goes undercover in Sister Margaret’s to get intel on Tony Stark’s prime suspect: Deadpool. Peter goes in hoping to get enough information so that Spider-Man can save the day, but like everything in Peter’s life, it becomes a bit more complicated than that and it soon becomes apparent that he might not be the best fit for the job.

All About Chemistry by TwiceBakedPotato @sedatedkoala (No Powers AU, M, CNTW, 74K, Teacher-Student Relationship, Slow Build)

After serving his 20 years in the Marine Corps, Wade Wilson is cashing in his GI Bill and going back to college. He feels like the old man on campus, but that doesn't matter. He likes his classes. He likes learning. And he especially likes his Chemistry professor with the messy brown hair.

Clint/Bucky

Making Me A Habit by Kangofu_CB @kangofu-cb (No Powers AU, T, 20K, Pet Store, Slow Burn, Pining, Misunderstandings)

Bucky is a disabled vet struggling with reintegrating into civilian life. He has a routine and a rhythm, and he doesn't like to let anything - big or small - disrupt it. That all changes the day Bucky finds himself inside CATastrophe, the local pet rescue, recovering from a panic attack in the back room of the shop.

He’s used to walking by the place, not visiting, but the next thing Bucky knows, he’s hanging signs and being used as a climbing tree for a bunch of freshly-acquired kittens. And he just...keeps going back. First for the kittens, then for the disaster shop owner who rescues actual kittens from actual trees and teaches archery as a side-gig, and eventually because he’s hopelessly in love.

(Clint was in love before Bucky ever walked in the door.)

*Nameless by AvaKelly (Post-CATWS, M, 101K, Time Travel, Time Loop, Slow Burn)

A gun is pointed at him before he can even move from his position, the Soldier's metal arm steady in its aim. Clint sighs.

"Nemo," Clint says. "It's tattooed on your wrist, right here," he lifts his right hand and taps his left index finger where his palm ends.

The Soldier's eyes widen. "How do you know this?"

"I put it there."

Glitter, G-Strings and Other Mission Hazards by flawedamythyst @flawedamythyst (T, 16K, Undercover, Stripper Clint)

“Which is why you need me to shake my booty for cash,” said Clint.

“Precisely,” said Coulson. “You’re the only agent we have who wouldn’t need additional training in the skills of an exotic dancer to take on the mission, and we want to get someone in there as soon as possible.”

Clint nodded, shutting the file. “Okay, awesome. I’ll dig out my sequined g-string.”

“You’ll have full access to requisition any costumes you might need,” said Coulson.

A mission requires Bucky to be Clint's back-up as he goes undercover as a stripper, which gets more difficult with every new costume he comes out in.

Paternal Error by EVVS @skylarkevanson (Post-CATWS, T, 33K, Kid Fic, Established Relationship)

Bucky has never once thought of being a parent. Not since the Winter Solider happened.

Until he falls in love with Clint Barton. And that idiot just keeps collecting children for his flock.

Now Bucky has to pretend like he's good at parenting.

Bucky/Tony

Forms of Love by bear_bell (Post-CACW, E, 33K, Split Personalities)

Months after the Avengers' dispute in Germany, the team returns to the US and moves back into the tower. As always, everyone pretends that nothing happened. Tony is just fine with this. He's used to pretending, and he'll be damned if he lets any of them see him flinch.

Tony's the bad guy, after all. He's used to it. He's fine with it. He's good at it.

Only now, there's something far worse loitering around the tower - The Winter Soldier. No one notices the guy at first, but when they do, Tony figures that he should have the soldier's back.

Birds of a feather should flock together, and the bad guys should start a book club.

Steve/Tony

While You Were Sleeping by betheflame @betheflame (No Powers AU, M, 65K, While You Were Sleeping AU)

It's been years since Steve Grant Rogers Drysdale has spoken to his twin, Ransom. So it was quite a shock when he was summoned to a hospital and found out that Ransom was in a coma.

Even more shocking? That Ransom is engaged. To Tony Stark.

Steve/Bucky

The Road Goes Ever On And On by PipGraham (Omegaverse AU, M, Noncon, Graphic Violence, 20K, Road Trip, Pre-Serum Steve, Past Domestic Violence)

When Brock's continued domestic abuse puts not only Steve's life in danger, but also that of his unborn pup, he flees into the night with just a small backpack of clothes and almost no money to his name.

Steve quickly runs into trouble as he tries to embark on a 3-day cross-country bus journey back home to New York City.

He meets a kind veteran when he most needs a helping hand.

Just Words by LadyRazzle (crimegimp) @ladyrazzle (Pre-CATFA, Soulmate AU, T, 2K, Fluff)

Inspired by that now legendary post: "soulmate AU where you wake up on your 18th birthday with the first words your soulmate will say to you tattooed on your body so you’ll know them when you meet them." Well what if they appear the moment you turn 18, rather than just the day? And what if by the time you turn 18, you'd already fallen in love?

Bucky wasn’t eager to discover what the words said. He already knew what he wanted them to say. He always had.

Peter/Steve

Forgetting It's There by spinstitcher (stygian) (NR, 8K, Crack, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn)

“You’re Captain America,” he blurts out.

“What?” says Captain America, looking a little wide-eyed. He casts a nervous glance at the girl at the counter – he has nothing to worry about there, she’s rocking out to her iPod and could care less what they’re talking about – and says, “No, uh, Steve, it’s just, I’m Steve.”

“Right,” says Peter, and then because his brain-to-mouth filter had apparently been completely destroyed in the fight on Oscorp Tower: “Hey, your butt really is as tight as it looks on TV.”

DCU

Bane/Blake

7 Deadly Ass(as)sins by teacuphuman @teacuphuman09 (AU, E, 23K, BDSM)

Bane and Barsad own a sex shop and John needs a job.

Straws by Menirva (Bane/Blake/Barsad, AU, E, 38K, BDSM)

John works in a smoothie shop.

He has a knack, a second sense if you will, for being able to look at a person and know what they're going to order. It's not the most spectacular gift in the world but he likes being able to figure people out and he's never wrong.

Except for this scruffy asshole who is clearly just ordering the wrong thing to fuck with him.

How is he even finishing an extra-large?

Inception

Aurthur/Eames

Rough Trade by Whisky (whiskyrunner) @whiskyrunner (AU, E, 23K, Internalized Homophobia)

Arthur is an investment banker. He is professional and efficient. He's a halfway decent cook. He's totally independent and has been since the age of eighteen. Maybe he's tired all the time because he works about ninety hours a week which is twice what normal people do, but he's rich and he's competent at his job. He's almost thirty, and already a success.

And there are some things Arthur is not. For instance: Arthur is not gay.

Lucky by earlgreytea68 @earlgreytea68 (M, 37K, Kid fic)

Arthur finds a baby.

Teen Wolf

Stiles/Derek

Cut to the Bone by standinginanicedress (Omegaverse AU, E, 112K, Secret Relationship, Enemies to Lovers kinda)

“Not that it’s any of your god damn business, but my name is Stiles. Do you need something?”

The alpha grins. All teeth, shiny white, straight as an arrow. He’s got this sculpted perfection to him that Stiles is sure has worked on all the omegas he’s ever encountered before, but Stiles stands his ground and narrows his eyes. “A date.”

Stiles looks him up and down, slowly, from the black shoes on his feet, to his uniform khakis and blazer littered with pins, to his face. He frowns, makes a face, and says, “pass.”

Cornerstone by Vendelin (Human AU, E, 83K, Marine Derek, Blind Stiles, Friends to Lovers)

Suffering from PTSD, ex-Marine Derek Hale moves back to Beacon Hills to open a bookshop and find a calmer life. That’s where he meets Stiles, completely by accident. Stiles is talkative, charming and curious. Somehow, despite the fact that he’s blind, he’s able to read Derek like no one else.

Stand Fast in Your Enchantments by DevilDoll, Rahciach (AU, Graphic Violence, E, 76K, Captivity, Feral Derek)

"Stiles knew damn well what a pissed-off wolf sounded like, and every hair on the back of his neck was telling him that somewhere in this room was a very pissed-off werewolf." An AU in which Derek is feral, Stiles is magical, and they eat a lot of fast food.

The Payoff Pitch by Leslie_Knope (Sports AU, E, 83K, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers)

Derek is on the cusp of his second season with the LA Dodgers, and as the reigning runner-up Rookie of the Year, the pressure’s on him to become the team’s star pitcher and lead them to the playoffs for the first time in five years. He’s trying to deal with the burden of expectations and really has zero desire to spend any extra time or energy on anything that isn’t baseball.

But then he meets Stiles.

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insomniac-dot-ink · 3 years

Text

Is it wrong to lie to children?

A personal essay on reconciling with a shitty childhood and the question: is it wrong to lie to children?

It’s perplexing to have a shitty “unorthodox” childhood because initially I tried to throw out everything about It. Toss out the plumping and the rafters and the roofing, dispense of every single part of my upbringing I could get my hands on and not look back. Naturally, this approach didn’t work. It wasn’t even a real possibility. You’re still haunted by it, a ghost in the bones of a house, a foundation that remains long after the builders have left. That’s part of recovery too, to look at that ghost, to look at those bones, and keep saying: I see you, I see. I let you in. You sit with it and accept, accept, accept.

The really terrible part of this, the part where I don’t throw away the baby with the bathwater, is that you then have to raise the thing, deal with it. You have to do the hard work of parsing through the endless bits of self and placing them in “keep” piles and “discard” piles. I want to keep my mother’s kindness. I want to keep my father’s sense of humor. I want to discard the isolation. I want to discard the delusions.

But then there are these weird . . . “I don’t know” things. The things I am unsure if they helped me or hurt me. As I’ve gotten older I’ve gotten more and more of those “I don’t know” categories piling up. I’ve worked my way through most of the more obvious ones and now it’s all grey and mushy and as cloudy as a London winter. Recently, more than anything, I’ve been grappling with the fact my mother believed it was wrong to lie to children. She believed, in her flower-child way, that it was unethical in all forms.

I never believed in Santa Claus. I’m sorry to say I was a pretty obnoxious kid too because I would preach on the playground about how there was no Santa and there had never been any Santa. Which was a bit harsh, but in my defense I was under the impression these people were suffering from some sort of collective mass delusion. They were being lied to. And lying was wrong.

Is it wrong to lie to children?

I’ve known about sex since I was around 5 years old. I don’t remember why I asked, but it was something about where babies come from and so on. Most parents talk about a stork or love or some other abstract side-step. My mother described the anatomy to me and showed me a scientific diagram of the process. She told me that a sperm meets an egg and fertilizes it so the baby can grow. I learned most of this in scientific terms and was surprised when none of my middle school friends knew how a penis worked.

Is it wrong to lie to children?

When I was 9 or so our cat was eaten by a coyote. I asked my mom where he went and she said that he accidently got out the night before. She said they looked for him all morning, but it was too late. She didn’t use the word “gone” or “passed on” or “he’s in a better place now.”

She said he was dead. I said oh. She asked if I wanted to see him. I said yes. For the record, I am not actually sure if 9 year-olds should see corpses. That is neither here nor there. It was something that stuck with me though, the body of my cat with his tummy ripped out. I had never seen intestines before. His eyes were open.

But there was something cathartic about digging the grave. About helping pick up his little stiff body by the feet and placing him inside. There was something about piling on the red dirt as the sun set and letting the tears fall.

People on sitcoms hate talking about death. It’s understandable, it’s not funny, it makes for good dramatic irony when the kid asks “Where’s Socks?” and the parents go “Uuuuuh. He ran away.” I’ve never felt more alienated at those points. My cat died. He was eaten. I saw his body, and I buried it. Sometimes I think I wouldn’t want to be told he ran away-- that he had a choice in whether or not he left me.

Is it wrong to lie to children?

For a long time I thought the entirety of my childhood was wrong and bad, because I was miserable and broken at the end of it. I will assure you, my parents fucked up time and time again. But sometimes I have to stop and keep asking: Was this the wrong part? Was this the part where they fucked up? Was any part of this valuable? It’s a hard process to comb through an entire life and decide which bits are worth keeping, and if there are any silver linings.

So here is one: I am an honest person. I am a crooked person too, unsure of where to place my feet in social situations, picking my way through others normalcy. I do not readily share information, I am not forthcoming, and it’s a slow burn for me to open up about anything.

However, I notice time and time again that strangers will share personal things with me. I don’t mean for it to happen, but there’s just this pattern in my life. I once went on a car ride with a girl I barely know from my debate team. She described how she wanted to lose her virginity, she wanted it, but was scared God would be angry. That she’d be dirty afterwards. I told her that that was impossible, sex was just an act, it had no eyes, it had no priestly robes, or bearing on her soul. She cried. She said she hadn’t told me anyone this before.

I had a friend in high school who was struggling with an eating disorder, people had tried to get her to talk about it before, but I was the first person she admitted it to. In the hallway, sitting, just discussing nothing, and out it comes: I’m scared to eat sometimes. I was on a city bus and an old woman struck up a conversation with me. Over an hour or so, and she ended up telling me her fears for her own daughter going away to college. Her fear of growing old and passing on. Her problems with sleeping as she lay awake and dreaded it.

People have told me about their problems with substance abuse, their struggles with sexuality, and childhood trauma. People spill to me and I sit there thinking: Why? Sometimes I think it’s my gender or just how people are, but it always feels like I’m missing some part of the picture. Why do people open up to me, unprompted, all at once? Why me?

Is it wrong to lie to children?

Recently, I was reading a memoir set in 2001 where two young kids ask the narrator, their mother, about 9/11. They asked what happened to the people on television who were jumping off the building. Where did they go? The mother says this: They were caught. There are people-catchers that flew and saved them. Everyone is okay.

This story was meant to be heartfelt and lyrical, relatable. It ended like this: It is the job of mothers to offer gentle lies.

I had to stop reading because I was suddenly lost in a white-hot rage, unexpected, knee-jerk. How could she do that? I found myself frothing. They trusted her with answers and she lied. How could she? I knew it was irrational. It was silly even. This was a sweet story. It was meant to be heart-warming and framed in a way that suggested this is what all mothers do. This was what they needed to do.

I felt my own mother, pumping through my veins, furious that these elementary school students were being betrayed. I stopped myself of course, I knew it wasn’t reasonable. I wasn’t raised “correctly.” I had no legs to stand on.

But still, is it alright to lie to children?

I am once again faced with that unending dilemma: how to throw-out those parts of myself that don’t work and keep the ones that do. It’s difficult to say, because in some ways I agree with my mom. How can I not? But death is cruel. Sex is weird. Santa Claus is a beautiful lie.

And what’s wrong with lying? I still don’t know. What’s wrong with letting them never hurt? Never knowing the pain or gross parts of the world? What’s the harm in letting them make-believe?

But sometimes I think about all those people who have cried to me. All these unprompted confessions come with an unspoken plea: I hurt. I am afraid. I am so scared. It’s all so heavy, these painful truths.

And some part of me stands there, the part my mother raised and says: there is nothing in this life that is too shameful. There is nothing in this world that is unnatural. There is nothing in this life to lie about, even to children.

Is death too painful? Is sex too gross? Would you tell an adult that a man lives in the North Pole and watches them?

I asked my mom, years later, when I was less furious and able to talk with her again without screaming, about why she believed all this. She had told me about it since I was very young, but I never asked why. She shrugged. She said: children are people, aren’t they?

I still don’t know what to do with this.

Children are people, but they are not adults. They shouldn’t be exposed to “adult” things, right? But is that line so concrete? Is the word “adult” just a mask for the greater word, the one we really mean? We all agree: honesty is good. Lying hurts. But it’s alright to lie to kids, because in many ways they aren’t people yet, they aren’t people yet, they don’t count.

I am admittedly an argumentative person. I was on the debate team, mock trial, United Nations, I studied political science in college and fought with every single one of my professors I thought was wrong. And I stood in that playground, age 6, and told every single one of my classmates Santa wasn’t real and I wouldn’t stop. The truth was important. And my mother, no matter what, thought I disserved it.

I often felt tiny and powerless as a kid. Terrified and holding myself together by shoestrings. I often felt there would be nothing better in the world than to be grown up. Not for the money or the dating or the job, I just wanted to feel like the hurricane would end. That one day I could stand on solid ground again. My friend often says: I wish I could be a kid again, ya know? No responsibilities. Just bliss. I want to be a kid again.

I can’t relate. I never have. I’ve been busy weeding through the pipes and lighting and the carpentry of my upbringing and asking myself: is any of this worth keeping? Is any part of me built correctly? There are no right answers.

But still, I am haunted. I sit and ask myself in circles: is it alright to lie to children?

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My book 🌟 Ko-fi 🌟 Patreon

#personal essay #nonfiction #creative nonfiction #writers on tumblr #story time

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lumosandnoxwriting · 3 years

Text

Three out of Ten - Fred Weasley

Title: Three out of Ten Pairing: Fred x Fem!Reader Summary: Fred loves having his girlfriend work at the shop, but some days are significantly *ahem* harder than others Warning: No explicit sexy times but there is some heavy making out and illusions to sex. A/N: the summary is shit but that’s pretty much expected from me at this point lmao. This is for an anon who wanted Fred’s girlfriend having a difficult time walking while working at the shop. Feedback is always welcome, and request are open! Tags: @feltondarling @pandaxnienke @raerae27

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“Good morning, beautiful,” Fred murmurs as Y/N starts to stir in her sleep. The sunlight is peaking in through the curtains in their bedroom, signaling that it’s time for them both to get up and start their day.

Y/N groans, snuggling further into Fred’s warm embrace. “Five more minutes, Freddie,” she pleads her lips brushing against the bare skin of his chest.

“Tired you out last night did I?” Fred teases with a chuckle. He watches as Y/N’s cheeks flush pink and he leans down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

“Eh it was alright. I’d give it a three out of ten,” Y/N jokes, pulling away so she can look up at Fred. She laughs when Fred’s mouth downturns into a deep frown, causing Fred to dig his fingers into her side and start tickling her.

“You wanna make jokes and laugh?” he asks, rolling them over so Y/N is underneath him. “I can make you laugh.”

Y/N giggles wildly as Fred tickles her, squirming to try and get away from him. “Oh,” she gasps suddenly when a pain shoots through her lower body.

Fred immediately stops poking at her sides and sits up, reaching out to cup her cheek. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No, Freddie,” Y/N chuckles, reaching up to smooth out the worry lines in his forehead. “I’m just a uh, bit sore from last night as all,” she admits with a blush.

“From only a three out of ten?” he teases with a cheeky grin, far too pleased with himself. “Can’t imagine what you’re like the night after a ten out of ten.”

Y/N rolls her eyes and pushes Fred off of her. “Considering that’s never happened I guess we’ll never know,” she jokes.

Fred slaps Y/N on the thigh lightly before pulling her into a brief kiss. “You’re going to regret that later.”

“Gonna try for a four out of ten tonight?” she asks with a laugh, rolling away from the pillow Fred tosses at her.

Fred watches with a smirk as Y/N creeps down the stairs into the shop a little bit later. It’s still a few minutes from opening, but Fred had escaped downstairs a tad earlier than normal to avoid watching Y/N limp around the flat as she got ready for work. Not only does seeing her struggle to walk from how hard he had given it to her the previous night make him proud, it also turns him on. He gets off on watching Y/N cry from pleasure as he ruins her every night, and to see the after effects of it the next day has left a problem in his trousers that is sure to scare customers away.

“You feeling alright, Y/N?” George asks as Y/N finally reaches the shop floor. She had let out a small noise as she stepped off the final stair, her hand gripping her side.

“She’s fine, Georgie,” Fred answers with a chuckle, sending his brother a wink. “Just a bit of a rough night, she didn’t get much sleep.” Y/N’s cheeks flush pink and she flips her boyfriend off.

George pretends to gag as he looks between the two of them. “I don’t even know why I asked. It’s you two of course it was some weird sex thing.” George grimaces as he heads away from them to unlock the front door.

“You’re going to traumatize your poor brother,” Y/N scolds as she shuffles over towards Fred.

“It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before,” Fred says with a laugh, placing his hands on Y/N’s hips. He starts to massage them lightly, causing Y/N to let out a satisfied groan. “There was that time we forgot the silencing charm, remember?” he asks with a wink.

“Mm, how could I forget. Your first ever five out of ten,” she teases, pulling Fred’s face down to kiss him briefly.

Fred pouts, but it immediately turns into a smile when Y/N kisses him again. “You’re such a brat.” The bell above the shop door jingles as a few customers walk in and Fred gives Y/N a soft pat on the ass. “Take care of the till for a bit, yeah? You’ll be able to sit and uh, take a rest.”

“How gracious of you, sir.” Y/N giggles as Fred’s eyes narrow at her. She knows that it turns Fred on to no end that he’s her boss at work, and Y/N loves pushing that button when there’s nothing he can do about it. She presses one last kiss to Fred’s cheek before heading towards the register, making sure to add more of a limp to her step for Fred to enjoy as he watches her walk away.

“How much longer until we close?” Fred groans, his eyes following Y/N’s every move. Her walking ability has gotten better throughout the day, but her knees still quiver, and her legs still shake every few steps and Fred can’t look away. Y/N reaches up to put something back on a shelf and Fred has to hold in a moan as her shirt rides up her back.

“Keep it in your pants,” George teases. “We’ve still got three more hours until closing.”

Fred sighs, placing his head in his hands. “Is this what it feels like to be tortured? Just put me out of my misery, Georgie. Please.” Fred winces when George slaps him on the back of the head. “What was that for?” he asks with a glare.

“It was for you being an idiot,” George answers casually. “Watching you drool over your girlfriend is one thing, but I draw the line at pining. Now go do something useful, maybe the day will go by faster if you actually get some work done.”

Thankfully for Fred the store is a bit slow, and their other floor employees are able to handle the few customers roaming around, making it easy for him to follow Y/N into the back storeroom. He creeps in behind her and shuts the door, grinning at her when she turns around in surprise.

“Merlin Freddie you scared me,” Y/N scolds, playfully smacking him in the arm. “I didn’t hear you come up behind me.”

“That was kind of the point,” he muses, wrapping his arms around Y/N’s waist. He pulls her into his chest so he can kiss her hard.

“We’re supposed to be working, Fred,” Y/N reminds him with a gasp as his lips bite and nip at her neck. She lets her hands tangle in his hair, moaning as Fred starts to suck on her sensitive skin. Fred’s hands start to travel up the back of her shirt, and Y/N has to take a deep breath to keep focused. “I’ve got whizbangs to restock,” Y/N pants as Fred’s hands threaten to creep under her bra.

Fred kisses Y/N deeply, digging his fingers into her back. “I’ve got a whizbang for you handle,” he suggests with a wink. Fred grabs one of Y/N’s hands and starts to bring it to his crotch when the door to the storeroom slams open, causing both of them to shout and jump apart.

“Sorry if I wasn’t clear before, Fred,” George starts as he grabs the color of Fred’s suitcoat. “But when I told you to do some actual work, I meant restock some shelves or help a customer, not shag your girlfriend in our storeroom!”

Fred grins at Y/N as George drags him out of the small room. “We’ll continue this later!”

“Fucking finally,” Fred sighs in relief as he leans on his bedroom door.

“Long day?” Y/N teases from her spot on the bed, not bothering to look up from the copy of Witch Weekly she’s flipping through.

After George had interrupted their storeroom make out session he kept a close eye on Fred to make sure he stayed on task, much to Fred’s disappointment. Business in the store picked up towards the end of the day, and Fred barely got a chance to look at Y/N, let alone admire her as she worked. Y/N ended up grabbing dinner with Hermione and Ginny while Fred and George worked on some administrative stuff after the shop closed, and they had still been at it when she arrived back home. Y/N had just barely gotten changed into her pajamas and into bed when she heard the front door close behind Fred and George.

“Longest day in the bloody world,” Fred responds as he starts to loosen his tie. Y/N watches from the corner of her eye as Fred gets undressed, her eyes traveling over every inch of skin that he exposes. “No thanks to you, by the way. You’re too damn sexy, Y/N, it’s distracting.”

Y/N laughs and finally tosses the magazine away as Fred crawls up their bed towards her. He’s in nothing but his boxers and her hands run down his bare back as Fred settles on top of her. “Sorry, love. I’ll try and be less sexy from now on.”

“Don’t you dare,” Fred growls, kissing her messily.

Y/N moans against Fred’s mouth, her nails lightly dragging down his back. She lets Fred’s tongue in to explore her mouth as his hands shove the bottom of her shirt up so he can grip her sides. “Too bad George interrupted us earlier today. I was aching for you, Freddie. It was so hot thinking about the fact that the whole store was just outside the door while we were in there.”

“Holy hell,” Fred groans, pulling away so he can look at Y/N. “Are you feeling better?” he asks, squeezing her sides. When Y/N nods Fred grins wickedly. “Good, because we’re shooting for a ten out of ten tonight.”

When Y/N’s eyes flutter open the next morning Fred’s laying on his side, head propped up so he can look down at her. “You’re such a creep,” Y/N teases as she stretches her limbs out. Her bottom half is significantly sorer than it was yesterday, and she bites her lip to hide her pain.

“So? What’s the verdict?” Fred asks before leaning down to give her a peck.

Y/N looks up at him, a mischievous grin on her face. “I’d say a solid three and a half out of ten. Better luck next time, Freddie.”

#fred weasley #Fred Weasley imagine #Fred Weasley fanfiction #fw #golden

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eirikaanemo · 3 years

Note

I was wondering is I could get a scenario where reader is actually a descendant of decarabian and is out to get revenge on barbatos and take back mondstat and barbatos’s gnosis so they can become the anemo archon. They are a spy in mondstat trying to gather information before they put their plan into full affect but end up falling in love with venti in the process and don’t know if they want to get revenge anymore so they tell venti everything.

Of course, I would be happy to! Thank you for being my first request! This is a little long, but I hope you like it!

Child of the Storm

Warnings: Some angst in the middle

Venti x GN!Reader

2.8k Words

Decarabian had many children. These children are known as storm sprites. Quite a few exist, though their numbers are greatly diminished now that he has fallen and Barbatos became the Anemo Archon. They’re mostly peaceful, but not all of them. Not you.

No, you want revenge. Barbatos took what was rightfully your father’s, the anemo gnosis and position as Archon. Decarabian had only been doing what he felt was right. He was protecting the people from the harsh and cruel colds of the outside world. And this was how he was rewarded?

It’s not like Barbatos is a good Archon anyway. He goes missing for centuries at a time, sleeping his time away. He doesn’t actively protect and guide his people. He is lazy and irresponsible. He does not deserve what is rightfully your father’s. And so, since your father cannot take the gnosis and rise to his rightful station, you will.

This is not something that is easily done. Even though he is the weakest of the Archons, Barbatos is still an Archon. There is an inherent power and ability that comes from simply holding a gnosis. So you must prepare.

To do so, you become a spy in Mondstadt. It takes a lot of power to create a human form. But using the remnants of your father’s power and what power you have in reserve, you manage it. You integrate yourself in the city by becoming a knight of favonius and making many friends. Kaeya in particular is rather fond of you.

Why a knight? You may as well protect your people in the meantime. Hypocrisy is not a good look on you. And having many friends will help you get more information and have a better cover. So your plan begins. You do not actively speak against Barbatos, but you do not speak or act in his favor either. Your friends come to know you as a sort of neutral party on religion.

It baffled you how everyone in the city seemed to love Barbatos. How could they love an absent Archon? How could they love someone who abandoned them and hate one who was always there for them? Nothing about it made sense.

Your plan works perfectly. It was slow at first, but you’ve started to get more and more information on the going ons of the city. Most of it is trustworthy, but don't sources, like gossiping with Kaeya, tend to have mixed results. Sometimes his information is factual and completely true. Sometimes it is something he seems to have made up off the top of his head.

One evening you were waiting for Kaeya to meet you at Angel’s Share for another one of your information sharing (read: gossiping) sessions. As you wait you take a moment to enjoy the music played by one of the many bards that play at the tavern. The music tonight is particularly good and played by a bard in green.

His teal tipped braids, dark hair, and flower in his cap compliment his fair complexion. The tips of his braids seem to almost glow in the dark. His slim fingers seem to dance across the strings of his lyre. It’s an enchanting sight and you may have just fallen a little in love. Just a little.

Vengeance is your whole purpose, you cannot allow something like a little infatuation to distract you from that. And yet you can’t help but return to the bar over and over just to see him play. You start to tip him anonymously with apples and wine. It’s not your fault, he’s just too good at what he does. This is just you giving him the reward he deserves.

He eventually catches on and finds out who’s leaving the tips, because Charles is a dirty traitor. But it would be easier to be mad if Venti wasn’t so grateful and happy to have figured out it’s you who’s leaving the tips. The two of you formally introduce yourselves to each other and strike up a good conversation. You end up spending a lot of time together with him after his performances. He seems to enjoy those nights as much as you do. And sometimes you catch him staring at you with a dreamy look out of the corner of your eye.

But you start noticing a couple odd things. He has an absolutely ridiculous alcohol tolerance with no sign of debilitating hangovers. While singing, he doesn’t seem to stop as often to breath as much as other bards. It could be passed off as him just being better a better bard, except for the fact that it’s by a superhuman margin.

When you spot him turning into a wind sprite to sleep in a small shelter in an alleyway, it explains a lot of things. However, some of your questions go unanswered until one night when you’re playing around as a storm sprite. You notice him sitting on the hands of the statue of Barbatos and get curious. He seems to be speaking, so you hide behind the statue and listen carefully to what he is saying.

“Oh, Himmel,” he sighs. “Am I doing the right thing? Everyone seems happy, but would they be happier if I was a better and more active Archon?” Your world stops. How is this possible? Why him? Why did it have to be him? Could you even do this anymore? What in the world would you do with yourself if not this? If you’re honest with yourself you have to admit that you have come to love him.

This is your life purpose! But you love him! How can you fulfill your purpose if it requires you to harm the one you have come to love? What would your father think? Nevermind, you know what your father would think. He would call you a weakling for not following through. But he’s dead. So does what he would say even matter anymore?

Your existential crisis lasts for a solid week. Venti notices how distant you’ve become and does ask about it, but leaves it be once he sees that you’re not ready to talk about it. One day it becomes too much. He deserves to know, you decide. It may be hard and may drive him away from you entirely.

But you can’t keep this from him. Doing so wouldn’t be right and he should know the truth before the two of you even consider having more of a relationship than you already have. So no matter how much it scares you and tears you up inside, you choose to tell him.

“Venti, could you meet me at Starsnatch cliff tomorrow?” You ask him, nervously. “I have something I need to tell you.” He seems surprised, but is agreeable to the idea. “Sure,” he replies. “I’ll see you then!” The smile he sends you kills you a little more inside.

“I need to go,” you tell him as you hurriedly got up, paid your bill, and left. “Was it something I said?” Venti wondered behind you. Shrugging, he takes another sip of his drink. “Well, I guess I can ask them tomorrow.”

Tomorrow comes too soon, after a sleepless night of tossing and turning in your bed. There is nothing you want to do less than go to Starsnatch cliff, but you promised. So you go. You take your time getting there before sitting down with your feet dangling off the edge of the cliff. The day is beautiful. Much too beautiful for a day that may just ruin your life forever.

Taking a deep breath, you notice some footsteps coming up behind you. “Hey there,” Venti says. “It took me a while to find you. Be a bit more specific next time, won’t you?” You nod absentmindedly and pat the ground next to you. After he sits down, you start.

“Once upon a time there was a storm sprite, a child of Decarabian. They were created near the end of his reign, too young to join in the effort to protect him and his cause: protecting the people of Mondstadt from the cold blizzards of the outside. This was before the snows were blown away, and blizzards were abundant. Decarabian had created a barrier to protect his people from almost certain death.

“Yet his people did not appreciate his protection. They rebelled against him and he fell before them. If Barbatos had not risen to power, the people would have faced almost certain death to the harsh winds of Boreas.

“But, in any case, there was only one storm sprite left in the area to hear his dying wish. He wished for vengeance, retribution for the injustice he received for fulfilling his duty to protect. And it became that storm sprite’s purpose for existence. Or so they thought.

“They spent many, many centuries plotting the downfall of Barbatos, growing in power slowly. Eventually they were able to create a human form and walk among the people of Mondstadt. And walk among the people they did, collecting information and preparing for the date they would finally find Barbatos and take back what was rightfully their father’s.”

You stop a moment for a chance to breathe and glance at him to see how he was taking the story. He looked thoughtful and he gazed out towards the horizon. So you take courage and continue.

“But then, something happened- something completely unplanned. The storm sprite fell in love. At first it was just infatuation but it grew and grew until it became something stronger and more pure. They truly loved, for the first time since their father had died. And there were signs that the one they loved might even feel the same.

“Then something happened. Something that made their whole world fall apart. They found out that the one they had grown to love was Lord Barbatos himself.” There was a moment of silence. You don’t dare look at him. You are absolutely terrified. After you take a deep breath to steady yourself, you keep talking.

“They didn’t know what to do. Their purpose was to destroy the man and everything he stood for. But their heart would never let them do it. Eventually they made a very difficult decision. They would tell him.

“This is my story, Venti. This is my life and my past. It’s not pretty and it’s not kind. You have every right to hate me, despise me. If you no longer want anything to do with me, I would understand. I just… like I said, I just felt that you deserve to know.”

There’s another moment of silence, slightly longer, heavier, and more awkward than the ones before. When you turned to look at him, drawing your knees up to your chest, you saw him looking at you, pensive. What did he see? You wonder. Does he see a monster who was plotting his demise? Does he see someone unforgivable and unwanted? Will he send me away from Mondstadt forever?

As you looked down at your shoes, a thousand more thoughts running through your mind, he finally spoke. “Well, I’ll admit that this is not what I thought you’d wanted to talk about today. I was expecting something more along the lines of a confession, honestly. And I suppose you did admit that you love me as part of your story, but part of me wishes that you had stopped there.”

If possible, your head drops lower as you press your forehead to your knees. “But,” he carried on. “I’m grateful that you told me this. It really would have messed things up more if you waited until we were in a relationship to tell me. For now, I’d say you should keep going on as you are. Live your life the best you can. I would really prefer if you found a new purpose, one that doesn’t end in my utter destruction, but you’re free to make that decision.

“I won’t chase you out, if that’s something you’re worried about. You’ve proven that you love Mondstadt and cherish it’s people. But I will ask for some space. It’s going to take some time for me to process all of this. I’m going to go now. I’ll approach you when I’m ready, please leave me be until then.”

“Okay,” you whisper loud enough for him to hear. Then he gets up and walks off. You cry until you can’t cry any more. You’re not sure why, you deserve this and were expecting this after all. But it still hurts. The close relationship the two of you had was gone. And you miss it already.

After some time you pull yourself together, clean yourself up best you can, and head back to Mondstadt. You follow his advice and keep going with your life. Your new purpose, you decide, is to serve and protect Mondstadt and all its people. Kaeya and your other friends notice something’s different and ask about it in concern.

Most lay off after you say you’re not ready to talk about it. But Kaeya, being the persuasive and stubborn guy he is, didn’t give up until you admitted that you’d done something that messed up your relationship with Venti. He knew how much Venti meant to you and made time to be with you more while Venti took his time deciding what he’d do about it.

Then Dvalin started attacking, a traveler came to visit, and fatui were more abundant. You would have loved to take action against all of these, but Venti was so closely entwined with all of these issues that you didn’t dare. Things seemed to be working out okay without you anyway.

But then you felt a disturbance. A fatui was approaching the cathedral. That was odd because while the fatui aren’t exactly subtle about not respecting Lord Barbatos, they were never as bold as to go near his cathedral. Something was wrong and you were determined to find out what.

You arrived just as La Signora tore his gnosis out. While you froze in shock for a moment, you burst into motion the minute she stopped for a moment to look at it. With the speed of a burst of lightning, you snatched the gnosis from her hand and disappeared. You only stopped when you reached Old Mondstadt, but you could still hear her scream of rage.

You stash the gnosis away, hidden in a satchel that you usually carry with you. As you’re heading home you run across Kaeya. After talking with him for a moment, you get an idea. “Kaeya, could you deliver a message to Venti for me?” You ask. “Sure,” he said, smirking a little. “Are you going to try and make it up to him?”

“In a way,” you respond. “Just tell him to meet me where we last spoke, okay?” After a moment of fake consideration and stroking his non-existent beard, he agreed and the two of you parted ways. He went on to Mondstadt and you headed to Starsnatch Cliff.

You didn’t wait long, a four pair of footsteps came quickly. From their pace you could tell that they’d run all the way there. Once they came to a stop you turn to greet them. They were guarded and wary, which was understandable, but it still hurt.

When you pull the gnosis out of your bag, you see looks of shock. “What?” You question. “Did you think I would claim it myself or something?” The traveler nodded, Diluc shrugged, Jean wobbled her head back and forth, while Venti looked a little ashamed of himself. You smile ruefully. “I guess I deserve that. But here,” you hand the gnosis over to Venti. “I believe this is yours.”

He looks at the gnosis, then at you, then the gnosis, and repeats the pattern a couple times, his eyes wide. Eventually his eyes settle on you as he absorbs the gnosis. When the shine of his transformation was still wearing off, you feel a pair of arms wrap around you and hug you to a chest.

“Thank you,” Venti murmurs in your ear. “I think you’ve more than proven yourself to me. I forgive you. How could I ever thank you for this?” You smile and hug him back. “Maybe you could consider joining me for lunch tomorrow?” You smile even wider when you feel him kiss your cheek. “I think I can do that,” he agrees.

When the two of you part, he un-transforms, and you both turn to look his companions. Diluc has one eyebrow raised. Jean seems to have gone into shock. Traveler’s face is bright red and Paimon is covering their eyes and glaring at you. You both laugh, making Paimon glare harder. Diluc actually cracks a smile. And Jean snaps out of her shock and laughs a little with you.

Your date the next day goes wonderfully, and neither of you can wait for the next one.

#eirika writes #genshin venti #venti #venti x reader #genshin headcanons

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