#it's better than i even previously stated in the tags! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justmeinadaze · 1 year

Text

Good Neighbors Part 1 (Steddie X Reader)

A/N: I did it :). Ok as previously stated I have never written this dynamic before so I open to all critiques and suggestions! I also set this in todays timeframe. I hope y'all enjoy.

Warnings: Reader is a soon to be divorcee and a single mom. Cute Steddie going on here with her kiddo. Definitely smut of the threesome variety and all that that implies (I regret nothing!) Steve is slightly rougher during sex but I decided to go against the Daddy Steve/Master Eddie dynamic. I don't think I'm there yet! Lol.

Word Count: 4583

“Wow!” Your son’s eyes light up as he takes a look at the outside of the apartment complex you’re moving into. “It’s so big.”

“Yeah, it is.” To a six-year-old child you image it would seem that way but for you, coming from an actual home, this would be a substantial downgrade. As long as he was happy though, you were happy.

“Here, weirdo. Take this.” You hand him his little suitcase so he feels useful. While you were packing his things, he would throw a tantrum if you wouldn’t let him help.

“Mooooom! I’m strong. I can help!”

You slung a few bags over your shoulder and you both headed up the stairs to your new place. The apartment across the way was blaring loud heavy metal music causing you to huff under your breath. Your son marched in front of you and banged on your new neighbor’s door.

“Dylan! No! You know better than to knock on a stranger’s door.”

The door flung open and a tall young man about your age stood in the doorframe. He was extremely good looking with even better-looking hair. He was either about to head to work or just got back. He had on some jeans and a polo shirt with a green vest covering it. You squinted as you read the name tag; “Family Video- Steve”.

“Excuse me, Mister. Can you turn your music down? It’s a little loud.” Dylan shook his small index finger at the man.

He stared at him for a few seconds before a beautiful smile stretched across his face. “You know what, little man? You are absolutely right. It is loud. I tell my friend that all the time but he never listens.”

“Who the hell are you…oh.” Another boy comes into the doorway about the same age if not a little older. He had a guitar slung across his bare chest and torn up jeans that were sagging around his waist so you could slightly see the blue boxers underneath. “Who’s this?”

Dylan looks at you for approval and you nod your head, smiling down at him. “I’m Dylan and this is my mommy. We live here now.” He points at the apartment and you give them a tiny wave.

“Well, Dylan, I’m Steve.” He points to his name tag. “And this is my friend Eddie.”

Your son grabs your hand and pulls you forward. “You have to say hi.”, he whispers.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot.” You whisper back to him, giving him a little wink. “Hi. I’m Y/N. I’m really sorry. Normally he doesn’t initiate conversations with people he doesn’t know but…”

“It’s not a problem at all. Sorry about the music. It’s his day off so when he relaxes--“

“Is the music too loud? Shit. I’m sorry.” Eddie interrupts Steve and runs back into the apartment. Steve rolls his eyes after him as Dylan covers his mouth, giggling at the curse word.

“Can we help you guys move?”

“Oh, no it’s ok. The movers are on their way but I appreciate you asking.”

“Hey anything to help a beautiful woman and her little gentleman.” Steve flashes you a confident smile that makes you blush. “Well, if you change your mind or if you need anything, we’re here.”

“Bye Steve!” Dylan waves at him as you pick him up, enter the apartment, and close the door.

After the movers dropped everything off, the unpacking was under way. You wanted things to feel as homey as possible so Dylan would be comfortable. After his father left, you didn’t want more things to change for him. Something like that is already traumatic enough for a child. It only got worse when your soon to be ex-husband decided he no longer wanted to help you make payments on the house you guys had shared.

“Where are we going to go, Charlie? He needs a roof. He needs normalcy.”

“Maybe he should come live with me then.”

“Why? So he can sit at home alone? You barely saw him when we were married but at least he had me there.”

“Oh, get off your high horse, Y/N. You better find something or I’ll be seeing you in court to take him. I’m not going to spend any extra money I do have for you to live in my house!”

###############

The sound of the bass thumping against the walls made your eyes roll as you scrunched your nose in annoyance. Your son giggled and you responded by sticking out your tongue.

“What are you laughing at?” Dylan mimics your face causing him to erupt in a fit of laughter again. Your phone on the counter vibrates. “Go grab that for me, you little butthead.”

Without telling you who it is he immediately puts the phone to his ear. “Hi daddy!”

“Hey, buddy! How are you doing?”

You watch him cautiously as they talk. “I’m good. I like it here.”

“You do? You’ve been there a couple of weeks now. Met any kids your age yet?”

“Not yet but Mommy and I met Steve and Eddie. They like music really loud!”

“Oh? Well, that’s interesting. Listen, Dil, can you give the phone to mommy?”

“Ok. I love you, Daddy!” Dylan passes the phone and you stand up to take it outside.

“Hey, Butthead. Why don’t you go get ready for bed and after I talk with your dad, I’ll read you book?” He claps his hands excited as he runs into his room. You reluctantly put the phone to your ear as you exit the front door. “How can I help you, Charlie?”

“Who’s Steve and Eddie?” He asks sternly.

“Neighbors—”

“Jesus, Y/N. I can hear the music through the phone!”

You walk halfway down the stairs and sit on the middle step, your fingers pinching the bridge of your nose. “Again, something you NEED, Charles?”

“Look, I may not be able to take him this weekend.”

The smell of cigarette smoke fills the air and you wish you had one between your fingers right now. “Why didn’t you tell him that?”

“Because I didn’t want to hurt him. I know how much he was looking forward to—”

“Oh? But it’s ok for me to break his heart?”

“I didn’t say that. You’re twisting my words again.” He responds to your accusation through gritted teeth.

“So, what is it this time, huh? Work? A date? Flying to the moon to save the planet?”

“See, this why I left. Why do you have to be a bitch all the time? I’m just trying to have a conversation!”

“No, you left because of the whore I found you fucking in our bed. Good night, Charlie.” You press End and slam your phone on the step next to you.

“He seems like an asshole.” The sound of a male voice behind you makes you jump. Turning around, you see Eddie sitting a couple of stair steps above you, a half-finished cigarette dangling from his fingers. “Sorry, Sweetheart! I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me come out.”

You slide up the couple of steps to sit closer to him. His long wavy hair is nestled behind a black bandana. He’s wearing his usual jeans with a black hole riddled Metallica shirt. Eddie’s fingers reach in your direction offering you a puff from his cigarette which you eagerly accept. You can taste him on the end of it causing butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

“How much of that did you hear?” You ask passing it back to him.

He makes an adorable thinking face. “Um, I came out around ‘Why didn’t you tell him?’ but stayed for the sarcasm after.”

You smile up at him as you let out a soft sigh. “I just hate seeing that look on Dylan’s face when I have to tell him his dad can’t see him.”

Eddie nods to himself as he squishes out the cigarette on the concrete and leans back on his elbows. “Yeah, Steve and I know that feeling. From the kid’s perspective I mean. I don’t think either of our mother’s really cared about us like you do with your son.”

You reach out placing your hand gently on his knee. “I’m sorry you guys had to go through that.” His substantially bigger, calloused palm comes down to cover yours as his thumb rubs against your skin. You bring your legs up to your chest trying to hide the movement of you rubbing your thighs together. It had been such a long time since anyone had touched you let alone in a tender manner like this and the fact that the man doing the touching was incredibly good looking didn’t hurt either.

“Eddie, oh my god, again with the music?” Steve’s voice radiated exhaustion as he climbed the stairs and leaned against the railing across from you.

“Yeah, sorry Stevie. That was my bad. I have a couple of people from work over tonight.” He leans toward the outside wall of their apartment and bangs his fist loudly against it. His chest is inches from your face and you close your eyes and inhale the scent of him. He smells like cigarettes, of course, but there’s also touches of gasoline and an undertone of cologne he most likely sprayed on himself before work that morning.

The door to their apartment opened and the sound of girl made your eyes fly open. Your look was met with Steve’s watchful one. Eddie swiveled his neck to face his friend. “Hey, can you turn the music down? There’s a little one trying to sleep.” He gestures towards your door.

She nods her head and closes the door again. Suddenly, you feel extremely stupid. Of course, there were girls in their apartment. Why wouldn’t there be? They were two single, attractive men. You had no reason to be jealous of the beautiful young lady who poked her head out.

It takes you a while to notice that they are both staring at you intently.

“Um, I should go back inside.” You quickly rise, avoiding their gaze, and climb the stairs. “Thank you for the cigarette and turning down the sound.”

After you close the front door, you lean against it, peaking out of the peephole. Steve stomps up the stairs.

“Really, Eddie? Good job, man.”

“What did I do? Some friends wanted to buy and they stayed over for a bit.”

Steve gives him an annoyed look. “Oh yeah, because girls in tight skirts and loud blaring metal just scream ‘Hey beautiful girl, we like you. Come spend time with us.’”

You jump and let out a little shriek as your son pulls on the back of your shirt. “Dylan! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

He giggles, shaking a book at you. “You said you would read to me.”

“I did, didn’t I? Ok, get back in bed. I’ll be right there.”

Before you turn to follow him, you take one last look out into the entrance way. Steve and Eddie were smiling at your apartment door. Eddie made an “I told you so” face at his roommate as they both entered their domain and closed the door.

####################

Saturday night you and Dylan are lying on the couch watching a movie when there’s a subtle knock at your door. You open it to see your two handsome neighbors standing there with enormous grins plastered on their face.

“Why, hello ma’am.” Eddie says in comical announcer style voice. Steve follows his lead.

“We heard there might be a little boy who got stood up so we brought pizza and video games.” They each hold up the items in their hands. Eddie had the more adult beverages and some ice cream. You smile at them as you turn your head towards the inside of your apartment.

“Dylan! It’s for you.” You feel small hands hug your leg as he cautiously looks around you.

“Hey, little man.” Steve beams down at him and Dylan gasps with excitement.

You reach over and take the pizza from his hands. “Now this here. This is for mommy.”

“No! That’s not fair!” You son chases after you into the kitchen as the boys come in and close the door. Eddie heads for the tv and starts hooking up his gaming system. Dylan sits next to him, asking him questions. Steve joins you and helps pull plates from cabinets, serving food. He turns to look at you as you reach out and gently touch his arm.

“Thank you, guys. For this.”, you whisper. “He was really upset when I told him his dad couldn’t see him.”

“Well, I know what it feels like to have your dad bail on you.” He leans against the counter and folds his arms across his chest.

“Yeah, Eddie told me you guys didn’t have…great parents.” You try and tread the topic carefully not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

Steve shrugs. “It is what it is, right?” He scoots over till his side grazes your stomach, his arms dropping to hold the structure behind him. “How are you doing?”

You look up and meet his eyes, your breath catching in your throat. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” His index finger rises from its place and lifts the lower part of your tank top, tracing the pad of his digit against your skin. You exhale shakily as his eyes never leave yours.

“My pleasure.”

“Mom!” Dylan shouts as he rounds the corner. You jump back from Steve quickly and face your child. “Eddie and I hungry!”

“Starving.” You glance over the banister into the living room, catching Eddies smirk. There was something knowing behind it. You clear your throat, regaining your composure.

“I’m sorry! Blame Steve, here. He moves too slow.”

“Oh, I can move as fast as you want, you just have to let me know.” He winks in your direction as Eddie lets out a chuckle.

You grab a beer from the table where Eddie left them and handed a plate to your son. He thanks you as he runs back towards the floor. Steve hands you a plate and you playfully punch his chest. On your way to the couch, you make sure to kick Eddie lightly in the back.

“Ow. Aggressive!” He shouts before stuffing a whole slice into his mouth making Dylan laugh.

################

After many rounds of battling and button mashing on Tekken, Dylan passes out on the floor. You gently pick him up and carry him to his room, tucking him into bed.

“That kid is so much fun.” Eddie says as you close the door and head back into the living room.

“Thank you. Yeah, he’s a good kid. Good heart.”, you smile.

Steve rises to his feet, extending his hand out to Eddie to help him off the ground. “So, we were thinking… would you like to come across to our place and relax for a bit? We could smoke some weed, listen to music, not at full volume of course.”

“Uh…” You take a cursory glance towards Dylan’s room.

“He’ll be ok. I mean you’re right there.” Eddie points in the direction of their apartment.

You finally nod your head as you follow behind them through their front door. It was definitely a man’s place. It smelled musky with a mixture of their own separate scents. There were posters for bands and action movies all over the wall. The living room was a mess with a combination of take-out containers, clothes, and a couple of overflowing ashtrays spread about.

“Sorry for the way it looks. We’ve been kind of busy.” Steve runs around grabbing trash and throwing it in a nearby bin as Eddie disappears and reappears with a little black tin box.

“Don’t even worry about it. I have a six-year-old, remember?” Eddie chuckles as he starts rolling a joint on the coffee table in front of him. “What have you guys been busy with?”

“Work mostly.” Steve answers as comes back from the kitchen with a beer in his hand. “I’m at Family Video and Eddie works at a mechanic shop a few blocks down the way.”

You throw your body down next to Eddie’s on the couch. “Ah. That explains the gasoline smell.”

He looks at you, smirking. “You sniffing me, Princess?” You giggle as you rub your hand on his back.

“It’s kind of hard not to. It’s strong.” He gives you an apologetic glance. “No, it’s ok. I like it. Reminds me of my dad. He used to fix up cars when I was growing up.”

Steve takes a seat next to you. “Does he not anymore?”

“No. He passed away before Dylan was born.”

Eddie lights the joint, taking a hit before passing it to you. “I’m sorry. That must have been rough.”

The three of you sit there, casually making conversation, while you smoked. They told you about work, certain relationships, and how they came to live where they are now. You told them about your ex-husband and how he basically kicked you guys out of the house. You were extremely comfortable just sitting there talking with them. Something about them made you feel safe which is something you hadn’t felt in a very long time. Their dynamic was also something that completely fascinated you. They talked to and about each other like they weren’t just friends but like they were an old married couple. Sometimes they would exchange glances like they both had a secret you weren’t allowed to be privy to. Not yet anyway.

“So, what do you do again?” Eddie offers you the joint but this time you decline.

“I’m a guidance counselor at Hawkins High school. I help kids apply for college, figure out what they want to do, things like that.”

Steve chokes as he inhales. “Are you serious? That’s where we went to school!”

“For real. It took me like 30 years to graduate. Probably could have used some guidance from someone like you.” Eddie laughs as he pats your bare thigh. You notice his hand lingers before it slides up finding a home just below your shorts. Steve lifts his arm, resting it behind your head on the back of the couch.

“Ok, what’s up with you guys?” You’re not sure if it’s the drugs or the alcohol that makes you ask the question but you feel suddenly desperate to get an answer.

Eddie and Steve exchange a look. “You’ll have to be more specific.” Eddie leans in tossing the burned out joint in the nearest ashtray. He adjusts his body so it’s facing more toward you.

Your eyes narrow in on his before you let out a frustrated sigh. “Whatever. Nevermind.” As you start to lean forward, Steve’s fingers grab your shoulder pulling you back.

“Let me rephrase. We WANT you to be more specific.” Steve’s tone was gentle but commanding. With his other hand, he reaches out caress your cheek.

“Steve, she did just get out of a shitty relationship. Maybe we should go a little easy on her.”

Your breathing stutters when you feel Eddie’s palm rub the inside of your thigh, just barely hovering near your core. Your eyes have yet to break from Steve’s slightly intimidating stare.

“Yeah? Do you think we should go easier on you?”

Your head tilts up, aggressively pressing your lips to his. You hummed at the taste of him as he slid his tongue in to meet yours. His arm came off the couch to wrap around the back of your neck, pulling you tighter to him. On instinct, your hips pivot towards him but Eddie’s strong hand held them in place.

You turn to look in his direction as Steve continues to kiss your jawline down to your neck. You watch with lust filled eyes as Eddie reaches for the waistband of your shorts and slides them down your legs. As you lift your hips off the couch to help, Steve’s hand comes to rest behind your back trying to pull you closer.

“Steve!” Eddie laughs in amusement. “Come on, man.” Instantly his hands drop from your body and without hesitation you flip over towards the other man planting your mouth on his. Eddie tasted different but still delicious. His lips moved differently than Steves as well. Steve’s kisses felt more determined whereas Eddie’s felt more passionate. It was almost euphoric to feel the contrast at once.

Steve reached down and lifted your legs so you were laying horizontally on the sofa. You disconnected from Eddie’s mouth long enough to turn your body so your back was against his chest; his hand immediately grabbing your face to turn your lips back to his.

You whimpered against him when you felt Steve move the piece of cotton blocking your center as his nose grazed your clit. He slowly ran his tongue along the inside of your folds, a moan vibrating from his throat.

“Fuck, Munson. She tastes so good.” He dives his head further into your cunt, his tongue flicking in and out of your entrance. As you turn away from Eddie to watch him, the boy behind you whispers devilishly in your ear.

“Yeah? You like watching him eat your pussy. He says you taste fucking amazing.” Eddie’s arm reaches over you as his long fingers slide across your swollen nub. You head falls back on his shoulders as you listen to the sound of Eddie lick and suck them clean before placing them back between your legs. “He’s right. Fucking hell. Your ex-husband was a fucking moron for letting you go.”

You grind your hips against them, turning to suck on Eddie’s neck. Your left-hand clings to Steve’s hair while you right loops around Eddie’s forearm. You feel that feeling in your belly as your pussy starts to clench around his tongue. He pumps into you fast as Eddie matches his pace. You cry out a moan as the rubber band snaps and you cum against them. Both boys help ride you through it as your body twitches with pleasure.

Eddie feels your tiny hand reaching behind you fumbling his belt. He helps you and when he lifts his hips to slide his pants below his knees you feel his hard cock slid against the outside of your puffy lips. “Fuck.”, youmoan as your glide yourself against him, your leaking juices wetting him.

He pumps himself a few times before slowly sliding into your entrance. You continue grinding your hips as you ride him. “Fuck, Eddie. So big…so deep.”, groan out as he grunts behind you. A hand softly touches your face and you open your eyes to Steve on his knees in front you, pants pushed to his ankles, pumping his own cock with his hand.

“Does he feel good, baby?” You nod but Steve’s other hand grips your chin making you face him. “Tell me how good he feels.”

The overwhelming feeling of Eddie stretching you out makes it hard to form words and it doesn’t help when he grips your waist, thrusting up into you roughly. You lean your forehead on Steves. “He feels…so good. I’m…fuuuck…” Steve nods his head encouraging you to continue. “I’m going to cum.”

“Did you hear that, Eds?”

Eddie swallows a moan. “Yeah, I heard her. Fucking Christ, I can feel her to. Harrington, she’s so fucking tight. Y/N, can I cum inside you?” Steve’s pupils dilate as he to waits for your answer.

Your eyes don’t leave his. “Yes. Yes, I’m on the pill.” Steve licks his lips hungrily as he pulls you by the back of the neck to kiss him. You hand grips his wrists as you breathe out silent moans. You cum around Eddie’s cock as he thrusts into you sharply before you feel his arms wrap around your front and his sweaty forehead lean down on your back as releases deep inside on you.

You three sit there silently as you and Eddie try to catch your breath. Eddie’s soft lips run along your spine and Steve delicately pushes some hair out of your face. “You did so well, baby. Taking Eddie’s dick like that. Such an amazing, beautiful woman.” He grabs your hand and wraps your fingers around his now seemingly aching hard cock. “Do you think you can take me to?”

Eddie groans behind you as your pussy flutters at Steve’s request. You lift yourself off of him and cry at the empty feeling as you straddle Steve’s waist. He lifts you up with him as makes himself more comfortable sitting back against the couch with his feet on the floor. Steve watches you with blown out eyes as a line of spit drips from your mouth onto the tip of length. He growls as you spread it around him with your hand before guiding his cock to your center.

Both yours and Steve’s head lean back in ecstasy. You clung to his shoulders as you bounce on his dick feeling him hit that spongey spot deep inside of you making you whine.

“Just like that, Steve. Please.” His large hands grab your neck pulling you towards him.

“Please what? I want to hear you.”

“Please. Don’t stop. Fuck.”

He pushes your head roughly to his shoulder as he locks his arms behind your back pounding into you at a rapid pace. Another hand comes up to pet your hair and you open your eyes to see Eddie sitting back on the sofa, shoulder to shoulder with Steve.

“You look so beautiful like this, Sweetheart.” He places a soft kiss on your lips, sliding his finger between you and Steve as he reaches for your sensitive clit, trying to match the other boy’s rhythm.

Steve releases his hold to bring you to his face. His hands firmly grip the sides of your face holding you in place. “Cum again, Y/N. I can feel it. Your close. Cum for me. I want to feel your pussy fuckin’ gripping me, babe.” As he whispered his filthy words, you panted against his lips.

As the coil snaps for the third time, Steve brings your head back to his shoulder, holding you to him as thrusts his warm seed into your quivering body. They both murmur praises to you that you can barely hear. Eddie lifts your hair and touches your face, asking if you’re alright.

With hooded eyes you nod, curling up closer into Steve’s neck. He picks you up slightly, sliding himself out of your entrance and turns you so both your legs are over his. Eddie gets up, grabbing your shorts from the floor, and Steve lifts you so he can get them up your waist.

The feeling of you being moved around brings you back to reality for a moment. “Hey, it’s ok. We’re just taking you home.” Eddie slings your arm around his neck as he carries you across to your apartment. Once he enters your room, he gently places you down on the bed, pulling the covers over your frame. “Good night, Sweetheart.” Eddie kisses your forehead before moving out of the way for Steve.

“Hey, I know you’re half asleep but I just wanted you to know that I checked on Dylan and he’s completely knocked out.”

You lazily smile as you fully closed your eyes again. You felt him kiss your cheek and shuffle out of the room, following Eddie back to their apartment.

#steddie fanfiction #steddie smut #steddie fluff #steddie x reader #steddie x you #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn #joseph quinn smut #steve harrington smut #joe kerry #joe keery smut #fan fiction

2K notes · View notes

sunkissedbedard · 7 days

Note

wait ok i need you to write something trevor zegras based on a taylor song from rep, i saw u said it’s ur fave album so maybe call it what you want or king of my heart but honestly any song at all 🫣

a/n: anything for you 🥰 call it what you want is my all time favourite & the song that welcomed me to become a swiftie so it holds a special place in my heart 🥹 i hope you like it 🫶🏻✨

warnings: none except an overwhelming amount of fluff!

tags: trevor zegras x reader

word count: 0.8k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"god, it's like i can't even go online anymore with another one of those bot accounts making some stupid, half-assed comment about us." you said through a laugh to the boy next to you on the couch. trevor had finally had a day off from his busy hockey schedule with the ducks, so the two of you had decided what better way to spend the time together, than at home in the comfort of each other while you spent countless hours cuddling and watching movies.

trevor had immersed himself in a round of video games with a few of his other teammates while you had gone to do a load of laundry, as an intermission to your movie session. when you returned, you contently watched on the couch as he continued focusing intently on the screen before him.

"oh, c'mon, you know it's bullshit, y/n. they just say those things out of spite and because there's jealous." he responded, eyes still glued to his game. your mouth downturned into a frown at his lack of awareness towards something that has previously upset you. trevor knew that it was a sensitive topic for you, the comments of outsiders would always linger and keep you up at night, regardless of if you looked at them or not. even if you chose to ignore it, you knew they were still there.

"yeah, i know. but that's such a cliche; some of those things hit deep, whether they're saying it out of spite," you responded with a hint of mockery laced in your voice, nudging his hip with your foot to get his attention, to which you received no response, making you even more frustrated with the boy.

"y/n," he sighed, "you know, no matter what they say, that doesn't change how i feel about you." he promised, stopping his game and turning to face you. as he saw your saddened state as your shoulders shrugged down, his eyes slightly widened before he rushed to your side and pulled you into him so you were now laying on his chest. you inhaled his familiar scent that had seeped into the fabric of his soft hoodie you gifted him, and you felt yourself relax into him, as he pulled you into a tighter hug.

"it just gets to be too much sometimes, y'know?" you mumbled into his chest before lifting your head to meet his softened gaze. he reached forward to cup your cheek, meeting your lips with a soft and wet kiss, your lips detaching like velcro from wanting more from each other.

"i know, y/n. but i want you to know that there is nothing in this world that could change the way i feel about you. you are the best thing to ever happen to me, and i will forever be grateful that we bumped into each other that one day, or else we wouldn't be here." he paused to give you a soft smile, "i don't know what i would do without you, and letting people online get in your head to convince you otherwise? it's not worth your time, my love." he said looking into your eyes as every word fell of his tongue with such meaning, you could feel your heart warming and you broke out in a smile in response.

"i love you, trev, i don't know what i'd do without you either, you're an angel sent from above. you've made my world such a better place now that you're in it, and even though it's discouraging, being with you like this," you motion to your proximity, "it makes me feel like they fade to nothing when i look at you."

you lips reconnect with his, with more intimacy and passion this time, as you readjust yourself to be sitting, pressed against each other to feel each other's warmth.

you part, resting your foreheads against each other and laugh at the silence, "honestly, i'd wear your initial on a chain around my neck if i could," you spoke randomly, earning a raised eyebrow from trevor as he then furrowed his brows in confusion.

"you would? i mean- that seems a little possessive, don't you?" he asked, rubbing his hand up and down the side of your arm.

"no, well- i wouldn't wear it in a way that says you own me, more so, because you really know me." you stated with a shrug.

the pair of you look at each other in silence, each of you confused at what you had just said, before bursting into laughter as he lunged towards you, carefully tackling you back onto the couch so you laid under him as he attacked your face with wet kisses.

he pulled away from you, looking down with shortness of breath from his surge of energy, "you're crazy, you know that?" he asked.

"what are you talking about, you love crazy." you responded, which only ended up with you laughing endlessly from the kisses he placed all over your face and neck.

#trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras imagine #trevor zegras fic #nhl x reader #nhl imagine #nhl fic #trevor zegras

58 notes · View notes

patrophthia · 1 year

Text

dresses and fish baits | regulus black

pairing: regulus black x reader

genre: fluff !! established relationships, humor, crack, bickering, regulus likes spoiling his s/o, tooth rottenly sweet, not beta read, we die like reggie

wc: 590

originally posted on AO3: 13/03/2022

"what are you reading?" regulus asked, taking the opposing from her at her house' table.

"a magazine," she answered easily, dropping it on the table for him to see.

regulus pursed his lips, eyes stuck on the page she was previously reading. on it was a designer dress with the price tag of over three thousand pounds.

"do you like it?" he asked slowly, buttering up his toast.

"do i like it?" she said incredulous, "reg, i would make you sell your soul for it."

regulus bit into his toast, chewing on it for a few second before her words caught up to him. "make me sell my soul?"

"yeah." she stirred her tea with a tea spoon thoughtfully. "that's what boyfriends are for, selling their soul for a designer dress their girlfriend likes."

"hmm," he hummed adorably,"do you want it?"

"did you not hear what i just said?"

regulus turned bashfully, his onyx falling onto his forehead, he shifted back to her, eyeing her curiously. "what size do you wear?"

"no," she said firmly, already knowing what he was thinking, "regulus, that dress is like—"

"i can afford it." he cut in.

"no."

"no?" he asked slowly.

"no," she repeated, "i'm not letting you sell your soul for the dress."

"you're contradicting your own words, sweetheart.” he pointed out. “and if its any consolation, i do not need to sell my soul for that dress.”

she only shook her head, firmly stating. "you are not buying me that dress."

•••

there was a knock on regulus' door, barty —who was the closest to the door, got up and opened the door. he let her in upon recognizing her, complimenting her on her outfit.

"reg," she began slowly, sitting herself down on her boyfriend's bed. regulus turned from his seat, dropping his quill to give her his full attention. "how did you find out what size i wore?"

"i know some people." by some people he meant her dorm mates who —she definitely suspected, had snuck into her her wardrobe and fed him the information he needed. there was a glint in his eyes, glittering brightly. a small smile tugged at his lips. "that looks better on you than it did on the model."

"thank you?" god, why can't slytherin men give out compliments like other men do. "i can't just take this though, it'll take some times for me to save up but i'll pay you back, i promise."

regulus frowned, the face of elegance still. "it's a gift, chère, i'm not taking your money."

"then you can have it back."

"no." his frowned deepens. "it's yours. you're not giving it back to me, i won't be prancing around wearing that thing anyways, and i definitely will not be taking your money."

"regulus." she had planned to argue with him even further but the look he had made her shut up, knowing that he would be persistent about the dress being hers. she sighed, switching the topic.

there was something else her friends had been gossiping about anyways, a trick question they’d ask their significant others just for the fun off it. it wouldn’t hurt if she joined in, right?

"would you still be with me if i was a worm?"

barty must’ve overheard, cackling loudly at her words. regulus’s lips twitched upwards, making his mood change immediately. “no.”

he decided to take it even further when she pouted at him, feigning upset. “i would use you as a bait for fish. maybe then, worm you would be useful.”

#regulus black imagines #regulus black x reader #regulus black x yn #regulus black fluff #regulus black humor #regulus black scenarios #regulus black x female reader #regulus black x you #regulus x reader #regulus x yn #regulus black fanfiction #🧳: my writing

1K notes · View notes

ginnsbaker · 9 months

Text

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (19/23)

Chapter summary: "A person can love you with all their heart and not be any good at it."

Chapter word count: 7.5k+ | Tags: Angst, Therapy, Healing, Comfort, Fluff | Ship: Wanda x Female Reader

Author's note: Heavy on therapy. Some deep seated resentment surfacing. Kinda filler (lol 7k filler) but necessary :D Enjoy!

Masterlist

Next part : Twenty

Nineteen

You storm out of Calliope's office, slamming the door behind you.

Behind that door, you can hear Wanda’s sharp, erratic breaths.

You can hear your heart pounding loudly in your chest.

Gradually, you regain control, your hand subconsciously moving up to wipe the saliva that had gathered at the corner of your mouth during the intense altercation you had just walked out of.

The frustration continues to boil within you, and you rest your forehead against the cool wall. You feel the irrational urge to bang your head against something hard, maybe even induce amnesia, if only to escape the memory of the details that sent you out here in the hallway.

This first session is leaving you as winded as a boxer who's just fought through all twelve grueling rounds. You'd assumed that first sessions would be gentle, akin to cautiously dipping a toe in to test the water. But when it comes to Wanda, it's never that simple. You both have a tendency to plunge headlong into the deep end.

To be fair, Calliope was steering the conversation, posing questions and guiding the discourse. Since Wanda's infidelity and your struggle to rebuild trust form the core of your issues, it's almost expected that Calliope would probe into the beginnings of Wanda's affair with Vision.

Wanda dutifully chronicled her indiscretions with a man that’s nearly a decade younger than her, with most of the narrative making your ears burn with new information. Before you could rein in your emotions, you found yourself hurling intimate questions such as, “Did you enjoy sleeping with him?” and “Was he a better fuck?” Wanda appeared too taken aback to respond to your interrogations as Calliope merely observed quietly, gauging whether Wanda was ready to answer your questions honestly.

Her growing silence at your pointed questions only stoked your jealousy and rage, to the point that you almost called her a whore.

And that's how you ended up here, leaning against the wall, thumping your forehead against the rough concrete, chiding yourself for almost crossing a line with the woman you're supposed to be reconciling with.

Slowly, you push yourself off the wall, the chill of the concrete replaced by a hot surge of shame and regret. You clench and unclench your fists, trying to expel the energy that had driven you to the edge just minutes before. You need to find your balance again. You need to breathe.

Most of all, you need to apologize.

Despite the gnawing pit in your stomach, you drag your feet back to Calliope’s office.

You exhale a shaky breath before knocking softly on the door. “May I... May I come in?" you ask, your hand hovering over the knob.

The response comes from Calliope, a simple “Come in,” that is gentle–probably something you don’t deserve at this moment. You open the door to find Wanda huddled at the far end of the couch, looking terrified. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and her fingers clutch a tissue to her face.

Guilt, fear, and anxiety, all clearly visible in her demeanor. The sight of her in such a state increases your shame tenfold.

Regret has your gaze anchored to your shoes as you utter your apology. You're not yet ready to claim your previous seat on the couch, not without knowing if it's okay. “I'm sorry,” you whisper to Wanda. “I didn't mean to...I shouldn't have...I lost control, and that's on me. I had no right to speak to you like that.”

Calliope offers you a small smile and gestures for you to take your previous seat. Then, she signals towards the spot you previously occupied, an unspoken invitation for you to rejoin them.

However, you remain rooted to your spot, waiting for Wanda's permission before making a move.

With eyes bloodshot and voice hoarse, Wanda looks at you and softly pleads, “Please, Y/N.”

At last, you gather the strength to meet her gaze and offer a nod of gratitude as you make your way back to your seat.

After you settle back into the couch, Calliope speaks up.

“What happened here was intense, but it's also a part of the process. Confronting our emotions and learning to manage them is essential. But, we should always strive to communicate in a respectful manner," Her voice holds a hint of emphasis, and it's the closest thing to a reprimand that Wanda has heard from her. “But it’s a good thing that you returned here willingly, realizing your mistake and having the determination to face the consequences of your actions and apologize for it.”

Calliope continues, “Y/N, if I may, what led you to ask those particular questions?”

The question quickly brings a raw admission out of you–something you’ve buried at the back of your mind and never thought would come to the surface.

“I always wondered if Wanda strayed because I was lacking in some way. If there was something missing in me that Vision was able to offer her,” you confess, feeling a sudden wave of insecurity wash over you.

You are so engrossed in your thoughts that you don't see Wanda softly shaking her head in response to your words.

You push forward, “If I were the one lacking, it would at least be something tangible I could fix. A clear problem with a clear solution. And perhaps that solution could serve as a sort of assurance for me, a guarantee that Wanda won’t do it again.”

“Honestly, it would've been easier if she answered yes to all those questions…” you chuckle softly, seeing the irony in the situation.

“It wasn’t anything you lacked, Y/N,” Wanda bites her lower lip nervously. “It wasn't about you being less or Vision being more… Frankly, being drawn to him then feels like… like a depersonalization. When I look back, I don’t recognize who I am at that moment.”

The term she used sounds unfamiliar in your ears. You look to Calliope, brows furrowed, trying to make sense of what Wanda was trying to say.

“Depersonalization is a state where a person feels detached or disconnected from themselves,” Calliope explains mildly. “They might feel like they're observing their own body from an outside perspective, or like they're in a dream or a movie. It's a form of dissociation, a mental process which produces a lack of connection in a person's thoughts, memories, feelings, actions, or sense of identity.”

“Depersonalization is often triggered by severe stress or trauma,” Calliope continues, looking at Wanda. “People experiencing it may make decisions that are out of character or do things that they normally wouldn't, as if they're on autopilot or being controlled by some external force.”

Wanda's nod comes slowly, her gaze on her folded hands.

“During a moment when I... I felt so detached, I did something that I wouldn't normally do. I cheated,” She hesitates, swallowing hard. “But it wasn't because you lacked anything or because Vision was better. It was a reflection of my own personal problems and not about you or our relationship.”

For a long moment, you remain quiet, digesting her words, wrestling with yourself over whether you really want to believe this reasoning.

“Why didn't you come to me, Wanda?” you ask with a mournful realization that all of this could have been avoided if Wanda had simply come to you suddenly. “If you were struggling, I would've wanted to help.”

“I know,” Wanda mutters ruefully. “But at the time, I had just left my job at the gallery, and you were doing so well in your career. I–I didn't want to seem helpless, like a burden. I was battling self-pity, not to mention the grief from our failed pregnancy. I felt like I'd already failed you as a wife... I didn't want to seem even more of a failure.”

“I've never seen your struggles with pregnancy as a failure, Wanda, and certainly not your failure,” you gently interject.

“I'm aware of that, Y/N,” Wanda replies, her voice soft and almost bashful, as if she's just now coming to terms with how embarrassingly poorly she handled the whole situation.

“But I couldn’t help but blame myself because I knew how much you wanted children. You wanted it even before you asked me to marry you. The reality of not being able to provide you the family you wanted... It felt like my heart was being torn apart. I was drowning in my grief and frustration. And just when I was starting to regain my footing, I lost a job that I was proud of. Moving to Westview seemed to rob me of my last sense of purpose. I felt lost, angry even.”

“Wanda, you're the person I wanted to raise a family with,” you say.

Wanda's lower lip trembles at that, and she reaches out, pulling another tissue from the box that Calliope had thoughtfully placed in front of her earlier.

After a long pause, you ask softly, “You were angry at me?”

“I wasn't angry with you per se,” Wanda admits, glancing towards Calliope automatically. It’s a topic that they extensively covered in the past. “It was only through my sessions with Calliope that I understood that my anger was not directed at anyone in particular, but at everything that was happening around me. I was lashing out at the world, and sadly, you were part of that world.”

That's a feeling you realize you can relate to. In hindsight, you recognize that you lashed out at the world for what Wanda did to you, and in doing so, hurt the people around you as well.

“I'm not here to provide excuses for my actions because there's nothing that could ever justify what I did,” Wanda says, her voice trembling slightly. “I know you’re–I know you’re still deciding if you want to be with me–”

“Wanda–”

“Please, Y/N, let me finish,” she interrupts, swallowing the lump in her throat as she braces herself for what comes next. “I know you’re still deciding if you want to be with me, which is why I want you to know everything—my thoughts, my feelings…to help with your decision.”

Wanda is laying it all on the line, placing the sole decision in your hands, baring her soul to see if you still want what you both had. Without the nostalgia of your old room in Montauk, the place where you two reconciled that night, you now see clearly both sides of the choice to try again with Wanda.

“I… I think I need some time to absorb all of these, Wanda. But I hear you,” you say. “And right now, I just want to say one thing: you're not a failure. You never were,” you say softly, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

For years you’ve looked at your relationship with Wanda through rose-colored lenses. But it becomes apparent now that there had been problems, deep-seated issues in your previous marriage that you had failed to see.

Wanda squeezes your hand back, your fingers tightening around yours, as if trying to hold on to you. “Thank you. I’m still struggling to believe that, but thank you.”

Calliope, who has been quietly observing the exchange, finally breaks the silence.

“These sessions are not meant to be easy, and this one certainly was heavy. But you are here, facing the truth, confronting the past, and expressing yourselves honestly and vulnerably. That takes courage.

“I'm proud of both of you,” she continues with a smile, giving each of you an encouraging nod. “I can see that today's revelations are a lot to take in. Spend some time reflecting on what we've discussed today–together and individually. But, before I let you go, there’s one more thing.”

You and Wanda look at her expectantly.

“I have a task in mind for both of you. However, I want to ensure that you only undertake it once you feel at ease with it and have fully absorbed the discussions from today's session.

“Write a letter to each other,” Calliope suggests. “Put down everything you want to say. There are no rules. It can be long or short. The only condition is to be honest with each other.”

She pauses to let her instructions sink in. “This is not something you have to share with me or anyone else. But when you're ready, I suggest that you share it with each other.”

A little while later, you and Wanda step out of the room, feeling as though you've both just endured the toughest battle of your lives. But as the door closes behind you, Wanda reaches out and gently takes your hand in hers.

“Don't worry about earlier,” Wanda whispers, looking up at you with a small smile. “We're here to learn and grow, right?”

You nod, but the guilt still lingers. “I need to work on controlling my anger,” you confess. Today's outburst was a startling wake-up call, a side of yourself you hadn't recognized. You'd never really thought of yourself as someone with anger issues, but not only did you scare Wanda, you were also fearful of what you might be capable of if it happens again. “I can't always resort to yelling when I'm upset. It's not fair to you or to me.”

Wanda gives your hand a comforting squeeze. “We're in this together, okay?” she says. “We can talk to Calliope about it, work on it. We're learning, Y/N. Remember that.”

You stop in your tracks to face her fully, and then tug on her hand until she's stepping into your embrace. You wrap your arms around her, holding her tightly to your chest, feeling the warmth of her against you. Your lips find her hair, and you kiss it gently.

“Yeah,” you reply, the knot in your chest loosening just a bit. “We're learning.”

***

Agatha twiddles her thumbs, anxiety practically radiating from her. She hasn't felt this nervous since her first job interview decades ago, and the words she needs to say now are sticking in her throat.

Wanda, in the midst of cooking, hears the silence and turns to face her business partner. She drops the spatula on the counter and heaves an exasperated sigh. “What is it?”

“I've got something to tell you,” Agatha finally says, avoiding Wanda's gaze.

Wanda tilts her head, studying her. “Alright, shoot,” she prompts, crossing her arms over her chest.

Agatha gulps, finding an interesting spot on the floor to focus on. She’s been rehearsing this for a while now but words just refuse to come out.

“I signed us up for the annual NYC Holiday Cup-Off,” Agatha announces.

Wanda's eyebrows shoot up, her face twisting into a bewildered expression. “The what now?”

“It's an annual coffee showdown that takes place every year on December 30th. A member of the organizing committee stopped by yesterday and required an immediate response. I agreed,” Agatha explains. “I mean, it’s a good exposure for us, right?”

“But the holidays are going to be hectic,” Wanda argues and resumes her cooking. “Also, Y/N and I are currently in the middle of fixing our issues. I don't want to add more to our plate.”

Before Agatha could reply, Peter interjects, “Hey, I'm totally up for helping out! And MJ will be on break from school soon, so she'll have some free time to pitch in too.”

Agatha turns to Wanda with a pleased look. “So, what do you say?”

It’s undeniably a huge opportunity to showcase their craft. Investors will be at the event, and many coffee enthusiasts will be looking to try something new. Their humble store in Queens would definitely benefit from the attention.

Wanda sighs, the corners of her mouth turning up in a small, resigned smile. “Okay,” she relents. “Let's do it.”

Just then, the bell over the door chimes and Peter immediately springs to action, leaving Agatha and Wanda alone at the counter.

“So,” Agatha starts, a curious glint in her eyes, “You and Y/N, huh? ‘In the middle of fixing issues’?”

Wanda's actions seem distracted as she avoids direct eye contact with Agatha, her hands busy with fidgeting in the utensils drawer. Finally, she retrieves a spoon to sample the marinara sauce she's been perfecting, an action that seems more about giving herself something to do than genuine interest in the sauce. “Yes. We've started attending therapy together.”

Agatha's teasing grin quickly fades, replaced by genuine interest. Her voice softens as she asks, “Really? And how's that going?”

Wanda's response is accompanied by a small, nervous laugh, more a reflex than a sign of amusement. She continues to stir the sauce, using the motion to mask her unease. “We've had just one session till now,” she reveals, her voice catching slightly. “And, well, it was quite, uhm, heated.”

“Heated?” Agatha echoes, growing more curious than ever. “How so?”

Wanda's gaze falls, and she takes a moment to gather herself, her hands clasping the counter tightly. Finally, she looks up, meeting Agatha's concerned eyes.

“Our therapist wanted us to start from the beginning, you know? How I found myself attracted to my former student and such,” she explains, her voice cracking slightly. She takes a deep breath, attempting to steady herself. “And, uh, there were things Y/N had never heard before.”

She swallows, a look of discomfort crossing her face. “And then Y/N started asking questions, comparing herself to Vision. Asking if... if he was better than her.”

Agatha's eyes narrow in confusion for a split second, and then they widen comically as the realization hits her. “You mean... in bed?” she exclaims, surprised.

Wanda clears her throat before nodding, her face turning a shade redder. Agatha's eyes widen further, shock and concern evident in her expression. “Wanda!” she gasps, a hand flying to her chest in disbelief. “That's... That's quite the question to ask. What did you say to Y/N?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Wanda replies, her voice soft and reflective.

“Why didn't you just tell her she's better?” Agatha asks, puzzled.

Wanda shakes her head, her eyes downcast. “She wouldn't have believed me. It would've just turned into me lying to make her feel better and then me trying to convince her it's not a lie,” She pauses, her voice dropping further. “But, honestly, I don't think that's what she was really trying to find out.”

“I think she was trying to find a reason to blame herself... maybe thinking she was lacking something. Like if she figured out what she was missing, she could just fix it, right? But that’s now how it works, is it? It’s not that simple.” Wanda says.

Agatha nods slowly, absorbing Wanda's words. “That's a heavy conversation to have.”

“Tell me about it,” Wanda agrees, a weary sigh escaping her lips. Her hand reaches absently for the spoon again, but she sets it down, realizing that the sauce no longer holds her attention.

Agatha sighs, rubbing her forehead before giving Wanda a perturbed look. “But, Wanda,” she continues, “Do you think dredging up the past is the best way to regain Y/N's trust? Therapy is supposed to help, not make things more complicated.”

Wanda's eyes wander for a moment, seeking an answer in the empty space before her. “I... I don't know, Agatha,” she admits helplessly. “But these issues, they've been hiding there, just out of sight. They were bound to emerge eventually.”

Wanda continues, “I think if we want to rebuild our relationship, we have to face these issues head-on, don't we? We can't just pretend they don't exist.”

Agatha studies her in silence for a beat, before asking, “But what if this pushes her further away? What if, instead of helping Y/N realize what she wants, it sends her running in the other direction?”

Wanda shakes her head. “We're not in therapy to convince Y/N to be with me. She's already made it clear that she wants that.”

“Then why go down this painful path?” Agatha argues. “It seems like you're digging your own grave.”

“Because I need her to be sure,” Wanda says. “I need her to believe in us again.”

She recognizes the steadfast glint in Wanda's eye. It's a look she's seen before, one that comes to the fore when Wanda is unmovable, unwilling to change her mind.

“I can see that,” Agatha says quietly. “But it's a fine line you're walking, Wanda. Healing is important, but so is self-preservation. Don't destroy yourself in the process.”

Wanda's eyes meet Agatha's, determination burning in them. “I know it's a risk," she says. “But it's one I have to take. Y/N deserves to know everything, to understand why things happened the way they did. If that leads to us being stronger together, then it's worth it. If it drives her away... well, at least I'll know I was honest.”

Agatha sighs, but it is later on followed by a knowing grin. “You really do love her, don't you?”

Wanda smiles, a sad but resolute one. “More than anything. And that's why I can't hide from the past. I have to face it, no matter how painful it is. For her. For us.”

They stand side by side in silence for a moment, each lost in thought.

“I hope it works, Wanda. I really do.”

“Me too,” Wanda whispers, her voice full of hope and a touch of fear. “Me too.”

***

“A person can love you with all their heart and not be any good at it. But remember, you don't have to tolerate anything you don't like, no matter how much they love you.”

You shift in your seat, restless and unsure. Your foot taps a rhythm on the carpeted floor of Calliope's office as her words swirl in your mind, the temperature in the room seeming to rise with your anxiety.

“It doesn't sound like you're encouraging me to stick with Wanda,” you point out.

Calliope leans back in her chair, a good-natured smile playing on her lips. “I'm not here to encourage or discourage any particular course of action,” she says calmly. “What I am here for is to help you explore your feelings and understand what you truly want. Sometimes love isn't enough, and that's okay. It's up to you to decide what you can and can't accept in a relationship.”

As you chew on Calliope's words, trying to reconcile your love for Wanda with the reality of the situation, you find comfort in Calliope's lack of judgment, a space to think without pressure.

“You're right,” you mumble. “I just need to figure out what I can live with and what I can't.”

It's your first official solo session with Calliope after a tumultuous joint session with Wanda earlier in the week. Interaction with Wanda since then has been muted and bittersweet. Interaction with Wanda since then has been muted and bittersweet, marked only by a quiet dinner at her place and a walk with Sparky outside afterward. The dinner was sweet, filled with affectionate glances and gentle touches, but it lacked the spark that once ignited between you two in Montauk and the passionate days that followed.

Frankly, you're desperate to return to how things were before your outburst, but you have no idea how.

The subsequent days that followed haven't been any better. You remember the way Wanda would sometimes look at you with a silent question in her eyes. It could have been a simple, “Are we going to make it?” or as heart-wrenching as, “Have you changed your mind about giving us another chance?”

“So, tell me more about how you're feeling,” Calliope prompts, bringing you back to the present moment. “What are some of the emotions that have been coming up for you lately?”

“Uh, they come at different times in the day,” you say, chuckling softly. “In the morning there’s longing. Now that I’m no longer in denial of the fact that I’m still very much in love with my ex-wife, I miss her more terribly than the months we were estranged. I miss Wanda and I miss our old life together. I miss the routine I have with her. Just… being married to her. Then in the afternoon, I miss another relationship in my life–my friendship with Nat. She’s like a sister to me–well, I consider her one. I grew up without siblings and the only other familial love I knew in my life was my mother’s until she came along. Losing her hurt as much if not more than Wanda’s betrayal, to be honest.”

As you pause, feeling as though you're oversharing, Calliope gifts you a reassuring smile. “Just continue, Y/N. I'm here to listen,” she encourages.

You shyly return her smile before continuing, “Nights, well, they're a combination of guilt, anger, and a kind of despair that sometimes makes me wish I wouldn't wake up if everything remains the same. I'm not... I don't think I'm suicidal, but at times, it feels as though an abrupt end would be easier to deal with.”

Calliope takes a moment to process your words, her eyes softening with empathy. “It sounds like you're carrying a lot of pain,” she says. “But let's clarify something important–while it might feel overwhelming at times, it doesn't mean it's unmanageable. When you have thoughts about not wanting to wake up, it's a sign that you're longing for relief, not necessarily the end. It's vital to differentiate between the two. Now, let me ask. Has there been anything recently that's caused you pain? Something you believe you're still grappling with?”

You make it appear as if you have to think about it for a moment even though the response comes to you almost instantly.

“Uhm, there is actually…” you start. “Wanda and I haven’t talked about this because all conversations that have something to do with Vision are just painful to have basically. I don’t know if Wanda’s mentioned it to you before but, uh, Wanda told me herself that Vision filmed them having sex.”

“I see,” Calliope responds. “Wanda did mention that. We mainly focused on her experience though–how it was a direct violation of her privacy.”

You draw a deep breath, releasing it slowly as you prepare to delve into the matter further.

“Right. And as for me, knowing about the existence of such a video, it just... It haunts me. It's not like I've seen it or anything. But–but just the idea... It feels like an additional layer of betrayal. And on top of that, I’m livid that someone easily violated Wanda like that.”

“So, it's not just the affair itself, but the tangible evidence of it that exacerbates the hurt. Is that correct?”

You nod, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

“I understand,” Calliope says, giving you a sympathetic nod. “It's like an open wound that keeps getting poked. And every time it does, it becomes more difficult to heal.”

“Right,” you agree, your voice catching a bit as you swallow. The way Calliope has just articulated your feelings is validating, like she's reading your thoughts. “I deleted that video without seeing it. I knew it would just make me hate Wanda all over again. But, you know, sometimes I wonder if I should've seen it.”

Calliope nods, her hands resting comfortably in her lap. “It's totally natural to feel that way,” she says. “Curiosity, the need for closure, or just the urge to understand... These feelings can push us to do things like that. But it's worth remembering, not all answers make things better. Sometimes, they just hurt more.”

“Do you think I’d still be here, trying to make things work if I had seen it?” you wonder out loud.

Calliope takes a moment, her eyes thoughtful as she considers your question. “That's a tough one, Y/N. So many things could influence a decision like that. But you know, despite everything else, we often end up following our heart, even if it doesn't make logical sense.”

Her words seem to settle something inside you.

You find your thoughts drifting, reflecting on the choices you've made and the paths you've chosen not to take. The video was a potential Pandora's box, one you knew you needed to avoid. The thought of violating Wanda's privacy, even after everything, feels wrong.

You recognize your own responsibility of ensuring you don't place yourself in situations that might jeopardize what you and Wanda are rebuilding. For too long, you've felt as if you're just waiting for the next slip-up from Wanda, and you yearn to free yourself from that cycle.

“Nothing about love is logical, then?” you ask.

“Love often doesn't follow the rules of logic,” she begins, her voice soft but clear. “It's a deeply emotional and sometimes irrational force. But that doesn't mean it's without structure or patterns.”

She pauses, studying your face to gauge your reaction. “In therapy, we often look at love through the lens of attachment and connection. How we express love, how we receive it, what we need from a relationship, and how we cope when those needs are not met. All of these aspects can be explored and understood.”

You take a deep breath, trying to wrap your mind around Calliope's words. “So, what you're saying is that while love itself might not be logical, understanding our own patterns and reactions in love can bring clarity?”

Calliope smiles, nodding. “Exactly. Recognizing your own needs, your triggers, and your boundaries can help you navigate the complexities of love. It can provide you with the tools to build a healthier relationship, not just with Wanda but with yourself.”

As the session starts to wind down, Calliope looks at you with a kind yet inquisitive expression. “Is there anything specific you'd like to talk about before we end today? Any thoughts or feelings you’d like to explore further?”

“Actually, there's something I've been wanting to ask, but it feels a bit awkward–especially with Wanda around,” you say, looking a bit sheepish.

Calliope leans forward, her eyes warm and attentive. “This is a safe space. Whatever you need to ask or discuss, feel free to do so. Remember, our conversations here are confidential.”

“Okay,” you say, wetting your lips. “Do you think...Do you think it's possible for someone to change? I mean, truly change? Wanda has hurt me in the past, and she's said it… it won’t happen again. She's working hard to prove it, but how can I be sure? How can I trust that it's not just an act, that she won't hurt me again?”

Calliope takes her time, carefully considering her words before speaking.

“I believe people can change,” she tells you squarely. “But change is a process. It's slow, and it's hard. And it's something that the person has to genuinely want for themselves. Change cannot be forced or faked.”

She pauses, looking deep into your eyes. “The question here isn't just whether Wanda can change, but whether you believe she can. Trust is a delicate thing, and it takes time to rebuild. It's normal to have doubts, to have fears. What's important is how you address those feelings and how you communicate with Wanda about them.”

You nod, her words sinking in. It’s a terrifying leap of faith, a gamble with your heart and your happiness.

“What if I make the wrong choice?” you ask, failing to keep the tremor out of your voice. “What if I trust her, and she betrays me again?”

“Deciding to trust someone will never not be a risk, Y/N,” Calliope says, placing a comforting hand on your arm.

“You're right,” you reply, taking a deep breath and feeling a bit more centered. “I need to focus on the now and communicate openly with Wanda.”

Calliope's smile is warm and understanding. “You’ve taken brave steps today, Y/N.”

The future is unwritten, and it's yours to shape.

***

The enticing aroma of steak cooking fills your kitchen as you busy yourself with the final touches of the evening meal. As you fuss over the table preparation and positioning the scented candles you spread around the dining room, you're conscious of the nerves prickling at your skin. It's not like this is your first date with Wanda, but the anticipation of her arrival makes it feel as if it is.

Freshly bathed, you've even gone through the effort of applying a touch of makeup, just enough to give you that extra glow. You're wearing a nice shirt that subtly showcases your lean arms and compliments your figure.

Maybe part of you is expecting, or at least hoping, for more than just dinner tonight.

The doorbell rings, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. Quickly, you wipe your hands on a kitchen towel and hurry to the door.

Wanda stands there, her beauty as stunning as ever. Her cheeks are lightly flushed from the winter chill, and she's bundled up in a thick, cozy puffer jacket. Nestled in her arms is Sparky, his tail wagging wildly in sheer joy at the sight of you. Seeing your little family at your doorstep, a jolt of affection sweeps over you, momentarily stealing your words, but you manage to find your footing, leaning in to greet her with a tender kiss. Sparky lets out a surprised yelp, sandwiched between you and Wanda.

When you release her bottom lip with a wet pop, Wanda peers up at you with a dazed smile on her face as she asks, “What was that for?”

With a nonchalant shrug, you answer, “I couldn’t resist, you're just too beautiful.”

She looks surprised as she takes in the romantically set table, the flickering candles, and the open bottle of merlot. “What's all this for?” she asks, her eyes meeting yours.

Trying to keep your voice steady, you shrug, offering her a casual grin. “No special reason,” you respond, gesturing to the lovingly prepared meal. “Just felt like making you dinner. Sparky can have ⅓ of my steak since I didn’t know he’s coming too.”

She turns to you with a wide grin on her face and says, “Oh, Y/N, you didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” you tell her sheepishly. “Is that alright?”

Wanda pulls you close, the fabric of your shirt gathered in her hand, and captures your lips in another searing kiss. “It’s more than alright,” she whispers, her breath warm against your skin.

Her hand releases your shirt, and she follows you into the dining room where the dinner you worked very hard on is waiting. You clink your glasses in a toast, and then you both tuck into your dinner. Conversation flows easily between you two, just like old times.

Wanda shares anecdotes about her day, each story making you smile or laugh. When it's your turn, you talk about your first solo therapy session with Calliope. Wanda immediately reassures you that you don't need to share anything you're not comfortable with, but you shake your head, insisting that you want to be open with her.

The conversation takes a more serious turn when you mention Vision's illicit video of their affair. You see Wanda's eyes widen in surprise, but she remains silent, waiting for you to continue.

You take a deep breath, meeting Wanda's eyes. “It... It's been bothering me, Wanda. The idea of it. The violation of your privacy... and just the very existence of it. I didn’t know how to bring it up but talking to Calliope earlier helped me come to terms with it.”

Wanda's face pales slightly, her fork pausing in mid-air. “Oh,” she murmurs, the word barely audible. She sets her utensils down and takes a sip of wine, her gaze distant. “I... I see.”

“I want you to know,” you continue, reaching across the table to place your hand over hers, “I deleted it. I didn't watch it. Not because I was scared of what I might see, but because it was the right thing to do. For both of us.”

Wanda's eyes widen slightly, and something in her expression shifts. Her face is open and unguarded, and tears well in her eyes, not spilling over, but making them shine with an intensity that grips your heart.

She opens her mouth to speak, but it takes her a moment to find her voice, a subtle tremble in her words as she finally says, “Thank you.”

Wanda's throat moves as she struggles to reel in her emotions. “Thank you for respecting me, even when I didn't deserve it.”

You smile and lean forward to place a gentle kiss on the back of her hand. “You’re welcome.”

As the last remnants of the Merlot are savored and the dishes are cleared away, a new energy envelops the room. The candlelight dances in Wanda's eyes and the warmth of the evening gives way to a different kind of heat.

The conversation slows to comfortable silence. Neither of you makes a move, but the air between you is taut with expectation as you regard her with an aching gaze. After a lingering moment, you both get up from the table, your movements mirroring each other's. The distance between you diminishes as Wanda steps closer, her hands finding their way to your waist.

You tilt your head upwards, meeting her gaze, and what you see makes your heart race. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire. Her lips part slightly as her breath hitches, the slight tremble betraying her nervousness. You both want this, need this. And tonight, there's nothing holding you back. The past is behind you, and the future is waiting. For now, you have this moment, and it's more than enough.

As your lips meet in a passionate kiss, you can't help but think that this isn't just another step towards gaining back some semblance of what you two used to have. It's a leap of faith–being this close to her isn’t something you still need to be afraid of. This night isn't just about seeking physical comfort; it's about rediscovering each other in the most personal way possible.

More than just dinner, indeed.

“No, don’t go,” Wanda’s arm swiftly wraps around your exposed waist, anchoring you to the bed–the very bed where you've spent hours making love to her. A soft chuckle bubbles from your lips as your fingers trace the hand splayed across your stomach, a gentle prison keeping you bound to the mattress alongside her.

“I just need to grab something, love, I’ll be right back,” you assure her, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead before carefully disentangling from her insistent grasp.

Wanda releases you reluctantly, an adorable pout gracing her lips that sends a pang of regret through you, making you momentarily second-guess your decision to leave the inviting cocoon of her warmth. You smirk as you watch Sparky take your place beside Wanda and start licking at her face, making your ex-wife squirm and giggle from his attention.

Slowly, you make your way to the desk situated not too far from the bed. Over your shoulder, you can see Wanda propping herself up, the sheet falling haphazardly over her bare form, her modesty barely preserved by the silken material. The sight of her is momentarily distracting, but you manage to shake the thoughts away, focusing on the task at hand.

On the desk lies the letter you’ve penned for her. Calliope had recommended this as an exercise–writing down everything you wanted to say to each other in the form of a letter. At first, you found it a little odd. You've always been more of a face-to-face person when it comes to expressing yourself.

With the letter in hand, you make your way back to the bed, the anticipation causing your heart to hammer erratically against your chest. It's just Wanda. You've known each other for years, yet somehow, this moment feels as nerve-wracking as a first date.

As you climb back into bed, you hand the letter over to Wanda, looking into her eyes, now filled with curiosity and a hint of nervousness reflecting your own.

“This... is for you,” you say softly, the letter in her hands feeling like a piece of your soul, bare and exposed for her to see.

Wanda looks genuinely taken aback, her fingers running over the sealed envelope lightly. “Oh, Y/N,” she says, sounding surprised and a touch guilty. “I didn't know we were exchanging letters tonight. I left mine for you back at my apartment.”

Her eyes flicker to you, apologetic, as she makes a mental note to herself to retrieve the letter as soon as she can. You reassure her, saying, “That's alright, Wanda. You can read mine without having to give yours. There's no rush.”

You watch as Wanda slowly unfolds it. She scans the contents of your letter, her eyes tracing the loops and lines of your handwriting. In that quiet, you can practically hear your own heartbeat, and the wait feels agonizing as you watch Wanda's reactions to your words—her brows furrow in concentration, her lips part in surprise, and her eyes, unsteady at first, gradually soften in understanding.

Wanda,

I need to begin with an apology. I've lashed out at you many times, and even though people say I have every right to be angry, I never want to hurt you with my actions or words. I'm sorry for that, truly.

I've loved you for a long time, Wanda, and even in the depths of all the hurt and pain, that love never stopped. Not even once. That, I think, was the hardest part.

Here's the truth: loving you is like breathing for me. It's this natural, innate thing that hasn't been shaken by everything we've gone through. I can't assure you that we'll end up with rings on our fingers again, but I want you to know what I hope for us. I hope for us to grow individually as people, to overcome our own demons, and to find our way back to each other, stronger than before.

I walked away before because I was lost, Wanda. I felt like I was drowning, and the person who should've been my lifeline was the one pushing me further under. It wasn't easy, stepping away from you, from us. But I was scared, and I felt like I had no other choice.

I can't promise that everything will be smooth sailing from here on out. I can't promise that I'll suddenly trust you like I used to. Honestly, I have no idea what's coming our way. But I can promise that I'll try.

I'm still in love with you, Wanda, and I'm still here. I’ll keep trying as long as it takes.

Yours always,

Y/N

When she's done reading, she clutches the letter to her chest, her eyes closing for a moment, as if absorbing the words into her very being. Then slowly, she places it gently on the nightstand, her hand lingering on the paper as if reluctant to let go.

There's a vulnerability in her eyes that you haven't seen in a while. It takes your breath away, the rawness of it, the absolute trust she's putting in you in this moment. It's what you've been working towards, what you've been fighting for. And it's beautiful.

“What you wrote...” she pauses, her eyes glistening as she fights back tears, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, “It means everything to me. Thank you.”

You reach across, brushing a stray tear from her cheek, your touch gentle. “I love you,” you tell her, your voice thick with emotion.

Her hand covers yours, her fingers squeezing reassuringly. “I love you too,” she whispers, the words a sacred promise, a reaffirmation of everything that you are to each other. Her smile deepens, her eyes sparkling with a love that's both old and new, and in that moment, everything feels right in the world.

Sometime in the middle of the night, you're pulled from the comfort of sleep by a relentless buzzing noise. In the dim light, you can make out Wanda's phone vibrating on her nightstand. Carefully, so as not to awaken her, you reach across her slumbering form to silence the persistent vibration.

Squinting at the bright screen, you find a flurry of unread messages and missed calls from unknown numbers and names you don't recognize. A feeling of unease begins to creep in as you fumble to unlock the phone, trying Wanda's birthday first, then yours, both to no avail. Your frustration mounts, and with a sigh of resignation, you power off the phone to quell its incessant buzzing.

But as you settle back into bed, your mind begins to wander into dangerous territory, forming connections and scenarios that you'd rather not contemplate. Who has been trying to reach her? Could there be others, aside from Valkyrie, who had vied for her attention?

The seed of doubt sown, jealousy begins to sprout within you before you can stop it. You turn to your side, facing away from her, trying to shake off the unwelcome emotions. You close your eyes, willing sleep to come to you. The sheets feel cool against your skin, and you pull the covers closer.

It’s not a war waged anymore with Wanda or what she did in the past.

It’s a war you’re now waging with yourself.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff #agatha harkness #pietro maximoff #peter parker

310 notes · View notes

puddle-nerd · 3 months

Text

Lean on Me

Summary: Tsu’tey gets a moment away, just to relax with you.

Prompt #4 for my submission for #𝐂𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬𝟏𝟒𝐃𝐎𝐋𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

Story Tags: No use of Y/N, Female Avatar Reader, Tsu’tey te Rongloa Ateyitan Lives, Omatikaya | Blue Flute Clan,Na’vi Language, Established Relationship, Tsu’tey te Rongloa Ateyitan Adopts Spider

Author’s Note: It is not outwardly stated but the reader in this is an Avatar driver.

Na’vi Translation: Olo’eyktan – clan leader | generally gender-neutral Sa’nu – mum | mommy Sempu – dad | daddy Tsahìk – a spiritual leader of a Na’vi clan, and the most important member next to the clan leader. The job of the Tsahìk is to interpret the will of Eywa, guide the clan spiritually, and perform important ceremonies Vrrtep – demon

AO3 Link

Part 2

“That feels nice, vrrtep,” Tsu’tey mumbled as you softly, slowly ran your fingers through his braids while his sapphire-colored head rested upon your thighs. You hummed and playfully tugged at one of the yellow carved beads ever so slightly in retribution.

Had it been six months prior, the word “demon” coming out of his mouth would have been contemptuous and sneering but now, it came out rather affectionate because you knew he cared deeply for you though he was absolutely terrible at expressing it verbally. Still, you weren’t entirely sure if you were officially his girlfriend or not as every time you tried to initiate that that particular talk, something always interrupted you. And it wasn’t like he had created an official courting gift for you yet either so…

You guys had time to figure it out, though.

“You’ve been working so hard… so think of this as a temporary reward, Olo’eyktan—of—mine,” you replied quietly, moving your fingers through his braids once more, your nails stroking over his scalp teasingly. “You became the next leader of the Omatikaya People. You led a war with Jake of over twenty-thousand Na’vi. You’ve been healing from your gunshot wounds from previously mentioned combat. You then had Jake and Neytiri assist you get all the bad tawtutes off of the planet. You’ve been helping your People heal from the trauma of it all while also locating another place for the clan to live. And on top of that, you also adopted the human baby boy orphaned and have been learning to be a sempu. You need a break, Tey. You do not have to carry it all upon your shoulders. It is okay to lean on me when you need a moment to pause.”

He sighed, turning to press his face into the soft curve of your belly, his ears twitching as he listened to your words with a grunt.

You began to hum as you continued to soothingly run your fingers over his head and bask in this rare moment when Tsu’tey wasn’t busy with this, that, or another thing with his never-ending pile of duties and obligations and everything. Luckily, he had Mo’at as his current Tsahìk with Jake as his right hand and Neytiri as his left hand not to mention a whole mess of other elders to assist him when he needed it most.

And in times like this, he had you.

Tsu’tey sighed and turned his head to open one of his golden eyes and met your gaze. He commented, “You know… the child – Spider – thinks of you as his sa’nu. And you are so good with him.”

You shrugged with a grin down at him. “He’s so easy to love upon,” you replied to his off-handed remark. “Maybe even easier to love upon even than you are,” he grunted, wrinkling his nose in disgruntlement at your mischievous joke, “except during those rare but explosive temper tantrums of his. Tawtutes call this phase the ‘terrible two’s’ so hopefully he’ll be getting better behaved soon. Then, he only listens to you, Tey, no matter what I try to say or do. He is such a sempu’s boy.” The Na’vi male chortled quietly at that, grinning in such a way that his fangs glinted in the low light of the day.

Giving into your impulse, you leaned down and pressed your lips to his, grinning when he hummed and pressed up into your kiss. Only for the neck comms you both wore around your throat to choose that exact second to crackle to life with the resonating sounds of a very, very unhappy toddler coming in as background noise when Jake’s voice could be heard from the small speaker. The hybrid male sounded both exhausted and frustrated as he commented in English, “~Uh, guys, sorry to break into your time, but Spider won’t calm down and he’s been screaming for both of you for almost an hour now and Neytiri and I have no idea what to do anymore. Please, for the love of Eywa, come save us.~” You and Tsu’tey sighed, breaking apart. He sat up while you pressed the microphone button on your throat comm to reply. “We’re on our way, Jake,” you announced, watching the young Olo’eyktan push himself to his feet before he offered you, his hand. “Tell him if he starts to calm now, I’ll take him to the springs for a nice bath. That should help.” To Tsu’tey, you murmured as he pulled you upright, “I swear, Spider is part fish. And thank you, by the way. Guess it’s back to the grindstone.” “Yes, but it was a good moment to ourselves,” he replied. You nodded in agreement with him and with your hands still intertwined, went to go retrieve the tawtute Spider-child you and he had found yourself raising together, no matter what status your relationship was currently at.

𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸

Originally Posted: 04 February 2024 Word Count: 817

@crybabies-heart, @cryingwhilereading, @ikeyniofthetayrangi, @erenjaegerwifee, @bambithewriter, @lloreya

AO3 Link

Part 2

#𝐂𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬𝟏𝟒𝐃𝐎𝐋𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 #avatar #human reader #avatar driver reader #tsu'tey te rongloa ateyitan #tsu'tey avatar #tsu'tey x reader

91 notes · View notes

doyouknowthischaracter · 5 months

Note

Do you think the polls are inherently biased, because the well-known characters will be shared more wheras the unknown characters might never even reach their bubble where they are actually known by a lot of people?

Short answer is no.

Long answer is: well, if we want to be pedantic, an argument could be made that no method of collecting data via surveys, even self-administered surveys, is completely free of bias because that's just human nature and all you can do is minimize it by wording questions neutrally, trimming outliers, etc etc. With that out of the way, one very important thing to note here is that this isn't an opinion survey. The question being asked is very straightforward and the answer is not something that can be swayed or influenced by peer pressure, propaganda, unwillingness to disclose private information, or any other factors, be they internal or external. You either know a character or you don't. I mean, people could certainly lie, in either direction, but 1) why would you do that?? it's not even like we have winners or losers here, and 2) there's nothing I can do about it anyway.

Now, when it comes to sampling bias (which, from what I understand, is what you're actually asking about) my answer is still no, I don't think that's accurate. Popular characters will reach more people and get more votes overall precisely because they're more popular. If this were a tournament style blog or if I were asking your opinion on the character in question, then yes, I could definitely see how more well-known characters would be at an unfair advantage (or how tagging the polls with the character's name is encouraging that bias, as it's been suggested before), but this is not that! Well-known characters reaching their bubbles faster/more efficiently than obscure characters is an inherent part of being more popular. Everything is working as intended.

All that being said, there are a few factors which I think could influence results somewhat unfairly, but I wouldn't necessarily call them bias. They're more like limitations of the medium.

Firstly, the time and day of the week when a poll is published. I don't have access to this kind of data right now, but off the top of my head, I'd say Sundays around 10pm is when Tumblr users are most active. That, coupled with the fact that most users are from the United States, means that polls that come out of the queue on US Sundays during that time window have a chance to reach more people than all the others. However, this potential problem is organically circumvented by people going back to see previously posted polls, finding polls through reblogs or from tag searches, etc. So it's not really a significant difference. I haven't noticed the numbers reflecting this yet either, but in theory that's how social media works, so I thought it was worth pointing out.

Secondly, polls that were posted early on when the blog had fewer followers reached less people, on average, than polls being posted at the moment or that will be posted in the future. No argument there, that's just a fact. But, again, this is a limitation of the medium. Potentially, I could repost older polls at some point in the future and reassess characters' popularity, but how do I choose which ones? All of them? Wouldn't we just get stuck in a loop of reposting the same characters over and over then? That'd be no fun. So I don't really think there's anything to be done here, unfortunately.

Thirdly, meme-able characters will be see better engagement and consequently higher numbers of votes. Point in case, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Once again, not something that can be helped, not really. I do my best to maintain uniformity in how I format the polls and which pictures I choose (as high quality as I can find, cropped adequately, consistent size, etc.). But some characters will just have better chances of being shared around by virtue of featuring in memes or having some recognizable line or something like that.

To sum it up, overall I don't think there's an inherent bias in how the polls work at the moment. I do think there are certain factors that could marginally influence voting numbers, but not the votes themselves. (Which is why I've decided to compile two separate lists, by number of votes and by percentage-- they measure slightly different things, but that's a post for another day.) As long as every follower of this blog is delivered every poll to their dash and everyone pinky promises not to lie and screw up my numbers on purpose, then I'd say we're golden.

This is probably more than you asked for lol, but hopefully it all makes sense. And as always, feel free to share your opinion. I'm always happy to hear it!

#dyktc chatter #anonymous #asks #not a poll

62 notes · View notes

sakumasmut · 8 months

Text

Yes I know this is late, but what kind of event runner would I be if I didn’t participate? hopefully the other fics I have planned will be a bit more on time (this is unlikely)

Day 1 of Es x reader nsfw week!

Hiyori x Jun x Fem!Reader

ao3

tags: threesome, double penetration, vaginal sex, creampie, breeding, degradation

“God, you’re such a slut.”

Hiyori’s mean words went straight to your cunt, and his mouth curled into a smirk when he felt your walls clench harder around him. Maybe you could’ve denied his statement, even been a brat and talked back about his own sexual habits. But the fact was that not only was Hiyori’s cock pressing right against your cervix, but joining it was Jun’s equally girthy length, the duo’s simultaneous penetration stretching your pussy out to its limits and turning your brain to mush.

“To think you were a virgin when we first met, and now look at you, letting the two of us fuck you at once.” He squeezed your breasts, accentuating his point with shallow thrusts upwards, the small movements making you cry out in pleasure.

“H-Hiyor—AH!”

A particularly hard thrust from behind made you squeal, hands shooting out against Hiyori’s chest to break your fall. His skin was so soft and warm, covered in a sheen of sweat. You would’ve admired the view more, but the way Jun’s cock was rubbing against your sweet spot just right forced that thought out as quickly as it popped up, replacing it with static as you squealed again.

“So fucking tight…” Jun moaned, hands gripping your hips so hard they were sure to bruise. “Can’t get enough.”

He was definitely exerting more effort than Hiyori in pounding your insides. Not that the latter was enjoying it any less, he simply preferred to watch, getting just as much pleasure from the friction of Jun’s cock against his, combined with the way your warm walls squeezed him.

“Now, now, Jun, don’t go finishing before me.” Hiyori tisked, wagging a finger at him. “Put that stamina training to use~”

Jun panted in acknowledgement, too focused on the slapping of his balls against your ass each time he pushed inside you. Your slick folds tried their best to cling to their lengths, only for them to futilely slip out and crash back into you like a neverending barrage of attacks. Their thrusting being out of sync also meant that you couldn’t relax for even a moment, your body as tense as a string of thread being pulled on both sides by these two, just waiting for it to snap.

“You really are a cute little thing.” Hiyori sighed in admiration. “All ours to use. How lucky are you that you get to be Eve’s personal slut? I wouldn’t put this cute pussy of yours to better use, wouldn’t you agree, Jun-kun?”

“Y-Yeah.” He groaned. “Fuck, I’m so close.”

“Careful about finishing inside,” Hiyori teased, “unless you want a little Jun-kun running around. Then again, /name/‘s been such a whore. She surely won’t mind carrying a baby or two, am I wrong?”

The sudden suggestion of getting pregnant certainly wasn’t something you previously considered, but maybe it was the daze from how horny you were, or Hiyori’s voice just had that magical effect on you, because you found yourself not minding the idea of carrying their kids. It wasn’t just a want though, in your lust filled state it had turned into a need.

“If you want us to pull out, just say the word. Otherwise…” Hiyori tilted your chin up to meet his eyes, the lust contained in them indescribable.

“We’ll make sure to stuff your womb to the brim.”

You felt the thread pulled taut inside you finally snap.

“Please!” You were almost sobbing from the pleasure. “Please, I need your seed inside me! Hiyori! Jun!”

Responding to your request, they sped up even more than before, and with Hiyori’s fingers on your chest and Jun’s hands on your hips, your climax was reached in no time. You cried out a barrage of pleading and begging as they fucked you through your orgasm, making sure they knew just how much you wanted this, to be used like a cum dump. You weren’t sure who came next, you just knew that after a few more seconds both stilled inside you, letting out pretty moans of their own as a flood of warmth entered you. The amount pouring in from the two idols was immense, you could feel their cum seeping out of the gaps between you and their lengths, the sticky release trailing down your thighs.

“Mm, you like that, don’t you?” Hiyori looked over your dazed form, happy with the result of his and Jun’s efforts. “Well, we’ve only just begun.”

#esxreadernsfwweek2023 #enstars smut #ensemble stars smut #enstars x reader smut #jun sazanami smut #hiyori tomoe smut #nsft es!!

92 notes · View notes

underthetree845 · 5 months

Note

Alrighty April, can you write a yandere! Chuuya x reader fanfic (hcs or oneshots whatevers easier) where reader is single (More of a hopeless romantic type thing) and she's talking and laughing with Dazai? Maybe Dazai will hold your hand or something and he snaps. Maybe he could like kidnap you, or kill dazai, or something? Idk, I'm just trying to give you ideas, do whatever you want with this request :)

Hey! I know this took me awhile to answer, I just had some other things I needed to push out of my drafts first, so I do apologize :') I'm going to tag you just to make sure you see this: @a-random-weeb And please let me know what you think!

(As previously stated) I have never written yandere content before, and I don't feel comfortable writing anything too dark, so I did my best with this. It might come off as a little more jealous/possessive, but I stuck to the prompt.

Dogs Are Better

Chuuya/Reader (oneshot request)

Cws: gn! reader, jealousy, yandere if you squint, reader is a dog person (it makes sense later I promise), dazai getting beat up (by chuuya), possessive! chuuya, unhealthy possessiveness, chuuya does genuinely care, implications of stalking, alcohol, drinking, slightly tipsy reader, reader gets a hangover, overly trusting reader, kind of kidnapping?

About 2.7k words

Summary: Chuuya is already overly protective of you, how would he react if someone threatened to take you away?

A/n: Please note, I did my best to altar their roles and limitations to fit the prompt, but this is not necessarily how I ultimately view Dazai and Chuuya as characters! Also- in case it's unclear- Dolcetto is a type of red wine.

Chuuya’s gloved hand grips his drink tighter. The bartender has been growing worried that it will just shatter under the pressure.

It’s been over an hour and you haven’t stopped encouraging Dazai with that stupid grin on your face. It’s nothing like the one you give him, the one he lives to protect.

You’ve got a heart that longs to be loved, one Chuuya wants to nurture. How can he make you understand that you don’t need to jump around from person to person to receive compliments and feel validated? Why can’t you see that he’d be more than enough?

With a slam of glass down on the polished wood, Chuuya slides off his barstool and makes his way around to where you and Dazai are seated.

It was a stormy day, but nonetheless, Chuuya decided to make a run to the little shop one block from his place. He was set on picking up some appetizers that would go well with the red Dolcetto sitting in his kitchen cabinet.

Leather shoes splashed in the puddles along the sidewalk, rain pittered against the black of his coat and umbrella. He held the plastic bag of gouda and roasted turkey slices with one hand, doubling up on the knot in hopes of preventing any water from leaking in. The shade of his hair was the only reason he didn’t blend into the bleary background. The city was a monotone watercolor painting; dozens of droplets falling from the sky, lights flickering on as afternoon turned into evening, the usual rush hour bustle muffled by the cold rain of the murky clouds above.

Anyone would’ve paused for a moment if they found a soaking figure crouched down on the sidewalk. Anyone would’ve tapped them with their foot to see if they needed help. Anyone’s heart would’ve melted a little when they laid eyes on the shivering puppy the person had been shielding from the rain. Anyone’s heart would’ve thumped a little harder making eye contact with you for the first time. Not just anyone deserved to.

When you refused to take the umbrella and leave Chuuya without one, a compromise was made that he would walk you home; somehow, that resulted with him sitting on your bathroom floor, caring for a wet puppy, and trying to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat with every laugh that spilled from your lips.

What kind of person halts everything, soaks themself to the bone for some random dog, and lets the first stranger to offer them an umbrella into their apartment? He began to question whether it was the puppy or you who needed more protection.

The redhead found himself wandering into your city block more often. He noticed your favorite coffee shop, and decided that it had to be added to his routine. Lovely little coincidences slowly allowed him to engrain himself into your everyday life. It was all for your own good, after all.

Someone getting a little too friendly on the metro? That same man’s body was found beaten half to death in an alleyway the next morning. No evidence, no fingerprints; the perpetrator used gloves.

Crying because of the things your friends say behind your back? Chuuya isn’t hesitating to accidentally stumble upon your hiding spot and offer his shoulder to lean on.

On a particularly windy day, his hat blew off, and you just happened to be nearby to catch it.

It had to be some form of fate. He was meant to find you and you were meant to be with him.

Such a precious creature you turned out to be; he found it sad that no one had ever bothered to get to know you properly. To understand you. Not like he had.

You were a drug to his mind every waking second and every night as he laid awake staring at the ceiling, arms crossed behind his head.

Everything slid into place so naturally. He messaged you good morning and you followed through with a goodnight. On the best days, he walked back through his front door unable to wipe the lovesick grin from his face.

His presence gave you something solid to fall back on, it was nice.

He should’ve known it could only last for so long.

Some people are like parasites. They squirm around their miserable existence until they can find something lively to latch onto. They use it to fill their own void, draining the other being of its life and leaving it behind once they’ve had their fill.

“Oh, Chibi! Didn’t expect to see you here,~” the brunette chimes. Liar.

You spin around on your barstool and a smile lights your eyes up when your gaze lands on the redhead.

“Y/n-san and I were just sharing a drink. Do you two know each other?” Bastard.

“Chuu, it’s good to see you,” your voice melts in his ears. “Do you want to join us?”

“I don’t know why you didn’t introduce me sooner,” a grin spreads across Dazai’s face, “They’re an absolute treat.” He swirls the sake around in his cup before raising the glass to his lips. Parasite.

“Yeah, I’ll join you,” Chuuya replies politely, taking the seat to your right while Dazai is on your left.

“So how do you and Dazai know each other?” you question innocently. The two men make eye contact for a brief, unnoticeable moment.

“Work,” they both reply in unison. “We dealt a lot with trades between organizations,” Chuuya explains.

“Many jobs here and there,” Dazai adds. You nod your head in understanding.

“But enough about us!” a fox-like grin crawls up onto Dazai’s face, “I’ve barely gotten to know you yet.”

“I don’t think there’s much to talk about,” you reply with a humble smile.

Chuuya sighs and turns to the bartender to order another drink. If only he could make you understand.

“Nonsense!” Dazai rests his chin in the palm of his hand, “Why don’t we play a little game?”

“Okay,” you nod with interest. “It’s either or,” he continues with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “First question: Tall men or short men?” Chuuya chokes on his whisky. “Hmm,” you tap your chin in thought, “I don’t think height matters much to me.”

“Interesting,” Dazai folds his arms in front of his chest. Chuuya glares. You’re treading on thin ice, Mackerel.

“Next question: Do you think dark eyes or light eyes are prettier?” Dazai tilts his head, you stay silent. “Sorry, but I don’t think I want to be asked these types of questions,” you state politely, Chuuya has to hold back his smirk. “Ah, I see, I do apologize,” Dazai leans back, “I’ll change the topic. Cats or dogs?” He’s not worth starting a bar fight over, Chuuya internally screams, he's not worth it, he's not worth it, he’s not worth it.

“Well, that’s a tough one,” you hum, tracing your finger over the rim of your glass, “but I’d have to say dogs.” Chuuya’s ears perk up. “They’re so protective and loyal, and I’ve never met one that wanted to sink its teeth into me just because it can.” “I see,” Dazai smiles slyly, narrowing his eyes.

Chuuya sighs. You shouldn’t be wasting your breath on such a snake. Can’t you tell he’s done this a million times? The way his lips move, when his finger slips under his glass to set it down softly, how his eyes trace over your form like a wolf studying its prey.

“What about you, Chuu?” your voice breaks him out of his trance. He blinks at you a few times before raising his eyebrow, your giggle practically squeezes at his heart.

“Do you want to take some tequila shots with us?” you tilt your head. Chuuya raises an eyebrow. “Tequila? You don’t drink very often though,” he furrows his eyebrows in concern, “Tequila is pretty strong, you’ll end up with a shitty hangover.”

“Dazai says he can have a few shots without getting too tipsy though,” you reply. Dazai sits with a conceited smile.

Of course he can, that man’s alcohol tolerance is concerningly high.

“Fine, but just one,” Chuuya’s tone is stern, “two at most. You’ve already had three drinks.”

“I’m not even tipsy though,” you pout softly. Dazai chuckles as he raises his hand to call the bartender over.

It was clear from the start that you had no intention of heeding Chuuya’s advice. After two shots, you were giggling all over yourself and Chuuya had to keep a hand on your back to prevent you from falling off your barstool. “No, Y/n, give that back, hey! Dammit!” Chuuya attempts to swipe the glass away, but you’re just fast enough to steal his shot and throw another mouthful of tequila down the back of your throat.

“Mm!” you beam with satisfaction, “I told you Chuu, I’m fine.” The warm-toned lights of the bar seem to complement the hazy flush of your cheeks that bleeds into your smile. He adores the way you lean into him so trustingly. He’d probably have a smile similar to your own creeping up into his cheeks if it weren’t for the dark-eyed lynx sitting just to your left.

“They told you ‘Chuu,’ they’re fine,” Dazai’s lips form a smirk, one Chuuya wants so badly to smack off his face. He glares for a moment, but reminds himself of who his top priority is. He leads you to your feet by your forearms and catches you when you fail to hold yourself up. “Y/n, I’m going to take you home now, okay?” Chuuya’s voice is gentle, he slings your arm around his shoulder and turns to walk out the door. You look over at Chuuya and suddenly gasp, “We’re going somewhere? Where?”

“I’m taking you home, Y/n.” “Come on Chuuya, you’re really not willing to share?” Dazai calls loudly.

Chuuya pushes down the feeling boiling under his skin for your sake. You’re trusting him to get you home safely- admittedly your judgment may be a bit skewed at the moment- but still.

“What’s so special about them, huh?” Dazai prods and Chuuya’s grip on you tightens. You’ll never get to know. You don’t deserve to. That’s my right, this is my person. Who the hell do you think you are?

“I may just have to steal them away and find out for myself,~” Dazai smirks and Chuuya freezes. It’s only for a brief moment. He continues walking, but a dark cloud settles around his chest and in his mind.

“I’ll be right back,” Chuuya reassures you as he buckles you into the passenger seat of his car, “It’ll take two minutes, I promise.” “Where’re you going?” you look at him with a half-lidded stare, fingers still gripping the edge of his sleeve. “The bar has a bug problem,” he smiles deeply, “I’m going to go help them sort some things out.”

Dazai hadn't turned his head back after Chuuya’s fist came into contact with his cheek, the beginning of a bruise certainly beginning to form where he was hit. “Ouch,” Dazai keeps his voice steady, and his eyebrows lowered. He rests his hands in his pockets, ignoring the stinging pain in his back from being slammed against the wall in the alleyway out back of the bar. “I said, do you understand me, Dazai?” Chuuya grits his teeth, clenching his fist as he uses every drop of his remaining willpower to not crack Dazai’s head open like an egg. He takes one step closer.

“You really feel that threatened?” Dazai laughs lightly, “Aren’t I allowed to take an interest? They really are a very intriguing pers-!” Dazai grunts and his chest concaves as he feels the wind being knocked from his lungs. He looks up, back flat against the ground, Chuuya’s heel digging into his chest. “Something isn’t clicking in that brain of yours, so let me spell it out,” the mafioso glares, his frame silhouetted by the moon. “Y/n doesn’t need people like you in their life. The world doesn’t deserve them, I have to protect them from it. There’s no one else who can, don’t stick your nose where you don’t belong.” Chuuya takes a step back, allowing Dazai to sit up before turning on his heel to return to where you wait. Dazai’s scoff makes him freeze. “Shouldn’t that be something Y/n decides for themself?” Dazai’s voice echos, Chuuya doesn’t even need to turn around to see the haughty smirk on Dazai’s face.

In a split second, Chuuya’s heel comes into contact with Dazai’s other cheek, knocking the man roughly to the ground for a second time. “Tch, I don’t know why I even bother with you,” Chuuya snarls. Dazai stays low until his ex-partner walks around the corner and out of sight.

Dazai sits up and the corners of his mouth curl into a grin. He wipes blood from his bottom lip and chuckles deeply. “Damn, Chibi.”

Your mind keeps slipping you in and out of consciousness. One moment, you’re riding next to Chuuya in his car. He’s gripping the steering wheel tightly. The next, you’re in his arms, and he’s carrying you into a strange house. You accept whatever he puts in your mouth, swallowing it with the water he holds up to your lips.

You awake with a jolt, immediately laying back down when a sharp pain shoots through your head. You groan slightly, rubbing your eyes and trying to adjust to the morning sunlight. The first thing you notice is that you are still wearing your clothes from last night. The second thing you notice is that your shoes and jacket have been removed and placed on a chair next to the bed, and there’s a bottle of hangover medicine sitting on the nightstand to your left. The third thing you notice is that wherever you appear to have spent the night is definitely not your house. Ignoring the ache in your head, you throw the covers off and stand up cautiously. There’s something indistinctly familiar about the room’s scent, but you shake it off.

Creaking the door open, you observe the wood furnishings and step hesitantly into the hallway. Something in the next room smells heavenly- like a hearty broth. You can hear someone shuffling around. You tiptoe forward, but any apprehension churning in your stomach dissipates as soon as you lay eyes on the familiar head of red hair standing in the kitchen.

“Chuu?” you crinkle your expression in confusion. He smiles slightly and places a wooden spoon over the pot on the stove before looking up at you. “Y/n,” he turns down the heat and walks over to you, “How are you? Do you have much of a headache? I hope the medication helped.”

“Yeah, it’s not that bad…” you reply, scanning your eyes around the room, “is this your house?” “Mhm,” he replies, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “Well, our house now. You take a half step back. “What do you mean?” you question, “You know where I live, I have my own home.” Chuuya just shakes his head. “That isn’t going to work anymore,” he sighs, “I did a lot of thinking last night. Trust me, this is what’s best for you.” A shiver runs up your spine. The look in his eyes is so… impassive, nothing like the man you know. “What are you saying?” you shake your head slightly, “What, are you going to just keep me here against my will?” Chuuya steps forward again, his eyes boring into your own. “You won’t mind after a while,” he replies, taking one of your hands in his and brushing his thumb over your knuckles, “I’ll give you a good life, I promise.” You try to pull your hand away but Chuuya grips it tighter. You’re both silent for a moment, the air in the room seems to still. “Chuuya, you’re scaring me,” your voice wavers slightly.

An invisible force pulls you closer to the man, you stumble into his chest and he catches you by the waist, using his other hand to cup your cheek. A cold, thick sense of dread is present in the back of your mind, but you’re having trouble focusing on anything except his gaze. For a moment, his eyes soften. He looks at you tenderly, like the Chuuya you thought you knew. “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you,” he speaks closely. You find yourself unable to move as he presses lips against your own, holding you close as if you could break at any moment.

A/n: I realized while writing this that this is actually the first time I've put a kiss into my writing! I am also open to feedback since I don't try to write this type of character/relationship very often. Thank you for reading!

55 notes · View notes

is-the-owl-video-cute · 3 months

Note

Hi!! i found your blog via looking through the falconry tag. I see you talk a lot about Ben Woodruff, a falconer from Utah. I want you to know that i’ve apprenticed with Ben Woodruff for years, and have worked extremely close with him for about a decade. Ben is not what he seems in person. Don’t let his charisma fool you, he’s an awful falconer who used to be great 20 years ago but has been black listed by many on the falconry scene in the state. he has killed dozens of birds, has shoddy paperwork, and his ego is what drives him to continually try to be relevant in the falconry community. i’d love to talk more in-depth with you about him if you’ll have me, but he was the worst sponsor i’ve ever had in falconry. he never took me out flying with my birds and encouraged illegal activities constantly. i was his close personal friend for years and defended him for a long time until he killed two eagle owls via neglect at a park i worked at with him and i finally had enough and cut all contact with him. even this past weekend i was at a falconry event that he continually broke the rules on. he makes decent educational content but i only have to speak up about him having “competent care” when i know he has anything but- his neglect has killed dozens of birds and im shocked he hasn’t lost his licensing forever with. he was recently fired from his educational job at Evermore Park because of improper licensing. He talked me into breaking the law so many times with my birds, i’m ashamed to say :/ i don’t practice falconry right now since he ruined it for me, but im hoping to get into it soon with a proper sponsor who actually practices what he preaches. ben is not that person.

my intention is to not put you down personally or make you feel bad, but rather to highlight ben as a charismatic and manipulative person. his educational content may be good but the person he truly is is far from what you see him put out on youtube. i’d love to talk more in depth if you’ll have me but if not, take care, keep chatting about birds and falconry!

Believe it or not, this is not the first message I have gotten about him in the past few weeks. It’s disheartening to hear, I was hoping he would be the one falconer one YouTube to not turn out to be a total bellend. I enjoyed some of his theories and historical anecdotes, and he does post legitimately good informational content on his channel. I had a bit of a funny feeling when his book said something about starling harnesses not being “politically correct” or perhaps it was “this trapping method is not for the easily offended”? Some weird phrasing like that which rubbed me the wrong way. I found myself watching fewer of his videos after I read that because it felt off, but I didn’t have anything else negative to say against him previously as I’ve never met him, so I didn’t really stop recommending his videos, just stopped posting his content unless prompted.

I’m going to say that my most sincere advice for you would be to find a sponsor who is not a white man. I have dealt with many falconers and I say with no exaggeration that every white man I have met in the sport has either been unethical with birds or abusive to people, not uncommonly both. Something about falconry attracts the most obnoxious men on the planet, the Trump variety typically, but the Andrew Tate variety isn’t exactly rare among them either.

Not to say every woman in falconry is a saint, I know more than a few who are just horrendous people all around, but usually you have better odds of a positive experience.

31 notes · View notes

railingsofsorrow · 11 days

Text

chapter I | catharsis

summary: “Is there— is there something you need?” He's kind. He's so kind and his voice is better than she had ever imagined.

All of all the things she could have said, what came out is something else entirely.

“Your hair is shorter.”

w.c: 3.4K

warnings/content: mentions of mass food poisoning; implied unhealthy relationships (it will be explored later); germaphobia; fluff.

A/N: WE'RE FINISHED WITH THE LETTERS! I was too excited to start writing the longer chapters with a detailed narrative. I know it took too long but.... here it is, I hope you enjoy! annnd, they finally meet!

navi

masterpost

series masterlist

whoever wants to be tagged for this fic, fill this out or dm me.

LETTERS — [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]

CHAPTERS — [1] [2] [3] . . .

❝Catharsis❞

[n.] THE EXPERIENCE OF EXPRESSING STRONG EMOTIONS THAT PREVIOUSLY WERE BLOCKED.

━━━━━━━━━ ✉ ━━━━━━━━

“Don't even start, Reid.”

Spencer pursed his lips, shifting on the passenger seat. “I didn't say anything.”

Derek scoffed, “I can hear you thinking.”

“Thought broadcasting is a common phenomenon that happens when one thinks others can hear your thoughts. That is not physically possible. It actually might be a sign of paranoia—”

Derek groaned loudly, begging for the gods above that the traffic went easy on him for five minutes. He needed five minutes to get to the other Interstate. Five. Minutes.

Spencer let out a snicker beside him, having too much fun in being correct as always. He had told Derek beforehand that the safest option would be to take the alternative route, even if that meant it was slightly longer than directly taking the I-95. They still would get to Norfolk University's Student Center faster.

Derek didn't listen to him and here they were, stuck in traffic just as Spencer predicted.

In some way, this was good.

Spencer hated being late to anything, which was why he always double-checks the time so he can get to any place earlier, just to be sure. Just in case. That's him. A pragmatic guy.

But when he heard where the next case was going to be, he backtracked a little.

Spencer has been corresponding with Iris Valencia through letters for the entire month of October. It felt like more, maybe years. He knows that this feeling is quite common for people who had found some sort of connection. They have affinity. A bond, if you will. It explains the reason for your comfort after you've just met someone. You used to be strangers, but you realise they like blueberry muffins too and then you have a coffee date scheduled in the afternoon. It is that simple, sometimes.

Spencer could never relate to that. Well, at least, not before Iris. Although he has never invited her over for coffee and they haven't spoken in person yet.

Yet.

But it felt like it. It felt like he has known her for a long time.

The case was in Norfolk University, 165,7 miles from Quantico. The place Iris worked as a microbiology professor and which she described that her whole department fell sick because of a supposed food poisoning.

That hasn't been the first time a university has had that kind of situation. As she mentioned in one of her letters, the Old Dominion University — another university located in Norfolk — was also on the news about food poisoning. The difference was that it had been only a small group of students that suffered the outcome. NSU had it worst, a large group of people had to be sent to the E.R.

The BAU was called in because of recent deaths in the area. When they eventually connected it to the food poisoning cases happening in the universities, Hotch divided the team into pairs to cover more ground. The suspect list was narrowed down to three students from Norfolk State University.

“What did you say?”

“You and Morgan are off to the M.E's office.” Hotch repeated as they left the precinct.

“You're going to Norfolk State University?” Spencer asked a little dumbfounded. Derek gave him a confused look.

Hotch halted beside the car door, the crease between his brows deepening. “That's where our first victim lived... Reid, are you alright?”

That finally seemed to be the minute Spencer snapped out of it. “Yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “Yes, sorry. I was just making sure. We'll— we'll go now.”

He felt like a thirteen-year-old boy with his first crush. The accelerated heartbeat, the shaky limbs, the sweaty palms. The not knowing what to do and mostly, what Emily always teased him about and what he only recently noticed: his IQ is, in deed, slashed to half when he's attracted to someone.

Spencer had not met Iris yet. But he felt all of those things. Through letters. For the first time in his life he couldn't find a scientific explanation for what he was currently feeling. He hadn’t met her, he hadn't seen her, let alone heard her voice. He's only seen her delicate handwriting with her t's curved at the base and her barely noticeable s's and he was quickly roped to her personality. What Iris shared with him so far, that is.

Spencer studied people for a living. That's a quick way of putting his occupation. He investigated behavior and he entered minds that were just as twisted as the crimes they committed. Some cases stay glued on his brain more than others — it's not like he was able to forget anything, although sometimes he wished he could.

Iris had interested him more than any quantum physics book ever could.

Spencer knows she likes birds. That's one of the first things she shared with him, actually. He also knows that her favorite author is Haruki Murakami and Spencer has read all of her recommendations, he even bought more books besides the ones she mentioned. He knows Iris hates loud noises, clowns and that she takes her coffee black and plain. He knows how much she cares about her students and that she probably loves what she does because of the way she writes about it. He knows that she doesn't believe in magic, but he's determined to change her mind.

To Spencer, Iris was like a book. He had no idea what the cover was like and he had not read the synopsis, but from the first page and on, he decided he wanted to know everything there is to know about the story. He wanted to see if there were small notes at the edges of every page or if there were underlined quotes. He wanted to figure out the mystery before the next chapter arrived, even if the ending might be completely different.

He had come to terms with the fact that he wants to meet her in person for a while now. But Spencer didn't plan when that would happen or if it would happen. He doesn't even know if she would want to meet him.

Now, he was walking into the University she worked at with her letter tucked into his satchel bag as he forced his brain to focus on what was supposed to be focusing on: the case.

"Finally." Emily raised a brow as they walked into the room. According to JJ's message an hour ago, they were talking to the Head of the Biology Department because of a lead on one of the suspects. Hotch and Rossi were speaking with Penelope through the speakerphone in a corner of the room. "Took you long enough."

Spencer shrugged at her jab, pointing at Derek. "I told him, he didn't listen." He was softly shoved in response.

"Shut up, Reid."

"We're waiting for Mark Dawson to come back with a professor who supposedly has some information on Meredith Fitz." JJ clarified before Spencer could question her why they were all reunited in a professor's office. "They're all in class, we don't want to raise too much attention."

"Sorry to keep you all waiting."

A blond man walked into the room with a brunette woman on his trail. He was dressed in a color-coordinated attire, a russet dress shirt with slightly darker khaki pants. A complete contrast with the woman beside him, she wore light blue jeans along with a maroon V-neck sweater vest and a white t-shirt below. Her hair was in a loose bun but some thick curls were falling off. She was tucking them behind her ear constantly.

Spencer noticed she seemed annoyed.

"This is Doctor Valencia, she's our microbiology professor. Meredith is one of her students."

Valencia? As in—

"I can speak for myself." Dr. Valencia said through gritted teeth, shaking hands with every agent. Spencer was too busy sweating like crazy in nervousness to take notice of Emily's and JJ's pointed gaze exchange after the professor's harsh statement towards Professor Dawson. "It's good to meet you, Agents, but I spoke to the police last night, I already gave my formal statement regarding the occurrences of the last week."

The last person to be introduced was him.

He heard something that sounded distinctly like a choked-up sound. He didn't pay much attention until Hotch started conducting questions regarding the case. Because that was what he was focusing on, the case. His hands tingling as she drew hers back, barely giving him a look.

"The FBI?" Iris blinked in surprise. Only now did she seem to really acknowledge everyone in the room. Her shoulders tensed up. "So that wasn't just accidental food poisoning."

"We're investigating that," Hotch said, being vague on purpose. "It came to our knowledge that Meredith Fitz is one of your mentees?"

Iris nodded, running a hand through her face. "Yes, yes, she is. Meredith is, um, completing her master's degree in post-mortem microbiology."

"Does she have access to your lab?"

"All of my students have," Iris said. "We have practical classes." She visibly stiffened. "Is she a suspect?"

“We're looking into it,” Hotch responded.

Iris stepped out of her frozen state, interrupting another question being thrown her away.

“This isn't— This isn't right.” She begun. “Meredith is one of my top students. She's a nice girl, she wouldn't do this.”

Emily nodded sympathetic, “as he said, we are still investigating that information. But we do need to speak with her so that can be clarified.” Before Iris could speak, Mark beat her to it.

“She didn't come to class today, so that won't be possible, will it?” Mark sent a look towards Iris that anyone in the room could read it as a pretty clear insinuation. Iris wasn't paying attention to him, she was lost in her thoughts, gaze focused on a corner of the room.

Spencer was itching to say something, but he stood quiet.

“Neither did Fabian Helley. Another top student of Dr. Valencia here.” He added, leaning back on his desk. “You know, maybe you should investigate this particular pattern.”

Derek let out a sigh. He was done with Dawson's little game. It was clear that the guy was trying to antagonize Iris.

“Sir—”

“Please stop.”

Every eye in the room snapped towards her voice. Iris clutched the back of her arm as if she was trying to give herself some form of grounding. Spencer could see how much she cared for each one of her students. He's read about it, it's all in her letters, but even his coworkers who didn't have that bonus glimpse into her character could tell that.

They could also tell she was greatly bothered by Mark Dawson. And Spencer himself was starting to get bothered by him as well.

“I'll answer your questions and anything else in my office. Is that okay with you?”

Nobody protested against that and Mark stood by his desk, arms crossed much like a petulant child. They followed Iris towards her office while exchanging curious glances. She did answer all of their questions, hesitating slightly whenever the questions were directed towards Meredith Fitz and Fabian Helley, mostly because she did not believe they could have done such a monstrosity as mass poisoning.

“What happened to being a germaphobe, pretty Ricky?” Derek nudged his shoulder, earning a confused look from Spencer. “You shook the professor's hand. Not a single complaint as always.”

“I was being polite.” His cheeks were burning. Did he shake her hand? Thankfully she wasn’t close enough to listen to their conversation.

Derek disguised a chuckle by soft coughing and Spencer glared at him.

"I'd like to apologize about Professor Dawson. He's been on edge ever since all this started." Iris informed as Rossi and Hotch left the room to call Garcia.

"We can see that," Emily smiled reassuringly at her. "If you don't mind me asking, is there a particular reason why he seemed displeased about Fabian Helley?" Iris shifted on her feet and everyone else in the room pretended they were not listening in on the conversation since Emily had approached her in a rather private manner.

Still, Iris did not relent.

"Mark is always displeased by something or someone." It was the last thing she decided to share after pondering to herself.

It wasn't until Hotch came back into the room to send each of them to interview a few other witnesses — except for Spencer, who he requested to start the geographical profile since they had enough cases as of now – that Iris seemed to glance in Spencer's direction.

Dr. Reid, who she shook hands with and didn't even properly notice until now. Iris was generally a perceptive person, she caught things quickly. Though she's having trouble focusing ever since this morning, perks of a bad night's sleep. She blamed that for not realising him sooner, that was the only possible explanation, really. His honey-brown eyes switched to his colleagues as soon as she caught him looking.

Iris’ breath caught in her throat. The Behaviour Analysis Unit is here. Spencer mentioned in one of his letters that he works for the FBI... She truly was slow today, wasn't she?

“Dr. Valencia?”

She snaps out of her daze to stare at a pretty blonde woman in a dark blazer, she wore a blue t-shirt below. Agent Jareau. That's her name.

“Sorry,” Iris cleared her throat, feeling her cheeks heat up at being caught staring at him. She must look like such a creep. “I zoned out. Were you speaking to me?”

She offers her a sympathetic smile before saying, “we don't want to take much of your time. We know you have lectures to teach. Thank you for your patience.”

“No need to thank me, Agent. It's all good.” Just as each of them gave her their farewells, she was stuck in an inner argument about whether or not she should talk to him. It's not appropriate. He didn't even recognize you, wake up.

Not appropriate. Not appropriate. NOT APPROPRIATE.

“Uh, Dr. Reid?” It was barely above a whisper as if she had been scared of saying it too loud. His body turning around fast was the indication she needed that he had heard her. Thankfully, his team was a little further down the hall to notice the small exchange. “Sorry, I don't mean to get in your way—”

She's completely awkward all of a sudden. Iris couldn't grasp her mind that she's been talking to this man for over a month, flirting, trauma bonding and now she couldn’t utter a word without sounding like she didn’t know a word in the English language.

“Is there— is there something you need?” He's kind. He's so kind and his voice is better than she had ever imagined.

All of all the things she could have said, what came out is something else entirely.

“Your hair is shorter.”

Well, fuck, Iris. Congratulations, you have officially made a fool out of yourself!

“I did not intend to say that out loud, I am so so sorry, Spenc— Dr. Reid. I just, I saw a picture of yours because of an article that I read and—”

“Iris.”

“And I—” she froze, watching a smile grow on his lips, which immediately brought warmth to her chest. Somehow, it didn't feel as if he was laughing at her. If he was then it's a beautiful sight to uphold regardless. “Yes?”

“I thought you didn't recognize me.” Spencer bit the inside of his cheek, shifting on his feet. She observed the worn-out sneakers causing her lips to twitch in amusement. One of Iris's assumptions was that Spencer was the kind of guy to wear fancy shoes — it only made sense because of the way he dressed — but that surprised her. At least she’s not the profiler. “You know, we've only been corresponding through letters so I figured you wouldn't...”

Her lips parted in astonishment. “You recognized me?”

His brows furrowed slightly, “yes. Your name is literally on the case file.”

“Oh.”

His eyes softened at her widened eyes as she processed the information. And then his brain pinched him with the fact that that's not how we're supposed to meet. Not because of a case. I'm supposed to invite her for coffee just so I can certify if she actually takes her coffee plain black with barely any sugar on it. Or a library, so we can ramble together about our favourite authors and books.

Not.in.the.middle.of.a.case.

“You probably have a whole file about me, huh?” Her tone was playful and Spencer remembered how he grinned whenever he read her sarcasm through paragraphs of her handwriting. He learned to find Iris's humor through her words. Seeing it displayed right in front of him, full of vivid colors and a voice he tried to imagine for so long what it was like... He's speechless and already addicted to it.

“Our technical analyst probably has.” Spencer croaked out, forcing himself to avert his gaze to his feet instead.

Iris’s eyes acquired a spark of excitement.

“Is that the one with the clingy hugs?”

Spencer let his mouth quirk up on the edges, “yes. That's Penelope.”

“So you know all of my dark secrets before we even share them to each other.” He could hear her playful tone that carried a bit of uncertainty in the end.

“I have no reason to read your file,” Spencer said. Because he didn't. Not unless she was an official suspect. “So no, I don't know about any of your dark secrets.”

“That's good. You won't run for the hills yet.”

“What makes you think I would ever run?”

Their gazes remain on each other for a brief moment until one of them eventually caved and looks away, necks reddening, heartbeat increasing.

“Call me Spencer.” He said, squeezing the strap of his work bag until his fingers turned white. His phone vibrating in his pocket alerted him he'd taken too much time talking and less time working. He didn't want to go. “I-uh, I've read your letter. Just in case you think I've been ignoring you... I haven't. I just haven't had the time to write you back properly.”

Iris tilted her head as she leaned against the wall. “Maybe you don't need to write me back.” What am I doing? She thinks.

He cast her a look of puzzlement before his disappointment could take over, Iris was quick to clarify what she meant.

“Maybe we could talk instead of write.” She added carefully. Confidence wearing thin. “Over coffee? Not today, of course, you're working and I'm working and we wouldn't have time but... It's—It's a stupid idea, isn't it? I'm sorry. Pretend I didn't suggest—”

“I would love to talk instead of write.” Now that I can finally hear your voice, I can stop trying to image what you sounded like through your letters. I don't want to ever stop listening to you.

Iris gave him a look of surprise as if she had been expecting rejection because that just might have been the most out-of-place idea she had. Asking Spencer Reid out on a date while he's in the middle of a case where she works?

“You need to go.” She mused, giving a pointed look at the vibrating cell in his hands.

“As soon as the investigation is over.” He told her after they'd exchanged numbers through their phones. Iris nodded, smiling wildly as he took a few steps back to leave her office but still didn't quite leave.

“As soon as the investigation is over, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer halts, holding onto the doorway as if stopping himself from leaving — or staying. She didn't know which.

“Call me Spencer.” He repeated, grabbing his phone to pick up the call. Slowly, a smile etched its way into her face and his mouth followed the same action.

“Okay, Spencer.”

Spencer nodded, holding in a smile. “I have to go.” I don’t want to.

“Please do. I don't want the FBI locking me up because I held you against your will in my office.” A joke. He liked hearing her jokes instead of reading them. “Be careful.” She requested in a slightly more serious tone, just like she always wrote in her letters addressed to him.

“You too,” he said, taking his time to look at her one last time before he had to sprint off to where Derek required him.

It was very nice seeing you, Iris.

━━━━━━━━━ ✉ ━━━━━━━━━

A/N: hey everyone, welcome to the next phase of SBPP. I'm excited. next chapter you'll have a deeper glimpse into iris' character and some things will come to light. i'd love to read what you guys are thinking of this fic!

taglist: @lilyviolets ; @chayceschultz ; @cultish-corner ; @lover-of-books-and-tea ; @theonecalledrue

#sun-bleached paper petals #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x original character #spencer reid x iris valencia #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #sun-bleached paper petals fic

18 notes · View notes