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boilingheart · 2 years ago

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shadows rising — • — shaw insight

Shaw got a lot of ‘screentime’ in Shadows Rising, and hidden away in some text we get to learn some tiny details about him, which I will now skim through the book and compile everything from insignificant to flavor text.

(Yes yes, I KNOW the book came out almost 3 years ago now. I don’t care. I love thinking about Mathias Shaw and I didn’t spend all this time hyperfixating on him and collecting very damn detail about him possible for nothing (well, i did, but))

SHAW:

isn’t at all winded after vigorously riding a horse to chase after anduin (prologue, page 4)

doesn’t beat around the bush when it comes to telling anduin whatever it is he needs to. he’s very straightforward, to the point (prologue, page 4)

grows distant at the mention of a horse groom in westfall no older than anduin named marvin. considering shaw had ties in westfall to begin with, this connection he lies about could be anything. (prologue, page 5)

“(...) the poor lad was hardly older than I was. Marvin was his name, I think.”

Shaw was still in the saddle, his expression suddenly distant. “I didn’t know him.”

But Anduin knew better, knew Shaw was holding something back.

“ “[Varian] wasn’t an easy king to serve, but there was satisfaction in the challenge. The same can’t be said for all rulers.” ” (prologue, page 6)

shaw’s shin has been broken before, and causes him pain during the storm on the bold arva (chapter 12, page 113)

Shaw tumbled to the railing, an old break in his shin screwing up tight enough to squeal. They were in for one hell of a storm.

shaw DESPISES sailing. he’d rather be in an office behind a false bookcase with plenty of desk space, it’s all the comfort he requires (chapter 12, page 113)

one way shaw receives covert messages from his spies is through a wind-up mechanical shark, made with gnome technology (chapter 12, page 117)

“ Mathias skimmed the messages quickly. They were written in a code illegible to anyone not trained in his specific style of short-hand. Efficient and cautious. ” (chapter 12, page 118)

shaw pays one agent, krazzet the bishop, in parrots to get intel from him. krazzet was a gambler in freehold, a fact shaw is begrudgingly aware of. i think we as a people, however, need to talk about the fact that he paid the goblin in parrots. (chapter 12, page 120)

shaw is very curious about the “strange and fascinating Flynn Fairwind”, and is unsure he will ever truly understand him thoroughly. he believes he probably doesn’t need to, but the desire is a constant — mostly in part of shaw’s nature to scrape away facades and see what lies beneath. (chapter 17, page 156)

shaw finds flynn’s scent of salt and soap and whiskey “intoxicating” ok i’m not gonna stop thinking about it?? (chapter 17, page 158)

says “blast” in place of “damn”, a headcanon i wrote that’s stuffed in my drafts but now that i’ve reread his dialogue i’m reminded that’s canon. nice. (chapter 17, page 161)

shaw has a knife concealed on a false bottom of his boot (chapter 17, page 163 & chapter 22, page 202)

shaw knows zandali. presumably enough to get him by, but not enough to catch words spoken too quickly (chapter 22, page 203)

“ He had once talked his way out of a headlock during a bar brawl in Dalara. That time it was a gnoll latched around his neck, and if he could reason with a gnoll, he could reason with anyone. ” (chapter 22, page 204)

shaw usually whittles bird statues to keep his hands busy (chapter 22, page 204)

shaw’s idea of a vacation included going to his small cabin in the highlands, sit in the grass, whittle, and work on his birdcalls. he describes his birdcalls as being “pretty good”, but could always be better. (chapter 22, page 204)

“ “You’re right, I shouldn’t go alone, I’m good at that, being alone. Comes natural to me. I was never all that personable— liked watching people, sure, observing, but too many and I just felt... swallowed up, like everyone could see me just fine but I couldn’t see them. I like to be above it all, perched. But I should find a friend.” ” (chapter 22, page 204)

shaw seems to be described as needing to fidget with something to keep his mind focused a couple of times (chapter 22, page 205)

• Usually, he whittled bird statues to keep his hands busy [...] • Just keep your hands and mind busy. • Then, Mathias would snap off a piece of grass and play with it, not nervously, but give himself a focus.

“Pathonia Shaw, the Silver Cutpurse”. caught three times for stealing, given the choice by the guard of stormwind to work for them or hang. she made assassinations look like accidents or robberies gone wrong, etc. taught both his mother and him. (chapter 22, page 206)

pathonia wore a grotesque amount of rings, jewels glittering on every knuckle, but on her right ring finger, only wore a tied red string. when he asked what it meant as a kid, she slapped him, so he never asked again. (chapter 22, page 206)

shaw contemplates what his life would be like if he had HIS choice. he felt a true taste of freedom aboard the Bold Arva and with flynn. (chapter 22, page 206)

shaw thinks about flynn’s scent a total of THREE. TIMES.

shaw never accepts anything at face value. when being delivered back to stormwind, he checked the ship for any traps, tricks, explosives, etc. in the four days he sailed, he was also constantly checking to make sure the prize the horde gave them was still there, as if it would somehow disappear at sea. (chapter 30, page 265)

#bheart talks #Mathias Shaw #Warcraft #World of Warcraft #Shadows Rising #i'm reposting old stuff from my shaw blog onto main and into main tags because i can't just let this collect dust #i was NOT normal about this character and tbh? i continue to NOT be normal #it is time i stop hiding all of this stuff you're all about to learn just how fucking insane i was about this fucking mustache guy #how i literally spent hours scrolling through every frame of every cinematic he so much as CAMEO'd in #my shadows rising book has SO MANY STICKY NOTES on JUST shaw scenes #COLOR CODED STICKY NOTES MIND YOU!!!!!!! FOR SPECIFIC THINGS

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rollleaf · 2 years ago

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if i was as organized and methodical about literally anything else in my life as i am about dnd, i would be such a force to be reckoned with

as it is, i am simply a bit of a disaster with a bunch of niche knowledge and more notes than i can keep track of

#rollleaf #dnd #polly #is multiclassing into a warlock. i am being So Fucking Thorough bc i’ve never played a spellcasting class before #and on top of that i’m the party notetaker. my pen can move so fast while my brain’s tuned into the dm it’s wild #when i finally get all my dnd notes migrated into obsidian it’s over for you bitches #there are SO MANY TABS in my phb. they’re COLOR CODED. i have STICKY NOTES on polly’s sheet for stuff i need quickly

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nereidprinc3ss · 8 months ago

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strange perfections

in which spencer reid and fem!reader meet by accident at a coffee shop. and then they keep meeting there. they've really got to stop meeting like this. (no, seriously. hotch is pissed.) / do you believe me now? bonus chapter!

series masterlist

fluff! warnings/tags: meet cute:) some dark humor, romantically inexperienced reader, spencer reid graduated from caltech, mit, and the derek morgan school of rizz a/n: this can absolutely be read as a standalone BUT it was written as a prologue for my series do you believe me now? to explain how spencer and r met! completely optional, if you're only here for the smut no worries! reading this bonus chapter might make the next chapter better though as it contains discussions of how they met:) anyway, I LOVE YOU!! let me know if you like this silly little random thing! kisses

The café door opens again. A blustery wind raises goosebumps on your arms and makes your bones ache again. You look up at the latest intruder—a hobbling elderly man in a newsboy cap and a knit red scarf.

Stupid scarf, you think.

Stupid door.

Stupid wind.

Your mug is empty, and the table you’re sitting at is sort of sticky and rickety, and there are so many papers in front of you that you wonder why the hell you thought it’d be a good idea to print the PDF out and annotate it that way instead of just doing it on your laptop like a normal person in the 21st century. Nothing is going right today. It’s the third café you’ve tried in the past few weeks as you attempt to find some place that feels homey, lucky, but this one just feels… inconvenient.

You look at the stack of papers and sigh.

Stupid Lord Byron.

Stupid cafe.

Usually, cafés are relatively quiet and peaceful—a refuge for the overworked to bask in the luxury of quiet jazz and the smell of dark roast as they continue to overwork themselves. This particular establishment, however, today hosts a group of teenagers—presumably playing hooky—who have commandeered a big booth in the back and keep walking right past your table because apparently they couldn’t have just ordered their drinks at once and they all have to do it separately and loudly.

One of them has an incredibly irritating, gratingly pubescent laugh, and they think everything is hilarious. This whole situation is unbearable.

Just as you’re gearing up to go, of course the fucking door opens again. This time, it’s accompanied by a particularly strong gust.

Strong enough that Lord Byron doesn’t stand a chance.

Your printed copy of his works blows off the table, at first page by painstakingly annotated page and then before you can even process it, all at once.

Yeah. This is definitely not your lucky café.

As you curse and go to stand up, you run into one of those dumb kids. His huge ceramic mug goes flying, careening against the edge of your table and completely splattering you and all your stuff in 16 liquid ounces of scalding espresso and milk.

It’s silent for a second, save for a few drips from the puddle on your table to the floor, before the kid is apologizing profusely and turning red as a tomato. You can’t even respond—you look down at your ruined favorite sweater, and then around at the pages of Byron littered with color-coded sticky notes, overflowing with angry and purposeful red ink that you spent so much time on, scattered all over the floor.

Eventually the boy catches on that you’re not going to forgive him and he skitters away, back to his friends, who whisper and giggle profusely. Only a few of them get up to start gathering the fallen pages with you. Several other patrons end up helping as well, so the sheets of paper are gathered and returned into your sticky hands fairly quickly. You thank each person without looking up as they hand you their respective stack. All you want is to get out of here.

“Here—I’m really sorry about this,” someone says—a tenor-ish male voice, distinctly sympathetic as he holds out a rather larger stack of papers than anyone else had bothered to pick up.

“I’ll live,” you sigh, straightening up. “But thank… you.”

The man standing in front of you is the kind of man who makes you want to untuck your hair from its usual spot behind your ears, and to stand up straighter, and to try and not stare even though you want his attention. He’s gloriously beautiful in a way that repels and attracts you. He’s the type of man who wouldn’t have given you the time of day in high school and probably wouldn’t now. Instantly you feel both insecure and reduced to a former version of you who would simper and fawn over boys who wanted nothing to do with her. You feel like going to the other side of the café and sitting in the best light and staring out the window poetically and hoping he’s looking at you.

“On the one hand, I feel bad for being the person who opened the door and let the wind in. On the other… I feel compelled to say at least they’re not covered in coffee like the rest of your table is?”

You laugh vacantly, a second too late, positively coveting the awkward smile on his angular face. Then you make eye contact, and his eyes are so the opposite of angular—they’re huge and inviting and the warmest golden-brown you’ve ever seen, and they’re looking right back at you—and you have to look down. Fuck. You hate when you do that.

Think of something normal to say!

“Yeah, true. Now I just have to reorder 264 pages. That… that don’t have page numbers.”

You shuffle through the papers. They are hopelessly scrambled. Your heart sinks just a bit.

“Um… I might actually be able to help with that, if you want?”

You frown, glancing up. What kind of sex trafficking ploy is this?

“That’s okay. Might be easier with just one person.”

He laughs—it’s similarly awkward, similarly endearing.

“Do you mind letting me just… try? It’ll only take a minute.”

Only take a minute? Is this beautiful man deranged? Why are the hot ones always crazy?

But, perhaps because you’re a pushover who can’t stand up to people, much less beautiful people, much less beautiful men who are paying you undue attention, you find yourself giving in. You hold the stack out.

“Sure. Give it your best shot. I’ll be impressed if you can even figure out what page one is.”

He’s already flipping through the papers with a drawn brow, walking away with them, and barely looking over his shoulder as he mutters, “I have Byron memorized. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

You follow him, because hello, he has all your annotations. He’s definitely insane, you think, as he sits down at a table and starts rapidly sorting the sheets into separate piles.

All you can do is stand awkwardly behind him as he stacks papers seemingly at random, barely glancing at them before deciding where they go.

Maybe a minute, maybe a few go by, each of which have you progressively more flabbergasted, before he’s tapping the edges of a stack of paper on the table and standing, handing them to you with his lips pressed into a thin pleasant line. There’s almost a glow about him—like he couldn’t be more in his comfort zone.

“There you go. Should be in order now.” You sport a frown bordering on a grimace as you take the stack and flip through it a bit. Sure enough, it seems that everything is in order. You keep looking between the man in front of you and the papers, incredulous as you wait for something to be in the wrong spot.

“How did you do that?”

His cheeks turn slightly pink.

“I know Byron really well. I know how each passage ends and begins so I put them together like puzzle pieces.”

“How did you read that fast?”

“Uh. I’m a speed-reader?”

You scoff, taking another look through the stack.

“I think that may be underselling it.” A thought occurs to you as you’re grazing over one of your longer annotations—full of expletives and strong opinions. “Oh, god. You didn’t… you didn’t read my notes?”

The man’s eyebrows raise as if he was waiting for you to mention that and he smiles like he doesn’t quite know how to break it to you gently.

“Maybe a few,” he eventually decides, laughing under his breath. “I appreciated the commentary on his relationship with Augusta. It was… colorful.”

Heat rises in your cheeks as you mumble.

“Yeah, I had a hard time appreciating the romantic poems. They’re less cute when there’s like a fifty percent chance he’s writing about his sister.”

“Half sister,” he corrects. You give him a look.

“Does that make it better?”

“… no,” he realizes. “Not even a little bit.”

You laugh, relieved that his face looks as warm as yours feels.

“Well… thank you, for the help,” you say after a silent second.

“Of course. Sorry, again. I, um—I hope your day gets better?”

“Yeah, well. I feel like statistically it has to, right? It’s kind of a low bar.”

He smiles, a perfect, perfect smile, and gives you a little wave as he leaves. Without coffee. Checking the clock on the wall, you realize it’s approaching one in the afternoon. If he’d been here on his lunch break, he sacrificed it to organize your stupid Byron texts. You smile to yourself.

He was totally in love with me.

And he can’t prove me wrong because I’ll probably never see him again.

All things considered—this coffee shop does seem pretty lucky. Maybe you’ll stick with it for a while.

The next time you see the mysterious sexy speed reader is four days later—though you’ve been here every day since. He catches your eye right as he walks in, and his brows jump in pleasant recognition. You smile. He smiles back, before going up to the counter and ordering a coffee with a ludicrous amount of sugar in it.

I should take note for when I make him his coffee in the mornings, you think to yourself, and then you snort at your own delusions, shaking your head at your book. Obviously you’re not that divorced from reality, but you’ll entertain the fantasy forever until one of you stops showing up to this café.

What you’re absolutely not expecting is for him to walk up to your table with his to-go cup.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi!”

Jesus. Tone it down, girl scout.

He gestures to your stack of papers: now secured in a three ring binder. The cup says Spencer.

Spencer. Spencer.

It feels important.

“I see you’ve upgraded.”

“Yes! Yes, I did,” you laugh self-consciously, still struggling to meet his eyes. “Thank you for the help the other day. I would still be sorting through all of this if it weren’t for that, so… yeah. Thanks.”

“Of course! I’m glad I could be of use.”

“Spence!” Someone calls from the cafe door. You both look up to see a stunning blonde beckoning him away.

Ah. Naturally. The girlfriend who is one trillion times prettier than you.

Spence.

Reality sets in.

“Coming!” He replies, with all the eager compliance of a child, before turning back to you. “Um… well… I’ll see you?”

It’s an awkward way to say goodbye to a stranger, but you suddenly don’t care enough to dwell. Instead you nod once, less enthusiastic now that you know he has a 10 waiting for him on the sidewalk.

“I am a creature of habit.”

Another wave as he walks away.

The two disappear from the doorway, but the perpetual breeze seems to carry a snatched bit of conversation your way.

“Who was that?”

“Uh… I don’t actually know.”

Yeah. Reality definitely sets in.

Over the next few days, you break your café streak. Life is busy. There’s not always time to artfully ponder Romantic poetry and drink a six dollar coffee while waiting around for certain people to show up.

Okay, so… maybe it has more to do with him than you’re letting on. But you’re not going to do that thing you do again, where you become limerently obsessed with a man you don’t know and who is way out of your league just because you can’t form an actual attachment to anyone to save your life. Besides, you remind yourself; we probably wouldn’t be compatible anyway. He’s probably a huge loser. Or secretly a douche. Or chews with his mouth open. Obviously nobody that attractive can also have a good personality.

Not to mention he has a girlfriend. That should put you off, too.

But you hadn’t been lying when you’d proclaimed to be a creature of habit—you return to the café once you feel sufficiently detached from this Spencer character.

He’s there. Of course he’s there. Why had you been expecting for him to not be there? It’s not like he was a figment of your imagination.

This time he’s accompanied by a different blonde woman—a bespectacled blonde with a big floral headband and a patterned dress and a red cardigan and tights and heels that look self-injurious. She’s quite eye-catching; you want to keep looking at her, but you seem to draw her attention, too. Her big eyes widen minutely and briefly you wonder if you’re supposed to know her, but certainly you’d remember meeting a person like that. She doesn’t seem easily forgettable. Both of you look to Spencer at the same time, who’s looking between you with an almost panicked expression.

“Oh! Th—” the woman whispers, cutting herself off when she realizes how loud she’s being in the otherwise silent establishment. “Ah! Okay, right. Never mind.”

Spencer sighs. You want to laugh, but you’re baffled by the whole thing. So you go back to reading.

Ten minutes later, they draw your attention once more.

“Go, go ahead! It’s more problematic for you to be late than me. I’ll be like, thirty seconds tops.”

You don’t look up as Spencer leaves the café—but are you supposed to gather that these two eccentric individuals are coworkers? And what of the first blonde woman, who you’d presumed to be his girlfriend? Where is she?

While you’re wondering all of this, the new blonde teeters her way over to your table.

“Hi!” She says pleasantly, waving a purple-tipped hand and wearing the biggest grin.

“Uh… hi?”

“I’m Penelope. You’ve met my friend Spencer. He just left.”

“Oh—sort of,” you smile weakly, closing your book. “Not formally. I didn’t know his name.”

That’s a lie, but maybe feigning non-chalance will make it real.

“Well, I just wanted to come over and say I love your bag. And your jewelry and your coat. I love your whole look. I bet you’re a really cool person.”

“Um—thank you!” You perk up, smiling genuinely now. The compliment warms you—you didn’t think your look was all that interesting today. “You too. I love your outfit.”

“Great! You’re—you’re great. This is good information. Um… just out of, like, sheer curiosity, could I get your name, age, and occupation? Oh—and your zodiac sign?”

What kind of convoluted sex trafficking ploy—

“Garcia!”

Spencer is at the doorway again, looking adorably miffed.

Adorable? Get a grip.

“Wh—I’m just making a new friend! Is friendship illegal, now?”

“This is the kind of friend-making that gets you a restraining order,” he urges.

You look up at Penelope Garcia, enamored by their whole dynamic. They clearly care for each other, despite the squabbling. What kind of job do they have where they talk to each other like this?

“It’s fine,” you smile, introducing yourself to her.

“That is such a good name!” She says, and you’re getting the sense she’s kind of always this enthusiastic. “So now we know each other’s names—we should probably definitely be friends, right?”

“Yeah! Um, definitely!”

“Yes? Oh my god! I love this! Okay, um—we work at Quantico, so, we’re like, 10 minutes away—but this is better than the coffee shop that’s closest to the building, so we come here all the time. Usually it’s just us and five grouchy old men, which makes this is really exciting.”

“Quantico… that’s the FBI academy, right?”

“Other stuff, too,” she nods, still smiley.

Oh! Cool. So they’re FBI agents.

So that’s cool.

You’re cool with that.

Her phone starts ringing—she locks eyes with Spencer.

“Hotch?”

“Ooh, we are in trouble,” Penelope sing-songs, leaning down to write her number on your notebook without asking. Not that you mind, of course. She adds a little heart and a smiley face next to her name before capping your pen and toddling away. “Bye, new friend!” She calls over her shoulder, waving goodbye with just her fingers.

“Bye,” you manage, though it’s probably too quiet.

Spencer flattens his mouth into an approximation of a smile and waves again.

You accidentally find yourself mirroring his goodbye, facial expression and all. Fuck. You hope he doesn’t notice. You hope he doesn’t read into it.

Nah. Boys are dumb.

You text Penelope later that afternoon—a simple greeting so that she can save your number—and then you forget about it.

It’s not until five days go by without sign of any of them—the two blondes, Spencer, this mysterious and foreboding Hotch figure—that you start to seriously question your sanity. Did they drop off the face of the planet, or what?

But of course, just as you’re sitting at your usual table, Spencer walks in. Alone.

He sees you immediately, but instead of the wave you’d come to expect, he immediately flushes, looks down at his shoes and hurries into the small lunch-rush line.

Weird.

You corner him at the coffee bar, where he’s adding more sugar to his coffee. How are his teeth so nice if he does this to himself every single day?

“Hey,” you say, affecting casual confidence as you bus your empty mug. “… Spencer, right?”

It’s comical how you’re pretending you haven’t turned that name over and looked at it from every angle hundreds of times since the first time you heard it.

He nods, only glancing up at you as he stirs. To your surprise, he knows your name, too. When you give him an odd look, he smiles almost apologetically, finally looking at your face for longer than half a second.

“I heard you introducing yourself to Penelope. Sorry if that’s…”

“No, no! Is she around, today? I texted her last week, but she never responded...”

“Today is operating system update day, so I don’t even really have a way of knowing if she’s alive in her office.” It’s funny to him, but you just smile, baffled. He notices your silence and catches on, scrambling to explain himself. “She’s our tech analyst. There are 243 computers in our building and she has to update them all remotely, which requires getting every agent to agree to not touch their computer at the same time for an hour or so.”

“Oh… does the FBI not have, like… an IT guy, or something?”

He laughs again—the way his eyes crinkle when he does it makes you a little breathless.

“You should say that to her. I think you would become her favorite person.”

It’s hard not to smile when he’s smiling because of you—however indirectly that may be. Quickly you realize you’ve both been standing in front of the coffee bar for too long.

“Alright, well… tell her good luck, for me?”

“I would, but I’ve been kicked out for an hour while she does the updates.”

Your brow furrows and you laugh.

“From the whole building? You just can’t keep your hands off your computer for an hour?”

“Not if I want to do my job, no. And I am kind of obsessive about my job. I’ve been the reason she had to start the whole process over again before and I’d rather not be that person again.”

You say it before you can think too hard.

“Well, if you have an hour to kill… there’s an open seat at my table? No pressure, obviously.”

And that was the first of thousands of hours you would come to spend with Spencer Reid.

After that, it sort of becomes a regular thing. He comes almost every day—except for occasional week or so long stretches, which you have discovered are a part of his absolutely fucking insane job—and sits with you, sometimes with Penelope, once with the other blonde, JJ, who you’ve since deduced is not his girlfriend, most often alone. Usually he can’t spare more than ten minutes, but he begins pushing it, little by little, until thirty minutes go by and you think surely his boss (the great and all-powerful Hotchner) must be beginning to notice.

One day, during your usual lunchtime rendezvous, his phone rings. He talks right on through it, like it’s not happening.

It ceases. And then it starts again.

Your head drops to your shoulder, something like pity or regret softening your features. He catches your eye and melts slightly, mid-sentence—like he knows you’re about to tell him to be responsible.

“Do you think you should…”

His hands drop from where they’d been enthusiastically positioned mid-air.

“They’ll be fine if I’m late from lunch one time. I’m usually more punctual than any of them.”

You roll your lip between your teeth—it’s not that you want to tell him to go; in fact, those delusions you’ve been harboring about your future life together are only getting worse with each inexplicable minute he entertains your company.

But his job is important.

“What if you have a case?”

“Then I would have gotten more calls from more people by now.”

Your head tips back as you laugh lightly at his unwavering insistence.

“I’m flattered that you so enjoy my company that much. But I can’t with good conscience keep taking up your work hours like this.”

As the laughter fades, he just… watches you, lips slightly parted, eyes intense but not entirely present.

“You’re probably right,” he finally breathes. “Maybe… you should start taking up my other hours, instead?”

Spencer Reid, you unexpected charmer.

You balk.

“Like… we would hang out? At a different time of day? Not here?”

“Those are the basic premises, yes,” he chuckles, nodding affably. “I’ve never actually seen you anywhere else. For all I know you could be a ghost eternally tethered to this building.”

“Where would this hanging out take place?”

Fuck, you’re totally being weird. His brow knits.

“I don’t know. Where else do people hang out?”

He’s not genuinely asking you, he’s gently turning you in the right direction. You charge forward blindly.

“Restaurants.”

There’s that pretty smile of his again, the one that makes all the thoughts drain from your head like cold bathwater. Though, there’s a sort of mischievous edge to it now that you haven't seen before.

“That’s certainly an option. If I asked you to hang out with me at a restaurant... would you say yes?”

You look down. God, your face feels warm.

“Would you be asking me out on a date? In this hypothetical scenario that we’ve constructed, I mean.”

Spencer seems to think about it for a moment, which fills you with unexpected panic. When you look back up anxiously, he has the same smile on his face, but his eyes are a little softer now.

“I would.”

More panic sets in—just a bit. But you don’t let what is undoubtedly a tidal wave of anxiety break through the emotional guard-dam. Keep it together. This is a good thing. This is what you wanted.

Unfortunately, you are perhaps more transparent than you’d realized. Spencer begins to look slightly worried, leaning forward in his chair.

“You don’t have to say yes. I know we don’t know each other very well, I just—”

“No!” You find yourself assuring him, though you curse yourself because you kind of want to know what he was going to say. “I would say yes. I’ve just, um—god,” you laugh gustily, self-consciously. “Sorry I’m being so weird. I’m out of my depth. Nobody’s asked me on a date before. I don’t really know the etiquette.”

Spencer chuckles.

“You’re doing great. Don’t worry about it.”

Not, what?

Not, you’ve never been on a date before?

Not, that’s crazy, or that’s weird, or how have you gone your whole life without being asked out?

With the implication being, you’re odd. Different. Maybe not in a good way.

He says none of that.

“But I should probably actually ask you, huh?” His cheeks turn pink as his laughter is redirected inwards.

“Sounds like a good first step.”

Spencer is still smiling as he says your name and it sounds so good from his mouth. It makes you sound so real.

“Will you go on a date with me?”

Butterflies in your stomach doesn't begin to brush what you're experiencing—your entire abdominal cavity is like a Monarch sanctuary.

“I’d love to.”

He seems genuinely relieved as he beams, slumping back in his chair.

“Oh, thank god. I was so nervous you’d say no. I never do that. Thank you for not saying no. Not that you couldn’t have said no—it would have been completely fine and obviously within your rights to—”

His phone rings again. Both of you are relieved that he was interrupted—but admittedly you thought his rambling was super cute.

“I should—”

“You definitely need to go.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a still-breathless smile. “Um—what’s your number?”

You look around fruitlessly for pen and paper.

“I don’t—”

“Just tell me. I’ll remember.”

He’s so weird.

A breeze hits your skin as he opens the door. You’re already writing your wedding vows in the back of your mind as you watch him go.

part four

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic

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melancholiaenthroned · 2 years ago

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ordering food again as my reward for finally doing the stupid fucking readings for my stupid fucking history of rock and roll ELECTIVE which i am so close to failing -_-

#evilest prof on the planet. oh watch 3-7 hours worth of lectures onlines and read 2-3 chapters a week. DUDE. UR AN ELECTIVE ABOUT MUSIC!!!!#I HAVE MORE IMPORTANT CLASSES I COULD BE WORKING ON!!!!#i literally have an entomology test TOMORROW but im doing this because of how close i am to failing it #anyway. ordered dumplings #poison.txt #jpg #vent #IGNORE MY STICKY NOTES i needed to color code and had no colored ones

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nouearth · 1 year ago

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a sticky situation.

peter parker x male reader.

summary: peter has a major crush on his roommate: you. everything unravels when he walks in on you changing.

wc: 4.1k. genre: smut. warnings: holland!peter, sub!top peter, voyeur!peter, college!au, dry-humping, grinding, frotting, handjobs, kissing, peter's first time, dubcon, cumplay, peter and reader are shooters, characters are aged up!

a bite of the cold air shuddered your damp and nude body once you stepped out of the bathroom, cataloguing the tidiness of your shared bedroom after. your shoulders tensed when the heated air and cold draft clashed for an estate of your body. but by the way your muscles eased into the green towel around your waist, you’ve figured which side won the war. a warm cheer to victory buzzed in your head.

god, did i luck out with peter…

you found yourself repeating that observation often these days. it’s only been two months into the semester, but you’ve already concluded that peter was leagues better than your previous roommate. though, the bar was low—he was kind of a homophobe. that guy was a walking proof of evidence that opposites, in fact, do not attract.

on the other hand, peter had proven that similar interests and personalities were the foundation of beautiful, growing relationships: both platonically and romantically. still, relationships were never that black and white—a grey area. a theory that will forever be tested on, only for the outcome to come out vaguer than before, you’ve realized.

peter was like you: friendly, smart, awkward at times, funny to some. you and him basically have the same qualities of a dog, but there was more to it.

you both shared the same liking down to the genre of video games, the magic of fantasy novels, the cleanliness of a room, the color-coded organization of study notes, and more.

from there, the similar line of characteristics began to blur. whereas you’d prefer to learn from experience, peter liked playing by the book—sticking to it if he could. peter liked red, you liked blue. he favored savory snacks, you devoured them, but preferred sweet drinks.

opposites attract—the theory was once again, broad in your honor.

difference and similarities aside, you were lucky to have peter in your life. the bedroom was colder before you went to shower, but now it blossomed with a gentle heat.

he knew you hated the cold after a warm shower.

taking the other towel, you dried off the rest of your body while you checked your phone for notifications: a missed call from a friend and a few emails regarding construction around the building you had your classes in.

seriously? still? it’s been almost a year already…

normally, you wouldn’t have walked into the bedroom like this, baring skin and all. but peter went to get food because you both have become familiarized with what they served as food at parties.

note to self: you cannot get full off alcoholic beverages. you and peter both tried two parties ago, and it ended with you two sharing the toilet bowl, detoxing your insides of that liquid poison the entire night. the only enjoyment that resulted from that night was learning that peter was a drunk-crier, and you, a drunk-dancer. your friendship had only leveled up since.

you slid on your white briefs once you dried off before shuffling to the other side of the room, browsing through your shared closet aimlessly: he took the left side, you took the right. it was always dim at those parties, so a nice outfit would be wasted. also, you somehow became a magnet for other people’s misfortunes. it took hours to get rid of the smell of this one girl’s vomit—you threw it out in the end.

“no, no… it’s going to be cold later…” you cycled through your clothes again, sighing when nothing caught your eye. “guess i can wear this aga-“

“hey!” out of nowhere, peter’s voice sprung out from the side of the room, followed by a quiet thud, and you twisted your bare body towards the source out of fright.

“jesus, you scared me.” the closet door blocked your view of peter, and vice versa, but you presumed he was leaning against the frame—a habit you noted. “i didn’t even hear you come back.”

“sorry- what was i saying..? oh!” his shadow loomed between you and him, growing as he stepped closer to the closet. “did you want to eat now or-“

judging from the volume of his voice, you should’ve expected how close peter was when you shut the closet. “fuck!” you jumped back, eyes widening when he was practically chest to chest with you. “dude, you really gotta stop doing that.”

on a daily basis, you always looked up at him, but you never paid it much thought to how much taller he was.

“sorry! guess everyone’s a little antsy with the- oh.” he paused.

“what?” you curiously looked up at him, catching sight of his wandering gaze. you were quick enough to follow it, flickering between glimpses of your bare body and face several times like a tennis ball. somehow, you didn’t puzzle the pieces between his shock and your curiosity until he backed away, skittish in nature.

you were in your underwear. still in your underwear. the barrier was the captor of your embarrassment, heat rosed your cheeks as you stood frozen. and with it, the barrier was also your savior.

“oh- OH!” the size of your eyes matched his and upon realizing he’s been staring for far too long, peter cowered his gaze to the side, a gentlemanly hand blocking his sight as he further backed to the door frame, then blindly bumped his shoulder into the door. “i’m so sorry-“

“no, no! i should’ve knocked. i-“ he groaned out, pacifying the sting to his shoulder with his palm. “that was stupid of me, i’m gonna-“

that was another similarity that you both valued: privacy.

before you could reply, he scattered off. for a moment, you felt hot in the face, in the neck, even on your chest. but it would only take a few more seconds for your skin to cool, comforted by the fact that you could’ve shown more—you didn’t.

when peter scrambled out of the room, his gaze fixated on the ground, to the stripes of his socks as they shuffled to the kitchen.

but he never made it very far, because he was easily persuaded. either by his hormones, by the shape of your body, or by his closeted feelings about you. in the end, it didn’t matter because a tightening feeling conjured him back to his original spot—it was always going to be about you.

he was silent in his footsteps, treading backwards to the bedroom as his throat ran dry—heartbeat equally.

tonight. i should do it tonight. are my feelings that obvious? god, i hope not. wait, no- they are! they gotta be… who the fuck wipes marshmallow off of your roommate’s lips and calls them cute?!

peter does.

as his thoughts ran rampant, clouded his regularly murky mind, you were in his line of sight, perfectly captured in the middle of his gaze—now stilled—awe-strucked while he watched you change.

quick portraits of your thick thighs and calves came and went before they were completely masked by the slide of your shorts. then your stomach and chest; pliant, moist skin that layered over the contours of your body before being covered by a tee. he exhaled, then inhaled, smelling the scent of your shampoo and body wash, and he was delighted because you own that scent.

enraptured because only peter could have his senses triggered by you on a daily basis.

if peter could frame this moment, it would be an expensive endeavor that would sacrifice all the money in the world to find the most perfect materials that complemented your textured skin. your smooth body. your handsome face.

you. that was all he wanted.

peter had been trapped since the day he saw you unpacking your things into the dorm. sweaty from the sun, and you knew that, because you refused to shake hands with him until you insisted on washing up first. he wished you never did—your thighs looked better sweating under those shorts.

he’s had crushes before. one in middle school, three in high school. but they amounted to nothing, he never had the confidence. rather, he preferred isolating himself and admiring from afar. rejections had already been predicted, and he was used to the feeling of defeat. if someone were to accept his advances one day, then that would lead to a disruption of events—a catastrophic end to humanity—he joked.

you were different to peter. he loved how, for once, he didn’t have to be the one initiating conversation. he also loved how you didn’t use him for answers because instead, you would help him out with his assignments.

oh, is that professor warren’s class? I think i still have the textbook for her class… let me look.

even when it would only take five minutes to grab a drink down the street, you still invited him. not out of pity like everybody once did, but because he was your friend. parties have never been your thing, but you accompanied them with him because it made him feel better—to know someone.

maybe since he’s grown more mature since then, but now that he was off on his own, it was up to him to predict his future. it was an advice you gave him one night, and he’s kept that close to his heart since then. not the hate that had inflicted his mind, not his peers telling he wasn’t good enough for someone—but him.

in his imaginary world, peter could feel the walls shake when he was around you. the buildings would then fall apart, the earth would scorch civilians and planetary life with heat, and the thundering rain would only make it worse. it was a morbid image. yet, if it meant that you truly liked him, then…

aliens, come do your thing. we insist upon an invasion!

peter wanted you. point, blank, period. it wasn’t his preferred way to confess, but intense sentiments of like, love, lust—all at the same time—ate him up on the inside, and he was scared of being devoid of feelings for you.

“i want… you,” peter muttered, and you jolted again, turning back around in case you misheard him. you were bewildered at the sight of him. once again, you didn’t hear his footsteps.

“what?” you shuffled nervously on your feet. the tension in the air was thick and hot now with the way he stared back at you, frightened yet assured.

“i want you.” there was credence in peter’s tone, and he neared to the door now.

your eyes narrowed into the deep abyss of peter’s eyes as you sat on the foot of your bed, putting on socks. somewhere in your endeavors, you found a flicker of that familiar joke. “ha. ha. very funny,” you muttered bitterly.

it haunted you. as soon as you came out, you were taunted by those same exact words by your ‘friends,’ by your previous roommate. what made you different from them became a simple reason to cease empathy and kindness, and you were baffled that this was happening again.

maybe peter was like the others after all.

you avoided peter’s gaze in favor of the floor, the legs of your desk, your rug—anywhere but him—and you could feel the color drain out of your face, out of this room—deja vu. “look, i know it’s funny to you because i like guys and for whatever reason, straight guys like to flirt with gay men to get a reaction out of us,”

the rug cushioned the weight of a familiar pair of feet, and you looked up, a great frown etched in your face when your eyes met peter’s. he towered over you, bewildered. “but it makes me uncomfortable. and it’s not funny to-“

he didn’t know what roused him. the pain in your voice made him want to apologize without any resort to excuses. the pout on your lips made him want to cradle your head, yet kiss you at the same time. the growing tent in his pants made him want to pin you to your bed, and simply ravish you.

it was all a blur.

his impulsive thoughts became a reality once he stole the remaining words left in your distress, and clumsily swallowed them with a kiss. you didn’t have time to process his lips on yours because you were then pushed onto your back, stilted and surprised, as peter applied his weight on top of yours—his broader build shadowed you in welfare.

“pete-“ you groaned into the hot, breathy kiss, and despite the light attempts to push him away, you were compelled to return the wet exchange. breathlessly, you repeated, “stop, this isn’t funny-“ he kissed you again. all this time, you could’ve had him, but you deluded yourself into thinking otherwise.

“i’m not laughing,” peter muttered, and his hips began moving into yours, aimlessly trying to alleviate the stiffness in his pants. “i want you.” his voice lowered—no longer a confession, but a demand. he rocked into you harder once he felt you throb under those tight short, and you slipped out a moan, memorizing the beat of peter that pulsated against you.

you remembered him being bashful when you two talked about your firsts. you weren’t completely inexperienced like he was, but you mentioned that it’s been a while since you’ve done anything remotely intimate. school was your focus, a relationship was your reward.

“peter,” you repeated again, he wasn’t listening. “peter.” he whispered a demand; to keep calling his name, and you couldn’t help but quietly chuckle at the cliché line often heard in soft porn.

then, you cupped your hands around his temples to pull him away. he gazed into you with ardent hunger, almost annoyed that you ruined the trail of kisses he began leaving on your neck. “did you drink without me? because if you did, then i don’t think we should-“

“i didn’t,” he sobered on the softness of your lips, and like a flip switch, he snapped out of his fictional world of you. “fuck- i’m so sorry, i didn’t even ask you if you wanted to- fuck, i even forgot to say that i like you.” he ranted to himself, beginning to pull himself away. “this was not how it was supposed to go.”

infatuation had expanded into something beyond your control, and your feelings for him ignited even more. a wick bursted into powerful flames, and it warmed your body knowing that you two shared the same sentiment.

before he completely peeled himself off your body, you pulled him down by the neck, then pressed your nose to his, grinning. “I like you too.” a peck to the tip of his nose, then the center of his lips. your onslaught of fleeting kisses to his skin drowned him, pacifying every muscle in his body until it became jelly, and also making it all the more easier to roll him under you.

“not exactly how i imagined my first date with you, but,” you straddled his lap, roaming your hands around peter’s chest, an asset of his you’ve frequently daydreamed about. “you sure?”

the applied pressures to your waist, then bottom should’ve been a definite measure of his answer, but he smiled up at you, guiding a steady pace of your hips to his groin. he was easily distracted, suddenly cascading his other palm up your shirt then down to finally feel the bare skin he had spent long showers jerking off to. fantasies had now been served onto a platter before him, and peter planned on devouring you, piece by piece. “please.”

“must have had a lot on your mind if you couldn’t even confess to me.” it was unusual to see him like this—absolutely enthralled by your presence, high off of it. aching for more of you with the way he pushed his groin into you. “how long have you been thinking about this?” being unusual always had negative connotations to it.

you pressed into him harder, rubbing at his print with gallant grinds. not in this moment.

he moaned, “far too long…” then fumbled with the waistband of your shorts before doing the same with the zipper. “you’ve been driving me crazy, especially these days.” it was a simple task, a daily labor that peter was great at, but his hands shook when his finger met metal. you chuckled, and placed a comforting hand to his cheek, stroking the soft skin with the amplest caress.

take your time. i’m not going anywhere.

“mind sharing what you thought about then?” the only time you peel yourself away from peter’s groin was to help him slide your shorts off, then his jeans. peter lifted his hips, and you two were joined together again. aching together. “just curious.” you joked by pulsating your bulge, and he shyly laughed when he saw the restrictive twitch.

felt it.

“well... where do i start?” peter’s warm hand rested on your inner thigh, dangerously close to your erection while delicately exploring your soft skin. “there’s been so many times where i just wanted to…” he was too ashamed to finish his sentence, looking away.

“wanted to…?” your body arced over his, placing a persuading kiss to his cheek, then neck. “what was it?” they lingered, sunk deep into his skin with the utmost affection, and he left the deepest, pleasurable sighs as if you withdrew it from him. you commenced his dilemma. “tell me what you thought when you first saw me. saw that i was your roommate.”

“i...” peter began, and you could tell his nerves got the best of him, so you rocked into him again, begged with your hips. the position made it easier to feel all of him, press into his warmth more, and you couldn’t stop. wouldn’t. “i didn’t know what to feel. i was happy, that i had someone as kind as you…” you gleefully hummed, agreeing as you continued leaving kisses to his neck.

“then i was nervous, because you were so… cute. handsome. beautiful.” he moaned when you began to grind in slow, deep strides. your bulges squeezed and pushed one another, peter did the same, growing impossibly bigger against you. “but when i saw you in those shorts, sweating because move-in day was always on a hot day…”

“yeah?” you beckoned him to finish his sentence because you were closing your eyes now, remembering that very moment because you felt the same. the way peter’s chest, his muscles, were broad and stunning under his own layer of sweat, under his loose shirt, under that naivety that you would never have dreamed to think of him as such a…

“i just wanted to fuck you.”

pervert.

the shy smile he gave you messed with your perception of him. clearly, you’ve underestimated him all this time, and you kissed him again. “so, you only thought about pleasuring yourself.”

he quickly broke the kiss to defend himself. “wait, no! t-that’s not what i meant.”

“peter, relax.” your laugh calmly settled into a comforting smile, and you blindly reached down to his thick print, feeling and squeezing at whatever you can because you were desperate to explore him. “i’m joking.” his chest rose.

for the remainder of time, you spent it stroking peter through his underwear. dryly to his frustration, but he never told you because he wanted to experience you in every way. his lips never left yours, only parted to moan into your mouth when you shoved your hand into his briefs to sate your desire to feel him bare.

peter was big in your small hand. the weight felt suffocating to your palm when you grabbed ahold of his sack, fondling his balls, then stroking his cock again, and you were intoxicated in the way he melted under you, looked into you, begged for you to go faster.

you did. who wouldn’t when he gazed at you with the most puppy-like eyes?

he had complete control of you now, because every action, every stroke, from then on had been a journey to his personal paradise. you didn’t care that you were left abandoned, that you were aching harder than he was. watching him was more than adequate.

both pairs of briefs and shirts have been tossed to the side now, and you maintained your straddle. it was riveting to watch how much bigger peter was when you took both of your cocks together and stroked. he practically enveloped you with the weight of his length, the girth of his shaft, and you wallowed in the fact that he was incredibly bashful about it.

peter’s hand never left your body. he charmed you by his neediness. it was clumsy in execution, but he always squeezed a moan out of you with he felt your ass, your chest, your nipples, your thighs. “fuck, pete.”

everything about you was beautiful, incredibly more so when you caved into him as he dealt kisses to your bare skin and took his own turn at jerking the both of you off.

he was eager. delirious. hard, stiffening hard, against you, and you felt every vein pulsate the harder— the faster—he squeezed and stroked. you leaned back, hands planted to the mattress beneath you, then maneuvered your hips to the rhythm of his fist. you found a pace while peter kept you steady, and fucked into his fist, against his wet cock, sliming your dripping pre-cum together with the utmost fervor.

“wait, (m/n),” he hiccuped, and his hold on you tightened, nails dug into your left waist but you ignored his plea, fucking steadily into his fist. “stop, i’m going to-“ they fell on deaf ears, and mouth agape, peter watched you with incredulity. you can feel his body flex, your balls smushed to his when you grinned up, your pre-cum sticking to his, his to yours, like a sick web. “s-stop, oh god.”

and peter unraveled before you with a guttural moan, finishing the rest of his plea with a blasting of thick and creamy ropes to his chest, like a cannon. the force was strong enough to have a few shots land on his face, then his hair, and then somewhere above because peter was a big shooter—a strong one, you’d passionately testify. “f-fuck, i didn’t mean to cum so-“

“holy shit.” you watched peter in all his glory, then in his embarrassment, while stilted on his lap and sweating, not taking notice of the delay of your climax because it crept up on you quick. a rocket broke the cloud in your thoughts with a boom, and you spilled all over him, shooting like fireworks. “shit!”

peter was your canvas, and it was your duty to paint him. debris of sex splattered everywhere, because you somehow found the strength to continue fucking yourself into the cream of fist, unloading and unloading onto him until you were dry, heaving and dripping.

“fuck- I didn’t mean to ruin your sheets-” he mumbled, a blush stained his cheeks, and you joined in the warmth with a kiss, panting.

“where’s the fun in all of this if you aren’t going to stain at least one thing.” your brows raised at the wet stain on the wall above peter’s head, right below your wall-shelf, and peter’s gazed followed.

he groaned, distressed by the evident he made. “fuck, sorry…” his bashfulness only endeared you even more.

“it’s okay,” you hopped off his lap, stretching your arms into the air. “i’ll clean you up.”

“okay,” peter lay still, his hand cautiously held over his stomach to catch the drips of his cum and yours. it was fascinating to watch the mixture flow together, strands of it melding and un-webbing as he played with the sticky residue. it was the scientist in him. “my towel is on the- fuck-“

without a beat, you took his dripping flaccid cock into your mouth, sucking off any remnants of spunk. an unfamiliar taste you weren’t used to, bitter and salty. it wasn’t until you noticed how peter’s eyes glazed over you, half-lidded because he was in heaven now, that you found the taste of him delectable. peter’s caution for staining your bed sheets was disregarded, because he knew you’d clean the rest of him off.

after you pulled away with a soft pop, he traced your wet lips with the cum on his fingers, then his knuckles, before he pushed one by one into your mouth. one finger at first, then two, then three, you moaned erotically around his digits as peter pumped, marveling in the eagerness of your mouth. he slowly pushed more cum into your mouth. the creamy residue gathered at the corner of your mouth at first but he made sure to scoop it back in, and continued doing so until he was polished clean.

nothing was wasted.

the taste of you and him spread in the warmth of your tongue, and you have never felt more intoxicated.

to peter, you have never looked more beautiful.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x male reader #peter parker x you #peter parker smut #nou.fics

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charliemwrites · 1 year ago

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Ok I’m still thinking about the mafia boss/assistant thought from earlier this week. (Partially because I binged the “Mafia!141 au” by groguspicklejar)

Content: implied misconduct

You were the executive assistant for one of the 141’s business associates. Looking to leave for a while because your boss is obvs kind of an asshole. Like, mean to you when he’s in a bad mood, blames you for things you can’t control or plan for, has harassed you once or twice but “only because he was tipsy”. (You’re not fucking deaf, you’ve heard him make nasty comments 🙄)

Farah happens to be his next 141 enforcer check-in. You go above and beyond - apologizing that his meeting is running late as if it’s your fault, would she like anything at all? Water, tea, coffee? There are mini muffins as well!

She takes a shine you immediately, especially once she goes in for her meeting with your (soon to be former) boss. You hand him a little portfolio, obviously color-coded, with sticky notes and highlights. You even adjust the blinds behind his windows for the light about to bounce off the high rise across the street.

Before she leaves, she mentions that her boss would love an assistant like you, and if you have any recommendations…

She drops her number. You call by the end of the week.

Mr. Price meets you personally for the interview. He’s a big man, built. But somehow it’s complemented by the understated wealth he exudes. Expensive cologne, expensive cigars. A tailored suit and perfectly polished shoes. His watch alone costs half a year of your rent, but it’s fashionable, not gaudy. You hope that his taste isn’t the only nice thing about him.

You’re pleasantly surprised by how courteous he is. Shakes your hand (you’re surprised by the callouses, but dont let it show) firm and polite, without lingering. Flicks his gaze over you once, perfunctory, then focuses solely on your face for the rest of the interview.

You like him instantly, and it shows in the way you joke and gesture while answering his questions. Professional, of course, but relaxed and genuine, not the polished and bland veneer of a person your previous boss preferred.

And something about that must appeal to him as an employer because he concludes the interview asking when you can start.

You’re absolutely thrilled to tell him you can be in the next day. And he agrees.

Masterlist

#thoughts™️#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #grey fic #because it’s not dark but it’s the mafia ya know #mafia boss price #assistant reader

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aeth-eris · 20 days ago

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★ the physical essence of venus ★

★ aries venus ★ the scarred helmet hanging on the back of your door that you won’t replace, even though it’s scratched beyond repair, because it’s been with you through every wild decision you’ve made. the sneakers at your front door, caked with mud from an impulsive hike you dragged your friends on last spring—still laced tightly, ready to go at a moment’s notice. your jacket pockets always seem to hold something random—keys, an old receipt, or a coin you found that felt like it could bring good luck, though you’d never admit it. even your wallet looks battle-worn, stuffed with notes you’ll never throw out because they’re pieces of a past that make you feel alive when you touch them.

★ taurus venus ★ the candle on your bedside table, burned just enough to release the scent of wildflowers but still pristine, because you’re saving it for “when it feels right.” the blanket on your couch is perfectly folded, even though you use it every day, its edges slightly frayed because it’s older than you’d care to admit. your collection of tea blends isn’t about drinking them—it’s about the ritual of opening the tin, inhaling the scent, and deciding what fits your mood that day. even the wooden cutting board in your kitchen feels sacred, smoothed from years of careful use, holding the quiet memories of meals shared with people who make your world feel steady.

★ gemini venus ★ the pen you always lose but somehow manage to find at the exact moment you need it, its cap chewed and its ink running dry because you use it for everything—doodles, random notes, grocery lists, and the occasional half-baked love letter. your phone case has a faint crack from being tossed on a table during an animated conversation, and there’s a tiny keychain charm dangling from it that you picked up during a trip you can barely remember. your desk is a mess of brightly colored sticky notes, most of which have cryptic one-liners that no longer make sense, but you refuse to throw them away because they “might mean something someday.”

★ cancer venus ★ the slightly faded Polaroid stuck to your fridge of a moment you’ll never stop replaying in your mind, its corners curling just enough to show its age. the quilt on your bed, soft with time, smells faintly of lavender and home, even when you’ve been away for too long. your jewelry box holds treasures you don’t wear but can’t let go of—a broken bracelet, a ring from someone you loved, or a single earring that’s lost its match but not its meaning. there’s a jar of seashells on your windowsill, each one tied to a memory you can’t explain but would defend if anyone tried to move it.

★ leo venus ★ the golden compact mirror in your bag that you flip open with a dramatic flourish, even when you don’t need to use it. your favorite jacket, velvet or sequined, hangs at the front of your closet, waiting for its next moment in the spotlight, no matter how rare. you keep a framed photo of yourself from that one perfect night, sitting prominently where you can see it and be reminded of your glow. even your perfume bottle looks like art—half-full because you save it for moments when you want the world to remember you by its scent.

★ virgo venus ★ the planner on your desk is immaculate, with color-coded tabs and neat handwriting that looks like it belongs in a design catalog. your favorite pen is a gel pen with just the right flow—you buy them in bulk because losing one feels like losing a limb. your kitchen has a perfectly organized spice rack, alphabetized not out of compulsion but because it just makes sense. even your plants thrive in an oddly perfect way; they’re pruned regularly, sitting in matching pots, as if they’ve agreed to reflect your careful attention to detail.

★ libra venus ★ the antique hand mirror on your vanity, slightly tarnished but impossibly elegant, next to a bottle of rose-scented perfume that’s more art than utility. your coffee table has a stack of perfectly arranged art books that you flip through during lazy afternoons, marveling at the balance of beauty and creativity. your wardrobe holds a silk scarf or pair of perfectly pointed flats that you wear when you want to feel effortlessly polished. even your favorite mug has an air of charm—delicate, with a tiny chip that only makes it more perfect in your eyes.

★ scorpio venus ★ the leather-bound journal hidden in a drawer, its pages filled with raw, unfiltered emotions you wouldn’t dare share aloud. the black candle on your nightstand, burned down just enough to release its smoky, mysterious scent, but not finished, as if waiting for the right moment. your ring drawer holds a piece you never wear anymore, but every time you pick it up, the memories it holds flood back so vividly it takes your breath away. even your favorite book has underlined passages that feel like secrets only you could understand, the kind you re-read when you need to feel seen.

★ sagittarius venus ★ the worn leather backpack leaning by your door, its zippers jingling faintly every time you grab it to head out. your passport is scuffed, its pages stamped with memories that still bring a grin to your face when you flip through them. you keep a jar of foreign coins from places you’ve been, not for their value but because they remind you of café conversations, train rides, and sunsets you swore you’d never forget. even your favorite shoes are battered from countless adventures, soles worn thin but still too full of life to be replaced.

★ capricorn venus ★ your desk holds a fountain pen, heavy in your hand, its ink flowing with precision as you jot down plans that matter. the watch on your wrist is timeless—its leather strap softened with wear, a quiet symbol of discipline and style. your planner is sleek, every page carefully filled with tasks and goals, because each moment of time feels like an investment. even your scarf is understated and elegant, folded neatly by the door, ready to shield you from the chill as you head out into the world you’re steadily building.

★ aquarius venus ★ the slightly offbeat earrings you wear almost daily, their mismatched charm drawing compliments wherever you go. your favorite gadget—a smart device, a quirky invention, or something DIY—sits proudly on your desk, a blend of utility and rebellion against the ordinary. your coffee table holds an art book or zine from an obscure creator you discovered before anyone else did. even your favorite lamp is asymmetrical or futuristic, casting light in ways that feel just unconventional enough to reflect your unique vision of the world.

★ pisces venus ★ the candle on your desk smells like sea salt and mystery, burned down to a waxy puddle but kept because it reminds you of a fleeting, perfect moment. your dream journal sits beside your bed, pages filled with poetry and fragmented thoughts you’ve scrawled in the dark, barely legible but emotionally potent. you keep a jar of glitter on your shelf—not for any practical purpose, but because it catches the light like magic. even your blanket, impossibly soft and slightly worn at the edges, feels like a portal to the dreamscape you create every time you wrap yourself in it.

★ book a reading ★ ★ masterlist 1 ★ ★ masterlist 2 ★

#astrology #astrology observations #astrology aspects #astro observations #astrology venus #venus

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awkward-walking-potato · 4 months ago

Note

saw you wanted some wade requests so.... how about wade x a scatterbrained (probably has adhd) reader who always calls themselves stupid whenever they forget what they are doing \ walk into a room and forget what they were supposed to do?

Forget-Me-Nots

You stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring blankly at the open refrigerator. The cool air wafted over your face as you tried to remember why you had walked in here in the first place. You were sure it was important—maybe something for dinner? Or a snack? You couldn’t recall, and the longer you stood there, the more frustrated you became.

With a sigh, you closed the fridge door and leaned against the counter, muttering to yourself. “Ugh, I’m so stupid. Why can’t I remember anything?”

“Did someone say ‘stupid’? I’m pretty sure that’s a code word for needing more Deadpool in your life,” came a voice from the doorway. Wade strolled into the kitchen, a lopsided grin on his face as he made his way over to you. “What’s going on, babe?”

You glanced up at him, feeling a bit sheepish. “I came in here for something, but I completely forgot what it was. I feel so dumb. This happens all the time.”

Wade’s grin softened into something more tender as he reached out to ruffle your hair playfully. “First of all, you’re not dumb. Not even close. You’re just running on a different frequency than most people—one that happens to be way more interesting, might I add.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his words, even though the frustration still lingered. “I don’t know, Wade. It just feels like my brain’s always all over the place. Like I can’t focus on one thing for too long, and I keep forgetting stuff.”

Wade’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to you. “Well, that’s where I come in, babe. Ta-da!”

You looked down to see a small, brightly colored sticky note in your hand. On it, in Wade’s messy handwriting, were the words: You came in here for the snacks, didn’t you?

You blinked in surprise, and then a laugh bubbled up from your chest. “Wait, how did you—?”

“Because I know you, that’s how,” Wade said, looking way too pleased with himself. “And also because I’m a genius. But mostly the first thing. I figured you might get sidetracked, so I wrote you a little reminder earlier. Just in case.”

Your heart melted at the thoughtfulness behind the gesture, and you looked up at him with a mixture of affection and gratitude. “Wade, that’s so sweet of you. And, yeah, I was definitely thinking about snacks.”

Wade’s grin widened. “Called it! Now, let’s raid the pantry and find something good. I think we’ve got some chocolate stashed away somewhere.”

As the two of you searched through the cabinets, you couldn’t help but feel a warm glow of appreciation for Wade’s efforts. He didn’t just see your scatterbrained moments as a quirk to be tolerated—he saw them as an opportunity to show how much he cared about you. It was one of the many reasons you loved him so much.

Later that evening, as you were getting ready for bed, you found another sticky note taped to your bathroom mirror. This one read: Brush your teeth, beautiful. And don’t forget to floss—I know you hate it, but your smile’s worth it.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you did exactly what the note suggested. Wade had a knack for knowing exactly what you needed, even before you realized it yourself.

Climbing into bed, you found yet another note tucked under your pillow: You’re not stupid. You’re amazing, and I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have you. Now, get some sleep—dream of me, will ya?

You clutched the note to your chest, feeling your eyes well up with tears, though they were the happy kind. Wade always knew how to lift your spirits, to remind you of your worth, even when you were feeling down on yourself.

When Wade finally joined you in bed, you turned to him and snuggled close, wrapping your arms around him as you whispered, “Thank you, Wade. For everything.”

He kissed the top of your head, his arms encircling you protectively. “Anything for you, babe. You’re my whole world, scattered brain and all. And don’t worry—I’ve got plenty more notes where those came from.”

You smiled against his chest, feeling a sense of peace wash over you as you drifted off to sleep. Wade might have been unpredictable and wild, but when it came to you, he was steady, thoughtful, and endlessly loving.

The next morning, you woke up to find a sticky note on your nightstand: Good morning, sunshine! Remember to take your meds and have breakfast. I made pancakes—don’t let them get cold!

You grinned, feeling a surge of affection for your wonderfully chaotic boyfriend. With Wade by your side, you knew you could face anything—even the most scatterbrained of days.

#marvel imagine #x men imagine #deadpool imagine #deadpool x reader #deadpool oneshot #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson imagine #wade wilson

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wileys-russo · 1 year ago

Text

like a dumb rom com II k.cooney-cross x catley!reader

you bopped your head along to the music which was blasting from the speaker on your bedside table, for once home alone and able to have it up as loud as you wanted.

your textbooks lay open and spread around you on your bed as you scrolled through a gruelingly long article on your laptop, sticky notes plastered all over your legs as you tried your hardest to retain what you were attempting to study.

you sighed looking at your calendar on the wall, another flurry of color coded sticky notes mapping our your schedule for the rest of the month. people could call you a lot of things but you were anything but disorganized, you simply couldn't be in order to juggle your studies and have a full time professional football career.

you'd loved football from the moment you were old enough to kick a ball, following quickly in your siblings footsteps as your poor parents lives quickly became encapsulated by all three of your routines.

different teams and matches to watch every weekend, travelling back and forward to games and tournaments, weeks full of multiple training's and commitments, food crumbs in cars where dinners and snacks were smashed in the back seat from destination a to b.

you almost felt like they deserved the peace and quiet of an empty house once you'd all moved out, your brother no longer playing having viewed it as more of a hobby than a career once he got older.

but no matter the driving and the games and the fees they were always your proudest supporters. especially when both you and your sister had made your national team debuts, first as junior matildas and then into the senior teams, you always following a few steps behind steph.

when she'd moved over to london to sign with arsenal and you'd stayed at melbourne victory you'd missed her, but you were confident that a little bit of distance in your football careers would be a good thing for the both of you to grow as players.

then a couple of years later after your olympic debut had come your own offers from overseas, european and super league teams alike all reaching out to your agent eager to offer you your first international professional contract.

it was overwhelming to look at sums and salaries and contracts you could have only ever dreamed of in your youth, your deadline to make a decision coming in hard and fast you weren't any closer to making the final call.

thats when your national team mates had stepped in and suddenly you were getting calls of encouragement and gentle attempts at persuading to join them at their various clubs once it started to leak out just who had made you offers.

the least gentle of all though was of course from your older sister, who all but chewed your ear off that you were even thinking about accepting any clubs beside the one she'd called her home for a couple of years now, caitlin and lydia both quick to back her up.

you'd been the most hesitant at arsenals offer and once you were honest with steph about your reasons why her approach softened significantly. she was fast to assure you that she'd had nothing to do with it at all and had only overheard the coaching staff discussing potential new signings that afternoon.

then came the assurance that she wanted you there with her, and that despite your own insecurities she'd never ever seen it as you copying her or riding her coat tails. her heart broke a little that you could be so dismissive of your own skills and talent that had lead to all of the multitude of offers in the first place.

knowing this was a decision that ultimately you needed to make, and with a quiet reminder from dean that the tighter she held on the further you'd pull away, she left you to make the call of your own accord, doing her very best to ignore the temptation to call you and check in daily about if you were any closer to pulling the trigger.

then a few days later came the video from melbourne victory, the signing post from arsenal and your own bitter sweet goodbye to your home country and the team you'd called family for the last three seasons.

at both your mum and sisters insistence you'd moved in with steph and dean so your sister could first hand make sure you were settling in, and so your mum could sleep at night knowing you had family looking out for you in a foreign country.

you'd settled in quickly and comfortably of course. just like steph you'd always been outgoing and bubbly, never shying away from making a new friend or striking up a conversation, and suddenly you were adopted right into the team as if you'd been there for years, your football family expanding.

back to present day and you were reveling in a rare night in to yourself, steph and dean having gone out for a nice meal together as you dedicated your evening to your studies.

it was peak exam season and mid wsl season which meant you were battling your way through, mostly on top of everything thanks to your calendar and onslaught of sticky notes.

but given your loud music what you failed to hear were the taps at your window over and over, too engrossed in your studies and mumbling along the lyrics to the 1975 song in your ear, a band both you and your sister harbored quite a shared love for.

steph had gotten you tickets for your twenty first birthday earlier this year and the next day at training both of you had been teased relentlessly for your distinct lack of voice from spending the evening screaming along to all of your favourite songs.

failing to hear the gentle taps at your window, you also missed the creak of it being thrown all the way open and the gentle thump of feet falling to your carpet.

"jesus christ babe are you deaf?" you certainly heard that.

you let out a strangled scream at the sudden unexpected voice, spinning around and falling backwards off your bed, hitting the floor with a loud groan as your girlfriends eyes widened and she hurried to help you up.

"what the fuck is wrong with you? why the fuck would you do that?" you shouted angrily after she helped you up, pushing harshly at her chest and sending her stumbling as she just caught her footing.

"i was tossing rocks at your window and you ignored me, i thought you might have been asleep!" kyra defended holding her hands up as you went at her again but thought better of it, your heart beat starting to gently slow down as you recovered from your shock.

"so your reaction to me being asleep was to..break in?" you scoffed, smacking her leg as she whined and pulled a face, mumbling how she was just trying to be romantic.

"why didn't you just message me or come to the front door? i'm home alone you idiot i thought you were a murderer or something!" you shot her an unimpressed glare as the girl gave you a sheepish smile.

"i thought it would be more romantic this way! like those dumb rom coms we love." she pouted and from that moment you could no longer be properly mad at her.

"just lucky you live a few feet off the ground, bit worried i'd fall and break my neck if i had to scale a drain pipe to get to your window." the midfielder grinned as you couldn't help but bite back a small smile at her adorable dimples.

"next time warn me ky instead of giving me a heart attack. i could have hurt you!" you warned, making the girl send you an amused smile, taking a seat on the corner of your bed as you started to tidy up your mess of study materials on the bed.

"and how exactly would you have done that babe? hit me with a book? stabbed me with a pencil? assaulted me with your tiny little baby hands." the girl grinned teasingly, poking at you as you smacked her away with a huff.

"they are not tiny! they're normal sized and they're barely smaller than yours." you glared at her, standing to move your books and laptop over to the desk you should have been studying at in the first place.

"helloo!" the girl sung out, suddenly stood in front of you as you turned, arms now free she wasted no time pulling you into a hug, your chins resting on one anothers shoulders as you relished in the feel of your skin finally in contact with hers.

"i missed you today." you sighed having had to take the day off training to complete an exam, though you were studying online you still needed to go into the distance education office to take your exams which was located in camden.

"missed you more book worm." you might have rolled your eyes but really it was the cheeky comments and consistent flirty banter between the two of you that had caused you to fall for her alluringly mischievous charm in the first place.

having kissed on a night out when you both played for melbourne victory you'd danced around your feelings for far too long, mutually chalking it up to a drunk mistake.

but it seemed you just couldn't keep away from one another and with each moment apart the two of you either on the phone or texting, a few more sober kisses shared now, you'd made it official during prep camp for the world cup, over the moon to both be selected in the final squad.

a few of your close friends knew not long after you'd made it official, having been by both of your sides during the in denial but hopelessly pining over one another stage.

you were quick to tell ellie who was always your roommate on national duties, the blonde practically tackling you to the floor with a sigh of relief she no longer needed to watch the 'slow lovesick burn'.

then kyra of course told her own little football family, charlie first and then katrina who'd given you both a shovel talk about the importance of treating one another with respect and how she wouldn't hesitate to smack either of you into line.

but beyond that you kept it mostly to yourselves, the two of you had always been close so no one thought much of how touchy and affectionate you were, having been that way long before you were anything more than friends no one thought differently.

then when kyra had joined arsenal after the world cup everything seemed to fall into place, the two of you finally able to give your relationship a proper go without hours of time difference and thousands of kilometers of distance between you to be a barrier anymore.

there was just one glaringly unspoken issue and that was that both of you were far too terrified to make your relationship common knowledge, which really was only because you were even more terrified of what your older sisters reaction might be.

a few of the arsenal girls like teyah and gio who you'd been close with since your signing had caught on quite quickly, but promised to keep it hushed.

being on the younger side of the squad had meant you'd gained a whole handful of older sisters alongside steph and again it hadn't taken long before again they'd picked up on your change in mood now kyra was around, but most had kept their observations to themselves.

unlike leah who cornered you after training, your vice captain getting the truth out of you in record time with a stern look and a few well worded questions, and of course she couldn't keep the information away from lia or beth.

so as the list of your team mates who knew the truth about you and kyra grew, so did your plaguing anxieties that someone would slip up and alert steph.

despite knowing you easily the best out of everyone it amazed you that somehow she herself hadn't caught on, you and kyra having made a few clumsy mistakes where she could have easily put the pieces together.

after your first major argument with kyra over something so stupid you could hardly remember what it was even about, you'd turned up on caitlins front door step with tear stained cheeks both for comfort and some advice knowing there wasn't a chance you could speak with steph who was always your go to person.

you knew you needed to come clean and the longer you put it off the more strain it put on your relationship with kyra and the worse you worried for steph's reaction given how long you'd kept her in the dark for.

"i really should study for another hour ky." you hummed, reaching out for your laptop as kyra tutted, moving you away from your desk with her body still wrapped around yours. "lets go look at your schedule babe." she ordered as you moved toward your calendar.

"kyra!" you exclaimed in surprise, seeing a few new sticky notes replace your old ones. "oh look, give kyra a cuddle? check." she wiggled her body against yours where it clung to the back of you making you smile.

"give kyra a kiss." she craned her head around and pressed her lips sweetly to yours as you shook your head but gave in, indulging her for a moment. "what's next? study? mmm don't see that on here for tonight." kyra hummed, finger reaching out to trail down your new list as you sighed.

"when did you even change this? you've been here for like five seconds." you laughed in disbelief at how fast she could be. "i didn't change anything!" she gasped in mock offence.

"oh look! watch movies and make kyra her favourite snack. guess we have to do that then babe, you do live by your schedule!" kyra grinned cheekily, letting go of you and making a beeline for your door, holding out her hand expectantly.

"you are unbelievably sneaky sometimes cooney cross." you smiled, crossing your arms and staring her down. "who, me? never!" she beamed, wiggling her fingers for you to take her hand as you did so with a dramatic sigh as if it was a chore, causing her to attack your face with kisses and pull you out of your room.

having followed through with your 'schedule' you'd made both of your favourite snacks and settled into the living room to watch a movie, kyra's choice of course given you knew if she wasn't into the movie there wasn't a chance she'd sit still through it.

"hey where's calvy?" your girlfriend realised suddenly, pulling her head out of your lap and looking around with a frown. "its taken you this long to realise he isn't here? he's normally jumping on you in seconds ky!" you laughed as kyra rolled her eyes.

"he's with steph and dean they found some dog friendly outdoor bistro they could take him with them for dinner, you know what steph's like with her son." you smiled in amusement, the four legged canine loved and looked at more like your nephew than a dog.

"aw and they left you here all alone." kyra cooed, reaching up to squish your cheeks as her head settled back in its previous place in your lap. "please! its a rare blessing." you mumbled as well as you could given the way your face was being poked and pulled at by the brunette.

"shut up and watch your silly kids movie." you wrenched her hands away from your face and placed them by her sides before tangling yours in her hair again, massaging her scalp gently as she sighed contentedly, tucking one of her hands up your top to rest dormant on your abs, determined to have at least some of her skin on yours at all times.

"it is not a kids movie. it's a comedy film!" kyra defended, eyes glued to the screen as you only hummed with an amused smile, melting into the sofa cushions wrapped up in your little bubble of comfort.

it wasn't long until both your attention spans wavered and you found your lips locked with kyra's, both your hands roaming one anothers bodies. the air was filled with your giggles and sweet nothings as you once again fell head over heels for the girls effortless charm, throwing your head back with a laugh at a particularly cheesy pick up line mumbled into your neck.

that giddy little love bubble burst the moment you heard the jingle of keys and australian accents which didn't belong to you or kyra invading the space, and the pitter patter of paws hurtling toward you as you both quickly broke apart.

you'd just settled with a decent gap between you as calvin arrived, launching himself on top of you with a few licks hello, jumping across to greet kyra before dean called him away.

"oh hi ky!" steph greeted with a warm smile as she appeared next, kyra quick to her feet to hug her hello. "see kyra hugs me hello. she's got manners!" your sister teased as you blew her a sarcastic kiss, unmoving from your position on the couch.

"i see you every day stephanie i hardly feel the need to hug you hello when you've been gone a few hours!" you laughed with a roll of your eyes. "i've technically not seen you all day." she countered, taking a seat in between you and kyra.

"how did your exam go peanut?" the defender questioned with a concerned look, not having spoke with you since you'd left for camden this morning a nervous wreck.

"steph what have i said about calling me that!" you ignored her question with an annoyed groan, throwing your head back and shooting kyra a glare over your sisters shoulder as she laughed at your expense.

"that you hate it and not to call you it but i will always call you it because you're my little peanut!" the blonde cooed, pinching your cheeks and shaking your head side to side, with almost eight years between you she'd always babied you in a sense and though sometimes it was welcomed most of the times you despised it.

"i wish i was adopted." you grimaced, smacking her hands away with a roll of your eyes. "not too late. i'm sure we can find a nice family willing to take in a moody twenty one year old who can't cook, can't clean, whinges and moans about everything, doesn't do her own laundry, eats her salary in groceries-" steph started to list things off on her fingers as your eyes widened and you kicked her.

"none of that is true!" you scoffed with a scowl, once again sending your girlfriend an unimpressed glare as she clutched at her stomach with laughter. "see even your best mate agrees, you're a grub!" steph ruffled your hair and stood to her feet.

"i'm a grub? have you met the six foot three toddler we live with?" you pointed toward the kitchen, referencing your sisters fiance and soon to be brother in law.

"oi! don't throw me under the bus to cover your own ass." dean yelled back, the two of you always having gotten on like a house on fire which was one of the many reasons steph was so in love with him.

"did you drive here ky?" the older catley questioned with an amused smile, kyra getting the unsung hint it was time to head home as you sent her a look to assure she could stay, but there wasn't a use.

"yeah, i'll head off now." the midfielder smiled warmly, again hugging your sister as you were quick to your feet now to walk her out, kyra yelling goodbye to dean before you both stepped out the front door.

"do you want a lift tomorrow? we could get brekky and a coffee?" you offered hopefully, the two of you lingering just out of sight, kyra eagerly agreeing already looking forward to getting you alone for even just a half an hour.

"coast?" the brunette questioned as you peered subtly around the corner, not seeing either steph or dean in the kitchen through the window. "clear." you grinned, barely able to get the word out before her lips were on yours and your back was pressed against the cool brick of the side of the house.

"okay okay, easy tiger!" you laughed quietly, pulling away as her tongue slipped into your mouth, well aware that the two of you could be caught at any moment. "few more." kyra smiled cheekily, pecking your lips repeatedly as her hands gripped your hips.

"i'll get you round nine?" your hands settled on her cheeks, thumbs stroking her jawline, training not starting until eleven thirty given tomorrow was a double session. "make it eight and we can smooch for an hour? teyah has early rehab." kyra countered with a charming grin as you nodded your agreement.

"i hate when you say smooch." you laughed against her lips, kissing her one final time before pushing her off, knowing the longer you hung about outside the larger the chance grew steph would come to check what was going on.

"which is exactly why i say it. goodnight lover!" the girl bowed to you making you gag. "i hate that more! goodnight you dickhead. text me when you get home yeah?" you frowned, kyra quick to promise you she would before she dissapeared into the night.

returning inside you weren't surprised to find your sister and her fiance curled up together on the sofa, not dissimilarly to how you and kyra had been prior to their arrival, calvin asleep in his bed on the floor.

"you gonna watch with us?" steph craned her head back to look at you, i'm a celebrity loaded on the television. "are the two of you going to make out like horny teenagers?" you questioned, knowing exactly how they could be after their little date nights.

"probably." dean grinned in response as you gagged and steph hit him lightly with a smile. "hey you never answered me before! how did your exam go chicken?" steph called out before you could leave, again an eye roll greeting her choice of nickname.

"good i think? i finished before the timer and i remembered most of my arguments. one more and i'm done! then a five week fucking break." you moaned happily, stretching your hands behind your head.

"excuse me are those mine?" your sisters eyes narrowed, pointing to the peter alexander pyjama shorts you currently had on. "noo." you smiled guiltily, grateful she couldn't see you also had on the matching shirt beneath your hoodie.

"you are such a menace." steph sighed with a shake of her head, normally she'd be on top of you in seconds demanding you give back whatever you'd stolen, but knowing she'd actually worn one of your favourite pair of trainers out to dinner and you hadn't yet noticed she decided against that course of action.

"love you steffy!" you grinned, dipping off to the kitchen to fill your water bottle, pulling a face of horror as you returned to find the two of them attempting to eat one anothers face.

"god can you at least wait until i've left the room?" you gagged in disgust as they pulled apart. "can you hurry?" steph smirked making you pull another face and whistle for calvin to follow you.

"no leave him!" your sister attempted but the fluff ball was already padding happily after you toward your room. "i'm saving him years of therapy from having to watch his parents go at it. goodnight sickos!" you saluted sarcastically, your door closing with a thud as calvin made himself comfortable on the end of your bed.

doing your nightly routine you returned to bed with your skin soft and your teeth brushed, smiling at the text from kyra that she was home safe, clicking the facetime icon beside her contact, the two of you normally falling asleep together.

you smiled happily as she accepted, propping her phone up as she brushed her teeth and the two of you chattered away, blissfully unaware of what was to greet you in the week to come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

part two

#kyra cooney cross x reader #woso x reader #woso blurbs #woso fanfics #woso imagine #kyra cooney cross #woso

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belphies-cowgirl · 1 year ago

Text

little things they do for you

word count: 900+

content warning: mentions of body image (if I am missing anything please let me know and I will add it!)

Lucifer

invites you into his study whenever he gets a new record. he prefers listening to it with you in his arms. also, he'll play the piano for you if you ask him.

will praise you for minor or major accomplishments. even if you don't think something deserves praise he gives it to you anyways. he's so proud of his human.

wakes you up gently by rubbing your back or your shoulder. sometimes if you've stayed up late studying or working he peppers your face with gentle kisses (he will drag you out of bed lovingly if he needs to)

Mammon

will hype you up and be your partner in crime. will indulge in creating chaos or doing something stupid with you. you have his full support and he'd do anything for you, even if it results in him getting strung up by Lucifer. he'll happily take the blame and punishments for you.

will let you have control over the radio and heat/ac settings in his car. will let you put your feet up on the dashboard too. he bought a car charger for you in case you forget to bring yours and he'll order for you in the drive-thru (has what you want memorized, but still asks if you want something else)

helps you with chores. does laundry with you and carries your laundry basket (cleans out the lint trap for you too) does the dishes with you, he washes while you dry or vice versa. moves furniture for you while you vacuum (let him woo you by showing off his strength) want to rearrange your room at 3 am? he'll help you.

Levi

if you're into cosplay he'll make outfits for you. he'll make sure it fits perfectly and has some wiggle room for comfort.

will let you sit on his lap and help you get through hard levels or help you find new areas and items. will guide your hand with his while doing so and praise you.

if you're anxious about something he'll try anything to ease some of your anxiety. he'll give your hand reassuring squeezes or talk you through a breathing exercise or simply listen to you talk about what's making you anxious. he'll look up more ways to deal with anxiety and practice them with you.

Satan

texts you quotes from books or poems that remind him of you or when he wants to be romantic. he sometimes takes inspiration from romance novels when planning a date. also surprises you with flowers for no reason.

will help you study or write an essay. teaches you how to color code, organize, find proper resources, and reassures you that you're doing a good job. he'll be patient and adapt his techniques to any learning style you prefer.

will spend hours with you in a bookstore, and carry any books you want to buy. if you like to spend a decent amount of time in certain genre aisles, he'll grab books you can't reach or just be content standing near you while you look through the books.

Asmo

want an outfit that didn't come in your size or was sold out? he'll somehow get it for you or make one for you. need some alterations done? say less. see something you like but you're low on funds? say less.

have any pain, discomfort, or trouble relaxing? he's got heating pads, pain relievers, an aroma diffuser, bath salts, anything you can think of for pain relief or relaxation. he also gives really good massages.

will help you with any insecurities you may have. reassuring words, compliments, and sticky notes on any mirrors to remind you that you're beautiful and are worthy of so much more than you think you deserve. will buy you products that help enhance your natural beauty. he'll also help you take care of yourself with little reminders or help you establish and keep up with a daily routine.

Beel

lets you wear his clothes if you're having one of those days where you just want to hide your body or just want to feel super comfy and smell like him.

he reminds you to eat every day. he understands if it's hard sometimes for you to eat at least 3 meals a day or eat when you're not feeling well. will ask if you'd like some of his food or if he can make you anything. will also let you steal food off his plate.

will support you and keep you motivated if you want to work out. he'll get on the treadmill next to you or go for a walk with you. anything you want to do he'll do it with you. shares his water bottle with you if yours is empty. will make smoothies, protein shakes, or trail mix with you. he'll encourage body positivity, but won't cross any boundaries or make you uncomfortable.

Belphie

gives you space and understands if you don't want to take a nap with him or cuddle. will offer to let you borrow one of his blankets or pillows to sleep with instead.

will comfort you if you have nightmares or trouble sleeping. don't feel secure after a nightmare? he'll hold you close or act like a weighted blanket for you.

lets you kick him in your sleep and he'll adapt to any of your sleeping positions. want to sleep like a starfish with one leg up on the wall? that's fine, he'll make room for you and find a different way to cuddle.

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