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sweetstars-posts · 4 months

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SKINNY,

M. STURNIOLO x FEM!SINGER!READER

(if you don't want to be a singer, it could be anything in the public eye, it’s only mentioned a little!!)

WARNINGS — mentions of eating disorders, depression, anxiety, ALSO pet names (bc apparently that triggers ppl or smth).

a/n — this is a deep story based on billie eilish’s new song, skinny. as someone who faces troubles with eating, i wanted to make this for me and for those who need it <3

word count — 1.5k

(not proofread)

The rain is hitting the glass of my bay window as you stare helplessly out of it. The window opened a crack; the smell of fresh rain wafting into your room.

Your eyes are dull and lifeless — like you’re waiting for something that won't ever arrive. There's an aching feeling in your stomach, one that isn’t just nerves.

Your body ached as you haven’t moved from the soft plush cushions of the bay window for a couple hours.

Nothing in life felt appealing right now. The constant bodyshamming from the public eye got you back into a seemingly never-ending spiral.

People only seem to like you if you’re skinny. Eating was always a struggle, but now it almost feels like a game. Competing with yourself over and over again for trying to reach a certain weight goal that you won’t realistically achieve.

Everyone keeps saying you’re happier now. But are you? No. Complete sadness overtook you, but it was okay, because now you’re skinny.

But you also felt guilty.

You haven’t spoken to your boyfriend Matt in a couple days. You’ve been dating for 3 years and he knows every single thing about you. You still don’t have the energy to get up and try to find your phone which is nowhere to be found at the moment.

But knowing Matt, he probably knows what’s happening again. This seems to always happen. It’s like a record player that keeps repeating and repeating until the vinyl slowly starts to scratch and warp.

Your eyes falter slightly but they never seem to fully close. It’s like they can’t.

Your mind is racing 20 miles per hour but you can’t seem to comprehend a single word going through your brain.

The phone rings, the sound coming from somewhere in the mess of sheets on your bed.

A little while has passed and your phone still hasn't stopped. The obnoxious ringing made you even more aggravated. Yet somehow you felt stuck, like you couldn’t move to get your phone.

The sound absorbed into a dull hum from all the thoughts racing through your head.

You felt numb and lifeless. Like you were viewing yourself in a VR headset.

Time shaped into nothingness as your bedroom door creaked open. Your boyfriend, Matt’s, head peeks through the door.

His eyes soften as he sees your fragile figure on the soft cushions.

He closes the door behind him as he walks into the room. He makes a mental note to clean your room for you later. As he nears you, he sits on the floor, in front of the bay window.

His soft hands, grab your hands lightly, “I got you, it’s okay,” he finally breaks the silence.

Short jagged breath’s release your mouth, as you finally move your eyes away from outside, to him. He slowly moves to hold your head between his hands.

Tears slowly start to prick your eyes, yet you still don’t look away from him. Tears flow and flow, you have no control. Strangled breaths release, as you struggle to catch air.

“Hey, hey, I got you,” Matt’s fingers brush your tears away, his cold rings sending a series of chills down your spine.

Matt brought you into a warm embrace, lowering you down from on top of the seat, to his lap. He cradled you as if you were a broken fragile doll.

He pressed kisses towards your head, letting you release all those pent up emotions.

Neither of you knew how much time had passed, nor did either of you care.

Your breath’s evened out, and your tears died down. And Matt was still there by your side.

“Do you wanna talk?…” Matt questioned after a while.

“I’m just….tired” Your small tired voice let out.

Matt kissed your nose lightly before slowly standing up, pulling you up with him. He made his way to the bathroom connected to your room.

Upon setting you on the counter, he turns on the bath, letting it run for a little. He got everything ready — your clothes, a brush, and got all the small essentials, as you got in the tub.

He washed your hair, lathering the shampoo lightly. He then grabbed your brush and slowly brushed through the large matted knots.

“How about…after this we go back to mine? We can watch Inside Out because I know how much you love that movie,” His offer makes you smile, “And then we can work our way from there, how does that sound?”

You nod in response, too exhausted to speak.

After finishing up, Matt slowly helped you into one of his large sweaters and some pajama pants. Matt started to grab your phone and small things you would need to stay over (although most of your things are already at the triplets house).

“You ready, baby?” Matt extends his hand out towards you.

You grab his hand with a little small smile. Whatever joy you had in you was put towards Matt right now.

Matt led you to his car, opening the passenger seat. You could tell Chris sat there last. The seat was reclined and the seat was altogether far. You smiled at the way Chris left it.

“This kid doesn’t know how to fix his seat, I swear” Matt complained, as he helped you fix the seat.

Matt soon got into the driver side soon after closing your door.

“Where too?” Matt asked gently.

You looked at him in confusion. Weren’t you going to his house?

“C’mon, baby, we’re going somewhere to eat. Even if it’s something small, just… get something in your system.” Matt rubbed his hand against your knee.

The thought of food makes you want to throw up on the spot. You hated that he knew, but you loved that he cared.

“Nowhere..” You mumble quietly, head against the window.

You didn’t want to make this harder on Matt. But the genuine guilt fills you by just thinking about laying a finger on food.

“Sweetie, you need something.” Matt started the car, but ended up driving towards his house, “When we get home, you can have some toast. Even one slice, okay?”

You silently nod.

Matt pulled into the garage. As you and Matt make it inside, you can already hear Chris and Nick yapping about some movie they are watching in the living room.

As much of a bad mood you could be in, those triplets will always put a smile on your face.

Matt’s hand rests on the lower section of your back, gently guiding you through the basement. The two of you slowly walk up the stairs.

Chris and Nicks heads snapped towards the stairs as they heard footsteps, obviously Matt had told them.

Nick came running up to you guys first. He pulled you into a light hug, holding the back of your head with his hand, rocking you ever so slightly.

He pulled away, his hands resting on your face, “I’m so glad you’re okay, kid.”

Chris pushed Nick out of the way, “HEY! My turn”

Chris pulled you into a bone crushing hug, way more strong than Nicks. You smiled slightly into his shoulder.

“We were all so scared,” Chris whispered quietly.

As you guys pulled away, Matt grabbed your hand again, walking you towards his room, but not before bidding a small bye to Nick and Chris.

Matt closed the door behind him, as you went to sit on your designated side of his bed.

“I’ll be right back okay?” Matt kissed your head gently, before walking out of the door.

Matt had started to make a small piece of toast. Knowing you won't want to eat the other half, he put it on a plate for Chris to eat later.

Matt walked the short trip to his room, pulling the door open.

“Here, love” Matt put the plate on your lap.

You slowly grabbed at the piece of toast. Guilt swarmed you like a bunch of bees. Instead of taking a bite, you just stayed there.

Matt was now seated on his side, “It’s okay, Baby, it’s fine,” He rubbed your arm encouragingly.

Slowly but surely, you ate the piece of toast. Matt put on “Modern Family” while you ate. He never pushed you to eat faster, he was comforting and only wanted you to be comfortable.

“Good job!!” Matt’s large smile was contagious, it made you smile too.

As some time passed, you guys just stayed in each other’s presence. Not many words were said, but it was a comforting silence that everyone needs in their lives.

You and Matt were all cuddled up, your head resting on his chest. His hand rubbing your back gently.

His soft touch and actions, that lured you into a soft slumber.

“Goodnight, my love” Matt kissed the top of your head, himself feeling awfully tired.

At the end of the day, all you needed was a loving soul to guide you through your troubles. And Matt was that person. He was the light in your dark cave.

#spotify #chris sturniolo #fanfic #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #fluff #video post #y/n #youtube #billie eilish #hit me hard and soft #the sturniolo triplets #angst #struggle

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afyrian · 3 months

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ch. 1 - grievances and clay m.list

the sun's rays permeate the shop's front window. it lingers in the room as the dust particles float throughout. you stare at the clay bowl in front of you. something about it seems off; the rim looks a little wavy, maybe there's not enough space at the bottom of the bowl. although grabbing out your measuring tape and your template don't seem to reveal either of those issues.

even when you stare intently at it, your elbows resting on your knees, hands clasped in front of you, you can't see it. it looks so different and yet so similar to that of the other bowls. biting your lip, you stuff your earbuds in and let the nearly deafening song block out everything that's distracting you.

the light construction on the front of the store, the people lining up for onigiri miya, your lousy morning when trying to park. everything culminates into a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions as you push the wheel's pedal. it spins rapidly and you can finally see what the issue is, the base of the bowl is slightly too large.

to most, it wouldn't be noticeable, especially if they only saw this one. however, you can't help but immediately wet your hands and run them up the inside and outside of the bowl. pushing in slightly, you bob your head to the music, letting your free foot tap aimlessly against the vinyl flooring.

this moment, this morning routine is the only thing keeping you together right now. even with the slip on your forehead, drops on the floor that need cleaning, and the mess on your clothes, it's the greatest thing you've ever learned to do. it's relaxing (sometimes) and gives you a chance to think things over, it's your alone time-

just as you find yourself happy with the bowl, someone's knocking at the back door. your eyebrows furrow slightly, gaze flickering to the clock. it's ten o'clock, your shipment of a new wheel was supposed to be coming. you groan slightly, shaking your head. you don't even have time to remove the bowl from the wheel as you rush for the door.

you pull out your earbuds, setting them on a nearby table. pretty much everything within the shop has dried clay on it, another deep cleaning day coming. even the door handle has spots of clay on it, more caking on as you open the door, "hello?"

"yeah, i'm here with your shipment, i've been told we need to bring it inside. this is the correct address for the pottery wheel, yes?"

"yeah it is, thank you. i almost forgot it was coming in this morning!" you try to laugh off your poor time management, your smile falling as the delivery man keeps his stubborn frown in the same space.

"okay, haru, let's get that wheel out.." he grumbles to his younger coworker, slowly walking to the back of the moving truck.

you bite your lip, taking in the fresh air. some mornings you get in at five and stay there until the end of the day. stepping outside and smelling food cooking, hearing the birds chirp, it is rather comforting. the only thing ruining it is the sound of a drill running. of customers out front raving about the reviews of onigiri miya.

blocking it out some, you look around the back area of the shops, noticing another delivery truck nearby. it's emptying out fresh veggies and stored boxes of what you assume to be meat. you narrow your eyes, not even noticing the man standing beside you. he follows your eye sight and wonders why you're staring at it, his head slightly tilted.

"everything okay?"

"oh yeah- oh.. uh yeah, just wondering what they're delivering for the new restaurant," you barely look at him, not noticing his cap and apron, his arms crossed over his chest.

“you could just ask you know,” he leans towards you slightly, giving you a smile.

only now do you give him a once over. he’s rather tall, his hair hidden from a baseball cap. some grey streaks escape from the bottom of the hat… onigiri miya’s logo embroidered into the front. your eyes open a little wider as you finally look him in his eyes. they’re grey, matching his hair and the monochrome look of his outfit. the only thing sitting out is an old rag on his shoulder.

“oh you work there?”

“i mean, you could say it, it’s my restaurant,” he shrugs his shoulders, looking back at the truck, gaze moving back towards you some, “hi, i’m miya osamu.”

your lips part slightly, a few things running through your mind. firstly, he looks quite young to be owning his own restaurant. secondly, he watched you stare down his ingredients like you’re hardcore judging him. and thirdly, he keeps looking at you like some enigma. a mystery for him to solve and understand.

part of you wants to immediately tell him off for the loud noises and long lines and the odd look. however, a frog gets caught in your throat and attacking him makes your hands sweat, “uh you are? that’s- good for you. i’m l/n y/n, i own the earthen kiln, the pottery shop. i’m surprised you’ve opened your shop before the front is finished.”

“yeah, thank you. due to the costs of improvements, i wanted to get opened quickly,” osamu looks over at you, noticing you looking at your own moving guys, them slowly bringing a large box down from the truck.

“yeah that’s.. understandable. honestly, it can be rather loud at times, the construction and all of the customers. my customers preferred the quiet pace of the last restaurant…” you take in a deep breath, not wanting to make eye contact with your new neighbor.

he nods slowly, unable to tell if you can see or not. osamu understands they’re loud, his customers can definitely hear that, but there isn’t much he can do. not until everything is finished and secure, “right, well they shouldn’t be too much longer. but i should be heading back inside to help finish cooking for the lunch rush.”

“i have a class soon as a well.. just make sure you get your customers to calm down some,” you finally get a good look at his eyes, hoping it comes across as more than just a joke, your tone trying to stay lighthearted.

“you do? well, this may help you look a little more professional,” osamu grabs the rag from his shoulder and bring it up to your forehead, wiping off the clay you had somehow gotten on there, “but of course it’s a pottery class, so that probably doesn’t matter much to them.”

you can feel your heartbeat quicken as he reaches over, his finger touching your hair and upper forehead. however, you can’t help but feel like you could’ve been more assertive. to tell him just how much you dislike the constant noise, how it worries your typical customers for the future. but for now, the joking and unusual interactions will be enough.

a/n: so much happier with this :D hopefully you guys like it taglist: @causenessus @osakis-gf @eggyrocks @brkfclub @marisabel14

@bbybibi @etoiile @miyamoratsumuu @girlokarina @gsyche

@cherrypieyourface @zephestia

#☼༄ my bisque beau #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fanfic #hq #hq x reader #hq fanfic #osamu miya fluff #hq osamu #osamu miya x reader #osamu miya #miya osamu #osamu miya x y/n

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sunlightmurdock · 1 year

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The Odyssey | 0.8 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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Moodboard | Recommended Listening

Synopsis: Bradley keeps a close eye on the other students, nightly dinners become a regular occurrence. Malcolm feels further away than ever. A phone call in the middle of the night causes a swift change in plans.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity. 18+ minors dni

…

Bradley wakes up with the sun. All of those West Coast mornings and thin, green floral curtains in his grandmother’s house. The sun spilling through them and alerting him to the Chordettes playing downstairs on grainy vinyl. That meant his mother was cleaning. Lemon-scented disinfectant, her sitting on her knees polishing the hardwood with a rag. The effortless warmth of her voice drifting through the walls.

He exhales. Sunlight seeps through his eyelids but there’s no Chordettes album today. No lemon scent. Just a dusty room and one of his students sleeping six feet away. His eyelids flutter, blinking through the early morning light. A slow turn of his neck allows him to check the clock on the nightstand and doesn’t affront the stiffness that these cheap mattresses give him either.

It’s early. About four hours before Luke would naturally rise, anyway. Bradley hits the alarm and pushes himself upright with a soft sigh. He doesn’t have to be quiet when he’s getting out of bed, that kid could sleep through a hurricane.

They have a lot in common. Lots of similarities in the way they were raised. Bradley likes him beyond just being his professor. In different circumstances, they would be friends. But, Bradley has always kept that line in the sand clear. Until now. Until you had kissed him.

Showered and dressed, Bradley’s up before most of Verona. The soles of his shoes are quiet against the cobble. Italian leather from almost a decade ago. A gift from an old friend that have held up well. The only dress shoes he’s got.

It’s bright out. Bright enough that Bradley’s squinting through his Ray-Ban caravans already, but it’s not too hot just yet. There’s a wind that makes the loose white of his button-up billow against his tanned skin, fighting to work free from being neatly tucked into his belt.

Enzo’s out on the steps by the time Bradley gets there, which means he is late. Teaching hasn’t ever been Bradley’s passion, but it makes way for him to study and — in theory — he gets his summers off. It allows him to write.

“Good morning.” Enzo greets him with a smile. Bradley’s not much for the business side of things — he would have better luck at counting the shades of blue in the sky than he would at figuring out schmoozing. Enzo knows this, and Bradley knows that he knows this. “How’s the book coming?”

“I’m not sure,” Bradley answers with a broad shrug. He tucks the gold frames of his sunglasses into the part of his shirt. “I’m not sure I’ll have it finished by the end of summer.”

Olive-skinned and about fifteen years Bradley’s senior, Enzo looks the part of a sleazy salesman even if he’s just a curator when his lips twist up into a smile. “Something’s got you a little distracted, hm?”

The straight ahead stare, the deep, slow breaths and the unwavering tight line that his lips are pressed into; Bradley’s reaction is easily readable — and Enzo’s close enough to get hit if he keeps it up. He knows that. Towing the line is his specialty.

“Just joking. Here, let’s go in.”

Three soft-sounding steps inside and Bradley’s back where he was this morning. Ten years old and laying on his back in the twin bed in the bedroom at the front of his grandmother’s house, smelling artificial lemon.

He turns his head just a little, his eyes lingering on the mop being pushed around the tile floor, as Enzo leads him further inside.

Being published is what professors dream of. Having someone decide that their little ramblings are interesting enough to publish. Bradley’s study focuses on two things that are inherently interesting to begin with — sex, and power.

His research may be tedious every now and again but the content is always rich. His morning spins by and before he knows it, it’s time to meet you again. You’re ready for him when he gets there, tugging open the door before he has knocked.

But, you don’t look excited to see him.

Cheeks flushed, your body language suggests to him that you would have a decent future as an offensive lineman. His gaze flickers up, over your head and into your seemingly innocent hotel room. Powerless as he scans the room, you just hope he can’t figure out what it is that has you so rattled.

You had aimed to finish before he had arrived but time had gotten away from you.

“So what are we doing today?” You try.

“What are you writing?” His eyes are already on it. The open stack of lined papers, torn out of the notebook already, sitting on the vanity by the wall. Your perfume is next to it and you’ve got the stationary set that your mother got you laid out neatly next to it.

“Nothing.”

He looks down. First, at your face. Wide eyes and baited breath. Then, at your hands suddenly resting against his chest like they’ll hold him in place. His lips twitch.

“Nothing?” He repeats to you. Enjoyment seeps through his words, amusement tugs at his lips and he lifts his right foot to take one step forwards. “Mind if I take a look?”

Instantly, your fingers are curling into his shirt and you’re throwing your weight at him to keep him where he is. Bradley huffs out a sound of amusement, passing you in one swift stride as you claw at his button up to slow him down.

“Don’t, Bradley, it’s stupid — I was just messing around. I don’t want you to read it.”

His fingers brush the top page as you plead with him, tugging at his sleeve, trying to change his mind. He lifts it nonetheless and shoots you a grin, making a show of clearing his throat.

“Dear Juliet,” He pronounces, turning his attention back to the page from you.

“Bradley, please don’t.” It’s not fun anymore. You’re quiet and resigned to him doing whatever he pleases. Embarrassment teems through you.

It’s a familiar kind of crushing feeling. It’s never just feeling small, it’s never that simple. It’s being made small. Every inch that you shrink, you’re squished down further until you’re nothing.

You can see it in his face, the exact moment that he reads his initials on the paper. It had seemed too personal to use his name. Back when this had seemed like a good idea at all.

He doesn’t read on. The paper sits still in his hand as he turns his head towards you. You stare back at him, preparing yourself. Tongue poised, ready to spit whatever venom he deserves after what he says next. Eyes wide, and sad.

“I’m sorry.”

He sets the paper back down as he had found it. It’s not his to discard, it wasn’t his to read. Bradley steps forwards and wraps his hands gently around both of your biceps.

“That wasn’t cool,” He tells you quietly. Bradley knows a couple of different languages, and he’s confident that he’s speaking English now, even if you’re staring at him like he isn’t. “I didn’t realize what it was. I was just trying to mess with you. I barely read any of it.”

Silent, you blink a few times. He’s still there with his big, heavy hands anchoring around your biceps. He’s waiting for you to say something back.

Slowly, your brows draw together. Your eyes flicker over every inch of his face, looking for some fault that will give up this little act.

Suddenly, your mind is made up. This is an act. He’s not sorry, men rarely are. You straighten your back and lift your chin, if you were a cat your claws would be out and ready. “You’re such an asshole.”

The clock beside your bed, the hands don’t move, and yet it feels like you can hear something ticking. Maybe your heartbeat. He’s staring back at you, not moving, but he’s going to have to soon — it’s his turn.

“I know, honey,” Bradley’s hands open and he releases your arms, only to open his and wrap you in them. Your face presses into his chest as he rubs a hand along the small of your back. “I didn’t mean to.”

You’ve received plenty of life lessons on what it means to be a woman. Your grandmother, your mother, your aunts and cousins, teachers and friends. Not one of them prepared you for this. In your scope, apologies come in the form of jewelry or luxury vacations.

No one had ever prepared you for a man to look into your eyes and tell you that he is truly sorry.

“I just wanted to put it on paper, get it out of my head,” You mumble into his shirt, inhaling the notes of wood and warm spice in his cologne. Your hand rests against his stomach now, unclenched. Your body is soft against his. You relax out of all of that tension and let him hold you. “Make some sense of it.”

His palm hugs the base of your skull, cradling you against his shoulder. His cheek rests against the top of your head. He gives you a slow nod.

“You should finish it.” Bradley tells you.

“Yeah. Maybe later.” You hum. It’s nice, to be held by him. He strokes a hand softly over your hair.

Within this city, within the walls of the first space that you have had to yourself in three weeks, in this brown hotel room — you have let yourself be his.

Tomorrow, you’ll move on to Venice. The decision is yours, to leave him and all of this insanity right here — forever between these four walls — or to let go.

Bradley’s thumb trails the nape of your neck. He can feel you deep in thought. Just once, he would like to know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours. “Could be our activity for today. Write it in Latin, think of it as a translation activity. I won’t check it.”

Lifting your head, you stare up at him, lips pursed in distaste. “If you don’t check it then what’s the point?”

“Confidence.” Bradley tells you. You feel his open palms trail your back until they hit your belt. Then, they skim around to rest safely on your waist. “The more you practice—“

“Yeah, yeah…” Both hands push against his chest as you wriggle out of his arms and turn. “Okay, I’m in.”

“Let’s sit outside. It’s a nice day.”

The eighth of June. The day you sat in a public garden opposite a fountain, laying on your front in the grass while Bradley sat in front of you, propped up against a tree. It turns out that when Bradley says he knows a place, it’s usually worth listening.

“What’s this place called?”

“Giusti Garden.” He tells you, working on something of his own in his lap.

“And what is it?” You ask him, trailing the end of your pencil through the dictionary. He looks up at you, his own pencil stilling for a second.

“A palace, originally.” Blinking through the lenses of his sunglasses, Bradley glances down at the page in front of him and back to your lips, pursed in concentration. “Pretty popular. Mozart, Gorthe, Ruskin— they’ve all visited this place.”

“Huh.” You hum.

This time when his gaze flickers up, you have moved. Your lips are parted, you tap the rubber at the end of your pencil against your bottom lip.

Mid-sentence and stuck, you turn your head towards him and he’s already looking at you. He read what was on that paper the first time. He reads hundreds of essays a year, he has mastered the art of clearing a page quickly.

Admittedly, he hadn’t gotten through the whole page, but he’d noticed that you had stopped halfway through a word at the bottom.

He read all about it. How confused you are. The new feelings and the difficult thoughts. Malcolm and how much he loves you. How guilty you are. How furious with yourself you are.

Selfishly, Bradley wonders if you’re writing the same thing now. All of those biting looks and harsh words — Bradley feels like he’s just starting to understand, and he likes the person behind it all.

He’s grown up enough to know that you’ve got enough people messing with your head back home. Whatever that letter helps you realize, Bradley has already decided that he isn’t going to say a word about it.

It’s still bright out by the time that your letter is signed and sealed, tucked into your bag. You straighten up, brushing off your front as Bradley collects his things behind you.

“Here.”

Lifting your head, you almost miss it. He watches your eyes land on the folded piece of paper extended towards you. Your lips quirk softly as you reach out and take it from him.

Breeze catches your hair, you comb it off of your forehead with one hand as you open up the paper with the other. Three different pencil sketches sit on the paper.

The largest is in the centre. It’s of your face and your shoulders, elbows propped up against the grass and your lips pouted slightly as you study the book before you. The lashes, the slight misshape of your polo collar, the tip of your nose. He’s got it down to a science.

The other two are just sketches. One of your face, turned to the side like it is in the drawing of you laying down. The last is of you looking at him, smiling. You don’t even remember what he had said. Neither does he. But he remembers that look.

“What’s this?”

Bradley just slips the pencil into the pocket of his jeans and starts walking, nudging his elbow into yours as he passes by. “You asked me to draw you, didn’t you?”

In truth, he assumes that it’s going to be a parting gift. Call him sentimental, but Bradley always leaves something to remember him by.

When he closes his eyes, he doesn’t remember his father’s face. He has seen it in pictures before, but never in memories. No, he remembers hugging his father’s legs, and sitting on his knee. He remembers the smell of tobacco.

The replacement dog tags. The gold chain. The shoes in the box in his mother’s wardrobe. The suit that Bradley never grew into — one day it was too big and the very next, he had already outgrown it. Those are what he has to piece together parts of his father.

When you’re old and married, maybe you’ll find the drawing and piece together the parts of Bradley that made you smile like that.

You trail behind him, white tennis shoes in the trimmed green grass. A white polo shirt tucked into lemon yellow shorts, your sunglasses sweeping your hair back off of your forehead.

In another life, he’d reach back and you would wrap your palm around his index finger. He would smile at you and you would be all kinds of giddy about this date.

But this isn’t that — it doesn’t work like that this time around. Someone could see you. Bradley knows now how you’re feeling. He knows that your fiancé is on your mind. He chose once, took Natasha’s choice in her own future from her. He won’t do the same to you.

“The dinner thing,” You call out from behind him, watching your shoes travel from grass to stone pavers as you pass by an intricately carved fountain. He turns his head and peers at you over the top of his sunglasses, looking over his shoulder. “Is that really every night?”

Before you’re even done with your question Bradley’s looking ahead once again, and you’re left looking at the plain white of his cotton tee stretched pliantly over the swell of his shoulders. “Until you all start treating each other with a little respect, I guess so.”

“All of us? — Come on, Bradley, don’t act like you don’t know who the problem is.” An incredulous scoff, barely paying attention to your own words as your eyes wander around the flowered garden. “She’s just a slut, and—“

He stops and turns. Your gaze snaps from double early tulips and their puffed yellow petals to Bradley standing before you — the look in his eyes is scolding before his mouth has even moved.

“Do you listen to a single thing that I say? — Seriously?” He asks you, brows drawn together and his lips pressed into a frown. You simply blink at him.

“What?”

“She’s a slut because she has sex with her boyfriend?” He challenges you, shaking his head. The past week, Bradley has been spoon-feeding you content about the sexual culture through the history of Rome. You nod like you understand and yet, you come out with bullshit like that.

He’s the one who challenged you. You simply answer back.

“She’s a slut because he’s not her boyfriend. They’ll both tell you that.” You tell him, defiance coursing through your veins in lieu of anything that might have helped you make a stronger argument.

“What does that make me? — You listen to my stories with a smile on your face. It’s not dirty until it’s someone you don’t like, huh?” Bradley asks. He’s right, you know that much. Bradley has indubitably slept with far more people than Robin possibly could have.

Still, maybe it’s his tone that makes you need to bite back so quickly. Hands on your hips and a scowl on your face, you stand off against him before the fountain. “What does it matter to you if I think she’s a slut?”

“It matters —“ Bradley stops and takes a deep breath. He leans in by three inches and you’re met with that familiar woody smell that just makes you want him even closer. “Use your brain. Whatever your mommy and daddy taught you back home is bullshit — you’re the odd one out.”

With that, he turns and starts away from you. He won’t leave you to walk home alone, but he will walk six paces ahead so that you’re clear with the fact that you have once again stepped on his nerves.

“I’m the odd one out for respecting my body?” You call out to him.

“Respecting it, ignoring it… same difference, right? — It’s your call, honey,” Bradley walks slowly closer until the toe of his sneaker brushes yours. He lowers his voice, calm. “But choosing not to have sex doesn’t make you better than Robin.”

“I’m not your honey.” You bite back.

“Right,” Bradley nods at you. He lifts his arms and drops them back against his sides incredulously. “But here we are.”

It’s an eleven minute walk back to the hotel. You stroll behind him, sullen like a scolded child. The letter feels heavy in your bag. He might not have called you a slut, but you’ve been put in your place nonetheless. The words would never pass your lips — but he’s right. The comparison’s right there in front of you, all around you. You’re living it.

She can’t be a slut for sleeping with one boy if you’re not for whatever you’ve got going on with Bradley.

You would hold it against her, crushing like a weight, if she told your story back to you. If she was the one with a fiancé at home and a professor who spent afternoons in her hotel room.

Still, your face is hot and you’re not ready to speak to him. Halfway across the herati patterned rug that covers most of the reception area, Bradley turns and looks at you as he tucks the arm of his sunglasses into the collar of his t-shirt.

Chin high and shoulders squared, your clear path is to walk right by him. Just as you always have when a man in your life has embarrassed you.

One step ahead, Bradley catches your wrist loosely, stopping you mid-stride. “Dinner’s in five. Remember?”

“I’m not going to dinner with you.” Your answer is simple and biting. Childish. He wouldn’t be surprised if you crossed your arms and stomped your foot.

“It’s not up for discussion. Everyone’s going.” Bradley explains. Right on time, he lifts his gaze and spots Pasquale headed towards the two of you from across the lobby. It’s not like he won’t have seen the two of you argue before.

He reaches you with a smile and stands at Bradley’s side. His bald head has caught the sun, reddened slightly with head. The smile lines beside his eyes always crease when he beams at Bradley. He stands almost an entire foot shorter. Looking up at him and grinning like a kid, even though he’s older than Bradley.

“Hi, guys!” He pats Bradley’s arm jovially and turns that wide, cheesy grin to you. “How is the revision going?”

Your eyes land on the professor and suddenly there’s something dark about them that has simply nothing to do with eye colour, and everything to do with the mood he put you in.

Pasquale lives in ignorant bliss for the two seconds that it takes you to settle your hands into the shallow pockets of your lemon shorts and narrow your eyes at the professor. “Bradley’s a self-righteous asshole.”

“But what else is new!” Pasquale tries. The laugh is forced out of him and nerves shake through it. He shoots Bradley an apologetic look. Bradley’s looking at you anyway.

“She got a C minus yesterday. Still trying to figure out if it was a fluke.” Bradley bites. Your eyes widen.

Sitting on his lap, wrapped in his arms as he told you how hard you had worked — how proud he was. His hand trailing your spine. His mouth soft against yours. Butterflies tearing through your stomach.

“I think I got too much sun today. I’m going to lie down. Enjoy dinner.” Fuck mandatory. Fuck every single student on this trip. Fuck this class, and fuck him in particular. Pasquale swallows softly as you turn on your heel and head for the stairs.

Bradley turns his chin towards the ceiling. He wants to like you, he wants you to like him. In the moments that you do, everything feels so easy. Like the breeze in early June. But when you’re hell bent on arguing with him — those are like those scorching hot summers back in California. Surrounding and heavy. Pressing in on him until he bites.

“A C… that’s not so bad. Right?” Pasquale asks quietly. Bradley turns his head and looks at him, there isn’t really an answer to give. A B is the average in his class, so no — a C really isn’t bad.

The thing about old Italian hotels is that they tend to be marketed towards guests looking to lead quiet lives — romantic getaways and such. Not young women fuelled by anger. The door slams and teaches you a quick lesson in cause and effect. The painting hung on the wall to the right of the bed wobbles in complaint, then bumps to the floor. The glass frame promptly shatters across the floor.

There’s an almost calm silence that follows. A few slow blinks, and the glass is still there. The frame is still shattered. There are pieces all across the floor. Bradley still said what he said.

The soles of your tennis shoes are thin and pliant, excellent for movement but not designed to fend off glass shards. Crossing the floor at that exact moment seems like far too much of a challenge. So, you press your back to the door and slide down it. Cupping your hands tight over your mouth, you clamp your eyes tightly shut and let it go.

The scream is muffled by your palms, but probably still enough to alarm other guests.

Your bag clatters haphazardly to the floor and you lift your face from your hands just long enough to examine the mess once again. Huffing out a sadder sound than you had intended, you push weakly to your feet once again.

Until today, Verona had been your favourite stop so far. Even with that spoiled, at least you have an en-suite here. You’re more careful with that door. You tug it closed and lock it behind you, toeing off each of your shoes as you go.

These old hotels have old water heaters too. You lean across to turn the shower on first and wriggle out of your shorts, dropping your polo onto the ground with them. Facing straight ahead, you stare into the little round mirror above the sink. It’s got molding all around it that was supposed to look gold once, but the peeling paint reveals brass underneath.

Your reflection stares back at you, sullen. It’s a portrait, just your head, shoulders and chest. Swallowing doesn’t make the thickness in your throat fade. You just blink at your reflection in the mirror. The cotton t-shirt bra hugged to your chest is modest and does it’s job — nothing more.

You’ve seen lingerie — you own lingerie. You have a white teddy with matching panties reserved especially for your wedding night. Bradley has most definitely seen lingerie.

A swift inhale is followed by a baited exhale.

The memory is so distinct, standing in a mall with your mother at the ripe age of twelve, watching her soured expression as she searched through the rack.

“Lace, lace, lace.” She had tutted. Back then, you had been more concerned about someone you knew seeing you here, shopping for your first bra. You hadn’t understood.

“Mom, just grab one. I want to go home. I don’t care what I wear.” You had whined, fidgeting on your feet and brushing awkwardly at the pleats of your dress. You’ll always remember the way that she had rounded on you, eyes wide like you had asked her to buy you a thong.

“Well you should, young lady!” Her voice always sounded scarier when you were younger, even though it had always been hushed and poised.

You have been a grown up for a while now. Lived outside of her home. Had your own bank account, car, clothes — and that voice still circles in your head.

The nightdress she had gotten you last Christmas is hanging on the back of the door. Malcolm hates it. He says it reminds him of his grandmother.

You look down at the thread scissors from your sewing kit resting on the shelf beside the sink. Anger has often led you to some of your best DIYs.

“So, we all have to be here… except not actually all of us.” Robin points out, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms over her striped t-shirt. Elbow resting on the table, Bradley turns his head to look at her.

“She’s sick, Robin, leave her alone.” Abigail mutters from beside her, pushing her fork around the plate of roasted vegetables.

“No, but I heard Bradley say mandatory. So, mandatory for everyone except—“

“Robin.” Bradley sighs, sitting back in his seat and frowning at her. The restaurant is dimly lit, almost ten of them are cramped around a table in the corner, and after your argument today, Bradley just doesn’t want to hear it. “I don’t want to hear another damn word.”

This is what Bradley hates most about education. Half of the time a punishment for his students is more of a punishment for himself, which this dinner just so happens to be. He wants them to like you. He doesn’t want to hear the bitter comments and the arguing.

Everyone’s eager to get it wrapped up and over with. It’s still early by the time that he heads back to the hotel — everyone else decides to go out for drinks again, without you. Making the entire thing pointless.

The knock at your door startles you. You wince as the pin slips into the tip of your finger, inhaling sharply. Abandoning the project on the bed, you push yourself to your feet and walk over to the door. You already know who it is.

Bradley’s gaze flickers down at the sweat shorts and T-shirt you’re wearing first, then back up to your face.

“How was dinner?” You’re already turning away from him again, stepping onto the bed and tiptoeing back across the sheets. Bradley glances behind him, then steps inside and closes the door.

“Are you done sulking?” He rests his hands on the leather belt wrapped around his hips. Sewing needle in hand, you lift your head and stare, silent. “I’m allowed to disagree—“

“Fuck you,” This time, you don’t give him a chance to finish. You turn your head and continue to thread the new hem. “What you said was cruel and you know it, this isn’t about a disagreement.”

His gaze turns towards the ceiling, hands still sitting atop his belt.

“It was. I’m sorry.” He mutters with an exhale and a shake of his head. Bradley looks back at you finally. His brows draw together and he takes a step into the room. “What are you doing?”

“Hemming.” Your answer is short.

Briefly, Bradley presses his tongue into his cheek and considers just saying goodnight. Then, he notices exactly what it is that you’re working on.

“Did you cut that in half?” He’s already crossing the room and craning his neck to get a better look. Unluckily for him, you’re finished. He watches you look up at him through your lashes and lift the nightdress, then stand up from the bed. “Oh, you’re ignoring me now?”

The door to the bathroom swings shut behind you, the thin wood does nothing to muffle your voice. “I’m not ignoring you.”

Bradley’s attention has already waned. He’s looking at the paper on your nightstand. His drawing from earlier is uncurled and illuminated in the light of the lamp, below that is your address book — opened to a page with Malcolm’s name. Dotted around are little pink hearts, his number neatly written along the line.

“Are you snooping?”

Bradley flinches, turning back towards you with a swift inhale. He remains silent, lips parted as you march from the bathroom to the wood-framed mirror about three feet from where he’s standing.

Aware of his eyes on you, you study the new garment. It sits a few inches above your knee, just above mid-thigh. The sweetheart neckline keeps it sweet. Bradley’s eyes flicker briefly downwards in the reflection. With the window open, he can’t help but notice your nipples peaked against the light cotton blend.

“What’s this?” He asks quietly.

“I wanted a change.” You answer him.

He lifts his gaze to your face, just in time for you to turn and face him. Half an hour ago, you were talking to your fiancé — and yet, you’ve got no shame in searching for Bradley’s approval like this. Maybe you aren’t as pure as you had once thought, or as your mother would like you to be. But for now, standing in front of him, you aren’t ashamed.

Malcolm had called you today from his office. He was eating a sub that one of the interns had grabbed from him and he was telling you about his week. Numbers and figures.

You had thought of everything you could tell him. Juliet and the views of the city, sitting under the tree in that garden this afternoon. Bradley.

“I’m sorry that I said what I said.” Bradley tells you. Maybe it’s just because he’s desperate to get the conversation off of the light fabric you’re wearing, but something tells you that he means it. “It was childish, and you’re right, I was being cruel.

Barefoot, you take four short steps forwards until you’re standing right in front of him.

“I’m not saying you’re right — but I shouldn’t have called Robin a slut.” The admission comes with a small, lip-twitching smile. Bradley’s hands reach forwards and curl around your hips.

“She is annoying. I’ll give you that much.” Bradley concedes. Your mouth twists into an eager grin as you press closer and shift up onto your tiptoes. Bradley steadies your hips and follows you in until your mouth is on his. Slowly, sweetly. His hands skim along the yellow fabric experimentally. He hums as he pulls away from you. “So, what’s with this?”

“You’re right. I was ignoring my body — I like the way I look in this. I like my shape. I can still respect myself without covering up so much. Right?”

Fuck. Bradley stares at you for just a split-second too long. He wrestles with the realisation of what he has just done to himself. Sure, you listened to him for once and it was a decent lesson to learn — but his summer just got considerably harder.

“Do you like it?”

He trails his fingers lightly along the fabric, careful not to touch too hard and press it against your skin. Quietly, he hums. “Sure. It’s cute.”

Bradley’s mind is swimming as he is walking back to his room. Fine, he resolved the issue that he went up there to resolve. Now, he has presented himself with a much bigger one.

His hands press into the pockets of his jeans as he starts to contextualize how deep he actually is into this mess. He hasn’t ever thought about fucking a student before — not once. He detests the men he knows that fantasize of it. And yet, here he is, picturing his fingers bunching up that stupid nightdress.

“Hey, Bradley.” Luke grins, sprawled out across his bed in the dark, reading a magazine with a flashlight. Bradley flinches. The door shuts behind him and they’re in there together. “Natasha called from Turin! She told you that she’s going to be in Venice this weekend too, she asked you to call her back.”

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @thecitysgraveyard @sugarcoated-lame @kmc1989 @cherrycola27

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun smut #the odyssey #bradley bradshaw x reader

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jupiter-letters · 10 months

Text

Harvey being your husband would include

Fem! or GN! Reader TW: None

A/N: This is me finally putting into written form the things I think about Harvey doing. Yes I am in love with him, thanks for asking.

Waking up on a cool autumn day, the early morning light peeking in through the window. You see the sight of Harvey in a deep slumber beside you, cheek pressed into the pillow, hair messily strewn across his face and the pillow. The soft sounds of his snores along with the chirping of the birds outside. His eyes flutter and open to see you looking at him, he smiles at you. He rubs the sleep out his eyes and moves his hand to caress your shoulder. He stares into your eyes and traces random patterns on your arm. He asks you what you plan to do while he’s at work and tell you how much he’ll miss you when he’s gone.

After a hard day's work he tells you to take off your shoes for a personal foot massage and a nice cup of tea. He makes sure to remind you to get new shoes so your feet don’t hurt anymore. He moves up to rub your calves, and he tickles you under your knee. You slap his hands away and move to tickle his neck, he pulls you into a bear hug on the floor and you both can’t stop laughing.

Working in the fields during the summer, Harvey is on the porch with a misting fan and a new book. You stop for a moment and call his name. You make your way up to the porch and he pulls out a bottle of water for you. “I love watching you work, you always look beautiful when you work. You take such good care of the farm. I’d like you to teach me more about it so I can help out more.” He smiles up at you, cheeks flushed from the sun, his freckles more prominent.

Loving getting clean with him, showers or baths doesn’t matter to him. He runs a bath for you both, putting in all your favorite salts and scents. A candle or two don’t hurt either ;))) It’s a very large clawfoot tub to accommodate Harvey’s long legs otherwise it wouldn’t be very comfortable. Whether you sit back to chest or across from each other he doesn’t much of preference with that either. The feeling of your back against him and your head next to his is one of the best feelings in the world. Then again being able to look at you from across the tub, flushed from the hot water looking at him with a sweet smile, is everything.

Sneaking off together during the flower dance. Kissing each other breathless behind a tree. Feeling his hands gently cradling your face, he can’t stop giggling as he kisses you over and over again. Once you’ve had enough you fix each other's clothes and head back like nothing happened. Your friends all look at you both with knowing looks and laugh at his poorly redone tie.

Harvey walking around in his comfiest robe on his days off, shuffling in his slippers from his shelf of prized jazz vinyls to the record player on his desk. You watch him from the doorway humming along to the song and opening a new model plane box. He notices you out of the corner of his eye, he pulls you towards him. You both stand chest to chest, his hand behind your back, forehead to forehead. Enjoying each other's presence and gently swaying to the music.

Thanks for reading! Lemme know what you think.

#stardew valley #sdv harvey x reader #stardew harvey #reader insert #stardew valley headcanons #sdv x reader #sdv x farmer #fanfiction #~⋆｡°tales from the dreaming

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eddiemunsonhotgf · 2 years

Text

tw ~~ smut. size kink if you squint a little. please do not read if these are triggering to you. (also this hasn't been proofread yet, so bare w me!)

eddie would love to put christmas decorations up with you and be so cute and loving while you listen over and over wham!'s last christmas song on your vinyl records.

even though he hates mainstream stuff, he would just love and adore watching you dance around with your cute winter themed pjs. something about you being so happy with so little would make his little heart flutter every time.

it's all fun and games until you're hanging the mistletoe and ask him for your help. poor little thing that can't get anything done by herself he thinks. you just sounded so so sweet asking him for his help, he couldn't resist.

to put it bluntly, sometimes he would be lazy and not get up from the too-comfortable sofa, he might not be the most active human on earth, but anything that would make him stop listening to that same song over and over again, he's in. in reality, he's really loving, he's always trying to make sure you're comfortable in absolutely any environment you both guys are. with his friends? he makes sure you're comfy, grabbing your hand with his plush one and interlocking your fingers, waiting for you tighten his hand back as a response if you're not comfy ...sometimes their jokes can become a little too much. they think it's a little PDA, but he doesn't care, cause he loves you. more than anything in this world, and he needs to protect you at all times. whether you're with his friends, your family, your friends... he always makes sure that you're comfortable. and whenever he notices you're not, he tries to make you feel warm and if it doesn't work, he drags you out and takes you to his trailer to cuddle and kiss you until you feel safe in his arms again.

'eeeds!' you whined. maybe he didn't hear you the first time, so you tried again. but oh he did. 'teddy... please' again. no response. there was something about hearing you beg for his presence that lit something inside him. he's being awfully quiet and that screams there's no good coming from him. but you didn't see that coming, trying to figure the best way to hang up the mistletoe without falling and breaking all of the decorations that were put aside you. you feel a hand on your hip & suddenly all your problems are solved. big boy to the rescue!

'woop- my bad. didn't see you!" you're jumpy at this point, everything so silent but the record on the vinyl starting again, plus, you didn't see his hand coming. 'gotcha, little thing.' he replies, with a smug on his face like he's the most strong boy to walk on earth.

'oh no!' you pout. focused so sharply on the nickname he gave you. little thing, little thing! that you didn't even notice all the christmas decorations had fallen to the floor and now... well they were spraying all around.

'don't worry, pretty girl. don't worry your pretty head about it.' what was he doing! you were so reddened up at this point. all the nicknames had a serious affect on you, and deep down he knew that, he was just playing around & dumb. whenever you're nervous, your mouth acts before your brain can think, so you ask 'eds?' there's a silence. he knows what you're going to ask him.

crickets.

'hm. yes?' his back was now turned. he was squatting trying to clean up all the mess you made. 'uh, don't worry. never mind, teddy. let me help you.' and as you were about to bend to try and help him, he subtlety caressed your thigh, covered with the onesie pjs you were wearing. stopping you and letting you know that he was fine picking up everything, feeling guilty about laying in the sofa while you were so adorable and excited about hanging up the lights.

'oh, o-okay' you stutter. you guys were dating since the summer, although you had known each other since the start of the year. the first time he landed his eyes on you, he saw this coming. he knew you both would get along well, even though it might not look like it. you were so good girl, good grades, sweet thing... and he was just eddie, rocker boy, the drug dealer.

'you sure you dont wanna ask anything, baby?' you nod with your head a no, looking down at your feet. he was trying to make you feel small. he was succeeding.

now, the mistletoe was finally hung and all the mess was cleaned but something was missing. the tradition is that you need to kiss your loved one under it, to last through eternity with them. right at this time, you forgot what was the point of even hanging it, questioning every decision you've made until this very moment. 'so' eddie takes the lead and breaks the silence. while he gets up and looks down at you, asks 'now that we've hung this, are you going to give me a kiss under this or do i need to tell you that you need to give me a kiss under this?' he was being really forward today, not trying to waste anytime as he grabs your chin with his thumb and index finger as he makes you look up at him.

'sorry eds. wanted to kiss you since you've put you hand on me. 'm sorry i didn't do anything.' you made your best effort in putting into words how you were feeling right now, your world falling apart.

'no need to apologise, princess. c'mere.' and believe it he was so fast on putting and dragging his hands all over your body. once your lips crashed into each other, he was making sure his hands felt at least once every inch of your body. 'hm- oh' you whine as his kisses drag down little by little, connecting with that sweet spot on your neck. that sweet noise he thinks. how did he get so lucky.

'what was that, pretty thing?' you freeze. you were so into it you didn't realise that noise actually came out of your mouth.

'n-nothing. sorr-' 'baby, there's no need to apologise. was i making you feel too good, hm?' you eyes were shining, you were looking up at him in awe. 'aw, you can't even speak, can't you?'

'yes' he takes your face with both of his hands and drags them down until they meet your pretty neck. all ready for him to leave his marks over it.

'yes, what?'

you were put in your place, you knew the game was starting and so decided to join. 'yes, master' you looked up at him innocently, batting you eyelashes at him while his cock grew harder and harder inside his pijama pants.

'that's my good girl." and the rest is history! ♡

wanted to post a christmas special quickly! sorry if this feels kinda rushed, it is :( i still have some exams left but i wanted to post! enjoy bbs 💘 take care. love u so much 💞🎀

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #perv!eddie #joseph quinn #innocent!reader #joseph quinn smut #my babie eds #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine

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almostgenerallyalways · 2 years

Text

Tacit Admissions

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader (no gender specific pronouns used) Category: fluff, angst Word count: 1.4k Cw: canon typical violence, hospitals Authors note: meant to write a little blurb but it turned out a one shot

Summary: Spencer lands in the hospital, and you have to come clean with yourself.

You rush through the hospital corridor, your wet shoes skidding on the drab green vinyl flooring. A nurse looks at you disapprovingly as you pass him, but you barely take note, finally coming to an abrupt stop in a waiting area strewn with outdated magazines and abandoned Styrofoam cups containing the dregs of terrible coffee, drunk only to keep shaking hands busy and weary minds alert. Facing you is your co-worker Derek Morgan, and to your immense relief, he is smiling.

“Hey,” he says, pulling you to him in a quick one-armed hug. “You look exhausted.”

“Thanks.” You pull back, taking in the lines around his eyes, more pronounced than usual. “You don’t exactly look like you got your recommended eight hours either.” You look around you at the various doors leading off the hall. “How is he?”

Derek laughs and shakes his head, used to you getting straight to the point. “He’s fine. Like I said on the phone, they got him out of surgery around 6, he woke up twenty minutes ago.” He motions to his right arm. “It looked worse than it was. No major damage.”

His words do little to lift the immense weight of guilt and worry on your shoulders, but still they are exceedingly welcome, and you hug him again. “Thank God.” You wipe surreptitiously at your eyes, not wanting him to see you cry. “What room?”

He tells you the room number, but as you pull away, he squeezes your bicep, amusement breaking through the expression on his tired face. “Just a warning. Your man’s off his face on painkillers.”

On a normal day you wouldn’t let that little comment slide, but then, on a normal day Spencer doesn’t get shot.

* * *

Before opening the door, you take a second to collect yourself. You’re in a state: running on the bare minimum of sleep for the past ten days, bone-tired after yesterday’s tactical operation got out of control, frustrated after having been kept at the police station all night to debrief. You’ve exchanged your bloodstained clothes for running tights and a hooded sweatshirt from your go-bag, but you’ve skipped a shower in order to get here sooner, and are now somewhat regretting that decision.

Taking a deep breath, you push the door handle, opening the door as quietly as possible. Despite expecting it, the sight of Spencer in a hospital bed knocks the wind out of you, and you clasp your hand to your mouth involuntarily.

He appears to be asleep again, so you tread lightly, scanning over every visible part of him as you sit down on the utilitarian plastic chair next to his bed: The bandage covering his upper right arm, the pulse oximeter clasped to his finger. He looks pale, but he looks okay, and your eyes fill with tears that you immediately try to blink back – you’re relieved, yet you’re worried. You know he’d hate being drugged up, and this is the second time in as many years of you two working together that this has happened; that he’s been shot, and you hate it, you wish you could protect him, keep him from ever being hurt again.

The first time – the leg – happened when you’d just joined the team, and you hadn’t known him that well. Because he was out of commission for months and you were not being deployed in the field much yet, you’d spent a lot of time together, working cases from the offices in Quantico. When he was mobile again, and you’d finally passed your field tests, you’d often been paired up together: his superior intelligence and extensive BAU experience a complementary match to your tactical skills and brawn.

Suddenly, Spencer stirs, and his eyes flutter open. He appears to have trouble focusing for a few seconds, but then a grin breaks out across his face.

“Hey,” he says, voice cracking a bit. “It’s you.”

You smile, and squeeze his hand, and don’t know what to do with your face, which is surely betraying you – so you busy yourself looking around for a cup of water to give him. “I couldn’t come earlier; Hotch wanted me there for the full debrief – I’m so sorry – I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“I feel great.” He grins again, taking the plastic cup from you, and swallows a sip of water. “I feel rested.”

A noise halfway between a laugh and a sob escapes you, and you sit back down, finally letting go of some of the crushing fear you’ve been carrying around for the last ten hours. “You scared me, Spence. Next time we’re going into a place like that, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

He stares up at you dreamily, and you again breathe a laugh: the finer points of tactical ops are clearly the farthest thing from his mind, and you should let it go for now. His hair’s matted on one side, and you run your hand through it, still needing to feel him, confirm he’s okay. His eyes drift shut at your touch.

“I asked Morgan –,“ he yawns, “I asked him to get you. And he did.”

His hand drifts to yours, closes over it, and your heartbeat feels fast and reedy. Of the two of you, you are the tactile one, and he is decidedly not – you can count on one hand, quite literally, the amount of times he’s hugged you or even clapped a hand on your shoulder. Your brain has embarrassingly catalogued these moments, against your own better judgement, and you’ve shoved this list away into the recesses of your mind, down with the other things you know it’s better for you not to think about.

You make an effort to pull yourself together. “Derek’s good like that. I’m here now, for as long as you want.”

He fixes you with a stare, and you suppose it’s the drugs, but he looks at ease, unguarded – heartbreakingly, it makes him look even younger than he is.

“You’re so pretty.” He says, and you half choke on the non-sequitur, letting out a laugh.

This seems to offend him, and he squeezes your hand in reprimand, frowning: “Why are you laughing?”

“I don’t get called pretty very often,” You say, truthfully, shaking your head, a grin on your face. “You caught me off guard.”

He considers this. “It’s probably because you look so serious all the time.”

You smile at him. “That must be it.”

He’s nodding, satisfied with his theory. “But I know. You’re not serious at all. But it’s good that they don’t see it. I like being the only one who makes you laugh.”

Your heart is brimming over with affection for this man, propped up in a hospital bed across from you, holding your hand. You’re too tired, too emotionally wrung out, too fucking relieved to push it down like you usually would. In the background, a machine beeps in a steady rhythm.

You bring his hand up slightly, press a kiss to his knuckles. “I think you’re drugged out of your mind, Spencer Reid. But for the record, you making me laugh is the best part of my day.” You exhale shakily. “You’re the best part of my day, pretty much all the time.”

“Oh, good.” he says, seriously, and you have to laugh once more.

He appears to be getting tired again, blinking in an effort to keep his eyes open, and he yawns. “When I wake up, I’m going to kiss you. After I’ve brushed my teeth.”

You press another kiss to his knuckles, torn between elation and apprehension, not sure if you should wish or fear that he’ll have forgotten this whole conversation once the drugs wear off. “If you still want to, after you wake up, I’ll kiss you back.”

The stern nurse from before walks in, motions with his chin for you to scram. Spencer’s eyes have closed, so you tuck the sheet around him, taking care not to disturb his bandage, his monitor. You should go home, to shower, to rest, but you know you won’t – you’ll be right here, folded up on the cramped waiting area sofa, not leaving until Spencer wakes up again, whatever that might bring.

~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! Check out my little masterlist, I’m also open to requests via ask (I haven’t done any yet so I’m not sure what I’ll be comfortable writing exactly, but try me!)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction

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vinylguards · 5 months

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The Ultimate Guide to Deep Cleaning Vinyl Floors

Vinyl floors have become a popular choice for many homeowners due to their durability, versatility, and cost-effectiveness. However, to maintain their pristine appearance and longevity, it's crucial to deep clean them periodically. This guide will walk you through the steps to deep clean vinyl floors and share tips on maintaining them in the long term.

#vinyl floors #Singapore #cleaning services #deep cleaning #house cleaning #cleaningservices #cleaning service #home cleaning

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clownboymcchucklefuck · 7 months

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🌹Eternally Your's And Mine 🥀- Chapter One

Ayo let's good Corpse Husband Zachary AU. It's taken me a while to get this written out but I'm liking how it comes out so far. ♥️

Word count: 2k, holy shi-

Fic starts under cut:

Just how lucky did you get? After getting in an argument with your ex you had decided to finally pack your things and leave even if it was a bit….difficult to do so. You spent your time sleeping in hotels for about 2 weeks as you searched online for a place to stay that was preferably not close to your old place.

Your efforts finally paid off when you found an old victorian house for a surprisingly cheap price. The pictures you had seen looked like the house would need just a little bit of work but also appeared to have kept itself together and tidy all throughout the years. It was quite a drive but you would take anything to get out of this town.

Your thoughts of the house were interrupted by the sound of the radio, it was some radio show and the two hosts were discussing some paranormal activity in the past “So, Crybaby Lane is up next on the list! Those who visit the spot of the wreckage claim to smell burning woods and hear voices. One may also see a shadow guarding the entrance to the trail. Look closely and you'll see rubble from the former orphanage. This all due to an incident back in 1958 when-”

The voices were put to a stop when you reached down and changed the radio station. “Dumbasses….” You muttered to yourself as he kept your eyes on the road. It was so stupid how easily people would fall for some myth made to keep kids from doing stupid shit. Even if it wasn’t, it was probably because of the high electromagnetic field making people paranoid and seeing things. Everything had an explanation after all.

Your hands would clench tightly before unclutching around the wheel to keep your body moving somewhat, driving for almost 7 hours straight probably wasn’t a good idea…. But it paid off when you finally entered the neighborhood you had seen in the pictures. The neighborhood had good reviews from what research you had done with all the neighbors being nice, you had seen there had been an incident back in 1884 but with that being almost 200 years ago there was no bothering to dig deep into it.

There was a slight change as you pulled up into the driveway while driving over the gravel. You sighed softly once the car was finally parked. You rubbed your eyes before glancing up at the house and to put it short….it was way more beautiful than what you had seen in the photos.

It was a beautiful victorian house, the decor and the style seemed to be a mix of dark blue and red with gold. It had at least 3 floors from what you could tell, the website had also mentioned a basement too. Walking around the yard of the house to admire it, you walked into the back yard and your breath was taken away by a beautiful rose garden. Most of the roses had been wilted however. Oh well, you knew there would probably be some work to be done anyways.

After a few minutes of walking around the house and finding the key, in a pot next to the door like the landlord had told you, who oddly wasn’t here to give you a tour of the house or anything. You shrugged it off and put the key into the lock of the door before pushing it open. You took a few moments to let your eyes adjust to the lighting of the house as your hand felt the wall until it turned on the lightswitch. Well that was good, for such an old house it had modern electricity. Wouldn’t have to worry about wasting money to have somebody come in and do a little bit of wiring for a fortune.

You took a few minutes to look around the area, the decor seemed to have a theme of blue and gold and it was quite pretty. There was an old record player with some vinyls on the shelf under it, and a grand piano in the corner of the corridor. Most of the furniture was what you expected with it being old fashioned and fancy. You were surprised at how clean and tidy it had been kept after supposedly being left alone for almost 200 years. But eh, less work for you. You would have to do some more exploring after getting everything settled.

Sighing softly, you walked back out of the doorway and towards your car and started to start taking in boxes of things, the sun was setting and so it was better to just go ahead and get this all over with so you could go lay down after driving for so long. It was going alright as you just brought your bags of clothes in first and set them down in a guest room you found that was suitable to sleep in for tonight until you got fully settled. The problems came as you started to bring in the boxes of heavy things, you had already been pretty tired from driving. Grabbing a box of books, you stumbled as your arms threatened to accidentally let go.

You just about did when there was the sudden feeling of another pair of arms on the other side of the box, helping you lift it up before you dropped it.

Surprised, you jumped and stepped away from the box immediately out of fear that it might be somebody possibly trying to steal all your shit, you hadn’t really thought that would happen since this was a nice neighborhood but maybe this was the opportunity to let out some anger if this mf was actually trying to take your stuff. Your thoughts of beating a bitch up were interrupted by the person clearing their throat quietly before speaking up, his voice soft and mellow.

“H-Hello, Y…Y-You’re the….uhm… new t-tenant here, right?” He stuttered between his words and appeared very nervous but also had a soft and kind demeanor at the same time. His hazel eyes that were averted away to the ground seemed to glow slightly with the way the sun shined down on them as he spoke. He had dark green hair and was wearing a light green shirt with some comfy looking tan pants.

You raised your eyebrow in slight suspicion, why the hell was he asking this as if he hadn’t just spawned out of nowhere? The man seemed to notice the look on your face and he quickly tried to explain. “S-Sorry- I forgot to….introduce m-myself, I-I’m Simon, I uhm….I live in t-the house b…beside you. I’ll be y-your neighbor.” Simon explained softly as he gestured over to the house right beside your new one. It was a nice cozy looking one and you could see many plants growing around and inside the house.

You calmed down a bit as you realized the situation and nodded your head. “Name’s [MC], nice to meet you, Simon.” You responded while you started taking the rest of the boxes out of the trunk and setting them down on the ground so they would be easier to pick up later “Say….You wouldn’t happen to know where the landlord is right? They were supposed to give me a tour, or…at least I thought they would.”

Simon perked up a little, he seemed like the type of person that just liked to help people but had been walked over by a lot of people. “O-Oh, uhm….I-It’s a bit w-weird I guess, they'll p-probably be here a-around uhm….n-nighttime? I don’t t-think I’ve seen them in the d-daytime at all….B-But! They’re r-really kind s-so you w-won’t have any p-problems!” Simon assured as he adjusted his grip around the box in his arms. You nodded and gave him a kind smile, picking up another box off the ground, you two started to bring the boxes inside and into the room you had picked.

You two had just finished bringing all the boxes at last and you flopped down on the fancy couch in the living room. Fortunately for you, Simon had brought some pastries and some homemade lemonade as a housewarming gift so luckily you didn’t have to worry about making food or anything.

“Gonna be honest with you Simon, I can’t cook for shit so you can be expecting me to be coming over more often for some food.” Simon looked a bit surprised at your words before he smiled shyly and glanced down to the floor. He seemed a bit…nervous to be in the house almost?

“I-I’m glad you e-enjoy it…..” Simon responded quietly as he rubbed his arm in a nervous manner. “Have….Have you h-heard a-any of the…uhm….rumours before you moved in?

You raised your eyebrow at that. Rumors? You hadn’t seen anything and if there was anything about it you were too focused on getting out 0f your past situation to care about any dumb old rumors. It would probably stay that way too.

“light on. After saying your goodbyes to each other, Simon walked back towards his house right beside your new one. Rumors? No…? Should I have? I’m not the superstitious type really.” You responded as you took another sip of the lemonade. Simon shifted his weight from one leg to the other nervously before finally speaking up again.

“Back in about…the late 1800s there was a man that lived here….I-I haven’t h-heard exactly what h-happened but there was an incident with a camera and it ended up killing his partner and he died in the hospital later that day. There’s rumors that say you can see him in the upper stairs windows or the uhm…rose garden….The most popular one is that if you take a picture of the house then your camera will explode too just like what happened to him…” Simon explained with a solemn look on his face as he spoke. “I-I’m not s-sure how true i-it is….I keep seeing him stare at me through the window when I go out.....B-But I j-just wanted to let you know.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh at his words. Simon’s face instantly went from solemn and worried to confused as he looked up and his eyes darted onto your laughing face. You quickly stifled your laughter before trying to explain. “Sorry, but like I said, I’m not the superstitious type and I don’t believe in all that. I mean….I’ve been interested in it back when I was little and had my own encounters but all of those ended up having reasonable explanations. I appreciate you for telling me but I think I’ll be fine.” You assured him with a smile.

Simon looked surprised but he nodded his head nonetheless at your words. “O-Okay….Y-You’re very b-brave, [MC]. N-Not that t-there’s anything t-to be a-afraid of, like y-you said!” Simon responded as his nervous smile came back on his face and he twidled with his thumbs as he spoke. You stood up and set your cup down on the table before walking over to Simon and putting your hand on his shoulder. He slightly tensed up for a second at the sudden touch as he looked up at you. It was about 9pm at this point so it was already dark.

“Thanks Simon, and also thanks for the food and helping me with my boxes. I think I’m going to be heading to bed though soon. I had a really long drive here.” You explained to him as the two of you started to walk back out onto the porch where you had already flipped the porch Once he was finally gone you let out a loud sigh as you closed your eyes and leaned against the door for a minute to collect yourself. It had taken a lot out of you to just hold that conversation for that long especially with everything you’ve been through in the past month overall.

You walked back into the bedroom down the hallway where boxes had accumulated in the corner of the room. Scouring through the boxes for a few minutes until you found your bag and changed into something a bit more comfortable so you could lay down. You got underneath the rose imprinted quilt and sighed softly, pulling the covers up to your chin because of the chill in the house. You’d have to bring that up to the landlord when you met them. You reached over and turn off the light from the lamp before closing your eyes for the night.

………………

“What a shame…” He thinks as he looks at the figure laying in the bedroom from the end of the hallway. Don’t worry, my love. You’ll meet me very soon.

____________________

Zachary and Simon belong to: @clrdgaze

#Curse my good writing skills of wanting a setting set up #I wanted him to be in chapter one but yall just gonna have to be patient cause this shit is already at 2K WORDS #But we're #Planning on making multiple chapters so stay tuned 🖤#yandere vn #yandere visual novel #yandere #male yandere #visual novel #coloredgaze #yandere male #clrdgazevn #colored gaze #coloredgazevn #Please please let there be no mistakes or i will [REDACTED] myself

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silent-raven13 · 1 year

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Miles wants attention!

Like every couple, the one that get showered with love carves for attention. It's fine, it's normal to want undesirable love and cuddles to their significant other. It's how love languages are build, and a special bond is form.

However, there's a specific couple that often spoils their lover a bit too much. Hobie Brown, Spider-Punk from Earth 138b showers his Sunflower with love, cuddles, and snuggles wherever they are at and whenever. It's his only love language he ever shown to his darling Miles Morales, Spider-man from Earth 1610.

Anyone from Spider Society will tell you that Hobie will do whatever to give his Sunflower everything and anything, no matter what! If his Miles wants hot chocolate, he's there to give it to him. If his Sunflower needs blanket when he's cold, he is there with a jacket for his luv. If Miles ever so much carves for sweets or sodas, Hobie is there with a basket of candy.

Yes, the tall Spider-punk loves to give his all to show his dedication to their love, and he only ever does it with Miles. Gwen always say they are meant to be, since she never saw Hobie so caring. The punker loves to carry around his darling just because. It's one of those things when people do when their in love.

For Miles absolutely loves Hobie's affections, the way his boyfriend would appeared out of no where to be with him gets his heart fluttered. In the beginning of their relationship, he was too shy of all of Hobie's love languages, the gifts, the cuddles even the kisses! Miles felt due to his lack of experiences he didn't deserve it, but over time he comes to love it. He loves the way Hobie spoils him, not by material items! That's only a bit part of it.

He loves how Hobie is always there for him. To listen and have deep conversations about anything that pop in their minds. They rant together, share similar bonds, and yet be so different. They share their differences trying to understand each other point of views, never disregarding or hurting each other's feelings. It's like they were the perfect pair.

Now, they do have their ups and downs at times. All couples tends to, it's normal for relationships to talk about their problems and build on it. That's how it can better. The same goes for Miles and Hobie, they fought for small things like Hobie leaving a muddy mess in Miles room floor and through the window. Miles told him many times to always clean up afterwards or have his boots clean. Or the time Hobie didn't like Miles' organizing his vinyl records in order, because he prefers his chaotic style. He has it in a way where it's based on the feel or rhythm of the music. Small things that ends in calmly talks.

When it's large problems, that's where things get a little rocky. Hobie's jealousy use to be a small thing until recently his outburst about Miles and Miguel. It's a terrible issue that Miles always tried to calm him down for. The two had a very deep long discussion like always Hobie showers Miles with gifts and apologize.

Same with Miles being a people pleaser, Hobie hates to see his baby getting taken advantage off. He always had to remind him to say no. One time Miles ended up saying yes to a lot of missions because he didn't want to disappoint his friends, and colleagues, which causes him to overwork himself, almost injuring himself in the process. That really ticked off Hobie, they had a heated argument. Luckily, they were able to talk it out, and Miles promised to speak up.

In the end, they are the cutest couple around. They hold hands, snuggle and kiss whenever they can to show it. The two are what inspired other Spider-heroes to find love even through the worst of times. They show how they made it happen, and been going on strong. There's nothing wrong with them! We should try to be more like them! 💖

"Nothing wrong with them? We should try to be more like them?" Miles read the blog from his tablet that is from Spider Society's technology, "What the hell is Pav writing us on his Spydr So-city blog!"

Recently Miguel had a group of Spider-heroes create an app with the help of Lyla, of course, to share blogs, videos, or anything social media related. Its a way to keep Spider-heroes make new friends, or date. A lot of lonely spider-heroes started to get more active in talking through online chats or share similar bonds. It's an amazing app, for sure. Miles ended up finding out there's more variants of him, which got him super pumped.

"Heh, you know the lad, he's our number one fan." Hobie chuckles being next to his lover while playing his guitar.

The two were in Hobie's boat house tailored into his punk aesthetics spending some quality time together. By together, they ended up doing the nasty. Miles in on his boyfriend's bed being naked with parts of their sheets covering his lower part of his body. Hobie is laying on Miles' left side with his naked bared chest out showing off his two pierced nipples, being move covered from his mid-west to his feet. His hands diddling his guitar strings having to play a certain tune in his head for his next song.

"It's just weird... how did he know about me being a people pleaser! Pav is being very creepy, man!" Miles sat up to show Hobie the blog, "Literally, this dude started making a fan page... we're called Punkflower?"

"Mm, makes sense, luv. You're my Sunflower and I'm a punk, thought I don't agree with the label," Hobie nodded with agreement, "It's a perfect name for us. You don't like it?"

"I think it's kinda weird for him to write about us knowing he's our closest friends." Miles said, "Now, I gotta make sure he's not watching us so intensely with his fangirling."

"Oh darling, you'll get use to the spotlight. The attention is great." Hobie didn't mind it, he knew Pav means no harm. "Besides, Pav is just making that blog because a Spider-man said something about us not lasting."

"I'm not good being on the spotlight, but I'm fine with your attention, bae. Also, that's crazy! Are there Spider-people praying for our down fall." Miles snickers in amusement as he went to read the comments. "Look, 'cute couple need to know if Hobie is top or vice versa!' From an anon! Why they want to know that?"

Hobie saw how shy his boyfriend gets about their private sex life, they rarely talk about for it. It's only them that share this special moment together. No one else need to know. "Luv, it's fine. As long no one actually knows."

"But it obvious! Your a top!"

"but your a power bottom." He pointed out making his boyfriend flustered, "Sunflower, come here. Come me, it's fine." He pulls Miles close to kiss him on the lips.

"I just like your attention, which you should be giving me, now." He pouts, seeing how his Hobie is busy playing with his guitar. "You been on that guitar all day!"

"Not all day, luv. We did have some fun a couple moments ago." Hobie grins widely, "I just need to finish this bloody tune, it's not working when I do this." He plays a bit to see if it would work with the lyrics he's making up in his head.

Miles merely pouted, "Take a break, bae. This week I rarely got to see you and the only time I get the chance, your busy with your guitar."

"Just a second, Sunflower. I'm almost there. Read more of Pav's blog." Hobie said while having his focus on his guitar still trying to play his song.

Miles sighs feeling a bit upset about it, but he couldn't force him to pay attention. Or can he? "I'm not that sexy with flirting... at least I don't think. Fuck it, let's try it." He went back to snuggle against his boyfriend, letting his hand rub his chest.

"What is it, luv?" Hobie asked thinking this is weird. Miles was never confident with his flirting or being sexy- well not on purpose. Naturally he can be sexy without to overthink or flirt casually. Sometimes his Sunflower view himself not as attractive or handsome, which is bonkers, Miles is a cute guy!

"Nothing I just want to feel you, baby." His voice soft almost whisper like, his plump lips gently graze against Hobie's ear.

Oh.

Is Hobie attracted to this method? Hmmm.

"Luv, as much as I would love to hold you right now! I really like to-" Miles hands on his right shoulder, then he blew in Hobie's ear giving him tingles. The shudder felt delightful it made him turned pink. "But baby," Miles's whispers then in Spanish, "Te deseo tanto ahora mismo, mi amor."

Ohhh, when Miles' speak Spanish like that, Hobie likey.

"Sunflower, you know what Spanish does to me," He turns his head to make out with his partner then pulled away, "I need to work on this song. My concert is coming up."

Miles kisses him again, then licks Hobie's ear lobe with another blow to the ear. "Okay, recordaré eso, mi vida." Before going back to his tablet.

The punker bites his bottom lip thinking about this. His band are waiting for him to finish this stupid song, but his Sunflower needs me, now. But the song! But his Sunflower! "Ah, fuck it! They can wait on this bloody crap." Hobie finally said, a small grin spread on Miles' face as he hear him.

The nineteen year old placed his guitar to his side of the bed, then quickly turned to Miles. He tackles his boyfriend to tongue kissed, causing him to squeal out loud.

"Hobie! That tickles." Miles giggles, loving the attention his punker is giving him.

"You wanted this, darling." Hobie purrs.

"I know! I love you, baby!"

"I love you, too Sunflower!"

#punkflower #miles morales #hobie brown #spider verse #spiderverse #spider man across the spiderverse #spiderman #across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #flowerpunk

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inanisomnia · 2 years

Text

ೃ⁀➷the apricity of your touch / chishiya x gn!reader

summary: who knew that a single touch brings back strings of emotions and memories?

warning/s: mentions of blood, implications of sex, slighty ooc, s2 spoilers, profanities, and slightly ungrammatical

word count: 1663

okay but damn this got me researching about things that are medically related - basically me trying to sound proficient and knowledgeable in the medical field... and ngl i enjoyed writing this i hope you do find this read enjoyable as well TOT

oh and btw my writing style here is inspired by @archieimagines ' antidote (a chishiya ff as well) bc damn we were having a quiz in physics and it randomly pops up in my head making me all giggly. idk if i did chishiya justice here tho, i tried istg tot

++ reqs are closed; will finish my remaining works first before i open it again ^^

if you enjoyed reading this, lemme know by liking and reblogging it would mean a lot - only do it if its okay with you. <33 enjoy !!

"i'm sorry. we did the best that we can do." a glum voice spoke out that was soon drowned out by a series of wails, and pained cries of desperation coming from the woman with a frail body, her body shaking from the pain of it all. this is a sound that has been a little too familiar to the ash-blonde-haired man that stood a few blocks away from the scene for he was a former messenger of unpleasant updates. he took a deep breath and tore his gaze away from the weeping woman, and walked away.

his footsteps reverberated throughout the bland and empty hallways; the shiny, vinyl composite flooring – all covered in a pale color. sullen walls painted in white, glass walls separating each room, and compartments, decorated with nothing but a single table, and pair of chairs planted in front, and ivory curtains that hid the examination bed from behind the doctor's table. there was a bit of greenery found inside each room – a small pot of succulents and snake plants, a forlorn attempt at making the area look somewhat lively and comforting. louver lights flickering and blinking - illuminating the dust littered particularly in the air. empty hallways filled with the ghosts of past mistakes and hope delicately revived.

everything about the premise is melancholic and a reminder of how futile and vulnerable humans can be once a part of them starts to fluctuate and fail.

"shuntaro, you have a patient at the consulting room, i think they're here for a brief check-up." a silvery voice chimed in from behind the reception lobby, her hair tied in a sleek ponytail, with a clean make-up look.

the man named chishiya nodded in response and immediately head towards the elevator. Its been 3 months and a half since the meteor struck their city - thousands of people died brutally, and multitudinous casualties.

for quite some time, after chishiya woke up in the same dreary bed located in the lackluster rooms in the hospital, he had a few realizations - actually, lots of realizations to be honest, as if something inside him cleared. if you died for a minute, for sure after you woke up you would look at life in a different light - that’s what chishiya thought.

aside from this, he also has this gnawing feeling in the pits of his stomach, that hefty void in his heart he can’t explain at all, as if he was missing something or he was meant to do something but he forgot about it - and god, this was frustrating as hell for the platinum-haired man.

the elevator dinged signifying that he reached the floor he needed to go to, abruptly disrupting the enigmatic trance chishiya was in. his slender, veined careful hands turned the cold knob of the consulting room, and there, he saw a dainty figure, hunched over - hands placed on their knees, delicate fingertips drumming in anticipation.

you seemed to be lost in your own reverie because you didn’t lift your head up when chishiya entered the room - you were biting the insides of your cheek, and your hair stubbornly falling on your face despite being tucked behind your ear.

“good afternoon,” chishiya greeted you, his voice husky yet silvery at the same time, caught your attention as you instantly whipped your head towards the man who spoke in front of you. his hands were both inside his pockets, a single black pen clipped in his lab coat’s chest pocket.

you stood and greeted him back - the man briefly smiled and quietly walked towards the consulting table. his hair was gracefully tied up in a ponytail. the air conditioner in the room blew a gentle, wintry breeze, and the moment chishiya entered the room, it seemed like his woody, and musk scent delicately mixed into the whole ambiance.

the man wearing the medical coat then initiated the check-up - he asked a series of questions and listened to your concerns and as your words stretch into hazy sentences, something about you feels oddly familiar to him who intently stared at you as you talk, nods every now and then and he tried to analyze, not what you're trying to say, but your features. god, you look so familiar, but he can't even remember when and where he saw or met you. was it at that coffee shop downtown? or on the thrifting book event that was hosted 4 months ago that he accidentally stumbled upon? he sighed and looked down.

“i’m really sorry for the inconvenience, i -” you apologized, apparently, you were here for a monthly check-up but dr. kobayashi wasn’t around, but it didn’t bother chishiya at all - he was intrigued by you.

“It’s fine, no worries.” chishiya replied, shaking his head as he smiled and waved off your statement. he mentioned you to go to the examination bed located near the window, a few blocks away on the left side of the table.

there was tranquility laced in the atmosphere, a comfortable silence, between the two of you - chishiya followed you close behind, after grabbing his stethoscope from the drawer.

ೃ⁀➷ i don't wanna live forever ; zayn malik and taylor swift

the distance between the two of you was closed the moment chishiya carefully placed his stethoscope two intercostals beneath your left collarbone - “take a few deep breaths,” he requested, voice low and hoarse, but incredibly honeyed. the cold metal of the stethoscope’s bell seeped through the fabric of your clothing, making you heave your breath deeper.

chishiya’s eyes lose focus every now and then, torn whether to look in your eyes or anywhere else as he listens to your hushed heartbeats. your body was tense and stiff - so was your gaze. “nicely done, just a few more and we're done.” he mused, because somehow, he can’t breathe as well - there was this electrifying aura that engulfed the two of you; he switched his instrument and placed it the same exact distance beneath your clavicle, this time on the right side.

“Where the fuck were you? I was so worried.”

maybe two or three harsh flashes of vivid images popped up in his head, an array of disorganized thoughts and memories he doesn’t know where and when happened - he gulped. what the hell is happening?

down. he placed his stethoscope on the 4th intercostal space of your ribs, between your chest- “breathe,” he repeated, this time, with emphasis.

perched at the second floor’s railings, you were staring down at the people partying their lives away, their hands either full with glasses of cocktails and whiskey paired with intoxicating lit cigarette sticks, dim embers falling gracefully on the ground, contrasting the scintillating array of led lights that surround the premise, there you were, directly proportional to him, eyes full of genuine adoration and fleeting lust.

ೃ⁀➷everything has changed ; taylor swift and ed sheeran

down, again. beneath your chest, located in the middle of your 5th intercostal space - “come find me after we get out of here, okay? i’ll wait for you.” your ragged, and sweet voice croaked out before you fell to the ground. chishiya watched as you bathe in your own pool of blood, body covered in stab wounds, bruises, and fractured bones that you acquired after your fight with the king of spades.

ah. yes. you - the one who pulled him back to the halo of hopes amidst the hell that most of you players call, borderland. his saving grace, the only thin thread of humanity and sanity that keeps him in check every now and then. you, who he shared most of his nights with, souls and bodies entangled under the sheets, finding solace and pleasure in each other. you who would join him in his insanity on starless night skies boring each other's insecurities and deepest regrets to each other.

you, who he considered as his serendipity of kindness that he found in the discord of hostility - the person he never knew he would fall for, and give his all to see back again, after the hellish nightmare both of you shared.

“all done.” the taller one smiled, as he helped you get off the examination bed - he held your hands to assist you and your skin felt warm against his freezing ones, soft against his calloused touch, your gaze calm contrasting his frenzied eyes, masked by a half smile, and curt bows.

seconds stretched into entangled minutes - and chishiya was contemplating whether to ask you about what he suddenly remembered upon relishing in your serene presence.

“thank you. have a nice day ahead.” you bowed as you bid your goodbye to him.

fuck.

he thought, the uneasiness crawling under his skin violently the moment you were gone from his sight - should he take this chance? or was he just hallucinating? would it be weird if approaches you and ask you that question? he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or anxious around him.

but damn, those memories that popped up in his head are as real as he could feel in his heart, mind, and body. he sighed and ran outside. he won't overthink this one anymore.

hasty and desperate footsteps echoed on each hallway and floor that he strided in a hurry - upon reaching the lobby, he whipped his head to search for your figure only to find you almost outside. he heaved a deep breath and called your name that halted your pace towards the main door.

“i’m really sorry to ask you this question and it might be unprofessional of me, but i’m sure we’ve met before.” he breathed, his bangs covering half of his confused face.

you chuckled. “i thought you forgot.”

relieved, he smiled back. “almost.”

“would you like to have lunch with me, dr. shuntaro?” you quipped, and offered your feeble warm hands.

“it would be an honor.” and placed his hand on yours - the apricity of your touch reminded him of what comfort and cloud 9 felt like.

<33

#chishiya headcanons #chishiya x reader #chishiya shuntaro x reader #chishiya x you #aib chishiya #aib s2 #aib imagines #aib fanfic #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya fluff #shuntaro chishiya #imawa no kuni no alice

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