#AS USUAL. even though i worked hard and clocked the hours it still got fucked bc im fucking. cursed
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basically threw away £20 on my nails today so was already getting weird bc i apparently cannot be normal about money and then my paycheck came through just for my manager to have knocked off 11 hours worth of pay. so naturally i am crying in a dark room about it
#this is such a girl moment wdym you’re crying about your fucking nails. couldn’t explain it to you if i tried#im just an utter FREAK about money and then for my payslip to get fucked as well. whyyyyy would you do that#im not built for the working world truly idk how sensitive people do it bc i am NOT im tough as shit 99% of the time and i STILL can’t deal#just give me my fucking money it’s not fair 😭😭😭 i worked hard 😭😭😭#and the dumbest brattiest part of this is that the thing that tipped me over the edge is that my mum didn’t offer to pay for my nails#like how ridiculous and spoiled is that but still i was so so angry at myself about fucking them up and it’s £25 to get them done tomorrow#and I’ve worked so hard for her this summer and both days I’ve been in town I’ve got her things#like nothing spenny but I’ve just thought of her and got her things I know she’d like just to be nice#and £25 is NOTHING TO HER AND SHE DIDNT EVEN OFFER 😭😭 she even joked it off#she was like ‘your dad would offer to pay if he was here but I believe in lessons’ GIRL FUCK YOUR LESSONS I WANT MY NAILS DONE 😭😭😭#why am i actually in tears over this. this is so silly. now all my money is fucked and im going to be the skint one when we go to dublin#AS USUAL. even though i worked hard and clocked the hours it still got fucked bc im fucking. cursed#im aware im being dramatic and this isn’t even about the amount of money i have atm i promise this isn’t some desperate bankruptcy claim#like for once im actually fine money wise it’s just all been FUCKED and my dates are now FUCKED bc i have to wait for next paycheck now#and it’s so unfair bc usually things go wrong for me bc im DUMB and mess it up LIKE MY NAIL APPOINTMENT#but for work and dublin i literally planned it perfectly and did the hours and it still didn’t work#like what is WRONG with me. i hate being an adult i need a sugar daddy ive had enough#the message I sent my manager…. scathing…. ik his scared of confrontation ass is panicking. give me my fucking MONEY#hella goes home
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A Spoonful of Medicine
Summary: After recovering from a brief bout of illness, you find yourself craving sex. Of course Satoru and Suguru come to your rescue.
A/N: I would definitely try to get myself to be sick so they could take care of me. Also cause I want them to fuck me but that's not the point.
CW: Smut, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Sick, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Spit Kink, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Top Suguru, Switch Gojo, Creampie, Fem Reader, AFAB Reader
W/C: 4,018
Soft.
Soft fabric greets your skin as your body rouses awake. You were certain that you were laying on clouds among the gods until your eyes open. Your room fills your vision, your eyes slowly coming into focus.
You check the bedside clock, the time being 11:00 am.
Fuck.
You had slept for 13 hours.
You turn back to look at the ceiling, slowly waking up fully. Trying to recollect memories from the previous night you find yourself coming up empty handed. The farthest you got were bits and pieces of Suguru and Satoru, their warm hands gentle as they cradled you while you drifted in and out of consciousness. While your brain tries to gather the pieces together, a soft scent floats over to you, a mix of meat and spices.
Wait.
You can smell?
It had been days since your nose worked, but now it felt suddenly clear, the scents of the room overwhelming you. You were able to smell Satoru’s cologne on the tshirt you wore, along with the detergent of the sheets below you. In addition to that, you were able to smell something coming from the kitchen.
Suguru must be cooking.
Where was Satoru?
You had been sick for the past four days, nearly bedridden with a cold that hit you like a freight train. The two boys had been at your beck and call the entire time. You almost felt smothered by the amount of love they poured into you. It felt good though, to be cared for.
You sit up and throw your legs off the side of the bed while stretching them, your joints cracking as you shake off the nearly day long slumber. Turning to the nightstand, you grab the thermometer that Suguru had left. With a beep you shove the stick in your mouth, pulling it out when the time is up. 99 F. No fever. You didn't feel sick. In fact, you felt refreshed. Better than you have in a long time.
You crumble up the front of your shirt, bringing it up to your face. Several large whiffs later you feel your head swoon. It had been days since you were able to smell him.
He preferred to wear woody colognes, the addicting cedar scent covering you entirely.
Satoru comes in wearing a face mask, holding medicine in his hands.
“Wake up bunny, it’s time for your next-“ he slides in the room, looking at you.
“You’re up.”
“I’m up.”
He walks over to you, inspecting your face.
“You don’t sound like a 70 year old smoker anymore.”
“And you still sound like an idiot.”
Satoru chuckles at your feistiness. He missed it. He knew to start getting worried about you when you didn’t bite back.
Satoru sets the medicine on the bedside table. Now that he was up close, you were able to get a good look at him. He looked good. He usually did. Okay, he always did. His white hair was fluffy, with bright blue eyes poking out above the mask. He was wearing a black shirt and boxers. Fuck, he looked…
“Hello?” Satoru’s bending over, waving in front of your face.
You get even more flustered once he’s up close. The smell of his shampoo and body wash, an intoxicating mix, over flows your senses. You weren’t freezing from a fever anymore. No, you were hot. Undoubtedly, earnestly, hot. It was almost hard to breathe under the heat of his gaze.
He lifts up a hand and grabs your chin, long fingers splaying on the side of your face. He tilts your head side to side, inspecting something, before facing you forward again. Your stomach burns with need, fingers tingling at the close proximity. You had been so sick you almost forgot what it felt like to be anything but ill. Even if you could forget it, your body hardly did. A familiar sensation builds up between your legs as your eyes lock with Satoru’s.
Something comes over you, and you’re ripping off his mask.
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise but he doesn’t have time to ask you what you’re doing as your lips are on his in an instant. You hold his shoulders tight, your lips melding to his. If you could fuse with him, you would. Satoru hums against your lips before pulling away, looking deep into your eyes.
“What, are you trying to infect me? That’s low, even for you.”
“Want you.” Your voice comes out soft.
Satoru audibly swallows, face flashing as if he’s considering it.
He always did give in faster than Suguru.
“You need to rest.”
“No, I need you.”
It’s hard to not pick up on the desperation in your voice. If it were any other time, Satoru might make fun of you. He couldn’t bring himself to make a quip this time though. Not with the way your eyes dragged across his body, your mouth twisting and turning.
Your pussy tingles, your body finally catching up to four days without sex. Yeah sure you were hungry and thirsty, but more than that you were horny.
Satoru wets his bottom lip, stepping closer. His lifts his knee between your legs, towering over you. He was even more beautiful up close.
“Yeah? Careful what you wish for, bunny.”
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down. Lips lock and tongues dance. He tastes like cereal, sugary goodness embedded in the plush of his lips. You move backward, allowing him more space. His body inches closer to yours as he crawls on the bed, his large body covering yours. Even though there are only centimeters between you two, you make up your mind that he isn’t close enough. Satoru is pliable, body easy to move as you throw him on his back, crawling on top of him. There’s a hunger deep in his eyes as he watches you take control. Your chest heaves as you stare down at him, not knowing where to start but knowing you needed to begin somewhere.
You smash your lips against his, anticipation pouring from you. It had been days since you touched him, days since you tasted him. The second he opens his mouth, your tongue curls against his. You groan in response to the flavor of his spit. He feels like heaven beneath you, his muscles perfectly molding against yours. You grind your hips, searching for some sort of friction and his cock begins to harden underneath you. Satoru’s hands take hold of your hips, easily gliding you back and forth over him.
Satoru didn’t think you were sick anymore, but even if you were he wouldn’t care.
Each time the pressure of his cock nudges your clit, you let out a moan. There were layers of fabric between you two, but it almost didn’t matter. Your entire body was overtly sensitive, your skin tingling with excitement. You buck your hips back forth over him while your tongue explores his mouth. Satoru lets out soft grunts whenever your lips parts from his.
You don’t pay any mind to the door creaking open, much rather focusing on the man below you.
Suguru walks in the room with a tray of food in his hands, his long hair flowing down his back.
“Is that your way of getting her to take her medicine? I guess that makes sense for you Satoru.”
Satoru tries to pull away to bite back a smart remark but you aren’t having it, chasing after his lips with yours.
Suguru walks in the room, setting the tray of food on the beside table. He didn’t feel like he was interrupting anything, so he made no move to rush out. If anything he was curious. Last night you could barely get up to go to the bathroom and now you were devouring Satoru. Above all else, he wanted to make sure you weren’t pushing yourself.
The presence of Suguru didn’t deter you at all. You only had the man below you on your mind. Lips lock as you move your hips faster, the pleasure beginning to build in the pit of your stomach.
Suguru slowly walks around the end of the bed, choosing to sit at the edge next to Satoru’s head.
He speaks your name in a reprimanding tone, eyes narrowed in on your head. You whimper against Satoru, refusing to part from him until Suguru says your name again.
It forces you out of your stupor, making you raise your head up to him. He looks weary, his eyes hollow with dull hair. Suguru hadn’t been sleeping much this past week. He wanted to be awake in case you needed anything. It was so very him. A pang of tenderness shoots through your heart at the sight of your other boyfriend. They were wearing themselves thin taking care of you. But all you could focus on was taking more. Your lungs pant as you look at him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” A stupid question at best, he knows what you’re doing.
Your teeth dig in your bottom lip while you try to move against Satoru again.
“You’re sick.” The way he says it makes it sound like it’s the end of the conversation.
“No I’m not, I feel okay.” Your voice catches him by surprise.
You did sound better.
He lifts a hand up and places it against your forehead, trying to check for any signs that you were still burning up.
“Do you?”
“Mhm.” You fidget beneath his watchful gaze.
The way he was looking at you made you to feel so exposed. Like a live wire laying next to a puddle of water.
“Alright I guess, as long as you don’t get Satoru sick too. I can’t handle two sickly babies.”
It’s an attempt at a joke, one that would normally get you. You’re too needy to laugh, instead choosing to resume ministrations on Satoru. You press down until you feel his cock against you again. The pressure against your clit forces a moan from your throat. He felt so fucking good beneath you. You bury your face against Satoru’s neck, your breaths coming out in quick succession. Suguru places his hand on your head, stroking your hair while you rub against Satoru. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself. It was instinctual really, to keep his hands on you at all times. Satoru was the same way. Goosebumps crawl over Satoru as he feels your breaths against his skin.
Your body moves faster, your moans sounding more salacious. Up and down. Up and down. You slide your pussy against Satoru, setting the perfect pace. Satoru’s hard cock presses against your nub, your soaked underwear clinging to you.
More, just a little more…
Satoru holds your waist, his long fingers digging into your tender skin as he drags you back and forth. It was almost embarrassing how fast you were able to make his cock hard. Honestly, he didn’t know how much longer he would last with the way you were going. Your whimpering floats over to his ears, immediately breaking any cogs that might have been working in his head.
It doesn’t take long until you’re pushed over the edge, reaching a breaking point as you cum fully clothed rubbing against his cock. Your movements still while the noise dies down.
“Did you just cum?” Suguru asks, disbelief highlighting in his tone.
The boys know exactly what you sound like when you cum, they were just surprised as it had never happened so fast before.
You nuzzle further into Satoru’s neck, trying to soak up his warmth. You groan against his skin, feeling the aftershocks rush through your body.
“Felt good.”
Your words are almost inaudible against him. Pushing yourself up on your hands you stare down at Satoru. His cheeks are flushed, eyes blown out.
“Get on my face.” Satoru says, his words breathless and almost pained.
You mean to question him, but there’s no room for debate, not with the way his eyes are trained on you.
You shimmy off his body, swiping your clothes off. Even though you just came, your body was still hot, lust burning your skin as each second passed by. Suguru watches as you crawl on top of Satoru’s face, sticky cum covering your pussy. So swollen and needy, Suguru could feel his mouth start to water. Satoru sticks his tongue out and pushes it through your slit, relishing in the moan you let out.
Suguru’s eyes are hazy when you look at him, desire pooling in the depths of his caramel gaze. Your pussy clenches when you meet his eyes. Satoru definitely noticed, as he lets out a groan into you. You look down and see Suguru’s cock beginning to harden in his pants. Fumbling with the zipper, you slide his cock out.
Beautiful, every part of him was beautiful.
It’s hard in your hand, drops of precum pouring from the tip. You wrap your hand around him, sliding down his cock. Suguru shudders at the motion, his abs tightening. He and Satoru didn’t get up to anything while you were sick as they were too busy doting on you.
He didn’t realize how much he needed this until it was actually happening.
Euphoria washes over him as your hand slides along his cock. He throws his head back with his eyes closed, enjoying how your skin feels against his. He loved Satoru’s skin and hands as well, but there was something different about the softness in your palms. He lowers his head and spits on his cock, body tensing once your hand pushes the spit down.
“Just like that baby.” Suguru coos, lips barely parted as he stares down at your fist.
You whimper, watching as Suguru’s spit covers his cock. It’s a filthy sight, the way his saliva spreads around. Heat rushes to your core as Satoru swipes his tongue through you. When you came in your pants, Satoru really had no other choice but to clean you up. His large fingers press into the soft skin of your thighs, leaving you no room to squirm around. His tongue grazes against your clit, forcing you back down when you try to jump away from the contact. Normally he would chuckle at your sensitivity. But he was incredibly serious right now. You started all this, so you were going to take it.
Suguru groans softly as your hand glides against his cock, he was hard as a rock as your hand tightens around him. He really wanted you to rest all day today but fuck, he couldn’t complain with the way your fingers swiped his tip.
You did seem better, he reminds himself.
“Satoru, I can’t take it.” You murmur, his tongue dragging out a slew of moans from you.
“Don’t focus on him baby, focus on me.” Suguru asks, trying to keep his composure.
He tilts your chin to look at him, staring deep into your eyes while your hand strokes him. You had been with the two men for years, and been in love with them for even longer, so why did the intensity of Suguru’s gaze knock you off your feet every time? You dig your teeth into your bottom lip while letting out a whine, the suction on Satoru’s mouth only increasing as time passes.
Suguru watches your face morph from pain to pleasure and back over, and he briefly thinks about asking Satoru to slow down. He doesn’t though, he would never admit it but he secretly gets off on the cruelty they show you. He likes the way you push them away, only to be begging for more moments later.
Satoru isn’t prim and proper as he eats you out. Your room is filled with the sounds of his mouth laving your pussy, the noise embarrassing you.
“So fucking noisy Satoru.” Suguru murmurs, reaching a thumb up to glide across your bottom lip.
You grind your hips harder against Satoru’s tongue, letting out a moan once his lips wrap around your clit.
“Does it feel good, baby?” Suguru speaks lowly, hypnotized with the way you were using Satoru.
“Yes, fuck, yes.”
Suguru hums at your answer, clenching his teeth while you rub his cock.
“Think you’re ready for more?”
You’re at a loss for words so all you can do is nod, very desperately. Suguru cracks a grin before deciding he can’t wait any longer, standing up and moving you off Satoru’s face. Satoru looks delirious under you, your cum smearing across his lips and cheeks. He looks like he wants to complain, but he keeps his mouth shut. Whatever Suguru says, goes, and Satoru is aware of that.
Suguru lays you down on the bed, spreading your legs so wide it almost borders on painful. He slides in between your legs, giving you no time to catch your breath while he rubs his cock down your pussy.
“You scared us princess.” He murmurs, pushing his cock inside you.
Your eyes roll back in your head as you feel him stretch you out.
Suguru’s face pinches as he bottoms out, your pussy giving him little to no room to move. You hadn’t been sick for that long, but it felt like it. His cock had begun to forget the shape of your walls. It seemed you did too, your pussy stretching far more slowly than normal. But that didn’t matter, he would mold you once more.
Satoru pouts behind Suguru, briefly appreciating his form before scooting up beside you. He slides his clothes off and grabs your hand, guiding it towards his hard cock.
Your body moves on impulse as you squeeze him, thoughtlessly guiding your hand up and down his cock. The both of you look like a wreck, while Suguru looks like he’s only getting started.
Suguru watches the minuscule changes in your expression as he pulls out, before slamming himself back in. The moan you let out is pornographic. He almost blames you for how fucked you’re gonna get because honestly you gave him no choice looking and sounding like that.
Your eyes feel droopy, but you refuse to shut them. The sight of the two men before you makes your mind run, your body already so close to cumming.
Satoru, his head rung low, bangs obscuring his beautiful eyes as you pump his cock. His stomach tightening each time your fingers reach his tip before gliding back down.
Suguru, whose face was the definition of sinful in the way he watched you, pressing his cock deep inside your pussy.
It’s almost impossible to divide your attention between the two. Each time you slow down on Satoru, he lets out a begging shaking breath, but whenever you lose focus on Suguru he’s fucking into you faster.
It’s like they were competing for your attention.
Suguru grips your other hand and brings it to his mouth, pushing your fingers past his lips so he can suck them. The feeling only increases your sensitivity, making your moans come out louder.
He pulls them out and you throw your head back when you notice the saliva dripping from your fingers. He was so fucking hot, and he didn’t even try. He guides them to your pussy, resting them against your clit. Your pussy was soaked already between your cum and Satoru’s spit, but that didn’t matter. You would gladly accept whatever Suguru gave you. You try to circle your clit, but you can’t. Not at the pace that would get you off.
Suguru slams into you, tilting your hips in a way that makes his cock rub against your gspot. He notices that you’re having a hard time focusing on rubbing your clit so he slows down, pulling his cock out before pressing it back in.
Cute, he thought. Your poor little head could hardly focus on everything at once.
Your legs trap his hips in, fingers starting to move faster. Both men have their eyes on you as you moan, body contorting as you inch closer to the high.
Fingers skip along your clit as you feel yourself clench around Suguru. Desperate moans fall from your lips as your vision goes dark. It comes on suddenly, your body shaking beneath Suguru as you cum. They let out moans watching you, their bodies reacting to the way you sound.
It hits Suguru harder than it hits Satoru. He can feel the way your pussy clings to him, the way your body trembles beneath his large frame. There’s no reason to take it easy on you anymore so he starts fucking into you more at a rough pace. His cock pounds inside you, teetering between pleasure and pain. Your hand flies up to grip his chest, fingers slippery from your cum.
“Come on baby you can take it.” He finds himself saying, noticing the way you try to back off.
“No I- it’s too much, it’s too much.” You plea, his cock penetrating you.
He loves how pathetic you sound.
Your pussy clings to his cock as his hips slow down, his cock jumping as he cums inside you. It almost feels like he’s suffocating with the way you grip him. He stills completely, relaxing in content. It felt like a weight was lifted off his chest when he came.
Satoru shakes you both from your post sex bliss. He’s a mess beside you, body slick with sweat with a jutted out lip.
“Aw, poor baby.” Suguru says, eyes glazed over as he watches Satoru.
“Shut up.” Satoru has no bite to his tone.
Suguru’s eyes narrow at the comment. He leans over, cock still plugging you up, and grabs Satoru’s face.
“Watch your mouth.”
Your pussy clenches at Suguru’s tone. His lip quirks up at your reaction before he trains it down. Your hand rubs Satoru’s cock faster now, body trembling at the idea of making him cum. The noises he lets out were a mix between hot and cute. He liked acting all tough, but you knew whenever he was in the sheets his voice betrayed him.
Your hand tightens around his cock, brows furrowing when his hips jump to meet your hand. You were so eager to watch him fall apart in front of you.
“F-fuck.” Satoru’s delirious as he murmurs to himself.
His cock was so hard it hurt. From the taste of your pussy on his tongue to him watching Suguru fuck you, he could hardly take it anymore.
“F-fuck, hah, I,” Satoru groans your name.
Suguru watches your slippery hand tug Satoru’s cock. He did feel a little bad that Satoru hadn’t finished yet. Suguru leans down and lets his teeth dig into Satoru’s throat, sucking lightly. The mixture of sensations causes Satoru to hurl closer to the edge. He humps your fist pathetically as he grabs onto Suguru’s hair.
“G-gonna cum.” It’s hard to hear him over the sound of his cock in your hand.
Suguru reaches a hand down, covering yours, and starts to rub Satoru’s cock. The feeling of his palm pressing into yours makes you squeeze Satoru harder. He groans at the pressure, his stomach flexing.
Satoru cums hard in both your hands, the white silky liquid overflowing your fingers. Suguru removes his hand first, licking his fingers as he slides out of your pussy.
It’s hard not to complain at the feeling but you keep it in. You use a towel that Suguru provides to wipe up Satoru’s cum. Your body feels way heavier, sinking into the bed after everything. Satoru flops beside you, always extremely needy after sex. His arms wrap around you, pulling you into his body.
Suguru stares at the tray of food, his brows pinched.
“Guess I’ll have to heat that up.”
You chuckle. Eventually you would eat, but for now all you wanted to do was lay down with the both of them.
“You don’t need to feed me anymore, I’m feeling better.”
“I can tell.” Suguru murmurs.
The boys laugh at you as you all push together, fitting together like a perfect puzzle, warmth spreading between you.
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heyyyy can I pls req something where Mike tries to make it up to the reader after he says something wrong in their 1st fight as a couple? like “I don’t want to lose you” as an apology and they get back together or something along those lines? tysm I really enjoy ur work :))
But of course!!!
Wanting, Waiting
Mike Schmidt x Gender Neutral! Reader
Summery: Overworked and underfed, you'll go to sleep once some decent work is complete. However, a late night turns into a day long fight.
Tags: No use of Y/N, no gender specific pronouns for Reader, pre-established relationship, argument, cursing, Reader and Mike both got some shit going on, hints of an eating disorder, overworking, hurt/comfort, crying, mentions of: suicide/death, depression, drugging, and kidnapping. Vulnerability is gross.
Notes: 'Slip' walked so this could run full speed into a brick wall. I feel as though I may have redeemed myself.
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This page is mocking me.
The hour is late. I stopped checking the clock around 2:00 A.M., and there's a cup of cold coffee right next to me on this table, several rings on the inside from where the coffee had been left sitting far too long. It's cheap, the flavor sticking to my teeth in a way that settles my lips into a slight grimace as I try to convince my hand to move my pen across the just as cheap notebook paper that has been sitting in front of me since I came home.
Come on. It's words. What the fuck is hard about this?
'It's not hard if you can actually get your head out of your ass and do something,' I think to myself. Not helping.
I have an irritating collection of drafts. Oh yes, I can start them and I can certainly plan out the works before me. But actually writing is somehow impossible, and even though I can feel how thick the block is in my mind, preventing me from communicating my feelings properly, I just can't get break myself out of it.
Come on. Finish one draft. Then everything will click together for the rest.
For the past few weeks it's been just like this. Come home, sit down with projects, and try. But no matter what I do, I just can't focus. It's as though my head simply won't allow it. And this house, quite frankly, isn't helping. It's admittedly unsettling atmosphere, the loud noises born from nothing. It's as though I can feel the weight of the dead that used to sit at the same glass table as I watching me over my shoulder, pressing their non-existent weight against me, making my chest tight with pressure I cannot voice because that's not fair to the ones still here truly haunted by their presence. I'm just a guest who overextends their stay, quite frankly.
Just a page. Just write a page and you can get up for a moment. Ignore how loud the fridge is at something clunks inside of it.
A page. Get a page. Come on, you imbecile, how hard is a fucking pa-
"I thought we talked about this."
It's a testament to my mental state how high I manage to jump in my chair, my tired and over-caffinated heart set off to make me dizzy with over exertion from fear, turning to see who has come to voice their thoughts and damn us both with them.
"Mike," I sigh. I place a hand on my chest, rubbing slightly at the spot where I feel my heart pounding against my sore ribs. "Don't do that."
"Have you slept at all?" Mike asks disapprovingly. His arms are crossed against his chest, heavy bags under his eyes from another night of restless dreams. He can't sleep, I won't sleep. If he'd allow it, we could actually get shit done this time of day.
"A little," I lie. He's just worried. About everything. He always is, which at first was something I loved about him. And usually I still do. It's an admirable trait, to care about someone and love them so much it's only natural to fret over them, to check and make sure they're taken care of properly.
Except it makes me feel guilty.
"Oh yeah? What time?" He asks, narrowing his sleep swollen eyes at me.
Details. Fuck.
"Ah, uh- I don't know, I wasn't looking at the clock," I say sheepishly, trying to flash a disarming smile and make my own bags look like ones of bare minimum rest instead of self neglect. Mike's jaw tightens slightly.
"Oh?" He says in a dull voice that is not raised, yet managed to ring throughout the room nonetheless.
I hum affirmatively, pressing my lips together and fiddling with the cheap pen in my hands, glancing down at it in an attempt at trying not to give myself away.
"Yeah, I don't know. Just like, laid my head on the book and... y'know... drifted off for a couple hours," I try to say casually.
"Ah," he says as though that were enough, leaning now against the doorframe of the hallway, looking at the other wall as though the paint were interesting. "How long after I went to bed, do you think?"
Keep your breathing even. He can smell fear. "Like, a couple," I answer with a shrug.
"Or, like, not at all," he says, turning his head back to stare down at me with a glare.
"I slept," I insist.
"Bullshit. You give me unnecessary detail about your shits post mexican take-out, but you can't tell me what time you fell asleep?" He says accusingly.
"I was asleep! I'm sorry, do you want me to lie and give some time because you need it for some reason?" I ask evenly, shrugging as though to ask what he'd like me to say, blinking at him and adding a tired tinge of a croak to my voice to match his.
"I'm sorry?" He asks, eyes still in narrow slits yet somehow widening slightly, his leg uncrossing from over the other and planting firmly on the floor as he stands straight.
He's not that tall. Kinda short. But he looks much bigger when mad. Kinda like an iguana. I told him that one time and got bit. Jokingly, of course. It's not like he'd just reach over and sna- You know what? Irrelevant.
"I'm just saying," I say, starting to turn back to my notebook as though the conversation were finished.
"No-no, I'd like to hear that again," he says. I can hear his footsteps pad against the flat, tan carpet, my shoulders stiffening slightly as I train my decreasingly neutral eyes on the wrinkled, lined paper in front of me. "I liked the part where you made me sound like some insecure teenager for calling you out on your shit. Very original."
My lips press into a thin line, my grip on my pen tightening slightly.
"It's not that serious, Mikey-"
"Don't bullshit me, and don't use some cheap nickname as a cop out via sympathy," Mike snaps, standing now on the opposite side of the table, pressing his hands now against the glass surface that dirties so easily. Trust me, we've had to clean some prints off of it.
There's a line, and at some point I'm going to cross it. The problem is it's hidden under mental sand that makes me unclear of exactly where it is.
"Michael-"
"That's formal," he says, leaning forward on the table, his tone the same as an interrogating mother just waiting for the moment where no one will blame her for finally tearing you to shreds for what you've said to her outwardly innocent statements. A trap.
"I'm sorry, I thought you didn't like cheap nicknames?" I say, fighting the irritation in my voice, barely managing to remain even as I click my pen to begin writing.
"What's wrong with just Mike?" He asks. He reaches across the table, placing all five of his fingertips on my paper firmly and dragging it back across the table towards him, withholding it from me.
"Would you like me to use just Mike?" I ask.
"I'd like you to make eye contact while you lie through your fucken teeth," he says calmly, not moving as he continues to stare me down.
"Okay, Mike. And what exactly does my sleep schedule mean to you?" I ask slowly, trailing my eyes from his hand, slowly up his arm with pronounced veins and muscles, to the white cotton shirt that was two sizes too large and usually what he wore to sleep in, until I meet his dark and slightly hateful eyes.
"We had a conversation," he starts.
"A conversation," I repeat.
"About a month ago, do you remember?" He asks, cocking his head slightly in that way it does when we both know I'm not going to dare to answer with anything other than he wants.
"You ha-"
"I had a concern," he interrupts me, now looking down at the notebook and studying it as though it were a piece of fine art. "Which involved how absolutely awful your ability is to take care of yourself properly."
"Mike-"
"Shut. Up." Mike says with disturbing calmness. "I'm talking."
Fine.
"It's fucking rude."
Not saying it's not.
"Like your attitude when I try to just help you because clearly, you can't help yourself," he says, now slapping down the notebook to gesture at me as though it were obvious why he was concerned.
I could speak. I'd like to. And he gives me a long enough silence I could. But instead I decide I will simply give him the floor.
"No opinion on this?" He asks shortly.
"No," I say with a dismissive shrug. "You seem to have them for me."
Mike laughs at this statement, and if the sparkle in his eyes didn't seem to have the same dull shine as the glass table between us I'd feel a bit better about it. But I think there's a six foot hole in the backyard I just signed a lease on that makes his disturbingly convincing smile much more worrisome.
"You're funny," he says affectationately. "Get up."
"What?" I ask, blinking.
"Are you deaf now? Up," he says in irritation, beginning to cross back around the table. "This isn't a negotiation."
Before I can speak his hands dig in under my armpits, roughly pulling me to stand and bringing me close to his chest. I should have energy to fight back, I've only been sitting after all. But a physical confrontation would be too loud, first of all. Abby is asleep in her room, and I don't want to make a scene to wake the poor child. Number two, my bones are sore, my head is aching and I generally just do not feel well enough to protest. Physically.
"Put me down, you son of a bitch!"
Verbally, I'm fine.
"You're going to bed, that's final!"
"I have twelve drafts due that I have to get done or else this project-"
"You have four hours of sleep you can get before you have to take your candy ass to work in the fucken morning, or else I'm gonna beat it into you," he hisses directly in my ear, his breath cold and loud so close to me. Jesus, fuck. What did his parents feed him as a child? It shouldn't be this easy for him.
"Oh, I don't do what you want and now you threaten physical violence. Very mature," I mock, reaching out to grip the doorframe of Mike's bedroom, purely to piss him off.
"Save me the dramatics," he snaps in a whisper, wrapping one arm tighter around my waist and using the other to bat my hands away from the frame. I can tell he's genuinely trying not to hurt me, his grip on one wrist firm but careful.
"Just let me write one page," I try.
"That's what you said last night," he says, still trying to pull my hand away. My nails have dug into the frame, making it slightly harder. I can sense his irritation growing. "You got two hours of sleep."
"That's not going to kill me," I argue.
"You haven't slept for more than two hours in a week," he says.
One nail breaks against the frame, making me lose my grip and sending pain down my arm from the awkward angle at which the pressure had snapped it off. I wince slightly, which gives Mike slight pause as he checks my hand, but decides I'm alright before he begins dragging me towards the bed in earnest.
"Why is it so hard for you to just take care of yourself?" Mike asks in frustration.
"I take care of myself!" I say defensively. Mike drops me onto the bed, standing in front of me to prevent any new attempts at escape.
"No, you don't," he says, quiet but firm. "You sit and stare at your notebook and you don't do anything else if you can help it. You sleep for two hours, you go to work, you hardly eat, you don't have energy anymore." Mike's hands are planted firmly on his hips, his nostrils flailing as he tries to take collected, calm breaths. "I care about you. Why can't you?"
"Michael-"
"Stop!" Mike snaps, groaning and turning away from me with a sharp spin on his heel. He buries his hands in his hair in frustration, now pacing between the bed and the door, quietly shutting it so we can argue in peace.
"Why are you so upset?" I ask, genuinely confused.
"Because I don't want to see you live like this. I am concerned and every time I bring it up you dismiss me, you joke, you don't care and I hate that," Mike says, temporarily stopped in his tracks to point at me as he seethes. "I'm watching you waste away and you know what? I'm starting to think part of you likes it."
"Excuse me?" I say, astounded. I cross my arms in front of my chest, cocking my head at him in a way to say 'I dare you to repeat that.'
"You heard me," Mike says, taking a step towards me. "It's like you cannot for one iota of a second conceive of some world where taking care of yourself is a good use of your time. You work, and work until you've burned yourself out so horribly you rot in bed for a month. And unless you're staying here, I hear nothing from you. Not a call, not a fuck you or whatever. It's like you're punishing yourself."
"Now who's being dramatic?" I say.
"See? I can't even point this out without you getting defensive, which just shows you know you're in the wrong!" Mike turns away from me once more, resuming his path of restless walking.
"Why do you even care?" I ask genuinely. This makes him pause again, his glare once more returning to me as he mentally questions my intelligence.
"You know what, I don't know!" Mike snaps, his voice gaining volume. "You are insistent in this fucking- slow method suicide and I'm trying to help you, but you won't let me!"
"I never asked you to care," I scoff, rolling my eyes.
"I never asked to care!" Mike nearly shouts, leaning in close to my face and sneering at me.
This breaks the tension.
His face falls as soon as the words are out of his mouth, his eyes widening slightly like my own eyes. This comment shouldn't really sting. I shouldn't let it. But it does. And for a moment, I do. And he sees that clearly.
"... oh," I say softly, my arms relaxing and shoulders sagging ever so slightly as I drop his gaze, trying to shut off my emotions before they're obvious.
"I'm sorry," Mike says quickly, stumbling to his knees in front of me. "I didn't mean that-"
"It's fine," I say, trying to remain as blank as my pages on the kitchen table.
"I just said it to be hurtful," Mike says quickly, his hand reaching up to cup my face. I take it away, turning my head to the side slightly. There's a new chill in the air, one I can feel seizing my chest.
"You weren't," I say. "I'm going to sleep."
"Please, I don't want-"
"I'm going to sleep," I say forcefully, shoving him away and turning to begin undressing from my work clothes that I still wore. Mike is silent behind me, probably thinking, and I'm close to not being able to hold myself together anymore.
"Get out!" I snap, flinging my shirt at him in a rage and beginning to stand from the bed to chase him out. He doesn't need anymore prompt, quickly scurrying out from the room to wherever it is he'll sleep now. Probably on the couch even though there's another room down the hall. A self induced punishment. Knowing him he probably won't even allow himself a blanket or pillow, feeling the cold air fitting for his selfishness.
Good.
-
When I wake that morning, I can smell breakfast in the air. My stomach hurts from skipping meals, but I don't want to eat. First of all, I haven't worked for a meal. There's still plenty to be done with my drafts. And food is a good encouragement to keep working. Second, I didn't ask him to care. And he didn't ask for it either. There probably isn't enough for me, and if there is, he and Abby can debate between the two who will have it. I need to shower.
I take forever washing myself. If that's what you want to call it. It was moreso standing under hot water, letting it run cold until I couldn't stand it anymore and hoping my deodorant is able to do some heavy lifting today. I barely have enough time to get to work, passing silently by Mike and not turning when he calls my name, walking out the door as fast as I can without running.
He follows me outside, something shaking in a bag behind me. When I finally open my car door I'm forced to have my gaze in his direction, his body between the door frame and my car door, presenting me with a bag of lunch.
"Please eat," he begs, placing the bag in my lap unceremoniously and then quickly stepping away and shutting the door himself.
There's a small moment where he and I just share at each other through the glass, time slipping away without notice. He hasn't slept, he'll be late for work if he doesn't get dressed soon, and the bag on top of my thighs is warm. Fresh. A petty part of me wants to roll down my window and throw away the meal, back out of the drive way and let that fester in his mind out of hate. He thinks words can hurt? Actions are so much worse.
But there's something in his eyes. Defeated, resigned. Childlike is almost the word I could use. In front of my car is the 12 year old boy who tried to chase down his brother, the 18 year old who decided to sacrifice his life raising his little sister while saying goodbye to his parents, and the 27 year old man who's just trying to keep everything together.
I don't know what to say to this child. Or to the man.
So, with the turn of my key in the ignition, I don't.
-
It's late when I come home. When the manager had asked me to stay late I almost called Mike to break the silence and tell him this. But there was still a part of me that didn't care whether or not he knew. Really, I didn't have to return home tonight. I could go back to my apartment and just let him rot in bed the way he claims I do. How could he say such a thing, anyways? I rot in bed? What about the days I've walked into the house and he hasn't slept all week, where he's claiming he's trying to kick his medication and he'll get the hang of it soon. Where his sister is eating every meal almost burnt because he can't think straight enough to remember time. Where I've had to coax, beg, demand of him that he just takes a pill because he's laying on the side of the bed, small and curled in on himself, dead eyed and obviously tired but still not sleeping. One time I slipped it into his food. And I felt awful. Do not think for a moment I wanted to do that. There was a betrayel in his eyes when sleep began to overtake him. I hoped he wouldn't notice, but he must've. Some tell in the drugs effect that made him aware his rest was not voluntary. But I didn't care. I stroked his hair through the night, and I'll do it again. He could hate me however long he needed to, he just needed sleep first.
The irony still hasn't struck me when I walk through the door of his house, well past dinner, Abby in the bath. The door was left unlocked, which is unusual for this time of night. Mike jumps from the couch the minute I open the door, standing with his hands by his side anxiously pulling at the edge of his oversized sweater.
Everything's oversized with him. The thought occurs to me that his father was slightly bigger.
"Don't leave me," he says quietly, his voice small and pathetic like him. But I don't say that with hate.
"I just got home," I say. "Be a bit odd to leave again."
I try a smile, but it's artificial and we both know it's only for his comfort. It doesn't touch him, his eyes glassy and lips slightly parted the same way a child's is when they're trying to breathe as their sinuses spring to life in wake of forming tears.
"I didn't mean it," he says, still standing in the same place. If I was a better person I'd probably run to him. But I'm not.
If I were a better person, I'd say I believe him. But I don't. And suddenly my throat is swollen with hurt, my own bottom lip is sticking out and now we're both trying not to cry because this is so overly taxing. We're adults but emotions are hard. Vulnerability is hard. It is a damnation that we both detest, both avoid. In better states we would joke about this, would laugh and tease the other for not having the emotional capability to voice our thoughts. But we're not. So we don't. And now we're crying openly in the off-putting, attempted to look cozy living room that we can never fully relax in.
"I don't wanna lose you," he says between small hiccups, hands now balled into fists that he buries under opposite armpits, shifting his weight so that he doesn't look so small. His glances bounce between me and the hallway table, never fixing on either of us as he tries to state his mind like an adult. "I've barely had you."
In my heart there has been a constant ache, hurt flowing and pumping through my veins like the blood that ran cold last night at his hurtful words. His apologetic words make the ache somehow worse.
"I don't mean to be a burden to you," I say softly, feeling a small, stray tear break the fluid barrier of my waterline to race down my cheek, allowing a pathway to the fatter drops that threaten to quickly follow.
Mike's face shifts, stepping towards me and holding out his arms.
"No, never," he says just as soft, trying to comfort me. I freeze as he approaches, my body stiffening as I try to swallow the lump and convince myself that I can survive his touch. His touch that I normally crave the moment I'm around him, that I seek in the dark of night even when the bed is overheating, that I'd go insane without.
"I've never asked you to care," I say, voice breaking and tears rolling freely now.
"I know," he says into my neck, which is wetting as he shakes around me, his grasp firm and careless of whether or not it's too much.
"I don't mean to cause problems. I just...." I don't know what I mean, how I wish to finish the statement. If I was clever, I could. If I was clever, I wouldn't even be in this problem to begin with.
"I'm just scared," he chokes out, his breathing horrible as he struggles to keep his crying from being obvious. "You look sick all the time and I don't want that."
He's told me the story. His mother wasting away, thinning and slipping, starving and dying. How he'd returned home to a baby wailing in her crib as their mothers body lay in a pool of blood he never really got out of the carpet. He lied to me initially when I saw it the first time, said it was wine. It wasn't until we had a few glasses ourselves that his eyes glazed over and he told me. It was disturbing how neutral he kept himself to the subject. A habit he'd developed much too long ago to break.
"Mike-"
"I try, and I try and if something doesn't give soon I'm gonna fucking lose it," he sobs into my skin, arms tightening around me.
"If what doesn't give?" I ask softly, trying to pull him away to look into his eyes. But he doesn't budge, sobbing a little bit harder and gripping a little bit tighter. He doesn't respond, simply shaking as he breathes heavily against me through his mouth.
"Hey," I say softly, trying to wrap my arms around him, failing and giving up as I realize his grip is too tight. "I'm not going anywhere."
His mouth closes a little, quieting his breathing slightly as he sniffles.
"I'm an idiot, but I'm not suicidal," I say softly, trying again for a joke. He doesn't laugh, but he does pull away slightly to look at my face, lips swollen and quivering as he blinks at me.
"You scare me," he says quietly, not quite meeting my eyes. He's watching my lips, but I think that's because that's the closest he can get to making eye contact.
"I scare you?" I ask, furrowing my brows. I lick my dry, cracked lips for comfort. "Why?"
"Because I love you," he says shakily, sighing as though it were exhausting to admit while still holding that nervous flicker in his eyes. "Because when I think about not being with you the house seems colder. And I can't go back to hating this house."
I open my mouth to respond, but there's more.
"Because I love your stupid smile when you're excited, or how you do that cricket leg thing when you're falling asleep. Or how if you want my attention you'll bury your head in my chest and pretend you're doing it in your sleep even though I won't judge you for doing it while you're awake."
"I don't-"
"I love how defensive you get over things like that," he says, bringing one hand to cup my cheek, resting his thumb that smells like the creamy lavender handsoap next to the bathroom sink on my lips. "I love how you look waking up next to me, how you play with Abby. And for a really long time I didn't see myself ever having kids, but when I see you curling her hair at the kitchen table I think maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I just took up another job and saved money so that we could-"
"Mike-"
"Stop cutting me off," he says gently, his eyes finally meeting mine with just the smallest smile. "It's rude."
At that I do stop, my body finally relaxing into his grasp as I lean into him and his touch.
"I want things I haven't wanted since before Garret went missing," he says, stroking my lip. "And I want them with you."
Dinner was just as delicious as lunch, even if it was late. And the bed is soft like our voices as we make plans for years down the line. And after a week long break, the pages are finally filled once again.
Just like us.
¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤
Literally had a come to Jesus moment while writing this that not only do I fear being vulnerable irl, but in writing too. Nearly threw up while writing this. Book aable feet.
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@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 @jhutchissupercool . Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3
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Exposure Therapy pt. 7
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Pairing | Jonathan Crane × reader
Summary | Your usual daily session is interrupted and chaos follows not long after.
Warnings | 18+, sexual content, smut, praise, degradation, face fucking, deep throating, exhibitionism??, grinding, fear gas, angst, kind of? He’s just not good at emotions, but you are very persistent lmao.
Words | 3.3k
Notes | I hope y'all remember what happens in Batman begins lmao. (Okay I’m worried I made the end too complicated because I had to reread some of the things he said multiple times and really think about it to understand what he was trying to say… lmk what y’all think of it pls)
Ao3 link | <3
Fic Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Part 6
You started a nice routine. So far he’s only been gone one day, but other than that you would always come to his office sometime around lunch, depending on if he was able to let himself have a break from his work or not. Usually after you ate was when he would give you a few things to do, but sometimes he got too impatient and fucked you instead. He learned very quickly though that your come drunk mind is not able to complete anything he gives you, so he does his best to wait and save that until after you’ve done a decent amount of work. He still hasn’t had you help with the experiments directly yet though. Which you thought was weird given how eager he seemed for your help. Okay maybe not eager…
Two weeks passed by quickly and you found yourself looking forward to each day, which you haven’t felt since you got here. You tried not to think about that too much though.
He brought pasta today, in to-go containers, and you ate it eagerly. He was mostly used to your eating habits by now, understanding that you’re only getting one decent tasting meal a day, but he still often reprimanded you for eating too fast.
“How much time is left of your lunch break?” You asked as you finished your food and he glanced at the clock on the wall.
“Half an hour.”
“Good.” You stood up, discarding the empty container on his desk, and walked over to him. When you dropped to your knees, he raised his brows and eyed you curiously. “Move back.” You said, glancing down to the chair. Without saying a word, he rolled the chair back and you slipped under the desk, using the arms of the chair to pull him back in.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He asked, but it was amused, not a warning. You placed a hand over his already hardening cock, making his breath hitch.
“If you really don’t want me to, I guess I can stop.” You said, knowing he wouldn’t dare do anything of the sort. When he didn’t respond, you worked on freeing his length, then took it in your hand, stroking it to full hardness. He let out a shaky breath and both hands came down to your hair, making you pause.
“Keep eating, doctor.” You teased and his cock twitched. He huffed, but removed one hand, the other threading through your hair. You continued stroking him, then leaned down and enveloped the tip in your mouth. His grip on your hair tightened, but he gave no other indication that he was affected by your ministrations. Which only made you want to try harder. You swallowed him deeper in your mouth, hand stroking the base, then started moving up and down at a slow pace. He let you maintain control for a while, his hand tight on your hair but not pushing you down just yet.
Taking a deep breath through your nose, you placed both hands on his thighs and forced yourself down as far as you could without gagging. He let out a choked moan and his hand suddenly forced you down the rest of the way, making your eyes widened as they filled with tears. He let out a low moan as he held you there, even as you dug your nails into his covered thighs. When he finally let you pull off, you coughed lightly, but quickly continued.
“So eager. Do you like sucking me off?” You moaned around his length in agreement, never slowing the bobbing of your head. “I can tell. I bet you’re already soaked.” He chuckled and your face heated up. You let out a startled moan when he suddenly pushed his leg out between your thighs, pressing it against your core. You took the stimulation greedily, rutting against his leg as you hallowed out your mouth and pressed your tongue against the underside of his length.
You weren’t sure if he was still eating, but his free hand was still above the desk and he stopped talking for a moment so you assumed he was. When you went all the way down and froze again, he pushed you down the rest of the way until his cock passed your throat barrier, making you choke.
“That’s it. You just need a little help getting there, don’t you?” He said through a moan and your hips bucked faster at the passable excuse for praise. “We'll have to work on that though. I shouldn’t have to do all the work every time, should I?” You sputtered around his cock, tears falling down your cheeks, staining the fabric of his pants. When you tried to push yourself back up, his grip on your hair turned painful and he forced you down impossibly deeper.
“Shh, just take it.” He uttered softly at your panicked choking. Finally stopping the pressure, you quickly pulled away, coughing and almost hyperventilating, making him roll back a little to see your face. “You can take a little more right? I’m so close.” Even though his tone sounded a little mocking, you were pretty sure he was genuinely asking. So you cleared your throat and nodded, letting out a raspy, “yeah.”
“Good girl.” He said, giving you a proud smile, and your hips stuttered forward at the praise, making his smile turn into a small smirk. He rolled back in and let you pick up where you left off, bobbing your head up and down his length, now very encouraged to help him reach his orgasm. He seemed to grow impatient though and he moved your head faster, fucking your mouth, almost breaching your throat barrier with each thrust. He fucked you like that a few times before someone knocked on the door. Your eyes widened and he forced you all the way down, holding you there.
“Dr. Crane?” Someone called out from the other side.
“No sounds.” He warned, tightening his grip to hold you flush to his pelvis. “Come in.” You were so incredibly glad that the back of his desk was covered when you heard the door open.
“Miss Dawes is back. She’s asking about Falcone.” The man said. Your eyes burned and so did your lungs the longer you went without oxygen. When you let out a choked whimper and instinctively tried to pull off, he released your hair to instead place a hand on the back of your head, holding you against him with an iron grip.
“I am on my lunch break.”
“She’s insisting.” The man above you let out a heavy sigh.
“Fine. Tell her I’ll be there in a few minutes.” The door closed and he released you, letting you pull off as you coughed and sputtered, a trail of saliva connecting the head of his cock to your lips. He waited impatiently for you to recover before using both hands to grab your head and force you back down, starting a brutal pace of pounding your mouth. Each thrust made your choke and gag as he forced his cock into your throat every time. When he cursed under his breath and his hips started bucking with each move of your head, you knew he was nearing his orgasm.
He pulled you all the way down with a low moan and you felt hot come hitting the back of your throat, not even letting you swallow it because of how deep he was. You let out a muffled whimper as he continued holding you there, only letting you pull away once his cock stopped twitching.
As you recovered, he used the napkins he brought for lunch to wipe his cock before tucking himself back in his pants and moving the chair back.
“Come here.” He said softly, holding a hand out for you to take. You crawled out from under his desk and used his hand to get to your feet, leaning against the furniture behind you. When he stood and used a clean napkin to wipe your face, your cheeks heated up. “I’m sorry I cannot stay with you this time.” He said, focusing on the task.
“It’s okay.” You croaked, clearing your throat when you heard how hoarse your voice was.
“Before I forget,” He discarded the napkin then reached into the plastic bag from the restaurant, pulling out another to-go container— this one much smaller than the other one— and handing it to you, “I thought you might enjoy this.” You took it from him and could practically feel your mouth salivating at the sight of the brownie in the box. It was nothing fancy, just a plain brownie, but you haven’t had dessert in weeks and you started to miss chocolate.
“Oh this looks amazing. Thank you.” You smiled, looking up at him, receiving a nod and a tight lipped smile in response.
“I will escort you back.” He said, taking a step away from you to let you move away from the desk as he collected his things. “Grab your bag.” He said, when you started walking without it.
“Right… sorry.” You said sheepishly, feeling a blush creep up on your cheeks. He made no other comment about your mistake as he led you to the door while you put the container in your bag. “Who’s Miss Dawes?” You asked as you walked down the now familiar hallways.
“No one of your concern.” He said coldly, but he seemed to notice his tone. “Someone who’s been getting too close to what I’m doing here.” He explained, tone still void of emotion, but not as harsh.
“I see.” You said, then added, “You can’t do anything about it?” He turned to you with an almost amused expression on his face because of what you were implying.
“No. She works for the DA's office.”
“Oh.” You arrived at your cell and he opened the door for you.
“I will see you soon. I am not exactly sure when that will be though.” He said, easing your nerves, probably because of what he did the last time he returned you to your cell.
“Okay.” You walked inside, then turned and gave him a small smile, receiving a curt nod in response before he closed the door.
You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but you finished the brownie, got through six chapters of a book and covered two pages of the sketch book in drawings before you started growing a little tired. Not knowing what time it was, you decided to just lay down and try to sleep, but a loud noise followed by an alarm had you bolting up in your bed. You got up to try and see anything through the small window on the door, but the hallway was empty. Deciding not to feed into your anxiety, you turned back around, but froze at the sound of your door being unlocked. Was whoever was responsible for the alarms coming for you now?
You all but sighed in relief when Dr. Crane was on the other side of the door, but your brows furrowed in confusion when you saw the open straight jacket he was wearing, as well as the scarecrow mask in his hand.
“Hurry, we don’t have much time.” He said, holding his free hand out for you to take. You grabbed it and he started briskly walking down the halls to his office, practically pulling you along behind him.
“What’s going on? Why are you wearing that?”
“I’ll explain later, please just trust me right now.” Another loud sound came from outside and he stiffened, then sped up significantly. When you walked through the doors he went straight to his desk and grabbed a gas mask, then tossed it to you as he put on his scarecrow mask. You stared at him in confusion as he walked toward you.
“Put it on.” His tone was stern but it wasn’t out of anger it was out of fear. You obeyed and as soon as the mask was on, he was grabbing you and pulling you into the hallway toward the front door.
“Where are we going?” You asked, voice muffled by the mask. He opened the door and you were met with the sight of pure chaos. People were attacking each other in the street, police horses were running wild, their riders nowhere to be found. He led you over to a horse and lifted himself onto it, then tried to help you on before you stopped him. You could barely get a word out before he was interrupting you.
“Just get on.” You nervously eyed the wriggling horse before sighing and lifting yourself onto it with his help. You sat behind him, not sure what to do, but when the horse bucked up and started running, you let out a startled scream and quickly wrapped your arms around his torso.
“Where are we going?” You had to yell over the screaming people you were passing and honestly for a moment you weren’t sure he even heard you.
“Somewhere safer than this.” You passed inmates, police officers, and civilians alike, all of them yelling and either running or attacking. When you saw something flying in your direction, you thought you had truly lost it, but he turned down a street to avoid it before you could get a good look at it.
As he continued down the panic filled streets, there were less and less people and you saw water up ahead. He stopped in front of a warehouse near the docks and jumped off before helping you down.
“What the hell was that thing?” You asked as he led you inside.
“Gotham’s self-appointed protector, a deluded soul in a costume.” He said, voice dripping with loathing and contempt. The darkness of the room caught your attention, shifting your focus away from the questions you initially wanted to ask about his response.
“What is this place?”
“When the Bat started sniffing around, I moved some of my belongings here.” He closed and locked the door, then walked over to a wall to turn on the dim lights. “It should be safe to take off the mask now. If it’s not, I prepared an antidote, just to be safe.” You tentatively removed the gas mask after he removed his own.
“That was all your toxin?” You asked, shocked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It was not my plan.” He defended. You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest, gaze drifting down to the straight jacket.
“Why are you wearing that?”
“I have the Bat to thank for this.” He said bitterly. You stared at him, trying to psych yourself up to ask what you really wanted to know.
“Why did you come back for me? Why didn’t you just escape?” When he turned around and started walking to a desk in the center of the room, you thought he was just going to ignore you.
“I’ve worked too hard on you. It’d be a pity to let that go to waste over something as simple as not stopping by your room.” He said simply, making your brows furrow. You followed after him and when he turned back to face you, he read your expression easily. “First you complain about being there and now you complain about me taking you somewhere else.” Despite his annoyance, there was a small smile on his lips.
“I’m not complaining, I'm just confused.”
“You said you’d help me. Now more than ever I need assistance. Have the few minutes of freedom changed your mind already?” He almost seemed… hurt.
“That’s not-“ You let out a heavy sigh in frustration. “Why can’t you be honest with me?”
“I am,”
“You’re not. You really expect me to believe that you took me just because you need help? When you could’ve gotten any lowlife to do it instead?”
“Yes.” He said simply. You clenched your jaw and stared at him, then let out a dry chuckle.
“Fine. What do you need help with?” You waited in agonizing silence as he studied you.
“Why are you so bothered by this?” That made you scoff.
“Are you serious?” You asked and when he didn’t respond, you continued. “I’ve given you everything— everything that wasn’t taken from me— and in return, all you do is treat me like one of your experiments.” You watched his jaw tick as it clenched, but you couldn’t stop, not now that you’ve started. “You want my help, you want me to eat with you, you give me a fucking sketch pad, but you come back for me just because it would be a pity to let your work go to waste?” You could feel tears welling in your eyes as you said it out loud.
“Why can’t you give me something— anything, to prove that I’m not just an experiment to you.” You said quietly. He swallowed thickly and looked away from you. Just say it, you begged silently. Please just say it.
“What do you want me to say? You want me to tell you that I like being around you? That I couldn’t harm you again, no matter how hard I tried? That the thought of leaving you in that place, without me there to protect you, is enough to make me risk my life?” When he finished, his expression was something you’ve never seen on him before.
“If it’s true.” You said quietly, holding your breath.
“Even if it is, you expect too much of me. I am not able to give you what you truly want.”
“I just want you.” You took a step toward him, but froze when he took one back.
“No. You want someone who can provide you with more than just books or art supplies and simple kindness. You want someone who can make you feel like more than an experiment and I am not able to give that to you.” Even though you understood that you had nothing to do with his attachment issues, your chest still ached knowing that you’re not enough for him to want to try.
“I know that your ways of expressing affection are unconventional, but it’s enough for me to just know. You don’t have to say it.”
“I may not be a good person, but I am not selfish enough to keep you from finding what you truly desire under the basis of false affection. No matter how much I wish to keep you by my side.”
“What I desire is to be by your side!” You said, exacerbated. “I don’t need emotional confessions or labels. I can feel it in the way you touch me, the way you speak to me, the things you do for me.” He was silent for a long time and you forced yourself to maintain eye contact, even as your eyes were filling with tears once again.
“That is not how you really feel and as the one who’s emotions haven’t been manipulated, it would be wrong of me to continue taking advantage of you in your current state,”
“You made me like this!” You yelled, feeling a tear escape your waterline. When you continued, you tried to lower your voice to a normal level. “You made me feel like this… Please don’t pretend like all of this is just in my head.” When he remained silent, you whimpered out one last, “Please.”
“Eventually you’ll realize that I’m right- that all of this was just a coping mechanism.” You let out an irritated sigh, getting over this back and forth very quickly.
“Tell me.” You said, significantly harsher than before.
“What?”
“Tell me to my face that I’m nothing more than an experiment. Tell me and I’ll drop it.” He clenched his jaw and let out a heavy breath through his nose, not able to maintain eye contact. The longer he remained silent, the harder it was to hold in the tears. “Please.” You whispered, making him look at you again.
“Even if you aren’t, the confession would be inadmissible,”
“It wouldn’t!” You yelled and he let out another heavy sigh.
“I will only disappoint you, but to satiate your masochistic tendencies…” He paused with a sigh and you held your breath. “You are more than an experiment.”
Part 8
#jonathan crane smut#jonathan crane x reader#jonathan crane#scarecrow x reader smut#scarecrow#angst#smut#confessions#?#kind of#exposure therapy
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Tutor part four
NOT PROOFREAD
masterlist
It’s been four weeks since my success with tutoring Chris. Now, each time he comes over, we study for ninety minutes, and then hang around and do whatever Chris decides. It keeps him focused on his work while he has it in front of him.
And it’s getting easier to hang around Chris. He still gives me butterflies but I’m not so nervous around him. It’s easier to just talk to him. My hands no longer get sweaty and my heart doesn’t race so hard.
“Okay, study is officially over.” Chris says. He’s never been punctual about anything, except for the end of our allotted study time. The second the clock hits 5:30 his notes are in the bag and he’s leaned back in his chair deciding what we should do.
“What to do with the pretty y/n today.” Chris muses to himself. “Only got thirty minutes…” Chris smiles and bites his lip while looking at me. Before I could say anything, he begins laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Nothing. Just thinking about stuff.”
“About what?”
“How come we never hang out outside of these tutoring lessons?” Chris asks.
“Well after school mostly you have hockey practice and I have a part time job at the restaurant down the street from here.” I answer.
“You work there two nights a week. And one of those nights is the same night as hockey practice.”
“How do you know when I work, are you stalking me or something?”
“What about weekends?” Chris says, evading my sarcastic question. “You don’t work weekends, no hockey practice for me on weekends.”
“Why are you so adamant on hanging out? We’re hanging out right now.”
“A half hour is not enough. You should come to my game.”
“Your game?” I ask.
“Yeah, my hockey game. You should come.”
I look at Chris confused. “I.. why?”
Chris just shrugs. “We don’t hang out enough.” There’s a pause before Chris sighs. “Nick will be there. If that makes any difference.”
“What?”
“Well you never argue with him over hanging out. It’s always a flat out yes with Nick.”
“Nick is my best friend.”
“What, and I can’t be?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying?” Chris stares at me with a blank face. I can’t tell what he wants me to say.
“I’ll go.”
-
Sitting with Nick watching the hockey game was not how I usually spend my Friday nights. I also don’t expect it to be so cold at the hockey game. I guess I should have thought of that though, seeing as they’re on ice.
So here I am. Sitting right in the front, wearing none other than Chris’s hoodie since I was stupid and didn’t bring my own. It’s nice to be in his hoodie though. It’s so warm and it smells just like him.
“Dude you’re freaking me out.” Nick says as he stares at me with concern.
The view he had of me that was so concerning to him was just me closing my eyes and embracing the smell of Chris’s hoodie.
“Chris fucking stinks I don’t understand how you can breathe that in.” Nick says.
“His hoodie doesn’t stink.” I sit up straight.
“I can smell it from here.” Nick turns his head and pretends to gag.
I just roll my eyes and sit back on the bleachers to watch the game. I’ve never been to one of Chris’s hockey games before. I don’t even understand hockey, or any sport for that matter. What even are the rules?
While deep in my thoughts, Chris skates towards the glass and waves at me while smiling. I blush and wave back, covering my face with the sleeve of his hoodie so he doesn’t see my blush. Chris just laughs and then continues on with the game.
“Yeah, that was subtle.” Nick says sarcastically.
I turn to him. “What?”
Nick then pretends to twirl his hair and blink his eyes dramatically while waving. “That’s what you look like.”
“I wasn’t twirling my hair.”
“You might as well have been.”
I just scoff and turn back to the game.
After the game ends, I wait with Nick outside for Matt and Chris to finish up in the locker room.
It’s not too cold out, but cold enough that someone wearing a skirt with no leggings underneath, like me, would catch a chill standing outside for a period of time.
“How long is this going to take?” I mumble rub my arms for warmth.
“Relax. They’ll be out in a minute.” Nick says as he scrolls through his phone.
“Easy for you to say. Your legs aren’t exposed to the harsh tundra.”
“Harsh tundra? Y/n it’s 50 degrees.”
“So cold.” I say dramatically. I place the back of my hand over my forehead and pretend to swoon, slipping and land right into someone.
“Jesus, y/n. What’s wrong?” Chris says. My heart stops. I did not just fall into Chris. Tell me I did not just fall into Chris.
“Nothing, she’s being dramatic.” Nick says and stands up straight. But I’m paralyzed. I stay still with Chris’s hands holding me up and my eyes like deer in headlights.
“Y/n?” Chris asks.
“I’m fine.” I manage to say. I finally gain the ability to stand on my own and I walk by Nick. “Let’s get going, I’m cold.”
“You wouldn’t be so cold if you weren’t wearing that little skirt. It was driving me crazy the whole game.” Chris laughs and puts his arm around my shoulders as we walk to the van.
My face heats up with blush and the butterflies come back to my stomach. Chris must have noticed because he then says “hey, hey I was joking. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m just cold.”
“Well we’ll get you in the van and take you home and then you won’t be so cold, alright?” Chris smiles at me reassuringly.
“Alright.”
Tag list : @freshloveforthefit @sturniolo14
#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo x reader#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo x reader#chris x reader#sturniolo smut#nick sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo#sturniolo#matt sturniolo x reader#nicolas sturniolo#matt sturniolo imagine#sturniolo imagine
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Green With Envy | Renji Abarai x Reader |
author's note: more mechanic!au stuff! i love this au with renji sooooooo much. it's so damn fun
pairing: renji abarai x reader
warnings: au, jealousy, some background renji x rukia
The tick of the clock on the wall only serves to irritate you further, the tickle of what's soon going to turn into anger settling tightly at the back of your skull. Renji's late. It's a Monday morning at the shop and he's uncharacteristically not here. He's usually here before you or right on time with you, and while it's technically his shop, it's still rude to not even send you a courtesy text.
You can't help the bounce of your leg and tightness in your jaw. Rukia is in town, and surely it's because of her that he's not here. She already had the entire weekend with him, and God only knows what the hell they were up to. You didn't hear from your friend not once, and in fairness, you didn't reach out yourself. Working together for sometimes more than forty hours a week is already a lot of time together, not to mention Renji often treats you to dinner after work or you'll invite him over and have a drink together to de-stress from the day.
To put it simply, you monopolize quite a bit of his time, and as nothing more than a friend and coworker, you have no right to feel so strung out about him being with another woman.
Another woman he was certainly fucking the entire weekend.
The bell above the door dings and the way you cut your eyes at him must be pure evil, because Renji reels back as if struck. He's got a frappuccino in hand and his usual black coffee in the other— he certainly knows the best way to extend an olive branch to you. He takes his usual seat before your desk and holds your drink away from your reaching grabby hand.
"Before I give you this and you start tuning me out," He starts, and damn him for knowing you so well. "I just wanna say I'm sorry I'm late, and that I missed you over the weekend."
And ohhhh how your heart warms at his sincerely spoken words. Combined with his dumb-looking, apologetic face, you can't really stay mad at him. "You're forgiven. Did you have fun with Rukia?"
Renji sets your drink down and has a quick pull from his own. "Yeah, always. We went and watched the new Fast and the Furious movie."
You snort and take a sip of your vanilla bean frappe. "And was it as ridiculous as you hoped?"
"Dumbest one yet." He flashes you a bright, dumb grin and sets his cup down to pull a pen and piece of paper from your desk and begin writing out his day's plans. "How was your weekend though? Any hot dates?"
"No." You mutter bitterly. "Seems you're the only one that has any fun like that."
"I dunno why." Renji murmurs, his eyes flitting to you for a moment. "You're extremely hot. Men should be falling to their knees left and right for you."
"Now you're just kissing my ass."
"Who, me?" Renji's smile is blinding, and the telltale twinkle of playful mischief is in his eyes. "Only if you asked."
"Take me to dinner first."
"Busy tonight, but lunch is all yours, babe." Renji scribbles out a schedule for you to keep him on, like always, and grabs a set of keys for his first few jobs— they're theoretically just simple oil changes.
"When does Rukia return home?" You hum, and frankly you're not doing a good job of hiding just how badly you dislike her existence. She's never done anything to you personally, no.
You just want what she has with Renji and the jealousy burns you.
"Tomorrow morning. I shouldn't be late again though."
"I don't care if you're late. I just would appreciate a heads up."
"I care if I'm late. I could lose my job, y'know. My boss is a bit of a hard ass like that, even though I'm the best worker she's got." Renji winks at you and rushes into the shop before you can chide him any, and the sound of his cackling laugh echoing from the garage is enough to ease the tension in your body and let you have a laugh too.
"Idiot." You mutter fondly before answering the incoming phone call.
A few hours pass by before you see Renji again, and he hooks the keys back up to the key wall. "I am not doing even one more goddamn oil change today."
"Hit your head a few times?" You hum as you browse your computer for lunch ideas, and snort as you feel his eyes shooting daggers your way.
"I don't wanna talk about it." He snarks and goes to his small selection of nice shirts, picking up two for you to choose between. And he nods, expecting your choice of the teal Henley shirt and pulls it over his white tank top. "Lemme go wash up and we'll go get a bite."
"Yes sir."
Renji heads down the short hallway to the bathroom and you tidy up your desk as you wait, and your heart sinks as you see a very familiar pain in your ass walking up to the door. Plastering a small yet still fake smile on, you wave a hand to Rukia. "Hey, Rukia."
"Hello!" She's always been so damn kind to you, it's ridiculous for you to have so much disdain for her. "Where's Renji?"
"Restroom." You murmur, eyeing her carefully. She's wearing a cute little sundress, emphasis on little, and no wonder you didn't hear from Renji during their weekend. And thank the fucking lord they're just friends with benefits and that she lives so damn far away, because you're not sure you'd still be in this business with Renji if you had to see Rukia more often.
It's petty, but your heart doesn't like to share, one-sided or otherwise.
Thankfully Renji's out of the bathroom before the awkward silence can linger, and he greets Rukia with a hug. "Hey, you! What're you doing here?"
"Wanted to get some lunch with you." She smiles brightly and good lord she's a teeny thing compared to him.
"Oh!" Renji rubs the back of his head. "Not that I don't want to, but I already promised to take-"
Rukia pouts, and you sigh to yourself. "Just go, Ren."
Renji frowns. "No, I told you that I would treat you to lunch and I meant that."
"Just go. Make it up to me tomorrow." She'll be gone then, is unspoken, and you're sure hoping he's picked up what you've put down. Much as you dislike her for stupidly selfish reasons, being rude to Rukia isn't an option.
His brow furrows together as you set your purse back into its normal spot and you toss his car keys to him without so much as another glance his way, and he only barely catches them in the midst of his frustration. You're upset, that much is obvious, and he doesn't want to leave you behind like this. "I really don't feel right about this. Let's just all go out together, okay?"
"We shouldn't really leave the shop unattended." Your voice is damn near robotic, and the frustration in Renji's chest digs a little bit deeper. You won't even look at him. "Since Mondays are my busiest days. I'll be fine; I brought my lunch anyway."
And before Renji can argue further, a repeat customer steps through the door and they shake hands for a quick greeting before the man steps to your desk to schedule service. You smile at the customer, grateful he's earlier than he said he'd be— Rukia pulls Renji out of the building and they're off to their lunch, and you get an hour to yourself before your dear friend returns.
"He wants a state inspection, oil change, and he'd like you to do an alignment as well." You mutter when Renji steps back inside, setting the customer's keys at the edge of your desk for your mechanic to move the man's truck out back. Your packed lunch, a simple Caesar salad, sits in front of you almost completely untouched as your fingers tap against the keyboard for yet another email response.
"Alright." Renji eyes you carefully, tugging the keys into his palm and removing his Henley. He hardly ate a thing at lunch, much to Rukia's annoyance. But his happiness is very much dependent on your own, and knowing you're upset because of his inability to keep his word sends a feeling of pure sickness to his stomach. He let you down, despite his best efforts.
You pointedly avoid his gaze, and he sighs gently before he sulks out to get back to work. You end up tossing what's left of your salad, your tummy too full of feelings to want to eat. Renji stays in the shop for the rest of the day, not even emerging for a snack or a set of keys before lockup. The air around you is tense, and you curse yourself for being the very source of it.
But damn this jealousy will not let you go.
You're already shutting down your computer and organizing your desk for tomorrow when the door to the garage opens up, Renji's work boots scuffing against the floor as he comes back for the first time in several hours. He sets all the keys on the desk instead of the wall, indicating he's gotten all the work done.
"Nice job." You murmur, pulling them into one of your desk drawers. "I'll send the invoices tomorrow and depending on when they pay up, we can send out the rent—"
Your chair swivels around, causing your heart to skip a beat as you come face to face with your mechanic, his hands settled on either armrest with you subsequently caged into the chair by his body. When the hell did he even cross over to this side of the desk?? "Renji, what the hell—?"
"I can't stand you being mad at me." He admits honestly, and you can see just how pained he is with his gaze alone. "I'm sorry about lunch, okay? I really, really am."
"Renji." You sigh softly, and it takes everything in you to hold your hands back, keeping them in your lap and not cupping his face and kissing him like you so desperately crave. "It's not a big deal."
"You're mad at me and you're hungry. I got a double whammy on my hands." He moves just a tad closer to you as he shifts his weight, the scent of his savory, expensive cologne still there even after a day spent working hard. "And they're both my fault. You didn't eat your stupid little salad because what you wanted was a grilled cheese with all your little fixins from that place down the road, and also because you're upset and you don't eat when you're upset."
"How do you have me so figured out?" You ask softly, eyes so stuck on his handsome face. The shape of his nose, the way his lips curve, the sharpness of his eyes… The tiny little freckles you've never even noticed dusting over his cheekbones… Being in this close proximity only makes you realize and memorize the finer details of what you thought you already had discovered entirely. But it isn't often you're this close for this long, and hopefully he can't hear the way your heart beats in your throat.
"We have been together for almost six years now." He murmurs gently. "We know almost everything about each other at this point. You're my best friend and my business partner— I'd have to be the dumbest guy in town not to know you better than the back of my hand."
"Best friend?" You whisper in fear of your voice cracking if you talk any louder. Your chest is tight with want and the corners of your eyes begin prickling with tears; this is all too oddly intimate to take place at work, of all places, closed or not. Though it was this place that brought you together to begin with— "We have been together almost six years now." is how he phrased it, as if you were a couple.
"The very best." He whispers back. "Rukia is my childhood friend, but she doesn't know me better than you do. And I definitely don't know her half as well as I know you now. I could talk all day long about things she liked before she turned fifteen and moved away, but I don't even know what her favorite restaurant is now. That's the thing with time. It changes people, y'know? So if you don't keep up with them, you drift. Seeing her once or twice a year isn't enough to beat out my bond with you, no way in hell. I see you every day, all day, and I enjoy every second and always look forward to more time with you."
"You promise?" Your eyes are filled to the brim with tears now, and Renji smiles ever so gently as the pad of his thumb wipes away a renegade drop.
"I do." He presses his lips to your forehead in a sweet kiss, and your arms loop around his neck— and in turn you're pulled into a crushing hug and receive a longer kiss to your temple before his lips graze down your skin to speak softly into your ear. "Let's go get you that grilled cheese now, okay? My treat, and after that we'll go get some ice cream from that other place you like."
"What about Rukia? It's her last night in town, and you said you were busy tonight."
"She's probably packing anyway, and her flight is so early that she'll be in bed within a couple hours. It's fine. I meant it when I said I missed you, and I wanna take you to dinner. It'll be okay." His voice buzzes against your ear, and he gives you another squeeze when you relent and nod along to his idea.
Grinning widely, he lets go of you to pull on that same Henley from earlier. "C'mon, before you start acting hangry and yell at me."
"Hey! I do not yell at you!"
Renji snaps his fingers and points. "There it is, right there! Hangry!!"
You laugh and bat your purse at him, and he screeches playfully and runs out of the building. "You'll never take me alive!"
"Only because you left me to lock up!" You call back, laughing giddily as you ensure the building is secure and follow him to his car.
"Hey, you know the rules. Last one out is a rotten egg." Renji explains as he opens the passenger side door for you
You just laugh at him, chest warm and fuzzy at the day's turnaround. And the little green monster at the back of your brain, the toxic little thing, is sated as your mechanic slips into the car for an evening with you.
#renji abarai x reader#renji abarai x you#renji x reader#renji x you#renji abarai#renji bleach#renji abarai imagine#bleach imagine#fic#au
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we are a team
pairing: hitto kakucho x fem!reader | wc: 1,6k.
genre: fluff, maternity.
warnings: some spicy comments from kakucho, kissing, crying, breastfeeding, cursing etc.
summary: your husband understands very well that being a mother is hard.
a/n: hello everyone, this is the first fanfic i upload to tumblr, i'm kind of shy but i put a lot of work into this and took three deep breaths before the last click. well i don't know what else to say, so... i hope you like it :)
Being a first time mom was difficult, no doubt, all the preparation and advice you'd had in your antenatal classes with a doll really didn't come close to what it was like to actually hold a little child in your arms. You were grateful that your husband, Kakucho, was really trying to be a good dad and do “his part” the best he can, always saying that you were a team.
But these days had been difficult, you had hardly slept at all because of taking care of your baby, who had been more active than usual, resisting his naps and crying most of the day. Your teammate, unfortunately, had not been around much due to work and that had fucked you up. His presence was a fundamental part of your functioning as a mother.
You were pretty tired, no doubt about it.
Right now, you were finally getting some sleep, relaxing your muscles and closing your eyes after a long day of caring for your newborn. You felt like you were in a deep sleep, until you heard the piercing sound of your baby crying from the crib on the other side of the room. You glance at the clock quickly, growling under your breath trying to hold back tears of frustration, seeing that it was 3:45 in the morning. You had only slept for about half an hour. Shit.
“I got it.” Your husband whispers getting out of bed heavily. “You keep sleeping, love.” Kakucho approaches the crib to hold the baby in his arms, cooing to him a little in an attempt to calm the crying. But the little human wouldn't give in despite his father's attempts to put him back to sleep.
“I think he’s hungry.” You say, lifting your body wearily to sit up in bed and rubbing your eyes.
“But this little demon just ate half an hour ago.” He jokes, pinching his son's cheek gently.
“That’s how babies work.” You get out of bed to sit on the sofa that Kakucho had bought so that you can breastfeed more comfortably in the room. “Give me the child, come on.” Kakucho grimaces, not that he can help much in that regard, so he walks over to the sofa to put the child in your arms. “You should go back to sleep, love. I can handle it.”
“You’re crazy. We are a team.” Kakucho watches as you settle the baby better in your arms with the support of a pillow, then lift your pajama top to free your breast and direct it to the child's mouth. You close your eyes for a moment in pain as the child begins to suck. “You okay?” He stands behind you, massaging your shoulders trying to relax you, you lean your head back against the backrest, looking up to meet his gaze.
“Yeah. I’m just tired. He’s draining all my energy.” You smile peacefully at him, still trying to hold your tears. But he knows you better than anyone else. He knows that all these days you have been more frustrated than usual, and he understood how you were feeling. The lack of sleep and having to take care of a newborn all day was exhausting, even though he wanted to be there as much as possible, his job didn't allow it. He wanted to do his part as a father properly, he took every moment there was to spend time with you and the baby; diapers, baths, changes of clothes; he also took care of him on his own so you could get some sleep. In the end, he was the only one you had since your family lived far away from Tokyo.
But these days work had been demanding, coming home late at night with blood all over his suit and with all the paperwork he had to finish. He felt bad about leaving you alone, and he could imagine how hard it must have been for you to do everything on your own. So yes, he understood perfectly if you wanted to break down in tears.
And you tried, really tried, to manage on your own without falling apart. Even though your husband called you every spare moment he had to make sure you were okay, you didn't have the courage to tell him how tired you felt. And at times you hated your grandmother who had always told you that motherhood was the most beautiful thing there was, of course, it was. You loved your son with all your heart, but all your life you had been told how beautiful motherhood was, but not how difficult it really is.
It was truly a reality shock.
You remembered the words of lady of the birthing and parenting classes you and Kakucho took, “I am not going to lie to you, it’s hard. Not the rainbows and candies most people talk about. But, remember that every effort has its reward.” And fuck, she was right.
You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't notice the moment Kakucho stopped massaging your shoulders to sit next to you. He puts his arm around your shoulders and you rest your head on his.
“Are you sure you’re okay, angel?”
At that moment, hearing the sweet tone of his voice and the concern it emanated, you could no longer contain yourself. Letting out the tears you had been holding back. You felt a little embarrassed, so you hid your face on his shoulder. He didn't mind you wetting his pajamas, on the contrary, he wanted you to let all your feelings out.
He let you cry for a few minutes, without saying anything, just listening to your sobs and caressing your arm with his fingertips. You were grateful that he remained silent in the middle of your little collapse, after all he understood you better than anyone else.
When you calmed down a bit, he gently took your chin to look into your eyes. He gave you a gentle smile before kissing your forehead.
“I’m sorry– I just– I don’t know.” You couldn’t formulate your words well.
“It’s okay to cry. I know it’s tiring to take care of him by yourself all day while I’m working.” He caresses your cheek with his knuckles before continuing to speak. “And I’m really sorry I can’t be here with you all day and do my part properly. It’s hard to be a mom, but you’re doing an amazing job.”
“You don’t have to–”
“I’m so proud of you. And I can’t imagine myself doing this with anyone else.” His words almost made you burst into tears again.
“Thank you.” You whisper.
“Thank you, for being an amazing mom.” He kisses your forehead. “An amazing wife.” Now he kisses your cheek. “And an amazing woman.” He finishes kissing your lips.
“You sometimes get really corny, you know?” You laugh through your tears. “I love you so much.”
“I know, right?” He kisses your lips again. “I love you more.”
After the moment you had, you stay in silence for a while. Enjoying each other's presence. Listening to nothing but baby sounds and the sound of your breathing. Until Kakucho decides to lighten the mood with a comment of his own.
“Have I already told you how hot you look when you breastfeed?” You burst out laughing at the randomness of his comment. Kakucho smiles to himself after hearing his wife’s precious laugh.
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious. Just look at these.” He cups your free breast under your shirt. “And here I thought you couldn’t get any sexier after how good you looked pregnant.”
“Let me feed our child in peace.” You push your husband lightly with your shoulder, making him laugh.
“Can I tell you something?”
“I swear if it’s something sexual again, you perv–”
“It’s not. It’s something nice, actually.”
“Go ahead.”
“I just can’t believe we are doing this. You know, parenting. Even when it has been difficult, and I haven’t been around much these days. But I love it.” He kisses your head before continuing. “The moment I saw you in that stupid party I knew you were going to be the mother of my kids.”
“God, you remember? I miss being young.”
“You still young. I'm in my thirties in case you don’t remember. I'm practically a DILF now.” You laugh again at his words. “But yeah, I'm honest when I say I love doing this with you, it feels like a dream.”
“I wish it was a dream when this little demon starts crying.”
He looks at the boy, who has been staring at his father for a while now while sucking on your breast. Kakucho smiles at him. “What are you looking at, buddy? Is the scar? Or are you trying to make me jealous?”
“Leave him alone.” You chuckle, looking at the scene.
“See? You’re putting mommy against me. But listen, she’s been mine long before you.” He leans down until he is face to face with the baby and gives him a short kiss on his cheek.
You and Kakucho watch as the baby slowly begins to close his eyes, falling completely asleep.
“What time is it?” You ask.
“Fuck, almost five in the morning.” He groans looking at the sealing.
“You can go back to bed, I'll put him in the crib and join you in a moment.” You say as you get up, he looks at you in love, before doing the same and heading to bed, waiting for you before turning out the lights. When you lie down next to him, he hugs you around the waist pressing you to his chest, looking at you falling into sleep almost as soon as your face touches the mattress.
He smiles at the sight and whispers against your forehead before closing his own eyes. “I love being a team with you.”
#𐀔 — mar wrote this.#— drabbles#— tr#kakucho x reader#kakucho hitto#tokyo rev x you#tokyo revengers#anime#kakucho hitto x reader#tr x reader#tr x y/n#tokyo revengers oneshot#bonten kakucho#kakucho fluff#kakucho x you#tokyo revengers drabbles#kakucho drabble
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ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰᴀᴅᴇ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪ ꜰᴏʀ ʜᴇʀ ꜱᴀᴋᴇ
ꜱᴏɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ: ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰᴀᴅᴇ ᴀᴡᴀʏ - ꜱᴀᴍᴜʀᴀɪ
ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ: ᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀʟᴄᴏʜᴏʟ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ
The sun begins to set on the never-sleeping Night City as I carefully drive through Jig-jig Street, one of the most bustling locations in the Westbrook area. As a little ritual, I always tend to close all my successful gigs with a drink, doesn't matter how long I have to be stuck behind these god-forsaken wheels.
I promised myself - N, once you take care of her, you're going to spend all your precious eddies on a type-66 Cthulhu, cuz' that baby is not cheap.
as I park the car in front of Jina's, I hesitantly open my sun-visor, which reveals an old picture of my beautiful, big sister Utahime. I smile proudly at her, as she smiles back with her typical mom-like expression. easily the prettiest, smartest girl in Watson district, graduated at the top of her class at Arasaka Academy, nice, family-oriented girl...and a great fucking netrunner, under some big-shot corpofuck. She would definitely scold me for getting shit-faced at a bar after doing dangerous jobs. I laugh, though my smile turns sour.
She would definitely scold me if she wasn't in a vegetative state since 2071 because of a work accident that fried her brain beyond belief while trying to hack into some shady agent's data board. at least fucking Arasaka was nice enough to send her last paycheck, then abandon her, erasing her from the database to avoid any kind of scandal. she and many others deserve better.
"love you, sis, be home soon." I kiss her photo as I put on my sunglasses and make my way over to Jina's, whose entrance is already being guarded by Tyger Claws p̶u̶n̶k̶s̶ members.
"hey baby, nice tits you got there. how much for an hour?" the Japanese tyger claw winks at me seconds before the translation implant reveals his chivalrous intentions. since I don't usually want trouble with these guys, I present him with a cute smile as I try really hard not to throw up in my mouth.
"Thanks, um, is Jina in today?" the guy doesn't even bother to take his eyes off of my cleavage.
"ye, baby, just switched shifts. you her friend?"
"mmhm. anyway, thanks for the info. wouldn't wanna keep you guys busy, so, see ya."
I blow him a goodbye kiss as I push open the glass door, which reveals my haven since I became a merc. pretty girls dancing in every corner, highlighted by neon lights, the smell of lust, and cheap tobacco. I spot Jina and her signature goddess braids right away, tending the bar in her little apron. I take my seat closest to her, she spots me as I take off my sunglasses and gifts me with a warm smile and a shot of Amel.
"I was wondering when you'd show your pretty face again. cheers."
the taste of good old Amel sends chills down my spine as the sour, bitter, and hot liquid coats my needy tongue, making me yearn for more as I take out my rusty cigarette case. thankfully, Jina is already a step ahead.
"It's only been two days, Jina. but I know what you mean. gigs are comin' in hot but-"
"but the pay's shit. you don't have to tell me, I see it in your crusty eyes, madam." she pauses as she hands me an ashtray and another shot. "how's your sis?"
"same, ol'. still can't figure out if she even knows who I am...but that's why these shit gigs are worth it, Jina, cuz' one day-" I down the shot as I point at her with a proud smile. "one day she will be her old self again and the crusty eyes, gunshot wounds, sleepless nights will all be worth it."
we continue to talk for hours, what seems like minutes as I keep downing the liquid gold that oh so sweetly burns my throat. we talk, we dance, we smoke, we drink until the clock turns to midnight as I drift off to a land of dreams, completely closing out the noises around me.
I wake up in a fluffy bed, annoyed by whoever decided to keep the blinds open, but since the sun decided to wake me up so rudely I rise and follow the sound of delicate music. My skin erupts in goosebumps as my feet touch the ice-cold floor, I walk mindlessly in the direction of what seems to be a kitchen tended by a woman whose black ponytail dances freely to the classical music coming from the radio.
"tsk, tsk, tsk. look who decided to show up! and I thought I'm going to be eating breakfast alone again."
my eyes widen and my blood stops in my veins as my big sister turns around with a huge plate of goodies in her hand.
"what, are you hangover again? for god's sake, N, how often did I tell you to stop drinking during the week? sit down and eat, you can take a pill after that."
I instinctively obey her and take place at the dinner table, but as soon as I look up we find ourselves in a different scenario. this time, we are sitting outside in the sun. Utahime wears a thin, red sundress while reading a magazine, slurping on some icy drink. the way her expression changes as soon as she spots some juicy gossip, I get reminded of our mother. the endless similarities scare me sometimes.
"Isn't it so pretty outside? sometimes I forget we're in Night City."
Utahime smiles as she pours me a drink.
"the only way someone forgets they're in Night City is if they have a sister with a cushy job like mine."
right, I almost forgot how well off we used to be when Utahime was working for big-shot corpos. sure, I already had a job when I was seventeen, but that chump change of eurodollars wasn't even cousins with the amount Utahime was making.
"true, but it's not bad to forget sometimes." she takes off her shades and slowly looks at me. "you should forget about me, N."
her words strike me like the bullet in my shoulder from that maelstrom gang member last week. I open my mouth to ask her what she means, to protest, to curse at her, but nothing comes out. the sudden vibration in my pocket pulls me out of the dream and I yank my phone. God save the fucker on the end of the line.
"da fuck you wan'?"
after a couple of seconds of baffled silence, my ripperdoc, Shoko starts to speak.
"I should've guessed you're in some ditch drinking your liver away."
"ouhh, heyyy Shoko. M'bad, m'sry for bein' a bitch. Wassup?"
she lets out a disappointed sigh, I could make out some unfamiliar voices in the background.
"Listen, N, I need you to pull yourself together. someone I know has a job for you, important."
"mhhm, okay. just...just send me the deets. call you back in the morni-"
"No, N, listen to me. The job is from..." She stops mid-sentence while her heels bring her to a more secure spot. "Fucking listen to me, this job is what you've been looking for. High risk, high eddies but I know you need this and I know you can handle it. The job is from fucking Sukuna Ryomen. You have one hour to get back to me, I expect to hear back from you."
she hangs up immediately and before I know it, my feet are unconsciously dragging me towards the restroom. Sukuna Ryomen's name echoes through my mind as the nasty mix of enchiladas and amel exists through my mouth.
Sukuna Ryomen, 43 years old, has been around as long as I can remember. Came from Tokyo to the NUSA, began his career as a street boxer, won every street and official fight in Night City, until he retired and rebranded; today, he is a rich businessman and the leader of The Unwanted, a mid-sized gang that unofficially controls the Westbrook district. Word on the street is, that the less they are the more dangerous. You need high-tech weapons, cyberware, information? You seek out Sukuna. You need someone to be offed? He is your best man. He even convinced big-shot netrunners like Geto Suguru to work for him, a huge accomplishment. That man single-handedly offed 52 netrunners just by hacking into their network, while exposing classified information about a plague that caused the death of more than 14 million people. Geto Suguru was/is a one-man army and bowed to no one until he did to Sukuna Ryomen.
my mind continues to race as I wash my mouth and face, Shoko's words echoing like a never-ending record. I quickly run to the counter and pay Jina for her service, I sprint to my car without a word. My trembling hands take out Utahime's picture and I just smile.
this could be our big break, 'hime. i do this job, i climb up the ladder, we get you that treatment and you'll be back to your normal self again. this is it, 'hime, this is it!
i swiftly start the car and make my way to Kabuki, where Shoko's clinic resides, praying that the badges don't notice my blatant drunk driving.
gotta do this, for her sake. for our sake.
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#choso kamo#choso x reader#cyberpunk 2077#cyberpunk edgerunners#alternate universe#shoko ieiri#jjk#utahime iori#sukuna ryomen
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Very secret anon here! Would you write
“it’s not much, but i got you this.”
for dayasco? I deserve a gift this valentines day😌
I know I’m late with these but to be fair I was already late when I posted the prompts so I guess that checks out huh. But yeah, it’s midnight and I’m listening to Lana deal rey and it’s got me y e a r n i n g so let’s get at these Valentine’s blurbs, shall we? Thank you, super secret anon, for this little ask! I als slightly altered the wording of the prompt, but it’s still the same theme!
College was hard. Classes started early in the morning, ended way too late and still left so much to work up and study for, it kind of felt illegal. Once Daya finally got ahead of her assignments, or at least didn’t completely drown in them, bills and fees crept up on her, forcing her to spend what little time of her day wasn’t occupied by studies and formulas to be spent in the stinky little Starbucks just off campus, working her ass off for a minimum wage. More often than not, the moment she got home, Daya simply collapsed in bed. And often, Bosco wasn’t even home yet. Her server job kept her occupied far into the night, so usually she’d sneak in on her tiptoes as the clock switched from pm to am, crawling into bed and snuggling up to Daya, whose sleeping form rarely stirred before dawn.
To say they didn’t get to spend as much time together as they wish they could was an understatement. And even though Daya made sure to keep Bosco entertained at work, sending stupid memes or salty commentary on her co workers idiocy her way, it just wasn’t the type of romance they’d pictured for themselves when they had moved off campus and into their tiny studio apartment together.
And sadly, Valentine’s Day was no different. Daya came home around nine, dropped a bag of Bagels and muffins into the fridge for tomorrow, took out whatever leftovers she could find and threw them into the microwave. Dinner in bed, an episode of Game of Thrones (the good seasons, duh) on her Laptop, a quick shower, checking on the laundry and her schedule for tomorrow, lights off, right to bed. Her back hurt bad today, and her legs were sore from standing behind a counter for hours, fake smiling at every stupid student coming in.
Four hours later, the door creaked open again. Bosco tiptoed inside, dropping her shoes and bag at the entrance, creeping over to the bathroom to quickly change into one of Daya’s shirts, wipe their face, and then tiptoe over to the bed.
But as she settled down beside her girlfriends body tonight, she felt Daya’s body shift behind her. Long, warm arms wrapped around her from behind, pressing Bosco‘s back up against Daya‘s front, the taller girl nose buried in her dark hair, taking in her scent. Bosco chuckled in surprise, a little giggle following when she felt Daya’s lips against her neck, featherlight kisses all over her skin.
„Hi“, her voice was husky, still full of sleep. Bosco was surprised she was awake at allem usually nothing could interrupt Daya’s slumber. Her next words however gave an explanation. „Happy Valentines Day.“
Again, Bosco couldn’t help the giggle that escaped their throat, turning around in Daya’s embrace. There were dark circles under her girlfriend’s eyes, lids heavy with sleep. They couldn’t help but smile at the sight, connecting their lips in a gentle kiss.
„That was yesterday, Daya. It’s 1 am.“ Bosco’s tone was playful, but Daya’s brows still knit together in offense.
„Fuck off“, she grumbled, pushing herself away from Bosco and onto her elbows. One hand disappeared behind her, the sound of nails scratching wood as she scrambled through her bedside table. „Got you something.“ Finally, her hand came to a halt and she turned back around to face Bosco, some small object hidden in her closed fist. „I know its not much, but it made me think of you. I’m sorry I didnt have time to wrap it…“
Before Daya got to say anything else, Bosco grabber her hand, their head slightly shaking. „Just shut up and show me!“
So Daya opened her fist. Her fingers revealed a small, silver shining ring, made to resemble a set of vampire teeth, with a set of long, sharp fangs. Bosco’s fingers found the little object, holding it up for closer inspection. It was heavier than it looked, but the feeling of the slight weight in her hand was nice.
„It’s real gunmetal“, Daya explained, watching Bosco smile at the little object. „I know a ring might be a little much, don’t read into it too much, I just really couldn’t help myself.“
Once again, Bosco shook her head, silencing Daya in the process. She slipped the ring onto her right middle finger, holding the hand up to marvel at the perfectly fitting ring. „Daya“, she whispered, turning to face the blonde girl. „It’s perfect.“
Their newly accessorised hand found Daya’s cheek, pulling her in for another kiss. „And don’t worry, maybe I’ll marry you once you’re a loaded biologist. For now, this is perfect. Absolutely perfect.“
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drawn arrows unseen
part 3 / previous installments/tags
After they’re finally freed from quarantine, after they skate and have a team meeting all in their masks, the coaches leave them in their meeting room with pizza. The tables get shoved together, the chips and the cards come out, and for a couple of hours everything feels almost like normal.
As the clock on the wall inches closer to curfew, Wright starts shuffling the pizza boxes around, consolidating the spare slices into one box and stacking up the empties.
Guenther flicks his last hand of cards toward the center of the table. “Knock off the omega bullshit, Shane.”
“Fuck off.” Wright tries to close the lid of the overfilled box, jamming it down over the rest of the pizza. “I’m an alpha.”
The room’s too quiet, like all the sound’s been absorbed into the padded partitions that section off their quadrant of the hotel’s conference center. Guenther’s mean laugh breaks the silence. “Son, your balls haven’t even dropped yet.”
“I got tested,” Shane insists, indignant as everyone else around the table laughs. “They said my levels are super high.”
“That doesn’t mean shit.”
Privately, Mason agrees with Guenther. The genetic test is maybe 70 percent accurate before you present. Not worth paying for, his dad said. Said Mason could prove himself just fine without some bullshit lab report.
“Scouts care,” Shane mutters, and no one tries to tell him he’s wrong. They’ve all heard that a doctor signing off on an alpha prediction can be enough to bump you up a team’s draft board.
“Nobody knows, though.” Zelly flicks the edges of his cards through his fingers. He probably worries about it more than most of them do. He’s the kind of small skills guy with a pretty mouth who’s probably spending his draft year trying to prove he won’t turn out to be an omega. “It’s not like any of us are going to be MacKinnon.”
It was big news when MacKinnon presented early. Showed up at the combine reeking of alpha and everybody knew what Colorado was getting at first overall. Knocked Seth Jones right out of the top slot, although eventually Jones turned out to be an alpha anyway. Most first rounders do. But the ones who don’t usually come from the U.S. program like Jones did.
Zelly looks around the table in search of agreement, but everyone’s looking at Mason. Mason keeps his hand still, fighting the instinct to rub his knuckles over his beard. It's not a bad thing for people to assume. He just hates people thinking they know something he doesn't know.
“You have got to be an alpha,” Guenther pronounces.
“Seriously,” Stanks agrees with him. Guys are nodding.
Two seats down from Mason, Connor isn’t. His face is impassive as always, but Mason can tell that underneath his mask his teeth are set and his lip’s curled back. Mason’s starting to figure out how to read him. Or at least he can tell Connor fucking hates any topic that might remind somebody he’s fifteen years old.
“What do you care?” Mason leans back in his chair. “You lining up to suck my alpha dick?”
Guenther’s voice is loud over the laughter. “Wright might be.”
“Fuck off,” Shane snaps. It must be hard for the little robot to deal with something he can’t control. No matter how hard Shane tries to work hard and do the right thing and ace the genetic test, he can’t predict how he’s going to present. Mason’s never seen him get even the least bit rattled before. Usually Shane’s the guy you want talking to the refs. He’s a good captain. Nice to everyone, no special treatment for the guys he likes. You can’t even tell who he likes. Maybe he actually hates all of them.
“Okay, stack ‘em up.” Mason shoves his chair back from the table and slots his poker chips into the cardboard box without bothering to sort them. “I’m going to bed.”
Chips click together and someone gathers up the stray cards and shuffles the deck to put away. Guenther and Stanks start arguing about the pot for tomorrow night’s game. Mason picks up his water bottle and falls into step with Connor on the way to the elevator.
The awkward conversation lingers around them like a bad smell. Mason can’t think how to change the subject. Connor’s quiet next to him. He hits the elevator button with the base of his water bottle. The doors open and the up arrow chimes almost immediately.
They’re the only ones in the car. Connor leans back in one corner and lifts his feet off the floor, boosting himself up with his hands on the railing that runs around the edge of the elevator. “Can I ask…” One of his slides threatens to fall off his foot and he points his toes upward to catch it. He lowers his feet back to the floor. “Never mind.”
“No, what.” Mason’s pretty sure he knows what’s coming. He looks up at the floors ticking off on the panel.
“You don’t have to tell me.” The elevator starts to slow.
“It’s okay.” The numbers stop at their floor. Mason slips his keycard out of his pocket and balances it on opposite corners between his thumb and forefinger
“You didn’t say…” Just before the doors open, Connor finally spits it out. “Are you an alpha or what?”
“Shit, I don’t know.” The vestibule on their floor is empty except for a glass-topped table with a vase and a fanned-out set of magazines about things to do in Texas. The flowers in the vase might be fake. Mason can’t tell.
The ice machine rattles in its alcove as they pass. “You haven’t presented?”
“Don’t look so surprised.” Most people don’t present at eighteen. Every year there’s some group advocating to move draft eligibility back to age 20 or 21. It’s always based on some bullshit about growth curves and developmental years but everybody understands the real advantage for teams would be knowing more about what they’re getting, dynamic-wise.
“I don’t know.” Connor rolls his eyes. “You just look…” He waves his hand like Mason’s self-explanatory.
“It’s the beard, isn’t it?” Mason rubs his knuckles over it. He does like the beard.
Connor snorts. “Yeah, probably.”
“You love it.” Mason shoulders Connor into the wall next to the door of their room. “Maybe it’ll rub off on you.” He scrapes his jaw against the side of Connor’s face, feeling reckless. Connor yelps, startled, and hip-checks him out of the way. Mason stumbles sideways across the hall. He keeps getting surprised by the power stored in Connor’s short frame. He lunges back at him, jamming his chin against Connor’s cheek. “C’mon, get some beard.”
Connor shoves him away with both hands on Mason’s chest. “Dumbass,” he says, but the tense set to his jaw is gone. He might even be smiling.
Mason swipes them into their room. He kicks off his slides and sprawls back on his bed. “Gimme a country.”
Connor switches on the lamp between their beds and flops on his belly next to him. “Spain.”
“Madrid. Too easy.”
“Chile.”
“Santiago. Try harder.”
“Fine,” Connor huffs, reaching for the almanac. He sifts through the pages, taking his time. Mason watches his profile in the lamplight. Finally, Connor’s eyes light up. “Nauru,” he says, triumphantly.
“Only country in the world without a capital, bitch.”
Connor groans and whacks him in the chest with the almanac. “I fucking hate you.”
“You love me.” Mason tries to wrestle the book out of Connor’s hands. “I’m the best roommate ever and you fucking love me.”
Connor holds onto the almanac with an iron grip, making Mason work for it, but he doesn’t tell Mason he’s wrong.
(next)
#drawn arrows unseen#i posted an earlier version of this chunk a few months ago#but it will probably make more sense now that there's context#this is also the last section that you could say is 'written'#things are now going to devolve into me telling you a very loose campfire story while gesticulating wildly with my marshmallow toasting for#also buckle up fam bc i did the math and i think this thing has 18 parts
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YOU
Part 1
Song of this installment
Yes I’m bringing this 2020 banger back SHHHH
This is technically an au
In this au there are:
•Toby, still has Tourette's, although barely mentioned when in his pov because he's used to it and tunes it out now
•he still has his canon mental illnesses don’t worry
•he has no cheek scar-he has a lot of freckles though, that he covered in the first story with makeup, because it’s an easy thing to identify him with.
•his family isn’t dead, he’s just fucking crazy or sum idk (this is subject to change though? When i find lore, because in most cases psychopathy is made from child abuse-although it is believed that it may be genetically passed so…)
•reader is trans ftm (read part one for like context in there transition) not apart of the au but im TIRED AND SICK OF THE STRAIGHT FEMALE Y/N WE NEED MORE TRANS REP
TRIGGER WARNINGS
•kidnapping
•implied that someone (and everyone) Y/N knows and works with is now dead
• torture 
•manipulation
•MOMMM TOBYS BEING A MINDLESS HEARTLESS CRAZED FREAK AGAIN
Summary
It’s been about a three years since the whole “clock em over the the head and tie him up in your basement” incident, you thought it was over.
You were sorely mistaken.
______________________
Y/N’S pov
I changed jobs, moved away,changed my name for the 6th time in my life time(while only being 27). Started over. AGAIN. Because I’m incapable of keeping the creeps away.
.
.
.
I don’t know why I didn’t kill him like I did the others.
You know, usually, when the restraining order doesn’t work, instead of telling the police, you take matters into your own hands,but he’s slippery, more then I thought, he got away, how could I have let this happen, now look at me?
Locked in a basement, and cold, uncomfortably dry basement, waiting for who I can only assume to be the man I thought I so blissfully got away from (and almost managed to kill) a few years back.
And now that I say all this. You must be deeply confused, so allow me to explain.
______
September 4th 2024
12:34 AM
It’s freezing, and my makeup is starting to come off, thankfully I brought my mask. Why is this place still going on this late anyway? I mean, I get wanting a good midnight scare, (I work as a scare acter now) but it’s a freezing September night, the only people who are showing up are drunk…and..shit..someone is coming, ok- got to get into position
I borrow myself into the corn field..and wait
…
…
…
AND SUDDENLY I LEAP OUT AT THEM WITH A SCREAM
Dowsing them in fake blood and landing on top of them…I was not meant to land on them…shit..
I hear an audible groan
“Oh shit I’m sorry man! That was not meant to happen-“
“Naw man it’s fine-“
He sounds vaguely familiar,but who doesn’t,right?
I get off him, and he starts to get up
Shit I wasn’t supposed to break character, I then feel my alarm go off in my pocket..
My shift ended?? Then what is this guy doing here?
He smiles at me a wide..sharp toothed smile..
“What’s the alarm for?”
“My shift ended, it’s close time. What are you doing this far out?if I may ask?”
“You may, and I got here about an hour ago. I made it this far out because I…don’t actually know..?”
He does a full 360* turn and looks heavily confused, like he knew what he signed up for, but doesn’t know how he got where he is now.
“You uh..want me to walk you back?”
His neck jerks and he says a fast yes, clicking his tongue and stuttering
“You uh..good?”
Either he’s a tweaker he has tics, please god don’t be a fucking tweaker.
“So..why’d you come out this late?”
I say, since he completely ignored my question
“Hm..? Oh uh-? Just felt bored”
His hand jerks
It’s hard to see in the heavy lack of light. If it wasn’t for the moon shining over us, I wouldn’t even be able to tell if he was a man or woman,but…he reeks of copper..
Copper..
“So..you work here? Or do you volunteer??”
He asks
“I uh…work here..also sorry, this walk will take a minute, this is the end of the scare trail after all”
I say with a chuckle
He looks at me
“What’s funny?”
“Hm?”
“You laughed, so what’s funny?”
I start to feel a prickle up my spine at the sudden change in demeanor,cold running up and down my body.
“Oh um..nothing sorry, just trying to break the tension that’s all..”
___
At some point after light conversation we end up back on the well lit trail…and then I see his face. He’s covered in freckles, and fake blood and he has a..large scar on his eyebrow..
Odd
I cut rogers when I tried to get rid of him for good
Whatever
We keep waking and then I smell something, it reeks of copper and cigarette smoke, Jaden usually smelled like cigarette smoke..
It starts to click
I walk over to the source of the smell..
Then I see it, this blobbed red thing..
“Hey uh..I realized i never got your name”
The guy says
“Where did you get that scar..?”
I say without turning around, peering into the ditch trying to see if my suspicions were correct
“You.”
And then then I feel him, his hands on my face. a wet rag over my mouth and nose, I try to hold my breath and fight but I quickly start to lose air..and then I breath it in..and lose consciousness…
_____
And that kids,is how I got locked in this creeps basement…
Fuck I hope Charles ok…
Shh..I can hear movement upstairs
______
TOBY’S POV
This is GREAT. I finally get to see you again-mostly because you were to dumb to recognize me, shame really, I thought you loved me tiger.
We’re in love! So how did you not recognize me????it’s fine I suppose, I already killed the bitch you replaced me with. I mean seriously??? A bleach blonde twink??? I am so much better than him.
So
Much
Better.
As I make my way down stares,to you,I kind of realize-that you,mhm you tiger-probably don’t recognize me. It’s a shame, you didn’t see to recognize me when we saw each other again.
I hope you didn’t forget about me.
I slowly creak the entrance to you’re sell (that I made just for you! By HAND, because I truly care about your comfort) and there you are, immediately on alert, jerking about in your seat, thrashing about.
“Your only gonna make it tighter,tiger, I’ll untie you soon, you just have to stop struggling and relax”
You stop,surprisingly, and try to find the source of my voice.
“MFGHH!! MFH MOH”
You bark at me, to bad your mouth is gagged, I’d love to hear what you have to say.
“Hm? What was that?”
I mutter with a smirk, walking over to my table, and picking up my flaying knife
You hear the metal clink, I hear the scared whine you make.
“You’re about to be in a lot of pain tiger. Too bad you deserve it.”
You start to cry. But you didn’t comfort me when I cried…because you weren’t there.
“Stop crying, it’s gonna get a lot worse,Y/N.”
I pull the cloth out of your mouth, and you immediately go silent, like a whine or even scream is born and killed in your throat, maybe you think your silence with get you off easy, but it won’t. So don’t bother.
“Don’t bother struggling.”
I stab into your top of you’re left thigh, bluntly and brutally, and you cry harder, screaming so loud your voice breaks.
“Mhm. Let me hear you pretty boy.”
I pull it a little farther out and watch the blood gush out of your thigh, you’re screaming and crying, not begging though.
“It doesn’t matter how loud you scream, no one can hear you, this place is sound proofed.”
You stop screaming, and then huff something out, it’s so quiet I can almost barely hear it like it’s taking up all of your strength.
“Yknow…you’re a pretty good actor….”
I can’t help but not laugh, I mean complementing me? Really? That’s not gonna get you out of this.
“Why are you laughing? What’s funny?”
You mutter
I quirked an eyebrow
“Oh nothing…”
I rake the blade into your thigh one more time, this time you only jerk your spine in response.
Now I’m never letting you go.
____
I KNOW I SAID I WOULDNT MAKE A PART TWO BUT HERE IT IS. Eat up smucks:3
Also sorry that I’ve haven’t post a fic of any kind in like a month in a half, life likes to rake its nails down my back while licking my ear lobe lol
#creepypasta#ticci toby#stalker ticci toby#ticci Toby fanfic#we love a trans y/n :3#dead dove do not eat#Spotify
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So I've been tussling with how to write this post for some time now.
Uh, the background good news first? I appear to have worked almost an entire pay period and also March is a three paycheck month, so I'm making some very solid progress on getting caught up on my bills, and it seems like this might even continue. I know I tend to be more optimistic than is usually warranted, but 70 hours in my time clock when working all my scheduled hours would put me at 72 is pretty damn impressive, especially compared to how I've been doing for a really long time.
So then I was poking around and trying to figure out what one even does with disposable income. I've been going to a knitting group at a local yarn shop recently (I forget if I mentioned here but a friend was able to get me some KN95 masks and some helpful information about transmission rates so I can socialize safely again! This is probably a big factor in me being less depressed and more worky again also), but I don't really enjoy owning yarn I don't have A Plan for, so right now I've got a cable sweater for Leia, a fancy silk lace scarf, a puffy hexagon blanket, and a crochet baby blanket going, and I just really don't want any more yarn until I finish with one or two of these projects.
Recently, though, as y'all have probably seen, there was an announcement going around about the American Girl doll brand announcing a pair of 1999-themed Historical Character dolls. Because Tumblr is the "we are getting old" website at this point, there were Noises. (They have a Pizza Hut "Book-It" reading program playset. I have never been smacked in the face with nostalgia so hard in my entire life.)
As some of y'all may also remember, I used to have a whole collection of American Girl dolls and furniture and whatnot, because I was trying to do the whole "believe you can be safe and stable now and have the things you were never allowed to have as a kid" thing with a reasonable part of the money I'd inherited from my then recently deceased grandmother (a lovely human being, and by extreme genetic good luck the relative I take after physically, so that I don't have to deal with the whole "growing up to look exactly like my abuser" thing that some people have to suffer through). Then the 2016 election happened, I had a horrible depressive spiral, was unable to work, sold 90% of my collection to pay the rent, eventually became homeless anyway, and lost the other 10% by trusting the wrong person to keep my stuff safe when I had no other options.
ANYWAY! Not the point. The point is that I started poking my nose back into the American Girl website, and then the wiki in order to try to figure out what all I'd missed, and I'm kind of being like "hey, I could hypothetically afford some of this stuff again now".
(I personally find it hilarious that the brand is trying to walk a line between "Addressing trans and nonbinary identities in our helpful book on puberty for preteens? Sure, we'll do that, we're progressive! Also did you say Harry Potter collaboration? That's a license to basically print money from customers who are nostalgic for the same era we were most popular in, let's do this", which is exactly the kind of seesawing I expect from Disney -- who owns American Girl via Mattel.)
So *anyway*, and this is the part of this post I'm really struggling with: I also used to be heavily involved in the part of the American Girl adult collectors fandom that describes itself as "queer-friendly and socially conscious". That part of the fandom runs the wiki (which is an extremely useful and well-constructed resource). I don't know who-all from those days may still follow me on Tumblr, and I'm actually not looking to cause drama, just sort of thinking out loud as I so often do on the tunglrs, but after five years away from the fandom and having poked my nose back in, I'm running into a royal shitton of memories (and a little new information) that's making me go "Holy fuck, this place was *incredibly* toxic, no wonder I got utterly burned out on trying to interact with the dolls and items the way they demanded everybody should. No wonder I still feel like I'm walking on eggshells to even say anything or post a picture related to this fandom."
So. Let's be real. I'm saying "the way they demanded". It's one person, backed up by other mods who don't create their own separate demands. This particular section of the fandom is ruled with an iron fist by one self-described Angry Black Woman who... the very kindest way I can find to describe it is, she's a walking talking demonstration of how you cannot create a single safe space that's safe for everyone. I made a post several years ago that went a little bit viral, where I pointed out that being uncomfortable with a very verbally aggressive black authority figure can actually be because of the "very verbally aggressive authority figure" part, say if you're a survivor of emotional abuse *koff koff*, and doesn't have to mean you're "uncomfortable with black anger" Because You're Racist. That post was a direct reaction to multiple instances of seeing this person tell people "you're pushing back against me being verbally abusive, that's a racist action on your part".
That's the kindest, most nonconfrontational way I can come up with to talk about the situation. Less tactfully, after going to look over the forum rules for this subsection of the fandom -- hoping to realize I'd just been an extremely sensitive tortellini at the time and they weren't that bad, because I know I was an extremely sensitive tortellini in other matters -- in actual fact, I've been reminded very loudly that these rules are a 13k essay on topics such as You Must Be Okay With Verbal/Emotional Abuse If It's Directed At You By People Of Color, All Cultures Of Color Are Closed Cultures Now (So Don't You Dare Put This Black Doll's Clothes On Any Other Doll), and the real kicker for me, Only Selected Queer Identities Are Suitable For Public Discussion (subsection We're Redefining Queerness To Exclude Polyamory, new since I was last here, with sub-subsection Oops We Didn't Mean To Exclude Asexuals Only Those Icky Cishets, and fun guessing game Are We Excluding Aromantics Or Did We Just Forget They Exist, Ask And See If You Get Banned).
I... genuinely didn't mean to go on that long. But this is exactly why I'm making this post. Because I have a *lot* of trauma from trying to figure out what's actually racist or offensive and what's not, while being in a community where anything the main mod doesn't like can suddenly be declared an offense against social justice, and if you ever step on her toes, you're likely to be relegated to the ranks of the damned (aka the white Christian mommybloggers who own more than six white dolls or less than 50% dolls of color). And as probably all of you know, I do a lot of thinking out loud about trauma. Which is a PROBLEM, because this person definitely still follows me here (I don't know who else from the fandom does), and Tumblr blocks don't keep people from seeing your posts, only interacting with them.
So. Uh. There's probably going to be... more of this. I'm making this post now because I'm almost done sewing a doll skirt, I want to show it off here, and I'm also having a really nasty anxiety attack over how this person is definitely going to metaphorically rip it to shreds in the dedicated forum thread for mocking homemade doll clothes (mostly from Etsy) that don't live up to her exacting standards of Historically Accurate Doll Costuming. (The skirt is gathered instead of using 1800s-style "cartridge pleats"! The horror!)
Yeah. So. Um. I guess... if you follow me from when I was last in AG doll fandom, here's where I stand, at least right now. I'm not going to name any names, but you likely know who I'm talking about. I'm not going to go after anybody or cause trouble on their blog, but I'm not going to pull any punches when I'm talking about the ways they and their policies have made me feel unsafe in the fandom. And I'm not going to follow their byzantine rules based on the concept that a single doll can only have one ethnicity and one backstory. A doll, in its essence, is a shapeshifter the way a character actor is a shapeshifter, and not all of us want to create 50+ fixed individual characters that can't wear each other's clothes.
If you can't live with any of that, feel free to go commiserate with each other. I'm not planning to go back to the forum, so don't worry that I'll see anything you say there. (I'm not even planning to publish the rules publicly, since they're not viewable when logged out, although they are a trip and a half to read without the context of the dramas that shaped them.)
If you're scared what will happen to your standing in the fandom if you like my posts or keep following me, though... maybe that's a place to start thinking.
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Red is the Color of Temptation CH.3
ao3 link
Idk why I didn't think to post the fic here as well but whatever lol. I'll post the first two chapters after this! Anyways, horny thoughts about old fat man and his stomach and excuse my shitty writing skills, I'm new to this 😭
(btw this isn't a first person fic, I just wrote it this way for this chapter!)
word count: 2.3k
It's 6 am when I clock out. The sun hadn't risen yet but there was a light sprinkle falling. As soon as I get home I get into the shower, washing off the grease and sweat from my shift. I usually only had a few minutes under the spray before the streaming water turns lukewarm and then freezing.
The shower helped to soothe my aching muscles but I was still tired. Not enough to fall asleep but enough that I didn't even have the energy to get up and fix myself something to eat.
It's three weeks later that I'm sitting on my couch and mindlessly browsing through channels.
My place doesn't really have any decorations, a few pictures here and there but outside of that, it looked like no one lived here.
There are two leather layers, a coffee table made of faux wood in the living room, and two hanging photographs on my wall. It was a single bedroom apartment, the room consisting of a queen bed, a desk, and a medium-sized drawer.
It's not much but it's something. It's mine, even if I have to work at a club owned by criminals.
I truly don't mind though.
I didn't have the best upbringing, but that could be said for a lot of people in Gotham.
My mother died when I was three so it was just me, my two siblings, and my dad until I moved out. My dad worked two regular jobs and some odd jobs then a there, those odd jobs being some work for the mob in our neighborhood. When my twin brother and I were old enough we started to run errands for them. Delivering money, packages, and letters for whoever needed them. It was enough to help our dad pay the bills and we really didn't mind. It was the norm for us.
That was until my brother was killed.
Shot dead in the middle of the sidewalk walking home from school. It was a drive-by and they had mistaken him for someone else. We had just turned 15.
My dad took me and my younger sister and all the money we had and moved to the outskirts of the city. That was about 8 years ago.
It's hard to lose a sibling but it's a different pain to lose a twin. For the first few years, I didn't feel like myself, I still don't but I've gotten better. The grievance isn't as strong, and the pain doesn't hurt as much, but the loneliness is still there.
But I kept moving.
I always do.
By the time I finally fall asleep it's around 4 pm in the afternoon but I don't sleep for long. I wake up about two hours later. I look around for my phone for a bit before I find it under one of the cushions of my couch. I unlock it to find several messages waiting for me. Three from Chez and one from Oz. He texts me every day or so to check up on me but every time I'm still slightly shocked to see a message from him
Cheeze: hru?
The topic moves on.
Cheeze: are u fucking mr boss man?
Cheese: wait are you sleeping?
Fuck hell.
Me: …not anymore
Me: go away!
The answer I receive is instantaneous.
Cheeze: so thats a yes…lol!
Cheeze: he good in bed or???
Me: i am not fucking mr boss man
Me: why would you even think that?
My phone buzzes again.
Cheeze: i saw you go into his office
Cheeze: is it considered a office?
Cheeze: it don't got a door dawg…
I genuinely need new fucking friends. Actually, just a “friend” because Chez is my only friend.
I am not lonely…
I am not lying…
I don't even want to give her the satisfaction of a reply, but I'm so bored I end up replying anyway.
Me: it's a private room.
Me: he has an office with a door in the 44.
Me: this doesn't mean im fucking him
I decide to ignore the new messages Chez sends, instead going to look at Oz's message.
Oz: Are you up? You got time for an early dinner?
What do I even say to this? I know Oz isn't the typical boss but it's not like I can out with him.
Wait is this a date? By definition, sure. In my mind, maybe, though he could just consider this as him checking up on me.
Me: I wouldn't call 6 pm an early dinner
Oz is typing…
Oz: It is if you sleep through the day!
Well, that was quick.
I don't date anyone, I don't meet anyone, and I practically don't speak to anyone beyond what was necessary. I only ever go out with Chez if I'm feeling up to it. I'm not really a people person. But this is completely different. It wouldn't really mean anything if this was a date. It could be like a friend date, like the ones I have with Chez.
Am I even friends with Oz? I'm pretty sure I am. We've been talking more during my shifts, I've even been making him some new drinks for him to test. We even played cards together!
We're definitely friends. Totally!
Me: Sure why not :)
I stare at the screen, waiting for the three dot-dot-dots designating a response.
I'm nervous.
Oz: I'll pick you up
Oz: Think you can be ready in about 30 minutes?
Wait what?
Me: U KNOW WHERE I LIVE?!?!?!
A new text bubble forms, only to disappear. It pops up again.
Oz: You should know better
Me: wut does that even mean
Oz: See you in 30
He's going to drive me fucking insane.
---
I get up to open the door 30 minutes later when there's a knock on the door. I open it to find Oz leaning against the right side of my door, his arm above my head and sweat running down his brow. He looks exhausted and like he's in pain.
“Are you okay?”
“Can I sit?” He rasps out, not answering my question.
“Yeah, of course.” I say as I step out of the way.
He moves past me, making a beeline to the couch closet from us, and his limp is more obvious. He takes a seat and leans back into my couch. I don't know what to do so I just stand there and watch him. Luckily Oz speaks for me.
“Your elevator is out,” He pinches the bridge of his nose, closes his eyes, and sighs. “Had to walk up 3 flights of stairs. I just need a minute to rest.”
“Shit sorry, I thought you would call me to come down,” I say, moving towards him, “If I knew you were coming up I woulda told you the elevator on this side was out.”
He only grunts.
“I've got some painkillers if you want them.”
"Hmm?"
“For your leg. I'm assuming that's the problem.”
He opens his eyes again and turns his head to look at me. He looks surprised that I even offered. It kind of makes me sad.
“Yeah I would appreciate that.” he mumbles.
When I get back with the painkillers and a bottle of water, he's leaning forward on his knee and his bad leg stretched out in front of him. He looks lost in thought and doesn't hear me the first time I call him.
“Here you go Oz.”
He smiles.
“Thank you doll.”
He has a beautiful smile.
I know Oz isn't considered attractive by societal views. He's an old heavyset guy riddled with scars that has a limp, not your average-looking Joe. Yet I personally think he's nice to look at. Scars are something endearing to me, they tell a story visually. They are proof of a life of hard graft, pain, and strong will.
Plus bigger guys are more my style anyway.
I wouldn't say I'm in love, definitely not that, but over the past few weeks of talking to him and being in his presence, I would say I have a pretty decent crush on him. He's just really interesting to me. He's a mystery I want to solve and immerse myself in. I find that most days my mind wanders to the thought of him, thinking of the things he could possibly be doing. Counting cash, smoking a cigar, or beating the shit out of someone. I'm not blind to the things that Oz gets up to and he's made that distinctly clear since we've started talking.
Yet I'm drawn to this dangerous, unattainable man in a way that's completely indescribable.
I know I shouldn't be getting as close as I am to him but I can't help it. I'm fucking lonely and I can tell he his too. We both need a real friend.
No harm in it.
“Why did you want to go to dinner?” I ask, trying to refocus on actually talking to Oz rather than staring at him.
“Why? Not interested in a free meal before work?” he chuckles.
I click my tongue, “I didn't say that, I was just curious is all.”
“I needed to get out, so why not get out with someone that I can keep a genuine conversation with.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“What do you mean nuh-uh?
"Me? Keep a conversation? You're real funny Oz.”
“You don't think ya can?” he's laughing again, the pain that was once on his face now residing.
“It's more of me just answering your questions, you're the one that keeps it going.”
“Well I like your answers girlie.”
I smile, small and coy.
“Glad you think so, Oz.”
His mouth quirks, and stretches his bad ankle a few times before standing up from the couch.
“We should get going.”
“Yeah.”
“What are you in the mood for?”
“I don't know, I assumed you had someplace in mind,” I say standing next to him, “What do you want?”
He chuckles, “I'll pretty much eat anything.”
My lips turn into a soft small smile, “How 'bout Mexican?”
He smiles and nods.
---
I hadn't noticed what Oz was wearing when he first came by, more so worried about him, but now that we're walking into the restaurant, I take the time to really look him over. He's wearing a fine suit, black pants and a shirt so dark it seems to swallow the light around it, and a red jacket so rich I've never seen it before. He tops it off with a white tie.
He looks handsome.
Me, on the other hand, I looked raggedy. I'm wearing a pair of dark blue wide-leg pants, a cropped black sweater with a white and red flannel over it, and a pair of old Doc Martens.
My favorite dirty boots by the way.
I should've known that Oz wouldn't take us somewhere more casual. We're at this place called Javier's Cantina. It's definitely out of my price range, the place is covered in beautiful dark brown wood and tan stone walls. High ceilings with long lanterns and ceiling fans hanging from them, filling the room with low yellowish light. It was beautiful.
“Wow.'' is all I can muster.
“Like it?”
“Yeah! This place is amazing, never been anywhere this nice.”
“I'm glad you like it sweetheart.” he chuckles as a waiter leads us to a booth.
When we get to the table Oz waits for me to sit before he settles in on the other side of the booth. It's a little bit of a squeeze for him and I can't help but look at the paunch of his gut that pushes into the table. He sucks in before readingjusting himself. There's a hint of a blush on the top of his hears and I can't help but feel bad for the slight look of discomfort on his face.
I smile to reassure him, “We got in pretty quickly…did you threaten someone?” I tease.
“Nah, just called in a favor from an old friend.” the change of direction seemed to help.
“Let me guess. A friend of a friend of a friend?”
He laughs and folds his arms over his stomach, “You just think you're hot shit, don't ya?”
“Yeah, actually, I do.”
“At least you're honest about it.”
"Of course! I would never lie to you Oz.” I say in mock offense.
He snorts, his mouth pulling into a brief, sideways smile.
The two of us fall into a companionable silence as we look over the menu. I ended up ordering a small platter of mixed enchiladas while Oz ordered a sizable steak with veggies and a bottle of wine for us to share. We made short work of the wine as I chatted about work, mostly ranting about the annoying assholes that grace the club and how my landlord wouldn't come to fix my damn dishwasher.
I had a pleasant little buzz but it appeared Oz was able to hold his drink better than me. That was okay though, as he continued to let me rant freely.
“The asshole had the audacity to look surprised when one of the twins kicked him out.”
“You seemed to handle it pretty well though.”
“Had to,” I pause, raising my eyebrows slightly, “Wouldn't want to get fired by you, Mr. Boss Man.”
“Hmm, I wouldn't fire you, you're the best bartender I've had in a long while.”
There's a long pause, before “It is…plus if I got rid of you, who else would I have to talk to?”
“You've got a club full of people to talk to every night.”
“That's true but I like talking to you the most,” he says.
I stare at him.
“Are we friends?”
He stares back and I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck raise and my hands becoming clammy.
But then I notice something, he's just as surprised by the sudden question as I am.
“Yeah - uh - at least I think we are.
“Good, I like being your friend Oz.”
#Oswald Cobblepot#oswald cobblepot x reader#The Penguin#the penguin x reader#oz cobblepot#Oz!penguin#colin farrell penguin#Colin!penguin#red is the color of temptation
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OK FOR THIS ONE I WATCHED A VIDEO BUT GOT REALLY EXCITED ABOUT IT AND IT WAS ABOUT ADHD AND I WAS LIKE "yeah this is accurate wtf- I SHOULD USE THIS AS INSPIRATION"
and it inspired me to make this. so i gave ink my adhd problems. and now he has to live with them :>
i guess it's technically angst? there's not really any comfort, just kinda what i experience constantly
Ink couldn’t figure out what he was forgetting. Nothing was on his scarf, so he probably had forgotten to write it down. What was it, though? Was it important? All he could do was hope it wasn’t.
He looked at the time. Wasn’t he meant to call Dream a few hours ago? He might as well call him now, before he forgets.
It’s tomorrow. He didn’t call Dream at all; it completely slipped his mind. Figuring he might as well do it now, he gets up. He walked past the kitchen, and he realized that he didn’t know when he last ate.
He should do that.
He tried to fry some eggs, but they ended up burnt. He signed, and instead put some bread in the toaster. What was he supposed to do again? Probably check the AUs. That is his job.
He walked back into his house, looking at the phone. Of course, he needed to call Dream. It’ll have to wait. Dream doesn’t need to be woken up.
There’s a meeting tomorrow. Ink’s confident that he’ll be able to get everything together before the time. After all, that is how it usually works.
He’s late. Everyone stares at him as he enters. He knows he fucked up. Ink doesn’t even know what happened with the time. It was there, and then it wasn’t. It was like it just slipped away.
Of course, being late wasn’t enough. He forgot to do what he needed to do for the meeting. He’s just that lucky. Everyone is staring at him. Unable to meet their gaze, he looks down. Some protector he is.
He forgot to write things on his scarf. He’s tired, but he didn’t do anything. The meeting was a blur, and he forgot what he was supposed to do. He needs to call Dream.
He needs to take his vials. Then he can eat, and then he can call Dream. He’s got this.
A day’s gone past already. He still has a few weeks, but still a day wasted. At least he’ll be able to make up for it later.
He can’t understand his scarf. No matter how many times he reads it, he can’t seem to get a grasp on what’s going on. Taking a deep breath, he lets go of the scarf, not even realizing how tightly he was gripping it. Maybe he should take a break. That would do him some good.
It’s late again. Another day wasted. His hands are clenched tight in a fist. How could he keep wasting time like this? There’s so much to do, he can’t waste a single moment of it! He gathers the things he needs. Nothing happens. For hours, he just stares at the materials, not a single thing working in his brain.
He notices the gently ticking of the clock, and the soft noise of the fan. As time goes on, that becomes all he can hear. Nothing else can be heard, no matter how hard he tries. His brain is occupied with that noise. He looks at the time.
It’s late again. He wasted yet another day. His breathing is heavy. Why can’t he get this done? It’s right in front of him, why can’t he just do it? Why does he have to be so frustrating that he can’t seem to get this done at all? All he wants to do is get this done. Why can’t he?
He’s forgotten about his toast from weeks ago. There’s no way it’s any good now. He throws it out, getting something to drink. Maybe, starting with this could help. There’s no way he can waste so much time doing this.
It’s late again. Nothing ever changes. He can’t seem to do it. Why can’t he do something so simple? Even the most lazy of Sanses do this! What was so different about him that he couldn’t? What was so wrong with him?
He’s at the meeting room. He doesn’t even know what happened. There was so much time, and it’s suddenly disappeared. Where did it go? Everyone’s staring at him again. He does what he usually does, ignoring how frustrated they all look.
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i'mma be real, the only reason he forgot the toast is because i did too lol
#ink sans#aster writes#dream is technically mentioned#ink has adhd#*le gasp* wow#...pfft i'm being silly :P
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"Hey, pretty boy," Aaron purs, leaning on the counter.
He hates the fact that he's made himself a regular at the bakery. It means people know him by sight, know he talks a lot with Charlie. It makes more... violent outcomes harder to pull off. Father would kill him if he got involved in another police investigation.
But stabbing someone and letting them bleed to death is not the only way one can have fun. Charlie's cute, and he seems desperate for affection. It draws Aaron in like blood in the water.
"What time do you get off?" Even though there's no special inflection to his words, the grin on his face highlights the question's double entendre. "I thought we'd go for a drink."
Aaron had been coming around off and on for a little while now. He was always complimentary, flirtatious without anything really going anywhere. It was kind of fun, admittedly. Charlie found himself looking forward to the visits more and more, the more often he saw the man.
“ Hey yourself, handsome. ” Charlie lets himself sway a little closer to the counter as well. “ Fancy seeing you around here. ”
The bakery is quiet, as it usually is at this hour. It makes it much easier for Charlie to focus on Aaron when there’s no other patrons to attend to. He still didn’t quite know what kind of work kept Aaron running around at such a late hour, but he’d made it clear his work could be exhausting, and Charlie was enjoying being a little bit of relief from that.
He glances at the clock. Technically the store wasn’t meant to be closed down for another hour. But they rarely got customers aside from people like Aaron anyway…
Charlie makes a split second decision. Fuck it. He was a hard worker and he deserved something for himself, didn’t he? A date with the hot guy from work was worth closing a little early. His boss would understand.
“ Give me fifteen minutes and I could be off right away. ” He pats the counter with his hands and pushes off to quickly circle to the front and flip the sign on the door. “ Just hang tight. ” Braid tossed over his shoulder, he swiftly darts through the double doors and into the back of the house to do the quickest closing down on record.
#i hear the universe calling my name (asks);#the graves family#( hello Aaron you mean boy ily )#( Charlie is so charmed how dare )
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Thess vs Slacking Off
Well, the good news is that Temp apparently has a sixth sense for how far to push her luck (or Violet or Milady have been picking up her slack today, either way), because she didn’t seem to be pulling her usual bullshit.
The bad news? Goblin pulled some egregious bullshit that turned a properly paced day into a little over an hour of pushing-too-hard nightmare and logging out five minutes past home-time.
See, even at our worst as far as workload goes, the thing we mainly try to do is be no more than 24 hours behind on the typing. It’s not always easy, but we try. And today it looked like we actually had it! I mean, only barely, but seriously, one of the last bits of dictation from yesterday was a twelve-minute monstrosity from someone who doesn’t normally do those kids of dictations, and whose dictation I usually dislike anyway because she’s got some sentence structure issues and will use ten words when one will do. Still, most of the rest of the typing was fairly okay so I figured I could take a minute to breathe and work at a regular pace for the last hour and a half or so before close of play. This should have been fine - I got the longer stuff done first so that I could time my day better, and was looking forward to a relatively gentle hour for once.
Except then I noticed that the number of dictations in the queue had grown a lot between the start of my two-minute dictation and the end of it. Like, I know the difference between “a lot of people dictating at about the same time” spikes and “someone just dumped a whole wodge from their queue back into the main queue” spikes, and this was basically the latter. And as it was 4pm, and Goblin’s day ends at 4pm, I had an inkling as to what had happened. So I figured I’d check just to make sure that there was going to be nothing from yesterday that would need to be done before close of play.
There were over a dozen reports from yesterday, all timestamped from before my end-of-yesterday chunk. It seems she pulled her usual trick of idling and chatting and gossiping and whatever the fuck it is she does to kill time, got next to nothing done on the typing she generally hates doing anyway, and then just dumped it all back in the queue when the clock struck 4. Hell, she was halfway through one, as far as I could tell - the one on the top of her list had the specimen details and clinical details typed in but she’d left without doing the main body.
Now, I know that you obviously want to leave on time. Particularly Goblin, as she lives a long way away and there are some timetable issues with the bus local to her house. However, it fucks everyone over if you sit on stuff in your queue for several hours, barely touch it, and then dump it all back in. If you know you’re not going to get the typing done for whatever reason, you leave it there, so others can arrange their workload accordingly. But no. No, she just idled through the last couple of hours of the day and then dumped all the stuff she couldn’t be bothered to do into the main queue again, so that those of us who work past 4pm would look bad when there’s this chunk of yesterday’s typing carrying over to tomorrow.
Well, Temp wasn’t going to touch it. I knew that perfectly well. So I grabbed it and got through it, and somehow managed to get them all done while only going five minutes past the clock. I mean, I’m paying for it now, but at least it’s done. While I may not like having to pick up my colleagues’ slack (because I really, really don’t), I do actually take pride in doing my job to the best of my abilities, and if I can keep us from being more than 24 hours behind on the typing, then that’s what I’ll fucking well do. Besides, knowing my luck, I’d get some of the blame for it splashed on me. I work too hard to be tarred with that brush, thanks.
Another bit of good news, though, is that I might not have to go into the office to help with the phones while Scruffman’s on holiday in a couple of weeks. I’m ringing to talk to him about it on Friday, but seems that there’ll probably be enough cover for the phones. I mean, this is good because after the bullshit I’ve taken from Temp and Goblin this week, it might be better to not have me share space with them, lest I throttle them both.
Anyway, at least I did the baked chicken and vegetables thing for dinner yesterday, so plenty of leftovers, and don’t have to cook. I think that would be a step too far. There will be a shops run in a little bit, though. Today’s one of those days when I deserve chocolate.
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