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sixeyesonathiel · 22 days ago

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yearning nerdjo x shy reader, fluff & humor.

a/n: this is so embarrassing bc this is literally how miserable i am irl.

satoru is down so bad it’s starting to rot his brain. like. visibly. tangibly. his leg’s bouncing under the desk like it’s on fast-forward, the heel of his sneaker thudding rhythmically against the floor tile like a metronome set to desperation. his fingers are drumming nonsense rhythms onto his scratched-up laptop case like he’s trying to decode the algorithm of your absence—tap-tap-tap, pause, tap-tap, like morse code for where is she. his eyes—red-rimmed behind silver-rimmed glasses with one slightly crooked arm—keep flicking to the lab’s entrance like he expects you to materialize in a puff of soft pink mist.

his hoodie’s three days old, and it shows: the sleeves stretched from him pulling them over his hands, the fabric bunched at the elbows. his white t-shirt underneath has a tiny ketchup stain from wednesday’s lunch. the keychain you gave him—blue enamel cat, chipped at the ear—dangles off his pencil pouch like a beacon. his code’s running fine. tabs are hyper-organized. debugging queue nonexistent. he even fixed suguru’s late-night python spiral that nearly bricked the department printer and summoned the wrath of the IT gods.

but it doesn’t matter. because you’re not here.

he’s been looking. he’s always looking.

in the hallway, in the cafeteria, in the reflection of vending machine glass. he leans his stupid giraffe neck around corners like he’s expecting a spontaneous reveal. he scopes out lecture halls he’s not even enrolled in, notebook in hand just in case. every time he hears the soft shuffle of flats in the distance, his head snaps toward it like a bloodhound. he’s started recognizing the rhythm of your steps versus every other pair on campus. your soft-soled shoes tap lighter. more deliberate. his ears practically perk up when he hears a backpack zipper. once he dropped his pen and nearly dislocated his neck looking up, thinking it was you.

and every time it’s not you, his expression glitches—eyes dimming, mouth tightening like his soul just flatlined. it's pathetic. it's art.

he sits sideways in group study like he’s waiting for you to pass by the window. laptop askew. chair half-turned. a ridiculous image—this lanky nerd in a grey hoodie and cargo pants with one pant leg caught in his sock, white wires tangled in his ears and dark under-eyes that make him look like he’s been stress-coding in a cave. (he hasn’t slept. not really. he keeps replaying the way you laughed that one time you dropped your highlighter. it echoes like holy scripture.)

his glasses are smudged. he keeps adjusting them, even when they’re fine. his knuckles are red from resting his chin on them too hard. he keeps fidgeting with your keychain when he’s not typing. thumb brushing over the worn metal, like he’s afraid it’ll disappear if he doesn’t keep touching it. a nervous tic disguised as reverence.

“dude,” suguru says, from two monitors over, voice dry, hair tied up in a lazy half-bun. “you haven’t scrolled in thirty minutes.”

suguru’s slouched in his chair, hoodie sleeves rolled to the elbows, rings tapping against his thermos. his screen's frozen on a meme. he hasn’t blinked in five minutes.

“maybe she’ll walk by,” satoru murmurs, eyes locked on the frosted glass wall outside the lab, hunched forward with his chin on his palm, as if willing your silhouette into existence.

“you said that an hour ago.”

“maybe she’s shy today. maybe she’s building up the courage. maybe she dropped her student ID and fate’s guiding her back here. what if the universe is lining up our pixels right now, suguru? what if—”

“she’s shy every day.”

“and that’s what makes it beautiful,” satoru sighs, dreamily. he stares out the window like a man in a tragic romance film. “she’s mysterious. like a foggy horizon at sea. you don’t know what she’s thinking, and that’s the best part. she could be plotting world domination. she could be drawing cats in the margins of her notes. it’s art.”

suguru groans into his hoodie sleeve.

and then like a glitch in the matrix. like god reached down and clicked “unmute” on the simulation—you pass by.

no footsteps. no warning. just a blur of your jacket sleeve on his left peripheral, and he flinches so hard he nearly spills his water bottle. the water sloshes. he slaps the bottle upright. you’re so close. the scent of your shampoo—jasmine and something warm, like vanilla and late-night bookstores—floods his senses. his head whips around before he can even think, pupils blown wide behind his crooked glasses, mouth parted like a cartoon character seeing a pie on a windowsill.

your gaze meets his.

not one second.

two.

wide eyes. startled. curious. the slope of your brows twitch upward slightly, and your lashes flutter—a beat too long, like a reflex or a stutter in time. your lips part just slightly, like you meant to say something—but don’t. your fingers tug at your sleeve, pulling it over your knuckles in that way you always do when you’re flustered. a half-step pause. your mouth twitches, just barely, like you might’ve smiled. then your gaze drops, your shoulders stiffening as your pace quickens, like you’re embarrassed to have looked at all. your fingers curl tighter around your binder. there’s a sticker on it he hadn’t noticed before.

and that’s it. you’re gone.

satoru slaps both hands over his face and releases a sound that is one part gasp, one part squeal, one part glitching modem.

“oh my god,” he whispers. “oh my god, she looked at me. TWO SECONDS, suguru. TWO. that’s statistically significant. that’s a scientific breakthrough. that’s… that’s eye contact with depth. it had nuance. it had arcs.”

“you’re not well.”

“no, listen. the way her eyes flickered? like she wasn’t sure if she should look away or say something? and her lashes twitched, just a bit. like she was nervous. did you see her hand? she pulled her sleeve down. she only does that when she’s flustered. i know. i’ve studied her. i’ve got timestamps. i’ve got spreadsheets.”

“you’re insane.”

“i’m in love.”

satoru slumps in his chair, limbs sprawling dramatically, glasses askew. he exhales like he’s just seen god. his knee knocks into the desk. his sock has a hole in the toe. the corner of his laptop screen catches the light and reflects a faint shimmer onto the ceiling, and it feels, to him, like stars. his fingers are still frozen mid-air, clutching the keychain like it’s the only proof the moment happened.

“i’m gonna marry her,” he says. “drop out, become a florist. i’ll propose with baby’s breath and carnations—those are her favorites, don’t ask me how i know. maybe a little lavender tucked in. something gentle. delicate. a bouquet that says ‘i know your soul.’”

“you need help.”

“i’ve named our cats already. ichigo, milky, and toblerone. toblerone’s the shy one. milky’s chaotic evil. ichigo wears a little red bow tie. we’ll live in a little flat above a cafe and drink lavender lattes. she’ll wear soft sweaters. she’ll draw comics on sticky notes. i’ll iron her lab coat. it'll be perfect.”

“she doesn’t even know your name.”

“wrong,” satoru says smugly, lifting a single finger like he’s presenting hard evidence. “she knows me as the guy who always looks left and right like a cracked-out meerkat. that’s recognition. that’s brand awareness.”

“romantic.”

“don’t be jealous just ‘cause she didn’t look at you.”

“she’s cute, i guess.”

“NO.” satoru jolts upright like he’s been electrocuted. “DON’T even THINK about perceiving her. your eyes? shut them. your brain? turn it off. opinions? delete them. she’s too good for this world. if anyone’s going to romanticize her, it’s me. with accuracy. and passion. and nuance. only i’m allowed to think she’s cute. and i do. constantly. it’s my full-time job.”

“fine, jeez.”

“say she’s ugly, then.”

“what?? no??”

“exactly. you can’t. because she’s perfect. ethereal. a goddess walking among midterms and overpriced coffee. and she blinked slow, too, did you notice? it was like… like a signal. maybe morse code. she’s trying to tell me something. she’s reaching out. spiritually. through kinetic energy and eye twitches.”

suguru closes his laptop with the tired resolve of someone preparing for battle.

satoru, still glowing with delusion, goes back to staring at the glass wall, head tilted, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“she looked left,” he murmurs. “that’s my side. she always looks left.”

he swears his hoodie still smells like you.

#౨ৎ — flash reports #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader fluff #jjk x reader fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x female reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #reader insert

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alexthetrashyracoon · 1 year ago

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Simon loves you. He adores you. He worships you.

You love Simon. You adore Simon. You worship Simon.

That’s one thing you two have in common.

The other thing is that you two hate your own bodies.

You hate the fat on your belly and the fat of thighs that make every jeans you wear too tight. You hate how slabby your arms are when you wave at someone and wear a t-shirt. You hate the stretch mark on your stomach and under your arms, around your thighs. You hate the little double chin you’ve gotten over the years and can’t get rid off, no matter how hard you try.

Simon on the other hand hates how rough his body is, how firm and hard. He hates the scars all his years in the military had left behind. He hates how there is always a reminder of a bad past, one where you didn’t have a place just yet. He hates how calloused his hands are, from years of punching people or holding weapons. He hates that no matter how hard he tries, he always is a bit too rough, never too much to hurt you, but it’s not easy to relax.

So one of these days, your parents invited you and Simon over for brunch and you agreed to go. But now you’re standing before the full body mirror and stare at the tight shirt you chose to wear, you swore the last time you had it on it wasn’t like this. Tears gather in the corner of your eyes as you squeeze the pouch of fat on your belly.

That’s when Simon walks inside. He’s dressed casually, jeans and shirt. He looks good, handsome. But as always he hides most of his body behind long sleeves and pants.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispers into your head, wrapping his arms around your waist to take your hands away from the small pouch. “You’re gorgeous, sweet, sexy. There are a million words I could say to describe you, but they won’t be enough. You’re perfect, the way you are.” Simon says softly, looking into your eyes through the reflection of the mirror.

You believe him.

Because you might hate yourself but you love Simon.

Simon is the same. He believes you when he stands at the sink and looks at his scarred hands. Those hands aren’t made to love someone, they are made to kill and destroy. Those hands aren’t meant to touch someone as pure as you.

That’s when you walk into the bathroom. You see him, hate and disgust in his blue eyes.

You place your smaller hands on top of his before taking them and placing his hands on your cheeks. Smiling softly.

“Your hands are made to protect, you save not just me but many people. They are gentle and kind. You are gentle and kind. You aren’t a machine that’s made to kill. You are perfect, just as you are.”

And Simon believes you.

Because Simon might hate himself but he loves you.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x gn!reader #cod x you #alex writes #fanfiction #cod mwii

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theonion · 3 months ago

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Despite the tide of aquatic opinion flowing in favor of reproductive rights for all, marine society still gives male seahorses very little say over what happens to their own bodies. Instead, we are treated as passive baby-making machines. Meanwhile, if it were the female seahorses who could get pregnant, there’d probably be an abortion clinic on every coral.

I guarantee that if female members of our species were responsible for bringing new life into the world, they wouldn’t be forced to propel themselves across treacherous waters in search of a sketchy back-reef abortion. Nor would they be expected to pay out of pocket to have the morning-after pill shipped to them from the Gulf of Mexico.

Instead, they would be free to terminate the pregnancy without a 24-second waiting period or a water burial for the microscopic detritus. Safe and effective abortion would be available in every mangrove and estuary on earth to any female who swam on by. Why are we males not afforded the same agency over our reproductive organs?

Females, until you can become pregnant yourselves, kindly keep your opinions out of my brood pouch.

Full Story

#the onion #news #politics #opinion #nature

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nekomanager · 9 months ago

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SORRY, THERE'S ONLY ONE ROOM LEFT ♡ AKAASHI KEIJI

due to unfortunate circumstances you have no other choice but to spend the night, sharing the same room with your charming editor AKAASHI KEIJI

f!reader, pwp, deep penetration, fingering, breast sucking, orgsm delay, cunnilings, mirror sex

“I deeply apologize. We're fully booked for tonight. We only have one room left.”

Tough luck. Now, you’re stuck in a hotel room with a man overnight. It was not just a man, it's your longtime crush and editor, Akaashi Keiji.

Your fingers fumbled as you tried to process everything in your brain.

All of this wasn’t supposed to happen to you. It was his ordinary house visit asking you about the plot of your new work when he suddenly invited you to one of the places in your story for "inspiration".

Talk about being lucky. Akaashi had been working with you for years now. Your admiration for him grew as he was the only man who listens to you ramble about your plots and actually gives his serious and constructive thoughts about them. He's intelligent, attentive and respectful. It's truly admirable.

Add to that, he was charming as hell. Well, his eyes were wistful and lips, peachy. He always reached his hand out for you to shake and you swore you felt nervous every time without fail.

Just when you thought everything would stop with him being so good-looking and fine, you’re wrong. Just a while ago, he opened the cafe door for you as you headed out. He had manners too. He was every man straight out of fiction!

Good grief. He also smelled like olive essence that you wanted to bury your face into his chest. You were sure that time stopped during that moment.

The snow fell hard and the train stopped their operations. Finding a cab home was also impossible. You had no choice but to stay at the nearby love hotel. A love hotel! How ridiculous. An even silly catch was you had to endure sharing it Akaashi.

You sighed, staring at the mirror of your shared room's ceiling. You blushed. We all know what's this for. This is ridiculous!

Donning only the white oversized shirt you got from the vending machine and the disposable panties from the vanity kit, you laid down in bed freshly-bathed, and inspected the buttons at the side table. You were amazed when the light changed different colors from blue to pink. Leaving it there, you pressed a button that made the bed bounce. You panicked and wanted it to stop, but you only increased the speed more which threw you off the bed.

“Ow!" You stumbled on the floor with your lower-half hitting the edge of the bedside table, wounding the back of your left upper-thigh.

“What happened?” Akaashi rushed out of the bathroom, wearing only a towel around his waist with his hair still dripping. Even though you’re in slight sting, you didn’t miss how perfectly toned his abs were as the droplets fell over them.

“I-I’m okay. I just fell out of bed," you said, avoiding to look at his body.

He went beside you and slid an arm behind your knees, carrying you back to bed. Your insides clenched at how your cheek was pressed close to his still drenched chest. The heat of his skin making you hot in the lower region of your body.

Once he laid you down, you shifted a little and a pained expression left you.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked.

“Y-Yeah, I guess I just have a little wound.”

Akaashi stood up and went to where he placed his bag, fetching a brown pouch. He brought the item over and pulled out a band-aid. “Where is it?”

You turned your body sideways and lifted your oversized shirt, revealing the small wound at the back of your upper thigh just near below your ass. You were just wearing panties and you knew that so well, but somehow...Maybe you could look a little charming for him too.

Oh, Akaashi sure knew how your charm was working him real bad. You were smart, quirky and witty. You're wonderful. You piqued his curiosity most of the time and he always thought you're cute.

He swallowed dryly. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this. He could just give you the band-aid and let you tend to your own wound, but you're too adorable to resist and the pull of his dick was clouding up his judgment; not to mention the sight of your fleshy thigh before him and that smooth skin was inviting him to come over.

So he did.

He took out the band-aid from its seal and carefully covered your wound.

His light touch and breathing fanned your sensitive skin—it was hot and a little ticklish, sending down tingles in between your legs. His eyes met yours and you held his gaze.

Both of you were panting.

Anticipating.

His stare didn’t leave you as he planted open-mouthed kiss on your thigh. You closed your eyes and breathed through your mouth. Your reaction signaling him that you wanted it too. He kissed even lower, leaving little marks on your thigh as he sucked on your flesh.

The moment he reached your knees, he parted them and got himself in between.

He leaned down and kissed you, tasting and sucking your lips. His hands skimming under your shirt, pulling it up off of you.

Damn!

He felt his cock harden at the contact of your erect nipple against his chest. Hungry for them, his lips traveled down your neck, your collarbone and stopped at one of your nipples. He sucked and twirled his tongue around it and you squirmed under his weight, a wanting moan went out of your lips.

As if sensing your need, he slipped a hand under your panties. The pad of his three fingers flat on your pussy, massaging it with the right kind of pressure. Hearing your heavy breathing was getting him more excited. Your arousal drenching his fingers, tempting him to slip one in.

“Mhmn!”

That just made him add another one in. His mouth transferred to your other nipple and your fingers all tangled in the strands of his hair. Your head felt light. His tongue on your breast and fingers inside your cunt were in the same tempo. Slow, sensuous and torturous. You wanted more and more of him.

You couldn't reason with yourself anymore, begging the man whom you had a totally professional relationship until now. “Please…” You whimpered.

Akaashi looked upon you. That helpless look on your face ain't helping at all, it made him want you even more. He really wanted to take this slow but you’re making it hard for him. You’re making him too hard.

Unlatching your breast, he captured your lips next, removing his fingers from your pussy. Your hips slightly buckled up, missing his touch.

Getting lost in his tender kisses, your wetness dripped out from your slit. He parted from you and you let out an involuntary moan of complain. That made made him smile sweetly at you.

Shit! Did that make you bite your lower lip. Everything this man did was be pretty and sexy as hell. He stood up and…

Wait- Was that it? You felt a pang of disappointment, until you yelped!

He pulled you at the edge of the bed by the waist. It was abrupt but still very gentle. Your legs were splayed down, while only your upper-body was lying on the mattress. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He said. You gave him a questioning look and he leaned forward to kiss your forehead, “Your wound.”

He took hold of your gaze. You got lost in them that you didn’t notice him sheath himself. He watched your eyes widen as he slid his cock inside you. Shit. He’s hot. He felt so hot. He draped your right leg up his shoulder. Reflexively, you wrapped your left leg around his waist.

You really thought he was gonna fuck you fast. The way he’s already throbbing inside you made you think so, but you were wrong.

Akaashi was sliding out of you slowly, making you feel every inch of his long cock just to slam hard and deep right back in. Your eyes almost closed each time he’s hitting it deep. It was relentless.

Thrust. He couldn't believe that he'd be having sex with the girl of his dreams tonight. But hell! Who gives a damn! Thrust. He'd been sticking by the rules all this time. Maybe, he should try to live for once and fuck! Thrust! You felt so good, he could have you 'til tomorrow. Yes, just for tonight, the only one he'd be reining in would be you.

“Ohhh, ahh…” You couldn’t even control the pace. His silent and gentle command showed on his knitted brows. His cheeks were flushed, jaw clenched as a light droplet of sweat crawled down the side of his face. Damn! He’s so goddamn sexy.

You bit your moans, looking up at the mirror on the ceiling. You watched as he fucked you slowly but hardly. His cock sliding in and out of you while his ass clenched every time he was slamming balls deep into your pussy. The impact everytime he rammed in was making your breasts bounce lasciviously.

Despite his slow tempo, he’s going in hard and heavy that his balls slapping onto your ass was audible in the entire room, drowning your pathetic moans. It felt so good. So good that you wanted more.

"Akaa...Akaa...mhmn~"

You’re always so close to coming with him penetrating so deep, but him sliding out so slowly was delaying your orgasm. You felt it. Growing and building hot inside you. Your pussy was throbbing so bad and you whimpered to him helplessly.

He knew he could still go for far long but seeing you plead for your release, he couldn’t help but satisfy your need.

“Come here.” Akaashi ordered in that gentle but commanding manner. He let go of your leg on his shoulder and you followed his order without any complain, lifting your body and lacing your fingers together at the back of his head. “Hold on tight.” He whispered as his strong hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place.

“Ah!” You gasped as he fucked you surprisingly fast this time with the same depth and impact. “Ahhh! Oh my god! Shit! Ahhh…”

He grunted through clenched teeth as he pounded you hard. Fuck! Fuck! Y/N fuck!

Three pumps and you leaned your head back, mouth open, orgasming like you never had before. The feeling of not being able to release for a prolonged time then letting it all out made you feel like you’ve seen heaven. It felt so amazing that you’re still trembling around him.

Akaashi kissed your forehead; with his cock still hard inside you, he lifted you up. You weakly hugged him tight in return.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He brought you to the bathroom and dipped your connected bodies in the jacuzzi. He unlatched from you, retrieving his cock. Him sliding out got you almost close to coming again, still feeling the pleasure in your pussy.

You looked in between you and watched as he removed the used condom. He didn’t cum! And he’s still erect and rock hard. How’s that-

His lips found yours again and you instinctively wound your arms around him.

“Do you have anywhere else to go to tomorrow?” He asked with a voice so sweet. The way he’s so gentle yet disciplined was crazy attractive.

“No, I have nowhere else to go.” You answered limply.

“We have all night then.” He lifted you up and seated you at the edge of the tub, so his face was just right in front of your pussy. “Feet up.”

And you lifted them on the tiles, opening wide for him. His index and middle fingers rubbed your pussy, making you moan, “Aka-“

He stopped, looked back to you and demanded, “Keiji.” He inserted his two fingers in. Your head lulled back, foolishly repeating his name over your head. You’re sure you’d be screaming it for the entire night. The moment his tongue finally touched your pussy, another wave of orgasm hit you. Right there, you knew you’d be extending your stay.

#akaashi smut #akaashi x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi keiji smut #hq x reader #hq smut #akaashi x you

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unfinishedslurs · 1 month ago

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de-aged bruce wayne and the worlds most thrilling game of clue

Mini-Bruce stares at Tim, and hands him a doll.

“We are playing Detective Barbie,” he announces. “You can be Ken.”

Affection rises in his chest. He’s just so tiny. Some of the panic eases too. Barbies. He can play Barbies. “Is Ken the Watson to your Sherlock?”

“Ken is dead.”

Never mind. He barely resists the urge to groan. What is he supposed to do if he’s dead? He’s so bored. He can’t leave the room, he’s supposed to watch Bruce. And if he tries to take Bruce with him to a different room, he has no doubt the kid will slip him somehow.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, too. Trying to make it clear that Tim isn’t welcome. Welp, sorry, Mini-Bruce, but if your adult self couldn’t get rid of me, this eight year old version of you has absolutely zero chance.

Tim’s like a termite. He has gotten in the foundations of the house, and there is no getting him out. Still, he doesn’t want to just be playing Dead Ken.

“Counter offer,” he suggests, and Bruce stares at him flatly. God, it’s weird how much like Damian he looks. Not that adult Bruce doesn’t share a resemblance, but it’s even more obvious when the baby fat hasn’t faded to a sharp, square jawline and five o’clock shadow. They’re not identical, different shapes to the nose, different eyes, but the scowl he’s leveling at Tim sends him right back to when Damian first moved in. “I play the murderer.”

Ha! It was barely there, but he caught it. A small flicker of interest in Bruce’s eyes.

“That sounds dumb,” he scoffs, but it’s too late. Tim has smelled blood in the water, and he’ll press his advantage until Bruce has no other choice but to let him win. He’s not too good to use the same tactics he uses for Ra’s and the board of Wayne Enterprises on an eight year old. “How would that even work?”

“I’m so glad you asked.”

He has Bruce blindfolded with a pair of bat-grade noise canceling headphones on in the center of the room, and goes to work picking out props and setting clues around the dollhouse.

He lays Ken in the middle of the mock police tape (the decorative stuff that seemed to spawn in every artsy girl’s pencil pouch in school but never actually stuck to anything) and spends a few minutes contemplating which Barbie he wants to use as the murderer.

No offense to Ken, but there was only one in the bucket. Plus Tim really wanted to be Barbie.

“Are you done yet?” Bruce complains loudly. Tim flicks him in the back of the head, since he wouldn’t be able to hear his response anyways. “Hey!”

Tim pulls one of the headphones off his ear. “Patience, padawan. I’m wrapping it up.”

Bruce huffs, but settles again.

It’s all worth it when Tim has him finally take the stuff off, and Bruce’s eyes widen with excitement as soon as the blindfold falls away.

It’s almost like a Cluedo setup in the dream house, with several possible murder weapons strewn about, different suspects in different rooms, and Ken laying face down the middle of the kitchen.

“There’s been a murder,” Tim announces gravely as Bruce whips his head around to him. “Your goal is to figure out which Barbie is responsible for the death of Kensworth Footsworth, a wealthy heir of a washing machine company. There are seven possible suspects, each with their own motives-“ he pulls out the informational cards he made with a grin “-and alibis. One of these cards also has a description of the victims injuries. Your goal is to figure out the perpetrator, the murder weapon, and the motive. You get three hints. I will be acting as the different suspects, trying to throw you off the scent.”

Could they have just played Clue? Probably, but the 3D aspect of things is kind of exciting. Tim is actually really looking forward to this.

Bruce just stares at him. “Kensworth Footsworth is a stupid name.”

“Maybe that’s why the perp killed him.” Tim’s smile slowly fades as Bruce just keeps staring at him, expressionless. “We don’t, uh, have to play if you don’t want to. Obviously. I just thought it might be fun like this…”

Bruce finally looks away, something flickering over his face. “It’s fine. We can play. But you’d better not go easy on me!”

Tim smiles again, a little more strained. “Great!”

An hour later, Tim thinks this may be the most fun he’s ever had. Bruce is actually smiling. A real, bonafide, ear-to-ear grin that hasn’t shown up the whole time he’s been de-aged. It’s somehow the same and completely different from older Bruce’s smile, the one Tim always feels so proud of whenever he’s the one to make it appear. It still invokes the same feeling from an eight year old, apparently.

Bruce slams a character card down, beaming. “I’ve got it! It was Balloon Beauty Barbie, in the kitchen, with the stiletto!”

“And why did she do it?”

“Because Kensworth Footsworth stole her rightful place as heir, and she’s still next in line for the fortune when he dies!”

“Yes!” He jumps to his feet, raising his hand for a high-five. “Dude, you got it! That’s awesome!”

Bruce bounces on the balls of his feet, eyes lit up with a child-like eagerness that is still so weird to see on his dad. Tim would do pretty much anything to keep it there, probably.

“We’ve gotta celebrate,” he decides. “Do you like ice cream? I think we have ice cream in the freezer.” They always have ice cream in the freezer.

He’s being dragged out of the room before he even finishes his sentence.

“Alfie!” Bruce shouts as soon as they enter the kitchen. “I won detectives!”

The butler turns around, and his eyes widen slightly at Bruce’s beaming face before the boy collides with his leg. They both stumble from the force of it. Bruce seems caught off guard by this, but Alfred steadies them quickly enough that Tim doesn’t have to keep them from falling over.

“Is that so?” He asks, hand coming down to brush his fingers through Bruce’s hair. The questioning glance he sends Tim is full of affection and something he doesn’t know how to name. Gratitude, maybe, but he doesn’t know why.

“Tim showed me this game you can play with the Barbies, where you start out blindfolded and the other person makes cards and there’s a dead body and a bunch of weapons—“

“Oh?” The next look he shoots Tim is a little less fond. He smiles sheepishly.

“I basically made Clue into a 3D Barbie game,” he explains.

“It was Ballon Beauty Barbie, in the kitchen, with a stiletto,” Bruce recites dutifully. “Alfie, we need to play! It’s kind of like your spy games!”

“Spy games?”

“Master Bruce has always enjoyed mysteries, as I’m sure you’ve figured out by now.”

“I hadn't seen young Master Bruce smile like that since…” Alfred trails off, then shakes himself briskly and turns a fond smile onto Tim. “You boys have always been very good at showing him the light in the darkness.”

“You know me, Alfred,” Tim says. “It’s what I’m here for.”

#batfam fanfic #tim drake #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #for context bruce has been de-aged to eight years old only a few months out from when his parents died #which is part of why he's so standoffish at first #honestly the idea of this tiny eight year old not smiling like he did before his parents deaths until dick came into his life #like 14 years later makes me want to cry #he's so tiny. itty bitty. no wonder alfred tears up

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bamsara · 10 months ago

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Hello! I was wondering what company you use for your sticker sheets? I bough one from your Ko-Fi shop and really like the quality, and the pricing you were able to sell at is waaaaaay more reasonable compared to any of the companies I've seen and used myself. Is it a POD company, or a mass purchase of them to sell on your own?

Thank you for your time if you're able to respond!

I'm really glad you like the quality, because I actually make them by hand at home! (Please forgive the lighting, my bedroom is my office lmao.)

I don't use a company (and Idk what a POD company is sorry!) but making them at home gives a lot more freedom of stock, just be wary it can be very time consuming depending on how many you need to make.

I've had other people ask before, so here's a rundown of how I make my stickers at home: At most you'll need:

Printer

Sticker paper (this is the type that I use)

Laminator and lamination paper (the lamination paper that I use.) You can also use adhesive non-heat lamination paper if you don't have a laminator, gives you the same result, just be careful of bubbles. You will get double your worth out of a pack because we are splitting the pouches to cover two sticker sheets.

Your choice of a sticker cutting machine or just using scissors.

First, I use Cricut's software to print out the sticker sheet with the guidelines around the corners so the machine can read it. If you do NOT have a Cricut machine, open up your art program, make a canvas of 2550x3300 and fill it up with your sticker design with some cutting space between them. This the 8.5x11 size for the sticker page.

I usually have bleed selected so the cut comes out cleaner. Tip for non-Cricut users below: Increase the border around your sticker design to fake the 'bleed' effect for a cleaner cut.

These are the print settings I use for my printer. I use the 'use system dialogue' to make sure I can adjust the settings otherwise it prints out low quality by default. Make sure if you're using the above paper that you have 'matte' selected, and 'best quality' selected, these aren't usually selected by default.

So you have your sticker sheet printed! Next is the lamination part. I use a hot laminator that was gifted to me, but there is no-heat types of lamination you can peel and stick on yourself if that's not an option.

(This is for protection and makes the colors pop, but if you prefer your stickers matte, you can skip to the cutting process.)

Important for Cricut users or those planning to get a Cricut: You're going to cut the lamination page to cover the stickers while also not covering the guidelines in the corners. First, take your lamination page and lay it over the sheet, take marker/pen and mark were the edges of your stickers are, and cut off the excess:

(I save the scrap to use for smaller stickers or bonuses later on)

After you've cut out your lamination rectangle, separate the two layers and lay one down on your sticker sheet over your stickers with matte side down, shiny side up. (Save the other sheet for another sticker page)

The gloss of the lamination will prevent the machine from reading the guidelines, so be careful not to lay it over them. It also helps to cut the corners afterwards to prevent accidentally interfering with the guidelines.

Now put that bad boy in the laminator! (Or self seal if you are using non-heat adhesive lamination)

Congrats! You now have a laminated page full of stickers.

For non-cricut/folks cutting them out by hand: this is the part where you start going ham on the page with scisscors. Have fun~

Cutting machine: I put the page on a cutting mat and keep it aligned in the corner, and feed it into the machine. For laminated pages I go between 'cardstock' and 'poster board' so that it cuts all the way through without any issues, but for non-laminated pages or thinner pages, I stick for 'vinyl' and 'light card stock'. Kinda test around.

Now I smash that go button:

You have a sticker now!

The pros of making stickers at home is that you save some cost, and you have more control of your stock and how soon you can make new designs. (I can't really afford to factory produce my stickers anyway)

However, this can be a very time consuming, tedious process especially if you have to make a lot of them. There is also a LOT chance for some errors (misprints, miscuts, lamination bubbles, ect) that will leave you with B-grade or otherwise not-so-perfect or damaged stickers. (Little note, if you have page mess up in printing and can't be fed into the cricut machine, you can still laminate it and cut it out by hand too.)

I have to do a lot of sticker cutting by hand, so if you don't have a cricut don't stress too much about it. I have an entire drawer filled to the top of miscuts/misprints. I keep them because I don't want to be wasteful, so maybe one day they'll find another home. Sucks for my hand though.

But yeah! This is how I make my stickers at home! Hope this is helpful to anyone curious

#sticker making #stickers #sticker tutorial #sorry for the long post

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charlotte-liddel · 1 year ago

Text

"It's somewhere between enchanted and infused. I made the design but I had assistance at an ancient forge of my people to actually craft it. It uses a special ore and was crafted with magic I can wield in play." Nova wasn't surprised the staff reacted to Zelda's touch, understanding well the affinity for light as much as time the princess was known to hold. She was just more relieved that the staff was capable of withstanding proximity to the princess due to its certain magical sensitivities. She was also happy enough to share that much of the staff's creation in the open, soon giving a nod to Zelda's offer to move their conversation to the royal library.

"I have some insights you might like to hear then about artifacts like the Dominion Rod, but they are better said in the royal library too. Oh, and I'm also apt at translations if you have anything there in the ancient language you need help with. Two heads are often better than one with the ancient dialects writings." Her ears flicked briefly to the sounds of the village, before she let out a small hum as another thought hit her. There was just an internal debate if Zelda might be welcome to the thought that struck her, and her tail swished lightly behind her with some anticipation in response. Or simply nervousness.

Nova carefully moved to put away her staff away, having it quickly disappear into the pouch she pulled it from originally. Her other hand was hovering over a different pouch with some hesitation now. She still had some whirling thoughts if she should pull out any of the devices within. Some might be viewed as a danger if she wasn't careful, and some could rightly just be dangers with those unaware of their function.

Still, Zelda's offer of magic to get there was the better option, and so Nova moved her hand away from the pouch. There would be time later to show the devices, even if she had a great desire to show them now. Instead she gestured for Zelda to lead on, "Whatever you might need to do for this magic you mentioned, feel free to start. I'm only aware of some methods of such travel so this will be rather interesting for me, I am certain. And I would much rather get away from the ears I can hear on those walls so we might speak more freely."

Her last comment was a knowing jab at anyone listening to them. A benign warning that her tall ears were not simply for show.

Questions indeed.

While she'd never seen the Twilight Mirror, there were still similarities to an ancient artifact. A precious item that, somehow, wasn't lost during the seven years of destruction. The resemblance was hardly an exact thing, but enough that she noticed. At current moment, only legends surrounded the Dominion Rod.

Very, very carefully, she places a hand on the staff, though not to try and take it. It was a gentle hand, as she closed her eyes, in an attempt to reinforce the memory of the Dominion Rod in her mind. When it glowed, oh, how she was amazed.

"It must be enchanted."

Words spoken when she removed her hand, and opened her eyes.

"It does hold similarity, but only to one relic I know of, and even then, the similarities aren't exact. There is an artifact in the castle, called the Dominion Rod. The architecture on the statues it can summon seem similar, and yet... it is so different from what you have in your hand."

The Sage had spent time studying those statues. So bizarre, how they followed the command of any who held the rod. But who was she to question what was crafted in the past? Zelda may have been able to traverse the time stream, but she knew better than to go about wreaking havoc on it simply due to that power alone.

She'd caused enough damage by sending her best friend back to his childhood.

"No one currently alive knows when the Dominion Rod was made, nor how it was given the power it has. Even legends of it are difficult to find, in ancient texts. As heiress to the throne, I was required to learn the language ancient texts wrote in, so I can assure with good faith that there are few surrounding the Dominion Rod."

When used, the orb on the Dominion Rod would glow. She'd practiced with it, but it wasn't something she could say she was proficient with. Practice, yes, but Zelda had never taken the Dominion Rod into a true battle.

"It certainly does raise questions. But those are to be answered only should I have your full consent. Perhaps it would be better we speak in a location with... less ears on the wall, if you understand what I mean. Perhaps the royal library? It is quite the walk, however, with a little bit of magic, anywhere can be reached within mere moments."

#|💫Shooting Star💫|#| ✧✨✩A Twilight Star✩✨✧ |#| ✧✩Time ticking to Twilight✩✧ |#| ✧✩Undetermined✩✧ |#\||✪Closed RP✪||/#atimelesslullaby #[[Zonai AU Nova]]#[[Nova knows some Sheikah detail that would very much be on Zelda are listening no matter what]]#[[She's also just resisting gremlin mode of “I can make a flying machine to get there” with the pouch hesitation]]

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luveline · 9 months ago

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i'm missing coworker!james so much... is he doing okay?

James is poorly :( fem

James is a cruel kind of ill. Desperate to escape the dreaded ‘man flu’, he tries hard to portray the common cold. Doesn’t whine, groan or moan, simply suffers the near constant sneezing and his twinging neck without comment.

Luckily, he has two —two! because you like him enough to be concerned! barely!— nice deskmates who ply him with tea and worry alike.

“Did you take that antihistamine?” Remus asks.

“I did, yeah. You watched me take it an hour ago and try as I might, I haven’t regurgitated it yet.”

“Don’t be disgusting, he’s just worried,” you say.

A month ago, you might’ve said it with deep, genuine ire. James annoys you and his choice of imagery is hardly workplace appropriate, but for some reason you’re good to him lately. You’re softening, and why shouldn’t you be? James is a boy worth softening for.

He sneezes hard into a tissue in his palm and knocks the desk, sending his small crowd of figurines skittering, their light green bodies scuffed with scratches. They fall over each day. You like rearranging them.

You also like feeding James biscuits, and pretending you don’t like him. Or maybe pretending you do. It’s hard to tell what’s real.

“Jesus,” he says, forgetting to be demure as he drops his forehead against his closed fist. “I can’t take it much longer.”

“You need to calm down, is all. Every time you sneeze you trigger the inflammation in your nose, which makes you more likely to sneeze again,” Remus says. He doesn’t sound particularly pitying, but he does then stand to grab James’ mug as he heads to the kitchen.

In an office made up of mostly Brits, it’s extremely common for everyone to make one another a tea or coffee when they get one for themselves, but it’s a sweet gesture for Remus to keep James topped up nonetheless. It also provides for moments like this: you and him alone. Not awkward anymore.

“Do you have painkillers?” he asks.

You open the drawer of your desk and offer him your pouch. “Here.”

Inside are many things. A box of lil-lets, plasters in sterile wrappings, throat soothers, ibuprofen, a treasure trove of cures for little ailments.

“Just, help yourself to anything you want.”

“You’re an angel.” James unveils a shiny purple chocolate bar. “I can have Freddie?”

“Freddo,” you correct. “Come on, James, it’s on the packet.”

He doesn’t truly want it. He doubts he could taste it, and he drops it back in.

“Oh, no, you can have it!” you say, softer. “I’m just being pedantic.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think I can do chocolate right now.”

“Right, um… well, I have a sandwich?”

“What kind of sandwich?” he asks.

“One of those impossible BLT’s. But I can get you a proper sandwich, James. They have those sesame seed rolls in the vending machine.”

James doesn’t understand why you’re being so nice to him. “I must look awful,” he murmurs, letting his aching, pulsing head drop onto the desk. He sniffs uselessly. Fuck, he hates work. Why can’t he go home?

“You never look awful,” you say.

James turns his face to see you’ve lowered your own, resting your cheek in your hand, your knuckles grazing the table.

“You’re being too nice to me. I’m dying.”

“You’re the one who’s mean to me, James. I’m your unwilling victim.”

“As opposed to being my willing victim.” James hates being ill, his lips are dry and his throat feels sharp and he’s changed his mind, he does want the Freddo. “Please be nice to me again.”

“You know what’s good for this? Nasal spray. That’ll fix you.”

“You could fix me,” James says. You don’t answer. He presses his nose to the table. “My days are always good ones when you can't be bothered to pretend you don’t like me.”

“Who says I’m pretending?”

James whines. “That’s worse.”

You tease a bit of his hair behind his ear. James is content to let you, content to never move again, balmed by the softness of your touch as you draw along the outline of his ear to his jaw. “Don’t press your glasses into your nose, you’ll start sneezing again,” you whisper.

James refuses to move. “Stroke my hair,” he demands.

“No way.”

“You’re no fun.”

“But I’m having a much better day than you are.”

He sulks. This is exactly why James hides your stuff and leaves you off of email chains you should probably be in. You’re horrible, awful, evil, with no sympathy for him and no friendliness, either. James was far better off when he was solely annoyed at you, and not whatever useless state of being this is where his mood depends on your willingness to make friends. If James could, he would—

“Are you okay?” you say, your voice as soft as your fingertip where it traces slowly through his curly hair. “Maybe you should go home and rest. I’m worried about you…”

James might fall in love with you if you keep whispering sweet stuff like that. You hesitate at the nape of his neck before dragging your hand up through a tuft of curls.

“If you don’t get better soon, your voice will go and I’ll have to talk to Lang and Co. on the phone again. You know I hate their finance team leader,” you finish.

You sound so pretty that James almost misses your slight. Then decides he’ll allow it as long as you keep stroking his hair. —

coworker james au

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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fanficsandstuffgod · 25 days ago

Text

✮ ⋆ ˚｡ Wallet 𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

japan!schlatt x fem!reader

@fancy-fleur-blog here u go pookie

We were halfway through a night out in Tokyo — me and a couple mates, weaving through the backstreets with canned chu-hi in hand, making dumb jokes and pointing at vending machines like we’d never seen one before. It was one of those warm, electric nights where the city feels like it's got a pulse.

That’s when I saw it — a little blue coin pouch lying near the curb outside a 7-Eleven. Looked kind of beat-up, but I picked it up anyway, figuring maybe someone had just dropped it on their way out. Curiosity got the better of me, so I gave it a look.

Cards, receipts, some loose change… and a name.

Jschlatt.

I paused. Stared at it for a second. Nah, couldn’t be. Not that Jschlatt, right?

Except… it looked exactly like the wallet he showed in that Japan vlog a few days ago — down to the dumb little cow keychain. I pulled out my phone and started skimming through the video like a madman. There it was. Same exact one.

I just kind of stood there like, what the hell do I even do with this? And for whatever reason — blame the alcohol or just the absurdity of it all — I took a photo, DMed him on Instagram, and said, “Hey, found your wallet in Tokyo. Here’s where I’m at.”

Didn’t expect a reply. Figured it’d get lost in a sea of messages. But then, less than a minute later:

“Thank fucking god. I’m on my way.”

I stared at my phone like it’d just spoken.

About twenty minutes later, he shows up. Hoodie, baseball cap, bit taller in person. Honestly, he looked like he'd just run halfway across the city. He walks up, sees me holding the wallet, and lets out the most relieved laugh.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he says, and claps a hand on my shoulder like we’ve known each other for years. “Drinks on me.”

So we end up at this little izakaya nearby — tucked away, warm lighting, quiet chatter in the air. We sit down, order sake and grilled skewers, and he’s just… a guy. Funny, sharp, chill as hell. Not putting on a voice, not doing a bit. Just talking about how he nearly had a breakdown thinking he'd lost every card he owned in a foreign country.

The conversation eventually drifted from lost wallets to more normal stuff — daily routines, pets, even family. Normally, I wouldn’t open up that easily. But then again, I don’t usually end up grabbing drinks with Jschlatt in the middle of Tokyo, either.

“You’ve got a cat?” he asked, scrolling through my Instagram like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I nodded, smiling. “Three, actually — and a dog.” I lit up a bit. I love talking about my pets. “That grey one there is Gandalf,” I said, pointing to a photo with all of them piled on the couch. “That ginger one’s Galileo — like the scientist. He’s a ranga and freaks out whenever I sing Bohemian Rhapsody. And that little black-and-white guy? That’s Fat Louie. Named after the cat in The Princess Diaries. He’s a guts — always trying to steal everyone’s br—”

I cut myself off mid-sentence, realizing I was rambling. Schlatt had this look — not annoyed, just… entertained. His lips curled in a crooked smirk, eyes kind of soft.

“Uh, yeah. And the dog’s Levi. Had him for years,” I mumbled, suddenly shy again.

He let out a warm chuckle and nodded. “That’s cute. You’re a big animal person, then?”

“Yeah,” I said, leaning back a little. “My ex used to get mad at me for bringing animals home off the street.”

He looked up from my phone, eyebrows knitting together. “Mad? Why?”

I blinked, surprised by the question. “Uh... ’cause he didn’t wanna deal with vet bills and food and all that?” I tilted my head, like it was obvious.

Schlatt scoffed lightly and shook his head. “I’d be lucky to have that problem. ‘Too many animals’ sounds like a win to me.”

That kind of stuck with me. We kept talking after that — about his cats, weird rescue stories, the time he almost adopted a dog on impulse in Texas. It was easy, light, and real.

Eventually, he glanced at his phone and sighed. “Right. I gotta go — flight in the morning.” He stood up slowly, gathering his stuff with a reluctant shrug.

I stayed seated, giving him a small wave. “Nice meeting you,” I said with a half-smile.

He hesitated, then turned back, rubbing the back of his neck like he was thinking it over.

“Hey, look…” He paused, eyes flicking up to mine. “Can I grab your number? You’re really chill. Wouldn’t mind hanging out again — under, uh… different circumstances.”

He chuckled a bit at the end, but he meant it. And I couldn’t help but grin.

#jschlatt x y/n #jschlatt fanfic #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt #fanfiction #tokyo #sorry it took so long

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darkbluekies · 4 months ago

Note

Can we have more Jerry content please?

"Familiar, like my mirror years ago"

Yandere!female!mafia x reader

Summary: darling getting shot reminds Jerry of memories she can't help but repress, and is now forced to face

Warnings: gore? Blood, lots of it, pain, trauma? In other words, a dark oneshot

Word count: 4.5k

She can’t believe it. The sight is enough to make her sick. Her darling, her only light in this miserable life, lying unreachable in a hospital bed with countless machines connected. How could she ever have let that happened? She’s been sitting by your bed for hours, holding your hand tightly and not looking away. She hasn’t felt a pain like this for a long time, not since her family died. Jerry tries her best to think of something else, but it keeps coming back.

“Mom and dad are out, I’m supposed to make dinner for us.”

Yuna looks up from her homework and grimaces. She’s still wearing her school uniform. “Then we won’t eat”, she mumbles sulkily.

“Hey, watch it.”

Yuna laughs. Jerry’s long hair is tied into a loose ponytail. She sits down on the floor beside her younger sister, watching over her while drinking from a juice pouch. Yuna’s much smarter than her, both in school and life, and that’s good enough for Jerry. She doesn’t have to be smart if Yuna is.

Yuna lifts her head up from her math book. She looks over her shoulder at Jerry.

“Sister, there’s a boy in my class”, she says, “and I think that he likes me. He asked me to go to the amusement park on friday.”

“Who’s this rat?” Jerry scoffs.

“He’s the class president.”

“Oh, your academic rival.” Jerry takes a new sip of her juice. “Is he smarter than you?”

“No.”

Jerry smiles and ruffles Yuna’s hair. “I know that’s right. My little sister is the smartest in school.”

Yuna squirms embarrassedly, but her smile exposed her.

“Before you go out with him I want to meet this little boy of yours”, Jerry says as she bites the straw. “I need to accept him.”

“He’s nice, I promise.”

“I’ll believe that once I see it.”

“Please don’t embarrass me.”

“Embarrass you? Do you think I’m a child?” She thinks for a second. “Don’t answer that.”

Yuna chuckles.

“What about you, sister?” she asks. “Don’t you have someone that you like?”

Jerry leans her head against the wall.

“No”, she replies and smiles. “I don’t need one. Well, are you hungry? Should we get some food?”

“What are you going to make?”

“I’m not going to cook, we’ll go out and buy something. If mom and dad doesn’t know we’re eating junk food, they can’t get mad. I’m feeling like tteokbokki or convenience store food, what about you?”

“Street food sounds nice.”

“Good, let’s go.”

Jerry stands up and goes to grab her jacket. Yuna follows. They walk out of the apartment, out onto the lit up street. The stars in the night sky twinkle beautifully. They walk side by side. Yuna’s shorter than Jerry, for now, but she’ll be taller in a year, she’s sure of that. Yuna’s only sixteen. Jerry’s eighteen. Jerry was Yuna’s age when she started doing things she shouldn’t. It had started small with skipping class, then smoking, then tealing lip glosses from the mall. And then it escalated to robbing and assaults. Jerry wondered where she would be if she hadn’t befriended the wrong people. She had never been good in school, not like Yuna, but had been good at PE. But that doesn’t matter. She has a new chance with Yuna now, to make sure that she does everything Jerry didn’t and make sure Yuna doesn’t do the things Jerry did.

“Look what my friends got me for my birthday”, Yuna says and shows a ‘Kuromi’ plush charm hanging on her bag.

“That’s cute”, Jerry agrees.

Yuna’s friends are the type of friends a teenage girl should have. They gossip, go out for fun, have sleepovers, late night talks. But Jerry knows that Yuna’s friends are scared of her. Ever since Jerry got kicked out of school, people have been suspecting her of things she has done. But no one has evidence. Yuna knows about the theft and the assaults, but not of the others. Jerry has made sure that no one knows that she has joined a gang. If Yuna knew, she could get hurt. That can’t happen. Yuna does everything right in life, she isn’t supposed to be involved in these things. The gang doesn’t know about Yuna either. That’s for the best.

Seoul’s streets are empty, apart from a few people walking their dogs or out on walks. They walk to a nearby food market and buy one thing from every food stand before walking to the nearest river and have a picnic.

“We should have gotten water”, Yuna says.

“Go put your head into the river”, Jerry chuckles.

“I washed my hair this morning.”

“Then thirst to death.”

“Can’t you go buy water? Please?”

Jerry sighs and stands up.

“Fine”, she groans. “Wait here. Don’t eat everything when I’m back.”

Yuna laughs. Jerry grabs her phone and leaves. She walks to the nearest convenience store and gets two bottles of water and two ice creams. The lady behind the counter smiles at her and wishes her a good night. Jerry wishes her back.

A cold wind brushes past her as she walks back out into the night air. For a moment, it feels like someone is watching her. Jerry looks around, but there’s no one to be seen. She frowns and hurries back to the river. Yuna has eaten all of the sausages.

“I told you not to eat all of it!” Jerry says. “If you wanted more you should have bought them yourself. And here I got you ice cream, you ungrateful brat.”

“No, please give it to me!” Yuna laughs and reaches for the ice cream. “I'm sorry, sister, please! You can take all the remaining fish cakes, please!”

Jerry pretends to think for a moment.

“Okay”, she says nonchalantly. “I guess that works. Greedy bitch.”

She gives Yuna the ice cream. Yuna laughs and Jerry can't help but smile.

“Do you think life is pre-planned for you?” Yuna asks after a while. “As in, your fate is already decided, it doesn't matter what path you'll take, you'll eventually end up where you should be?’

“I don't know”, Jerry replies and licks her ice cream. “Wouldn't that be kind of sad, though?”

“Why?”

“If your life is already decided for you. You can't change it. What if you don't like the decided fate?”

“But what if the decided fate is the most perfect for you?”

“What would mine be, then?”

Yuna studies her. “I don't know, but I know that it isn't robbing people. I think you'd be a good psychologist.”

Jerry lifts her eyebrows. “Me? Why?”

“You're good at noticing emotions, and feeling them. You know when I'm upset without me even saying anything.”

“That's because I know you … and you're like an open book, wearing your heart on your sleeve.”

“Maybe, but you know how to make me feel better.”

“I don't think I'd be a good psychologist, unfortunately. I'd be a good mechanic, though. I'd be like a doctor but for machines. What about you? What do you think your decided fate is?”

Yuna sighs and looks out over the river. “I don't know”, she says in defeat. “I wish I knew. I want to get good on the CSAT when i have to do that, get into a good university and get a good job … but i don't know what I want to do.”

“You're sixteen, Yuna, you have time to figure it out.”

“You too. You're eighteen. You can choose something better.”

Yuna’s eyes turn to her, full of sorrow. Jerry’s heart aches. She puts her arm around Yuna’s shoulders and leans her head against hers.

“I'll figure it out”, she sighs. “Don't worry about me.”

“But I do. All the time. I love you.”

“I love you too, but you don't have to. I will figure it out. I will.”

Jerry sobs. Her body is breaking into pieces, can feel the flesh rip itself apart.

Please wake up, Y/N. Please. I can't do this.

She should have done more to protect you. She should have learned from her mistakes. She opens her left hand. A small Kuromi plush charm rests in the palm of her hand. The other hand holds onto yours tightly. The little plush stares at her with cute aggression. She wants to bury her sharp nails into its face, claw away the mocking expression.

You couldn't leave me without a little bully, could you? When you're not here to tease me, this is.

Jerry looks up at your face and feels her body goes cold once again. You look so small, so breakable. She's afraid of squeezing your hand too tightly, worried that she'll snap it in half.

“This is my older sister Yubin.”

Jerry scans the boy up and down. He dresses well, has his hair neatly prince and styled and bows deeply. A real dream for a mother in law.

“Nice to meet you”, he says.

Yuna pulls Jerry to the side.

“Please, can I go with him?” she whispers.

Jerry glances towards him. He twiddles with his fingers

“Okay”, Jerry gives in. “I’ll come get you at eight.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to make sure you get home safely.”

She watches her sister leave the apartment with her arms crossed over her chest.

“He seemed like a nice boy”, her mom says behind her.

“Yeah, let’s hope that, for his sake”, Jerry mutters and walks into her room, closing the door behind her.

She keeps herself occupied by watching a cheesy drama in bed while eating snacks. Every now and then she glances at the clock on her phone, waiting for it to be the right time.

After four episodes—and not a single kiss yet—it's finally time for her to get moving. Jerry gets out of bed and grabs her jacket. She gives her mom and dad a quick ‘goodbye’ before exiting the apartment. The evening air is crisp, the music blasting in her earpods. Her ears are always surprised by the sound, either heavy rap with skillful execution or upbeat bubblegum pop.

She walks through lit up streets full of students taking advantage of the fact that there is no school tomorrow. Fridays being out the wildest in even the calmest of teenagers. Jerry should know.

Suddenly, the feeling of being watched enters her body again. She doesn’t stop to look around, doesn’t want to give any potential stalkers the knowledge that she’s aware. Jerry shakes it off, she always feels watched. She’s paranoid.

She sees Yuna and the boy stand outside the gates of the amusement park. Jerry walks up to them, hands in her pockets. Yuna smiles and waves goodbye to the boy.

“I had so much fun!” she tells her as they walk.

“I can tell”, Jerry says, trying to sound unbothered but the way her lip curls upwards exposes her. “So, how much money did you waste?”

“None, actually. He paid for everything.”

Jerry raises her eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh?” She can't hide her surprise. “He did?” But quickly composes herself. “As he should.”

“I feel bad though, he spent so much money trying to win me a stuffed animal at those machines, you know? The ones with a claw? But I think they're rigged.”

“Of course they are.”

Yuna yawns and leans against her older sister. Jerry chuckles and wraps her arm around her shoulders.

“What?” she questions. “Are you tired now?”

“Yes”, she replies. “Can you carry me?”

“Fuck no, you can walk by yourself.”

“Please?”

Yuna clings onto her and stops walking. Jerry groans and lifts her up on her back, piggyback carrying her. Yuna hugs her neck.

“I think I like that boy”, she mumbles with a smile.

“If he ever hurts you I'm breaking his neck, you know that, right?” Jerry says. “No one hurts my sister.”

Yuna hugged her neck tighter. “No one gets to hurt my sister either.”

Her heart breaks. Jerry has moved away from the bed and sat down beside the window, looking out over the city. The sky is dark, lights twinkling everywhere, like stars.

There's a knock on the door. Jerry looks over, eyes swollen from all crying. Her boss walks in with a bodyguard behind him. In his hands is a colorful flower bouquet, surrounded by soft, pinkish gift paper. He glances at you before turning his eyes to Jerry.

“I came as soon as I heard”, he says and places the flowers on the chair by the bed. “How are they?”

“I don't know”, Jerry says quietly, voice not reaching more than a broken whisper. "Nobody knows.”

Her boss takes a deep breath. He's much more careful than Jerry has ever seen him.

“If there's anything I can do, don't hesitate to let me know, ‘kay?” he says.

“Kill that coward”, she says coldly. “No, don't. Save him for me.”

“I will.”

Jerry makes the mistake of turning her eyes towards you. Your poor soul. Her boss walks over to her and, to her surprise, puts his arms around her. He has never hugged her. In the four years she's known him, he has never hugged her. She has to control herself to not break out into childish sobs again.

“I really love them”, slips out of her before she can stop herself. “Oh, fuck, what do i do?”

“You don't do anything”, her boss says. “You'll stay here and watch over them and I'll do the rest.”

He leaves shortly after, wanting Jerry to have time to herself. She can't cry in front of him, and crying is exactly what she needs.

She walks to the bed and picks up the flowers. There's a little card attached to the gift paper. Jerry opens it.

“Get well soon, Y/N, the entire organization is sending its wishes for you to heal quickly and come back to Jerry — M.”

Jerry smiles slightly. She places the bouquet in her water bottle.

A small noise is heard from the bed and she turns to see you slowly, but surely, open your eyes. Jerry feels her heart stop. She throws herself forward, getting closer to the bed.

“Y/N, babe, I'm here”, she breathes out. “Babe.”

Your eyes seem to not be able to register anything in the bright light, but as they move to see where the sound is coming from, they pupils seem to grow. They fill with tears. Jerry turns your cheek with a trembling hand and wipes it.

“It's okay, baby”, she whispers. “It's okay.”

“Jerry …”, you croak out.

She nods. Tears filled her eyes. She squeezes your hand tighter.

“My pretty baby”, she sniffles and wipes your tears.

“It feels weird.”

“You have machines connected to you, that's why it feels weird. But they're there to help you.”

“How am I alive?”

“I don't know … it's a miracle.”

She must have someone on her side, a guardian angel … or someone that has seen it all before and couldn’t let it happen again. Jerry looks down at the little Kuromi plush in her hand, heart sinking.

“I never thought that i would be shot”, you admit.

“It’s my fault”, Jerry says. “I should never have let it happen. I’m an idiot … but fuck, am I happy you are alive. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t woken up.”

You look around the room, eyes stopping at the flowers.

“Did you get those?” you ask.

“No, my boss did”, she replies and takes out the card. “He even wrote a little message for you.”

She reads it out loud to you and breathes out in relief at your small smile.

“I must be the first person to get that kind of message”, you joke weakly.

“You are”, Jerry says and takes a risk at a joke. “I hope that you’re grateful, because you won’t get another one unless you die.”

“I’m not planning on it.”

Jerry smiles and caresses your cheek. “That’s my baby. You’re not dying for a long while, and I’m going to make sure of it.”

You notice the plush in her other hand.

“What’s that?” you ask.

Your weak hand reaches for hers, trying to get a better look at the Kuromi figurine. Jerry feels her heart stop, her body turn to ice. You knew that she had a sister before and that something happened, but not what happened, or where she is now. Too stunned to react, you’re able to take the little plush out of her hands. You hold it carefully, turning it around to get a good look at it.

“It fits you”, you say quietly, smiling slightly.

“It wasn’t mine from the start”, slips out of her, breathlessly and unfamiliar to her. “It’s not actually mine.”

“Did you steal it from someone?”

If only.

“No”, she says slowly. “I didn’t. It was my sister’s.”

You pull your eyes away from the charm and look at her. She has gone pale by now and stares empty in front of her. The stare reminds you of soldiers who’s seen too much and you apologize for bringing it up.

“You don’t have to apologize”, Jerry mumbles and takes the little plush carefully. “I guess that you should know the story. If anyone should know, it should be you.”

“What was her name?”

Jerry smiles sadly. “Yuna.”

“Yuna.”

Hearing you say it breaks her heart all over again, makes it bleed into her throat. She wishes that you could have met her, and that Yuna got to met you.

See? Jerry would have teased her. You didn’t think I would get a good partner, what do you say now?

“You would have loved her”, Jerry says quietly, still wearing the painful smile. “And she would have loved you—adored you. She loved everything and everyone. A soul too good for this world. She never broke any rules, never did anything stupid … and when she did one time, I scolded her so bad that she never did it again.”

Jerry can see the hesitation in your eyes before you ask the question.

“What happened to her?”

Jerry’s head pounds in pain. Blood runs down her chin, from the corner of her mouth. She wipes it with her sleeve. She really should stop getting into fights, it never ends well. Even if she wins them, she’s left with aching limbs for days to come. But the pride from a win makes her do it again, and again, and again. She usually gangs up with a few people from her gang, and go at it until they can’t anymore. But today was different, she thinks as she makes her way home, through empty streets. They smiled too much today, provoked her more than usual. When she was ready to leave, they pulled her back in with their taunting words, knowing exactly where to press to rile her up again. As if they didn’t want her to leave. It was weird, different than usual.

Jerry drags her feet over the pavement. She will have to take a shower to remove the blood—whether it’s hers or not doesn’t matter.

The door to the apartment complex isn’t fully closed. A small drop of blood sits on the ground. Is she bloody enough to drip? She opens the door and walks into the building, pulling herself up the stairs to the apartment. This door isn’t closed either. Jerry frowns and opens the door, walking into the hallway. She can tell, right away, that something is different. There’s a new smell in the air, one she is oddly familiar with.

The smell of blood.

Her heart stops, nerves crackling with panic before she runs forward, into the livingroom.

“Mom?” she shouts. “Dad? Yuna?”

Blood covers the floor, the walls and furniture. Jerry spins around, desperately trying to find where it leads. It seems to have been smudged in all directions. She opens the door to the bathroom. Empty. Her parents room. Empty. Kitchen is empty. Her hand hovers shakingly over Yuna’s bedroom door. Please don’t, Jerry thinks as sweat runs down her back, please, please. She opens the door. The room is covered in blood. Her parents are lying across the room, blood smudges across the floor exposing that they’ve been dragged here. Their throats are slit. Jerry stumbles backwards, hand reaching for something—anything—to grab onto. Her heart seems to be everywhere in her body, beating irregularly. An ice cold, burning nausea covers her fully, like water.

“Mom—”, she chokes out, sinking down on the floor. She can’t form a sentence, let alone an understandable one. “Dad … oh, my God. Oh, my God, oh shit.”

Her vision is blurred by tears.

A thought enters her head, and suddenly she’s on high alert again.

Yuna … where’s Yuna?

On shaking legs, she clumsily pulls herself up and stumbles out into the corridor again. All other rooms are empty, where is Yuna? Where the fuck is Yuna?

There’s only one room left. Jerry’s. She drags herself over to her closed door, feeling like she’s going to vomit any second. After a long while of waiting, she finally opens the door, revealing her own room. Jerry screams.

Yuna is lying in Jerry’s bed. Her school uniform is covered in blood, her black hair spread out over her face. One arm lies over her stomach, the other hanging over the side of the bed. Jerry has to grab onto her desk. Suddenly she doesn’t feel like she’s there. She can’t feel her legs hold her up.

Without noticing it, her body has moved her forward. She’s standing by her bed. Theres a folded note on Yuna’s chest. Jerry’s hands tremble as she opens it.

“See this as a warning, bitch, next time it will be you.”

She throws the note across the room. Her heart hammers in her chest, but this time in anger. Those disgusting creatures. She can’t find words to describe them. They’re subhuman, but not even that is enough.

She tears down everything on her desk, including her laptop and lamp amd when there’s nothing left for her to destroy, she hits herself, clawing and pulling at anything she can get her hands on. As long as it hurts. It’s her fault. She put her family in danger. Her choices led to this. She killed them.

When her body loses power, she sinks down on the floor, shaking and crying. Jerry covers her face in her hands to avoid looking at her little sisters lifeless body. She can’t remember the last time she cried like this. It exits her body in a whine-like howl, her pain needing to come out.

But even those end. All feelings end at some point, leaving her in a numb, broken shell. She looks towards her bed. The arm that’s hanging of the side of the bed seems to hold something. Jerry crawls over and opens Yuna’s hand slightly. Her skin is still somewhat warm under her touch. In her hand lies the Kuromi charm plush, still somewhat clean. Jerry takes it out of Yuna’s hand and holds it in hers. She hugs it, breaking out into new sobs.

Realizing that she can’t stay here—the ones that have done this will most likely return, or the cops will arrest her for the deed—Jerry stands up. She grabs one of her black backpacks and throws in whatever she thinks that she can need before leaving the apartment for the last time.

Your eyes are filled with tears, and so are hers. You reach forward to wipe hers and she squeezes her eyes shut. She can’t look at you.

“I’m so sorry”, you say.

“I can’t lose you too”, she hisses. “I fucking can’t lose you too.”

She can feel you hug her and she’s quick to remove your arms.

“You shouldn’t move”, she says with a panicked voice. “You’re hurt. Just let the medicine and what fuck-not do it’s work, please. Just do as I say.”

You lay down again. Jerry sighs out heavily and wipes her tears harshly.

“That’s why I joined this organization”, she says angrily. “I realized how vulnerable I was by myself. I needed people that could protect me and have my back … and I’m so fucking sorry I pulled you into it, too. I should have learned my lesson with my family, but I didn’t. I was so fucking selfish doing it again, just because I fell in love. And i could have lost you too. Ic ould have repeated my fucking mistake.”

“But you didn’t”, you say. “I’m here.”

Jerry sighs and holds out the little plush.

“I, somehow, feel like she did this”, she says flatly. “As if she couldn’t watch me go through it again, so she saved you. Yuna died holding this charm. Somehow thinking that it would protect her … or she just didn’t want to die alone.”

Jerry has never said these thoughts out loud before. And when she does it, she doesn’t dare to look at you, scared to see a judging look in your eyes. But you don’t, you look at her with such empathy, such sadness for her.

“I can’t bring myself to get rid of it”, she says and sighs. “Because this was so important to Yuna. I don’t know why.”

“Did you ever get the ones that did it?” you ask carefully.

“No … never. But I will find them one day, and I will make them pay. And the one that did this to you is going to get what he deserve too. I will never let anything hurt you again. I will do whatever it takes, but so help me, if anything ever happens to you again.”

“I think that if she saw you now, she would be proud of you”, you say. “Maybe not for what you do, but for how loving you are.”

Jerry scoffs, but you see that your words hit her hard.

“You are”, you insist. “Not everyone sees it, but you are. Even if you don’t believe it yourself.”

“Oh yeah?” she scoffs. “How ‘loving’ can I be after everything I’ve done to you?”

You swallow, thinking of everything Jerry has put you through but shake it off. Not the right timing.

“You sat here with me all this time”, you say. “You’ve cried for me. Worried for me.”

“Well, yeah, I’m not a monster.”

“You aren’t. You are human. And that’s why it wasn’t your fault, for anything that happened. You didn’t do anything.”

Jerry sniffles and looks down at the plush, and then at you.

“Thank you, Y/N”, she says, giving you a small, sad smile. “Thank you.”

After you’ve fallen asleep that night, she places the little Kuromi plush on the pillow, by your head and smiles sadly. She falls asleep with her head on the free space on the bed beside your legs, eternally grateful that you came back to her, and with a new peace in her body. As if a heavy weight has lifted off her shoulders.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere mafia #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #yandere female

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matchesarelit · 2 months ago

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Imagine If You Will... (Coffee Run, Dr Robby Version)

Your boss had you delivering coffee to PTMH twice a day, it wasn't long before someone'd caught your eye and you'd caught theirs.

Warnings: Flirting but its like bad, like its based on a drink, physical touch

W/c: 1.4K

A/N: The intro (before the cut) is similar in each version but not always the same.

Four months ago, your boss, the owner of The Pitt Stop café was in a car crash. Thanks to a little luck and a lot of hard work from the staff of PTMH he was back to normal by now, arguably even better if you caught the skipping he'd started to do as he made his way into work most mornings.

Your mornings however had become slightly more hectic as a new job was added to your own never ending list. As a means of thanks, a set of thermos jugs and a few specific orders were yours to lug forth and back from the ER 6 days a week and twice a shift.

Your alarm sounded in chimes at quarter past six and so it began, brewing pot after pot and then cup after cup before packing it all up and making your way down the road. Distracting yourself from the chill in the air that your branded Henley and apron did nothing to protect against, you marvelled at the blown colours of the sun as you made quick work of the now familiar few blocks.

All but skidding to a stop as an ambulance peeled out of the bay you braced yourself for the inside of the ER. It was perpetually hectic inside those walls, yet it worked like a beautiful and well oiled machine and you always managed to fall into step with what you needed to do.

↳--↴

Most of the time it was impossible to catch Dr Robby's attention, making your way to the staff room you'd catch a glimpse of him moving from one bed to the next supervising and guiding as needed. He was rarely still, even more rarely was he unoccupied enough to glance around the ER, often called over before he'd looked away from one patient to get to another.

Unless Gloria was in the Pitt, then his feet were planted in one place and his eyes were flitting around anywhere but in front of him as he dodged some orders and blatantly ignored others. The performance demands of the board and his own well earned cynicism seemed to zapp his energy and focus completely within moments of these chats starting.

Today, your eyes found Robby stood seemingly cornered against the nurse's bay, looking about as trapped as he could do, shoulders tense with his hands writhing deep in the pockets of his hoodie. His fidgeting slowed, if only briefly, as he met your eyes and suddenly you were changing course.

Rifling around your pockets you looked for anything to help your little scheme; your apron? Nada. Your butt pockets? Nope. Your front pockets? Nothing. That tiny little fuck ass pocket that fits like nothing but a single key and apparently the tiny tyre shaped business card your boss had elected to use for brand individuality? Well yeah, that works.

'Hey Gloria! Doctor Robby!' perhaps your tone was a little chipper for the pair going into the last hours of their shifts as both heads turned your way like the crack of a whip as you neared.

Handing the doctor by your side his coffee without a glance, you struggled momentarily with the tiny piece of card in the tight denim pouch before brandishing it like a shield between the pair. 'Gloria you are just who I was looking for, the Pitt Stop wants to provide your departments and cafeteria with their beans and grounds.' Eyes still on the woman in front of you as she attempted to decide between pursuing her prior conversation or entertaining your proposal, your peripherals caught the twitch of the Doctor's nose as he suppressed a smirk. A somewhat defeated sigh left Gloria's lips, a chance you took to continue on, 'I'll give you his card but I think all he wants is a little signage.'

As you spoke Robby took his chance to flee, slipping away between you and the counter, the close quarters had his hand grazing your waist and the ice cold zipper of his hoodie dragging across the width of your back and leaving a sharp chill in its wake.

Gloria eyed you tiredly, as if not too frustrated but slightly put out by your interruption, nevertheless she took the card gave you a quiet,

'Sure I'll check it out' as she turned to leave.

Happy enough with your own quick thinking and slightly buzzing from the slightest of touches, you turned as well to make your way to the break room, as you walked Dana fell in step only speaking as she shut the breakroom door behind her.

'That was some good work on your feet back there, maybe we should bring you on if only to save Robby.' Dana's teasing wasn't new, but the prior scene was by far the best ammunition she'd been handed thus far. Sliding her personal cup across the counter you hoped she'd be sated, and as you moved to grab a thermos you almost thought you'd been successful.

'Of course you'd need to stop gettin' so flushed' You gaped at that, unable to rebuke her observation before she spoke up again, 'Not exactly subtle out there, and before you ask, no, I don't know if he's noticed.' Letting your head fall into your palm you were thankful for the warm hand she ran along your arm as if trying to stave off the cold on your behalf.

Pressing a kiss to your temple, Dana turned on her heel and returned to the floor. Shaking your head as you moved to lug the next jug onto the bench, you wondered whether it was worth it to put any effort into steeling yourself when around the doctor, it wasn't like it'd been successful this far anyhow.

Of course you had no chance to decide let alone consider a different approach before the door was opening once more.

'Yes Princess I got your six shot mocha' You rattled off the order as you held it out blindly behind you, expecting the nurse in question to grab the blindingly caffeinated beverage. A chuckle, much deeper than that of the nurse you'd presumed you were joined by however, echoed about the room as a warm hand enclosed your own guiding the paper cup over to the countertop.

'Princess? that's- that's a new one, strangely I don't hate it.' Robby was in no words serious but his tone wasn't exactly light either, as if something unspoken lay hidden lying in wait. Placing the jug down, you turned to lean back on your hands against the cabinetry, this time letting your eyes rest on his currently much calmer ones. 'Thank you for the uh- actually what is this?' Punctuating his question with a little shake of the cup before placing it by his side his gaze never left your face.

Swallowing slightly, you hadn't thought this part through when you'd chosen his mystery drink and now the words were struggling to pass your lips. 'It's a, a dirtier chai,' a small squint with humour in his eyes pushed you to finish your thought, 'my specialty'.

A little light chuckle left the man in front of you as his hand went to the back of his neck, a slight laugh bleeding into his words as he breathed out, 'I'll bet'.

'D'you like the taste?' A wordless hum was his only response.

'Too sweet?' Another little groan type chuckle and a disbelieving shake of his head.

'Too dirty?' As tame as it was, the tiny question was bolder than either of you had dared to be and his arms crossed over his chest, his brow raising and his hip finding the counter in a lean of his own.

Robby drew out an exhale as he studied you eyes only now leaving yours to run the length of your body, his shift of focus allowing you the place to ask again.

Turning to face him by your side, you studied his face, moving closer by barely an inch until your shoes brushed against his. 'Not dirty enough?'

'Jesus'.

Watching his lips form the word you missed his movements until a hand clutched your waist, drawing you forward and letting you practically fall into him. Palms against his chest to catch yourself, the cold metals of his stethoscope sending a chill down your spine once more.

'S'not an answer' you attempted to quip, your weaker voice falling far short of teasing especially as his other hand trailed slowly up your arm before snaking around to the base of your skull. Leaning in close his words breezed over the shell of your ear,

'Could definitely be dirtier.'

#Dr robby x reader #Dr Robby imagine #dr robinavitch #Dr Robinavitch x reader #the pitt x reader #The pitt fanfic #dr michael robinavitch

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

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The Machinist 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible bullying, misogyny, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your new boss sets his sights on you. (short!reader)

Characters: August Walker

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

Your forehead pinches and your eyes singe. Your brows dip as you focus on your tasks, your hands firm on the small cylinder as you smooth the edge. Your work is tedious and precise, but you work off muscle memory. It all comes naturally.

You lean in as you finish off the small piece, slowly pulling it away from the spinning wheel. You hit the stop and admire your handiwork briefly and label it before putting the piece aside in its coordinated container. You keep your space as tidy as you can, as organized as possible to avoid anything missing or overlooked.

You lean on the tall stool you never use; it’s too high and this job isn’t really made for sitting. You take off your safety glasses and pull the bandana down from over your hairline to sop up your sweat. Your shoulders are tight and sore and your lower back tugs from your half-bent posture.

You fix your bandana and near the work table again. Your old station was too high and now this one somehow is too low. It’s like a cruel trick.

You pull the next blueprint up on the screen, clacking on the keys to zoom. It’s simple. You’re sent the schematics and you make whatever’s needed. It is a less than exciting job but it pays the bills.

As you put your materials out in front of you and ready the borer, the noise of the factory forms a calamitous wall around you. You’ve learned to tune it out, you hardly notice when Bill swears at his lathe or Joe and Sakir argue over one thing or another. You keep to your work. You keep to yourself.

Before you can start your next job, you sense a shift in the air. Voices quiet, machines slow and some stop. You peer over but can’t see much from your vantage in the corner. You claimed the station even though the air flow is crap. You prefer that you’re not center among the chaos.

You begin by shaping the steel into a flat circle, then bore a hole in the middle. You’re going to have to be careful with how thin the sheet is but any thicker and it will impinge the hinge in the blueprint. You’ll have to make that too.

The odd lull seems to flow across the factory floor like a tide. You peer up only as the air seems to stagnate. You see a man approaching. You don’t recognise him but he’s not very much different than most men you work with; ball cap, plaid shirt, that overly macho stance.

Unlike most factory men, he isn’t built like a noodle or with an extra pouch around his middle. He’s tall and lumbering and his shoulders broad. Across his upper lip, he sports a dark mustache, and his blue are somehow bright and dark at once.

“Hello,” he approaches as his bold tone rolls like thunder, “machinist?”

Your brows knot together curiously as you shut off the borer and set aside the parts. You turn to him completely, “yes.”

“Ah,” he reaches into the bin and takes out the cylinder you just finished, “fine work. Detailed. The labeling is clever.”

You’re wary. You’re used to the men talking down to you. It’s not that unusual but something about him is loftier than you’re used too.

“Engineer?” You wonder. He has to be. Their degrees seem to overload their egos in a certain kind of way.

“Supervisor,” he puts the part back in the green container, “first day. Did you not receive the notice?”

“I did,” you assure him. You read the notice on the lunchroom wall but it didn’t matter much to you. He isn’t the first replacement to pass through the position, especially since the buyout.

“August Walker,” he offers his large hand.

You eye it and reach with your glove, mindless of the darkened fabric, and dully recite your name. He squeezes, in the way that men do, trying to prove their strength. You simply allow him his little display before rescinding your hand.

“How long have you worked here?” He asks.

You look around. You notice Bill watching and a few others trying to act like they aren’t. You know what they’re thinking. If fat needs to be trimmed, naturally it should be the girl.

“Three years,” you answer.

“Really? Work like this, I’d have guessed longer,” he muses, “by looking at you, though, I might have guessed you just started.”

“Mm,” you grumble and turn back to your parts.

“Compliment,” he says bluntly.

“Right,” you utter. “Got work orders.”

“So, you do,” he agrees, “but I’m your boss.”

You hesitate and pull your hands back from the table. You face him again as he stands on the other side of the table’s arm. You step up to your side and look up at him.

“Is there something I missed? A task I should focus on first, sir?” You ask.

He snorts and one side of his mouth lifts up in amusement, “not much for water cooler talk, huh?”

“With due respect, I’m on the clock.”

"Due respect," he echoes.

His eyes flick up and down and you withhold your discomfort. It isn’t unusual. Your coworkers are more often in miserable marriages or eternally single. They all can’t help but ogle you now and again, even if you dress exactly like them. Nothing special. Not the girls at the bar or the wives they once loved.

“Well then, maybe I’ll run into in the lunchroom and you can tell me all about yourself,” he plants his hands on the table and leans over just slightly, “I’m dying to know how someone like you ended up in a place like this.”

You tweak a brow and cross your arms. Right. He’s one of those. Just like the rest of them. This isn’t your place, you’re an intruder.

“I mean, why would you come here and sweat over all this dirty work when you could be put up in a kitchen, huh?” He wonders with a smirk, “but I’ve seen the men around here, none of them got the guts to put you where you belong.”

Your chest rises and falls as a swell of anger comes over you. You know the best way to react is not to. So, you don’t.

“Sir, I’m right at home right here,” you assure him and turn back to your station.

You ignore him as you adjust your glasses and adjust a setting on the lather. What you wouldn’t do to put his face to the grinder. He isn’t worth the damage his thick skull would do to the wheel.

#august walker #dark august walker #dark!august walker #august walker x reader #drabble #series #the machinist #au #factory au #mission impossible: fallout

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