#but if i get an interview or even fucking hired then the anxiety of that alone might take me out of commission

[fingertipsmp3]

“How’s the job search going” well to be honest I think I’m going to start leaving companies voicemails where I just screech WERE YOU SENT BY SOMEONE WHO WANTED ME DEAD

[dumpster-connoisseur]

sending out cvs is stupidly nerve-wrecking i'm afraid im not cut out for this whole employment thing

[hedwig221b]

hey, love your fic recs, would love to see youtuber au if you have any 🥰

Thank you! Now, here's what I found:

Of Green Beans and YouTube by nerdfightingwhovian

Stiles has a YouTube show that is essentially Hannah Hart's "My Drunk Kitchen" where he cooks food drunk but actually pretty well. Derek is a serious chef on YouTube. He has cookbooks that you can buy in actual stores and stuff. He's the real deal.

Stiles' video-block is fixed when he stumbles across Derek guest-starring on a Food Network show. In a rush of inspiration he starts a new series where he cooks Derek's recipes drunk. Derek finds out about the show and instead of being angry, he's intrigued by the guy cooking and throwing things around his kitchen while drinking too much alcohol.

Who's Sourwolf?? by Star_crossed02

Based on Kris' prompt:

YouTuber Stiles doing a livestream when mysterious boyfriend comes in to kiss Stiles and everyone freaking out.

I twisted it a bit, but hopefully you'll like it.

Stop @’ing Me (It’s Giving me Anxiety) by isthatbloodonhisshirt

Derek… had no idea what to say. Or how to react. Or what to even feel.

What the hell was going on?

He immediately went to YouTube to check his video, and the first thing he noticed was that his subscriber count had indeed changed, just as he’d suspected.

Except not in the direction he’d anticipated.

When he’d gone to bed, he’d still been a few thousand subscribers away from one million. Something like seventeen or eighteen thousand away.

He was now staring at his subscriber count sitting at over one million by a fair margin.

“What the fuck?” he whispered to himself, and went to look at his newest video about AllAboutMischief. It was sitting at three-hundred thousand views in the first hour, and had more comments than he’d ever gotten on any of his videos since he began uploading.

“What the fuck?” he whispered again, a little more desperately.

I'll Be Your Robin by mikkimouse

"You're sitting in my background!" Stiles waved behind him. "Can't you just scoot to the left by, like, two feet? Or go to the library until I'm done?"

Derek scowled, and really, that angry look shouldn't turn Stiles on as much as it pisses him off. "I don't have room to scoot two feet to the left. And the last time I left the room while you were recording, I ended up getting stuck outside until midnight."

"I had to do multiple takes!"

Derek's scowl didn't lift. "You yelled at me when I came in here to go to bed."

Good for you by lilysaid

Completely by chance, I saw a "human boyfriend for werewolf roleplay" ASMR video on YouTube and thought 1. Stiles would totally do something as reckless as making an ASMR channel for werewolves 2. He would be really good at it and 3. It would definitely blow up in his face.

The Curly Fries Show with Stiles Stilinski by greenleaf

“Curly fries are only for the brave, so is love.” -- Five times Stiles interviewed celebrities for his popular YouTube show, ‘The Curly Fries Show with Stiles Stilinski’, and one time he was the one interviewed.

Or

Five times Stiles hung out with his attractive, adorable, bashful, architect building-mate Derek Hale and one time he hung out with his attractive, adorable, bashful, architect building-mate, boyfriend Derek Hale.

Ink Me by AsagiStilinski

Derek is never going to find his soulmate, because there's no way in hell there exists a man named Mieczyslaw in Beacon Hills

Then Erica hires Stiles

Daddy Do's by apocryphal

“Hi Mr. Stilinski!” Lydia said pertly. “My name’s Lydia, and this is my daddy. His name is Derek Andrew Hale and he watches all of your videos on YouTube a lot, but he still can’t braid.”

[Stiles is a celebrity YouTube hairstylist. Derek may or may not have a crush. Lydia just wants a French braid for school picture day.]

My Stupid Boyfriend Tag by ALoza

Stiles is a Youtuber, and this is Derek's first time on camera.

Thirsty and trapped by TalesoftheEnchantedForest

Stiles has a YouTube channel and decides to film a video where he reacts to thirst traps.

Then he promptly falls in love with one of the men, but it's not like they would ever meet in real life, right?

Other fic recs: pack mom!Stiles | angsty fics | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | possessive Derek | smut | hurt/comfort | magical Stiles | mafia | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles | omegaverse

[uzurimisery]

the space between two bodies. / satosugu x reader / part 1

Warnings: MDNI, happy ending, angst, cheating (not really this is explained in part 2), unhealthy relationships/coping mechanisms, suicidal ideation, depression, smut, no sorcery au, unedited

A/N: I started thinking about Gojo with anxiety and nihilist Geto and then what that looks like in a poly relationship with someone as flawed as they are

part two

“We’re sorry but we’ve decided to go with another candidate now. We will retain your information on file should a more suitable role open up.” 

The email stared back at you, the words on your phone screen blurring as droplets of rain hit it as you read it over for the hundredth time. Today was just another shitty fucked up day in the endless string of shitty fucked up days that had become your life. The third consecutive month of unemployment in a row. At least previously you could get temp jobs but now each day that passed just ate away at you with how useless you felt. 

Pocketing your phone, you pull out a 100 yen coin and put it in the vending machine.

You didn’t even like your old job but Jesus it was like no one was actually hiring. And when you did get an interview, you’d get ghosted afterward. On the rare occasion they didn’t ghost you, you’d receive a rejection letter like this one. It was preferable, you supposed, that your existence and effort were at least acknowledged, no matter how much it stung. Still hurt like a bitch to be told you weren’t good enough. 

Anything would be better than this, fuck you’d take being overworked and underpaid if it felt like you were doing something. This endless cycle of gnawing uncertainty and applications, interviews, followed by rejections. Worse than that you were out of deodorant and trying to find some in Japan was a Herculean effort. 

Yeah, it’s been a shit go and you’re fucking exhausted.

Maybe you’d go be an English teacher like everyone else who moves to Japan. You wouldn’t need a co-teacher so the pay would be better if you were just starting out. Not that you wanted to teach again dear god that was less than ideal. Thank god you had settled status. The thought of having to deal with visa issues at the same time made you feel sick. 

Maybe you could work at a host club. You turned, staring at your reflection in the glass. Your boobs weren’t half bad as you pushed them up from the underside like a push-up bra would. Or sell feet pictures. The market was probably oversaturated at this point but maybe there would be some interest.

Wait Jesus had your hair looked like that all day? Fuck. No wonder that girl kept staring at you on the train she thought you were a lunatic.

Sighing you press the button for 4H. It wasn’t like you’d always been this way, sort of drifting in a sea of uncertainty abroad your boat of doubt with no wind to guide your sails. There was a period of time, maybe a five-year stretch after you had graduated from university where your life was on track. An entry-level job in your degree field, a long-term boyfriend turned fiance, wedding planning, and a great group of friends. Shit, you had it all. 

The fiance was the first to go. 

As it turns out, finding your fiance in bed with the girl he swore you didn’t have to worry about, his tongue halfway down her throat like he’s trying to do an endoscopy, is a terrible way to find out you’re being cheated on. When he noticed you standing in the doorway he had the gall to sputter some bullshit about how it was your fault it happened. You were too focused on your work, you didn’t give him attention, blah, blah, blah. It was you who broke the relationship up by working so much and being married to your job. And as he paid for the overpriced four-bedroom apartment in an area of Tokyo that you didn’t even like, you lost the apartment in the breakup. 

You couldn’t slum dog millionaire your life away on Shoko and Utahime’s couch forever eating tubs of ice cream and binging TV after that, so everyone told you, or rather forced you, to move in with Suguru and Satoru. Bouncing around from couple to couple. It did give you some stability and just as things go up so must they come down. 

The company you were working for was liquidated after an investigation by the federal government found years of tax fraud. Luckily they got bought out, and you thought maybe if you put in work you could still climb the ladder. But all those late nights in the office, conbini dinners, and unpaid overtime, you were just another name on a severance list.

It felt like waves were crashing over you, each one larger than the rest. Almost like you were tied to a dock during a hurricane, a tsunami, or some fucking natural disaster that threatened to drown you if you didn’t hold onto something but there wasn’t much to hold on to. You could hold onto the minuscule amount of friendships that you had at least. It was far too awkward and messy to keep up with anyone else other than your main four since the rest were so tied to your ex-fiance and his life. Stupid fucking lawyer. 

The four of you were close-ish. Less close since Shoko had gone on rotation at a university on the other side of Tokyo. It meant she and Utahime had moved nearer to it since Utahime was willing to commute. But Suguru and Satoru were still close with you and still dating.  Biting as that felt at times. 

You met Geto first in a shared philosophy lecture. One of those run-of-the-mill ones, but the content that really got the two of you talking was nihilism. It was the seminar groups after class you shared where he really saw you. Stripped away of pretenses and your nerves laid bare. Not just another face in a lecture hall but something more, something human. The deep indents of nails in your palms and the rubbing of your hands together under the table. He had seen right through you, recognized the darker parts of himself in you- it made you feel understood.

The machine made a mechanical noise and the lights flickered. Sighing you kick the machine lightly to see if anything happens, if life could give you this one thing today that you so desperately needed. Just like everything else, nothing goes your way and your stupid drink stays logged on the shelf. So like every reasonable person you kick the machine again. 

“Stupid fucking piece of shit machine,” you murmur a growing string of profanities under your breath as you repeatedly kick the machine

.

All you wanted was one of those ¥100 coffee drinks that were loaded with caffeine to keep going through your slog of a day was that so hard? Maybe it would be best if you just packed it up and called it quits. Move back home with your parents and be berated daily. Why aren’t you married? Why did you and Kosuke break up? When are they going to get some grandchildren? They aren’t getting any younger you know. Face the cutting shame of fucking up another opportunity, another chance. 

What was the point in trying anymore when you couldn’t even get a stupid drink that you don't honestly even want at this point out of a vending machine so you can go home and masturbate to audio porn before you cry yourself to fucking sleep? 

Suguru’s voice cut through the spiral of thoughts, your name on his lips. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you had an interview and you’d be home late?” 

Of course, he’d catch you like this. 

“Hey Sugs,” it came out as a groan as you kicked the machine again, a loud clang following as your drink hit the bottom of the dispenser. Bending down, you grab the can before turning and facing him. “I did.” 

“How’d it go?”

“Like shit.” Maybe you should work on your delivery. This flat effect is really making you should like a bitch. Are you a bitch? 

Geto’s eyes raked over you, infuriatingly calm and measured. He was always so carefully disheveled, the type of person to look effortlessly put together no matter the occasion. Stupid name-brand black sweater over a white button-down half tucked into chinos with a chain on the belt. His hair, shiny and perfect, was neatly tucked into his signature half-up-hald-down look to keep the strand out of his eyes, minus the one for style. Notably, he was wearing his glasses for once, sleek frames perks on a tall nose. Oh, he smelt nice too, his sandalwood and bergamot cologne hitting you as he stepped closer, extending his umbrella to cover the two of you. Fuck he was so handsome it wasn’t fair.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Geto replied softly.

You shrugged, trying to brush it off. “ It is what it is.”

But the reality of it clung to you and drug you down, down, down into the depths of your psyche. That small, scared feeling you tried so hard to suppress started bubbling up again, twisting your insides into knots. It made you feel sick, so much like a lost little child in a world that had grown far too big and complex. Here it was, rearing its ugly head, in front of one of the top ten people you never wanted to see in such a shit state.

But that's all Gojo and Geto do at this point. They pick up the broken, crumbling pieces of yourself that slip between your fingers. You feel like a cracked vase leaking water all over the place no matter how desperately they try and patch up the ceramic. Each day the gap between you and them grows more apparent. They were both soaring and you were falling to the ground and rolling around in the mud. 

Geto had just done a four-page spread in Architects Digest, even though he was a pretentious motherfucker who hated the magazine. And Gojo… God, he’d just opened for Prada at Paris Fashion Week. They went viral on every social media platform a while back for how hot and gay they were. You’d been caught in the crossfire of your accounts being tagged and gained a social media boost, but that also meant a bunch of people DMing you telling you to take pictures of them. 

The most fucked up thing about it all was the gnawing feeling that chewing on your bones that you were being dragged around like an accessory to remind them how good they had it. A permanent third wheel they’ve been stuck with since university. Two talented lovers on the brink of permanent importance and their weird little friend who follows them along like a lost puppy. It wasn’t even true and that's why it hurt so much. You knew they believed in you, thought that you could be a successful artist, and supported you in it even, but the jealousy rotted inside you like a festering wound. You weren’t even jealous of their success, only just partial, but it was like you weren’t good enough to be around them. 

Maybe you were better off as wall decor in the life they were building together. Something quiet and serene that didn’t demand anything from them. Better that than the bitter, jealous mess you were every time you saw them succeed.

He starts, the same spiel he goes to when you get like this. “You can always-”

“No.” your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but you don’t care. 

“I don’t know why you act like it’s such a bad off,” Suguru presses, his calm demeanor only pissing you off more.  

“I don’t want to work for you.” 

“Why not.” 

You snap. “Because I don’t want to, Suguru! Is that so hard to understand?”

Fuck, you wanted to storm off, go back to the house, and slam the door behind you as you went. But it didn’t matter if you stormed off, you lived in one of his guest bedrooms. Both of you were just headed to the same place. Sad little rescue that you were.

Suguru assessed, his eyes softened, breaking you down. He picked out every one of your insecurities as he stared at you. Microscopic inspection, each of your cells was being assessed for your state of being. Have you eaten? Was it enough? Had you slept? Are you even capable of taking care of yourself in this state? 

The weight of his gaze made your chest tighten, and before you could control it, try and reel it back in, tears welled up in your eyes. Blinking them back, you swallowed hard, the lump in your throat bobbing as you did. You hated this. Hated the way his care, his pity, felt like a knife twisting in the last remaining shred of pride you clung to. 

Pity was the killy of pride and you should accept that your pride was already decomposing in the septic tank in the backyard. 

Fuck up, fuck up, fuck up. All you ever were, all you’d ever be. Every loose thread of your shirt feels like it's cutting against your skin. The hem of your trousers drowns your feet like you're wearing your parents' clothes. Shabby. Uncouth. Inept. 

Wordlessly, you turned on your heel and fled, rushing out of the side street as the tears spilled past your lash line. You couldn’t do this anymore--no more questions, no more pity. No matter how hard you tried, how hard you struggled, clawed your way through the fucking dirt, you could never be like them. Never be good like theme, never right like them, never fit like them. They had these perfect little lives that they could boast to everyone about. When they spoke, people listened. People cared what they had to say. The world parted for them, it was the Red Sea and they were Moses, making space. There’d always be room for them to shine. 

But you were screaming into a void, your throat raw, bloody, and you were aching from the endless effort to be seen, to be heard. You wanted to be looked at like your own person, your own successes. Hard to be noticed for something that rarely happened. No matter how loud you screamed, how much you begged, your voice was just lost in the noise. 

You knew Suguru would follow. He always did. Even if you didn’t live in the same house, he’d have followed you. His voice was muffled by the pressure in your ears but you could hear him trying to talk to you. He let you get all the way home and inside the gate of the house before he grabbed your wrist and yanked you backward. 

Trying to pull away, your shoulder wrenched painfully as you trashed in his grip. 

“Calm down,” Suguru spoke firmly, pulling you into his chest. His sweater was soft, and your face smushed against the fabric as sobs wrecked your body, trembling like the earth in an earthquake.

It was hard to speak through the tears, so all you could do was try and slip out of his hold as you sobbed. You didn’t want this comfort. You wanted to run from your failure. From how suffocating life felt and that no matter what you'd never be enough. Worse than that, the sweet sickly feeling that trickled down your throat that when he held your life this, it made the world feel just a little bit more bearable. As if somewhere you could survive another day if he kept touching you. It wasn’t yours to feel and he wasn’t yours to hold. 

Suguru lets you wiggle around. You hit his torso a few times, your strength fading as you cry. When your sobs turned to hiccups and gasps for breaths, he gently cupped your face, thumbs brushing away the tears that still spilled from your eyes. 

“Talk to me,” he said softly, barely above a whisper. The songs of a city nearly eclipsing it. 

What could you say? How could you explain this feeling? This horrible guilt, pain, and jealousy ate away at you every single day. The tears came harder now, speeding up as if to help drown you in your misery and take you out of it for good. Hiccuping you drew breath, sharp and quick, hoping to speak but nothing comes out. Words claw at your throat, digging it with sharpened points. It hurts the way they hang onto you.

“Is it all too much again?” His voice is so soft, warm like fleece pajamas fresh out of the dryer as he holds you so delicately.

This wasn’t the first time that one of the three of you had been so consumed by dread, suffocated by the weight of life itself. Suguru knew it all too well himself, from high school to know he held it tightly in his hands. It never went away from him, he just learned to live with it, let it fade into the background, and let a constant hum of despair serve as the baseline for the day-to-day. 

His thumbs brush over the apex of your cheekbones again and the tenderness shatters you, another wave of sobs tearing through you. They pull you under, out into the open ocean, and through their rip current.

“I just..” you start, it scratches your throat, thick with phlegm. “ I can’t do this anymore.” 

His voice remained steady. “Do what?” 

“Any of it. I can’t do it.” 

“You’re capable of it. You can do it.” 

Jarring, rough, whipping across your skin as the rubber band pulls too tight and snaps. You lash out, and it stings where it hits. The anger cuts through your skin like your fingernails leave crescent moons in your palms. 

“No, I fucking can’t!” It's ripped out of you as you stalk away like a wounded animal. “I can’t okay. I can’t do shit. I can’t keep a relationship without being cheated on. I can’t manage to get my own place. I can’t get a fucking job. I can’t sit here and pretend like I’m not fucking wasting away in my own misery watching you and Gojo and Shoko all succeed and be the only one of us still shooting for the stars and coming crashing down to earth every single fucking time. You and Gojo with your perfect little lives look at me like a charity case to be fixed.”

“We have never looked at you like a charity case.” His tone was firm.

“Really? Then what the fuck do you look at me like, huh?” You press the question circling back around. “Is it pity? Did the two of you see some poor stray that you wanted to take in and keep like a pet when we met at university? Is that it?” 

His eyes were hard, unreadable.

“It is that. You pity me.”

“Jesus, no! We don’t pity you- I don’t pity you! Is it so hard to believe that I care about you?”

“Yes, it is! There’s no reason for you to care,” 

“What the hell wouldn’t I care?” Suguru’s voice raised to a shout, frustration cracking his facade. 

“Because I’m just like everyone you hate!” Your chest heaves as you let out a flood of emotions. “ No ambitions, contributing nothing to society, just leeching off others.” 

“You’re not like them.” 

“I am. On paper, I’m exactly like them. The only reason that you’d keep me around is because it makes you feel good to watch me suffer or you pity me.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t pity you?” His voice cracked with emotion, but you didn’t stop.

“Then tell me why you care!” It comes out so desperately. You're begging him for understanding, to know why he stays. To know why he lets you in.

For once he looked uncertain. His mask slipped, revealing the cracks in his facade. It’s been so long since you’ve seen underneath it you’d almost forgotten how he looked when he wasn’t pretending to be happy. 

“Or is it that you don’t care?” 

Something flashed in his eyes, flickerings of things you only saw when he looked at Gojo. He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. There's a fear in his eyes, like if he acts in this moment something may crack and crumble like the foundation of a house that leaves him crumpled in a pile of wood. He doesn’t, or won’t, give you an answer. 

So you turn on your heel, the conversation over in your mind, and head to the front door. You’ll go up and pack a bag before heading across town and crashing on Shoko and Utahime’s couch before calling your parents and groveling to them. 

But as you reach the door, Suguru reaches you. His arm wraps around your waist and he spins you around and pushes your back against it. He’s got you pinned. 

“It’s because I love you.” It’s the faintest breeze that passes from his lips, like a car driving past on a hot day, sweat making your shirt stick to you. “I care because I love you.”

Everything is frozen in a still frame. Neither one of you moves, neither one of you breathes. A still moment that holds you tight, threatens to squeeze you so tightly your heart bursts. 

“What do you mean by that?” You swallow as you speak, like pebbles in your throat. 

Suguru blinks back tears, looking up and then back at you. “That I love you. Fuck! I’m in love with you.” 

Disbelief makes your voice shake. “No, you’re not not. You’re with Satoru.” 

“And? I can’t love both of you?” 

“No, you can’t,” Hypocrisy tastes acrid on your tongue. You know damn well you could never pick between the two of them, that this blighted jealousy you feel towards them is more the fact they have the other rather than their success. It’s something you don’t admit but it’s there. “Besides, you’re lying to me.”

“No.” His response was firm and immediate. The whole time you’d known them, their worlds had revolved around each other. They’d been the only thing for each other for so long. It was an unspoken truth that they were made for each other in a way that could only be sewn by the fabric of the universe itself. Something so profoundly and divinely created it had been written in the fabric of life at the moment of the Big Bang. 

“I’ve seen you watching.” Suguru’s tone is low, cutting, it vibrates through you as he has you pinned. 

A sick, icy dread wraps around your spine. It starts in your toes and crawls up your body. Your muscles lock in place as it climbs up until it's all the way in your head. Paralyzing fear grips you.

“I don't…” The lie is transparent before it comes to fruition. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It’s brittle, cracking on your teeth as it passes through them.

“Don’t play innocent.” Suguru’s voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. The tension between you tightens and winds up to pitch, but there's a current that punctuates it. One that feels heady and warm. One that excites you in the same way it embarrasses you. “I’ve seen you watching. I’ve seen you for years. The first time, maybe it was a mistake. But last week? Three weeks before that?”

Your mouth went dry, choking on the excuse that tried to bubble up. Like finely ground chalk powder coasted every surface of it. “I—”

He cuts you off before you can even try to defend yourself. “I know you get off on it too. Leave your curtains open while you touch yourself. Saying his name, my name.”

Horror twists inside you like a knife, your heart dropping to the pit of your stomach. You’d always been so careful, never acting when you thought they were home. Never want to risk exactly this happening. Your face burned like you drank half a liter of vodka in a go. Maybe you’d wake up and realize this was a nightmare. The humiliation was unbearable. 

“Imagine my surprise,” Suguru continues in a low chuckle, left hand slotting perfectly against your waist, “when I came home early one day and saw that.” 

The tears that had stopped in your flash of anger spill hot and fast down your cheeks. The raw, hot shame and embarrassment muddle you. It makes you want a sinkhole to open up beneath you and swallow you whole. You can’t meet his gaze, your vision blurry. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll move out.” you stammer out, the words falling in a chopping spiccato, desperate to create space between the two of you. You’d never be able to face him again. 

“Who said anything about moving out?” Suguru comes, pulling you closer to him till you're flush against his chest. He bends down, breath tickling your ear. You feel the sharp pressure of his teeth grazing the shell of it, a jolt going through your body. “You don’t get to leave now.” Pulling back, he meets your eyes in a half-lidded gaze. 

Both of you are playing the game again. Looking for something unspoken, some cryptic clue you need to decipher. He was searching for discomfort, disgust, anything to make him draw back and stop. You searched for understanding, dissecting how it got to this point. Every moment, every glance, every touch from him that you had ever overlooked. 

He always held a soft glint in his eyes when he looked at you. Something subtle, normally reserved for Satoru. It warmed the edge of his voice when he spoke and crinkled the corners of his eyes when he smiled. There was that softness for Shoko, but it was different. The one he had for you was a more reserved, pulled-back, and dialled-down version of what gripped him when he looked at Satoru. He had always viewed you this way.

The times you sat sandwiched between him and Gojo, your legs brushing against him, his arm slung around your shoulders to reach Satoru. Pulling you against him on the train, in clubs, at parties, the bump of your hips against his own. Compliments when you wore flattering, his pushing Satoru to dress you up. He liked it best when you were in shorter dresses and skirts with tights. 

Suguru had always wanted you, but you had failed to notice. 

Instinct took over before reason could temper it. You pushed off the door, your hands flying to the loose part of his hair at the nape of his neck. The strands feelt just as silky an shiny as they look between your fingers. Without hesitation, the space between you two diminishes. You aren’t sure who closes the distance first, but your lips lock hungry. Teeth knocking against each other as you both desperately cling to the other. It's rough and aggressive, both of you starved animals feasting on flesh. The taste of copper spreading in your mouth as he bit down on your lip making you whine. His breathing becomes your own, heady mix of desire and dark, primal urge..

His tongue pushes against yours, taking advantage of your now open mouth, wet and warm brushing against the back of your teeth, laying claim to your mouth. Geto was dominating in all aspects of his life so it was unsurprising that he set the pace and led you to where he wanted to be. He moved your legs up, patting your ass to jump, to then wrap around his waist as he pressed you against the door. You grind your hips against his growing erection as he holds you there, and you can feel the heat of him even through his pants.

Suguru pulls away panting. His eyes are half closed, lips blushed a beautiful red and damp with saliva. He moves in again, this time to your neck, where he bites down hard. You squirm as he sucks a dark and angry mark, his mark, on your skin. The bite of his teeth against your skin feels right. It eats away at the jealous monster inside you every second he’s latched onto you.

Fed up with the door, Suguru opens it and carries you through the threshold. He moves the two of you through the genkan, toeing off his shoes while you kick your own off, and into the living room where he drops you on the couch. There’s an air about him, so intense it’s nearly oppressive, as his fingers inch up underneath your sweater, sliding it off of you. It’s a predator circling their prey, the success of a hunt now that he’s got you on your back against the soft fabric of the couch. He’d been waiting for this far longer than you thought and it spurs you on.

Suguru moves in tandem with you, tugging off his sweater and button-up shirt, exposing his happy trail. The dark dusting of hair makes your mouth water. Once his shirt is off, his hands cover your chest through your bra, palming your tits like stress balls. It's unpadded and lacey, and it lets him feel as if your nipples get hard. He pushes the cups down, leaving them to rest under your breasts, and pushes them up slightly, accentuated by your being on your back.

His fingertips close around your nipples as he pinches and pulls at them. You knew how much of a sadist he could be. One night you watched him edge Satoru for an hour straight. Seen how hot he looked with Gojo in his mouth as he writhed around. A sweet moan escaped you as he played with your nipples and rolled his hips against yours. It makes your head feel fuzzy, thoughts focusing purely on him. His weight presses down on you, so heavy and right it makes you ache.

You lunge forward, propping yourself up on your elbows to kiss him again. It’s just as messy and hungry as before, years of built-up desire between the two of you saturating your every pore. It settles in your bones that pulses in time with your heart. 

Suguru doesn’t separate from you, but he slides your trousers and underwear off in one go as you kick your socks off. He tugs his own off hastily, boxer briefs following in turn. His public hair is trimmed, a close crop like you’ve seen it before. Like every other aspect of him, it’s neatly maintained, put into its place, and kept there. 

His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he pulls your hips up by his head. Your back is half off the sofa as he places your legs over his shoulders and parts your core with his fingers. He blows cold air onto your clit that makes you squirm before he licks your clit. Moaning, you try to grind yourself against his face but his hands tighten on your hips, holding them firm. You’d get what he wanted to give you. Fight against it and get nothing, or accept it. 

He was slow to start. His tongue lazily explores you, getting familiar with your taste. It pushed against your clit, wide and flat, before swirling his tongue around it. The ball of his tongue piercing rubbed against the most sensitive part of you. Your hips jerk forward and he looks up, a warning in his eyes, but he doesn’t stop. Suguru curls his tongue again, this time moving it side to side, letting his piercing catch on your clit purposefully.  Every action he takes is measured as he picks up speed while latching his lips around it to add delicious suction. Two of his fingers slide inside you, reaching far deeper than your own ever could. He pumps them in and out of you, driving you closer to the edge.

You felt your pussy drooling, liquid gushing out and covering his chin. The muscles in your abdomen tightened with each passing second until you swore they'd cramp. It was all too much as you came, jerking and contracting in on yourself. Black spots dot your vision as your world shakes on this axis. 

Sugru watched as you came, pulling back from your pussy to stare at your face. His eyes never left yours as he rubbed soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs. He could cover nearly all of you with how big his hands were, warm and calloused. Minus a cold spot on his left hand. 

His engagement ring. 

The silver felt like it burned your skin as he smiled at you and planted a kiss on your inner thigh. It glimmers in the low light, bouncing light off like a homing beacon. Bubbling sickness, bile rising in your throat, disgust palming at your skin. What had you just done? You’ve just violated a boundary so gigantic with Suguru. Let your own selfish need for intimacy lead you to this. He was engaged to your best friend. They were getting married next year.

You rushed to grab your clothes, panic surging through you. The world spins around you. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“We shouldn’t have done that,” you buttoned up your trousers, throwing your sweater on. Your hair is a mess and your skin feels clammy and flushed. The need to vomit is overwhelming. “This was a mistake.”

Suguru’s rising from the couch, trying to grab you, stopping you from moving but you dodge his hand. “A mistake?” 

Your left hand meets your mouth as you bite the nail of your thumb. It clicks against your front teeth. 

“Satoru won’t mind-” 

“A mistake Suguru,” You shake your head, bending down and grabbing the rest of your stuff. “Please. Just forget this.” Without waiting for his reply, you run up the stairs and slam the door behind you. 

You really are a bitch.

©️ uzuzrimisery

[tremendum]

heaven is a place on earth; joel miller

prologue; im a loser, baby!

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au (pre-outbreak, altered ages), Joel Miller x fem!nanny!reader.  dedicated to the anon who suggested this trope.

↬     series masterlist main masterlist

↬      it's 2000. you're freshly single, three weeks away from being evicted, and your coworker knows a hot, single dad who is hiring for a nanny. you'll take anything you can get.

↬     warnings; tagged 18+ for eventual smut and mature themes. MDNI. age gap (reader is 22, joel is 35), fiscal anxieties, allusions to a shitty ex. if your name is michelle, norah, or dan, you get to be twins with my ocs in this series <;33

series mixtape, song one; Loser, Beck. 1994.

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"fuck."

your voice hisses through the rows of books you stalk down, legs carrying you with fervor towards the front desk. "fuck, fuck, fuck!" 

you whirl past a mother reading a children's book to her toddler and wince at your language, mouthing sorry! at the baby as you pass. avoiding the harsh glare of its mother, you mutter under your breath. "shit." 

in your hurry, your hip slams into the wooden corner of the front desk; a small grunt of pain hisses through your clenched teeth as you trudge up to your swivel chair. 

"god, damn it!" you bemoan, lowering yourself into your chair and sighing heavily as you drop your head to your hands. 

"so...it can't be good news." Michelle says to you, quietly, as she grimaces apologetically to the mother who walks towards the exit, shielding her stupid baby's ears from your foul mouth. you ignore the woman's harsh look of judgement, instead biting your lip, willing yourself to calm down.

with a suck of deep breath you shake your head. "no, it is not."

she sends you a consolatory look and to this you groan, "the rent's too much here. thought I'd get this one, I really did." you mutter helplessly, picking up several of the books from the drop bin to check them back in on your computer. "they made me endure four interviews. all for nothing." 

a consolatory hand graces your shoulder and you offer your coworker a small smile of gratitude. she sends you a smile so hopeful that you nearly forget the desperate state you're in - the heavy fear of starting new.

"we'll find you a good one. you're smart, marketable, charming..." Michelle shakes her head as you move to protest, pointing at you. "-no, don't even start. we'll get you some more interviews. in the meantime...Dan and I were thinking. we have a couple hundred we could spare this month, just to..." she glances at your shocked stare, shrugging her shoulders. "-you know, get you on your feet. it's not easy to restart, especially after a breakup." 

your heart drops at her words, a crawling feeling of shame licking your throat as you shake your head. 

eyes stinging, you stare down hard at your keyboard, where your nails pick at the F key. "I couldn't- I couldn't ask that of you. thank you, but I-" you shake your head. "don't do that, really Michelle."

she waves her hand, "we insist. but Dan wants to discuss it in person, so we'll be having you over for dinner soon, okay?" she insists, and you hide your burning face between your hands. "this is too much." you say with a grumble, shaking your head. 

"think of it as a gift." she says hopefully with a shrug. "your birthday's soon, isn't it?" 

you sigh, smiling over at her as you shake your head. "at least let me do something for you in repayment. do you need any rooms painted? gardening? babysitting?" you offer, sliding slightly towards her to take a sip of her coffee. 

"we'll talk about it." she agrees, but you know she isn't going to ask you to do any of it; she and her husband are much too kind.

at your silence she just hums triumphantly, typing away on her keyboard as she files a damaged book report. the library hums with its inherent stillness, the fluorescents flickering as you busy yourself filing your own work for the evening.

five whole minutes pass in silence; a feat for you and the woman who sits just beside you. as you work idly, your eyes jump back to the payphone on the wall across the room where you'd heard the words: thank you for your interest, but we decided to go with another candidate. 

whatever. they don't deserve you, anyways. and honestly, the job had shitty benefits.

a sharp sigh from you gives Michelle the narrow opportunity to swivel her chair to face you, as if she'd been waiting for an opportunity to speak.

"you know," she puts on the look of innocence, "I was thinking..." 

you fix her with a look - the last few suggestions for money she'd given you were take up dancing (which you would certainly consider, if the nearest club wasn't fourteen miles away) or marry rich. for a woman who's still with the same man she was with in high school, she sure has an imaginative mind.

you're a month away from losing your new apartment and you cannot fathom moving back in with your ex; you'll take anything. Michelle holds her hands out in defense at your glare. "listen, Norah's got a teammate whose father is looking for a nanny." 

you let the words sink in as you spin your chair to her in interest. nanny? 

"-he owns a construction business. he mentioned looking for a nanny for weekdays at the girls' tournament last Saturday." 

you sigh, touched that she'd thought of you, but exasperated. "I work weekdays!" you sigh. she lifts a brow, leaning closer, "yes, but..." she looks around conspiratorially, "-I think Joel would give you higher pay - and you can still work here on weekends." 

your brows raise in shock, hope growing in your chest. "what, is he loaded?" 

at this, she laughs.

you blink as she holds a hand to her chest, chuckling to herself, leaving you unaware of whatever was so funny to her. "no, no." she calms herself as you stare, less amused. "-but he loves his girl. definitely the type of man who will pay well to make sure his baby's safe."

your lip is tugged between your teeth as you consider; "kids don't really like me." 

it’s not even true- kids love you as much as you love them, but something self-sabotaging within you begs to differ.

Michelle snorts, "Norah loves you." she counters; you cross your arms, "well, that's different. she's, like, an eleven year old version of you." 

she grins at this; Michelle has known you since you were a sophomore, just freshly out of the dorms - she may be older than you by over a decade and a half, but she and her husband are the closest to family you have in this part of the country. 

you nod. "please, will you give him my information? I need any money I can get. I'll be the best nanny in the world."

you're convincing yourself more than her, but she smiles all the same. "I'll see him when I pick Norah up after practice this afternoon. I'll share your number with him, okay?" 

you have the next day off of work; you spend it unpacking some boxes and organizing, taking a walk around the new neighborhood, trying to befriend the building cat with a can of tuna.

you watch people pass in the street, distracting yourself from the disappointment of leaving your old neighborhood, even if it'd been infested by your cheating ex.

the opportunity to nanny this summer lingers in the back of your mind as you walk past a park, watching as the kids clamber and scream and laugh; you smile to yourself, watching a young mother push a child on the swing. 

sometime past noon, an unknown number texts your cellphone and you pause the TiVo to flip it open eagerly. 

Hey there, it's Joel Miller. Our mutual friend Michelle passed along your number. I've been looking for a nanny for my daughter and heard great things about you. Would you be open to chatting sometime this week? I'd love to discuss a nannying opportunity with Sarah. Let me know if that works for you.

Thanks, Joel

you stare at the words, reading them slowly with a pounding of excitement in your chest. suddenly, the walls of your new, too-expensive apartment seem brighter, the sun opens up the sky - you nearly call Michelle in a burst of excitement before even thinking of a response. 

an inkling of doubt pulls at the back of your head; the man seems kind enough - even if he texts like he's a hundred years old, Michelle and Dan know him personally. you slide your phone, staring at the phone screen for a moment before starting to type out a response. 

Hi Joel! Nice to hear from you, thanks for reaching out. I'd be happy to meet this week to chat about Sarah and nannying opportunities. I am available in the evenings most days, so if there's any time that works best for you, I can make that happen. 

knuckles cramping, you roll your eyes at your effort to be professional over text. you tweak your message several times before signing your name, shutting your eyes, and hitting the send button. 

Joel doesn't respond until very late; nearly eleven in the evening, suggesting a time later in the week and telling you his address. Michelle is ecstatic for you, even helping you draft up ways to tell your boss you'll be going part-time in a professional way; it's accepted gracefully, and now all you have to do is hope this Joel Miller can pay enough. 

he hires you an hour after meeting up.

to your relief, his daughter Sarah is a darling; big eyes and a bright smile that hides no malicious intent or snobbery. your anxiety slipped away the moment Joel opens their front door, replaced instead with flustered surprise in your lower belly at the man who stood before you.

why hadn't Michelle at least warned you?

he's taller than you'd imagined, and much more handsome; his dark hair is slightly tousled, a faint hint of stubble framing his jawline, biceps defined by a dark gray shhirt. he's curt but chivalrous, voice a low baritone and veins that trickle up his thick forearms golden skin glowing as he talks.

and jesus christ, his eyes - the memory of how they'd scaled over your body, taking you in as you'd stood in the dying sunlight on his doorstep that first time. dragging slowly, eyes dark and shrouded by long lashes, as you'd introduced yourself. how he'd cleared his throat and let you through with a half smile and a nod.

you'd had to try your hardest to keep your eyes on his as he explained he'd need you most weekdays because he has several new projects and has been working longer hours recently.

it took Sarah all of a minute and a half of shyness and hiding behind her father's leg before you showed her your tamagotchi; immediately after, she decided you were new best friends - with her hand in yours, she eagerly showed around the house in a half-intentional tour, pointing out the best hide and seek spots and showing you her collection of toys. 

by the end of the evening, Joel was shaking your hand and agreeing on a bi-weekly payment much higher than you'd expected.

he'd insisted on walking you to your beat-up car, smiling as he opened your driver's door with a shrug - it's dark out, don't want to let my new sitter walk alone at night, do I?

you'd tried your hardest to keep your thoughts professional, but the moment your head fell to your pillow that night, you knew you were fucked. 

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up next: chapter 01 ; as long as you don't care there is no longer a taglist; follow @tremendumnotifs to be notified when i post.

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[talesof-old]

poly!jily celebrating with you. maybe over you getting into your dream college/job. they would be the most supportive partners ever and spoil you rotten for your achievement i just know it

- 🦌

sorry this took me a minute, my new work schedule has me all kinds of fucked up - i wrote more of a finding out you got your dream job but i might also write a graduation celebration as well

celebration | l.e. & j.p.

pairing(s): poly!jily x reader

warning(s): alcohol consumption, mentions of anxiety bc of job interviews

word count: 658

masterlist

a/n: jily would totally spoil the fuck outta their partner, they’d be so obnoxious about it

“Oh?”

It was Lily’s voice that you heard in the other room. She’d answered the phone before you could even put your book down, so you’d decided to stay sitting.

“Hold on.”

Lily’s head poked around the corner. Her long copper hair fell over her shoulder, a curtain of red as she grinned. “They’re asking for you.”

You frowned, brushing off James’ inquisitive stare and setting your things aside. You crossed the room in no time, taking the phone from her to answer it.

“Hello,” you were quick to assure the person on the other line that it was in fact you. Lily and James stared with rapt attention, eyes wide. You’d been anticipating a call about a job for days now, frazzled and frustrated after three rounds of interviews. Surely, you’d said to James, if they were going to hire me they’d have done it by now.

James drew in a sharp breath as you smiled. The light in your eyes that he loved so dearly had returned. Excitement rattled his chest. “Of course. I’ll be there.”

Your face twisted into an expression of pure relief as you turned and nearly squealed. Lily was already beaming back at you. “I got it!”

Lily cheered, opening her arms and squeezing you tight when you fell into her embrace. You could practically feel the stress melting away as you rested your head on her shoulder. James wrapped his arms around the two of you, smothering you with kisses to your head. “I’m so proud of you, sweets.”

Your face heated and you turned to look at him. He pressed a wet kiss to your cheek, the loud ‘smack’ seeming to echo through your head. Lily giggled at your flustered expression.

“It seems we need to celebrate. James, get the wine. We’ll go to dinner tonight, yeah? That Italian place you like?”

James waltzed away from the two of you, ready to pour three glasses as Lily pulled herself from your arms. “I knew you’d get it.” A wave of emotion rushed through you. To have the support of the most brilliant people in the world, your people, was truly a blessing you’d never take for granted. Tears turned your eyes glassy, though you were quick to blink them away. “I’m so glad the interviews are over.”

Lily laughed and laced your fingers together, pulling you into the kitchen where James stood filling three glasses. “To you, sweets. You never fail to impress us.” Lily kissed your cheek and took the glass of moscato from your boyfriend.

“My clever darling.”

You buried your face in your hands as James cooed at you. They were insufferable like this, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You alright, sweets? Surely handling a little praise is child’s play to you, hm? Would hate to have you hiding your face from me.” You reached out and gently shoved him, pretending to cringe away when he went to grab you. He gasped in mock offense. Lily hummed behind you, leaning against the counter while James all but chased after you.

“I can’t believe you’d push me away.” You removed your hands from your face to look at him. His lip was jutted out in a mock pout, but humor lined the planes of his face. You sighed, stepping into his outstretched arms, careful of the glass still in his hand.

He wrapped his arms tight around you, kissing your temple. “You’re lucky we love you.” The teasing lilt in his voice was enough to have you poking him hard in the stomach. He chuckled as you rested your cheek on his chest and grinned. How lucky you were, indeed.

+++

[cartoonsforlife]

Black Hat X Reader

The evil boss's new employee

Includes: Black Hat X Reader,

Warnings: Slightly spicy content

It seemed like over a fucking hour since you arrived at Hat Manor, sitting on a red velvet baroque armchair across from the desk, in the company of the great and infamous Villain: Lord Black Hat.

Indeed, after several unsuccessful attempts to find a job, you had found a card on your door with the phone number and emblem of the Black Hat Organization. At first, you were hesitant. You had already heard about this organization and what it consisted of. You had even watched several of their videos on YouTube to learn more. You are an ordinary human being, you have never committed a criminal act and the idea of ​​working for the most feared and dangerous being in the Universe makes you shiver with fear. However, you had no other options. It was an unexpected chance. You had grabbed your cell phone with a trembling hand and dialed the number that was written on the card. It had only taken 5 seconds to pick up. To your relief, it was not Black Hat on the other end of the line but his faithful right-hand man and scientist Dr. Flug. You had explained your situation to the doctor and he had granted you a job interview with the boss of the Organization in a few days. You were both relieved and anxious. If you make a good impression on Black Hat, maybe he will accept that you work for him. But one wrong step and it will be over for you. Forever.

In the end, the job interview went pretty well, to your surprise. You were nervous when you entered the office and stood in front of Lord Black Hat. Even though he was intimidating at first, he was strangely patient and professional with you. He asked you questions about yourself, your motivations, your knowledge of his company, and you had to explain to him why he should hire you. This last question destabilized you a little but you had managed to find the right words to convince him.

A mischievous smile appears on the evil being's face and makes a contract and a fountain pen appear in front of you in a cloud of black smoke.

You slowly reach out to the pen and carefully read the contract on the desk. Your heartbeat accelerates and you don't know if it's because of excitement or anxiety. You knew that once you signed that contract you would literally lose your soul and there would be no turning back but on the other hand you would finally be free from that fucking unemployed status.

Black Hat taps his gloved fingers impatiently on the wood of his desk, his eyes fixed on you, disturbing you in the process. You grab the pen without wasting another second and sign your name at the bottom of the contract.

The entity displays a satisfied smile and begins to chuckle. He makes the pen and the signed contract disappear in a green flame.

"Perfect! Welcome to the Black Hat Organization, Miss (Y/n)! You will start your work tomorrow! On your first day, Dr. Flug will guide you and explain your tasks to be performed!"

"T-Thank you, sir! I will not disappoint you, I promise!"

As you were about to get up from your chair and leave the room, your boss calls out to you.

"One more thing!"

"Yes, sir?"

Silence…

Black Hat stares at you again. His gaze is neutral this time. An uneasy feeling invades you. You have always hated when someone looks at you like that. It makes you feel like a frightened prey that risks being eaten by a hungry predator every time when someone looks at you like that.

To break the awkward silence that reigns, a little too long for your liking, in this room, you ask him why he wants to keep you after the interview. Could it be that he has changed his mind?

Black Hat smiles at the worry on your face and stands up from his throne to walk over to you.

You lean back in your chair when he is only a few inches away from you.

"Tell me, my dear? Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?"

That left you speechless. You didn't expect that kind of question at all, especially coming from him! Since he kind of complimented you.

"I… I beg your pardon?"

He leans over and reaches his gloved hand towards your head to slowly caress your cheek. His touch sends a small shiver down your spine and you feel the red burning in your face.

"They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, right? In yours, I see that you had gone through many difficult trials to achieve your goal. You were determined despite the many failures that upset you. No one encouraged you and supported you, not even your family… You could always do it on your own. Oh, poor little thing…”

The being mocks. The image of you curled up on yourself, desperate to be stuck in a vicious circle forever, alone, without having someone to support you and help you get through this overwhelming ordeal makes him tear a smirk. What an asshole.

You were speechless. Everything he said was true. How could he have guessed all this just by looking at your eyes? You were about to ask him when Black Hat brought his face closer to yours. His cold breath made you shiver again. Your heart was pounding in your chest that you were convinced would burst any second. You gasped involuntarily when you felt the evil entity's hand slide from your face to your neck. He ran a clawed finger over the curve of your neck to trace a thin, scarlet line. A hiss of pain came out of your mouth. You felt a drop of warm, wet pearl slide from your neck to your collarbone. Alarmed, you mechanically grabbed Black Hat's wrist to push his clawed hand away from your now bloodied neck, but his superhuman strength didn't allow it.

"What are… what are you doing?! Stop…!"

“Calm down, my dear.” He orders in a confident but firm voice. “I promise you that if you stay still, it will hurt less. Unless you would prefer to start your work day with your neck shredded?” The bastard laughs like crazy as if it were the best joke he has ever told. He grabs your hand that is still clinging to his wrist and squeezes it tightly in warning. If you rebel, you can be sure that he will break your bones with a single grip.

“No…! NOOO!” You answer in a voice mixed with panic and frustration, reluctantly accepting your defeat.

“Good!” He smiles as he releases your hand and you abruptly place it back on the armrest to hold yourself as if your life truly depended on it.

“Now…” He continues in a soft, husky voice. Relax and look closely at my eye, miss (Y/N). Focus on my voice and my eye."

You do exactly as he ordered. You notice that his visible yellowish eye changes color: rings of varying colors moved around his thin pupil. Your gaze remains fixed, captivated by his eye and you begin to enter a trance. You could only see colors dancing around you and only Black Hat's voice can be heard in your ears.

"Surrender to me, mi quérida. Surrender to your Lord and master!"

"Yes, my Lord." You answer in a whisper, now completely under Black Hat's spell.

"Very well. Now tilt your head back."

You obey.

He then brings his large mouth towards your abused neck and slides his reptilian and rough tongue on the bloody line he drew on you earlier.

A moan escapes your mouth at the contact of his tongue.

The villain smiles at your reaction. Without delay he sinks his sharp mint green fangs into your skin, making you tear out a cry of surprise. Tears flow from your cheeks as Black Hat sucks your blood. He lets out a muffled and animalistic moan when he feels the sweet taste of your life essence slip into his throat. Fuck! It had been an eternity since he drank human blood. Of course he doesn't need it to survive but he must admit its taste and smell are so intoxicating.

He unclenches his teeth from your neck and licks the drops of blood from your bite before straightening up. With a snap of his fingers, he releases you from your trance.

You whistle painfully and immediately bring your hand to your neck which is causing you martyrdom.

"What is it…? What did you do to me?" You ask disconcerted.

"Don't worry, my dear. My mark will disappear from you in a few hours…" He says reluctantly.

He would have preferred to keep his mark on you forever to make you understand that you belong to him. "It would be a shame to get into trouble on your first day." He adds mischievously.

You immediately understand who he is referring to: A certain green-haired lizard woman who will not hesitate to kill you if you approach her dear beloved boss.

"Now go! You have to get ready and go to sleep because tomorrow your first day will be intensive!"

"Yes, sir!"

This writing idea came to me this morning at work during a discussion with one of my clients and inspired me for this story without knowing it! I thank her for that! 😊

[fandomwritingbit]

Battered & bruised

nightclub owner/William Afton x (fem)reader

synop: You've struggled getting employment because of your shady past, but the tides finally turn in your favour when a club owner called Henry gives you a job. And you're ready to work your arse off, not only in your security role but also with the other owner, William.

warning: swearing, violence. (reader is described as small)

A/n: Hello! This was my first ever au for William, so the ideas are genuinely 5 or 6 years old but the writing is today's lol. This is gonna be a series because I think the slow burn will work best this way.

A bloke called Henry Emily had given you a job. A security gig. Without an interview, without discussion of your role and without an induction. Just bam. He’d taken one look at you - then looked you up and down again for his own personal enjoyment - then listened to your whole speech about ‘wanting a chance to work hard’ and just gone: okay.

No CV. No experience. Nada. And that was exactly what you were looking for. Rent was due and to be honest you were in great need of some money. Plus it was hard for you to find work, especially given your... history. 

He’s hired you because you’re brazen and easy on the eyes, it’s all a bit sleazy really, you’d thought so at the time too. But at least sleazy men are easy to manage.

He’d grinned at you. “Yeah alright, we’ll give you a try. You seem like a nice girl. Uh why don’t you rock up on Friday and we’ll show you the ropes?” 

“Yeah that’s great, thank you so much.” You smiled at him, offering your hand for him to shake it. God if this fella had looked into you this would never have happened, he’s a sucker in that respect. But you wouldn’t make him regret it. You were after nothing but a regular income and it’d been fucking hard to find acceptance, to jeopardise it would be a fool’s errand.

His use of the word 'we' hadn't crossed your mind, you assumed he was the owner, after all you asked for the owner and he was brought to you. But maybe that’s some just desserts for not applying properly. 

~ 

On that Friday, you arrived early, really using all that punctuality shit that had been drilled into you since secondary school. But a little prickle of anxiety settled in when you didn’t see any cars in the car park. You were only 10 minutes early; your start time at 20:00 ready for doors to open an hour later. But How will you get in if no one is there, for fuck’s sake? Your thoughts manifested in your head tilting the whole way back, a hefty sigh accompanying it.

Doubting yourself all the way, you go to the front doors and mercifully, they are unlocked and you walk into the nightclub you’d now call your home from home.

The lights were on, so someone must be there. Yet no one came to meet you at the door, even though you said hello fairly loudly. You smirked to yourself, walking inside uninvited and musing at how some cleaner was probably going to tell you off. They must be hidden away and now you’d have to tiptoe around trying to find them. Not too bad though, at least you can have a look around.

Moving further inside, you walk down a grey corridor with garish black and white dado rail the whole way down. It was peculiar décor to say the least, though obviously, it would look completely different with people inside. 

Your footsteps were foreign in the quiet building, but you tried to keep a bit of confidence as you began your exploration. It took a while to find your way around - a few doors opened to cupboards stuffed with mops and loo roll, spilling out while you tried to shove all the shite back in. Surprisingly, you’d found a kind of lounge area, a few grey and red sofas, some big arse speakers lining the walls: a lot of money in that room, you thought. A past impulse echoing through you.

Eventually, you make your way to the ‘main area’, if you like. The part with the huge floor for people to dance, a small stage before it, with old looking lights and stuff, maybe you’d get to see a few local bands perform during your tenure, could be nice. You walk over to it, the back of the stage pitch black, so dark you couldn't tell if it was a curtain or not and stood on your tippy-toes like an idiot trying to decide. 

Rustling from behind you, makes you turn to see a brightly coloured poster flitting to the floor after clearly having fallen from a board on the wall. You’ll pick it up, but before moving to do so you glance back to the stage offhandedly; the sight of a huge figure standing in the middle makes the skin leave your bones.

You can’t even help yourself, raising your hands almost immediately, “What the fuck are you doing, mate? You scared the shit out of me!” The figure moved further forward so that you could see him, it wasn’t Henry. This man was overly tall and slender with dark greying hair. Your anger quickly subsides at the expression on his face and you chuckle, the shock catching up to you. “Jesus...” 

The man standing on the stage looked... fuming, to say the least. His brows narrowed and jaw stuck forward. He looked so pissed that you panicked for a minute, ready to backtrack a fair bit. But that feeling didn’t last long, the figure stepped down off the stage and walked towards you. As he stood in front of you, you found yourself stepping backwards, tilting your head to meet the eyes of this ridiculously tall and broad bloke. 

“I scared you?” The man spoke slowly, voice deep and raspy. He wasn’t shouting, he didn’t need to. “What the Hell do you think you’re doing in my club?”  

Well. Oh. Dear. It appears that you’d just been rather rude to someone important. Who’s first impression of you as an employee was now you effing and jeffing at him. Shit.

“Look... I’m sorry, mate. You scared me is all.” You speak quickly, trying to claw back a semblance of civility. Searching his face for some emotion other than boredom/anger, but nope there was nothing.

You think you see a flicker of amusement cross his face but it doesn't last two seconds. “I’ll ask again, what are you doing here?” 

“Oh uh, I’m y/n.” You look at him for a look of recognition but he appeared none the wiser. “Mr Emily hired me... told me to come in today.” 

You notice the pinch between his brows got more severe and you pick up on the hostility between this fella and your boss. He looked at you blankly, making no effort to fill increasingly brutal silence. You’re just about regretting ever being born, thinking about walking out and knocking on doors ‘til you find another idiot willing to hire you. But to your surprise a demeaning smirk appears on the man’s face as he looks down at you, and you breathe out slightly. 

“Henry hired you?” He scoffs, moving his hand up and down in front of you to illustrate your height, “To do what? Sit on a pot of gold?” You get the feeling that he was trying to annoy you, make you want to storm out or some shit but you can only smirk at that terrible joke. 

“Security, innit.” You say shortly, smiling back because... yeah you weren’t exactly the typical bouncer. “Uh who are you then?” You ask, half a shrug awkward on your shoulders.

He did not look best pleased by that question and folded his arms, eyes daggers at you. “Henry hasn’t told you shit, has he?” A scoff of a laugh came from this bloke but it looked coated in resentment. 

“No, made me look a fuc.... mug.” You mumble.

“We’re co-owners, for some fucking reason.” He looked you up and down but not in the way that his counterpart had, if anything, it looked like he was sizing you up. And after a moment he just said, “William.” With a curt gesture to himself.

Once such an introduction had been made, he continued to complain, pissed that Henry hadn’t even told you what to do or where to get your uniform. You were thrusted upon him like a shitty diagnosis and he was left to sort you out? Always sorting out Henry’s shit he was.  

And he did sort you out, giving you orders to your responsibilities, going into a store room to get you a uniform, a room you weren’t allowed to enter because of asbestos in the walls. A really comforting thing to hear on your first day, though you'd come to learn that that summed up the whole of this shitty club. 

The whole thing was falling apart, left in this William's hands to sort out. And he was clearly working hard, but it was like trying to piss a fire out.

 ~

You’d thought that the frosty reception from William could have been just because you were new, that he’d probably warm up to you as you got a few weeks under your belt. Well, that wasn’t the case.

From the first day it became abundantly clear that he was just as snippy and unreceptive with everyone else. Be it ignorance, arrogance or plain uninterest, no one really knew, but he went about his role and gave you shit if you dared to overstep into his path. Which was enough motivation for you to put some graft in with the bastard. Fuck’s sake, everyone else was getting on well with you, from security to bar staff, Henry was damn-near obsessed! You’d get him on side, by hook or by fucking crook.

It started with a simple ‘good afternoon’ spoken loudly at him through his office door, letting him know your presence in the building, which was nearly always much earlier than everyone else. Then a smile any time you encountered him, not a suck-up kind of sweet smile but the kind that had raised eyebrows, self-deprecating and the like. 

Yet it still felt like he bloody hated you. Not even a passionate hate, like you’d done something to genuinely offend him or run him over on the way there. A bored kind of vague dislike that he held for everyone else.

That won’t stand though. And you’re determined to fix it.

~

You’d come to learn over your short tenure there that Friday nights were fucking brutal. It seemed fuckers from all over would crawl out of the gutter to get pissed with their mates here. Course, it was good for business but as an employee not an owner you got all the hassle and none of the tassel. You were on duty in the main area and stood a post near the back corridors, watching for any odd behaviour and making sure everyone was as happy as you can be in a crumbling nightclub.

You find yourself clock-watching about half-way in and cross your fingers that the night will go mercifully quickly. Your counting of the minutes ‘til you could clock off is interrupted by a youngish lass coming up to you. Instantly your eyebrows are high, the person on the door dropped the ball on this one, this lass barely looked 18. 

“Hey, do you uh work here?” The girl asks, looking over her shoulder for a second, before returning to you. You almost want to roll your eyes, of course you fucking work there, no one would do patrol for fun, would they? Carry a radio around for the craic of it? But her wide eyes make you bite your tongue and assess the situation more levelly. 

“Yeah, is everything alright?” You smile wryly, hoping it comes across encouragingly, but your tiredness might have prevented that. 

“I uh... there’s this guy, he won’t leave me and my friends alone.” She rubs her arm, “You know, just being real creepy...” You nod, what a joy and sadly not an uncommon one. 

“Where are your friends?” You ask, looking at the young lass in front of you in increasing doubt that she should be here. 

She looked over her shoulder, “Over there, in the red.” she said, and you spotted the two girls she meant instantly, and nod, able to pick out the guy she was talking about who was hanging around these girls much too closely. “We’re uh...” she looked down, shame flickering on her face. “We’re minors, please don’t be mad at me, I just... we don’t want to be harassed.” 

You smile, remembering your similar youth, musing that fake IDs must be fairly fucking hard to find nowadays. And decided to take pity on the lass, it wasn’t nice to turf them out when the problem hadn't been their doing at all and to be frank, it’s above your pay grade, isn’t it? “I’m not going to throw you out, don’t worry... though you shouldn’t be here if you’re not 18.” 

You sigh, “I’ll get him to leave but promise me you’ll stick together with your mates, ay?” She nods and thanks you extensively before you wish her well and go to fulfil your promise. Silently noting to tell Ste the doorman that he needs to get a pissing eye test.

The problem man was a heavy-set guy with a beard and a clearly designer shirt. A complete stereotype that you knew already, would be trouble. You take a breath before going over, mentally doing the sign of the cross over yourself, not that you thought it would do anything, it was more for your own comedic enjoyment, but if a higher power should see it, that’d be nice. 

“Excuse me, sir.” You say, loud enough for the people around him to slowly start drifting away. As if sensing the unfolding scene the man looks at you with pre-emptive annoyance. 

“Yeah?” He says as rudely as you expected.

You sigh, trying to remain as diplomatic as possible. “Your behaviour towards the young girls here is untoward and we won’t tolerate that here. I'm going to have to ask you to leave.” 

'Ask’ is the customer service way of telling him to get the fuck out and his reaction suggests that he knew that. 

“Leave? I ain’t done nothing.” The question was asked loudly, trying to alert people around as to the perceived ridiculousness of what you were saying. Though the double negative hinted at him having done something, to say the least.

“That’s not what I’ve been told. Please leave, sir.” You repeat yourself, more authoritarian this time, your tone firm and leaning towards annoyance. It was embarrassing having to do this, but you knew that it was worth it to keep the girl you’d spoken to safe. The look on her face was enough to make you despise this man. 

“And what if I say no?” He stepped forward after he spoke, squaring up to you, trying his hand at the old intimidation game. And despite his height over you, you keep rooted, looking at him with daggers.  

“Sir. You’re embarrassing yourself.” You scoff, shaking your head. By this point that second-hand shame had caused the others nearby to either watch intently or move away. “A grown man having to be told to leave young lasses alone, for fuck sake.” Stepping forward yourself, you make your disgust visible. It had the opposite effect than intended and the man before you bubbled with rage. 

“What the fuck did you say to me, you little bitch?” 

“Stop being pathetic-” Your words of disbelief and amounting hatred were cut short when the huge bloke grabbed your arm bruisingly, wrenching you towards him. His larger stature allows him to manipulate your frame fairly easily.

William had a nose for trouble and as he stalked out from his office he caught sight of people leaving the main room. He shakes his head already annoyed at whatever he was to discover. Of all the things that he could have seen, an accident, injury etc... he didn't expect a man to be manhandling one of his employees. Least of all you. You who always smiled at him, even though it got nothing in return. You who shouted ‘afternoon!’ at him through his office door, often making him slosh coffee in surprise. You, who talked to him and engaged with him, unbothered by his reputation or generally unpleasant demeanour. How fucking dare someone put their hands on you. 

“Stupid fucking slag.” The man spat, it landed on your skin. 

“Get. The. Fuck. Off. Me.” You manage, your teeth clenched as you clasped at straws to try and de-escalate this borderline assault, hoping he’d realise how far out of proportion he’d blown this. He didn’t. Instead, your words were petrol on a fire and the sharp ringing of a slap could be heard over the music. 

It was so harsh and crisp, for a moment you were dazed. The attack launches you into the difficult decision of fight or flight. It wasn’t the heat of the print on your face that made you react, however; it was the piggish sneer on his fucking face. 

Punching him hard, square in the nose, you feel the old familiar sensation of pain blooming through your hand. From the point of contact it fizzled like static down your knuckles and up your arm, though it barely hurt over the adrenaline coursing through your system. 

Your attack didn't deter him though, his grip on your arm not faltering even as the other rose to his face in shock. Taking your window of opportunity you strike him again, blood now pouring down his face, it provokes him to yank your arm straight, the grip blue pain on your flesh.

Powerless to do much else, you had to take his revenge, a punch that made you vision flicker, landing hard below your eye. Then another. You were reeling, your standing knocked with the strikes, it hurt but you burned with indignation that you were unable to hit this fucker again.

Straining to get away from the assault of raining blows, you grab his hair, pulling hard, the sensation of it lifting under your grip apparent in his grunt. It was then with a fist full of this cunt's hair that his grip on you failed. You look through blurred eyes to see your boss taking hold of him, pulling him by the shoulder into a balled fist.

The man wasn't going down easy, even though Afton got a strong hit on him, the man retaliated, striking back and you see the impact on your boss and his slight stumble, but it motivated him to take it to a new level. 

He grabbed the man's head, pulling his stance in half, doubled over and raised his knee repeatedly into his face. Not stopping until he was satisfied, then shoving the larger man to the floor, and kicking him hard in the stomach and teeth, to the point where the attackers' whimpers were beginning to subside. You watched pretty horrified whilst other staff tried to herd patrons away.

Yanking the man up by his collar hissed something inaudible for you to his ear, before punching him again, letting him fall back down.

He was pulled outside by William, the bouncers too shocked to intervene and you just followed the display stupidly. You had no idea this man was capable of such... violence. Cause that was no fight, it was violence.

Afton left the man flicking in and about of consciousness on the curb outside, spitting on him when he mumbled a lisped "fuck you" in his direction.

You were watching in awe, when all of a sudden he turned to you, his face bloody and a hesitation for pain in his jaw.

"Are you alright?" He questions.

You blink. "Yeah..."

"You're bleeding?" He points out as though you were much stupider than you are.

"I'm banged up, but alright." You say quickly, searching his eyes for any acknowledgement of what had just happened. You had a nagging feeling that he was about to shout at you, ask what the fuck that was about. Hell maybe even sack you for the beating he just took.

"Nowhere near as bad as you are." You follow up. And that was putting it lightly, it looked like his nose was broken and his jaw must hurt in some way for how he slowly shuffled it, waiting to find where the pain was.

He scoffs at you, instantly regretting it as blood begins trickling over his lip, you wince alongside him as he wipes it on the back of his hand. With a grunt he turns his back and heads back inside.

Taken aback at his nonchalance, you struggle to get the words out. "Where's the first aid?" You call after him, your question stopping him in his tracks.

“There’s one in my office if you need it.” He replies from over his shoulder, continuing to walk away. You throw a shrug and slightly surprised sigh in the direction of his retreating form, before hurrying to catch up with him. You’d laugh if your head wasn't fucking banging. 

Finally managing to reach him, you force your frame next to him on the corridor, walking side by side towards the back. 

“I don’t know if I need it... you need stitches or something though, mat- William.” 

“Says who?” His response is typically gruff and at this point you’re more than used to it. 

Managing a smirk through the high-pitched pain behind your eyes, you don't let his uncaring attitude deter you. “The cut above your brow. Practically screaming it.”

Letting you follow him, he pauses briefly. To be honest, the strike to the brow had wiped itself from his memory, which was not at all a good sign, but the second you pointed it out he became very aware of the crispening blood hindering any movement of his face. Fucking stitches? And what, you were gonna do that, were you? Just what he needed, a headache on top of the one he already had.

“Seriously, this is my fault. Let me help you out, least I can do.” 

“I’m fine, just need a drink... maybe a co-codamol.” He said not another word to you but made no effort to get you away from him and so you followed, half uncertain like a lost dog, all the way to his office at the back. 

The way he moved it was hard to keep up with him, his huge height gave him a stride and a half. But you get there finally, and he doesn't bother to hold his office door open for you, letting it nearly hit you as it swung closed. 

You survive and slip inside the office, just in time to see him slap the first aid kit on a table at the far side of the room. You go over to it and open it up, delighted to see that what once was a bottle of antiseptic was now half a thing of Dettol with a sewing kit beside it. Not a medical one, just your standard hotel one, with different coloured pieces of thread and a blunt looking needle. 

“I see why you said no to the stitches.” You grin, watching the man sit down heavily at the table. He attempted to rub the space between his eyebrows but had to abandon the gesture as it interfered with his injuries.  

“I told you.” He mumbles.

“Yeah well... Dettol will do something I guess.” You sit as well and start pouring the disinfectant on a cotton pad that you hope hadn’t been used before. 

Just as you move to dab it over the hardened gash, he pulls away suddenly, a pissed off look about him that you should have probably been intimidated by, but your reaction time is fucked by your headache.. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He speaks through his teeth, not at all happy with the sudden movement.

“Sorting out your split brow. I have said it a fair few times now, you’re starting to worry me.” You wait for him to start going in on you, shouting or whatever the fuck he’d normally do to anyone trying to be nice. But he doesn’t say anything else. Just looks at you, the annoyed expression unmoving.

Over the past month or so he’d become quite used to your... demeanour. You didn’t offer any tact towards him, or just keep your head down like others. You took the opposite route, always had something to fucking say, some comment to make. It had grated on him, but he didn’t mind it really, though you weren’t going to get special treatment just because you don't know when to shut your damn mouth. 

“So...” You prompt, shaking the cotton bud in front of him.

He didn’t dignify you with a response, just a swift nod.

“This is gonna sting, just don’t move so I don’t get it in your eye.” You warn whilst getting closer, it was quite unnerving to be this close to him, god’s sake you could hear him breathing.

As you pressed the fabric against his cut, he didn’t flinch like you would have expected, just remained reticent and staring forward. Though he let himself glance at you, noting how far you had to lean to reach him. God you were small, much too small to have been wailed on by a massive fuck like that. Being honest, he was surprised you were still standing. 

He surprises himself by breaking the silence. “... Dettol doesn’t sting... better than antiseptic.” 

A smirk finds itself on your face, “Had a lot of experience then?” That isn’t shocking news, there was something practised about the way he took down that man.

A small sound leaves him and you almost stop your action. This man can laugh? Could have fooled you. “You could say that. Don’t often get the shit beaten out of me though.” 

Disbelief washes over you. “The shit beaten outta you?” You scoff. “You’re fine.” You blink a little. This was the textbook definition of ‘you should see the other guy’. Seriously, he couldn’t walk and was barely conscious. This cunt? Pretty much fine, minus a few scratches. 

Once you’re done with disinfectant you rifle through the box looking for something better than the sewing kit. A plaster probably wouldn’t cut it, in an ideal world he should probably be in A&E. But eventually you get your hands on a pack of steri strips and right now they look better than gold. “Here, I don’t even have to mutilate you with the needle.” You grin and it earns a small lip twitch from your would-be pin cushion. 

As you lean forward with the strips in hand, he doesn’t flinch from you even though it hurts to fuck when you push the cut closed to seal it. He notices as you're patching him up that your hand is covered in blood, it could be the bloke's at first glance but your knuckles look bust and there's a stiffness to your movement. 

You finish up with the gash and step back a bit, smirking, it’s a fine job you’ve done there. 

“Thanks.” He offers, just as plainly as you’ve come to expect. It makes you halt a second though, his pronunciation was off, so maybe he wasn’t as fine as you initially thought. Leaning forward, you go to investigate but he pulls himself from your grip. 

“Leave it, it's fine...” It started sharp, but softened a bit as he caught sight of your arm. Holy shit. That was a number alright. Clearly already bruised from that dickhead’s hold, there were three distinct scratches down the length of your forearm where the man had evidently tried to hold on to you as he’d yanked him away, that explains the stiffness. 

Looking at him you try to figure out what isn't right and eventually you settle on: "I think your nose is broken."

He reaches up himself, feeling along the bridge of his nose, the scowl on his face telling. "It isn’t." He concludes, briefly thinking ‘somehow’. With that, you start putting the medical stuff back in the box, just ignoring his curtness. You'd done your bit and patched him up, clearly your kindness was too much for him, so off you fucking pop, sheesh.

You hardly even get the equipment back in the box before Afton reaches forward and slides everything out of your grasp. Instinctively your brows raise, unsure of why he did that. “Are we not done?” You ask, uncertainly, maybe this is the part where he bollocks you. 

“Sit down. Your arm needs sorting.” His words aren’t a suggestion. You look down to see what he’s talking about and wince at the sight; how hadn’t you noticed the scratches? They look awful, not that deep but plain ugly and sore now you come to think of it. 

“Shit.” You say in your observation, slowly sitting whilst still watching your arm. So wrapped up in this new discovery that you jump when he reaches forward to grab your wrist, his big hands wrap all the way around it easily, man, this is a scary bloke. He pulls your arm slowly in front of him, not gently but certainly more understanding than you would have expected. 

“I don’t even know how he done that.” You fill the silence, thinking aloud. 

“Rings.” He answers, with a but too much knowledge, “Must have a fair bit of your arm stuck under them.” You almost laugh, but the visual is too grim and likely accurate. Looking up at him you see clear amusement on his face. 

The Dettol is again brought out and when he dabs it too your scratches a cold pain reaches all the way up your arm, making you suck in through your teeth. He glances up at you and all you can say is. “You’re a fucking liar. That stings like hell.” 

The man in front of you grins then, a starling crooked smirk that almost makes him look like a different bloke. It’s a handsome expression that’s made slightly menacing by a missing tooth after his canine above two silver ones. You think to yourself that this man has taken a lot of fucking beatings.

Through his grin, William says, “It’s not that bad.” 

“Yeah alright, tough guy.” You dismiss him, trying to ignore that ache in your arm that makes you want to grind your teeth. 

He looks back down to his task and the unusual expression remains on his face somewhat involuntarily. You notice and soon you’re smiling too, unable to help it, maybe the whole shitshow was catching up to you now, fisticuffs with a man well outside your weight class, only to be ‘rescued’ by your stoic, unnerving boss; and to top off the day of the unexpected, you made the fucker smile. Quite the day.

“So you can smile then?” You ask coyly, it’s a little victory that shows you’re successful chipping away at his frosty exterior, he’ll be a mate eventually. 

He looks up at you quickly, his eyes narrow in that scrutinising way everyone who works here is accustomed to. But where an icy glare would usually have been a cocky, “Must be the head injury.” was. 

~

You’re patched up pretty quickly, the cleaning of the wound taking half as much time as the debate about whether or not you need a bandage. You said it would be fine. He argues it’s necessity. And despite your assurance you’re now standing at his office door with a bandage tightly wrapped around your arm. You notice that the second the door was opened you could hear the dull thud of music, escaping the club and plaguing the managers too; good, you think. 

He follows you out of the room, the two of you must look like a right pair, both beaten to shit. Looking in the reflection of the window to the office confirms as much, you’ve a nasty bruise under your eye, and a swelling that would probably make it difficult to open your eye in the morning. You’ve been in this situation before. As has he. 

There in the narrow hallway you look up at him, feeling confronted by the height difference, now so obvious when you’re both standing. “Thank you for that.” You give him a genuine expression, really meaning it, even though your arm hurts more now than it did before. 

“I only returned the favour.” He answers, pausing for a moment whilst he checks his watch. “You should go home. Obviously you’ll be paid for the whole shift.” He adds the last part as if he thought you’d object, there must have been something about your face that said you might. 

“Yeah, okay.” You smile a little, before you remember that he’s well more banged up than you, his shirt is covered in the blood to prove it, if you get leave surely he should as well. “Are you going-” You begin to ask, but the door to the club opens and a man bursting through it cuts you off. 

“What the fuck?!” Henry’s voice was bordering on hysterical, cutting shrill above the buzz of music and you don’t have to look to see eye rolling of your other boss. “William, tell me why the hell I’ve got 14 missed calls and a voicemail saying all shit has hit the fan?!” You stand awkwardly as Henry comes up to the both of you, there’s daggers in his eyes that are reserved purely for Afton. 

“Easy, you’re a bit late with all this cavalry shit.” William snaps, his head is throbbing too much to deal with the headache that is his co-worker. “There was an incident, some silly fucker got violent. He’s been sorted.” You try not to grin at that, ‘sorted’, that’s one way to put it. 

“So have you, by the looks of it. I swear to God, William, if this bites me in the arse, you’ll look worse than that.” Everyone standing there knows that that’s an empty threat, not that Henry wasn't capable of it, but rather that William towers over him. That seems to resonate with the instigator when he locks eyes with William’s uncaring and hard expression, so Henry moves on. 

“Are you alright, darling?” He asks his voice now sugary, all his attention is on you, as well as a hand on your shoulder. 

“Yeah. Just a few scrapes, I’ll live.” You keep all traces of amusement from your face, even as he begins to walk you out of the club in the direction of the car he thought you had, talking to you like you're a kid the whole way.

[bellewintersroe]

Max Verstappen X Celeb Ex!Reader -Angst.

Reader and Max broke up only 3 weeks ago so feelings are still extremely fresh. Now she’s at Silverstone as a celebrity reporter, pinned with the task of interviewing her ex-boyfriend. With the whole world watching, the pressure on each of their shoulders is immense. Part 2?

I felt the blood drain from my face when the name I was sworn I wouldn’t even have to think about today was mentioned. “What?” I breathlessly spoke, dropping my papers onto the table below. I felt an anxiety like no other rush through me, a sickness that caused my head to spin.

“We just need you to do a quick 5 minutes with Max.”

“You- you told me I definitely wouldn’t be interviewing him?” I held my hand against my forehead. “I know, but this has been arranged for the past few weeks, ah, before the um- parting was announced.” Paul, the Sky CEO and my current manager explained, trying to dodge around the work ‘break up’ as much as humanly possible. “Oh god.” I tensed my jaw, staring down to the ground whilst I gathered my thoughts- my twisted, scrambled thoughts. Max and I had one conversation since we broke up, and that was to publish the breakup announcement, even then the conversation lasted no longer than 3 messages each. Talk about awkward. Now, I’d been hired to do a bunch of celebrity and driver interviews at the Silverstone Grand Prix, what I did two years ago when I met Max originally.

“I’m sorry, but he’s pole, it’s how it always works.” He sighed. “No, I get it.” As badly as I didn’t want to do this, I knew I had to be professional or Sky wouldn’t hesitate to replace me. I was starting to question if that was actually such a bad idea? “Just… can I at least have some alcohol beforehand?”

“I can give you all the alcohol you want once the interview is over.” The time came where I had been walking up and down the grid, purposefully skipping the area designated Red Bull despite me being friends with half the people there. Max, I knew he was around, and I couldn’t bare to bring myself to go over there despite talking to the grand majority of other drivers. “Okayyyy, y/n, and now we have to go to Red Bull, we need to speak to Max, we’re running out of time.” Lizzie, the coordinator for the day had to push me more than usual. I’d spent a little too long speaking to other drivers that I’d known for years. Lizzie rarely had to interrupt, but on this occasion she’d cut my interview with Oscar short, and rushed me away from Lando before he could give me a hug and make me cry by asking how I was doing.

“Okay.” My palms were sweating as I attempted to wipe them on my black, short dress. The dress fit 3 weeks ago, but recently I’d been having to tie the bow around my chest tighter and tighter. The flared arms were somehow even baggier, and although I felt good, I knew there would be a lot of twitter comments at the end of the day pointing out my weight loss.

I was purposefully walking slow, eyes darting from person to person. Could I at least bump into Daniel or one of my friends before? Christian Horner, force him to talk about Red Bull’s strategy for an hour, Checo- ANYBODY, just not- “Max Verstappen, there he is!”

Fuck. My stomach churned when I saw my ex boyfriend making his way over. It felt like something stabbed me in the chest as I had to force myself to breath again. He was so familiar yet so uncomfortably different, like I’d seen him just minutes prior, yet it was nearing a month. His eyes landed on mine and I could see the immediate way his breath got caught in his chest.

I felt stiff as I held the microphone up, seeing all three cameras steadily pointed at us, indicating this interview had already begun. I didn’t even have time to compose myself. “Hello!” Max perked, moving forwards to give me a quick hug. Again, his touch felt so familiar but so coldly distant. His palm was flat on my back for about a second as I barely touched him with the microphone in my hand. How was I once so excited and giggly to see a man that now sent a wave of anxiety rushing through me.

“Hi Max! Thank you for speaking to us.” I awkwardly made the most forced smile, I couldn’t look at him, I was looking anywhere but his eyes. For the first time all day I’d followed the script word for word. “Congratulations on P1, how are you feeling for the race today?!” As I held the microphone out towards him I could see the way it trembled with my hands. It was embarrassing, I hoped he’d just take the thing out of my hand.

“Uh, same as always.” Nervous, excited? He didn’t get to do our pre race handshake- I wondered if he thought about that?

“Looking forwards to it, as long as it all goes as smooth as it did yesterday, I’m quite confident with our team strategy today.” He nodded before quickly speaking again. “How are you?” He cocked his head to the side, for the first time I made real eye contact with him now. Horrible, I regret our decision, no distance is too far, I haven’t eaten properly in 3 weeks- I miss you. “I’m okay!” My voice cracked, it couldn’t have sounded any less convincing. “Excited to be here, such a nice day as well, I think everybody’s glad the rains stopped.” I forced another laugh back to the camera men who nodded their cameras in unison. “Hopefully the conditions stay good like this all day for you.” I offered him a quick nod as I saw him swallow harshly, his eyes focused on me.

“We can make this work… I want this to work.” His words I remembered remained heavy on my chest, stinging my heart as I looked back to him now. That familiar sensation of guilt trailed through me as I then remembered his offer to come live with him in Monaco, how I’d been so absolutely foolish to decline. “Yeah, I hope so, but you know I don’t mind racing in the rain. It always rains at home.” The semi personalised answer had my chest fluttering as a more genuine smile grew on my face. “Until you all skid off the track.”

“Luckily I don’t plan on doing that.” A small breath of laughter escaped my mouth. “Hopefully not.” My eyes fell to the ground when I realised where I actually was. For a moment I’d got a little caught up before quickly returning back to the questions.

“Well I think you’re being called over now Max, but thank you for speaking to us, good luck for the race today.” I offered him another smile as he reached out, rubbing my back a little with a quick, “thank you, y/n/n.” Before hurrying off to where he was being called to. Just like that he’d vanished and suddenly not interviewing him anymore felt 10x worse than the anxiety beforehand.

“Brilliant, a little awkward at the end there, y/n/n but as always thank you for doing that with us. Now time to relax.” Lizzie attempted to choke but all I could do was bite down on my lip. I felt like I was going to be sick, “uh- I just need a second.” I think she could tell by the look on my face something was wrong. I’d darted through the grid, past endless celebrities and familiar faces to lock myself in the bathroom and burst into tears. Holy fuck, it was uncontrollable. I felt an overwhelming sense of regret over Max and I breaking up. How oddly normal it eventually felt with him there, yet how sickening it was knowing he was no longer mine. It was by far the worst heartache I’d ever been through, and being exposed to him a mere 3 weeks after breaking up felt all wrong. When I’d emerged, the race had already started. I’d walked out pathetically wiping my eyes, a couple women asking if I was okay, stunned that y/n y/l/n, famous actress had just been sobbing her heart out in the grid toilets. I was not having a good time, and if it wasn’t for a bunch of my close friends being there I would’ve left.

Plus, there was one upside to being here as a guest… the free alcohol.

[uglytrannymess]

I was suffering exhaustion so much mentally and emotionally i was in a spiral, every job I've tried to apply for kept denying me, each time it was just getting more and more peculiar how WHITE candidates who weren't even qualified for the job kept getting the job over me while i wws CONSTANTLY BEING DENIED EVERY SINGLE ONE, then a month or 2 ago i went to an open interview at Target and a white guy who was in dirty white shirt and smelled like fucking sewage came in and he was immediately offered the job after his interview while i was denied it after coming in well groomed, dressed, and smelling great, i even wore a fucking tie

[KEEP IN MIND YOU DON'T HAVE TO DRESS PROFESSIONALLY ANY MORE TO BE QUALIFIED FOR JOBS OR WIN OVER SOMEONE AT AN INTERVIEW YOU JUST HAVE TO LOOK THE PART AND DRESS ACCORDINGLY SIMPLE SHIRT WITH NO PROFANITY OR OBSCENITIES AND SOME NICE SLACKS OR JEANS]

BUT

Me, BEING BLACK knew i had to out dress and out sharp everyone else, because THAT'S WHAT WE HAVE TO DO!!!

But THIS TIME I applied for Sam's Club and got the interview immediately but come to find out no one in the place knew my interviewer whenever i called in they kept telling me i had to have more availability when i clearly stated at my interview "I AM OPEN COMPLETELY, I'LL TAKE WHATEVER POSITION I HAVE TO"

I WAS OPEN SCHEDULE WISE AND POSITION WISE, I was willing to do any position OPEN but they kept telling me that my application stated the opposite of what i put in, last night i literally cried, had anxiety attacks about how I'm going to eat, how I'm going to take care of my cats who often feel like the only ones who know i exist IRL, i always feel invisible and WORTHLESS, everyone always made me feel worthless and like I'm nothing especially schools, jobs, etc.

So i literally said "ENOUGH IS ENOUGH" TODAY, got up showered, put on MY CLOTHES I FEEL COMFORTABLE IN, but still dressed my ass off, i put my jewelry in, septum, nose ring, choker, bracelet, AND I WENT TO SAM'S CLUB AND DEMANDED TO SPEAK TO A

"BLACK MANAGER!!!!"

They sent me to a black woman, she pulled me into her office, and i told her everything....come to find out they had a person who wasn't a team member interview me, the team members who were all white managers were caught on camera planning to sabotage my interview so i wouldn't get a job there, they set it all up to turn me away and deny me ANYWAY, and the black lady literally went off on them in her office, apologized to me that they discriminated me, she had me autofill an application to work on HER side of the store and told me SHE would hire me on the spot, she interviewed me RIGHT THERE, helped me with my WOTC and everything else, and she HIRED ME IMMEDIATELY and told me "I'm hiring you because you took the initiative to be brave enough to come up here and demand to speak to a BLACK TEAM MEMBER when you felt like something was wrong, you took the gumption to come up here when you could've said FUCK THAT JOB, that's why I'm hiring you."

And the team members who were behind it were all fired and i could possibly be looking at a court case and be able to sue for what happened.....ALL THIS HAPPENED WITHIN ONE SINGLE MORNING!.....NOW PLEASE TELL ME AGAIN AS A WHITE PERSON DO Y'ALL STILL NOT FEEL LIKE IT'S ABSOLUTELY EXHAUSTING EVERYDAY TO WAKE UP A BLACK PERSON IN THIS COUNTRY!?

[bolontiku]

I cant... 🤣🤣 baking at a different cafe.

Work things under the cut

I knew people really didn't like me at work. Bahaha I didn't know it was this bad.

My Lil sister has been baking at a Cafe thats been shit to her, my other trainee was there and I got the Lil sis hired to do pan up (prep) work so she wouldn't have a hard time. Fast forward a few months that trainee went to another store (for better pay, a little suggestion to my boss). But this left the Lil sister alone, management promised to get her help.

A year later she is doing triple the work I do by herself with empty promises of help. So I talk to my Cafe GM about getting her transferred over to our Cafe as a retail employee. A step down but she wont be doing a job as stressful alone, it evens out. Everything is in the works and the baker in training decides to quit. They had pushed her transfer date back a month to train the new one. Getting closer to transfer date and the acting GM at her Cafe is coming up with excuses to not transfer her.

He will do it tomorrow. Oh, he's never done one. Doesn't know how to do it. He's busy in meetings. Promise... promise... promise...

My sister has been sick, legit vomiting on account of how stressed she has become.

I talk to my GM again, this time with the proposal of them and us switching for her last week. My GM is as bullhead as I am and literally sat there texting back and forth until the other agreed. He kept coming up with excuses "she's become unreliable" "calls off" "don't want to send you a bad worker-" I tell her that I have to hold my sisters hair back while she pukes out of anxiety. I tell her "imagine your brother coming home everyday vomiting out of stress at a job he hates". My GM is not happy.

We talk cause he is hesitant having me bake at his Cafe "cause he knows I am not the one to mess with, he's afraid cause he knows he's treated her like shit and I won't put up with it" my GM agrees. She has worked that Cafe before and knows how draining and horrible it is. How lazy and u supportive the management is.

She laughing cause he says "he doesn't want you to fuck him over" now. Why would that be the case? If he didn't screw others over he wouldn't project that onto others or expect the same shitty treatment.

I promise to be as professional as I have always been. She knows I am good for it.

Yesterday (saturday) was the first day there. He is literally scrambling to not speak to me. The other manager is asking me about my sister and why she didn't want to be there anymore. Stress from the workload. Everybody knows this. She has been vocal about it and every manager knows that a bake of 2.5k requires two people. Being told her work is crap when she has 1yr of experience and is being compared to veteran bakers of 8+yrs and being lied to about receiving help.

They stutter about not having help themselves. I deadass look at him and let him know that is their failure. You interview people, lie to them about what they will be doing and then in turn treat them like crap when they come in. Nurture and help your employees grow, train them properly, schedule them the hours you promised and be there for them. Both my trainees roughed it out at that store out of loyalty to ME. Because I trained them. How many times did I get calls from them crying because they were stressed?

The manager shook his head and dropped it. Couldn't look me in the eyes. They've fucked up. I managed to get both of them back into my Market and into cafes where they won't be as stressed.

But I get to work. The management ends up scrambling to get me the numbers they need for their catering and add-ons. Once I bake a product I won't go back to re-bake more. The staff that don't know me come over to gossip, how they've tried to help the baker but they don't know what they are doing. If she could just do her job--

I smile, "imagine coming in and having to run the dining area on top of cashiering, oh and there's no help so on top of cashiering you need to run batista and stock, oh and don't forget we need help making sandwiches and salads too."

The woman looks stressed.

"Now after working your ass off you're told what a disappointment you are and you should have done better."

"But I cannot do all of that at once!!!" She stresses.

"But you expect this baby baker to do all of it without help?" I laugh as she stands there flabbergasted and the management team stays quiet. "This store is fucking pathetic, I wouldn't put up with it. MY management team knows how to handle their catering and numbers, not only that they support me and have no problems taking over. If you treat your people good they will return the favor, yes? Fair is fair right?"

She nods and shuts her fucking mouth. Walking away quietly.

One of the boys that already knows me is giggling and I see him, scream his name and we hug. Nobody else speaks to me.

Get my sisters name out your fucking mouth trash.

[justajsworkshop]

lil personal update: roger is doing so well. i've been thinking about all the health improvements i've manifested for him and me and seeing how it's all the same (finally). when my mind worries, i remind myself he's perfect. i affirm for his good health across the board.

when i witness something the physical mind labels as "undesirable," i remind myself it means nothing. he's got more energy. he's sleeping better. he's scratching less. he's relaxing more. he played in a box today. he is perfect in every way. thank you, father!

as for work, i reached out to an old contact who i didn't have the "best" working relationship with, but i checked in with her, and she gave me a lead on an amazing opportunity. fewer hours than my old gig and greater pay. plus, work that aligns better with my skillset. ig she left a voice message for the guy who owns the company, and he asked for my info before she finished speaking.

she even said to me "you're a great writer and get shit done. any place would be lucky to have you." i already got another part-time gig that looks fun just by assuming it was already mine, and the interview was legit so easy and they hired me so fucking fast. i'm waiting for them to assign something to me and just decided they're gonna give me a perfect assignment.

i'm feeling really powerful these days. limitless. like i really CAN have whatever i want. shifting feels natural and normal to me. like, why wouldn't i be able to shift? sometimes i intend to shift before bed (when i feel like it), but i don't feel like i'm hoping or waiting anything. it really feels like nbd.

idk, i'm not scared of reality anymore. sure, the anxiety comes and goes. and i'm thinking i might actually manifest not having anxiety anymore. it's something to consider. but for now, i'm feeling really good about myself and my existence. deeply grateful. excited. such a breath of fresh air.

[compassionatereminders]

hi kat, i just want to share a rant about stuff, not expecting you to fix things. I've recently (within like the last 2 years) become well enough in my mental health to work. But because I'm now an adult in my 20s with no work experience because I spent my teens in psychiatric care it feels like i am just. so unemployable. im still not mentally "regular" i guess, whatever that means, I have bpd, ptsd and psychotic features so i cant work jobs that would give me big anxieties because it would cause me to regress, but I just seem to be unemployable to the jobs i could cope with. im doing work experience in a store and im frustrated because i like having things to do, i like working at that store but im stuck on work experience bc i fucked up the actual job interview bc i dont understand how they work. and its embarrassing being around other people bc all of the managers are basically younger than me. and i know im so lucky to be able to consider working again but its just So Much just basically opening every day with another rejection from an entry level position without even getting an interview.

overall im frustrated bc this is a larger point about the government wanting to push disabled people into work "because people should be working" but what they dont consider is that jobs Do Not Want disabled people working because they think we cannot give "full effort" as opposed to another candidate, and maybe sometimes we can't as well. Like the whole "if you can work for even two hours you Should be in work for those two hours" is ridiculous because no one is fucking hiring like that! Like hey I do actually enjoy the shop work I'm doing in work experience, I would like to do that more and get a wage for it, but I can't because I dont understand the fucking interviews and no one wants to hire me because I'm 23 with no employment history and cognitive disabilities. It's frustrating.

This is a very valid struggle, and I completely understand your frustration. Reminds of this post I saw the other day which said "the system expects you to get a job even if you can only give it 1%, but every job expects a 100% from you"

[just-an-enby-lemon]

I wrote something for my Georgian Body Hopper Elias and XXI century Beholding upstart employee Jonah AU:

When asked how did he manage to get promoted to head of the an academic institute - normally with some rude intonation that was clearly insinuating his lack of competency - Elias Bouchard would use his amazing bullshiting talents to make a passionate speech about how behind his lax posture he had a firm work ethic and a knack for both the supernatural and finances. In reality it was mostly the fact that by trying to prevent him from “walking with the wrong crowd” his father had in actuality throwed him directly into the worst influences and what should be another vain attempt to impress the old man - and maybe have some secret quick fuck before he had to finally fold into an arranged marriage that luckily never came - only caused his downfall into a terrible cruel worship. 

Years ago. Before fear took him down Elias Bouchard was not a curious man. He was on the other hand a truly adaptable man and one that liked to experiment more than most, he also has always been a coward. Too afraid of being the only one left as all his friends falled one way or the other to malicious gods and as Robert failed, he realized he too needed to choose divinity. He looked for the less violent options and since he really disliked loneliness to the point of getting himself into this situation to begin with… He had no choice but to choose the Eye,

There was a reason that even though he was one of the oldest avatars he and his Institute were still mostly sawn as a joke (or a threat but the last was all thanks to Gertrude). He was faithful to his god but also terrified of it and the fates worse than death Beholder must grant to his failed followers (Albretch and the eyes everywhere come to mind). So he watched, he did nothing to protect his friends, unsure he even could, as he observed every aspect of their demise and he kept watching. In the better days he was truly grateful to his patron, in the worst he would consider death, still he clingled to the only life he knew, going between bodies and sometimes choosing the type of unknown person he could just pass his old name to.  

Still he would say that all of his victims - including the ones whose body he stole - were an accident, a weed induced trip or just a bolt of having a paranoia evil god living rent free insise his head. The complicated situation he was in right now was none of it. 

It started with a Lukas. 

Elias truly hated the Lukases. Alas he needed them for funding, so when Peter Lukas mentioned a new kid that hanged with him and Annabelle and was a truly Eye freak he easily conceded in interviewing the poor sod. The last time Annabelle had given him Jon, someone that the Eye was clearly fond off and hopefully the soon to be solution to Gertrude’s mess, honestly if Jon wasn’t such an active worker - and a handsome one at that - Elias would have thrown him as an assistant and ensure he became Gertrude’s successor soon and by any means necessary, unfortunately doing that would generate a deficit in production and Bouchard, who was never really good with money even as rich man in the georgian era, could not afford to take. Peter mostly only gave him leftovers which all things considered was still really good for a Lukas. 

The first impression he had of the kid was that it made a lot of sense that he knew Annabelle, as both of them clearly had the same vintage clothing sense, the second was that between his plump lips and mid length red hair he was very attractive and would surely be a satisfying meal. His academic credentials were, in Elias' opinion, way too good for the Institute, but most of his employees were in different levels of way too good for this weird dead end job, except the fun nervous wreck in the library that had strayed up lied about everything. He smiled predatorily to his next meal, hiring people was always an acceptable lunch, is not like they wouldn’t have anxiety in a normal job interview anyway, for an instance he saw a flash of terror, the words “the moment you die will feel exactly the same as this one” and then nothing, only static and gray eyes that looked way too old Looking at him, Elias had forgotten he still could be Seen, or maybe hoped he couldn’t, not in any significant way, not besides Jon unconscious slips or Gertrude intimidating stare. He felt true terror in his bones. He could almost see the Beholding saying mine.

“Mr. Bouchard, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.” The young man said politely. “Peter tales don’t get close to the magnificence that is this place.”

“The pleasure is mine” More like Beholding’s, he thought angrily. “Perdon me, I reckon that in the middle of so many applications I forgot your name.” He knew it pretty well. He just needed a moment to compose himself. He was sure there was nothing to worry about, the Eye was satisfied enough with him, he wasn’t perfect but he wasn’t a lost cause… The Eye wouldn’t send another Watcher. Would it?

“Jonah Magnus, sir, but Jonah is good enough.” He was still Watching him. Filling him with dread.

“So Jonah, what makes you want to work at the Bouchard Institute of Paranormal Studies?” 

Magnus smiled. This time not predatorily nor with the subtle look that showed he saw himself as somehow more than Elias, but a truly full wishful smile.

“My God is calling me home.” 

His voice was velvet,  powerful and Elias knew he had to let the boy join, he also knew he had to find a way to deal with it, maybe convince the Beholder of having two Watchers? Or something else. Anything at all. Fast.

A small but still significant part of him considered that maybe he should break his rule and consider murder this time, full murder no excuses. Jonah smilled, suspiciously like he had read Elias mind and found the consideration of murder amusing.

He was completly, undeniably fucked.

[mcalhenwrites]

Another life update, and the news is not... wonderful? It's not bad, it was kind of expected. I was covering two of three shifts that the guy who was let go at the other store usually worked. I took Tues/Fri, and left Mon for rest. I typically plan most of my dr appts around the days I work. I already work weekends. I took those two days so my boss didn't have to work the front desk, but she was still looking to hire someone. We're both grateful to one another, since it freed her up and gave me extra hours. Anyway, she told me Tue she'd interviewed someone and she seemed like a really cool fit. She is being hired on! Which is excellent, but I will lose one of my days. I still get to keep one tho! I've admittedly been stretched thin, and if I'm going to help the baker around the holidays, less time at the front desk will keep me from overworking. That said, financially, I can't really afford to not work every second of every day, and frankly sleep and the need for food are massive and expensive inconveniences. (And I'm sure I still wouldn't make enough to survive.) Anyhow, I'm okay with this for self-care reasons, and I'm going to keep focusing on writing in-between moving out, the surgery, and dr appts. ^^ I was so tired I wasn't even able to bother feeding myself for several meals. Between the fear and anxiety about my uncertain future that is ever-present, a lack of finances, and needing to pack asap so all kitchen stuff is now in boxes (I owned almost all of it and only left out my lunch box for work and a spoon I use for lunches), I haven't... really been eating much at all. Or I'll grab something on my way to work/home from work at gas stations and fast food places. Luckily, I did start rewriting Where the Lanterns Glow in a shorter form, and it will be 100% absolutely smutty as fuck (it originally started as an erotica that grew in plot), but I'm working more on the untitled Henry/Warren thing. I'm also working on stuff for a vendor event, and ofc I have rewards - I'm drawing Monarch again for my $10 tier. ^^ Wish me luck, and again, if you can boost my posts about my books and commissions and everything, I'd be really grateful for the help. I am doing my best here, but it feels like my life is always "good things come just so I can lose them" and I still stupidly hoped it wouldn't when it finally felt like I was working my way out of rock bottom. I told Yume that it feels like I'm always still failing, even when I have accomplished things. It's just so hard when the rocks tumble out of the wall I'm climbing and smack me in the head as soon as my ass hits the bottom again.

[just-a-floofy-catt]

I took a bit of a break from posting cus im tired as balls atm lmao

But i wanted to atleast chuck something out today so heres the ref/original idea sheet of Avery, my fnaf sb self-insert/oc from a while ago :)

(Ive already kinda shown this b4 but now it just looks nicer)

(And has all the writing stuff below the pic in this post)

Also here's some bonus info on him and his role and all :)

• Hes a trans dude (he/they pronouns) that "is built like a twink and dresses like a femboy" (silly quote from my friend lmao😭), and has an extremely ambiguous voice - British accent btw (grew up in the UK, he moved over to his current residence and lives w a roommate who was his online friend).

• Hes can occasionally be a lil bit of a freak behind the scenes XD. Has indulged in alot of fanfiction, draws some questionable stuff for money and also generally can have pretty crude and vulgar humor sometimes lmao.

• Hes pretty creative with a long ass list of hobbies. Loves fashion and costumes, is an artist, avid sewer and just generally loves making things with his hands in his spare time (100% brings his crochet to work XD)

• Has almost crippling anxiety about literally almost everything.

• Hes very polite and tolerates alot of bullshit to avoid conflict, but inside he is 100% raging with the heat of 1000 suns despite the fact hes outwardly shaking enough to be practically vibrating. He will definitely talk shit about the situation to himself in great, excruciating, dramatic detail with alot of angry cursing later and then probably cry about it.

• The boi is a little try-hard that will do their job above minimum effort in order to get praise, or out of fear for getting in trouble.

• Hes typically empathetic to a fault and a straight up (un)qualified therapist.

• Oh, also, hes a raging insomniac.

- First got the job because art commissions were a little slow and, hey, a more reliable source of money at the time wouldnt hurt.

- He was always kinda curious about the place because the scary stories about it were fun to pick apart and he loved the designs of all the animatronics (pft furry).

- He showed up to the interview scared shitless but they hired him almost on the spot, much to his confusion, as he was probably less than entirely qualified for this sort of job.

- From his very first day, he showed up pushing the dress code XD. But, he was indeed wearing the uniform, so he was technically following the rules(THEY COULDNT DO SHIT TO HIM 🥰) (well they could) (but the understaffing issue was more prioritised).

- His coworkers genuinely have no fucking clue how he manages to give enough of a shit to put that much stuff on every morning. The fits are always very over the top, considering all he had to do was put the damn uniform on, but alas, he usually showed up in head to toe accessories and such. It's honestly the best way he can make himself go into work. If he's gonna work a kinda shitty job that doesn't fit his schedule that well and have to do it on barely any sleep, THEN FUCK YEAH HES GONNA DO IT WHILE LOOKIN GOOD. Thats his philosophy on it, atleast XD.

- At first while he settles into the job hes just given shifts in general areas, working joint shifts with more trained security guards or maintenance people or animatronic handlers (those were his favourites. He always got excited like a little kid when getting to see any of the animatronics) to get him used to the place.

Fazbear ent. Was clearly desperate for employees as they were almost always understaffed, but it seemed that they weren't willing to give many employees a strict job role. Rather, expecting them to be a jack of all trades as to try and fix that little issue.

This also happened to apply to Avery, explaining why he was given such oddly scattered and different jobs to settle him in.

- Even as he did start becoming independent, this didnt much change.

One night he could be watching security cameras in the office, the next he could be counting stock at a gift shop, the next he could be helping out with minor maintenance tasks on the robots (despite his ZERO FUCKING KNOWLEDGE ON THEM. Great job there Faz.Ent. Oh well. As time went on he did get atleast a little accustomed to it and managed not to electrically fry his no-robotics-degree-having ass. And he also gained a bestie in the Parts and Services Department, so that was pretty helpful too).

Shit was pretty damn good.

- Thats when they 'suddenly' decide that daycare security is necessary. Something about parents becoming increasingly weary of the odd 'Daycare Attendant' animatronic.

With Avery being their newest hire and most likely to agree to take the position, he immediately gets targeted.

- Now, Avery isnt fond of kids.

Theyre annoying little shits.

So the second he hears 'daycare' hes like "fuck no".

Not to mention that his uh... 'look' (that management had still protested until eventually giving up) would probably set off some entitled mothers or something, and he'd rather not have parents screaming in his face about it.

- Alas, hes eventually convinced into it, under the condition that he gets to stay behind the security desk and not be bothered at all.

- Theyve had security there before, after a few... incidents... but it seemed like they were putting him on a more long term intended job.

- Turns out, from what he can gather from coworkers, a few people have been assigned to the daycare in the past for multiple different roles, but noone really enjoyed it and everyone avoided the place as much as possible. Sun just generally freaked everyone out with that weird... desperation he always had (which was definitely a part of what the parents had also been complaining about) and Moon just scared them all shitless, with the night security guards always looking over their shoulder in hopes of not crossing patrol with him. Noone really downright hated them, some even felt sympathy, but most were just too unsettled to interact with them.

- Avery, being a bit of a pussy, is even further put off from the job by these sentiments.

However, he perseveres and dresses his best to try and convince himself that itd be fine (aka, that if he died atleast hed die pretty).

- The daycare actually had its own themed uniform alongside the plain guard uniform, as did alot of other places in the pizzaplex. However, since the employees were given a choice, basically everyone chose to not don the more whimsical fits, and instead just use their badge to show the specific job or branch they were supposed to be legally assigned to.

- Avery, on the other hand, fucking lived for that shit. XD

Styled it like a girlboss and walked into work at exactly 6.30am, 30 minutes before the daycare opened, prepared to look perfectly the part for his job.

- When he walked into the daycare (he avoided the slide... hm.. maybe if he ever has a night shift here....) and the lights were already on and bright enough to blind a bitch.

Oh well, their electric bill, not his problem.

- He immediately settled behind the desk, planning to keep his ass planted there for the next few hours with one earbud in, hidden under his hair, as he would halfheartedly watch the kids.

But...

Something felt off.

Really fucking weird.

He was definitely being *watched*.

Observed.

Ugh, creepy.

He ignored it, blaming it on lack of sleep.

And thats about as far as i got plan wise for his lil plotline XD

Yippee