#tim mcilrath x reader

[chimeras-love]

the awful rusted machines

Pairing: Tim McIlrath/GN!Reader

Summary: a workaholic reader, crushed by capitalism, is hounded with more work than they can handle, until their savior in sweatpants comes to knock some sense into you (metaphorically, of course)

Tags: Established Relationship, (Tooth Rotting) Fluff, Cuddling, Kissing, No Use of [Y/N], Gender Neutral Reader (No Pronouns + Readers Appearance is Not Mentioned), Drabble, One-Shot

Warnings: None

A/N: the time is left ambiguous, although you can take that AOL instant messenger notification as a sign if you'd like :) i also left Tims appearance vague so you can imagine whatever Rise Against era you'd like

Word Count: 1.2k

You’ve got mail!

“Fuck you,” you snapped.

The notification rang through the still air on a particularly muggy evening. You sat, shirt stuck to your skin with sweat, despite an open window and the direct blow of an electric fan. The papers that scattered your desk would have flown away had it not been for the assorted office supplies anchoring them. A stapler here, some scissors there, and coffee cups with a little coffee still left in them. All together, making your work conditions a bit more bearable.

'Some conditions,' you thought. Bringing your work back home like you were some high school kid all over again, scrambling together the shambles of an essay all in one night. Sticky notes stuck onto any surface available with the unintelligible scribblings of an over-caffeinated workaholic. Grueling, unending, thankless work.

Oh well, at least you got paid. 

Was it worth it?

Eh, probably not.

You hovered your cursor over the email tab and watched the tiny envelope icon open up to reveal an even tinier paper.

‘Cute,’ you thought, ‘and deceptive.’

You did it a few more times, with a blank expression plastered on your face, as the paper went in.

Then out.

Then in.

Then out.

Then in again.

Postponing the inevitability of what would, undoubtedly, lead to more work; all of the others had. “Finish this, fax that,” the sort of monotony you’d only expect in the most satirical of black comedies. Clicking that unassuming little envelope icon would be metaphorical suicide.

You glanced at the corner of the screen.

3:27 AM.

“Fuck,” you cursed, letting your body relax, as much as you could, into the ratty black office chair. The one you still hadn’t gotten around to replacing.

‘Maybe,’ you thought, ‘ I can give my boss some bullshit excuse. A powerline fell on my car and my computer shut down and I lost all my progress! My grandmother fell terribly ill and I had to nurse her back to health! Hell, maybe something as lazy as a dog eating it.’

‘Just fucking anything.’

“Ugh,” you let your head hit the desk with a thud.

“Pretty late, hm?”

You spun your chair around, recognizing the voice almost immediately. Your boyfriend leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded, in a gray long-sleeve that was just tight enough to outline his arm muscles— the top button, left undone. Donning black sweats, and white socks.

“Tim?” You asked, taken aback, “what’re you doing up?”

He shrugged. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I…” you paused. “I’m still working.”

“Still? It’s three in the morning, you know.”

“I, uh, do know,” you admitted.

He narrowed his eyes.

“What’re you working on?”

“More of the most boring work in the world,” you replied “same shit, different day.”

Tim hummed in agreement. Although, truthfully, you didn’t think he was agreeing with you. After all, he was a musician. A popular one at that. Jealousy wasn’t exactly the right word to describe how you felt. Coveted, or desired fit a lot better. Mostly, you wanted a job that didn’t want to make you kill yourself.

“Why don’t you come to bed?” Tim asked.

“I can’t, not yet at least.”

“Why not?”

“I still have work to do.”

Tim walked up behind you, his presence by your left shoulder. Even if you couldn’t see him, you could already tell exactly what he was doing. You imagined his eyes scanning over the dozens of open tabs and the abysmal state of your work station. You kept your eyes on the screen.

“You always say that.” He finally said.

“It’s always true.” 

“At this rate, I don’t think you’re gonna survive if you keep this up,” he half-joked.

“Not all of us get to just ‘put off our work’ when we feel like it,” you half-joked.

“Ouch.” 

Maybe jealousy was the right word.

The way he said it, like trying to actively pass it off as a joke (even though it clearly must’ve stung a bit). Now that hurt.

You sighed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” you trailed.

“It’s fine.” His touch startled you, hand starting to rub your back. “You’re not wrong, exactly.”

“Don’t say that, you work really hard. I’ve seen it firsthand, it’s just a… different type of work.”

“Maybe,” he kissed you on the cheek, “but I don’t think I’ve seen anyone work as hard as you. I mean, fuck— you’re clearly exhausted, and yet you’re still working.”

“I know it’s bad, I just… if I don’t finish this tonight it’ll just make it a bigger problem tomorrow.” You confided.

“It’s already a pretty big problem now,” he emphasized.

You bit the inside of your cheek. He was right. You hated when he was right.

You looked back at the screen one more time, then back to your boyfriend, and sighed. You closed your laptop.

Tim smiled. The bastard won.

‘I’ll simply get back to it early in the morning,’ you rationalized, as you walked back to the bedroom with Tim. Was that any better than staying up longer? Probably not, although it would put your boyfriend at peace at the very least. You'd deal with the inevitable badgering tomorrow, er, rather later today.

Tim climbed all the way in the bed, and you followed suit. He pulled you into his side, while you draped yourself lazily over him. Your chests rose and fell rhythmically. He turned his head to kiss you; slow, but tender, lips tasting faintly of coffee (which you only gathered after noticing the empty mug beside him). You pulled away, still only inches from his face.

“You were waiting for me to go to bed, weren’t you?”

He shrugged, “yeah.”

“Yeah?” You asked, wondering if he was going to say anything else.

"Yeah,” he reiterated, ”I don’t think you’d believe me if I said no, anyways.”

You laughed, and kissed him again. Lazily, simply enjoying his taste as he did yours (which, now that you mention it, was probably very similar given that you’d both been hyping yourself up on coffee). You pulled away, and found yourself lost in his eyes, as you often did. Each color was mesmerizing in their own right. His left, a piercing icy blue. His right, a deep nearly-brown hazel—and the contrast between them? 

Intoxicating.

"What're you staring at?" He chuckled.

You shrugged. It was your turn for the simple one word answers, the only thing you said being "you."

He rolled his eyes, the faintest dust of pink taking to his cheeks. He always acted embarrassed by your fawning, and maybe he was, but he still loved the attention... even if he wouldn't admit it.

"What for?"

"I don't know," you took a deep breath, "I guess I just realized how lucky I was to have you."

"Oh, you just realized that?" He narrowed his eyes, playfully.

"Shut up," you hit his shoulder, "you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do."

"I love you."

"I love you too," he replied.

Tim reached over to turn off the lamp beside him, and the room was entrenched in near total darkness, save the neon city lights that cast through the curtains.

You lifted your head up just enough to glance at the bedside clock.

4:03 AM.

"Little past my bedtime, isn't it?"

"Eh, maybe Just a bit."

it's a lot shorter than my last one, so apologies if you were looking for anything more dense, im terrible at writing consistently. i definitely beta read, but im also known for wanting to change literally everything once i actually post it so dont be surprised if i reupload this later on w better writing.

(p.s. if you like the tim fic, you're gonna love the long-fic i have planned in the future hehe :P)

[peachsukii]

𝓲𝓷𝓴 & 𝓻𝓱𝔂𝓽𝓱𝓶 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

『 band au | strangers to lovers | slow burn 』 ✮ pairing. artist!reader x drummer!bakugo ✮ status. in progress ✮ rating. explicit (18+ themes) #✩.ink&rhythm + crossposted to AO3

✮ summary. Distortion is the hottest band in town, making waves in the underground scene with their unique sound. Led by your college best friend and music prodigy, Kyoka Jiro, alongside her misfit group of friends, they've been playing shows every weekend for the last few months and have gathered a decent following. You're whisked into the whirlwind of their rockstar lives when Jiro commissions you to design a band logo for their merch, reconnecting with her and meeting the members of the band. Your eyes immediately gravitate to their powerful drummer, Katsuki Bakugo. Fresh out of a nasty three year on/off relationship, he's not looking for anything or anyone while shutting out the world around him. He's focused on the one thing that keeps him sane; music. You're six months free of a breakup as well, looking to repaint your world with new colors and experiences, but turns out it's more tumultuous than anticipated. Explosive fights, newfound fame, clashing egos, dive bars, stolen kisses, black out dreams, messy exes and hard lessons; but somehow, love finds a way to bloom like a flower in the desert - deep in the hottest, driest wasteland of two broken hearts.

✮ tags & warnings. rock/punk/alt band au, slow burn, meet cute, strangers to lovers, various smut, smoking/drugs/alcohol consumption, talks of emotional & physical abuse from past partners, angst with a happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, mild violence, mentions of cheating from past partners, miscommunications, jealousy, long distance, stalking, attempted sexual assault (not from bakugo or the bakusquad!), bakugo & reader suffer from relationship traumas (Camie & dabi are nasty exes), bakusquad are in a band, friend breakups & makeups

꒰ track list ꒱ ✩ Prelude: Holding onto Hope is a Different Kind of Pain ✩ Track One: Shine a Light into the Wreckage ✩ Track Two: Flowers Filled with Vitriol ✩ Track Three: Boulevard of (Broken?) Dreams ✩ Track Four: You Can Throw Me in the Deep End ✩ Track Five: Every Canvas that I Paint is a Masterpiece (of My Mistakes) ✩ Track Six: Band-Aids Don't Fix Bullet Holes ✩ Track Seven: Good Girls Stay Alive ✩ Track Eight: The End of Me, The End of Me ✩ Track Nine: If It Means A Lot To You ✩ Track Ten: Hand on the Throttle ✩ Bonus Track: We Are Distortion, 1-2-3-go!!

꒰ info ꒱ ✩ all characters are 24/25 years old ✩ reader co-owns an art gallery and has a BFA ✩ reader's artist alias is "glxtch" (glitch) ✩ bakugo drives a custom built orange & black Kawasaki Ninja ZX-6R ✩ relationships: momojiro, kirimina, ex-bakucamie, ex-dabi/reader

✩ band name: Distortion ✧ Kyoka Jiro | lead singer, electric guitar (Barista - Degree in Music Production) ✧ Denki Kaminari | electric guitar, backup vocals (Waiter) ✧ Eijiro Kirishima | bass, backup vocals (Bartender) ✧ Katsuki Bakugo | drummer, backup vocals (Bike Mechanic) ✧ Mina Ashido | keyboard, backup vocals (Makeup artist) ✧ Momo Yaoyorozu | band manager (Marketing assistant)

✩ vocal inspirations ✧ Kyoka Jiro ⇢  addie amick (halocene) ✧ Denki Kaminari ⇢  rory rodriguez (dayseeker) ✧ Eijiro Kirishima ⇢  tim mcilrath (rise against) ✧ Katsuki Bakugo ⇢  eric vanlerberghe & acoustic (i prevail - harsh vocals) ✧ Mina Ashido ⇢  maggie lindemann

꒰ mood board ꒱

✩ pinterest board ✩

꒰ playlist ꒱

✩ wanna join the ink & rhythm taglist? sign up here! ✩ ♡ last updated // 08.09.24 dividers, banners & moodboard by taurus-magicka/peachsukii