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fluffymiyaa · 2 days

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Waste The Night

Painting!Gojo x Painter!reader x Painting!Geto

Summary: In a haunting twist of fate, your tragic painting suddenly springs to life, its sorrowful characters and somber scenes manifesting before your eyes.

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You decide to start your morning by making breakfast. Just a simple omelet and a nice, hot cup of coffee. You eat it quietly, enjoying your morning routine as you watch TV. Then suddenly, there's a knock at your door. You furrow your brow, wondering who could be visiting your house this early in the morning.

You quickly finish up your nearly-done omelette and rush to the window, trying to discreetly peek outside. Your eyes widen in shock, and your body starts shaking when you see the police car parked outside your house. The sight sends a wave of fear and confusion coursing through you.

What? What's going on? What happened? What did i do?

Your mind races with a thousand questions as you approach the door, each step heavy with apprehension. What could have prompted the police to come to your house? You rack your brain, trying to recall if you've done anything that might warrant their attention, but nothing comes to mind. Your pulse quickens as you reach for the doorknob, your hand trembling slightly. With a mixture of fear and determination, you twist the knob and swing the door open, bracing yourself for whatever awaits on the other side.

You face the two police officers, their stern expressions sending a shiver down your spine. Your heart races as you try to maintain your composure.

"...can I help you, sir?" you manage to stammer out, your voice trembling with apprehension.

"Ms. L/N Y/N, correct?" One of them addresses you, his tone serious and probing.

"Y-yes, that's me..." you reply, the words barely escaping your lips as you struggle to keep your voice steady.

The two police officers glance at each other, a silent exchange passing between them. One of them retrieves something from behind his back, and your eyes widen as he holds up your phone. How could you not have realized your phone was missing? Your furrow your brow in confusion, wondering how they came to possess it.

"Huh...yes, that's mine...but how?" you manage to ask, your voice tinged with uncertainty and concern.

"Miss, please come with us to the police station." one of the officers replies, his tone firm yet respectful.

"What? No! I didn't even do anything!" you protest, your heart racing as panic begins to set in.

The officers sigh, their expressions sympathetic yet resolute as they try to maintain control of the situation. They show you a picture of a familiar old man - your manager.

"Do you know this man?" they ask, their eyes searching yours for any sign of recognition.

You gulp, feeling a lump form in your throat as you nod in acknowledgment.

"Yes...he's my manager." you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

The officers nod, their demeanor becoming more serious as they continue to speak.

"He was found dead in the hallway just 50 meters from here. There was a long, sharp cut on his neck, indicating that someone had slashed his throat. Based on the condition of the body, it is estimated that the incident occurred in the middle of the night or early morning, as the body was still quite warm when it was discovered. We have called an ambulance to take him to the hospital, and we are currently trying to contact his family, including you." they explain, their words weighing heavily on you.

"So what I'm saying is, miss, you are the first suspect in this case. The last time the victim had contact was with you." they conclude, their gaze unwavering as they hold up your phone as evidence.

Your mind races with disbelief and fear as you try to process the gravity of the situation unfolding before you.

You freeze in place, a wave of shock washing over you, followed by a surge of panic that leaves you sweating and trembling. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, and tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you struggle to comprehend the situation unfolding before you.

"W-wait, there must be a misunderstanding! I-I didn't have the phone with me! Someone must have stolen it from me! Please, you need to trust me! I'm innocent! Somebody must have framed me!" you stammer, your voice trembling with desperation and fear.

The officers exchange a glance, their expressions unreadable as they listen to your frantic pleas. Yet, despite your protests, their demeanor remains stoic and unwavering, their duty to uphold the law evident in their unwavering resolve.

"Save that explanation at the police station, miss," one of the officers responds sternly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

With a heavy heart and a sense of dread gnawing at your insides, you nod weakly, realizing that you have no choice but to comply. The weight of the situation presses down on you like a suffocating blanket, leaving you feeling helpless and vulnerable.

You take a deep breath and follow the officers as they lead you towards their patrol car, your mind racing with unanswered questions and fears of what may await you at the police station.

Your gaze shifts to the handcuffs encircling your wrist, a stark contrast against the soft fabric of your pajamas. These hands, once so adept at wielding a paintbrush with grace and precision, now rendered powerless and confined.

Alone in this sterile white room, the silence weighs heavily upon you, broken only by the rhythmic whirring of the fan above. Each breath feels labored, as if the air itself has grown thick with uncertainty and fear.

The door creaks open. A figure steps into the room, their footsteps echoing against the sterile white walls.

It's a detective, clad in a crisp suit with a stern expression etched onto his face. His presence alone sends a shiver down your spine, amplifying the feeling of unease that has settled over you like a suffocating fog.

"Miss Y/n, good morning" he says, gesturing towards the lone chair positioned in the center of the room.

Oh yeah what a good morning

You comply silently, the handcuffs rattling as you move, a constant reminder of your current predicament. Sitting down, you feel small and vulnerable under the detective's scrutinizing gaze.

He takes a seat across from you, opening a file with your name written on it in bold letters. His eyes flicker over the contents before fixing on you once more.

"We have some questions for you regarding the events of last night," he begins, his voice firm yet measured.

You nod slowly, your heart hammering in your chest as the gravity of the situation sinks in. This is far from the peaceful morning you had envisioned, and you can't shake the feeling that your life is about to change in ways you never imagined.

"Where were you last night?"

The officer's gaze remains fixed on you, probing for any signs of deception or evasion in your responses. You swallow hard, the weight of his scrutiny bearing down on you like a heavy burden.

"I was sleeping, in my room." you reply, betraying the nervousness that grips you.

He nods slowly, jotting down notes on a pad of paper as you speak. The scratching sound seems to echo loudly in the otherwise quiet room.

"How do you feel about him being your manager?" he inquires, his tone measured yet insistent.

You hesitate, searching for the right words to convey the mix of emotions swirling within you. "He... uhm, he's good at his job," you finally manage, the words sounding hollow even to your own ears.

The furrow in the officer's brow deepens as he continues to study you intently. "Ms. L/n, does your manager ever mistreat you?" he presses, his voice taking on a more serious undertone.

Your mind races, recalling the countless arguments and disagreements that have punctuated your working relationship with the now-deceased manager. "Well... it's just normal arguments," you offer hesitantly, attempting to downplay the significance of your conflicts.

But the officer doesn't seem convinced, his scrutiny unwavering. "Do you have any feelings of hatred towards him?" he probes further, his gaze piercing through your defenses.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you grapple with the weight of his question. "N-no... not at all," you stammer, though a nagging doubt lingers at the back of your mind.

"Ms. L/n, I need you to answer the question truthfully," the officer presses, his tone firm yet not unkind.

Your hands tremble slightly as you respond, the weight of the interrogation bearing down on you.

"I do" you admit

The officer's gaze remains steady, his eyes searching yours for any hint of deception. "Do you know if he engaged in inappropriate behavior, such as harassment towards someone else?" he asks, his voice soft yet probing.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, struggling to find the right words amidst the chaos of your thoughts. "W-well, he has a bad temper," you offer tentatively. "I think he may have had a lot of enemies."

"Enemies, huh? Does that include you, miss?" the officer inquires, his voice taking on a more serious tone.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you meet his gaze, the weight of his question hanging heavy in the air. "No!" you exclaim, a surge of frustration and desperation rising within you. "I told you, I have nothing to do with this! Somebody else must be trying to frame me!"

The officer raises a hand in a calming gesture, his expression remaining composed despite your outburst. "Please, Ms. L/n, I understand that this is a difficult situation, but I need you to remain calm and lower your voice." he advises, adjusting his glasses with a practiced motion.

You take a deep breath, attempting to steady your nerves as you nod in acknowledgment. Despite your fear and uncertainty, you know that maintaining your composure is crucial if you hope to convince the officer of your innocence.

"Do you perhaps know somebody else who harbors ill feelings towards your manager?" the officer probes further.

Your mind races as you consider the question, recalling the various individuals who had clashed with your manager over the years. "Uh... I have some people in mind," you admit hesitantly, careful not to implicate anyone unfairly.

The officer nods, gesturing for you to continue. "Can you say their names?" he prompts, his voice calm yet insistent.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself before naming those who had openly expressed their dislike for your manager and had been heard saying disparaging remarks about him.

"Are any of them aware of your security password?" the officer inquires, his brow furrowing in thought.

"Hm... Miko? She's one of the closest to me," you respond, your mind racing as you try to recall if you had ever shared your password with her. "But I never thought she's the one who stole my phone..."

The officer nods, jotting down notes in his book before closing it. He rises from his chair, his posture professional yet empathetic. "I think that's it for today. You can go home," he informs you, his voice carrying a sense of finality. "But you must remember, you're still a suspect. The police will continue to monitor you."

As he walks towards the door, he pauses, turning back to face you with a somber expression. "Oh, and I think you might need a lawyer." he adds, his words hanging heavily in the air as he exits the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the weight of uncertainty pressing down upon you.

As you step back into your house, a wave of exhaustion washes over you, leaving your body feeling heavy and your limbs weak. You can hardly muster the energy to move, let alone eat. Your appetite seems to have vanished, replaced by a gnawing feeling of anxiety that weighs heavily on your mind.

Collapsing onto the nearest chair, you curl up into a ball, seeking solace in the silence of your empty house. The minutes tick by slowly, each passing moment adding to the weight of the burden you carry. You glance at the clock, its hands seemingly frozen in time, mocking your sense of helplessness as they stubbornly refuse to move.

As you sit there, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on your shoulders, you feel a surge of panic rising within you. The thought of finding a lawyer seems like an impossible task, especially considering the overwhelming number of options and the uncertainty of who you can trust. The exorbitant costs associated with legal representation only add to your distress, leaving you feeling trapped and helpless.

Tears well up in your eyes as you struggle to comprehend why this is happening to you. You've always tried to live your life with integrity and honesty, yet now you find yourself thrust into a nightmare of accusations and suspicion. It feels unfair, unjust, as if the world is conspiring against you for reasons beyond your understanding.

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the sobs that threaten to escape your throat. The weight of uncertainty and fear bears down on you, making it difficult to see a way out of this predicament.

"What should i do..? Why is this happening to me?"

You cry until exhaustion overwhelms you, and you don't even notice as you drift into sleep, your head resting on the table. Once you slowly wake up, your body jolting in panic as you glance at the clock.

"Shit, how long have I been asleep?"

It's already 3 pm. Feeling too restless to eat, you grab a pudding from the fridge and quickly devour it. Then, you make your way upstairs to your studio.

As you enter the room, your eyes land on the paintings of Suguru and Satoru on their canvases. You long for their comforting presence right now. Absentmindedly, you pick up a brush and examine it, lost in thought.

Suddenly, a light bulb seems to illuminate above your head. An idea forms in your mind.

"Wait, if I can't find a lawyer, maybe I can just make one?"

You chuckle at the absurdity of the thought, imagining crafting your own lawyer from brush, paint, and canvas.

But then you pause, considering the idea more seriously.

"...I mean, it's not a bad idea. And I wouldn't have to pay him or anything, right?"

Lost in contemplation, you sit in silence, the idea lingering in your mind as a potential solution to your current predicament.

"God..im gonna get real in jail if they find out it's a fake lawyer."

Your hand slowly dances on the canvas, skillfully shaping the figure as you contemplate what personality to imbue him with.

With each stroke of the brush, you pour your passion and determination into creating this imaginary legal representative. Despite the absurdity of the situation, your focus is unwavering. After all, you refuse to entertain the thought of ending up in jail.

As the painting begins to take form, you infuse it with characteristics that you believe a trustworthy lawyer should possess: intelligence, confidence, and a hint of charisma. With each brushstroke, you mold him into the ideal representation of legal expertise and competence.

In your mind, this painted lawyer becomes more than just a creation on canvas. He becomes your lifeline, your protector against the unjust accusations looming over you. And as you continue to paint, you feel a sense of empowerment wash over you, knowing that you are taking control of your own destiny, one brushstroke at a time. You drop your brush and let out a satisfied groan as you admire your creation. The image of the lawyer stares back at you from the canvas, exuding an aura of confidence and intelligence.

"Ah..i end up making him good looking. Well, what's the harm anyway." you mumble to yourself, a faint smile playing on your lips.

Stretching your tired muscles, you take a moment to appreciate the sense of accomplishment that comes with bringing your idea to life. Despite the unconventional circumstances, you can't help but feel a sense of pride in your artwork.

With a deep breath, you remind yourself that desperate times call for creative solutions. And if your painted lawyer can help you navigate through this legal ordeal, then his good looks are just an added bonus.

Feeling a surge of determination, you gather your resolve to face whatever challenges lie ahead, knowing that you now have a unique ally on your side, even if he exists only in paint and imagination.

"Now the problem is..i don't know when he's gonna become real!" You cried out, frustration evident in your voice.

"Please please become real in the morning till evening! Not in the night please please please!" You beg in front of your painting, your desperation palpable.

What a scene it must be, if somebody else were to find you in this position—on your knees, pleading with a two-dimensional figure. They would undoubtedly be puzzled, perhaps even weirded out by the sight.

But you don't care about appearances right now. All that matters is finding a way to ensure your painted lawyer materializes at a time that's most advantageous for you. So you continue to beseech, your words echoing in the quiet of your studio, hoping against hope that somehow, your plea will be heard and answered.

"What are you doing?" You hear someone's voice, and as you turn around, you see Suguru looking at you with a puzzled expression, while Satoru regards you with a mixture of concern and pity.

"Oh no..is she losing her mind?" Satoru expresses his worry, his brow furrowing.

"I think she is." Suguru agrees, his tone tinged with a hint of amusement.

You flush with embarrassment, realizing how bizarre your actions must appear to them. But you don't know how to explain yourself, especially considering the circumstances. All you can do is hope they won't judge you too harshly for your desperate attempt to summon a painted lawyer to aid in your defense.

You quickly get up, trying to conceal the painting behind your body, although it's barely covered.

"You guys are surprising me! Don't show up like that!" you exclaim, feeling caught off guard.

"And so are you. Besides, why are you hiding it behind you? The canvas is way bigger than you." Suguru remarks, his eyes glinting mischievously.

Satoru takes hold of your wrist, his expression one of curiosity mixed with concern.

"What are you trying to hide from me?" he asks, his tone gentle yet probing.

You glance between them, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. How do you explain the bizarre situation you've found yourself in?

Satoru gently pushes you aside to get a better look at the canvas. His eyes widen in surprise as he takes in the figure of another man painted on the canvas. A pang of unease and hurt tightens his chest.

Suguru narrows his eyes, studying the scene with intensity.

"What's the meaning of this? Explain." he demands, his tone icy.

"Are you cheating on us? Are we not good enough for you?" Satoru's voice trembles with a mix of hurt and confusion as he confronts you.

You feel a lump form in your throat as you try to find the words to explain

"Wait, no! I can explain! Please, hear me out! I-I need him!" you plead desperately, feeling the weight of guilt and fear pressing down on you.

"You don't need us anymore?" Satoru's voice cracks with hurt and confusion.

"N-no! T-that's not it! P-please, I just..." Your throat feels dry, your breaths coming in shallow gasps as you struggle to speak. It's all too much, the overwhelming weight of everything that's happened crashing down only in one day.

You break down into sobs, unable to contain the flood of emotions any longer.

Satoru and Suguru rush to your side, their faces filled with concern and apology as they try to comfort you.

"I'm sorry, y/n... Please, just take a breath," Satoru says, squeezing your hands tightly in his.

"Hey, calm down." Suguru murmurs soothingly, gently stroking your cheek in an attempt to calm your trembling.

"Let's talk about this calmly," Suguru interjects, his voice steady despite the tension in the room. He takes a step closer, his eyes soft with concern. "Y/n, we're here for you. Just explain to us what's going on."

Satoru nods, his expression a mix of worry and understanding. "Yeah, we're not going anywhere. You can tell us anything."

You take a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself enough to explain. "I... I made him because... because I didn't know what else to do. I'm in trouble, guys. The police came to my house today... they think I had something to do with my manager's death."

Suguru and Satoru freeze in dread as news of the police's arrival sinks in, a heavy silence enveloping the room. That night, driven by uncontrollable impulses, they acted rashly, blinded by a desire for vengeance. Unbeknownst to them, their actions inadvertently shifted blame onto you, leaving you to bear the weight of their mistake.

As tears continue to stream down your face, they exchange guilt-ridden glances, debating if they should tell you or not.

"Wait a second, Y/n." Suguru interjects, his voice tinged with urgency.

They step away from you, huddling in a corner, frustration evident on Satoru's face.

"What are we going to do?" he mutters in frustration, his mind racing for a solution.

Suguru closes his eyes, grappling with the weight of their actions.

"This is on me. I should have been more professional, ive been doing this for years but my recklessness led to this. I dont know what makes me so uncontrolled that night." he admits, a heavy sigh escaping his lips.

Because it was you.

Satoru look at you who still slump down on the cold floor. He cant seeing you like this it hurts him.

And so Suguru, he put you in danger and he was behind all of this.

"It's not just your fault. We did this to protect her, but we've only made things worse." he insists, his voice filled with remorse.

"We need to clean this for real this time." Suguru agrees, determination flickering in his eyes. Satoru turns to you, resolve in his gaze.

"I'm going to tell her," he declares.

"Wait what?"

Satoru turns back to you, steeling himself for the inevitable confession.

"Y/n... we..." Satoru begins hesitantly, but Suguru interrupts, his voice strained with uncertainty.

"Satoru, don't." Suguru stopped him.

"But i can't lie to her!"

Suguru exhales heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration, his eyes filled with remorse.

"Fine."

With a heavy heart, they turn to you, their expressions fraught with sorrow.

"W-what is it?"

"Y/n... we're the one who killed your manager" Satoru confesses, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air.

The revelation hits you like a sledgehammer, sending shockwaves through your entire being, leaving you feeling as though the ground has been pulled out from beneath you.

"H-huh?"

Ik this isnt make sense, lets just pretend theres no cctv or they managed to avoid them im literally so dumb😮‍💨

Thanks for the notes, reblogs make me feel more appreaciated<3

Tags: @ceramic-raven @beastofthetrees @r0ckst4rjk @gothiccwhore666 @barryatsumu