#bojack x reader

[bootyscalling]

okay but rick sanchez is super hot right?? there's just something about him... like, yes, he's old but he also can get it? imma hop on this train for a lil

[sensitivemelancholy]

BOJACK AND HIS WIFE: A X READER NARRATIVE

Summary: When Bojack leaves his house after a hangover moments before driving to a bridge to see the end of his long and sickly life, he sees you across the street. After some muddling of consideration in his impulsive mind, he takes interest in something he never would bother; to take a chance at letting an impossibly small nothing in.

A/N: Will be posted in small chunks over time, tumblr breaks otherwise.

Dry. Awake. Dirty and grim. 

The day was polluted. The headspace of being forced back into perception of reality met the gradual understanding of the senses around you. The black feeling that came along with the shock of being in the kind of circumstances you were for this long were starting to come back. It lasted only for a moment, replacing the stagance of detachment that came along with never fully processing your situation due to the bittersweet benefit of the protection of vague sense of denial.

Your hand grasped onto the ten dollar bill you had crumpled into your pocket before you properly opened your eyes. The dirt that was caked on your cheek complimented the shakiness of your hand as you felt yourself give a hitch of a breath; one that came from whatever you had inhaled lying flat on behind the grit of the sidewalk earlier that day. The mundanity of the spot you had found yourself in was one settlement practiced as exactly as the routine you had long since become used to in order to survive. 

You had seen the grim of the sidewalk and the splat of the dirt that sat on the back wall countlesDry. Awake. Dirty and grim.

The day was polluted. The headspace of being forced back into perception of reality met the gradual understanding of the senses around you. The black feeling that came along with the shock of being in the kind of circumstances you were for this long were starting to come back. It lasted only for a moment, replacing the stagance of detachment that came along with never fully processing your situation due to the bittersweet benefit of the protection of vague sense of denial.

Your hand grasped onto the ten dollar bill you had crumpled into your pocket before you properly opened your eyes. The dirt that was caked on your cheek complimented the shakiness of your hand as you felt yourself give a hitch of a breath; one that came from whatever you had inhaled lying flat on behind the grit of the sidewalk earlier that day. The mundanity of the spot you had found yourself in was one settlement practiced as exactly as the routine you had long since become used to in order to survive.

You had seen the grim of the sidewalk and the splat of the dirt that sat on the back wall countless times previously on the same empty days, where the only pattern of meeting the fogginess of your detached eyes was the constant ongoing aimlessness that came along of the complex feeling of the analysis of an unwell mind and a body without a home.

Your eyes opened as you felt the burning of your cheek meet against the side of the hard pattern of the sidewalk. Your lips cracked opened, and you could feel the physical dryness there in your throat as you felt yourself coming back from the disorientation that came along from the deep detachment of lack of consciousness, and the abrupt wake that came along with all the small minute challenges that you weren’t even aware you were always fighting until you had such a natural bleak break from them temporarily.

Your palms began to ease onto the grim of the sidewalk as your skin pressed against it momentarily, your chin raising up, and for the countless time in your life did you feel yourself easing into the animalistic rhythm of the chaos of existence as the back of your headspace fell into a black acceptance of the ache of your body and the usual weary patterns of your mind that came to the pinnacle of just how exhausted they truly were for that minute moment they were forced to come from the bleak backdrop of sleep.

You were aware of the aching of your throat as you turned your head up, and with your body curling in on itself with the tattered dress you had been wearing the past few weeks; the tailor that you met with the kind eyes who had come to guess your story if only from the pathetic tattered ways you carried yourself with your hands gripped against the dirtiness of your skin and the pathetic nothing of your constant timid energy that caused her to have sympathy for her donation to you; a kindness that could only be met in small minute real life intimate scenarios such as that one that you knew was rare, even in that scenario.

Your lips pressed together, the bottom of your lip raising up onto the top of your other one in that undignified and delusional way that came from the disorientation that you had from the constant strain of your mental and physical streatching of your body. Your eyes fluttered up into a blink as you gave a breath, this time the tone sounding especially scratched against your throat, causing you to wince as you gave a heaved breath; the air of Los Angeles has been especially dry lately, and even more with a smog that was dressing and pollutining into the ease of the already defaulted grey clouded sky that normally sat above the buildings.

Your hands were cracked and cacked with dirt as you turned your head down, your body curling forward as you gave another dry heave while your body shook; that feeling of being inhuman wasn’t one that had become foreign to you at this point in your life where being inhuman and being treated as such from casual passagers didn’t lessen their loathing in looking down at the dirty cake of trembling lost people that the majority who had never fallen into the cracks were even capable of processing. Your neck turned up as your lips cracked and pressed against one another again as your kneeled your body back onto your thighs, your other palm coming to grip onto the white tatter of your dress. The tailor swan who had made the rags for you had been one of someone who gave you that special extra time to make you one of something special;

“You can’t go around and try to be naked and a woman without the world coming to your feet in the most detrimental way possible, honey.” The tone that left her beak was one of someone who had a thick intention of a pushy judgment, but underneath it from the start you had been aware of the warmth of her ultimate intention.

The walk was about two hours away by foot; as of late, your various methods for being able to own even half of a bill of twenty dollars had been becoming increasingly less possible. Your legs were beginning to ache from the amount of time they spent by the edge of the sidewalk and the grim that caked into your clothes and how it made every movement feel like an unwarranted chore; your body had become less able to give the passing by man what he wanted enough for a quick meal or for anything to add on to anything to do with your existence except for the constant emotional disorientation and mental foggy headedness that came along with the life of always being far from comfortable or even tolerable, mentally or emotionally from others, or the constant reminder on various media that the level you were on in life was of someone who was of a cheap punchline; or worse, a person who was at the hand of any vindictive person passing by, knowing your name, or lack of it, and your life was one easily thrown away that it was far from controversial as to whether anyone would notice.

Your bones ached as you leaned your torso back on your thighs underneath the trembling of your hand, trying to come back to the sense of focus you needed in order to make the walk. Your hands gripped on the deteriorating white fabric that had ripped through the sex of the random whiskey laden men with maddening eyes who thrusted their bodies onto you; some homeless, a mirror reflection of your situation, others simply someone of a richer high power who wanted to enjoy the fruits of their labor with a cheap body of nothing for quick minute fix in the back corner of a dirty wall to pleasure themselves for as long as they needed the serotonin without any significance beyond that.

You would take whatever they granted you with the material that crumpled in their hand; the trail of a spiral that you found yourself in now was part from their increased understanding that you took what you could, and left it at that, and the amount they handed you began to decrease along with their gradual realization that they could give or not give what they liked. Even in the grim of your caked and dirty skin that was the definition of someone who had a roll of the low status beyond recall of anything other than constant inward battlement, they couldn;t quite fathom just how low you were, just how much you would take from them of what they would give, and just how much they could get away with once they became aware of how powerless you truly weres times previously on the same empty days, where the only pattern of meeting the fogginess of your detached eyes was the constant ongoing aimlessness that came along of the complex feeling of the analysis of an unwell mind and a body without a home. 

Your eyes opened as you felt the burning of your cheek meet against the side of the hard pattern of the sidewalk. Your lips cracked opened, and you could feel the physical dryness there in your throat as you felt yourself coming back from the disorientation that came along from the deep detachment of lack of consciousness, and the abrupt wake that came along with all the small minute challenges that you weren’t even aware you were always fighting until you had such a natural bleak break from them temporarily. 

Your palms began to ease onto the grim of the sidewalk as your skin pressed against it momentarily, your chin raising up, and for the countless time in your life did you feel yourself easing into the animalistic  rhythm of the chaos of existence as the back of your headspace fell into a black acceptance of the ache of your body and the usual weary patterns of your mind that came to the pinnacle of just how exhausted they truly were for that minute moment they were forced to come from the bleak backdrop of sleep. 

You were aware of the aching of your throat as you turned your head up, and with your body curling in on itself with the tattered dress you had been wearing the past few weeks; the tailor that you met with the kind eyes who had come to guess your story if only from the pathetic tattered ways you carried yourself with your hands gripped against the dirtiness of your skin and the pathetic nothing of your constant timid energy that caused her to have sympathy for her donation to you; a kindness that could only be met in small minute real life intimate scenarios such as that one that you knew was rare, even in that scenario.

Your lips pressed together, the bottom of your lip raising up onto the top of your other one in that undignified and delusional way that came from the disorientation that you had from the constant strain of your mental and physical streatching of your body. Your eyes fluttered up into a blink as you gave a breath, this time the tone sounding especially scratched against your throat, causing you to wince as you gave a heaved breath; the air of Los Angeles has been especially dry lately, and even more with a smog that was dressing and pollutining into the ease of the already defaulted grey clouded sky that normally sat above the buildings. 

Your hands were cracked and cacked with dirt as you turned your head down, your body curling forward as you gave another dry heave while your body shook; that feeling of being inhuman wasn’t one that had become foreign to you at this point in your life where being inhuman and being treated as such from casual passagers didn’t lessen their loathing in looking down at the dirty cake of trembling lost people that the majority who had never fallen into the cracks were even capable of processing. Your neck turned up as your lips cracked and pressed against one another again as your kneeled your body back onto your thighs, your other palm coming to grip onto the white tatter of your dress. The tailor swan who had made the rags for you had been one of someone who gave you that special extra time to make you one of something special; 

“You can’t go around and try to be naked and a woman without the world coming to your feet in the most detrimental way possible, honey.” The tone that left her beak was one of someone who had a thick intention of a pushy judgment, but underneath it from the start you had been aware of the warmth of her ultimate intention. 

The walk was about two hours away by foot; as of late, your various methods for being able to own even half of a bill of twenty dollars had been becoming increasingly less possible. Your legs were beginning to ache from the amount of time they spent by the edge of the sidewalk and the grim that caked into your clothes and how it made every movement feel like an unwarranted chore; your body had become less able to give the passing by man what he wanted enough for a quick meal or for anything to add on to anything to do with your existence except for the constant emotional disorientation and mental foggy headedness that came along with the life of always being far from comfortable or even tolerable, mentally or emotionally from others, or the constant reminder on various media that the level you were on in life was of someone who was of a cheap punchline; or worse, a person who was at the hand of any vindictive person passing by, knowing your name, or lack of it, and your life was one easily thrown away that it was far from controversial as to whether anyone would notice. 

Your bones ached as you leaned your torso back on your thighs underneath the trembling of your hand, trying to come back to the sense of focus you needed in order to make the walk. Your hands gripped on the deteriorating white fabric that had ripped through the sex of the random whiskey laden men with maddening eyes who thrusted their bodies onto you; some homeless, a mirror reflection of your situation, others simply someone of a richer high power who wanted to enjoy the fruits of their labor with a cheap body of nothing for quick minute fix in the back corner of a dirty wall to pleasure themselves for as long as they needed the serotonin without any significance beyond that.

 You would take whatever they granted you with the material that crumpled in their hand; the trail of a spiral that you found yourself in now was part from their increased understanding that you took what you could, and left it at that, and the amount they handed you began to decrease along with their gradual realization that they could give or not give what they liked. Even in the grim of your caked and dirty skin that was the definition of someone who had a roll of the low status beyond recall of anything other than constant inward battlement, they couldn;t quite fathom just how low you were, just how much you would take from them of what they would give, and just how much they could get away with once they became aware of how powerless you truly were

Ten dollars had become five dollars, and five dollars had started to become cents. It wasn’t until one of the men, a man who had had interocurse with you enough times behind a dirty splattered wall with especially sharp features of cheekbones and pale skin that gave away someone who was well off enough, that handed you fifty cents for the entirely of the hour and forty five minutes of your head being cracked against the pavement, your back burning from the asphalt of the road as your eyes turned up while you felt the pain of him entering and thrusting into you that you that it began to sink into your understanding of what it truly meant to be nothing; of the amount of people and their whims they could thrust onto you without punishment. 

“Enough for one meal.” Your words had come out shaken, uncertain and with something that would have only confirmed their beliefs,  lips pressed against one another as your hand pressed across your cheek in an undignified apology of desperation. Your eyes fluttered down as you felt yourself giving an awkward breath of a hitch from the ache of your body from the night that had occurred a couple of afternoons ago. Your eyes snapped up to the cents; seventy five. The man’s pale lips had raised into a vague smirk on his lips that looked as if he as rich enough that he got work done on his face as his eyes eased across yours, and then crumpled his hands on the cents while he turned it back into his pocket, dug through his coat, and then pulled out another few crumpled bits of dollars. Your hand had snatched for it, crumping it by your cest where your breasts were hanging out and open from your white tattered rags. The man had taken to raising up his eyebrows as his eyes traced across your body as yu tried to fumble your hands onto your rags, pulling up the white of the tattered and stretched folds of the dress while you eased the dress up onto your torso; the same rags that were now coming undone from the strings. Whether or not you would be able to make it over to the proper tailor store where the swan woman would take her usual empathy on you to offer you help for the dress was still up for debate, and even still, you had to figure out the process of getting there.

“Know your worth, strip dress.” The man had said it quickly, and even as he had taken a piece of the tattered white rag that had been attached to your dress while he had made love to you and had pressed it across te dirt on his face with a smudge while he titled his head to the side and turned his eyes away from you as he got himself up, the intention of the words had been clear. 

“What?” You had crumpled the dollars against your palm as the red edge of your eyes had snapped up and looked at him, though the dread of the experience you had with human nature told you all you needed to. The man raised up his eyebrows as he gave a cocked and askew look of his lip with he cracked his head to the side, and with a kick of his boot did he turn a dim that sat by his shoe over to you. Playing along with the undignified role that you knew now he had been using to confirm as to weather or not you were worth anything even as a quick and cheap fix to subdue his desires did your body lean forward in front of him as you gripped for the dim. The man chuckled as he finished pressing the coat around his shoulders, and as he hoisted it up and began to walk away casually, he called over his shoulder in a casualty that spoke of all the void you knew it meant to;

“Good luck out there.”

To no surprise, you had never seen him again. And to an even lesser surprise, the tattering of the spin of your dress and the strings of it were already starting to fall apart further as you got yourself up; your head turned down as you gripped your hands onto the folds of the dress before the rags fell off your thighs entirely just as you managed to get enough feeling in your body to get yourself upward. Your head titled down as your fingertips gripped on your rags while you tousled the cloth into a large swab of your palms, then turned your head upward as you craned your head back and rolled your shoulders. 

The ache in your body was enough as it was that it made you want to invest in the next twenty that you could get in the next area with a new gritty reputation as much as you were able to away from the quick mumbled passing of the one you had evidently built up here from the men that must have strung together their own form of mocking for your situation like an entangled cobweb of gossip for a bottle of vodka; the calores weren’t much, but it was enough to both detach you from reality into a detached leadway of the usual lack of virtue and control robbed from you otherwise, and along with that, the simple feeling of making your body just sick enough that for the time you had the bottle, food was not only something of a lack of concern, but also something not of want.

You leaned your body backward as a final crack of your body until you finally felt yourself standing up into an upright position, though it was clear that the ache in your body would be present for the next few days. Your eyes had that edge of a burning feeling as you turned your head over your shoulder to the small convenience store you had collapsed in front of a few hours before your exhaustion from making the walk towards the last public are you had slept in front of had caused you to leave; there had been too many rumors of people obtaining and increased disdain for the clearly unhoused who lived there, and it wouldn’t have been the first time you had seen another peer of yoru stature go to sleep nearby, and to wake up with their foggy docile eyes and mouth open with a metal piece stuck into their back; a passengers quick amusement of what they knew they could get away with when it comes to people with that amount of lack of power. 

Your head wasn’t clear, but you had been in that place of foggy detachment of identity, of which you now had almost none, and of that lack  of making clear sense of reality such as you did now. Your head turned up as the burning of your eyes, still muggy from the unnatural feeling of resting on the hard ground, turned as you looked over at the front convenience store on the other side of the road. 

Fifty cents for an entire container of sweets of your choice-A Great Deal, Offered Today Only!

There was a vintage theme to it, the words marked in blocked and large blue letters as they were dressed across the fairly unkempt and unimpressive windows that sat around the store. All of the typical American candy was lied out under the blocks; Sour Patch, Reeces, Dots, Hereshys, Swedish Fish, abd the other assorted bright colors that rested under the blare of the sign in a stoic indifference as the the business of the city passed by in its detachment, not unlike you had long since started feeling yourself in relation to anyone surrounding you, and very little to be done to lessen the abrasive suffering that came from the lack of connection or anything to be done to even understand it.  You blinked as you tried to come back to any reasoning you could find in your headspace as you stretched your body further upward, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to dull the ache, cramping your fingertips in an an attempt to soothe how cramped they felt. Reason felt far from reachable, but you tried to fight through the muggy headedness that came with despair and the feeling of hopeless meaningless; the pattern was the same level every day, and it never got harder or easier, just the same stagance of the same challenge and, eventually, recovery once you churned through the muddiness that made up your headspace. 

The man inside was a heavyset mole man, the wear of the emptiness of his mundane time throughout the years of his life filled in visibility through the broad and large compass of the physicality of his body. He bore nothing but a blue shirt that wrapped around his plush and broad shoulders, the glasses resting on his snout as he busied himself with the cashier beyond the see through tint of the blue windows. 

You felt your throat rasp again, the scratchiness of it easing against your throat as it met the dry air of what surrounded you. You blinked as you turned your eyes down to where your hands were still kept cramped onto your palms as you heard the unhealthy whistle noise of your throat while you turned your eyes down and to the crumple of the rags on your hands. Despondently did your thumbs caress against your dress for a moment, and in that muggy way the best that someone could, as someone who was coming to accept the narrative of their lack of worthwhile  presence in life at all hours, the back of your head began to go through the different small components that you had rested in your rags that you had managed to manipulate into pockets for the times when you did have money.

 With the attempt of the ability to try to fight through the constant emptiness and baggage of a life of someone who was now nearing their mid thirties and being at the status and on the brink of an easy death that your mind had become accustomed to did you began to think over if there was a way you could get anything from the other side of the road-not because you wanted to or because you had the time or the energy with the limited stigma that you barely possessed enough as it was, but more so from the literal need you felt that made it a robotic requirement; much like your force of moving your body and pretending to feel functional, despite having long since had your body and your immediate perception of reality long since gone from the understanding that you still existed. 

Your head turned up just as your palm snapped over to your breast; you felt a quick pace of your heart as you felt the familiar end of the crumple that made up a dollar. Your fingers began to crumple against the feeling of the dollar underneath the cloth of the white dress, the material cheap enough that it gave away to plenty of feeling of the fabric meeting on your fingertips as you felt the material underneath it. You felt a shaky breath go through your lips as your fingertips gripped on the dollar through the cheap fabric, and your other hand went to grip the fabric on your dress as you crumpled it forward and furher onto your palm while the other grasp of your hand began to turn frnacitally into the fabric of the dress, turning over the material as your fingers came to grip on the paper of the money. Your eyes snapped down as you took the paper dollar and gripped it against your fingertips, turning the money over into your hand as your eyes passed over the bill; the number five was crossed on it with block letters. 

The night before began to pass by your mind with the foggy and detached memory that came along with the feeling of the grittiness of the man’s hand on your thighs last night; you hadn’t chosen the place by the sidewalk with your cheek rested on the grim of the cement for nothing. Your body ached awhile he had thrusted himself into you; a man with cacked wrinkles and grim and dirt on his feuatres as the maddening black and crossed his eyes while he had looked over your expression until your exhaustion, or one of the countless patterns of fading in and out of consciousness for whatever reason that came along with processing your existence caused you to open your eyes in and out from the feeling of his body by your torso and thighs. 

He must have been especially generous; for the amount of interaction you had had with men in the area lately that had led to begging on top of begging. Through foggy and unpleasant memories did you begin to pierce together the memory of him beginning to ease himself off of your body with a crumpled cigarette and yellow tainted grim on the dollar as he had taken it over the white tear of the dress around your body that had previously dressed under your beast, his hand coming to grip on the dress as he took the dollar bill and placed it into a small satin pocket that he then took to press against your breast. Your own nature of being present had faded in and out by then, but you could remember the grittness of his amusement as he had started to ease his body up, cackled laughter and his body dressed in heavy packaging of the tan of his coat dressed heavily around his body as he had gotten his weight off of you. 

Your hands tore off the layer of the satin and gripped onto the dollar bill on your palms, and with your head turning up to the eggshell blue of the sky did you feel a whisper breath leave your lips as you sent up a inward thank you to the lightness of relief that came over you momentarily. There was a strength and an odd beauty to those that had found themselves in the department of life of being less than nothing, and you felt that brief ethernal purity of being someone with desperate and pathetic but ultimately pure and simple intentions as your hand gripped on the bill. 

Your head snapped over to the road; it was broken and cracked from its lack of care, such as it could be with certain areas of Los Angeles. Your head snapped to the side as your eyes turned over the passing cars that were beside the busier street that already had its suggested of a busier crowd of a day that stood in front of the end of the street that gave away to the further busy nature of the loud crowd of downtown Los Angeles later on. For the amount of inspiration and strength you felt for a moment, you were also reminded just by the passing by of people of the constant reminder that all inner life and complexity about you was only relevant to you, a fire only to carry you into this long day and onto the next. Your fingertips crumpled against the paper dollar, looking down at the dirty grim of the yellow stained of the dollar bill; and somehow even your pain had a layer of pain to it that came along with a punishment that for reasons beyond your understanding you felt you deserved.

[writerlessramblings]

Can we get more fluffy bojack x reader content??? :D ❤️

I'll always be down to write Bojack fluff ! I love this grumpy horse-man so much. This fic is a little short, but still so cute ! IDK about you guys, but I absolutely love soft morning fics.

Sunlight poured into the room, blinding BoJack as he opened his eyes, lifting his head from his pillow. He squinted at the sudden brightness. "Ugh..." 'Why is morning always so damn bright? I hate mornings...' Feeling ( Y/N ) turn in bed next to him, he did the same and turned to face them. Still asleep. They always seemed to sleep better than he did. BJ, dawning a sleepy smile, moved closer to them in bed. He wrapped his arms around them. They stirred as he pulled them gently against his chest with a hum. ( Y/N ), half asleep, felt Bojack pull them closer to him. They took a deep breath, breathing in the familiar scent of his room, and his sheets. Of him. Their eyes fluttered open slowly, looking up at him with tired, soft eyes. Bj peeked one eye open, looking down at them with a smirk. "Morning..." His morning voice was still in full effect, the whispered greeting sending slight shivers down their spine. "Mmm... good morning." Mornings like this were rare. Normally ( Y/N ) would go to bed a more... generally acceptable time, whereas Bojack would go to bed whenever he felt like crashing. Mornings like these were their favorites, though. Everything was calm and they were able to just enjoy each other's presence. To forget about everything going on outside this room. The both of them sat like this for a while, only the sounds of their breathing being heard, until ( Y/N ) finally broke the silence. "We should prolly' get up soon... start the day." Their finger traced random patterns across Bojack's skin. He only groaned in response, pulling the comforter over both of them, and holding them tighter. They sighed. It was worth it - to take advantage of this affectionate mood he was in. "You're cute." They planted a kiss on his neck. Bj grunted. "Not cute." He shifted in bed, and pulled ( Y/N ) completely on top of him, pulling the comforter over the both of them. "Less talky... more sleepy." The horse(man) mumbled gruffly. ( Y/N ) just giggled. Bojack could say he wasn't cute all he wanted, but that was adorable.

[iwishiwascuddled]

“Blake?”

The small figure practically jumped out of her skin, the room not well lighting their face. BoJack had always gone to their place for the night, but recently she needed an escape from her own apartment.

Lighter in hands, joint in mouth, she was caught in the doorway to the balcony pool in her pjs. She took deep breaths, plucking the joint from her mouth. “Could you be any more frightening? Good lord BoJack, it’s 4 AM.”

“I know.” He says. “That’s why I’m wondering why you’re up.”

She sighs, seeing him eye her joint. “I know you’re doing your whole thing with sobriety, but I’m not you!” She exasperates. His face gave her a look that he couldn’t wipe off of his face. The look of a broken soul understanding another. “BoJack, I’m a 6th generation Green Triangle Californian, you expect me not to indulge?”

He was silent, his brows suddenly furrowing. “I never said shit about your pot. You do what you want.” He says. “You’re Blakely Honey. You can do whatever you want.”

Her face slowly dropped. He gestured to the couch. “Wanna talk?”

She snorts a laugh. “BoJack? Talking? This is new.”

His eyes roll hard. “Ok, yeah, make fun of your sugar daddy.”

“You’re not a sugar daddy, you’re...” Blake stutters on her words, setting the joint and lighter on the coffee table. “..you’re my fuck buddy? That’s even worse.”

As they both settle down, she criss crosses her legs, not sure how to start. Her brain was moving too quickly, like try to catch water in a ocean storm with no way to hold it.

He lets out a breath. “So, what’s going on? I mean, in your head.”

“What?” Her head turns to him confused by the statement.

He clears his throat. “Well, I know that you like to think a lot, and I’ve been there when you start to overthink and spiral into the void that is ‘yeah but’ and ‘what if’.”

She turned away, in utter shame. He was right. “Am I...doing something wrong?”

“What?” Her face was crossed with panic momentarily.

“Do..do you not like who I am?”

“BoJack..” She lets out a long sigh, he face in her hands. “What happens when you hate everything you’ve ever become?”

Guilt and fear was struck immediately, the tension in the room extremely high. He takes her hand, his thumb rubbing over her hand. He didn’t know how to answer, this was the question he had been asking everyone his entire life. After Sarah Lynn, he couldn’t afford to be this harsh with a soft soul.

Blakely and him had met through Diane, as Blakely was one of her work associates at Girl Croosh before they had all gotten fired. Blake took an immediate liking to BoJack, and there was something about Blake that BoJack couldn’t shake. Motherly, yet compassionate, things be never had in his life. She could also be as cynical and aggressive as BoJack, but he saw her as a fragile doll. He’s broken too many women now, if he broke even one more he might go off the deep end.

He kissed her cheek and said, “I’m not sure. But I think we can figure out together?”

She scoffs. “Hallmark generic much?”

“Hey, you’re asking the worst guy to give you advice. You should’ve asked Hollyhock.”

She lets out a broken chuckle, squeezing his hand. “Hollyhock’s always mad at everyone. It makes it hard for me to get her like I did you.”

“Hollyhock is just hardheaded, and plus she’s not really into mother figures all that much.” He said. “Blakely...do you..”

She looked up at him, even though they were both sat down he couldn’t help to notice her eyes looked like stars. Even through her pain, through all of the shit thrown at her by everyone in her life, she still managed to have the light of pure life in her eyes. She didn’t let the fame get to her head like it did him.

“Do you like working?” He asks. “As a celebrity?”

She shook her head. He looks at her timidly. “It’s not too late to cancel the job with Princess Carolyn and Judah. You don’t have to be in Birthday Dad.”

Tears start flowing from her eyes. “I just wanna be an author..” She admits. “I wanted to write a medical novel and help change healthcare and immortalise this country to finally be good for once in over 200 years. Why is LA so fucking shitty?”

He sighs, scratching his neck. He squeezes her hand as she leans on his shoulder, and they sit in solemn understanding of the cruelty of the world. No one should expect this much of a college student, nor should they of an asshole actor from the 90’s. People are people.

“I’m gonna call Princess Carolyn in the morning and tell her to cancel the contract. I’m not letting you go any further on this.” He said. “If you need to move back to Grass Valley, I can help you. I can get you on the next bus to Colfax and get you an apartment downtown. You can stay with your family but also still stay in California.”

She wipes her eyes, letting go of his hand so she can blow her nose. “BoJack-”

“I’m not letting you ruin your dreams. You want to be an author, I can do that. Just please, get out of LA.”

“I don’t want to leave you-”

“I’ll be fine.” He stood his ground, firmly at best. “Because for some reason, every time I hit a rock bottom, It gets better until I hit another rock bottom. But I’m not about to allow yourself to rip the silver spoon out of your mouth in exchange for a piece of shit acting career that will make you hate yourself.”

She stayed quiet, listening to this ramble. “Blake, if you stay here any longer, not only will LA haunt your every thought forever, but you will too. Every single moment of your day will be filled with regret if you stay here with me. I’m tar pit and you’re just...”

He stopped to see your face. You were scared, you looked as if you had seen a ghost.

“...you’re just too valuable for me to let you rot in this house with me. I’m not letting you go down with this fucking ship.”

She sighed. “You’re right.”

His face contorted. “What?”

“I said, you’re right.” She slightly snapped. “I tried to make it work in LA, and it’s ruining me. You’re right, BoJack.”

“But you know..” As she continued, he hung on her every word. He took it to heart, harshly at that. Every sentence was agony but he loved it.

~~~

“Hawaii?” He asks. She nods in response.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while, my flight is in 3 weeks. My step brother invited me to live at his place while he’s on his oil rig in Montana. That’s enough time to wrap up my shit here in LA and move.” She chuckles. “You act as if you’re the captain of this ship, but have you ever noticed you never get to make decisions for yourself?”

“Excuse me?” He smiles back at her. “I can assure you that I am 100% in control of my own life.”

“It’s always your manager or your producer or your agent, even your publicist or your fucking book writer.” Her eyes drool a little. “I never get to hear anything from your mouth, BoJack. It’s always Philbert’s, or Secretariat’s, or..I don’t even know at this point. ”

“What are you implying?” He urges.

“I’m saying, BoJack, you don’t have a free will anymore!” She says. “You just keep getting treated like a replaceable cog in a machine of media, and it’s pointless! I just want you to speak to me, person to person.”

He gives no response. She had a point. Everytime BoJack made any sort of progression, he immediately got sabotaged right back down.

“You should’ve gone back to Wesleyan.” She says. “Gone back to teaching. It’s the best thing you could’ve done right now. But you fucked that up too. Do you know how difficult it is to get to my job - which is in the middle of town, by the way - when paparazzi keep swarming me for Sarah Lynn information?”

He stays silent, anger but love still across his face. She lights the joint as it holds place in her mouth, puffing it until it lights. “I’m sorry.” He says to no one in particular. She scoffs.

“Tell it to the judge.” She says, letting out her breath.

“I didn’t mean for it to be like this.”

“It’s not your intentions.” She says. “It doesn’t matter what your intentions were. Because that part of the situation is over. Now it’s about your actions. It’s about what you’ve done. Its about whats happened and how it’s going to be handled.”

“All I can say is...I’m sorry.” He says. “I have no excuses.”

“I wish I could help you. I like defending you sometimes, because I love you, BoJack. Other times, it’s so overwhelming.” She says. “It’s like trying to swim in a lake with cement bricks tied to your shoes. And every time you’re able to get to the surface, something hits you and you’re pushed back into the lake, barely able to get a breathe in before being plunged back into the cold water.”

He sighs. “Trust me, my friends and I have been drowning for a very long time.” He says. “I love you too.”

She giggles. “Remember when we first met?”

He smiles. “How could I forget? You were glowing that night.” He chuckles in return. “You had the weirdest earrings on.”

“I was going through a custom earring phase, I thought worm on a string would look good.” She laughs some more.

“You did look good.” He said. “You can make anything work.”

“You wanted to say something to me that night.” She said. “But PC pulled you away to talk before we could speak any longer.”

He gulps.

“What were you going to tell me?”

He knew she’d ask. Her memory isn’t good for recent events, but she can keep a perfect record of anything over 6 months ago. Once she’s taken 6 months to process it, then she remembers. It had almost been two or three years now.

“I wanted to say..” he started, but paused quickly. “I wanted to tell you how gorgeous you looked.”

She forces a laugh. “Doubtful.”

“I’m serious. You had the most amazingly sewn blue blouse, it had gold sequins that looks like constellations,”

“I remember, I hand sewn every bead.”

“and you’re make-up made you look like and angel with the white and gold liner and pastel blue lips,”

“You remember the details of my makeup? Weirdo.”

“and you had overall shorts on, and a backpack with roses on it.”

“Get to the point, Romeo.”

“The point is, you put so much work into your outfit and no one noticed. They just...expected it of you.” He said. Her face softly smiled, her eyes meeting his. “But I thought, ‘why did she put so much work into a bunch of assholes’. You should’ve been the talk of the town that night, not some stupid movie.”

“...BoJack, that was a show with you in it.”

“Yeah- fucking- whatever.”

She smiles, leaning back onto the couch. BoJack does the same. She turns her head to his.

“Do you think.. if we had met at an earlier time, this would’ve worked?” Her query seemed far fetched to him. “Like what if we met when I was moving back from Texas? Or before I moved there in the first place?”

“I think that no matter what time you met me, we would always be this.”

“And what is ‘this’?”

The wind blew through the open door, the black night sky peering through his windows like a dripping ooze.

“‘This’ is..” He stumbled. “‘This’ is one of the best things that ever happened to me. With me. For me. And I can never thank you enough, Blakely. I’m so sorry.”

She giggled at his apology. “BoJack, even though you are one of the weirdest things that has ever happened to me, I loved my time with you. I loved every party, every interview, every stroll in the park and every night spent just like this.” She snorted a quick retort to balance the words, “and every night we’ve spent with me trying to get you to hold back your load so I could actually get off.”

“You trained me good. But now I cum on a specific command and I don’t think that’ll be helpful anytime soon.” He smiled at her outrageous laughter that filled his home. Her presence was overwhelming, but also enough.

“Those are the parts I’ll miss. But..”

“But?”

“I won’t miss the accusations.” His heart heavied. “I won’t miss the zero privacy of the architectural structure of your house. Or the fear of you relapsing, or the fear of you going back to your self destructive habits, like going back to multiple month benders where I don’t know if you’re alive. Considering eighteen people have killed themselves on me, I thought I was being generous to you. I won’t miss the idiocy of your schemes against others when you think you’re helping.

I DEFINITELY won’t miss the chicks from the bar leaving at an ungodly time and me dragging you to the clinic to make sure that the next time we touch I won’t get chlamydia.

Another thing I won’t miss? Princess Carolyn.”

He chuckled. “Woah, what? PC? Why?”

“She’s a constant reminder.”

“Of what?”

“That someone worked on you for 25 years- longer than I’ve been alive- and they still weren’t able to fix you.”

The feeling in the room left as he had to process that thought. “You really think that?”

“She’s been with you since your first agent. She worked harder than your actual agent to get you whatever you wanted. She busted you out of bed, she cured your hangovers, she’s taken you to hospitals, funeral homes, agencies, interviews, but you never noticed.

I don’t want to be the girl that does everything for you just for you to not notice and not fix yourself. And I think that’s fair enough.”

He laid there in awe as she stood from the couch, throwing the roach from the joint off the balcony. He hadn’t even noticed she was smoking the whole time.

“I’m heading to bead, Bo.” She turns in the doorway to his room. “I love you.”

As she’s about to enter the darkness, he sits up. “Blakely?”

She turns back around. “Yeah?”

“I want to get you something.” He started, making her giggle. “As a farewell gift. Anything you want.”

She stared at the city outside, leaning against the bedroom doorway as she pondered this. Her eyes meet his again and he’s entranced.

“I always liked hydrangeas.”

[sensitivemelancholy]

MY WRITING:

A03, AO3 link

BOJACK AND HIS WIFE: ONE,

[sensitivemelancholy]

don't think I ever posted the link to the full narrative of my story with Bojack (x Reader, High Fantasy and outlandish but still focused on the world of Bojack and Hollywoo), so here's the link!

[writerlessramblings]

Ooo! I saw your Bojack Horsemen x reader and can I ask for something fluffy with him? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Of course, anon ! I love fluffy Bj  🥺 thank you for the request, I hope you like it !

“Bojack...?" ( Y/N ) grumbled sleepily, their eyes adjusting to the dark room as they sat up. "No - shit - just... go back to..." The horse(man) tripped over something in the dark, landing face first onto ( Y/N )'s bed. "...sleep." Bj mumbled, barely audibly, into their cushy mattress. Even if it weren't for his clumsiness coming in, they could've told you he was drunk. ( Y/N ) reached over to turn on their bedside lamp, squinting at the now dimly lit room. "That doesn't sound like sleeping..." He sat up and looked over, squinting at them. "...it doesn't look like sleeping either. Why are you staring at me ?" ( Y/N ) couldn't help but chuckle at his drunk self, flipping the covers off of them, and sliding off of the bed. "You're not sleeping in my bed smelling like that, Mr. Horseman." This was a weekly occurrence at this point. At least once, if not more, Bojack would show up wasted and ( Y/N ) would feel the need to help clean him up. Whenever he spiraled, or found himself back at rock bottom, they always had their door unlocked for him. And, like clockwork almost, he always showed up. Groaning, Bj rolled over, facing their ceiling with squinted eyes. He glanced to the end of the bed and raised a brow. "Help?" ( Y/N ) just rolled their eyes. "Come on, big guy." They reached out and took his hands, helping the large male up off their bed. "Are you saying I'm fat ?" He wobbled a bit on his feet before gaining his balance again. "I'm saying you're large." ( Y/N ) had already started walking away as they spoke. "You're 6'7!" They sat down on the edge of their bathtub. "Shower or bath?" Bojack struggled to get his clothes off, all the while stumbling his way half-clothed to the bathroom. "Shower." He finally succeeded in removing his pants - somehow managing to trip over in the process, landing in front of ( Y/N ) on the bathroom floor. "Ow." "You good?" "I'm fine - my pride, however, may never be the same." While they had been waiting, they had started the shower already - Bojack laid on the floor, completely distracted by watching them undress. He didn't even realize what he was doing, until they snapped him out of his daze. "Bj !" "Huh - ? Oh." Finally, as if nothing had happened, he stood, and drunkenly stepped into their shower.