LONG story
Asylum au :)))
Y/n traded bread for serial killers. One day he's baking croissants, the next he's a psychiatrist at an asylum full of murderers with flair.
He's supposed to be the professional here, but between homicidal maniacs, psycholo...
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Lmao hi, get ready because this story will be LONGnot sure how long but im 100% its gonna go over like 45 chapters
(Story completed)
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You landed a new job at an asylum, a far cry from your old gig at the bakery. Thinking back to your days at Bread Bank, you couldn't help but sigh, remembering the absurdity that led to you quitting.
"Welcome to Bread Bank. We sell bread, we sell loaves," you'd chant like a broken record. "We've got bread on deck, bread on the floor, toasted."
A customer stepped up, and before you could even finish, he cut you off. "Bro, shut the fuck up."
You blinked. *Here we go again.*
"Listen, I just need a baguette and brioche," the man snapped.
You crossed your arms. "We don't have either of those. You can get gluten-free white bread, the potato bread."
"What the fuck is gluten? Take that shit out."
"It's gluten-free," you said, deadpan.
"I don't care if it's free!" he rolled his eyes.
You sighed. "Swear on your YEEZZYS, if you wanna fight, we gon fight."
"Trying to go viral on Worldstar?" he asked, puffing out his chest.
"You gonna record it?" You raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah. I got my dollar-store camera ON," he said, pulling out the camera out.
Before you could respond, the manager stormed over. "What's the fuuckin siiituuuaaaaton?"
"What. The. Fuck. do you want" The customer said
"I'm the motherfuckin' MANAGER," Your manager replied, hands on hips.
"At the bread store?"
"BREAD," your manager declared, with all the pride of someone protecting a priceless artifact.
"Tell him to take the motherfuckin' gluten OUT the bread," the guy said, waving a dismissive hand toward you.
The manager didn't miss a beat. "I'ma need you to shut that bullshit up, chief. We can't take shit out the bread."
"Then why put it in in the first place?" the guy asked, eyebrows raised. "I know y'all smokin' that pack."
"We got crackers," the manager offered. "No gluten."
"Fuck crackers," the guy said, drawing out the 'F' like it was a personal attack.
"It's gluten-free. You want the gluten or nah?" you asked, trying to wrap this up.
"Hell no!" He practically growled, dragging the "hell" out. "You better take the gluten out that damn shit."
The manager was on a roll now. "Look, we got whole wheat, gluten-free, Texas toast, gluten-free TORTILLA."
"Fuck all that!" the guy said, clearly fed up. "What bitch-ass country are y'all from, where they got this bullshit at?"
"Florida," the manager said flatly.
The guy paused, as if everything suddenly made sense. "I knew it."
You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Look, you can either take this YEAST, or I'm callin' the POLICE."
"Nah, don't call the police. I got a warrant," your manager muttered, his tone casual, like it was just another day at the Bread Bank.
"Honestly, fuck y'all. I ain't never seen nobody act like this over no bread!" the guy said, shaking his head in disbelief.
"What. The fuck. Are you saying" the manager asked, as if he'd just heard the most confusing sentence of his life.
"All I'm saying is fuck y'all's bread. FUCK the gluten, and fuck them crackers," the guy declared, gesturing wildly.
"But the crackers don't have gluten," you said, pulling out a tray of crackers like some kind of peace offering.
"I'll take those," the man said, snatching the tray from your hands.
"Okay, so that's gonna be fi—"
"Nah, fuck that, I ain't payin'," he interrupted, walking out the door with the tray of crackers and slamming it behind him.
You stood there, staring at the door, wondering for the hundredth time, *What am I doing with my life?*
