#pick yer poison

[wretchedrustedthing]

theres two ways durgetash can reserve their behaviours to show love for each other and both are so valid and good

theres 1) they are horrible to everyone except each other OR imo the funnier but harder to write option

2) they are ESPECIALLY horrible to each other

[highbrow-hepcat]

[brothersinablackcar]

Everyone's correct, who noted this probably wasn't Leonard Cohen! I don't know where I buried my last brain cell. Apologies to Alabama 3. 🥹

PULL You’ve got that shotgun shine; shame about it. Born under a bad sign, With a blue moon in your eyes. ~Leonard Cohen (A fill for the Bulletproof event by a_biting_smile, who may or may not be someone I am intimately related to. Probably am. Srsly.)

[za0mbie]

Art dump! Some rubberhose, some julaby, some oc fursona pick yer poison😤

[miyukisu]

If You're Down, Boy .ᐟ

❤︎ | Karasu thinks you've got quite a mouth on you—time for him to show you what he can do with his too and make you shut up (3k wc) ╰ feat. karasu tabito (bllk) x afab! reader

kinktober entry no. 7 | kinktober masterlist

tags - college au, you and karasu are mean to each other, enemies to lovers, hate smex, rough smex (?), handjobs, p in v, p*rn with plot, hair pulling, drunk smex, he slaps your ass once, unprotected smex, dubcon(?), profanity

minors do not interact

College life isn't complete without experiencing at least one frat party. At this point, joining a game of beer pong or spin-the-bottle were some of the pre-requisites before you leave the so-called hellscape.

You picked your poison and you ended up involved in a circle, playing the infamous game—Seven Minutes in Heaven.

Everyone knows what goes down in that game. People get laid. Well, maybe nine times out of ten—they do. You were hopeful you'd be one of those lucky cases because why not? You're in your youth and in college. This was the only time engaging in Seven Minutes in Heaven induced sex is acceptable.

Although, your hope quickly ran thin as soon as your friends declared that your partner was none other than Karasu Tabito. The alcohol you had consumed earlier began to cloud your thoughts as the cheers of the people around you flooded your senses.

Right in front of you—Karasu had a flat expression. It's like his face was telling you just how much he dreaded the thought of being stuck with you in the basement for 7 whole minutes.

It was an apt reaction to have. After all, you hated each other's guts.

The arguments you had 2 semesters ago rang through your head as your friends practically dragged you two to the basement, knowing that neither of you would have the initiative to do so.

You swore, the whole way down, his eyes were on you—judging and scrutinizing like he always did. That's precisely what annoys you about him. Karasu Tabito was so goddamn hypercritical and it really showed when you two worked together on a final project.

Who cares if he was smarter or better—does he have no concept of politness or respect? AT ALL? In the end, your relationship went up in flames and after that semester, you two wanted nothing to do with each other.

But, as you can see right now, being in a circle of mostly common friends made that impossible. And on this fine Friday night, you find yourself locked in the basement with your sworn enemy.

────────────

You sat on the dusty staircase that led down to the basement while Karasu stood off to the side. For a large frat house, you didn't expect the basement to be so cramped and dim...

"Yer really not gon' speak at all huh?" he started.

You whipped your head to face him, expression already filled with confusion. "And what is there to talk about?"

"Irritable as ever—I see."

"Wow. I wonder what causes that. Hm?"

He lets out a chuckle of disbelief. For a moment, he had nothing to say back because he figured 2 semesters apart would be enough to at least ease the tension between the two of you. But it would seem that he was mistaken. Sourly mistaken, in fact.

"Still can't move on?" he asks with that all-knowing smirk of his. It irritated you even more to see him so relaxed, arms crossed over his chest and idly leaning against whatever junk was piled in this basement.

"If you got partnered up with anyone as mean as you—you'd understand how I feel," you retorted. Karasu only huffed in amusement before straightening his posture.

"Oh, I'm the mean one now? Seems like you forgot all of the things you said—"

"But you started it," you cut him off.

Both of you knew it was insanely childish to be arguing over a months old spat and debating on who started it all. But maybe it was the emotions building up over time or... the copious amounts of alcohol circulating in both of your systems.

"Yer such a child," he jeers. "And you're fucking annoying," you respond back.

Silence ensues until Karasu whispered something under his breath. "Bitch..."

You quickly shot up, fiery gaze locked on the taller man. "The fuck did you call me?"

Karasu looked down at you as you stood right in front of him. His eyes were dark, but dazed. "Ya heard me."

"Fuck you."

"Hm, ya wish ya could."

Your jaw fell open; the audacity of this man put you in shock. "Oh, please, you're probably a two pump chump anyway. Don't be so cocky."

"Heh, ya think I'm a quick one? Why don'cha see fer yerself? Or are ya too scared?"

The sudden shift to provocation was unexpected. You were prepared for him to come back with an emotionally fueled response—not this. Definitely not this.

"There's no way I'm touching you." You look off to the side, crossing your arms for full effect.

"I knew it."

With eyes narrowed, you returned your gaze to Karasu. "Knew what?"

"Yer a virgin aren'cha? Haven't seen a dick before huh?" And he laughs. Karasu bursts out in thundering laughter at the thought of you being inexperienced.

"You ass. I'm not."

It was a full-faced lie. Your last boyfriend busted even before you could get your clothes off. But that was irrelevant now that you're trying to keep your pride intact.

His laughter dies down. "Ah... that's what a virgin would say."

"Oh please. I bet I can do you in a minute," you tell him. It was only a second after then you realized that you just kept saying the first thing that came to mind. You were sober enough to hold a conversation and sit up properly, but clearly it was affecting your better judgment.

But rather than be opposed to it, Karasu matched your pace.

With an amused expression, he took on your challenge. "Hah! And I can do ya even faster. How 'bout that?"

Those devious eyes of his stared into yours. If it weren't for the booze—you probably wouldn't be agreeing to something so stupid.

────────────

As soon as the door to the basement swung open, you two stormed out. The once cheerful faces of your friends all faltered as they watched both of you get farther and farther away from the group.

Everyone assumed you two fought... again. Drunk and unbothered, they shrugged it off and went back to playing. They were none the wiser that just after entering a random bedroom on the second floor—you to got straight into business.

He was sat on one of the messy desks, pants unbuckled with his dick in your hand. You jerked him off at a quicker pace than usual; your pride was on the line after all. Besides, if he was hurt, he wouldn't be looking into your eyes like that.

"That all you got?" he asked, his voice a bit raspy.

You click your tongue in frustration. Truthfully, you had been expecting a completely different outcome���one wherein you would stay true to your word.

It had been more than a minute at this point. But, you placated yourself by thinking that you're fine as long as you can do it faster than him.

"Shut up," you retorted.

Karasu chuckled softly. "No one's cummin' at all if yer gon' be mean. Ya know?"

You looked him dead in the eye, anger boiling in the pits of your stomach. Of course, you could've goaded him into cumming with your words... or with your mouth, but in another sense. But you were set on winning this with minimal effort.

You ran your thumb over the slit, around the head. Hell, you even traced the underside of his dick, along the curve. But nothing. His expression never shifted once. It always remained in his neutral cocky expression.

Karasu eventually had enough. He grabbed your wrist, halting all your motions. "Jeez, yer terrible at this."

It was like a punch to the gut. But before you could take care of your bruised ego, Karasu had stood up from the desk, dragging you over to the bed by the wrist.

"H-hey, what are you doing?"

He threw you on top of the bed, creeping up from the foot of it. His eyes remained dark and determined. "Didn't I tell ya I could do ya faster? Well, let's jus' say this is my demonstration."

He deliberately crawled slowly to you before hovering just above your legs. Karasu wanted you to truly feel the impending doom... or pleasure rather. A calloused hand made contact with the top of your thigh which was a bit damp from sweat.

"Not lookin' too good for ya huh?"

"You talk as if you've made me cum already."

He laughs again in that same condescending tone. It made you want to rip your hair out, but it became increasingly difficult as his hand went further up. His fingertips ghosted over the skin that was barely covered by your skirt.

But the entire time, his eyes were still on your face.

"Heh... let's see how strong ya really are, shall we?"

He promptly lifts up your skirt with one hand while using the other to push your legs open. Unlike you who was influenced by alcohol and hubris, Karasu moved in a way that was deliberate and practiced. His confidence actually had roots.

A thumb slowly presses on to your throbbing clit. His smirk grows wider—if that was even possible—as he feels the wetness that pooled in your panties.

Truth be told, you hardly noticed it when you were so focused on stroking his dick earlier. But in your defense, you had a dick in your hand. And you may hate him, but it's undeniable that Karasu was still one of the most attractive men you've laid your eyes upon... that is, if he kept his mouth shut.

"Seems like ya made it easy fer me hm? Already gushing like a dam?"

"You're so fucking full of yourself."

"Hah... ya can be full 'f me too later—if ya behave yerself."

His raw words sent a jolt straight to your core. He barely gave you any time to recuperate as he dove straight to your sopping cunt, kissing it just above the fabric.

But he knew it wasn't going to cut it. He sat up again and swiftly pulled your panties off. Now that all was said and done, he got on to his stomach, hands holding you by the thighs to keep you in place. The scent of your arousal only served to make his dick swell even more as it rubbed against the covers of the bed.

He licked a long stripe up your folds, stopping to suckle at your clit. He made sure to spend an ungodly amount of time doing so—ensuring that you lose your mind from how good it felt. You instinctively arched your back, trying to move away, but his grip on your thighs only strengthened.

"Maybe if ya used your mouth on me like this... instead of whinin' ... maybe I woulda... maybe I woulda cum," he spoke between licks.

Karasu only went faster from there. He lapped up at your folds like there was no tomorrow. Both of your shaking hands found purchase in his hair chock full of gel. You knew he hated it when his hair got messed up, but this was one of the rare instances where he didn't mind at all.

A chocked out moan echoes through the room. The way he ate pussy was mind numbingly good that you had no way of stopping whatever sounds came out of your mouth.

"F-fuck," you exclaim, legs shaking as his tongue begins to prod your entrance. His pretty and pointy nose kept poking your aching clit unintentionally.

All at once—without warning—a blinding orgasm comes over you. With all your senses overwhelmed, you relax; your fingers slowly unfurl from his messed up locks. Your back lies flat against the mattress again as your chest rises up and down rhythmically.

He was kind enough to let you ride out your climax on his tongue. The whole time you were so enveloped in pleasure—his eyes were on your face and on your every expression.

Karasu gave your clit one final kiss before sitting up again, his dick bobbing from the movement. He used the back of his hand to wipe of your slick from his satisfied grin.

"Ah... shucks. No one was keepin' track of time huh? Can't blame ya. Seein' how fucked out ya look right now."

Another chuckle reverberates from his chest. Karasu was thoroughly amused by the chain of events. Maybe after seeing a more vulnerable side from you—he might reconsider his opinion on you. Keyword: Might.

"Oh shut up," you say for the nth time tonight.

"That how ya treat the guy that made ya cum so good?"

You let out an exasperated huff, annoyed that he one upped you. Even if he did eat your pussy out like a starved man—the fact remaind unchanged. Karasu Tabito was still your enemy.

"I don't... I don't care because you're still a fucking asshole."

Well, shit... seems like his opinion of you hasn't changed at all. If you hate him still, then it would only feel right to reciprocate those feelings.

Karasu groans, running his hand over his face and through his hair. "That so? Guess what, darlin'? This fuckin' asshole jus' won this bet," he says while pointing to himself. "And winners hafta claim their prizes."

"W-what?"

He easily flips you over like you weighed nothing. Those muscles were certainly not just easy on the eyes. Karasu was insanely strong. His long fingers dug into the flesh of your hips as he pulled your lower half up.

Your cheek was pressed into the bed with your ass up in the air. He made quick work of you, pulling your arms behind you and restraining you with a single hand.

For a while there was no other movement because he took his sweet time to appreciate the sight in front of him.

Karasu whistles, slapping your ass once. "Nice."

You tried saying something—anything to let him know that you haven't given up. But the sheer anticipation of his cock filling you, kept your mouth shut.

You hated him... but maybe not his dick.

"Were ya sayin' somethin'? My bad, darlin'. Can't hear ya over the sound of my dick goin' inside ya."

And he did just that—in one fluid motion, he stuck half of his length into your cunt. He hissed, not expecting for it to be this tight and warm.

"Nevermind yer mouth—if ya used this right from the start—I woulda busted instantly," he murmured.

Karasu threw his head back, only moving back-and-forth slightly. Soft and sweet mewls fell from your glossy lips.

This wasn't enough. You wanted even more. So much so that it was the only thing you could communicate to him. And he was more than happy to comply.

Not because you asked him to, but because he was planning on teaching you a lesson anyway.

"Try not ta break a'ight?"

But those words juxtaposed the harsh thrust of his hips. The sound of skin roughly slapping against each other filled the messy room. At this point, even Karasu found it hard to keep quiet.

"Been wantin' ta do this forever.... puttin' you in yer place and whatnot."

You only responded in short and ragged moans. Even though he had a vice-like grip on your arms, the pain barely registered as it was overwhelmed with sheer pleasure.

"Yeah? Feels great, right? If ya were nicer ta me... we coulda done this sooner huh?

Your pussy wrapped around his cock and the satisfaction of finally having you to his mercy slowly pushed him to the edge. Every rough thrust was fueled by all the pent up frustration he had for you over the months of being absolute assholes to each other.

It was a dangerous concoction of anger and lust boiling over, resulting in—this.

"Fuuuuuck," he drawled out. Karasu finally let go of your arms, letting them fall to your side. You quickly gripped on to the sheets as if to hold on to what remains of your composure.

Instead, he held on to your hips. His tight grip was almost bruising as he frantically chased the high you failed to give him earlier with your poor handjob. He pistoned in and out of you without care. All he sought after was his own high. You already came earlier, so he could care less at this point.

He kept bullying his cock into you, every sweet drag against your walls had you crying out. At one point, you even whined out his name. But you hardly noticed. Things spilled naturally from your mouth.

Even he almost missed it. But hearing his name fall from your lips in such a beautiful tone was music to his ears... and fuel for his dick. He wasn't sure what came over him, but he began pulling at your hair. It's like he was goading you into saying his name over and over again.

His pace never faltered once. He wouldn't have even broken into a sweat if it weren't for the humid room.

The final nail in the coffin for him was your 2nd climax. Your pussy sucked his dick in like it wants it to never leave. You fluttered around his length, messing up his rhythm for a moment.

"Shit... for an annoyin' woman like ya... ya sure have the sweetest pussy."

"Karasu..." you helplessly breathed out.

As if on cue, his thrusts had another hiccup, indicating that his own climax was near. But he was quick enough to pull out, making a 'pop' sound as he did.

He shuddered as he shot out long hot ropes of cum over the curve of your ass.

Much to his dismay, he had to settle for rubbing himself off to cum. But he wasn't about to finish inside you. The thought of him and you making an accident sent shivers down his spine, honestly.

[rememberwren]

A Dichotomy of Thought || 9

Previous/next chapters found here.

You and Johnny take a walk. CW: domestic abuse, panic attacks, dissociation, drug withdrawal, vomiting.

-

“Holy shit,” Jackie crows at the sight of you, her dark eyes huge and round like twin moons. One of her hands holds the rag she was using to wipe down the countertop of the bar and the other covers her mouth in a dainty expression of horror. “What happened to you?” 

You shake your head, a silent plea not to ask any more questions. The bruises on your face still throb with your pulse, a painful reminder that you are alive when you’re not even sure if you want to be. 

“Rooster’s gonna send you home,” says Jackie. “There’s no way you’ll get tips like this.” 

“No he fucking won’t,” you say through your teeth. A day of not working means a day of no tips. A day of no tips means the stash of money in your locker remains stagnant. If there was one thing you had learned on Saturday, it’s that your time with your boyfriend is coming to an end, one way or another. Either he will kill you, or you will kill him, or will finally scrape together the means to leave. 

You’ve got your eye on an apartment across town. One with copious natural lighting, one with a small but open floor plan. It would be more than enough for you. It would be everything.

Jackie sees the fire in your eyes—either that or you’ve gone and scared her—because she calls over Ruth to cover for you both and takes you into the break room, grabbing a bag of cosmetics out of her locker and doing her best to cover up your bruises. She gives you her jacket to cover the ones on your arms, the tiny circles caused by fingertips. 

“Thanks,” you mutter, feeling like there’s something stuck in your throat.

“We gotta stick together,” she says, shrugging a shoulder. “I can’t work here alone. Not with just Ruth to talk to all day, and Rooster strutting around—“

“I know I didn’t just hear what I thought I heard,” a male voice says, the break room door flinging open and startling you both. Ruben stands there, his cowlick looking remarkably like a rooster’s comb. Your manager hates being called Rooster (which seems to make the problem all the worse), but the likeness is just too canny. “Why is Ruth out on the floor alone?”

“Girl stuff,” Jackie says with open malice. “You wanna hear about my monthly cycle, Ruben?”

He scowls, recoiling. “Just—wrap it up ladies. And wash your hands.”

“Jesus,” Jackie mutters once Rooster is gone and the door behind him is safely shut. “Men are so fucking weak.” 

The bruises on your face throb at her words. Men feel pretty fucking strong to you. 

-

“Yer outta yer mind if you think I’m eating that,” Johnny slurs, head in his hand where he sits slumped at the kitchen table. His entire body throbs, stomach wracked with nausea as he stares down at the eggs in front of him. 

“You need to eat,” Simon says, firm and quiet. Just the sound of his voice makes tears fill Johnny’s eyes—but that’s all his eyes do these days. Water. It’s the withdrawal, he knows. It makes him feel like crawling out of his own skin would be a mercy, like he’s suffering from the worst flu he’s ever had: puking and shitting his guts out, body aches from hell, eyes and nose running constantly. Combine that with the tension with Simon and it’s like he’s living in a nightmare he can’t wake up from; except even in his worst dreams, Simon had never done something like this. Even in his worst dreams, Simon had been a hero to him. 

“Can’t trust you,” Johnny mutters.

Simon reaches out, the motion a little too sudden and unexpected. Johnny flinches. 

When Simon moves again, it is slower, with obvious purpose as he takes Johnny’s fork, spears a bite of his eggs, and brings it to his own mouth. 

Somewhat mollified, Johnny picks up the fork and begins pushing the eggs around on his plate, just to make Simon shut up. Even if he knows the food isn’t poisoned, he still doesn’t have an appetite. 

Then Simon sets a green pill beside his plate, and all it does is set Johnny off again. 

“Get that away from me,” snarls Johnny. 

“You can’t just quit cold turkey. They’re opioids, Johnny. It could kill you to stop.” 

Fury swells up inside him, the edges of his vision bleeding black. Johnny shoves the half plate off of the table. It shatters against the linoleum, a sound which makes Simon flinch. For the moment, it satisfies Johnny’s need for control, his need for retribution. His need for violence. “I hope it does,” he grits out on a whim. “Don’t you pretend that you care.” 

The table creaks under Simon’s weight as he places his palms against it and leans forward, his face stormy. “I fucking love you. Everything I ever do is because I love you so fucking much—“

“Oh, right,” Johnny scoffs. 

“—yeah, right, I’ve been killing myself to keep you alive and safe and happy—“

“And you’ve been doin’ a shit job!” Johnny shouts, face reddening. 

Simon goes quiet and stiff. Johnny doesn't believe for a moment that he’s gone too far. Simon is the one who went too far the moment he dumped the crushed oxycontin into Johnny’s juice. Everything else is fair game. 

Before they discharged together, Johnny would have thought that Ghost’s face beneath the mask was just as stoic. Now he knows better, knows that Simon wore the mask to conceal a face which too often wore its emotions so plainly. 

He looks sad. Angry. And for a moment Johnny thinks Simon might even hit him. It would be welcome, Johnny thinks. He would be glad to have a bruise to point to, to be able to say ‘Here is where you hurt me’ instead of all of his bruises being on the inside. But instead Simon just turns away and goes into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. 

After a moment, Johnny hears the balcony door open and shut too as Simon puts as much distance between them as physically possible. 

Well, Johnny thinks, looking toward his slip on shoes. I can do you one better.  

-

By the time you are clocking out, there is a message from Simon on your phone. Since poker night, there have been a few days of radio silence from the apartment next door—and you don’t even want to know the things they might have heard coming from your own apartment. You’ll be happy to see Johnny again, to know that Simon is getting to take a few brief minutes for himself, even if that’s all you can give him. 

But when you open the message, your stomach drops: Johnny is missing. Have you seen him? sent nearly thirty minutes ago. You slam your locker shut, clenching the phone in your hand as you slip back out to the front of the restaurant, already bringing up the interface to call Simon, to hear what has happened and to find out how you can help. 

It isn’t needed. 

Johnny is sitting in the booth in the corner. Your heart swoops, takes your guts with it. You carefully make your way to his booth, noting the sweat on his forehead that he is mopping away with a napkin, noting the way his arm trembles. He looks thinner than ever. He looks sick. 

He smiles at you. 

“Are you off work? Did I catch you at the perfect time?” Johnny wonders. 

“You did,” you say cautiously, slipping into the booth.

“Good. I want to take you somewhere.” 

“Maybe we should go back to your apartment. Simon is pretty worried about you.” 

Johnny’s face darkens, visible storm clouds rolling in. It makes your stomach turn over, anxious. “Simon doesn’t worry about anyone but himself.” He stands, shaking a little, and holds out his hand to you. Nothing else you can do, you take it, careful not to pull him over as you stand out of the booth. 

-

The place Johnny takes you is a park nearby. It’s one that is handicap accessible, something which you’ve been taking notice of more and more often lately. The sidewalks are smooth and wide, the bathrooms are roomy, and there are plenty of benches (such as this one) for you and Johnny to sit down on when his leg aches from walking so far. 

Your phone burns a hole in your pocket. The first thing you had done was text Simon that Johnny was with you and he was okay. You could feel the buzz of multiple messages, but you hadn’t brought the phone out yet to check them, not with Johnny’s focus on you. You could sense that Simon was a sore spot right now. 

You didn’t want to make Johnny angry. 

So the two of you sit on a bench in dappled sunlight, the sweat cooling on both of your bodies. 

Johnny leans over and vomits. 

“Jesus Christ,” you say, scooting close to him to rub at his back. “Are you alright?” 

“Detoxin’,” he mutters, wiping the back of his mouth with a napkin he brought from the diner. “Don’t worry about it.” 

You’re pretty fucking worried about it. Detoxing from what, you wonder, as Johnny sits up, leaning back heavily against the park bench, close enough that you can count his eyelashes. He takes several deep, steadying breaths, and you take the stolen moment to look at him. His jaw is sharper than ever, cheekbones sharp, circles beneath his eyes, but he is undoubtedly handsome. The thought startles you; you haven’t had such a thought about a man in years. 

Johnny’s eyes open, blue as the sky, and rake over your face.

“Yer makeup job isn’t very good,” says Johnny at length. 

Your heart skips a beat. You turn away and watch a woman pass with her dog, a shepherd. Wetting your lips, you can’t think of anything to say. Johnny’s hand appears out of the corner of your eye and you flinch away from the touch before taking note of the shape of his hand: open, with soft fingers meant to caress instead of hurt. Baffled by this gentle touch, you let him stroke his thumb along the shadow of a bruise visible beneath Jackie’s makeup. It makes you shiver, like a cold breeze has blown in. 

“What was his excuse?” Johnny asks. “Or did he even have one?”

“What did Simon tell you?” 

“Everything. Already suspected most of it. He beats on you, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” you mutter. 

How long has it been since someone knew? No—not since someone knew. Since someone cared? Since someone confronted it head on and called it what it was? Jackie knew—she had to know—but other than taking the heat for you about some texts on your phone and helping you cover up the bruises, she never made any motions to acknowledge it. Your family had known, before they cut off contact with you for good, but they were terrible creatures in themselves. 

You thought that maybe Simon had known, too. 

People seemed to have a limited capacity for caring about others. Or maybe they just had a limited capacity for caring about you. 

“I want to help you,” says Johnny, earnest. 

You can’t help but look at him with suspicion. “Why?” 

“Because it’s wrong, what he’s doin’,” says Johnny simply. “Because we’re supposed to cherish the people we love. Because no one deserves this, least of all you.” 

Your hands work anxiously in your lap. He says the right things—but you’ve always been a sucker for pretty words. 

“The last time a man wanted to help me escape a bad situation, it was so he could put me into a worse one,” you admit. Johnny’s face falls, hurt splashing across his features, and you feel it keenly, like it is your own. You’re quick to assure him: “I want to trust you.” 

The rest remains unspoken: you don’t know if you can. 

“The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them,” says Johnny with a wane smile. 

“Hemingway said that.” 

“Aye. You like to read?”

“Yes, but not Hemingway.” 

Johnny laughs, a bright sound that has your mouth curling upward. Smiling isn’t unfamiliar to you, not when you must plaster one on all day to have any chance at all of making tips, but it’s been a while since it’s been genuine. Maybe that’s why it feels so strange. Maybe when it’s real, it uses different muscles. 

“If you were going to help,” you begin cautiously, giving an awkward smile to an older couple as they shuffle by, pausing and waiting for them to be gone before you continue, “how would you do it? I’m…I’m in deep. He’s got videos.” 

“Videos.” Johnny’s jaw has clenched tight, his eyes hard and cold. 

“Of me.” 

“Aye, I assumed. So he’s blackmailing you.”

You shrug a shoulder, eyes on your scuffed work shoes. 

“What if I could make him disappear?” Johnny asks quietly. 

You glance up. “How?” 

It’s his turn to shrug, an expression of feigned indifference. A little smile tugs at his lips. “An accident. Any accident, really.”

You finally understand him, and at first you laugh, grin tugging at the bruises on your face until his own solemn expression barely changes, and then your laughter dies on your tongue. 

“Johnny what the fuck,” you whisper. “You’re joking, right? I—Jesus Christ. I have to pretend that was a joke. You’re talking about murder, and—

—and I’m the first person they’d suspect!”

“That’s why it would have to look like an accident,” Johnny emphasizes.

“You’d be risking my freedom, my life—“

“I’d never let you take the fall—“

“Then you’re putting your own life at risk—why would you—fuck you don’t even know me!”

Johnny’s face goes red and he says nothing. Your teeth click shut with how fast you shut your mouth. You’re embarrassing him, making him angry—that much is clear. Maybe he expects you to be grateful, (and there is a part of you, small, which is flattered, as nonsensical as it is), but mostly all you are is scared shitless. 

Johnny talks about killing the way most people talk about getting lunch. 

“I forget that you don’t know about our past,” Johnny says, seeming to shrink into himself as he leans back against the bench, running a hand through his mohawk. “Simon n’ me. We’re ex-military. I don’t even want to guess at our combined body count. I—lass. I’m scaring you.”

“No,” you lie soothingly. Your hands clench together to keep them from shaking and giving you away. “No, no—I’m fine, I just remembered, I was supposed to give Jackie some gas money. She gave me a ride the other day. I should probably go—“

“I’d never hurt you, I swear it,” says Johnny fervently, sitting up tall. He reaches for your hand and you want to scream but you go limp instead, like a rabbit caught in a dog’s jaws, playing dead. He takes your hand and pets it softly. You barely feel it, mind far away. 

“It’s okay,” you soothe him emptily, hoping to placate him enough to get away. “I’m fine, I promise.”

Johnny seems to realize what you’re doing. He gently lays your hand back in your lap.

He says, quiet: “I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot.” 

You can’t talk anymore, shell-shocked, terrified. There was a time when you were good at this: good at appeasing the beasts inside men. You could soothe your boyfriend’s bad mood in a heartbeat with just a touch or a few words. But over time it had become more and more difficult, and you had become more and more afraid. Now no matter how hard you try, your efforts feel stunted and lame. 

Johnny is talking, low voice rushing over you like the current of a warm river.  

“—in public, aye? Would be a fool to hurt you here, wouldn’t I?” he asks, voice soft. He has moved to the far end of the bench until a gaping chasm rests between you both, one you are grateful for. It gives you the space to breathe, your chest throbbing. “All these people around—someone would stop me. You’re safe, lass. Take a breath fer me. Aye, and another—good girl, that’s it. Doing so well. Strong one, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” you croak, feeling uncomfortably tethered to your own body, to the burning of your eyes. You reach up and wipe at them before the tears can fall. Beside you, Johnny sits quietly. Several minutes pass, and each person who walks by the bench seems to bring you more and more security, until you are safe enough to feel silly and embarrassed by your own overreaction. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Don’t be sorry,” says Johnny. “It was my fault. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I won’t…I won’t bring that up again. I guess it’s pretty stupid. Simon’s been telling me so all along.”

“Are you two fighting?” 

Johnny snorts. “You could say that. He did something…something terrible. I don’t know how to trust him anymore.” 

“Do you still want to trust him?” 

“Aye,” says Johnny, voice nearly carried away by the breeze. “In the service, I trusted him with anything. Everything. My whole miserable life. Never wanted that to change.”

“Someone once reminded me that the best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them,” you say. 

“Sounds like a fucking cunt.”

“Hemingway or you?”

“Both.”

You have just relaxed back onto the bench, tilting your face toward the sun to offer it another one of your rare smiles when a shadow falls over the two of you both. 

[disaster-writer]

Poison (Epilogue)

Pairing: Alpha!Bokuto x Beta!Reader

Summary: You loved love, but it wasn’t made for you… but maybe a certain Alpha could change your mind

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: This is it! Poison has come to an end (but I do have a fun request about these two that you’ll be seeing soon) Thank you for all the kind comments about this series

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Beach day.

After four and a half months of long, grueling practices, many victories and losses, and plenty of media fuck ups, the team was finally getting a beach day to celebrate the end of this years season. Though they didn’t walk off with the highest victory of winning the championship, they still got pretty damn close which was enough reason to all come out today.

By the time Bokuto had arrived the rest of the team was already there, some lounging in the sun while others were already in the water… and a couple others already setting up a net to play beach volleyball.

”Oi,” Atsumu barked from his chair, lowering his sunglasses as Bokuto walked up to the group, “Where’s the manager? Thought ya convinced her to come out for once.”

”She’s here!” Bokuto chirped, dropping the bag he carried into the sand, “A sponsor just called so she’s on the phone right now.”

Meian tsked, laying on the beach towel beside Atsumu’s chair. “She’s still working even on a day off?”

”Yeah,” Bokuto seemed to deflate, “They bother her all the time,” he whined, starting to dig out the beach towels from the bags.

”I take it she’s still doing damage control then?” Meian added.

He nodded, unfurling a beach towel, laying it a little ways from Atsumu’s set up, “It looks like she’s gonna be working during the off season to get the sponsors that dropped us to pick us back up.”

”Maybe if ya kept yer big mouth shut during the press conference yer girlfriend wouldn’t have to keep bustin’ her ass.”

”I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to talk about her,” he whined again, pulling out a second beach towel before laying it beside his own.

”You’re allowed to talk about her, she’s still our manager—“

”Yer just not allowed to talk about yer relationship the way ya did.”

”And not for nothing but she did tell you multiple times to keep it quiet.” Meian added.

”I didn’t think it—“

”Bokuto! You’re here!” A very smiley Hinata suddenly cheered, clapping him on the back with a wet hand, the rest of him dripping with ocean water as well, with Sakusa standing behind him. “Did Miss Manager decide not to come?” He asked looking around, “I was looking forward to seeing her looking casual for the first time.”

Atsumu snorted, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she shows up in one of those tracksuits she’s always wearin’. Ya’ve been together for like three months and she’s still the exact same uptight Beta.”

”She’ll be here soon!” Bokuto told Hinata, before turning to Atsumu, “And she’s not uptight! I already told you Beta-chan is super sweet and cute— we have a lot of fun together.”

”Yeah, yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it. I mean she still calls you Bokuto-san for crying out loud!”

”Only at work—!”

”Kota-kun!” A girlish shout came from behind him.

Bokuto had turned just in time to catch you as you jumped on him, legs wrapping around his waist as you started laying kisses all over his face.

”Puppy!” Bokuto laughed, letting you cling to him like a Koala.

”Puppy?” Atsumu gagged, as all the players either watched in horror or complete shock, the one’s setting up the net even stopping to watch as well.

”Yeah!” You leaned back, until you could see an upside down Atsumu, being braced by Bokuto’s hands, “Isn’t he so cute!”

“Cute’s not exactly the word I was thinkin’” he said with an eye twitch.

”Why puppy?” Meian asked with a grimace.

”Because she always greets me like this!” Bokuto laughed.

”Really? I thought that’s how you usually greet her?” Hinata asked confused.

You sat back up in his arms, “I got the sponsor back!”

Bokuto’s eyes lit up, “I knew you could! Good job puppy!” He exclaimed, now kissing your cheeks.

”This is weird,” Sakusa deadpanned, watching the couple coo shamelessly at each other.

”I take it back, I think I liked how things were before,” Atsumu added.

“I think they’re cute!” Hinata said.

You jumped down from Bokuto’s arms, “You all should loosen up, I don’t know what you’re getting all uptight about. It’s our day off!” you said, starting to dig through the beach bag.

”HAH!” Atsumu yelled, scandalized, jumping up from his seat, “Yer callin’ us uptight!? Little miss professional thinks I’m uptight!?”

“Yup!” You chirped. You looked up at him, “Oh and Ami said if you ever spam call her again she’s blocking you.”

Atsumu flushed, “Well why didn’t she call back!?”

”You shouldn’t have yelled at her sister at that match~” you lilted teasingly.

”I said I was sorry! I even apologized to her for yelling at you—“

”I told you to leave the Omega alone,” Sakusa said, “She’s not into idiots.”

”And you’re still not off the hook for giving him my sisters number Kota,” you said, pulling out the sunblock finally.

”I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed!”

”Yeah and now my sister has hundreds of messages from this dumbass,” you said, undoing the tie of your frilly white cover up.

”Whoa— what are you doing!” Hinata suddenly yelped turning red as you slipped your cover up off and took your hair clip out.

You raised an eyebrow at the orange haired male, ignoring the gapes on your coworkers faces, “What?” You asked confused, seeing as the rest of the team meandered over. “You don’t like my bathing suit? I thought it was cute— Kota helped me pick it out.”

”It is cute!” Bokuto exclaimed, taking the sunblock you handed him to help spray you down.

Sakusa huffed, apparently yours and Bokuto’s idea of cute was a sexy white string bikini.

”There’s been a goddess among us this entire time,” Inunaki murmured under his breath.

”Um,” Barnes suddenly cleared his throat, wearing a blush, “The nets set up if anyone wants to play.”

* * * *

You sighed, stretching out in the sun as the guys all played their beach volleyball.

You had watched Bokuto for most of the day with a silly little grin on your face but now you were debating taking a nap in the sun while they were invested in their game.

That was until your phone started ringing.

Ami was FaceTiming you.

You sighed, picking up the phone. Both your sisters appearing on your screen.

”(Y/N)!”

”Hi, Onee-chan.” 

The two said at the same time.

“How’s your beach day?” Ami asked.

”Good! The guys are all playing volleyball,” you said, flipping the camera to show them.

”Don’t they play volleyball everyday already?” Your little sister, Hana, deadpanned.

”Leave them alone, they like it!” You flipped the camera again.

”Mom and Dad are asking when you and Bokuto are leaving,” Ami said.

”Oh right. Our plan is to pack Saturday night and meet at the station Sunday at 7am for a 7:35 train. So we’ll probably arrive around 9. Who’s picking us up?”

”The twins, said they want to grill Bokuto during the car ride home,” your little sister snorted.

You rolled your eyes, “Dumb Alphas. They’ll probably be best friends with him by the time we get home.”

“I’m so excited for you to see what we did with the room,” Ami squealed, “We turned your section into a gaming area!”

Your jaw dropped, sitting up as you squeezed your phone “You bitches got rid of my bed!?”

”Well you weren’t using it,” your little sister said.

”Yeah but Kota-kun and I are visiting! Where are we gonna sleep!?”

”As if the two of you would’ve been able to fit in that bed anyway.”

”You’re staying in the guest room,” Ami said.

You fell back onto the beach towel, “A guest in my own home,” you cried dramatically.

”Sooo…” Ami started.

”Oh no,” you muttered, “I don’t like that tone.”

”Off season’s coming up.”

Your stomach dropped, suddenly knowing where this is going, “Yeah, and?” You played stupid.

”Bokuto’s rut is gonna start,” Hana said plainly.

”You told her!” You hissed.

”Well yeah! He’s an Alpha and you’re a Beta, of course it came up! We were gossiping and were curious to know what you were gonna do.”

You rolled your eyes, “So that’s why you called.”

”Nuh uh— we just really wanted to talk to our sister!”

”I’m not buying it.”

”Then spill,” your little sister said, “What’s the rut plan.”

You chewed on your lip, glancing at all the guys still invested in their game, before quickly turning your back to them and hunching over your phone and lowering your voice, “We haven’t made one yet, we’re—“

”What do you mean you haven’t!” Ami exclaimed.

”If you let me finish I’ll tell you. We’re seeing a heat and rut specialist. The team goes off their suppressants at the end of the month, our appointment is tomorrow.”

”Oooo interesting,” Ami chirped, “So you’re planning on spending his rut with him then?”

”I don’t really know yet, that’s why we wanted to talk to a specialist,” you said, dragging your hand in the sand, “I did some research and there’s something called a pseudo-heat, where they pump you full of Omega hormones, it’s obviously not the same but it said it could help so I might ask about that, but we’re keeping our options open so he might be on his own anyway.”

”Have you two had sex yet?”

”Hana!”

”Well have you?”

You glanced back at the guys before lowering your voice again, “No, I mean we’ve done stuff but not like sex sex.”

”Then you should probably get that out of the way then.”

A blush heated up your face along with the probable sunburn, “It’s not that easy.”

”Why?” Hana asked, “The penis goes in—“

”I know how sex works,” you hissed, “It’s just that he’s… well, he’s—“

”Alpha dick,” Ami said knowingly with a nod. “Well good luck! Hope he doesn’t tear ya into two! Hi Kiyoomi!”

You jumped nearly five feet in the air, turning around to find Sakusa standing over you with an unamused expression, “Hi Ami. You left your hair brush at my apartment again.”

”Oh damn, I knew I left something,” she groaned.

”I can bring it with me,” you said.

Sakusa nodded, “I’ll drop it off sometime this week then.”

”Oh shit, that’s the time!?” She suddenly exclaimed, “Sorry sis, sorry Omi, we gotta go, we’re seeing a movie.”

”Okay, bye assholes,” you waved, hanging up.

You looked up at Sakusa, “You two seem to be getting comfortable.”

”We are, but I’ll admit she’s a handful,” he answered making you laugh.

”Sounds about right. When are you gonna break the news to Atsumu?”

He looked over his shoulder at a screaming Atsumu who just had his setter dump saved.

”Next time she’s here, we’re gonna tell him together.”

”Probably should have told him after you asked her out.”

”Probably.” Sakusa looked back down at you, “Never took you one for pda by the way.”

”I’m not at work,” you shrugged, “And I have a cute boyfriend, let me live.”

”I’m starting to think neither you or Bokuto know the definition of ‘cute’—“

“Speaking of cute boyfriend,” you giggled, watching as Bokuto took off in a dash towards you. You had already braced for impact as he tackled you back down onto the beach towel.

Sakusa rolled his eyes, taking that as his cue to leave.

”Hi puppy,” Bokuto grinned down at you, planting his lips against your own.

”Blegh,” you spluttered, “You taste like sunblock.”

”Well you do too,” he said, dipping his head back down for another kiss.

”Get a room!” You heard Atsumu yell at you two.

”Ami and Hana called,” you told him, combing your fingers through his hair.

”About us visiting?” He asked, laying his head on your chest.

You quickly learned early on into this relationship that Bokuto was like one of those big dogs that thought they were small, so you were often being crushed under his weight.

”Yeah, my brothers are gonna pick us up from the train station.”

”I can’t wait to meet them. And the rest of your family too.”

”Don’t get too excited. They’re pretty traditional and my parents never really took the time to learn how different Betas are so there’s probably gonna be some stuff come up that we’ll need to explain.” 

He was lifting his head again, looking at you with the cutest confused face, “Like what?”

”Like… why you haven’t marked me yet.”

”But that’s not my fault!”

You raised a brow, “Oh so it’s mine?”

His eyes widened as he quickly became panicked, “That’s not what I meant—!”

“Relax, Kota, I’m just teasing.”

He buried his face in your neck, “You’re so mean to me.”

You giggled at the feeling of him prodding your scent gland. “She thinks all those stories of Betas bleeding out after being marked by Alphas are all myths because my great grandfather was able to mark my great grandmother.”

”Then I hope she can understand why that’s a myth I’m not willing to take my chances on.”

”Yeah we’ll see. She can be a bit kooky. But I was thinking of asking the specialist tomorrow if there’s any alternatives or if there’s a way to do it safely since I know you’ve really been wanting to mark me.”

”You’d do that for me?”

”Of course. I’d do anything for you Kota-kun—“

He cut you off with a kiss. You giggled into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You broke the kiss only after hearing Atsumu yelling for Bokuto to come back, making him whine.

”I get to steal you away all night and all day tomorrow so you should go play,” you said, giving his lips another peck.

”You should join us,” he grinned. “No one but me Atsumu and Hinata even know you can play.”

”I dunno,” you mumbled, “I’ve been playing on a community team of Omegas. You’re all Alphas and pro athletes.”

”Please,” he whined, “You’re really good.”

You hummed, “Will you buy me ice cream if I do?”

Bokuto lit up, “Yeah! I’ll buy you all the ice cream you want.”

You pretended to think about it for a while longer, “Hmm, I guess I can’t say no to ice cream.”

Bokuto cheered, standing up and pulling you with him before tossing you over his shoulder and bringing you to the others.

”She’s gonna play!” Bokuto exclaimed, placing you on your feet.

The others lit up, mostly from confusion.

”You wanna play?” Meian asked surprised.

”Yeah why not?” You shrugged, “‘S for fun right?”

”Yeah but these knuckleheaded Alphas never take it easy when it comes to volleyball.”

”That’s alright. It’s my day off so it’s fine if I make a fool of myself.”

Tomas laughed, “That’s one way of looking at it I guess.”

”Do you have a position you wanna play?” Meian asked.

“I’ll play libero,” you nodded, walking to the other side of the net, opposite from Inunaki.

One side was now you, Bokuto, Atsumu, Tomas, and Joffe while the other side was Meian, Hinata, Inunaki, and Barnes with Sakusa coming back in to join now making five on each side.

The game started with Sakusa’s serve, with one of the longest rallies you had ever been apart of. Already showing how different their games were to your little community games.

You managed to save the ball a couple times, each time making the other’s cheer until one specific ball was hit over by Hinata, aiming to your right where no one else stood.

It was too far to lunge for it so you swept your leg, managing to get your ankle under it before it touched the sand, having it bounce off and sending it directly to Atsumu with practiced precision.

He set it directly to Bokuto who hit the ball, scoring the point before everyone turned to you in surprise.

“What?” You asked, looking at all their faces.

”You play,” Meian said, matter of factly, a grin growing on his face.

You shrugged, “Not seriously, but I used to be one of the top ten libero’s in Japan back in high school.”

Atsumu’s jaw dropped, “So ya can be cool! Why aren’t ya like this at work!?”

You shrugged, “It’s easier to keep my professional and personal life separate.”

Most of them glanced at Bokuto at that statement.

”Yeah, you did a bang up job of that,” Meian laughed, before turning back to the game, “Okay, our serve!”

You glanced around at everyone with a fond smile before grinning, getting back into position.

Maybe you’d start making it a priority to hang out with your team more.

————————————————————————

Completed

My taglist is still open if you’d like to be tagged in future works with these characters

Taglist (open): @staygoldsquatchling02 @tillyt04 @niiiya @silverhairsimp @leonphi @lunamochii

[evilmortymortimer]

pick yer poison

[bareee]

Choose what Astarion says. Part 1/3 (Part 2 | 3 )

Ah yes, the gnolls…let’s see what happens~

Time for me to shove yal into ~consequences~

Shadowhearts had some consequences for her a bit, but this is literally going to choose which way the gnolls are dealt with and if the thieves people stay alive.

Also will change how hard it’s gonna be for Mark to talk, so pick yer poison and hope ya guessed the right one ya wanted.

[skeletboi]

Super short update because my life is a mess.

But here is part 24 of the Intridimensional Au!

First /// Previous /// Next

__________________________________________

“Impressive as ever.” Ford said as he looked at the robot arm on the work bench.

“Thanks, Stanford.” Fiddleford replied quietly.

Ford watched Fiddleford place his good hand over the arm then glanced up at Fiddleford's face and frowned.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“Lots a’ things are, I reckon.” Fiddleford said with a humorless huff of laughter. “Ya know when I went back home fer Christmas and fergot ta get Emma-May a present?”

“I recall, yes.” Ford responded, his frown deepening.

“She was already purdy darn mad at me before that. I wore baggy sweaters ta try and hide the metal cast on my arm so she wouldn't go worryin’ ‘bout it, but Tate ain't dumb and heard the hum of the components. He asked me about it, ‘cuz he's at that age where they ask a million questions, and I told him it was a metal cast. ‘Course he's an imaginative kid so he immediately started calling it a robit arm. He ran ta Emma-May ta tell her, and I thought she was ‘bout to murder me on the spot.” Fiddleford paused and picked up the arm. “He'd love this, but Emma-May would hate it.”

“I love it, if that makes you feel any better.” Ford said, placing a hand on Fiddleford's back.

“It does.” Fiddleford said with another quiet laugh. “But I can't stop thinkin’ about that. Emma-May knew how I felt ‘bout you in college, and we got in a purdy big fight ‘bout it before I came ta Gravity Falls. I love Emma-May, but our parents both loved the idea of us bein’ together more than we did. I think maybe we were more like best friends than spouses, but I promised her I'd be back ‘cause, above all else, we jus’ wanted Tate ta have a normal childhood.” Fiddleford set the arm back down and choked on a laugh that sounded suspiciously more like a sob. “‘Spose I'll jus’ hafta live with the fact that he won't. I don’ know if he'll ‘member me at all.”

“Fidds…” Ford said softly, unsure of what else to say with his own guilt and regret tearing at his chest.

“If I knew it was gonna turn out this way I prolly woulda jus’ said screw it and kissed ya as soon as ya opened the door to yer damn creepy cabin in the woods.”

Ford cracked a smile at that, but Fiddleford still looked a thousand miles away as he stared down at the arm.

“You would have stopped me.” Ford said after a moment.

Fiddleford glanced over at him in question.

“You say you would have kissed me right then, but I know you, and, if you had known this was the outcome, you would have left.” Ford clarified.

“Maybe.” Fiddleford responded thoughtfully, “But maybe not. Maybe I’m too scared in every timeline.”

“Fuck that.” Stan said, coming up behind them and dropping the last box at their feet. “I saw your face when Ford mentioned fighting back against Bill. That wasn't fear. That was determination.”

Fiddleford smiled sadly over his shoulder at Stanley.

“I thought you'd grow out of being so cheesy.” Ford deadpanned.

“Nope!” Stan replied with a smile. “But if you two are done being nauseating, we have some boxes to go through. I found a box of brown meat! It says it expires in 1993, but who the fuck knows what year it is in this dimension. My plan is to eat it now, ask questions later!”

“I believe you meant ‘die of food poisoning later’.” Ford noted.

“Or die of starvation! Might as well eat mystery food and die the fun way!” Stan laughed.

“Dysentery don't sound fun.” Fiddleford replied.

“Whatever, nerds.” Stan said, motioning to the boxes. “Just grab what you want so we can get on with life. I found a shot gun, too. You're welcome.”

Fiddleford laughed but did as he was told and put aside his arm project to start rummaging through the boxes.

___________________________________________

Sorry non-Fiddauthor fans. I needed Fiddauthor.

I originally wasn't going to write this bit in, but I wanted to give some context to the guilt they're both still feeling and the relationship between Emma-May and Fidds. Emma-May is bi in this universe, but prefers woman. Is that a cop-out to make myself feel better about how much Fidds hurt her? Yes, yes it is. But I am doing it anyway because I do what I fucking want.

I have another art piece nearly done, so I'll probably post it tomorrow. For now, enjoy. Or whatever.

[theobjectofmyobsession055]

Boothill x SingleParent!Reader: Lassos and Lullabies Chpt. 3

So sorry for the lack of updates! I've been working on a few projects lately and this one had to take the backburner for a bit. Enjoy!

Previous part

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Boothill had been on and off babysitting Charlotte ever since Y/N had her work conference. He wasn’t available very often, with his bounty hunting taking him all across the galaxy, but he made a point to go help out whenever he was in town. An he just might have been making a point to be in town more often too. He just couldn’t refuse when Y/N looked at him with those soft, apologetic eyes, like she was sorry for even asking him. And it certainly didn’t help when she mentioned that he was the only babysitter Charlotte liked—almost made him feel special.

He'd come to look forward to his time watchin the little tyke. It was a nice break from bounty hunting and tracking down the IPC, and he didn’t typically get many of those. So when Y/N texted him to cancel, he felt his stomach drop in disappointment.

‘Why? Did something happen?’ he texted back.

‘No, I’ve just come down with a bad cold, so I’ll be staying home today and can look after Lottie. Thanks for the concern though :)’

He frowned. ‘If you’re not feeling well you should be resting. I can still come over and watch her so you can focus on getting better.’

‘Oh you don’t have to go through all that trouble, I’ll manage. It’s what being a mom is all about yk?’

He let out a sigh. That woman could be more stubborn than he was at times. Knowing her, she’d just try to push through it and end up wearing herself into the ground. He couldn’t have that, not if he could do something about it. And he was always of the school of thought that it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

So he marched his way on over to Y/N’s apartment, shopping bag in tow. He knocked on the door, and after a few minutes of rustling from inside, it opened to reveal a red-nosed Y/N, still in her pajamas and with dark circles under her eyes. Even in that state, he had to fight the flush that threatened to creep onto his face at the sight of her. Her tired eyes widened. “Boothill?” she questioned, her voice scratchy and nasal. “I thought I told you you didn’t have to come over today?”

He grinned. “Yeah, you did say I didn’t have to. Good thing I wanted to.” He gently pushed her out of the doorway and strode inside, setting his shopping bag down on the table. “Here, I got something’ for ya.”

She blinked like she’d been stunned, her movements groggy. “Wait… what?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve had to deal with bein’ sick, considerin’—” He gestured to his metal body. “Y’know. So I just grabbed a buncha different stuff hopin’ somethin’ll stick. So here, pick yer poison.” He dumped out the bag onto the table, revealing bottles upon bottles of medicine. Cough syrup, allergy relief, painkillers, if it could’ve been even somewhat useful for a cold, he’d grabbed it.

Y/N stared at the pile of medicine like it held to secrets to the universe, dumbfounded. Then, she looked back up at him, a confused crease in her brow. “You… got all this for me?”

He shrugged, trying his best to convince her that it was the most natural thing in the world to do all this for an acquaintance, and that it most definitely was not because he had a big fat crush on her. “Eh, I was headin’ there anyway. Figured I’d puck up a few things for ya.”

She must have been really out of it, because she didn’t even comment on why the heck a cyborg would need to go to the pharmacy, especially when he just said he didn’t get sick. Instead, she just nodded slowly and approached the table, picking through the bottles. She settled on some nyquil and ibuprofen and downed them like she was taking a shot. The tired, appreciative smile she gave him made his chest flutter. “Thank you, Boothill. You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

“Like I said, good thing I wanted to, then. Now you head off to bed, you look exhausted.” He gently ushered her through the apartment towards her bedroom.

As if to confirm his point, she let out a loud yawn. “I feel exhausted…” She looked back up at him with concern, but she made no move to resist his corralling. “But what about Lottie? She still needs lunch and a bath and…”

He shushed her. “Now you don’t worry your pretty little head, sugar. I’m an old pro at this by now, you just get some rest.”

She didn’t protest any more, just silently following his steering into her bedroom. He gently guided her to lay down in bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. He realized that some of the lesser-used functions of his cyborg body might be useful here, so he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead and activated his temperature sensors. He immediately snatched his hand away. “Yeowch, you’re burnin’ up, darlin’. Lemme get ya some water.”

As he went to go get a glass of water from the faucet, he spotted Charlotte toddling out form her room donning a duck-patterned onesie and rubbing her eyes. Sweet thing, she must’ve just woken up from her nap. But the second she caught sight of him, her sleepy eyes lit up in excitement. “Hat man!” She ran up to him and tackle-hugged his leg.

He laughed and ruffled her hair with his free hand. “Hey there, sweetheart! Lemme take this to yer momma real quick, and then we can play together, okay?”

“Play! Play!” She jumped up and down excitedly.

“Just one second, Lottie, then we can play.” He finished filling up the glass and turned off the faucet. “Wait right here, I’ll be back.”

He returned to Y/N’s side, kneeling down next to her bed as he handed her the glass of water. His voice was surprisingly gentle even to himself as he said, “Drink this, doll. It’ll make ya feel better.”

She took the glass from him and downed the whole thing in a few gulps. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and set the glass down on the nightstand before flopping back down in bed. Her eyes pinched closed, and she brought her hand up to rub her temple. “God, this headache is killing me…”

At the mention of a headache, he remembered an old remedy Nick and Gray used to make for him and his siblings when they were feeling unwell. “Gimme just a second, I’ll be right back.”

Charlotte was still waiting for him in the kitchen, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. “Play now?”

“Not quite yet, sweetheart. Yer momma’s not feelin’ too good, so I’m gonna make her somethin’ to help her feel better,” he explained as he started to whip up a concoction of honey, ginger, lemon juice, and various other spices.

Charlotte tilted her head to the side curiously. “Mama�� not feel good? Me help?”

His heart could’ve melted from her innocent request. “Sure, Lottie. Why doncha help me bring this to her? That’d be a lotta help.” He handed the mug he’d mixed up the herbal remedy in to her. “Careful now, don’t spill it.”

The look of concentration on her little face was just too precious as she waddled off towards her mom’s bedroom. He followed her, making sure she didn’t drop the mug. Y/N smiled weakly when she saw the two of them in the doorway. “Hi baby,” she cooed in her raspy voice. “What’ve you got there?”

Charlotte toddled up to her mom’s bedside and held up the mug to her. “Feel more better!”

“’S an old herbal remedy my folks used to make,” Boothill explained. “Should help clear ya out and make that headache go away some.”

She took a sip, her face scrunching up at the bitter taste. “Yup, certainly tastes medicinal.” She took another couple sips despite its off-putting flavor. She looked up at him, gratitude shining in her tired eyes. “Thank you. For everything.”

He tsked. “Think nothin’ of it, sweetheart. You just get some sleep and focus on getting better.” He couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and brush away some of the hair that had fallen in her face. Her skin was still hot to the touch, but it’d cooled down slightly from when he’d taken her temperature before.

She hummed, closing her eyes. “That feels nice…” she mumbled, already half-asleep.

He chuckled. “I bet it does, Sleep well.” He ushered Charlotte out of the room, turned the lights off, and shut the door behind them.

Charlotte seemed unusually quiet as they entered the living room. “You still wanna play, darlin’?” he asked.

She shook her head, a frown on her face. “No. Wanna help mama.”

Now if that wasn’t just the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. He kneeled down to her height and looked her in the eyes. “You’re a good kid, Lottie. Yer momma’s lucky to have ya. But right now, the best thing we can do for her is to stay quiet an’ let her sleep. But ya could always make her somethin’ to let her know you’re think’ ‘bout her.. She loves all those little drawings you make her. You wanna do that?”

Her eyes lit up at his suggestion. “Yeah! Draw-ring!”

“Sounds like a plan, then.” He dug through the closet for their craft supplies, grabbing crayons, stickers, construction paper, and anything else he thought she might enjoy messing with (he was careful to avoid the glitter, though—he really didn’t feel like cleaning up that mess). He dumped them all into a pile on the kitchen table and sat down, placing Charlotte on his lap. “Alright, kiddo, go nuts.”

They spent the next half-hour or so making get-well cards, filled with little doodles of the three of them holding hands. Boothill didn’t know whether to feel touched or out of place that Charlotte insisted on drawing him too—it wasn’t like he was a part of their family, he wasn’t even sure if he’d call himself Y/N’s friend. He just helped babysat for her occasionally. But Charlotte’s urging that he belonged there too stirred something within him. Protectiveness, longing… and something else he couldn’t quite name. So if she said she wanted him in the picture, then he’d count his blessings and let it slide.

After a while of drawing, Charlotte’s tummy started to rumble, so Boothill got up to go make them all some lunch. Y/N usually set out the ingredients for what she wanted him to make beforehand, so this was his first time actually looking through her kitchen. Even a quick glance showed that she was quite the cook, heck he didn’t even know how to use half of the utensils and equipment she had in there. He needed to make something easy on the stomach, in case she was feeling nauseous, so his mind immediately went to chicken noodle soup. It’d been a while since he’d made it, but he remembered the basics at least. Luckily, they had all the ingredients he’d need in stock.

Once Charlotte had eaten, with only minimal spillage, he went to go take a bowl to Y/N. He knocked on the door before entering, so as not to startle her. He peeked his head in, a smile on his face as he saw how she rubbed at her eyes blearily. “Wakey, wakey. I’ve got somethin’ for ya.” He pulled up a chair and sat down by her bedside, handing her the bowl of soup. “Careful, it’s hot.”

She took it gratefully and blew on it before looking up at him with astonishment. “You made this for me?”

“Well, technically I made it for all of us, but yeah, I had you in mind, sugar.” He gave her a soft smile. “Now see if y’can keep it down, an’ lemme know if ya start feeling nauseous—I’ll run and grab ya a bucket.”

She let out a quiet “Thank you,” before taking a few slow sips of soup. She hummed in approval. “This is really nice, Boothill. Wish I could taste more of it.” She chuckled.

“Aw, don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of more chances to try my cookin’ in the future, when yer not all stuffed up.” He reached into his pocket, unfolding the get-well card Charlotte had made. “Oh, and, uh… Lottie made this for ya. I helped with the spellin’, though.”

She set the bowl of soup down on the nightstand and took the card. Plastered in big letters in pink crayon was ‘Get well soon Mama!’ with a picture of three stick figures holding hands underneath. It was obvious which one was supposed to be Boothill, with his signature black cowboy hat on top. He hipped his hat over his face a little, trying to hide the pink flush on his cheeks. “…I told her she didn’t haveta put me in it, but she really wanted to. Sorry ‘bout that.”

If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought those were tears shining in Y/N’s eyes. She blinked rapidly, her lips drawn in to her teeth. “No, no, no need to apologize! It’s… perfect. I love it.” She reached out and took his metal hand in hers, and he nearly jolted at the sudden contact. She looked up at him, staring into his eyes as if she could see his whole dirty, rotten soul. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. Her voice was whisper-soft as she said, “Thank you again. This is… more than I could have ever asked you to do for me. You’re a good friend, Boothill.”

If he had a heart it would’ve leapt into his throat, but somehow he still felt a lump there. He swallowed it down and squeezed her hand. “’Course, sugar. That’s what friends do.”

[goatskickin]

A quick tutorial for something you might never need, but might be interested in: side eyes!

What the heck are those?

A pair of 'side eyes' is, effectively, a pair of 'contacts' your sims can wear. They will cover the eyes that they have only cosmetically. And they aren't even a new thing either!

fkn enormous gif sweet jesus

They are super easy to make, so you might as well know how to do it, in case you need them!

A pair of side eyes will make any sim wearing them look as if they are quite literally, "👀"

You can of course, get a sim to do this with any number of poseboxes that contain face gestures (here's one for example)

But, what if you wanted just the 👀 look, layered on top of whatever other motions/face gestures your sim already had?

That's where a pair of side eyes comes in.

They are very useful for preview pictures and storytelling.

IDK what else you would use them for, but that's what I use them for.

Let's go!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

open yer bodyshop

Unless you've already extracted your eye texture, you will need to grab that. Most likely, you will be making your side eyes from your defaults. Mine are these.

this is the eye texture

You could make your side eyes as costume makeup. If you don't ever make CC yourself, a personal use pair of side eyes as costume makeup should work for you just fine.

Costume makeup wears over any other makeup your sim is wearing.

HOWEVER, I like to use mine as a blush. Specifically, a multi-layerable blush. If you want to do that too, just make sure you make your side eyes multi-layerable.

But as far as effectiveness goes, costume makeup or multi-layerable blush work exactly the same.

Pick your poison and extract the project

Name it

Now that we have a project package, we have some files to look at

The SWATCH

The TEXTURE

and the ALPHA

This is what my alpha looks like.

When it comes to the UVmapping of a TS2 face, the eyes are mapped in the upper left corner. So, we will need to change this alpha to reflect that

This is the texture for the eyes. See how it's in the upper left corner like I mentioned?

Make that black and white (white for yes texture, black for no texture) and BOOM. Save.

This is our blush texture

Copy and paste the eye texture on it and save

Look! You have basically made a pair of contacts. Also a useful thing to know if you need to do that.

We want them to look 👀 however

We are going to take that eye texture and move it UP ^^^

Not a lot! 3 clicks, maybe 5. Whatever you feel gives you a result you like

A little or a lot! The choice is yours fack why is this gif so dang big

And there! A pair of side eyes for you.

And some action shots to showcase how they work.

I hope you find this helpful!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Invulnerable Poison Apple.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. This is his home, his roots, and he will cherish them always.

No matter how he may change.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

The Harveston roads stretch out for what seems like forever. Dirt paths uninterrupted by the hustle and bustle of modern life.

It's just Epel and his beloved blastcycle set at a breakneck pace. Green grass below... Mother Nature has pushed through the melting snow at last, sounding the call of spring.

The crate secured to back of his bike is always lighter on the trip home than on the trip to the closest city. With the latest load dropped off, he’s free to fly back.

He loves this feeling—the rush of adrenaline, the wind weaving through his hair. It’s a taste of home, a slice of heaven he can get nowhere else.

Up ahead, his family’s farm comes into view. The outline of their orchard, flush with the buds of new life, is a familiar sight. What's new are the crops whose heads sprout up over the treetops: a giant peach, a pumpkin large enough to be a carriage, and more—all the result of magical modification.

He grins, revving up his engine and pushing forward. Faster, faster.

Then he breaks, skidding to a halt before their wooden front porch. The engine dies, leaving only the erratic pounding of his heart in the smoke and dust.

“I’m home!!” Epel announces, dismounting. He removes his helmet and places it on his blastcycle's seat. Wisps of lilac cling to his forehead, his fair skin colored with the blush of exhilaration.

Similar heads of hair—members of the Felmier family, dressed in casual clothes and fruit-picking gloves—dot the orchard. They meet his eyes and wave.

He counts them: his mom and his dad, his aunt and uncle. His cousin is too young to get their hands down and dirty yet, so they're inside with their grandparents.

So why is there one extra body amid the apple trees? One person, hunched over on a ladder, a shaking arm outstretched to pluck the fruit.

Not her. Please, not her.

Epel immediately bolts into the fields.

The tree leaves shudder and shift, branches swaying, as if they, too, are loved ones welcoming him back. The air is sweet and uplifting, like the faintest taste of a fizzy drink.

"Meemaw? Meemaw…!!" Epel hollers, racing over to her.

She finally has a grip on the apple, gives it a firm twist, and frees it from its branch. For one frightening moment, she wobbles, threatening to topple from high up. Epel arrives just in time, grabbing onto her ladder to steady it.

He heaves a sigh.

"I told ya to try ‘n not overexert yourself…!” Epel scolds her. His hometown’s dialect slips out, smooth as butter and natural sounding to their ears. “You’re gettin’ to that age where doing physical labor ain’t the easiest. At least leave the heavy liftin’ to me ‘n the others!”

“These apples aren’t goin’ to pick themselves!!” Marja grumbles. “Would you rather trade jobs and let me be the one to run deliveries? You wanna be the one to let this old lady on the loose?”

He bites his lower lip. “No, but… I can take some of yer tasks to lighten yer workload. Please, let me.”

His grandma slowly climbs down the ladder. (Epel observes her dissent carefully and maintains his grip on her stairway.) She’s delicate, with rounded, soft features—but he knows she is anything but demure, especially upset.

When Marja lands next to him, he notices her height right away. He had always been just a bit taller than her—“My growin’ little man,” she’d say, giving him a pat on the head—but his grandma seems to have shrunken in the wash.

Marja prods him in the chest, and though she has more strength than one might give her credit for, his muscles are taut and hold their ground. He’s taller, stronger.

The same physique as a Savanaclaw student.

“Don’t get cocky with me just because you’ve hit a growth spurt ‘n yer transferrin’ to a rough ‘b tough new dorm! I’m a Felmier too.” She shoves the freshly picked apple at her grandson’s face. “Ya fell from our family tree, so you ain’t the only one who’s hardy ‘round here. Don’t worry about me so much!”

“I can’t help it, meemaw,” Epel protests. “We’re gettin’ busier and busier and it’s hard to keep up with the pace.”

“Business is boomin’. I don’t see what you’re yappin’ about!”

“Last thing I want’s for you to be shipped off to the nearest hospital cuz you hurt yourself on our produce.”

“Hush now!! I’lll be fine,” she insists with a broad smile. “I’ve got you and everyone else to count on, so I know I’m in good hands.”

Marja drops the apple into a waiting wicker basket at her feet. It lands atop a pile like a ruby laid in the center of a crown. She bends over and picks up her haul with a grunt and starts waddling towards their house.

Epel remains by her side, matching her walk with a few long strides. He may as well be helping her cross the street, but he stays at a considerable distance. Enough to be polite, but still close enough to swoop in if she takes an unceremonious fall.

“‘Sides, I work cuz I want to, not that I have to,” Marja tuts, clambering up the porch steps. Epel offers her his muscular arm, but she refuses it.

“Gotta keep these weary bones active! And… gotta do my best to support ya where I can.”

“You’ve always done that for us, meemaw.”

All that and more.

She laughs. “Yer not the little boy that needs a scoldin’ for whooping the older kids’ tuchuses anymore. Yer a man now, Epel—but even men ain’t islands. Doesn’t matter how many fights ya win by yerself, ‘s nice to have people to fall back on.”

The front door swings open. Marja shuffles inside, followed by her grandson.

“I understand what yer sayin’. Really, I do. Still, nothin’s gonna stop me from givin’ ya lip. ‘S in our blood,” Epel jokes, knocking at his temples. “Stubbornness runs in the family. I must get it from you.”

“You’re gettin’ real cheeky with me today,” Marja chuckles, setting her basket down on a counter. “I know, how about a good ol’ apple pie with all the fixings? That oughta fill yer belly and fix up yer sass.”

Epel responds with a toothy grin. “Nothin’ hits the spot like your home cooking, meemaw.”

Her eyes twinkle warmly. “Darn right.”

[emelinstriker]

random doodle ideas just hit me- some a bit more lore-heavy than others- might make it a fake screenshot or short comic, otherwise just a smol doodle hfnhfnfhb depends on what y'all pick as well as my motivation

the only hint yer gonna get for each are keywords, so pick your poison- cuz i know some of y'all are interested in quite a few of these cuz i have mentioned a few before c:

[fineapplequeen]

✨️Hey bruh, looks like ya could use a pick-me-up, pick yer poison

[izzabela]

white noise - audio 2

a/n: sorry for the delay! i was enjoying my break and spent a lot of time (and money) with my friends and family

One week later

Simon Riley never imagined that, in his years of existing on this forsaken rock, his pipedream of becoming a professional voice actor would actually manifest into existence.

Simon Riley, who came from a home that was far worse than “broken,” never thought he’d be somewhat put back together living in the bustling city of New York City.

It still shocks Simon that he’s so successful at this point in time. If his current self met that little boy from that shabby house back in Manchester, he’d probably give the little thing a heart attack from how unrecognizable he had become.

He can’t say he did it himself though, because he didn’t. If it weren’t for Price picking him up that day he was passed out in a booth at that pub those years ago, his “now” would have remained “what-if’s” and “maybe’s.”

He can still remember it like he was picked up yesterday...

Simon downs another pint, stumbling in his own seat as the table jumps with the weight of his hand.

“‘Notha,” he slurs, his vision filled with black and white from the alcohol poisoning his system.

“Not long befo’ tha’ kills ya, boy,”a voice not known to him speaks. He swings his head up, his eyes locking in on the unknown target before he waves him off.

“Mind yer business.”

“I would, lad, but it won’t be without you,” he responds, accompanied by a hearty, humorless chuckle.

Through Simon’s eyes, he can see this blob of a figure pull a stick out and something to light it. Next thing he knows, his nose is hit with the scent of a campfire, pine, and refined lumber.

“Who’re you supposed to be,” Simon charges, sobriety slowly sinking in.

“You’re wrangler, if you’ll take it.”

Simon snaps out of his daydream when Price’s choppy cough from his laptop enters his ears.

“Ghost, ‘re ye wit os?” A foreign accent is heard from his speakers. No one's face is seen, but Simon know’s who’s speaking when he sees the bar of soap icon light up on his screen.

“Oi, you know what they say about ghosts, Johnny,” another voice comes through the computer, “‘Less you know what’s comin’ when you mess wi’ ‘em.” This voice is accompanied by a British baseball cap icon.

Price’s choppy cough comes through once again, establishing authority and power.

“Johnny, Gaz, ‘nough of that lads,” Price mediates, fixing his clothes in front of the cams.

Johnny and Gaz quiet down, while Ghost just chuckles in victory (though, he’d never openly admit his win to them).

Another voice breaks through the speakers of Simon’s laptop- an older woman, with a refined yet curt speech.

“Roughhouse after the brief boys,” she scolds. “I have yet to get to everyone’s personal collaborations.”

“Aye, mum,” Johnny mumbles.

“Got it, Kate,” Gaz responds quickly.

Simon doesn’t realize that the meeting goes by a little too quickly, his mind unusually scatterbrained and all over the place. He doesn’t even realize that he’s alone in the call room with just Price, and he only understands that fact when he gets a message from Johnny privately.

Soap: Oi, Ghost, how copy there?

Ghost: All good here, over.

Soap: Hate to break it to ya, but yer in there with Price.

Soap: Alone.

Simon looks up from his phone to realize he’s right, and he’s about to make a run for it until Price calls out to him.

“Don’ think you’re done ‘ere yet,” Price gently reprimands, a dry laugh leaving him.

Simon groans, and Price lets another puff of cigar smoke leave him.

“You broken?” he asks simply.

“All good here, boss,” he assures, hiding his true feelings behind the “no camera” mode of the call room.

Price doesn’t need to see Simon’s cerulean eyes to guess he’s lying, but instead of pressing him, he lets it go.

“Wha’eva it is, don’t let it compromise you,” he takes another hit of the cigar, the long draw of silence an indicator that his boss knows more than Simon could possibly tell.

“Copy. Out here,” Simon ends the call briskly, exiting out of all his tabs before shutting his laptop with a crisp clack noise. The excess noise of his colleagues/friends and boss are gone, and now his brain can hardwire back to the other daydream he’s been having.

Simon leans back into his reclining chair, the plush leather wrapping around him as he’s thinking of last week’s surprise.

Simon couldn’t really sleep that night.

He can usually head to bed after dropping a long audio, the latest primal play and chase audio he released for his highest Patreon tier, but for some reason he remains awake.

Instead of his body winding down, it was getting all riled up thanks to the thin walls of his flat, and his (not-so-quiet) neighbor.

Simon sits up against the backboard, the evening lights of New York City dimmed behind his curtains. He didn’t need the excess light the city brought him, but there was no other way to properly put his bed in his bedroom without ruining the natural flow of energy that was ever-present.

Instead of drowning out the noises of his incredibly cute neighbor, he decided to return the favor- a quick ramble fap. And why not? Perhaps after a quick tug of his stick, he’d hit the hay fast.

Simon slings his arm over to his night stand, grabbing his phone and headphones to set up his makeshift workspace. Once he’s settled in, he begins to talk openly into the night, putting up the mask of “Ghost.”

“G’day doves, o’ should I say night?” he teases, his palm combing over the hard-on in his sweats.

At this point, he’s rambling into the emptiness of his room, disconnected thoughts about “How I miss my dove” and “You naughty little fletchling, listenin’ to me, jack off while I’m missin’ you.” Still, despite how unrelated his dirty talk may be, it all remains cohesive enough to end up with him degrading his listeners.

Oh, and a pocket-pussy in hand.

"You wanted this, didn'tcha? Takin' all 'f me like a dumb slag, but'cha wanted this didn'tcha?" he growls, low and steady as he can feel his core tightening.

“You like this, don't ya?" he enunciated, cock pumping deep into his little toy, his ears still pointed to where you were.

It didn’t occur to him that you’d stop taking care of yourself down there, so onward he marched as he was getting closer and closer to his climax.

He’d let himself go completely, a low rumble in his throat as he filled the silicone toy to the brim of himself. Only then did he realize that he couldn’t hear the noises of his bunny, and that she’d scampered off somewhere (probably to sleep).

Since that day, he hasn’t heard his neighbor make those lovely sounds. Is it weird that he kept up with when she took care of herself? Maybe, but it’s mostly the apartment building’s fault for making such faulty, thin walls. Besides, Simon thought he wasn’t being loud, he just thought he was loud enough to tease her. But since then, the mild interactions he did have with her became different.

See, when he moved in, she would do all sorts to get him to talk: food, desserts, little trinkets, things a neighbor is supposed to do when a new bird joins the flock. Simon did appreciate it, really, he did, but he could never figure out how to reciprocate the kindness he was shown.

In short, a social liability despite his (very sociable) job.

He’s still surprised you’ve managed to stay so… patient with him, so kind, despite his nature to other people, albeit he saw your patience growing thinner and thinner (how can you remain so content like that? He’d often ask himself).

No matter what type of image you paint of yourself, the baseline truth remained- you were his fan, and a big one at that. How he would address this, he’s not sure, but he’d find a way to weasel it out of you.

“Fuck me,” he muttered, taking a deep breath before getting up from his chair. If he was going to continue dreaming about this, he’d at least get something done today. Taking his phone, he opened it to see what’s on his schedule for this month and if he had time to cross it off.

Most of the projects were video game related: voice acting for a main character on some days, meeting with game execs, discussing and actually acting out some mo-cap CGI sequences, he’s also got a separate project in regards to an audiobook recording and everything related to that.

“Fuck. Me,” he seethes, and one can imagine the smoke coming out of his ears.

With a schedule as disfigured as this, he decides to put work off for another day. Instead, Simon will take his time making some pre-workout, packing little protein bars, and filling his water bottle. He’ll shove all of that in his gym bag, then move on to discard his home clothes for something more gym-appropriate, opting to wear sweats and a new compression shirt he bought from an athletic store. And of course, one cannot forget about his hoodie and mask- essential to today’s OOTD.

He plugs his ears up and begins to play some music, shoving his feet in his sneakers and tying the laces before heading out the door. It’s all fine and dandy, the pristine white walls and sterile interior of the room hallways offering little to none to look at, until he looks down slightly, eyes following the movements of a certain woman tying her hair up.

His eyes widen slightly, eyebrows moving his mask ever so slightly as he locks eyes with his number one fan- you, his little secretary neighbor. You’re equally shocked, if not more so than he is. You gulps, and she’s frantic as she tries to greet him (except it sounds like a warbled animal cry).

“Relax,” he practically sighs, voice low. “No one bu’ me he’e.”

“That’s honestly the worst part,” you mumble, but Simon is a nosy fucker. He walks a little closer, leaning down to try and get you to say whatever you’re hiding from him.

“One mo’ time, mic didn’t catch it,” he teased, offering his ear as he watched you flush and grow embarrassed.

You huff, turning your back and heading to the elevator with brisk steps. Simon sighs, following just a little ways behind before stopping in front of the elevator.

“Well?” you probe, nodding your head for him to stand next to you. “Are you coming down or what?”

Simon just walks in, standing a little farther back to give you space from him. He knows you’re not particularly nice to him these days, but you don’t outright hate him (he’s delusional). Once the doors close, your release wouldn’t be until after he gets off on whatever floor he needs to.

“So, where ya headed this time, neighbor?” you ask curtly, finger hovering over the many floor options.

“Gym.” A one-word reply, and one that makes you want to rip your hair out.

“W-what a coincidence,” you stutter, pressing the main floor button.

The gears shift, and the elevator hiccups before starting its descent to the main lobby. It might be quiet in the lift, but both you and Simon experience a degree of noisiness in your minds. While Simon finds it amusing you’re stuck with him until you both get to the gym, you can’t bear the suffocating air he brings.

Carefully, you take a peek behind your shoulder and watch the brooding man scroll mindlessly on his phone. The only thing that you can ever describe him as is big: big shoulders, big in height, big in the energy he brings, and…

He’s definitely big down there.

You snap your head forward, hands cupping your cheeks to hide the flushed look you have on your face, but your mind isn’t following what your body is doing, and the memories of last week flash through your brain like an old black-and-white film.

As you stood there, heat rising all over your body, Simon was equally checking you out. His pretty neighbor, his little bunny, all nervous from being in the same room as him (elevator, but it’s an enclosed space, so it counts). He finds it cute, a fan of his realizing who he is, yet is respectful enough to not cross any boundaries.

Perhaps a closeted slut? Simon thinks to himself, an angel and devil on each of his shoulders to try and guide him to make the right choices.

He’s brought back into reality when he hears you squeak (ah, I mean speak).

“W-which gym do you visit?” you ask without looking, hoping that he didn’t hear your nerves shaking your sentence up.

“Th’ one ‘cross the way,” he answers again, his eyes crinkling slightly as he watches your shoulders scrunch up in a mix of discomfort and delight.

You simply hum, and suddenly the door opens up for the both of you to reveal a semi-busy lobby and busy bodies with hardhats and neon vests. You’re both a little lost, but the familiar face of your doorman saves the day.

“Tony!” you greet, elated to see him. He reciprocates your enthusiasm, though his crooked smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“How ya doin’ taday, Pumps?” he tips his hat, though his greeting to Simon is more strained.

“Wha’s ol ‘is?” Simon asks for you, accent heavy and imposing.

“Construction down here. Someone was supposed to slap a notice on the walls, but they didn’t get to it. Currently figurin’ out which bozo didn’t do they job.”

You hum, Simon remaining silent behind you. You can feel the tension between them, and you cough awkwardly to get their attention.

“W-well! Mr. Riley and I are headed to the gym, so we won’t be here to witness all of it,” you say as you walk past him. Tony only nods, tipping his hat towards the both of you before heading out the door.

The revolving doors slap you both onto the street, and immediately you’re getting swept away by the crowd of people. You should be used to this by now, but you’re victim to these moments every so often.

Instead of having to fight against the current of people, a hand reaches out for your wrist. It’s rough, oddly calloused, but comforting, like those odd sherpa-wool throw blankets.

“Don’ get swept away now, bun,” he calls out, pulling you into his chest to keep you away from the current of people. His left arm is around your shoulder, and you’re holding onto his right arm just in case.

Despite the rush, time stops in your mind: your secret obsession, holding you carefully as you two walk to the gym, protecting you. Your “shield” is meaty, with loads of muscle hidden under the fabric of his sweatshirt. His chest is equally well-built, too, thick and heavy.

If past-you saw this predicament now, she’d be walking the line between passing out and orgasming on the spot.

Making your way past the crowd, time seems to be flowing again as you both made it to the gym, the sign being an indicator that your delusions are just that, delusions.

“‘ere’s our stop,” he announces, a twinge of playfulness in his voice. You look up at him, eyes trying to tell him not to let go.

He simply chuckles, letting you go and ruffling the top of your head.

“Not gon’ work on me, bun.”

You let go, thanking him quickly before rushing into the women’s locker room, and you’re smart to not look behind you.

“Enjoy your work out, bunny,” he calls out, a smirk tugging the fabric of his mask before he heads into the men’s side.

Back in his flat, Simon tapped away on his laptop to answer some emails from his collabs and such. No matter how hard he tried to remain focused, his mind found itself back to a couple hours ago.

Simon mostly saw the gym uneventful, but that didn't mean it couldn't be- and the spotlight was on you.

From across the way, Simon always found your figure in his sight. From watching you lift during inclined press, squats, RDLs, to you taking a drink of water, retying your hair, or simply watching your chest rise and fall from a hard set, Simon was enamored.

Of course, you felt the lingering eyes of someone staring your way, but Simon always looked away just in time before you could spot him. Even in the corner of his eye, he'd find himself staking you out, like a wolf set on his prey for the night.

Except he's taking his time with this prey.

As he's wrapping up another email, setting a date for a voice acting shoot for a shooting game Price set him and his colleagues up for, he can hear the faint sound of a door slamming, and the muffled sounds of heels plopping to the ground with clicks and clacks. He smiles to himself, knowing that his number one fan is back, but she doesn't sound too thrilled.

Simon's hearing a lot of swearing, but the crux of the problem remains relatively unknown to him. He can hear talk about "loss of papers" and "how a deal can't go wrong when the instructions were practically written," yeah, you didn't sound too happy.

Simon's not too fond of taking care of people the usual way, but he still has things to offer- himself (if you catch his drift).

And for you, Simon wasn't off the mark when he figured you were pissed, you were fuming. A deal gone horribly wrong with your boss, and he blamed it all on you. Talks about you "not understanding what's at stake," "leaving the most important factors out of the negotiations," etc. You were trying to defend yourself, explaining to him that his inadequacies in creating deals was not your fault (you had, in fact, wrote his script for him).

Which was how you ended up on suspension without pay for particularly vague reasons. You're ninety-nine percent sure it's illegal, but you were escorted out without another word, you didn't even get to say goodbye to George.

This was also how you ended up angrily stabbing ground beef in a sizzling pan for dinner, pretending that the meat was your boss. And to bear witness to your reasonable crash out, your best friend was on the other side of the line.

"And seriously, how is that my fault? Everything was written accordingly, even writing the conversational cues that his client would use!" you screech, shaking the pan to make sure your ground beef was cooked all the way through to be added to the rest of your dish.

"Can't you file a complaint with HR? You have all the receipts, I'm sure that you'd have a case!" she pushed, trying to get you to see the optimism in this bleak time.

"I've already tried to walk in a couple times, but security has blocked me from getting close to the elevators..." you sigh, scraping the meat into a separate bowl. Another heavy breath leaves you as you grab pre-packaged sauce and a box of uncooked pasta.

"But enough about that," your friend shifts the conversation, voice going up a pitch as her question leaves a... feeling in your mouth. "How's that hot neighbor of yours? Has he figured you out yet?"

You gasp, groaning as you're even more pissed at the thought of your neighbor. Your annoyingly attractive neighbor that creates your favorite hobby.

Your neighbor that you donate hundreds of dollars to every couple months or so.

"Don't get me started, you bitch," you hiss, and you can hear her laugh so hard that the call lags for a bit.

"Not only has he remained incessantly loud- for reasons I now understand- but he's spoken to me for the first time since he moved in!" you cry out, which only increases your friends amusement.

"But it's more than that," she eggs you on. "Do you think he likes you? Like, actually likes you?"

You're lost in her words, the last syllables ringing in your ear like an incantation for hypnotize you. The thought of this guy, your neighbor who's your niche celebrity crush, liking you? He's never really spoken to you at all, and suddenly he likes you? Insane, like coming out of a novel.

Then again, you were no stranger to the odd and straight wack your life can experience.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that and finish my meal preps," you tease, and you can hear your bestie's cry to not hang up.

"Buh-bye now," you drawl out, pressing the red icon on your phone and focusing on your food.

Still, the thought of him liking you lingers. He's never made an effort to get to know you, nor see you. On the rare occasion that he did see you, he always stared, eyes sticking on you for a little too long before he left. You're so sure that he was a massive cunt, the way he still hasn't returned your tupperwares.

But after today, maybe you judged him a little too harshly. Besides, you were always busy, leaving before the sun rose and returning as the sun set (and that's only if your boss wasn't in a bad mood).

Mindlessly, you were moving all the food and mixing it together, a simple spaghetti you made for tonight. Besides, tears and sadness make any comfort food taste better.

You were taken off autopilot when the sauce burns you as you were pouring it in your bowl, and you draw your hand back like an injured animal as you cradle it close to your chest.

"Damn, made too much," you whisper to yourself as you assess your food debacle.

You're fighting with the voices inside your head to give the beast food. You wanted to test to see if this was just a fluke, and maybe to see the status of your other tupperwares, but mostly to stake out if what happened today was genuine.

After reeling with yourself, you cave and begin to pack some food for Simon. Slowly, you're walking to your cabinet to grab an extra container, and you go through the motions of a good neighbor and pack him a hefty size of food. You press the pasta in the container nice and tight, and you take the leftover sauce of the pasta and watch it slowly pour over the food.

You're moving slowly, trying to figure out how to hand him his food without being weird, forthcoming, or awkward. After all, this is the first time you're going to his door after almost a year of being neighbors.

"Hi! I made you some food, want some?" you exclaim to yourself in the mirror by your door. Realization hits you at how stupid you sounded. It sounds like you deliberately made some for him- which wasn't the case.

"I have some leftovers, here's some for you," you try again, except you slap yourself on the forehead for how condescending that sounded.

You can feel yourself regretting this, but you're already by the door with your clogs on, and you have your key in your pocket

Now or never, girlfriend, the voice in your head probing you to finish what you've started.

You sigh again, a heavy breath sagging your shoulders down as you trudge out the door with the food in your hands and the pit of nervousness in your tummy growing heavier.

As you walk to his door, your footsteps echo and bounce back to you from the walls, almost telling you that you're going to regret this. Still, you ignored that gnawing feeling, and continued to head into the wolf's den.

"You can do this," you mumble to yourself, trying to build confidence for your less-than-one-second interaction with your neighbor (your hot neighbor who happens to be the man you donate a good portion of your paycheck to).

You knock on his door, the silence being your last moments to turn around, but that timer ran out quickly, and in front of you is Simon. You look up at him, eyes wide and a little frightened by his imposing figure.

Despite his face being hidden, you can see that he's pleasantly surprised you're here, especially after today. He's leaning on the door frame with his shoulder, head tilted to check you out as to what brings you here.

"Anyfin' I can do f' you, bunny?" Simon asks, eyes aglow with a teasing nature.

All your practice, albeit only being five seconds, left your brain, and you're left staring at this man speechless.

"I, uh-" you're at a loss for words as Simon's eye contact is weighing you down (or arousing you, but you can address the wet spot in your trousers later).

You show the food to him, the cramped pasta and sauce slowly peeking out, and he chuckles a bit. He cocks his brow, or at least the fabric of his mask does, and he takes it with a singular hand.

His fingers brush yours as he takes the container, and you swore that you were set ablaze by a single touch.

"Thanks f' tha food, bun," he says, voice low and smooth.

It takes all of your willpower to not melt into a puddle right there.

"N-no, problem..." you whisper, voice hushed and shy from a split-second interaction.

You don't let him say another word as you retreat to your room, messily unlocking the door, kicking your shoes off, and burying yourself in your nest of a bed. You're warm all over, especially down there, and you wriggle in your sheets to try and shake it off.

And as you're squealing in bed, a flurry of emotions taking over you, Simon eats the warm past on his bed, head leaned against the wall to listen to his frazzled bunny.