#Type for Cash Review

[bloomshroomz]

Aromantic*

(Alternate Title: Shrödinger’s Romantic)

I keep wondering if “aromantic” is really a good word to describe my romantic orientation. I have plenty of reasons for why it is, but also plenty of reasons for why it might not be. Shrödinger’s romantic.

In order to know whether you experience romantic attraction or not, you first have to have a solid definition of what romantic attraction is. A definition which is clear, and also distinct from other forms of emotional attraction. I don’t think such a definition exists, or at least, it’s not commonplace.

“Romantic attraction: attraction that makes people desire romantic contact or interaction with another person or persons.” - UNC Chapel Hill LGBT Center

But what is romantic contact or interaction? Is it contact which is culturally considered romantic? In that case, the ways in which romantic attraction is defined would vary by culture, and even by gender. Or is it contact which one intends to be romantic? That would make sense, but is incredibly subjective. How do you know where to draw the line? What if you haven’t drawn one?

“[Romantic attraction] involves a combination of physical, sexual, and emotional feelings toward someone.” - WebMD

This definition is ridiculously vague, especially for a page which defines multiple other types of attraction in relation to romance. What physical feelings? What sexual feelings? What emotional feelings? What about alloromantic asexual people, or other varioriented people, who don’t necessarily experience sexual feelings as part of their romantic feelings?

But the article also defines aromanticism as “when you don’t have any desire for a romantic relationship,” so I can’t count on it for accuracy regardless.

“Romantic attraction is the internal pull that you experience when you are with someone with whom you internally feel connected, comfortable and interested in spending more of your life with.” - Choosing Therapy

Do people not feel connected to their friends? Do people not feel comfortable with their friends? Are people not interested in spending more of their life with their friends? Why else would people find time to connect with their friends, to confide in them, to engage with them? What about these feelings is distinctly romantic?

The article goes on to say this:

“Romantic relationships are relationships intentionally initiated and maintained for experiencing sexual and romantic feelings together, whereas platonic relationships are usually centered on another purpose like hobbies, friendship, support, work, etc. Romantic relationships can also include these purposes as well, but the platonic relationship excludes the romance and sexual feelings.” - Choosing Therapy

I ask again, what about alloaces and other varioriented people? What about people who have sex with their friends? Even when it’s taboo, it’s not unheard of. The distinction can’t be sex, so it has to be romance. So, what is romance?

Later in the article, it defines romance once again:

“Romantic attraction: The internal pull that draws your attention to the other person’s positive qualities, and your internal reaction to connect, love, share and spend time with them to have more romance.” - Choosing Therapy

I feel like I’m running in circles here. People draw their attention to the positive qualities of not just romantic interests, but to friends, family, and other people with whom they’d have no romantic interest. Connection, love, and spent time are not exclusive to romance either. If the goal is to have more romance… What is that?

Every answer I find fails to say what romance is on its own. The definitions always rely on presence or absence of sex, or other things which can just as easily be present in platonic or otherwise non-romantic contexts. Romantic attraction is consistently defined by things which are not distinctly romantic.

Is it even a real thing? I mean, I feel like it’s clearly not, but it’s also clearly very real to most people. Most people don’t think about it this hard. It’s like they were given a manual that I can never possess. It comes naturally to them. They feel romantic attraction, and they know, intuitively, that that’s what it is.

Is my lack of intuition evidence that I don’t experience romantic attraction, or am I just autistic? Maybe it’s both. When I described to my aunts my emotional attraction, they described my way of experiencing and perceiving attraction as very “intellectual,” which I initially rejected. But I think they were right. I lack the intuition to understand my feelings in any way that doesn’t involve a literal or metaphorical chart. It’s something I can’t just feel and then know like other people do.

Is romantic attraction always a “you’ll know it when you feel it” sort of thing? It seems like it. Even when I search “romantic attraction” on Google, many results either come from queer Fandom Wiki pages, discussions amongst a-spec people, Reddit, or Quora. Some results aren’t even relevant to the question, including multiple results which just describe what “aromantic” means. The opposite of what I intended to search for.

The thing is, I do have feelings which would likely be perceived as romantic to most people. I have a deep desire for commitment and companionship. To touch and be touched. To love and be loved. To be emotionally and physically intimate with other people. To feel the warmth of other people as we lay in bed together. To live out our mundane lives together. Things that most people would find incredibly romantic.

But are these things romantic if I don’t explicitly intend for them to be? Is it romantic for me to be open to it being romantic, without actively wanting that?

When I’ve described my feelings online, I’ve gotten mixed responses from other people, but I’ve generally been given similar advice from different strangers, and similar labels thrown at me, even when I hadn’t asked for advice or labels.

“I think you’d enjoy a queerplatonic relationship.”

“You might be cupioromantic.”

“You might be bellusromantic.”

And I can understand where they’re coming from. I don’t think they’re entirely wrong, either. I would enjoy a queerplatonic relationship… But not for any reason that wouldn’t apply to other committed relationship types. Queerplatonic relationships, platonic relationships, romantic relationships, and whatever else there is are the same to me in all but label.

Cupioromanticism is something I have considered. I made the flag for it when I was 15 years old as well (yes, the peach one with five stripes; I always asked to be credited anonymously), so I’m biased towards liking the flag. But the definition is “being aromantic, and also wanting a romantic relationship.”

I don’t specifically want a romantic relationship, but I do want committed relationships in general, and romantic relationships are included in that. So, maybe?

Bellusromantic is something I have also considered, and it also has a pretty flag. But I think it’s less accurate than cupioromantic. The definition is “being aromantic, and enjoying traditionally romantic things, but not wanting a romantic relationship (or not wanting a committed relationship, depending on the definition used).”

I do enjoy traditionally romantic things in a way which is not explicitly romantic, and I don’t explicitly want a romantic relationship. But I’m not opposed to romantic relationships, and I do explicitly want committed relationships.

I took some aro-spec tests, and my results had a tendency to skew towards cupioromantic, bellusromantic, and quoiromantic. Quoiromantic is another orientation which I have considered, and it might be the most accurate.

Quoiromantic is also aptly known as “whatromantic” or “WTFromantic” because the defining trait is that romantic attraction as a concept doesn’t make sense to you.

“[Quoiromantic], also known as [whatromantic] or [WTFromantic], is a [romantic] orientation defined by confusion, vagueness, and/or obscurity. A [quoiromantic] person may not understand or relate to the concepts of [romantic] attraction and/or [romantic] orientation. [Quoiromanticism] may involve confusion related to what [romance] is, whether or not one experiences [romantic attraction], and how to differentiate it from other forms of attraction. [Quoiromanticism] can also feel blurry and unclear, and may center around general confusion around one's identity and attraction. It can also refer to a lack of identification with [romantic] orientation as a concept, and can additionally serve as a label for people who cannot fit into more specific identities. [Quoiromanticism] can also refer to when one does not experience [romantic] attraction in a "traditional" manner. It is sometimes used as a catch-all term for people who know they're somewhere on the [aromantic] spectrum, but aren't sure where.” - An LGBTQIA+ Wiki (originally about quoisexuality; I changed some words.)

In a similar vein, pomoromantic (“pomo” being literally taken from “postmodern”) would also fit. My romantic orientation exists from a post-romantic perspective, where romance is understood to be made up bogus which isn’t actually fundamentally different from any other form of emotional connection.

“[Pomoromanticism] is defined as refusing, avoiding, or not fitting any [romantic] orientation label in terms of conventional labels or classifications, such as gay, lesbian, [biromantic], or [aromantic]. It challenges categorizations in favor of largely unmapped possibility and the intense charge that comes with transgression. Some [pomoromantic] people may be queer or questioning, and others may not be.” - Another LGBTQIA+ Wiki (originally about pomosexuality; I changed some words.)

But at that point, is it even worth labeling my romantic orientation? Should I just be bisexual/omnisexual? Maybe with a little asterisk at the end? Does any of this matter? Am I thinking too much? (I am.)

I think that continuing to identify as aromantic will probably close me off to potential relationships. I feel like the word gives people the wrong idea. At the same time, the way that I think about romance is fundamentally different than the way other people tend to, and I do consider my aromanticism to be a notable part of who I am and how I experience the world. Maybe I should just send this to whoever ends up being a potential partner. Probably more useful than any label.

[r3dblccd]

What I truly love about Welcome Home is the attention to detail.

[newbieaffiliatemarketer]

Earn Money Typing Captchas - 2Captcha Review Simple And Fast

[ms-demeanor]

My MiL gave me cash for my birthday so I ordered one of those criss-cross chairs with it because my office chair has been nearing retirement age and so far my review is:

Essentially no cushion; this is not a problem for me, both because I own cushions and because of my generous ass, but could be a problem for some.

I am going to sit in this like a goblin until my hips dislocate and I am so fucking happy about it.

Pairs well with a footrest and a bluetooth keyboard that allows me to keep my hands in an incredibly comfortable neutral position in my lap while typing.

IS actually big enough for me to sit with my legs crossed and I am *not* a small person.

Tiny Bastard approved because of increased lap-sitting space.

My legs do not properly fit under my desk when crossed, which may become an issue if I'm doing things like art that require me to be closer to the monitor than normal.

Both this and my other desk chair that i've been using since 2020 were about sixty bucks on amazon and are about the quality you'd expect for that price but that means that I'm expecting about 3-4 years of life out of this chair and 20 bucks a year isn't that bad honestly.

I feel like this would be very fatiguing for a lot of people to sit in but if you've got weird back stuff going on and accessories that will allow you to have a less traditional desk setup it seems pretty cool.

[edwinspaynes]

I was angry. I'm still angry. But sadness and exhaustion have overtaken that anger, and I have A LOT to say about this.

Dead Boy Detectives is a very special show to me. It occupies a ridiculously large place in my heart, and it's brought me joy in a way that only a few pieces of media ever have. When I watched it for the first time, Edwin Payne had my heart within minutes. By the end of episode one, Charles Rowland did, too.

It meant a lot to me, seeing such wonderful and nuanced queer characters brought to life in the type of paranormal story I have always loved. In these past months, Edwin and Charles have felt like real friends to me, and to never see them again without a satisfying conclusion to their story is something I have not truly processed. Same for Niko and Crystal and The Cat King - they should be back. But I haven't fully processed it yet, that they're not coming back, and yet I am still aggreived.

@netflix is, at this point, so fucking gagged on capitalism's dick that they're not even pretending to care about art anymore. Dead Boy Detectives is genuinely masterfully made on just about every level. The actors did a phenomenal job and I will be following all their careers heavily. Steve, Beth, and the writing team crafted an incredible tale. The sets, the lighting, the props, the effects were all on point. This was a well-constructed program, and you could tell that everyone involved with the project gave it their all because they cared so deeply.

(Also my heart breaks for the whole cast, but it's hardcore hurting for George since this was not only his first screen role but one he clearly thought he would be keeping as of two weeks ago. He seemed so secure. I hate this for him.)

In addition to being a good show, DBDA had good reception. It's got a 92% on Rotten Tomatoes, was on the Top 10 for several weeks, got 4.7 million views within week one, and was getting daily articles posted on various review sites with NOTHING but praise. The fandom is incredibly active. We trend on Tumblr like five times a week and on Twitter regularly as well.

THE. SCRIPT. FOR. SEASON. 2. WAS. WRITTEN.

What the fuck happened?

Idiot executives at @netflix, choking on the dick of capitalism, probably just thought that they wouldn't get new subscribers for a second season of an existing show that didn't rake in Bridgerton-level cash. That's how they work - people who are interested in it are already subscribers, so who the fuck cares about them? Better to make some other shit, hope new people subscribe, and maybe that'll be a Bridgerton-level hit.

But also, Netflix has fun little trends to look into. And, when you look at the lineup of shows Netflix has canceled, they are overwhelmingly queer. The homophobia of @netflix and their operatives is clearly boundless, and it hits here really badly because this show was clearly made with a queer audience in mind. It was one of the most authentic pieces of queer media I have ever experienced, if not THE most authentic pieces of queer media that I have ever experienced.

It's fucking ridiculous that Netflix canceled a show that they commissioned a completed script of months ago. It sucks that they decided that their existing subscribers, their queer subscribers, did not matter.

Edwin and Charles are ours now. Well, of course, they're George's and Jayden's respectively, but the characters are no longer Netflix's to use and throw out. They're ours now, our fandom's, and we all love them so much.

And we deserved to see more of them, and we deserved to see their love story play out onscreen, but I for one am not going anywhere. Let's give Edwin and Charles - and the rest of the gang - millions of versions of the stories and endings that Netflix deprived them of.

[jujutsubaby]

after hours (part 1)

☆ pairing: toji x afab!reader ☆ summary: toji, your objectively hot neighbor, needs a babysitter, and you need some cash. however, things are getting weird because he hasn't paid you in a week and rent is due... ☆ warnings: 18+. MINORS DNI. choking, oral sex (f!recieving), implied parent death, some public nudity, slight power dynamic ☆ tags: modernAU, babysittingAU ☆ a/n: lowkey wrote this with one hand if you catch my drift ꈍ .̮ ꈍ i'm thinking about doing more parts loosely based off of each other following y/n and a love triangle between gojo and toji. yes, they will be horny and yes i will *try* to have some plot let me LIVE okay (°◡°♡) let me know if that's something people are interested in :3 🖤🤍 series masterlist 🤍🖤

"megumiiii~", you sing lightly, "it's time for beeed". it's way past 9pm, and if toji finds out his son was 30 minutes past his bedtime, he'll never let you forget the next time you babysit. not that you have any issue babysitting for your extremely built, ripped, hot, dilf of a neighbor, that is.

megumi groans and tears start lining his little eyes. "but i don't wanna~" he cries out. "there's only 30 minutes left on this show...", he tries to beg. you pick up the candy wrappers you secretly gave megumi after dinner as a treat for eating his veggies.

"okay, first of all, i let you stay up way longer than i should have. second, there's no way in hell am i gonna let you stay up and watch...oh god. you're watching euphoria?!" you exclaim, eyes widening at the thought of megumi watching all the inappropriate content without you even realizing. you hope it's too late in the night and he's far too sleepy and tired to actually retain anything he just watched. you grab the tv remote and turn it off, and pick up megumi in your arms. "c'mon bubs, you've got school tomorrow, and your daddy will be home soon", you whisper softly in his ear.

megumi yawns and mumbles while slowly drifting off. "but i'm not even that sweepyy...". by the time you make it upstairs to his room, megumi is knocked out. you smile softly at him, before quitely closing the door and heading downstairs to the living room to clean up the mess megumi had made.

you look at the time again. 9:45...toji should be back soon, you think to yourself. you decide on reviewing some of your notes for a final next week while euphoria continues to play on the background. you've personally never watched the show, but your roommate, shoko, was obsessed with jacob elordi and loved euphoria, but there was far too much nudity in it for you.

as if right on cue, shoko shoots you a text.

shoko: pls tell me ur balls deep in toji rn babe me n utahime are bored as hell and we need something exciting this friday night 😭

you giggle. it was no secret between you and three that your next door neighbor was insanely hot. you guys always joke about sleeping with toji. you quickly type back:

y/n: stfu what if he was next to me and read this text huh? never gonna happen you know that 🙄

it’s not like you’re not not down for that. you just don’t want to be all over him like everyone else in the neighborhood. you and shoko have seen the way some of these girls did not know how to act on nextdoor whenever toji went on one of his shirtless runs or drove megumi to and from school.

it’s also not like you’re a total virgin either. you’ve had your fair share of ex-boyfriends in the past, but you won’t lie…it has been a while since you’ve been with someone. your thoughts are interrupted by a response from shoko.

shoko: riiiighttt, that's why you asked to borrow my shortest n sluttiest skirt to "babysit" tn 😏

you shake your head, scoffing at your cheeky roommate. you love her, but there's a final next week that isn't going to pass itself. muting the show and putting on your headphones, you get lost in your class notes, reviewing all the important key points and ideas before your final next week. you don’t even notice toji opening the door and his keys clanging on the table as he takes off his shoes and groans after a long day of…work? you’re not entirely sure what he does for a living but you never really bothered to ask. and it’s partially why you were feeling nervous to ask toji about your babysitting payment for the last week, as he hadn’t paid you at all for it. toji heads to the kitchen and opens a cold bottle of beer and saunters to the living room, only to be met with a pair of 4k hd bare titties on the 60 inch tv in his living room and you on the sofa.

toji clears his throat loudly. “whatcha watching, y/n?”, he says cheekily. you look up at toji, startled by his entrance, and you look at the tv, and squeal at what’s on display.

“oh my god, mr. fushiguro! i-i-i have no ideas w-what’s playing. ohmygodidon’tevenknowwhatshowisplaying-” you start rambling, looking around frantically for the remote to turn the tv off.

“relax, y/n-kun”, toji coos. “i’m not judging you. never known anyone to do their best studyin’ while there are a pair of tits on screen, but you always find a way to surprise me.” toji chuckles as you turn off the tv, and moves closer to you so he can sit across the sofa.

“stop teasing me, mr. fushiguro~”, you whine., crossing your arms and pouting. “you know i’d never-“

“c’mon y/n, how many times do i have to tell you to call me toji? i’m not that much older than you, you know that right?”, toji reminds you.

your pout slowly turns into a smile as you laugh slightly. “okay, whatever you say, boomer,” you tease. you and toji both laugh gingerly. you both stare at the blank tv screen, marinating in the comfortable silence you both were familiar with. toji was right when he said he wasn’t much older than you. he was, after all, your age when he had megumi and was somehow making ends meet as a single parent, although you would be lying if you said you hadn’t seen a few women here and there that toji brought home every so often. it was never the same girl more than once, but you definitely knew he had some game, whether you liked it or not. wait, do you not like that he brings girls over?

you shift uncomfortably on the couch as you recall the uncomfortable conversation you need to have with toji. he senses the change in your mood and how you body stiffened up instead of its usually relaxed posture. toji frowns. “hey, what’s on your mind, pumpkin?”

“umm…well, i hope you don’t mind me asking this but…well, i’ve got to pay my portion of rent soon. a-and i’ve noticed that i haven’t gotten paid for the last w-week yet. sorry, i know things are rough but…i was wondering…” you trail off, pleading inside that toji can fill in the blanks himself and can figure out what you’re asking.

toji shifts towards you and locks eyes with you. you don’t really know what you were expecting to see but it sure wasn’t him smirking. you swear you saw a twinkle of playfulness in his eyes as he inches closer and closer to you. almost instinctively, you clench your thighs together, trying really hard not to think about the effect locking eyes with toji has on you.

“aw, i’m sorry, pumpkin.” toji feigns sympathy to you. “you see, i was going to pay you last week. remember when you went to tuck megumi in after last thursday? i had an envelope with the cash i owed you, and i went to put it in your bag, when your laptop chimed with a new message.” your face immediately drops. this can’t be what you think it is. you’re not entirely sure what toji could’ve seen, but also, isn’t this a violation of your privacy? you hold your breath and gulp, daring not to let toji sense how nervous you are.

“oh god, y/n. i didn’t want to look but it’s hard to look away when there’s a message that says ‘so have you fucked your hot dilf neighbor yet?’ don’t tell me you were only babysitting for me because you wanted me?” toji asks, raising an eyebrow, the scar near his lip lifting up slightly in a teasing grin.

“i-i don’t know w-what you’re talking about, toji~ why were you looking at my messages!” you accuse, your face growing hotter by the second with embarrassment and…lust? wait what no, he’s your neighbor you can’t do this! you can feel your panties getting more soaked by the second and you cannot bear to look at toji’s stupid handsome face, so you look at his hands. the way his large fingers rest on the sofa. how would they look around your neck? oh my god, snap out of it!

“why are you telling everyone but me you think i’m hot?” he counters, pulling you from your thoughts. “that reallyyy hurts my feelings, y/n-kun”, toji says as he pretends to pout. wait, when did he get so close to you?

“it’s s-so unprofessional i didn’t want to-“ you start rambling. toji is right next to you, his knees touching your knees. he stops you mid sentence by using his hands that are practically the size of your face to grab your jaw and force you to face him, as you let out a pathetic little whine.

“cut the shit, pumpkin. it’s just babysitting, okay. it’s not that serious,” toji spits harshly. every muscle in your body is on fire, and you have to actively prevent your eyes from rolling back. you swear you had a fantasy dream like this once (oh god, was it with toji?).

“don’t think i don’t see you looking sooo disappointed when i bring yet another girl home with me. hell, it even makes me feel bad…” toji trails off, as he loosens his grip on your jaw, slowly using his fingers to trace your jawline. you shiver at his touch. “hell, even i feel bad when i see your sad sad face drop. my poor girl…”, toji feigns a frown as he starts to softly trace the outline of your lips.

instinctively, you let out a quite moan when his fingers touch your lips. “i do, toji. i feel so sad when i see you with those other girls. i can’t stand it when someone else has you.” you confess, almost embarrassingly easily. your wide bambi eyes look at toji’s, and you’re not sure if you want to cry or beeline back to your place and forget this ever happened. or perhaps a secret third option where you give in to the desires you’ve had all along?

toji groans deeply as he shifts slightly in his seat, but before you’re able to look down and see the hardening tent in his pants, toji shoves his index and middle fingers into your mouth, taking you by surprise. you stifle out a moan before toji sticks them deeper down your throat.

he doesn’t even have to ask you to suck on them as you instinctively start to do so, making a show of gagging on them for toji’s pleasure. you feel warm as you hear toji let out a groan as he slips in a third finger, making you choke on them. your moans vibrate against his fingers and he hums in approval of how well you’re doing with no instruction from him.

“you’re doing so well, pumpkin,” toji hums, a string of saliva connecting his fingers to your mouth as he slowly takes his fingers out of your mouth.

alright, fuck it. this sends you over the edge. your lips crash into toji’s, teeth hitting each as you both get to know the shape of each others mouths. you bite his lip and that’s all it takes for toji to pull you onto his lap and deepen the kiss with his tongue, exploring every inch of your mouth. you feel the vibrations of his groans and your hips grind into his thigh as you put your arms around his neck, pulling yourself as close as you can to him. your legs wrap around his torso as his hands grab your ass harshly. you let out a yelp into his mouth, daring not to end the kiss.

“oh you’ve been waiting for this haven’t you, pumpkin?” toji breaths against your neck after breaking the kiss. he begins to kiss your neck and you moan his name embarrassingly load.

“tojiiii~” you whine, “i need you, please~” you try to move your hips against him to feel some friction in the place you need it the most.

“shhh, you’re gonna wake m’gumi up,” he slurs in a low voice, already drunk off of your warmth. "not so fast, pumpkin", he says as he stills your hips, "i call the shots here." he grins and before you even know it, your back hits the sofa and he pulls your legs up on his shoulders.

you feel exposed, as shoko's pleated skirt does a poor job of leaving anything to the imagination, and all of a sudden, you really wish you wore your trusted boy shorts instead of your black lace thong under it. as he starts to kiss your ankles while looking deeply into your eyes, you see nothing but primal lust on his face. he lightly bites your ankle, making you slightly yelp before covering your mouth, remembering megumi upstairs.

toji's eyes wander to your sweet spot, and it's taking everything in you not to thrust your soaking core into his hungry face. "oh, is that where you want me to touch you?" he teases, his hands running down softly from your ankles to your inner thigh. your hips wiggle side to side, hoping his fingers end up grazing your aching core, but toji holds you hips down roughly. he scoots back and peppers your leg with kisses, slowly inching up and up until he's mere inches away from your panties.

he plants a wet kiss on your clothed mound and you let out a pathetic mewl as toji shoots his head up and stops dead in his tracks. "make another noise, pumpkin, and we end this right now and you go home frustrated and upset." he warns. unfortunately, this turns you on even more and your hands are over your mouth immediately, eyes shut closed, praying toji pities you and gives you some release.

you feel toji take off your panties agonizingly slowly, and your breath hitches. "oh, your panties are fully ruined. better get rid of them." toji says as he tosses them somewhere across the room.

"it's your fault..." you say, you voice a low whisper through your hands.

toji starts back at your mound again and moans into the kiss in agreement. his fingers lightly touch your core, and you shiver in anticipation. "oh, this is where your sensitive, right?" toji teases, as his fingers finally start circling the part of your delicate bud you've been aching for toji to touch. you bite your hand to prevent yourself from moaning loudly, and take deep breaths so to not make any noise.

toji starts circling your sensitive bud with his fingers, moving with your hips as you get to a rhythm that has you on cloud nine. you feel the familiar build up beginning, when toji abruptly takes his fingers away, leaving you breathless and practically whining from his lack of touch. "ohhh, don't worry, pumpkin. i just wanna taste you," he coos, before diving mouth first into your sensitive bud once more, tasting every inch of your delicate core.

this time, you're unable to hold back and your deep breaths are practically moans. you're laughing, whining, crying...you're not actually sure. you're mind is clouded by the pleasure toji's tongue is sending through your body.

toji's fingers start teasing your entrance as your hips buckle and you start grinding on his face. you're making a mess on his sofa but you don't even care, and neither does toji. "oh, toji, fuck~ that feels...soo good...fuck~" you whine. you're practically begging for his fingers inside you, and toji finally complies and inserts his finger inside you.

"please toji~", you whisper, "i need more, please, please."

"wow, someone's a bit greedy. one finger just isn't enough for a slut like you, huh?" toji chides, the vibrations of his voice going straight to your body. he inserts two more fingers, and you feel a pang of pain, which makes you yelp.

"toji~ it's too much," you cry out, unable to handle three of his large fingers inside you at once.

"oh, now it's a problem? you can take it, pumpkin." toji encourages, moving his fingers at a moderate pace while his mouth is still playing with your delicate bud. the pain slowly turns into pleasure, and the pleasure slowly turns into an inevitable build up that's starting to cloud your vision.

"toji~" you whine. "i'm getting so close, please..." you trail off, trying your hardest to lower your moans.

"please what?" toji asks, knowing full well what you wanted, and that he was the only person able to give it you. toji's member was practically begging for escape against his dark pants, but he was far too drunk on your sweet nectar. he doesn't remember the last time he tasted someone as addicting as you.

"please, can i...c-can i...?" you don't get to finish your sentence before toji groans a "yes" into your core, and the dam that had been building finally burst as you release all over toji's face.

you pant heavily as you finish, hoping you weren't too loud. toji lifts his head from between your legs and immediately darts to your lips, kissing you deeply before you can say anything. you moan into the kiss, still feeling the effects of your orgasm rippling through your sensitive body. you taste yourself in toji's kiss and you never want it to end. a whine escapes your mouth when toji's lips finally disconnect from yours, an unashamed smile playing on toji's face. "did you like that, pumpkin?" he asks.

you're still catching your breath as you nod and smile, gazing at him softly. you can't help but want to return the favor for toji, as you slowly get up and scan toji up and down. god, he's so fucking fit.

you scoot closer to toji, maintaining eye contact, and placing your hands on his upper thigh. oh my god, his legs are just pure rock hard muscle. your hands shake slightly as they make their way on top of toji's hard straining member. toji chuckles as you grasp him over his dark pants, stopping you in your tracks by grabbing your wrist and moving it away from him.

"woah, hold on there y/n. it's 11pm. a bit too late to start something now, dontcha think?" he inquires, raising his eyebrows at you.

heat rises to your cheeks and you feel so embarrassed you could combust. oh my god, wait, does he not want you to return the favor? the insecurity showed up immediately on your face, with your lips frowning and eyebrows scrunching. toji cups the side of your face endearingly and his thumb grazes your lower lip before letting it sit there.

"hey, don't give me that look. i want this. i want you but...it's late. megumi has school tomorrow and it's parent teacher night. i know you have class, too," he explains.

you pout, but not before sucking toji's thumb that was grazing your lower lip and giving it a wet kiss. "that's not fair~ i really want to return the favor toji..." your voice trails, as you already know this conversation is over. you sigh as you turn away from him and reach for your notebook and laptop on the coffee table. you get up and bend down to grab your bag and start packing your belongings and fishing out your keys.

you hear toji hum and turn around to see the gears twisting in his dark eyes that are fixated on you. wait, hold on. he's not looking at you. he's looking at your ass. and he's being so obvious and unashamed about it, too!

you blush and roll your eyes as you chide toji. "wow, so you don't want me to suck your dick but you're gonna look at my ass as i leave?"

toji laughs earnestly and the sound of his laughter makes you feel warm and relaxed inside. you could probably live the rest of your life hearing that laugh. wait, what? rest of your life?

"first off, i do want you to suck me off, pumpkin. second, am i not allowed to respectfully admire? anyway, i was thinking. maybe you come with us to the parent-teacher meeting tomorrow? you practically help the kid with his homework every other night, and i think he really sees you as someone he can trust." toji says, bringing you out of your thoughts. you notice the hidden solitude behind his eyes, and feel a pang of melancholy in your heart. you don't know much about toji and megumi's mom, and you never thought it appropriate to discuss with either one of them, so you always let it be. a part of you is curious and another part is afraid to touch such a vulnerable side to toji, fearing it may alter your relationship with him permanently.

"we can grab dinner before, too. my treat." toji winks, and you scoff. he never even makes sure there's food for you at home before he leaves, always leaving you to pay for your own dinner every night you babysit, let alone pay a meal for you.

you roll your eyes, trying to act upset, but a giggle breaks out anyway. "yeah, i'd love to." you respond genuinely.

you finish packing up your things before searching for your discarded panties in toji's living room. "looking for these?" toji teases, holding up your lacy black thong, still ruined with the mess you made earlier today.

"give 'em back, toji~" you say, trying to reach for the panties from toji, before he stuffs them in his pocket.

"i think i'll keep these actually. they need to go in the laundry anyway, might as well be here." he teases, as you pout. toji cracks an evil grin, knowing deep down you must love having to go back home without any panties in your short skirt.

and he was right, you kinda did love it. a blush creeps up to your cheeks as you shake your head in dismay. "you're so fuckin' annoying, y'know?" you say as toji interlaces his fingers with yours as he walks to you to the door.

"yeah, i know. let's see if you're still that mouthy after you choke on me tomorrow," toji says, giving you a playfully menacing look.

the cool air of the late night nips at your skin, making you shiver, but you know deep down that has more to do with thinking about all the things toji will do to your poor throat tomorrow evening. "hm, we'll see...," you say, as your breath hitches slightly. you stand up on your tippy toes to give a quick peck goodnight to toji.

you honestly should've known better because toji immediately leans forward and turns the quick kiss into a deep make out session in the chill yet humid night air. he's quick to grab your ass, and you're quick to regain your senses and break off the kiss. oh my god, what if someone saw us, you think, recalling all the girls in the neighborhood that fawn over toji and the fact that you weren't wearing panties thanks to toji.

"stop toji~ it's late like you said," you whine, wriggling out of his strong grasp. you turns you around, you back flush against him and he laughs into your neck, arms wrapping your hips tightly from behind.

he releases you but not before giving you one last squeeze. "goodnight, pumpkin."

"night, toji," you say softly as you turn around and head to your car in the driveway. you do a poor job of pulling your skirt down as low as it can possibly get without you looking incredibly stupid, and cross your arms in the cold breeze.

you hear the door close, and start up the car engine and back out, relying only on muscle memory to get you home, as you spend the entire five minute car ride thinking solely about everything that happened today. how were you ready for another release already? you make a mental note to charge your vibrator when you get back to your apartment.

just as you pulled into the drive way, you jaw fell and you remembered. oh shit wait, he still hasn't paid me.

[shootingstarwritings]

A Beta makes, an Alpha takes

TW: homophobic slurs

Eduardo Garcia was a content creator who, like many others in his field, lived in the SolCal area. He was a self-described ladies man and an amateur pick-up artist. Most of his videos and livestreams focused on giving life advice for men. That night was the same as it always was, with Ed saying his catchphrase, “A beta makes, an alpha takes,” to his impressionable audience.

Once the stream ended and he counted his donations, Ed made his way to the bar. It didn’t take long for him to find another girl to screw. His type was always the same: eager young women new to town and looking for something deep and steady.

After a long and sensual session, the girl whose name he forgot asked if what Ed wanted for breakfast that morning. She had wanted to cuddle, but Ed’s protests kept her at bay. Ed pretended to think for a while before saying, “I’ll treat ya. It’ll be a surprise,” before kissing her.

Around five the following morning, Ed snuck out of her apartment having lost zero winks of sleep that night. ‘Not my fault there’s so many suckers in this town,’ he thought to himself, grinning the whole way back to his apartment. ‘They wouldn’t fall for fellas like me if they had a lick of common sense. I just do what I do. If they don’t wise up then it’s on them.’

That morning should’ve been like all the other ones for Ed. He was in a fantastic mood to grab a quick bite and then spend some time in the gym after scoring as hard as he did the night before. However, just as he reached the floor his apartment was on, he caught sight of his neighbor standing unusually still.

Carlos was exactly everything that Ed hated about the SolCal area. They were in the same field as influencers, but Carlos focused more on “Affirmations of the self,” and “Queer rights,” and other stuff Ed had long-since forgotten about. Carlos had gone to great detail to explain, but Ed had mostly tuned out whatever didn’t relate to Carlos’ follower count or the cash he was making. Knowing the two would never get along, Ed preferred to avoid Carlos altogether, even if he did secretly wish the two would collab so that Ed’s follower count would grow.

Yet, on that morning, Ed couldn’t take his eyes off of Carlos. He stood in front of his apartment door, staring blankly ahead. A few moments passed, but the man didn’t even blink. Ed knew he should just leave him along and mind his own business, but a nosy part of him urged him forward.

“Hey man,” Ed called out, “You okay? You’ve been standing there for like an hour or something.”

Carlos’ head immediately snapped towards the direction of Ed’s voice, causing the latter to nearly jump out of his skin. “I was unable to court another female,” said Carlos in a stilted, unnatural tone. “I was reviewing what I did wrong. Forgive the intrusion.”

‘Court another female. So the fag’s trying to get with chicks, now?’ thought Ed before being struck by a genius business idea. “Good on ya, man!” Any prior concerns about Carlos’ odd behavior were discarded to the wind as Ed wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. “Good to see ya swinging for the right team. ‘bout time you dropped all that fag shit,” he said, pointing a thumb to the pride flag hanging on Carlos’ door.

“Fag shit…?” echoed Carlos, but he didn’t offer any resistance as he was guided to Ed’s apartment.

“You came to the right place, my friend. Nobody knows how to pick up the ladies quite like this lady-killer.”

“You kill them?”

“Ha-ha! Aw, ya crack me up, big guy. C’mon, I’ll give ya a few pointers.” For Ed, giving Carlos several of his lessons and even showing him the streaming setup was an investment. He was gaining much money from doing this, but all he needed was to win Carlos’ trust over and he’d be swimming in new subs and a brand new market to sell. There just had to be guys who played for both teams on Carlos’ faggy audience, he assured himself.

After about half an hour of coaching, Carlos repeated Ed’s lessons like a college student cramming for a final. “A beta makes, an alpha takes.” For whatever reason Carlos seemed particularly fond of that phrase.

“We’re the men. The providers! That’s why we gotta remind this pussified society who’s really in charge. The alphas,” said Ed, flexing his bicep to punctuate his point. His body was one of the few things he had worked honestly for. Steroids and diets were a frequent topics in his online rants. To Ed, if one couldn’t get a body like his naturally, then they couldn’t call themselves a real man.

“And this has worked to acquire mates?”

“Mates? Bro, I’m swimming in pussy. And soon you will too,” said Ed. He lightly tapped Carlos’ chest. “With a bod like this? It’ll be even easier. Stick with me and I’ll get you laid. Just, uh, don’t forget ‘bout that collab I mentioned.”

Carlos, after what seemed like an eternity of stone-cold stoicism, finally cracked a smile. “Yes, I would love to collaborate with you.”

“Awesome! Lemme get something to celebrate.” It was still early in the morning, but it was always five o’clock somewhere, right? Ed made hi way over to his fridge and pulled some of the quality beer. The cheap stuff was reserved for those rare moments he had a girl over. “We gotta celebrate this new friendship of ours, my man. I got--!”

Carlos tackled Ed as he walked back to the living room. The two crashed onto one of his couches in a mess of struggling limbs. “Yo, what the fuck, man?!” cried Ed. He tried to push Carlos off, but froze as he saw Carlos’ body convulsing and his eyes rolling up, showing the whites. Seizure? Stroke?

Before Ed could reach for his phone in his pocket, Carlos leaned forward and locked lips with him. As soon as the two made contact, a slimy creature flowed from Carlos’ mouth into Ed. Once the substance made contact with Ed, his body began unresponsive. He tried to struggle and push Carlos off of him, but his arms remained heavy and limp. More and more of the slime pumped into Ed until Carlos’ body, unconscious yet still convulsing rolled off of the couch.

Ed couldn’t move but he could still feel a chilling sensation spread throughout his body, filling him up. The slime crawled down his throat and began to expand inside of him. Most of it traveled down his esophagus and began to assimilate his core, arms, legs, and toes. Each limb seized and shook as it became corrupted by the invader.

Ed tried to scream as it fell the creature fill his head and coating his brain, yet he could do nothing but endure the sickening yet pleasurable feeling. It was filling him up, and for whatever reason, Ed couldn’t help but enjoy the way the creature dominated him. His body, still unresponsive to his pleas for help, merely humped the air and sensually moan as it was taken over.

Eventually, Ed blacked out. The last thing he perceived was his hands touching his face and his own laughter.

~~~

‘Please, give me my body back,’ whined Ed.

“Give it a rest, Ed,” the creature possessing Ed said, grinning to himself. “Thank you for providing this impressive specimen, by the way. I quite enjoyed the takeover.” He tilted his head as he read the magazine. “Hmm, you are well-endowed, indeed. Perfect for my mission.”

A few days had passed since the creature slithered into Ed’s body. Ed had woken up to see his body piloted by some kind of foreign invader. Despite Ed’s pleads, it refused to give up control, saying, “I’ve been needing a strong and virile specimen to breed and spread.”

‘You can’t fucking do this to me! It’s not right,’ Ed begged from the recesses of his own mind. ‘I’m a human being. I don’t deserve this!’

“Your mind is intact, is that not enough for you?” the creature said as he jerked Ed’s cock in the couch. “You could have ended up like my previous experiment. Right, Carlos?”

“Right you are, my alpha,” said the thing inside of Carlos. Ed tried to look away from Carlos’ naked and puppeted body, but the creature didn’t have the decency to give him that.

Carlos was not the creature’s first victim, but it was the first that didn’t suffer massive brain damage from the creature’s invasive efforts. However, the creature still hadn’t quite managed to access Carlos’ memories and personality. It had managed to figure out the basics and just needed one more attempt to do a proper possession. Ed was the creature’s first success, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“What else do you wish, my master?” said Carlos as he eagerly marched over to Ed, swaying his hips and sticking his ass out as he spoke. “Do you want to breed me once more? Fill me up with more of your spawn so I may go and spread?”

While Carlos hadn’t suffered brain damage, but the trauma of the invasion caused him to become catatonic. To remedy this, Carlos was the first one to received the creature’s spawn. The creature, riding high thanks to Ed’s disgust at the homosexual act, fucked Carlos’ body and let one of its children pilot the still-living husk.

“Please, act a bit more like your host would. Keep reviewing the videos.” Ed mentally screamed to himself as his invader forced him to say that. Even if the creatures had little idea as to how to blend in society, the sheer amount of content that Carlos and he made would guarantee that they had plenty of references for impersonating them. “Later, I’ll pump you full. I just… need to explore this body of mine a bit more.”

Carlos cleared his throat before giving a sweet, nonchalant smile. “No prob, my man. Later we should go out, though. Get familiar with the area.” He winked and said, “Later,” just as Carlos always did.

‘Please, let me go,’ Ed tried once more. The idea of the creature doing this to his friends and family, acting like him the whole time, was a hell he couldn’t bear. ‘I-I’ll even hook you up with another better. Better bodies, just please let me go…’ Ed internally sobbed.

“You’re quite pathetic,” the creature sneered as it violated Ed’s body once more. “Where’s your bravado, Eddie~? You were swimming in pussy just a few days ago. Now you’re pounding men and craving cock.” Ed’s body let out a malicious laugh as ropes of cum erupted from his stolen dick. “It’s like you always said. A beta makes, an alpha takes.”

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Who Taught You How to Love Like That? - Chapter One

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x female character (third person) Warnings: Sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamics. Word count: ~2.5k Series masterlist

Chapter summary: Desperate to pay off her student loans, she downloads a dating app with a twist, and makes an interesting match.

She sighs, her eyes scanning over the PDF of her payslip for the month, before locking her phone and letting it drop heavily onto the kitchen counter.

“Bad news?” Mysaria quirks an eyebrow, sliding a glass of wine across to her.

“These student loan repayments are fucking killing me. I’ve basically worked an entire week for free this month.” She complains, taking a huge swig from her glass.

“Bummer.” Her flatmate says. “Any way I can help?”

“Unless your mattress is secretly stuffed full of cash, no. Super Noodles for me for the rest of the month, once I’ve paid my share of the rent.”

“You could give being a sugar baby a try?” Mysaria says with a smirk over the rim of her wine glass.

She laughs, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, or take up pole dancing lessons and become a stripper!”

“I’m being serious.” Mysaria, puts her glass down and pulls out her phone, flicking to the App Store and typing. “See? There are loads of apps, why not give it a try?”

“Isn’t that just prostitution?” She wrinkles her nose in disgust.

“Hey!” Mysaria chides. “Sex work is real work, but this isn’t prostitution. Most of these guys are just desperate, lonely guys who earn big bucks and are willing to spoil you in exchange for a conversation or a few selfies. You don’t even have to sleep with any of them…unless you want to.”

“I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

Even if she did go through with it, she was inexperienced, and would surely be a disappointment to any potential sugar daddies she might attract. She’d had one boyfriend in her entire life, it had lasted six months and they’d never gone beyond unsatisfying quickies that focused entirely on his pleasure. The idea of taking money from a stranger in order to pay her bills makes her incredibly uneasy.

They’re half way through their second bottle of wine as she scrolls through her phone. Mysaria is snoring softly on the sofa next to her, while an episode of some trashy reality TV show plays away to itself in the background.

Her thoughts keep drifting back to her flatmate’s mention earlier in the evening of sugar babies. She knows it’s likely the wine inspiring her actions, but she finds herself scrolling through the same apps they’d looked at previously.

Seeing one with particularly good reviews, she presses download before she’s had a chance to think twice about it and then goes through the process of setting up a profile, picking the best photo she has of herself on her camera roll.

Her heart races as she swipes with shaky fingers through photos of a myriad of men. She stops when she sees the look of one she likes.

Larys, 45. Tell me all your secrets.

His curly brown hair and piercing blue eyes immediately capture her attention, and she enjoys the flirtatious nature of his tagline. She swipes right and is stunned when she gets an “It’s a match!” notification. Wow, that was fast.

Instantly a message pops up from him.

Hello beautiful. How are you this evening?

She smiles, this seems harmless enough.

I’m fine, thanks. Just watching TV. How are you?

Her eyes linger on the screen as she awaits his reply.

I’d be better if I could get a look at your pretty feet. How much?

Bile rises in her throat and she throws the phone away from her in disgust. The worst possible start she could have asked for. She silently curses Mysaria’s stupid idea and vows never to open the app again.

Three weeks later and she is thoroughly fed up. She’s tired of never going out or doing anything, sick of existing on instant noodles. When she receives another payslip and sees yet another loan repayment has eaten away at her earnings, she reaches breaking point. She considers looking for another job, but she currently doesn’t qualify for anything beyond an entry level position in her field, and the pay everywhere else is no better than what she’s already on.

Her thumb lingers over the app that she hasn’t touched for weeks, too scarred by having such an awful first encounter to bother with it again. However, she’s desperate and willing to try anything - not with Larys though. She’s quick to unmatch with him, eager to forget his disgusting request.

She swipes mindlessly for a few minutes, not finding anyone attractive, until she happens across a photo that stops her in her tracks.

The man in question has sharp features - an aquiline nose, an impossibly chiseled jawline and sculpted cheekbones. His long white blonde hair frames his face elegantly, his only imperfection is the scar that runs across his left eye, a slightly duller blue than the right. She wonders if he’s still able to see out of it.

Aemond, 35.

No tagline, no other photos, save the one of him staring directly into the camera. He seems intense and mysterious. She swipes right, unable to fight the disappointment she feels when it’s not an instant match.

She closes the app, her desire to look at anyone else has been thwarted by how ridiculously good looking he is.

She has nearly forgotten about him when her phone buzzes the next day. He’s matched with her. She unlocks her phone, her palms sweaty with nerves, and looks at his message.

Hello.

Simple, to the point, possibly the words of a serial killer? She pushes the thought away and types out a response.

Hi. How are you?

She almost gives up and puts her phone away in the time it takes for him to reply, but eventually he does.

I don’t do small talk. Tell me about yourself.

Her eyes widen as she reads the message. He’s either incredibly rude or just not used to interacting with other people. She decides to give him the benefit of the doubt. She tells him about her history degree, about her museum job, about her living situation and her aspirations to one day become a curator of historical artifacts. He is unsurprisingly evasive when she attempts to ask about him.

So, what brings you to the app?

She decides there’s no point in hiding the fact that she’s strapped for cash, she wouldn’t be using an app that matches sugar babies with sugar daddies if that weren’t the case. She explains that her student loan repayments are crippling her, half expecting not to hear from him again. His next message is much quicker to arrive.

How much? And are you free Saturday night?

Dread gnaws at her stomach. Oh god, what does he expect of her? Hesitantly, she types out the remaining balance she has on her student loan and asks what he has in mind for Saturday. Again, he replies straight away.

Give me your bank details. I need a date for my nephew’s engagement party.

Her eyes widen. This cannot be real, and yet it’s happening. Dazed by his forwardness she sends across her account number and sort code, and tells him she’s free on Saturday.

Her mouth runs dry when after a few minutes her banking app pings with a notification of a deposit. The full amount she owes on her student loan has been transferred to her under the name ‘A. Targaryen.” 

Aemond has transferred her thousands of pounds as if it were nothing more than pocket change, and all under the loose agreement that she’ll attend a party with him. This man has to be obscenely wealthy, or insane, perhaps both.

Her phone vibrates again. Another message from him.

Transferred. Give me your number, I hate the messaging interface on this app.

With clammy hands and a pounding heart she types out an entirely too long, rambled message of thanks, along with her number.

She wonders if she’s blown it when she doesn’t hear from him again, yet the money still sits in her bank account, feeling as though it’s burning a hole in it. She hasn’t exactly played it cool, most sugar babies probably accept money with cool sophistication, not simpering words of gratitude.

She feels like she’s forgotten how to breathe when he texts her on Friday.

Tell me your address and dress size.

Once more, she’s taken aback by how blunt he is, yet she complies and provides both. 

When she arrives home from work later that evening, there is a package waiting for her. She opens it to reveal a black silk gown. The cut of the fabric is beautiful. Her jaw drops when she sees the Chanel label. This likely cost more than the entirety of the clothing she owns put together.

There’s a note that simply reads: Wear this tomorrow - A.

She smiles at the neatness of his handwriting. Aemond is a strange man, and yet she can’t help the intrigue she feels towards him. This is his second act of generosity towards her in the space of a week and they’ve yet to even meet.

She spends all of Saturday ensuring she is waxed, exfoliated and moisturised all over, before carefully styling her hair and applying make-up that she feels will do the eye-wateringly expensive dress she’s been given to wear justice. 

She is jittery with nerves when a sleek, black sports car pulls up outside the block of flats. She can just tell it’s Aemond, nothing that costs that much has any business being on this side of town otherwise.

She hurries downstairs to meet him, eager to avoid the embarrassment of him seeing the mess that is the inside of the pokey, little flat she shares with Mysaria.

He steps out of the car and she inhales sharply at the sight of him. He is tall, at least six foot easily, despite her wearing heels he still towers over her. A well tailored, black suit clings to his long, lithe form and his white hair is pulled back neatly into a bun that sits at the nape of his neck.

“You must be Aemond.” She says, praying her make-up is enough to hide the evidence of how hot her face currently feels.

“Mmm. Yes, I must. You look good.” His right eye rakes appreciatively over her form, and when his left doesn’t follow the motion, she realises it’s a prosthetic. “Shall we go?”

He gestures towards the car, walking around to the passenger’s side to open the door for her.

He fills her in on what’s expected of her as he drives. His nephew, Jace, has gotten engaged to his longtime girlfriend, Baela. He is sick of fending off questions around why he’s not with anyone yet, especially from that side of the family. He expects her to stick by his side for the evening and he’ll deal with any awkward questions that may arise.

They arrive and Aemond is ever the gentleman, quickly stepping out of the car to open the door for her and offer her a hand out. 

She shivers at the feel of his hand against hers and is stunned further still when he interlocks their fingers, keeping a firm hold of her hand as they enter the house.

“Just play along.” He whispers.

She is immediately struck by the opulence of it all as they walk through the foyer. This is a family that comes from old money. It was clear from the antique furnishings and vaulted ceilings that the Targaryens had always had money and always would.

She balks a little, unsure of if she will fit in, suddenly self conscious. Aemond seems to pick up on this.

“Relax.” He whispers to her. “Everyone here looks like shit compared to you.”

His words, combined with the tickle of his breath against the shell of her ear sends a shiver down her spine.

True to his word, he doesn’t let her stray from his side the entire evening. The tension between family members is unmistakable. The sneers with which a trio of dark haired young men regard Aemond is incredibly off putting.

She is informed by Aemond that the eldest of them is Jace, whose engagement they are here to celebrate. She meets Aemond’s mother, the doe eyed, auburn haired woman is pretty and seems shocked but delighted at the sight of her son with an actual date on his arm.

The lies that flow from his mouth are effortless. He had met her at the museum she works at when he’d come in to browse an exhibition. They’d hit it off instantly and been inseparable ever since.

Every touch of his hand at the small of her back feels like a brand and as the night goes on, and the champagne continues to flow freely, she finds herself eagerly playing up to the part of dutiful girlfriend. She leans into every touch, her eyes fluttering closed at the gentle press of his lips to her hairline. He is respectful, too respectful, never getting handsy or going for a full on the lips kiss.

When the evening draws to a close and he escorts her back to the passenger side of his car, she feels bereft at the loss of his touch as he moves around to the driver’s seat.

“You did well this evening.” He tells her as she starts the engine. “We put on quite the show.”

Remembering that none of this was real, that she’d been paid to be here startles her out of her tipsy fantasy that this is an actual relationship and her mouth presses into a tight line as she nods.

They drive in silence for a while before Aemond speaks again.

“If you’re up for it, my mother is having a birthday meal this Wednesday. She mentioned tonight she’d love for you to come. Are you available? I’ll pay you, obviously.”

So much for this not feeling like prostitution. She’s already paid off her student loan, she could just say no, but then she wouldn’t get to see him again.

“Y-yeah, sounds good.” She says meekly.

They pull up outside the block of flats and, right on cue, Aemond is striding around the car to get her door. She wobbles on her heels as she climbs out, the effects of the evening’s alcohol getting the better of her, and falls against his chest.

His large hands move to steady her by the shoulders and as she looks up into his face she is struck by how gorgeous he really is. 

Her eyes slowly close, as she leans in, her lips pressing towards his.

His grip on her shoulders tightens, pushing her back ever-so gently. “You don’t need to do that.”

Her eyes snap back open, shame coursing through her like liquid fire. “Oh…”

“I’ll text you the details about Wednesday. Thanks again for tonight.”

He gets back into the car, driving away as she stands on the kerbside, feeling thoroughly embarrassed.

[orbitariums]

rum punch | patrick zweig x black fem reader

writing this because patrick is definitely the type to text you like “if you wanna pull up just to get fucked here’s the addy”

obsessed with this song right now (rump punch by cash cobain) and listened to it over and over while writing this. i recommend listening to compliment your reading experience 🙏🏾 it’s sooo challengers especially patrick zweig coded. let’s review: “top five nasty, you ain’t even gotta ask me” and “soon as you leave i miss u too, like damn”; “don’t be asking questions like a interview cuz you really know what we finna do”...  “i just made her cum twice you ain’t make her cum once”?!!>!##? that’s patrick DOWN. sorry it must be said… 

so a little drabble-ish thing is ahead! contains: cheating (ooops), degradation, smut

it started when you started dating your current boyfriend, or at least that’s what you would tell yourselves to make you feel better about the whole ordeal — not that patrick cared much to begin with. but anybody who knew you and patrick knew that this had been going on for far longer than either of you would care to admit, or that either of you had enough introspective ability to even realize. every single playful shove, every time you squeezed his hand to deflect from parting at the end of a hangout, the way he’d stack his legs on top of yours while you were studying even though he knew you “hated” it, his thumb circling your hand, your head on his shoulder during a late night movie sesh with art and tashi, eyes fluttering closed until you found sleepy heaven in the perfect crevice of his neck. nearly every time you saw each other, which was frequent, you were touching without touching. art, who wasn’t one to make crass comments often, would always tell patrick: “it wouldn’t even make a difference, you should just go ahead and fuck each other. the shit you two do is more than just sex.”

it was 11:16 pm when you called him. your boyfriend had sped off in the middle of the night in a fit of anger after an intense argument about the same thing for the hundredth time. you were so tired. you’d been so close to texting or calling him before, but you refrained — you didn’t want things between the two of you to get messy when nothing in your life was going right in the first place. but now that you were nearly slumped against the wall with tears hot against your face, so tired beyond comprehension, you could blame it on the delirium brought on by exhaustion. you told yourself you just needed the comfort of your close friend, who always made you laugh.

“patrick, can i come over?” you’d asked, your voice trembling, your face buried in your sweater sleeve. 

patrick had never heard you sound so upset — he’d never even seen you cry. when you were around him, you were always so jovial and giggly. so when he heard your voice on the phone, so late at night, sounding so fragile and fractured, his eyebrows immediately knit together with concern, and he sat up on his couch. 

“yn, are you okay? is everything alright, you sound—”

“i’m fine,” you sniffled, breath catching on your voice multiple times. “just-just need a friend. please, can i come over?”

you couldn’t see it, but his features softened, and some wedge in his heart seemed to shift over,

“yeah. yeah, of course you can.”

he was so confused, but just glad to know that you were at least okay, taking pride in the fact that he was who you wanted to be around, whatever was going on. he made some rushed efforts to tidy up his bachelor apartment, sweeping crumbs under the rug, tucking in pillows on the couch, throwing yesterday’s takeout into the overflowing trashcan, and swiping the trash off his coffee table. 

he couldn’t believe how shrunken you looked when you appeared in front of his door that night, clad in an oversized stanford hoodie and sweatpants, slippers, tears still welling up in your eyes. this couldn’t be the same yn pushing him off of her with excessive force and maniacally cackling at his stupid jokes. 

“wh-”

before he could get a word out, you threw your arms around your waist, plopping your head down on his chest. he stilled for a moment out of shock, then relaxed into your touch, embracing you with his arms around your shoulders and down your back, holding you because he knew that’s what you needed right now. 

and then you were pulling away, sniffling and wiping away your tears, finally feeling some ounce of comfort now that you were with him. you knew, you knew, this was what you needed, as much as you had resisted this very thing. 

“it’s chris,” you said, moving past him and inside his apartment, groaning as you plunked down onto the couch. 

now, looking out the open door at the hallway ahead of him, patrick was nodding to himself silently, like he had come to some realization. he sat beside you, and you turned to him with a pout. and it was then that patrick knew he was not a good man for thinking about how pretty you looked with tears streaking your face and your lips pressed together in a girlish pout. 

“he’s like… intimidated by me or something. every single thing i tell him about my day, about work, about my friends, my wins… he’s always finding some thing to harp on like i’m some villain stopping him from achieving his finance bro dreams. he hates that i’m living my life because he isn’t living his yet. so every thing i earn, he just picks it apart and tears it down, questions my motives for everything.”

“he’s a dick, alright?” patrick said, in that ever so frank tone that you honestly missed, and wished you could hear during these arguments with your boyfriend. “yn, i’d never… we wouldn’t treat you like that, me and art and tashi. we’re your real friends, we celebrate you. that’s how a relationship’s supposed to go. he’s a stupid fuck.”

you grinned a bit at his correction, the corner of your lips turning up.

“i know you wouldn’t.”

“can i ask you something though, yn?”

“mhm?” you looked up at him with such innocent doe eyes that he didn’t want to call bullshit, but he was calling bullshit. 

“why… why’d you come over here? why not to tashi or your mom’s or… anyone else? why me?”

you sighed deeply, shaking your head,

“because, patrick, i… i just… want you right now.”

his face impossibly close to yours, intruding your senses and all your walls before you even realized they were up. 

“how do you want me?” he asked, his voice the softest it had ever been, his breath tickling your cheek. 

you were hoping you wouldn’t have to finish your sentence, and patrick knew it — his hands gripped the sides of your face with a stronghold, and then your lips were crashing against each other like a wave coming to the tide, foaming and sputtering and wetting the cracked sand at the shore. and it didn’t take long before you were climbing on top of him and straddling him, your clothes falling off one by one. his rough hand clutching your breast and squeezing, another in your panties navigating your clit like a fucking expert, making your back arch against the air. then your legs by your head as patrick drove himself into you, tender and slow and making you see stars instead of his face and the ceiling. fucking every tear out of you, turning your sobs of pain into sobs of pleasure. your moans were like a choir to him, licking flames against his earlobes each time you whimpered his name, leaving little half-circle imprints in his back with his nails. sweat dripping down his forehead as he clutched his eyes shut and tried not to come too fast, tried not to let the way you wrapped around him like a fucking snake— pussy squeezing his cock, legs trapping him inside you, hands roaming his back like new found land — make him lose focus. 

“fuck, your fucking moans. d’you have any idea how much i’ve thought about this? f- fuck, if you come to me crying again, i’m not gonna go so easy on you.”

if he had an ounce of self-respect, he’d have stopped you after the first time (he didn’t have the discipline to deny you completely), but something about him stirred at the unpredictable predictability of it all. he knew that at least once a week, you’d come crying to him over something your asshole boyfriend did to you, it was just a matter of what day of the week. 

he liked when you came over on friday nights most, because more often than not you’d stay the night, sometimes the weekend, making the excuse to your boyfriend that you were sleeping over at a girlfriend or your mother’s house. but really you were just spending the whole weekend getting fucked by your recovery boyfriend patrick, who would scrape up the little money he had to order food from your favorite thai restaurant every night and watch what were, in his opinion, the most insipid movies he’d ever seen — because he knew that less than halfway through you’d be split open on his cock, sobbing with pleasure into his shoulder as princess diaries became a distant echo in the background. his hand on the small of your back, his vision glazing over as he stares ahead at the tv, too enraptured by the sweet whimpers you make while you’re (attempting to) ride him, the sounds of your slick pussy swallowing him whole in slow intervals, panting and gasping as he speared you open because he was: “so big, patrick you’re so big.”

he’ll snap out of it then, find his hands wrapped around your waist and his lips buried in the crook of your neck,

“it’s okay, baby. you can take me.”

“i’m trying,” you wailed, the frustration so clear in your voice that it almost made him laugh. 

instead, he wrapped his hands around your waist firmly, leading you down onto his cock himself. 

“fuck!” you shouted out, practically collapsing forward onto him. “patrick, please—”

“if you can come to me crying just to get dick, you can take it.”

you gasped at the directness of his words, punching yourself for how much it turned you on. and he knew it too, by the way your pussy throbbed around his dick. you couldn’t see his face, but you could practically hear the shit-eating smirk in his voice as he grabbed your asscheek,

“yeah, your pussy loves it though. and you love being my little slut behind closed doors when your boyfriend isn’t acting right.”

you couldn’t control the moan that tumbled out of your lips when he said that, and definitely not the screech you let out when he started to thrust up, jackhammering into you so his cock reached the hilt. 

“that what you wanted?”

“yes, yes!” you wailed, nodding desperately, positively wrecked as your head practically hung over his shoulder, enveloped in a world of pleasure. 

“yeah… i know…”

and sometimes he won't be so nice. he'll be damn near using your pussy like a fleshlight, his body practically covering yours as he fucks you like an animal, hard and fast and rough, your pussy squelching around his cock each time he rams it into you. he'll use you like he's the one that needs comforting, like your pussy is the only safe haven he knows. and it's only fair, the way you hide out in his house and act like his dick is your life source. he fucks you like he's an athlete and this is his sport, tennis be damned. he'll degrade you anyway he knows how — because he knows you love it, knows it makes you finish two times as fast.

"he doesn't fuck you like this."

"you're such a fucking slut. come over here crying acting like you don't pull up just to get fucked." he'll laugh as he says this, and you want to smack his chest in indignation, but you can't manage anything but moans.

“you’re such a good girl. letting me use this pussy when i want.”

"there you go, squeeze my cock like it's yours."

"pussy's so greedy, getting fucked by the both of us. still so fucking tight."

"your boyfriend's probably wondering where you are." this has made you come twice now.

"whose pussy is it?" (and even though you have a man, you tell him it's his every time. sometimes he doesn't even need to ask, sometimes he fucks you so good that you just scream out: "it's your pussy — it's your pussy, daddy", and he'll chuckle and say: "i know.").

and you let him say these things and more, because he fucks you like no one ever has, like he knows something you told him in complete and total secrecy. like it's something so complex — but all it ever takes is one touch.

your friends have noticed something is different between you two, but it's honestly not a big jump from before — only this time, you guys sealed the deal and were actually fucking now. of course, patrick can't keep his mouth closed for long and ends up bragging to art, and you tell tashi because she's one of the girls, and now there's this unspoken understand between all of you. but no one feels the need to intervene, because honestly... it makes sense.

and you’ll have a conversation with him every other time, telling him “we have to stop doing this.” and one day he replies, 

“yn. not to be a dick or anything, but you’re the one who calls me. you act like you're coming over for comfort, but we both know it's my dick doing all the comforting."

and you know it’s true, you know patrick is right even if he is an asshole. but you won’t let that stop you from texting him: thai food and a movie? everytime your boyfriend fucks up. and patrick won't stop you either.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hidden Treasure 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your quiet life is interrupted by a tempestuous man. (reader is Blair from Follow You Anywhere)

Characters: Thor

Note: I just did it, okay?

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You lay out the hand-sewn coin purses along the left side of the table, completing the array of your hand-made and repurposed goods. It’s a good day to sell, sunny but not too hot, the early days of spring when people are eager to get out. At least it should be. Despite your selection, you’re not the most personable vendor along the square. 

The last detail is the hand-painted wood sign. You did it yourself; an antique frame you added a gold hue to and filled with a thin sheet of board. It isn’t much but it tells people what they’re looking at; handmade and renewed goods. 

You fold your hands and hover behind your table. You’re a one-person operation. It’s your own table, your own money, your own everything. It brings in enough for you to live. Just you and your cluttered apartment. 

The coin purses and the sleepers you sew by hand are the more popular sellers. Anything for children goes first, you notice. Everyone seems to be having them. The older crowd radiate towards the old candlesticks you polished to a shine or the glass-shaded lamps you tediously re-wired. Most try to haggle but your prices are fair enough. 

You peer around at the produce stands, the soap and candle makers, and the crocheted stuffies of your fellow sellers. You do a bit of window shopping but never follow through on your wandering eyes. You don’t need to waste the money on the pretty new things, you have lots of lovely old things. 

The traffic picks up and you busy yourself with the browsers. A woman with a stroller buys several of the infant dresses and headband, a group of older ladies peruse the aged hardcovers and pick out a few, while a couple comments on the brass-based lamp with the dangling chain. You do your best to smile through the transactions. 

The rises higher in the sky towards its apex. The steady flow keeps you busy, with some time in-between to work on fixing the binding of one of the old editions. You like to keep yourself distracted, thinking can be dangerous. With how much time you spend alone, it’s hard to avoid. 

As you lock up the cash box and tuck it back under the table, a shadow passes over, large than any other. For a moment, you think a cloud’s passing over the sun. You look up at the sky as a broad figure stands across from you.  

You don’t know how you didn’t see the man’s approach. He’s huge. Tall and wide. He doesn’t seem the type to be interested in your selection. Still, he leans in to eye the embroidered coin purses and gives a rumbling hum that sounds like distant thunder. 

He picks up one with primroses sewn into it. His thick thumb brushes the threaded design and his large hand makes the coin purse look even smaller. You tap your fingers on the table as his eyes flick up and meet yours. 

“Hi, uh, how can I help you?” You whittle out of your tight throat. It’s not often a lone man finds interest in your things. You cater to a more femme audience. 

“This is nice,” he remarks, “do you make these?” 

“Uh, yes, I do,” you give a tight-lipped smile, “I just embroider old used purses.” 

“Just? That’s splendid work,” he brings it closer to his face and looks down his nose at the little flowers and leaves, “my mother would love this... mother’s day is coming, eh?” 

“Oh, um, yes, I suppose,” you agree. “It’s five dollars. Cash only.” 

“Mm,” he traces his thumb over the metal clasp as he taps his back pocket with his other hand, “don’t think I’ve any on me. Could you hold this for me?” He offers the coin purse, “I’ll find the ATM.” 

“Sure, I could do that.” 

You take the coin purse, fingers brushing his rough skin, and you set it aside. 

“Thank you,” he smiles broadly, blue eyes twinkling as lines creases around them and across his forehead. 

He reluctantly trails away and you watch him go. His golden hair is longer than most, twisted into a low bun behind his hand as a few strands dangle freely around his face. He wears a denim jacket over dark red tee and grey jeans, along with a pair of scuffed brown boots. He stands out even in his casual attire. 

You shrug off the encounter and turn to your next customers. More baby clothes. The women chat about a baby show and you point them to the newborn sizes, telling them about the fabrics you use for each. They buy a few bibs along with the sleepers and diaper covers. 

You back up and sit in the folding chair, drinking deeply from your bottle of water. You don’t know if it’s the interactions or the sun making you dizzy. It’s close to noon. You always start to feel it around this time.  

The hours surrounded by strange faces and buzzing voices are clustering in your head and chest. Only a little longer; the market only runs until two. If the world didn’t require money to survive, you might never leave your apartment. Yet your table is the only means you have to keep walls around you. 

You sit a bit longer and get up again. You’re okay. You should’ve eaten before you left the apartment. How silly of you to forget the overnight oats you had put in the fridge just the night before. You do forget quite a few things. 

The market thrums with the late morning rush and you brace yourself for the final stretch. If you can clear off half the table, you might not have to come back next weekend. You’d be all too content to stay in your own little world, the one beyond is too loud and too bright. 

🕰️

You fold your table up and push the hook around the peg to keep it shut. You fold up the chair as well and lean both with your boxes. As the market clears out, you pull up your small two-door and load your wares into the back hatch. 

You peer over at the other vendors and their vans and trucks. Crews of half a dozen or more pack away goods and chatter just as loud as the previous crowds. It’s an isolating moment. You don’t mind going unnoticed but sometimes you feel so small. 

As you put a box in the back of the car, your keys slip off your finger. You bend and feel around the tire to retrieve them and sense a shadow above you. You clasp your hand around the keyring and stand-up suddenly, turning to face the figure behind you. There’s no one there. 

You peer around but find nothing out of the ordinary. You return to your task and pause. You don’t remember putting that box away yet... 

You shake your head. You’re just tired and forgetful. Your cardinal vices. Your mind wanders too much to rest, too much to keep order. 

You put the last box away and close the hatch. You get in the driver’s seat and turn the engine. It putters softly but it runs well enough. The old car has gotten you through the years just fine. There was a time that tiny thing was your home. 

You pull away down the lane parallel to the edge of the market square and pull out into traffic. You drive without seeing, led by habit as you stop at signs along the way, turning around corners mindlessly. You stop and wait to pull into your building’s lot and notice the large storm grey jeep behind you. It strikes you as peculiar; you enter from a back street to avoid the rush. 

You steer into the lot and the jeep continues down the street past the building. You forget it as quickly as it rolls beyond the faded brick. You find your spot, parking pass dangling from the mirror, and shut off the engine. You linger and take a breath. You're hungry and tired. 

You leave your things in the car and go upstairs. You slow as you pass your neighbour’s door. You saw her yesterday, she was in trouble about something. The police came as she hid from her boyfriend in your apartment. You didn’t even know she had one. You tried not to be nosy but she seemed real upset. 

Your cheeks tinge as you stare at the numbers on her door. She’s the only person who’s ever been inside your apartment. You don’t welcome people in, not into your home or your life. You hadn’t meant to let her in but you were so tired and confused, you couldn’t stop her. 

You cringe and continue down to your door with one last glance over your shoulder. You put the key in the slot and turn with a grind. You scurry inside and quickly lock the door, afraid she might once more emerge and follow you inside. Or that man, the big one with the beard. 

You twist the latch back into place and put your keys in the tray on the cramped shelf. The apartment is dark, the windows shrouded in black fabric, and you flip on the overhead light to guide you down the hallway. The walls are made tighter as their lined with endless shelves and tables, all filled with your collection of curiosities. 

You go to the fridge and take out the mason jar of steeped oats. You sit and eat the soft, pasty oats and the berries. You didn’t add enough cinnamon. It doesn’t matter, your stomach greedily mulches it. You put the kettle on and wait for it to steam. 

As you pace around, you hear a loud rumble. An engine. You don’t think much of it but you go to the window to peek out around the dark fabric. A woman walks a large dog past a grey jeep parked along the curb. Is it the same one you saw before? 

The question doesn’t pique your mind much. That’s the way of the world, you find. It’s a lot smaller than it seems, yet to you, it’s inexorably vast. It’s too fast, too unpredictable. You retreat as the kettle whistles. 

Your apartment is small and warm and safe. The world can’t follow you back here. Not if you don’t let it in and you won’t be doing that again. 

-🕰️

You decide, against your better instincts, to go to market. The weather is nice and it wouldn’t be so bad add a few extra bucks to your nest egg. You never know what might come up, or what you might find! Too many times you stumbled upon an antique you just couldn’t afford. 

You go through your usual ritual. You set up the table and the chair, and arrange your things in the same way around the wooden sign. As you put your boxes to the side, you hear a rattle at the bottom of one. You look into the crate and notice the silver ring. How’d that get in there? You didn’t bring any jewelry. 

You put down the box and reach inside. You take out the ring and turn it. You’ve never seen it before. There’s a strange stick symbol on the flat face. Maybe another language or a run of some type. You turn it in your hand and tuck it in your pocket. You’ll have to give a closer look at home. 

It’s early and a few stragglers trickle in, but they all walk by your table without pause. 

You sit and take out the jar of oats. You remembered today. You’d woken up with a hunger so deep, you almost ate before you left. You know better than to eat too early. Instead, you had your tea and got yourself moving. 

You stir the blueberries in and eat slowly, trying to measure your bites so you don’t feel sick after. You watch the other vendors, some still setting up, and lazily swallow down the thick oatmeal. It feels like it might rain after all, there’s a touch of damp in the air. 

You finish up and put the jar away. As you wipe your mouth with your sleeve, a woman’s voice trills and pricks your ears. Silver hair with a few wisps of gold peak out from her silk headscarf. The teal fabric matches the pattern of her blouse, tucking into a finely pressed skirt. She’s not alone, she has her arm hooked through another. 

Her companion is younger than her. His golden hair is pulled half up at the crown of his head as he towers over her lithe frame. You squint, they might be related. As they approach, you get a whiff of deja vu. 

“Yes, it was this one, mother,” the man’s voice is deep. 

“How lovely, look at all these treasures,” she slips her arm free as she approaches, “hello, dear, is this all yours?” 

“Mhmm, yes,” you stand up, “are you looking for something in particular?” 

“I think we’re just browsing,” she smiles brightly, her lips painted a gentle shade of rose. 

“A coin purse,” the man says, “with prim rose? Do you recall?” 

You look at him. Faces aren’t easy for you but his voice strikes something in your mind, and his size. You haven’t seen a lot of men that big, only the one in your neighbour’s apartment. You think you remember holding something but the customer never came back. 

“This one,” you point to the coin purse, set back in the row. 

“Yes, that was me,” he chimes, “mother,” he pulls the primrose purse to the top. She takes it and he looks back to you, “I apologise that I didn’t return, there was an emergency and I had to be off.” 

“It’s okay,” you shrug, folding your hands together. 

The woman is looking at you. There’s something in her gaze that makes you squirm. Her eyes linger just a bit longer before she aims them at the purse, admiring the embroidery as she feels it beneath her thumb. 

“Yes, I do like this one,” she says. 

“I brought cash this time,” the man booms and reaches into his pocket, “five, I believe you said.” 

“Yes,” you accept the bill from him, his skin rough as his fingertips touch yours, “thanks. Erm, did you need a bag?” 

“For this? No,” she wiggles the purse playfully and reaches for the man, her son, with other hand. She caresses his knuckles as she faces him, “you were right. Very beautiful.” 

He smiles broadly, proudly almost. It’s just a purse. You hide your discomfort as you grip your arm at your elbow. 

“Thank you,” the woman chirps back at you, sending another grin in your direction, “you might see us again.” 

She hooks her arm once more through her son’s and leads him to the next booth. You peer after them as her attention clings to the purse as she continues to feel it between her fingers. She leans into his arm as she speaks to him quietly. They seem close, it’s sweet. Your own mother had never been so affectionate. 

You look away before the scene can pluck in your chest. It doesn’t matter. You’re grown up now. That’s all behind you. 

[roseinyoursaltwater]

Aphmau characters most likely to…

Aaron: most likely to have an extensive vinyl collection that is organized so thoroughly to the point no one else can touch it.

Aphmau: most likely to get a meal she didn’t order at a restaurant but will suffer through eating it out of fear of seeming rude to the waiter.

Dante: most likely to get catfished on tinder and would tell his friends he actually met a really hot girl and that it’s the best date he’s been on in years but when his friends start questioning him about seeing her again, he would lie and say she moved or got a boyfriend

Garroth: most likely to get lost a concert venue or stadium and would have to stand with a security guard or employee like a lost child while holding his merchandise waiting for his friends.

Katelyn: most likely to pay in cash everywhere and will complain to her friends everytime they go a cashless attraction or business.

Laurance: most likely to leave a yelp review because he over analyzes his food before eating it or he notices a small health code violation and his fingers are typing away.

Lucinda: most likely to take a mental health day but in all reality she’s getting her hair and brows done, nails done, filler, a wax and spending $500 shopping and getting a Starbucks drink or two.

Nana: most likely to getin a Stan war on Twitter and then get paranoid she’s going to get doxxed and then work up the girls about getting doxxed all for it to blow over two days later and then happen again a month or so later.

Travis: most likely to foster an animal and then try convincing the others they should keep said animal. (This happens every month and it’s hapepened with at least 20 animals)

Vylad: most likely to mention the most random-trauma-inducing-toe-curling-illegal lore to ever be mentioned and it would be mentioned over a nice family dinner which would kill on conversation and create dead air.

Zane: most likely to bond with a middle aged woman in any public setting like would msot deifntely become friends with 45 year old Jen who lives in the suburbs with three kids and a car salesmen husband. They would go brunch or gossip even though they’re total opposites.

[scremogirl]

☾✧꥟ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ✧✰☀︎︎

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰

Yandere! Serial killer x reader pt 2

GN! Reader, Mentions of blood, Mentions of mutilation, Mentions of stalking. Part 1 is here part 3 is here. Read the note at the end plz, ty!

You’re joking.

Your Uber was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago! There’s no way you're taking the bus this late and staying here is already out of the question. You’re most definitely not spending another twenty dollars on another shammy lift either. As you contemplate your predicament, you can hear the aggressive typing of a phone's keyboard as Malika writes a strongly worded review.

“Dammit! What the hell’re we supposed to do now? There’s absolutely no way I’m staying here,” you’re all out of options, maybe the best thing is just to wait here until your school bus comes back.

“Are you crazy?! I’m not-“ you cut her off before she can finish. I mean, what else are you supposed to do? You guys aren’t willing to take any of the other options presented so, all you can do is sit and wait. Look on the bright side, you’ve waited almost a full year to be here; no guy should ruin it for you. She thinks long and hard about it before lighting up again.

“You know what, fine. But if we stay you’re entering that competition and you’re gonna win,”

So here you are now. Scrambling around like a headless chicken with a stray killer on the loose. Let’s take it back some shall we?

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our animal Freak do Sheek costume competition! Our contestants have worked all year round perfecting there costumes in order to win our $800 dollar cash prize. Here’s how it works, you’ll-,”

You tune out the announcer in favor of the sound of your beating heart. You’ve never been this nervous before! You’ve done this hundreds of times and always came up on top, so why? I’ll tell you why; that same egotistical show off of an axe murder is entering the competition too.

He stands there staring at you silent and unmoving. The only thing that’s different about him is that the paper mache mask from earlier had been replaced with the face of the person who bumped into you. Man, he really thought all of this out didn’t he? You’re brought back to earth by the opening of the curtain revealing you and the rest of the contestants. The crowd cheers in excitement and this alone reminds you as to why you’re here. Malika as well as the rest of your class sit in the audience cheering you on. Hm? Your teachers not here. Whatever, it’s probably the only night he could legally get drunk at school and not have to deal with the repercussions. After the modeling is over you all recoup on stage and watch as the audience places their votes in the ballot box. Squirming in anticipation and nervous sweat beading down your forehead, you anxiously await the answer.

“The results are in! The winner is, drum roll please…” your breath stops and you can’t contain your jitters.

“Mr Axe Murder!” of course! Malika and your classmates give you a sadden smile but you don’t return it. In fact, you give them the brightest one yet. All these years you’ve been waiting for someone to match your talent, sick and tired of always expecting the best and reaching it. You needed a challenge, a thrill; and he gave it to you. Standing next to him on the podium you smile up at him. Sure he was an asshole before, but he deserved it. Looking at the camera as the three first place winners are to take a picture, he swings his axe up, presumably in a posing manner. How wrong were you? Just after the flash he brings his weapon down and with one clean swipe, lops off the head of the rando in third place.

You freeze in shock. This has to be some kinda gag, a prank or something. Everyone else screams and flees as he turns over to the announcer and gives him the same fate as your fellow contestant. The others dash off the stage and he walks towards you, reaching out to grab you. Before he can, Malika jumps on stage and drags you away faster than ever. All you see from behind your shoulder is the struggle of the security guards to hold down his hulking frame.

“What in the absolute fuck was that!” How the hell are you supposed to know!? Next thing you know you just got back into the fun of the night when an undercover serial killer decapitates someone right in front of you.

“Wait… didn’t you say that you saw that same guy hacking into someone else?” …oh. my. god. How could you be so stupid? I mean all the signs were in front of you and you ignored it! He has their face on his for crying out loud! Wait a minute. Face? You turn to Malika and the realization hits you both. Just as you're about to speak, siren blairs throughout the festival.

“Attention! The killer known as the “Mask Maker” has made his way into the festival and has incited a rampage. It is recommended that everyone stays calm and evacuate the premises immediately. I repeat, a killer is on the loose!”

Fuck! You should’ve taken the bus! There’s nothing you can do as you rush towards the exit of the building. Pushing your way past the hoards of people trying to escape this hell house. It’s too late though. The crazed lunatic has already scoped out the area and has started slashing anyone he can get to. He makes eye contact with you and suddenly stops his pursuit of the other patrons. Sprinting his way towards you. This time, it’s your turn to grab Malika and run as fast as you can, running into the first fun house you see.

Making your way inside, you duck and cover into the darkness as you hear the door shut and lock behind you. Venturing deeper into the funhouse into a mock corn field. Malika lets out a shriek as she turns your head and there you see it. There you find the mangled body of your teacher forced into the outfit of a discarded scarecrow, face missing. While surprising, she just alerted him to where your location was.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to but what the fuck is going on,” she cried out. You’re trapped, a killer is targeting you and you don’t know why and all of your colleagues are dead. How are you gonna escape this!?

Split up? Bait him out? Call for help?

“That’s all some white people shit,” in times of need you can always count on her abrasiveness to lighten the mood. You let out a slight giggle, maybe at her brashness or maybe out of anxiousness, you couldn’t tell the difference. Just then the door clicks open and the lights flicker on. You duck further down into the fake stocks of corn and stay as silent as possible. You watch as he makes his way into the next room, but as you sprint up in the opposite direction I hand grabs at Malika's hair. He attempts to slash at her arm but only manages to make a very minimal cut after you picked up a stray rake and bashed him over the head with it. You scoot past him and run out of the maze and back into Main Street, him right on you heels.

Just in the nick of time, you two are able to make it out of the festival when the gates closed. He banged and swung at the gates but you two weren’t sticking around to see if he’d break through. Running between the parking lots looking for anyone or anything you can use to get the hell out of here. Just then your phone dings with a notification. It says you Ubers right in front of you . You whip your head around in delight only for the smile on your face to drop. Your Uber arrived a while ago,you were the ones that were late. He’s hanging out of the crashed car, blood dripping everywhere and face gone. Also leaned up against the car is Gill and the harlot he decided to give your friend up for; or what’s left of them. In the corner of your eye you can see the tiniest grin spread across your friend's face. You decide not to question it as you have more important things to do. You two agreed that your best option was to make a mad dash to the bust stop where at least one person would notice you.

Making it there you both pull out your phones and with the remaining power they have left, call the police and notify them about where you abouts. The roads are empty and it looks like a ghost town. Overwhelmed with everything you break down in the middle of the ghost town. At this point you’ve accepted your fate and thought there was no point in fighting.

“Malika, I just wanted you to know that after whatever happens tonight, I love you,” you look up at her with tears in your eyes and a sad smile.

“Thank you for being my friend,” she stares at you, silent. Her own tears forming and sliding down her cheeks as she drops to her knees and hugs you close. You two lay there sobbing for a good while before she pulls away and shouts.

“I can’t do this anymore!” huh?

“I- I’m sorry, (Y/N) I don’t know what came over me! I’ve always been so jealous of you when I had no right to be. I wasn’t thinking straight. I'm so, so sorry! This is all my fault,” what? What is she talking about?

“Woah, woah; what’re you talking about?”

“All of this! I knew he was coming. I-… I knew he’d be after you,” you stare at her confused before giving a short giggle, but this isn’t time for jokes.

“It’s him (Y/N),” she can’t be serious right now.

“I am. I knew all along; that’s why I dragged you here. That’s why I wanted you to go to that school. That’s why I wanted- I wanted this to happen,”

………………………………………………………………………………….

“Hey! Do you mind if I sit here?” That’s how all of this started. By being nice. By being a decent human being. You don’t remember much about the school; you choose not to. You barely made it through the first semester there. All because of him. Keegan Krane. A man of the arts just like yourself, though, he focused his talents on something more traditional. Wherever he went there was at least a pencil and some acrylics tucked neatly in that tote bag he carried around. He was amazing at what he did! Best of his class, featured in shows all around the area, the whole nine yards. So, it’s reasonable for you to question why he decided to come here when he could be at the top.

“I don’t need to be at the top,” he’d tell you. Eyes locked on yours, his intense wavering in his intense gaze.

“Besides, if I would’ve never met you, I don’t know what I’d do,” ever the charmer he was. Until he wasn’t. You see, Keegan wasn’t who you thought he was. At first he was just some random guy who went to your school. Then he was some random guy who you shared almost all your classes with. Then he was the guy who sat next to you in most of them. He slowly turned into your acquaintance, then your friend, best friend, then your boyfriend. Or at least that’s what he thought.

You’ve always thought he was smart. He knew almost every painting by their name to the artist to what materials they used. He loved literature and poems and would often write them in his free time. He could cook better than anyone you’ve ever known and was exactly your type. He was perfect; maybe just a little too much.

You remember the exact day when the notes started showing up, right before college in senior year. You always wondered where and who they’d come from but anytime you’d ask, you’d never get a sufficient answer. Malika said to enjoy all the attention from your secret admirer but you couldn’t help to be creeped out. They knew what candies you liked, gave you little figurines from your favorite shows and even knew what route you took home.

Over time the notes became increasingly disturbing and the feeling of eyes on your back lingered throughout the day; no matter if you were in school or not. After the discovery of a mutilated carcass of what you assumed was a dead rat with a birds face, you went to the police. Fuck going the principal, all he would ever say was “we’ll check the cameras,” and “kids these days are always to shy to confess,”. Yea right, that was a confession enough, one of a future psychopath.

The notes turned into drawings, drawings turned into pictures, pictures turned into the mangled faces of unfortunate creatures, those turned into breaking and entering; stealing panties, used toothbrushes, the hair from your hairbrush, and that turned into a criminal case. Everything stopped after you went to the police, they most likely knew and were too afraid they’d get caught. Oh how wrong you were. Because that same person followed you to where you were now.

…………………………………………………………………....................

Just after, the man of the hour makes his way from out of the bushes, axe in hand and dragging the dead body of an officer.

“It’s him, (Y/N),” he removes his mask to reveal the face you seen in your darkest dreams.

“It’s Keegan,”

Hey everyone! I hope you enjoyed the 2nd part of this. Ik the plot twist is a little confusing but it’ll all make sense in the third installment, trust. It may come out on Halloween it might not, I’m tryin 😭. I wasn’t confident in this but like I said it’ll all come together later. My Ao3 has been created and imma work on moving my posts there too. This was a little long so if you’re still here ty! Bye guys ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

-Love, Sosa ❤️

[omg-ame-chan]

ok i played tokyo debunker all day here is a quick (not really) review

first off gameplay is for the most part non-existent. you do fight against monsters but the entire thing is in autoplay and you can skip the whole thing by pressing a single button

there is a rhythm game part every like 10 battles or so though which made me happy. even if the songs are all public domain ones. and it's extremely offbeat. and there's tap registration issues.

ok next why does tokyo debunker use ai art in it. genuinely embarrassing.

went on a 4 year hiatus to "elevate the quality of the game to further meet your expectations and be able to face elevating competition in the gaming industry" only for the game to release and not even have the effort put in to hire actual artists... ITS SO DISAPPOINTING what was the point of that hiatus if you aren't even gonna try. they should've released the original game they had at this point

ai art is used in all the backgrounds of the visual novel section and some of the interactable items like the images for the quiz you do during the prologue. The manga style and card art don't use it at all it seems though

and once you realize it you cannot unsee it and it completely ruins everything

seems like all the budget went towards the voice actors because the game has no original soundtrack either. everything is remixed classical music.

not to mention the game is super cash grabby. it's a zigzagame game so it's to be expected but still. stuff like having to pay more than a 10 pull just to be able to change your icon from the default one is actually insane. also 1% SSR rate and pity is at 500 pulls and it doesn't even guarantee a character card it could be a warding card please end it all!!!

also the devs are blocking everyone who criticizes the game on twitter. lol. lmao.

despite all that the story is interesting and i really like the characters especially these 2 guys i love the "medic who definitely shouldn't be a medic because they are Extremely Off and have committed medical malpractice atleast 10 times" type of characters they are always my favorite

damn you "bad gacha game that makes me have to resort to watching youtube videos of the story because i don't wanna support monetarily it in any possible way and go through the pain it brings by actually playing it".... you have won once again

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒎𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒚 𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒆𝒔

🍓the strawberry shack🍓

summary - max has been working hard and needs to let off some steam, he heads to the strawberry shack to be taken care of.

warning - smut, oral sex, gloryhole, slight sub max.

18+ only please, the gif and header I use aren't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

Max got out of his expensive car, straightening his black trenchcoat as he entered the doors of The Strawberry Shack, having heard great reviews from other men. But the thing was, he wasn’t looking for sex, not today. Max wanted to be worshipped, to have someone take care of him for once. He was tired from work, and lacking trust in anyone wasn’t helpful. Max walked up to the front desk and nodded, handing over some cash before he headed in the direction he was looking for. 

He looked around before settling on you as the woman he chose. He confidently sauntered over, not wanting to let his guard down, even if no one could see him. Max was the type of man that didn’t want to be seen as weak. He liked feeling powerful and strong. When Max approaches your area, he clears his throat. His hand softly brushes against the bulge straining against his black slacks, a soft moan falls from his lips before he quickly bites them, holding them back from escaping him.

“Let them out, baby. I wanna hear you.” You speak, smiling as you watch through the hole as he touches himself over his pants, letting out a few moans before he finally unzips and pulls out his leaking cock. “So pretty, baby boy. Can I have a taste, handsome?” Max nods, barely able to answer as his hands stroke up and down, guiding his swollen cock through the hole. His eyes roll to the back of his head as you lean forward and lick the pre-cum from his mushroom tip. “Mmm, you taste so good, honey. Why don’t you relax and let me take care of you, okay?” Max hums, resting his hand on the wall while the other massages his heavy sacks, his hips moving back and forth slowly as your lips wrap around him, sucking softly and licking slowly. 

Max’s head falls back, and soft pants pass his pink lips. He whimpers as your tongue flicks under his tip before you begin to suck on it. His hand tugs his balls harder as you move down and take all of him in your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. The sound of you gagging sounds like heaven to Max. His heart beats rapidly, and he slowly becomes lost in the pleasure, no longer shielding his sounds as you suck his soul out through his cock. His head falls forward, hitting the wall as his hand that was resting on it moves to his hair, beginning to tug as more whimpers leave him. His eyes screw shut, and your tongue and mouth move elegantly against the veins on his cock, swallowing him deeper. “S–so good… Please.” He whines, feeling his cock throb as his end approaches, large amounts of pre-cum leak from his cockhead. 

You pull off of him with a pop, smiling as he whines from the lack of contact. “Please, what, baby?” You lick his tip, moaning as his saltiness hits your tongue, your hand wraps around the thick base, and you squeeze. “Hmm? Are you going to tell me, baby? I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.” You place a gentle kiss on his slit, giggling as he tries to push his cock into your mouth. You begin to stroke him slowly as you wait for an answer. 

Max stutters, feeling himself become putty in your soft hands. “P–please let me cum, please.” He whimpers and whines, feeling his balls tighten as you continue to stroke him, occasionally leaning forward to lick and swirl your tongue around his throbbing tip. 

“Of course, you can, baby boy. Cum for me.” You giggle, sucking on his tip and stroking him a few more times before you lean back again. “Cover my face in your cum, baby. Mark me as yours.” And with those words, his hips jerk and a loud moan escapes him. His cock twitches wildly in your hand before thick amounts of white, hot cum shoot out and cover your face, landing on your forehead, cheeks and lips. Your hand continues to stroke him, ensuring you get every drop of cum out before your tongue pokes out, licking his cum off your lips and humming. You lean forward and lick the softening member clean, causing Max to whimper. “You taste good, baby.” 

He hums, feeling excellent but exhausted as he slowly pulls his cock out of the hole and tucks it back into his slacks. “Thank you.” He speaks before straightening himself up and heading back out of the room and to his car.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[stevesbestgirl]

Phases of the Moon - Part 3

Steven Grant x f!Reader, eventual Marc Spector x f!Reader

4747 words

Warnings: minor angst, mutual pining, idiots in love, chances of a few minor swears, miscommunication

As always, keep in mind that I am not a system and am not an expert. All of my information about their relationship comes from the Moon Knight show and I use that as my reference point.

*Bold type is spoken by Marc when Steven is fronting.*

Masterlist

Steven sent you his schedule for the next week on Sunday, “We can start the north wing this week, if you like.” He was a bit nervous about it- after what Donna had said.

You wanted to see him again; you were still happy to be friends with Steven. But you hadn’t replied yet- you needed a bit more space than you’d originally thought in order to get over this crush.

Steven was working Tuesday again and even though you hadn’t responded to his message, he’d still hoped you would show up. But his break came and went and he started to worry that Marc had been right. Maybe he had blown it. He’d must’ve done something on Saturday that made you decide not to come back. He knew he could be a bit oblivious, but he couldn’t figure it out for the life of him.

Come Wednesday, he spent far too much time agonizing over whether he should call you. He was up so late, he overslept Thursday morning. It was strangely nostalgic of his life before he’d known about Marc, but the charm quickly wore off when Donna got on his case. Not that she ever needed a reason, but she seemed pleased to have an excuse to torment him.

In fact, she must have enjoyed reaming him so much that morning that she returned in the afternoon. He did his best to appear busy as she marched up to the counter, her phone clutched in her hand, “I suppose you and your girlfriend think you’re being rather cute, don’t you?” Her tone was more derisive than downright angry.

“Sorry, what are you on about?”

“Like you haven’t seen this?” Donna brandished her phone. Steven tried to get a look, but only caught a glimpse of the some website before she huffed and pulled it back around, reading aloud, “Received a tour today from the gift shoppist, Steven Grant. Steven’s knowledge of Egypt is only surpassed by his enthusiasm for it, which makes this museum patron pity the museum management who waste his talents for touring in the gift shop. So-” 

Steven didn’t realize he was smiling until Donna looked up from her screen, “Oh- don’t look so pleased. Your girlfriend can write all the reviews she likes, but it won’t convince me to make you a guide.”

“There’s more?”

“Like I’m going to continue stroking your ego or whatever,” Donna wrinkled her nose. “Just get back to work. At the counter.”

As soon as Donna disappeared from sight, Steven had his own phone out, not bothering to hide it from the customer that had just walked over to browse. He scanned the site until he found it- your review. 

He read aloud, beginning hushed and growing louder as he went, “So, I will most definitely be returning for the rest of the tour in hopes that others might share in the experience. As lucky as I’ve been to enjoy a private tour, it would be selfish to keep Steven a secret.”

Steven’s chest felt light, “Did you hear that, mate?” The young man clutching a plastic pyramid looked around, confused, but Steven didn’t wait for a response, “I think she likes me. Or she did like me. Bloody hell, I’ve gotta call her- I’ve gotta call her right now.”

He pulled out his phone and faltered, “Wait, but-” his finger hovered over your contact, “If she liked me enough to leave that review, why hasn’t she replied to my message?”

The customer gave a weak shrug, hesitantly setting the pyramid on the counter. Steven seemed to only notice him just then, “Right, of course, let me get that for you.” He cashed him out and once he was out of sight, he continued staring at his phone. He’d texted you Sunday; this was the fifth day with no response. What if you’d changed your mind?

“Steven, just call her.” Marc sounded exasperated, watching on from the mirror behind the counter.

Steven glanced at the mirror, looking stricken, “What if she doesn’t like me anymore? That’s why she hasn’t answered.”

Steven was putting the phone away, moaning under his breath about how he’d blown this. Marc knew he could front, call you himself, but that kind of defeated the purpose. This was Steven’s show to run.

Steven pressed his palms into the wood, “Alright, get a grip on yourself, mate. C’mon.” 

His halfhearted attempt at a pep talk stuttered to a halt when he glanced up, seeing you walk in. You were dressed casually today, wearing a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt with planets on it. Not that it made any difference to Steven; he thought you looked lovely in whatever you wore. 

“Marc, she’s really here right, I’m not just mad, am I?”

“Two things can be true,” Marc quipped, falling silent as you approached.

*

You tried not to look too much at Steven as you approached the gift shop; you needed to keep yourself in check today. No flirting, no admiring, and definitely no pining. Steven was your friend, that was all.

“You came back.” Now your eyes were drawn to Steven as he spoke, sounding like he’d seen some kind of angel instead of just you, torturing yourself.

“Of course I came back, I need the rest of the tour, right?” You smiled; that wasn’t flirting, right?

“I didn’t hear from you, so I thought you might have gotten tired of hearing me talk,” he chuckled weakly. 

You breathed a sigh of relief; at least it didn’t sound like he’d seen your review. He deserved it and you hoped he might read it someday, but it was easier this way. It gave you time to quash the little ache in your chest at the sight of him.

“I’m sorry about that, my cousin’s been dragging me off to visit family all week, so I’ve been a bit scattered.” Lying to Steven didn’t feel very good. “But I’ll always come back for a tour; you’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

Steven couldn’t figure out what you were thinking. You were being perfectly pleasant to him- it didn’t seem like you were upset. But you’d withdrawn from him; you weren’t being as playful- as open with him as you’d been before. You were being polite. Distant.

He tried to swallow past the tightness in his throat, “Does that mean you want to start the north wing today?”

“If you’ve got time for me- if not, that's completely alright, I should have told you I was coming-”

He nodded furiously, “Course I do; always got time for you, don’t I love?”

You tried to keep your expression even; why was this so hard? Why did he have to be so sweet and charming and positively dense? “Thanks.”

There was a beat of silence before Steven clapped his hands together, “Well, let’s get started then.” 

Things were awkward. And it was your fault. But you couldn’t let yourself be sucked back into that magnetic field of Steven’s warm personality. It would make this- being friends- impossible. You were probably giving him a weird vibe. And maybe he was mad at you for ignoring him. Most people would be; you might’ve been if you were in his position.

But he didn’t give up on you, that was for certain. He still spoke to you with the same enthusiasm as before. You wondered if he even had it in him to be mean to someone; it seemed doubtful. 

It felt like if you tried hard enough, you could envision the little bubble of radiant energy that emanated from Steven, with you standing just outside. He was trying extra hard to make you smile, it seemed, adding little jokes to his explanations. You couldn’t help yourself, lips turning up as he asked you, “Why didn’t Cleopatra go to the psychiatrist?”

“Why?”

“She was the Queen of Denial.” He rocked on his heels and did a “buh dum tss” motion with his hands, a goofy smile on his face.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you, “That was absolutely awful, Steven. How long have you had that abomination in your pocket?”

He seemed rather relieved to see the hint of your usual self and suddenly it felt the same as it had before. You were back to making your little quips and teasing him again. He realized he’d missed hearing your laugh. 

He kept moving, beaming as you continued to complain about the bad jokes. He’d been scolded an awful lot of times in his life, but he never liked it so much before you did it. The way you’d roll your eyes at him, but then you’d smile; it made his stomach drop. 

Glancing at his watch, his stomach dropped again, but not in as pleasant a way, “Oh bollocks, I’m late getting back again.” He hadn’t thought you were coming today so he hadn’t set an alarm.

This time Steven pulled you by the hand back toward the gift shop. “I can’t believe we’re doing this again,” you huffed, trying to keep up with him and ignore the way he was clutching your hand.

“Sorry, I’m a bit hopeless I’m afraid,” he grimaced as he hurried around a corner, only to stumble to a halt as he caught sight of Donna over by the front desk with JB. He ducked back behind the wall, pulling you back with him. Surprised by his sudden change in direction, you stumbled.

In a moment of rare coordination, Steven kept you upright by your hand, pulling you back in and catching you in his other arm. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared up at him, pressed to his chest by his arm around your back. 

“Careful,” he breathed, speaking so low that his accent was barely audible.

You peered out, comprehension dawning on your face. That is, until you inhaled, the scent of whatever kind of soap Steven used filling your senses. You were far too close- this was not good. It felt like you were short-circuiting, staring up at him with your mouth half-open like a deer in headlights. Two minutes ago, you were thinking that maybe you could pull off this whole friend deal and now you were struggling to form even a single word because proximity to Steven was intoxicating.

“Sorry to surprise you,” he whispered again, only now beginning to blush. 

“You’re- uh- it’s fine. Fine,” you managed to get out. You peeked around the corner again, “I think you’re safe now.” 

You took a hasty step backwards and now Steven looked flustered, “Right. Better get back then and hope she hasn’t gone to check on me.”

You nodded, following him back the rest of the way to the gift shop, relieved to see Donna wasn’t poking around. You leaned against the counter, hoping your face wasn’t flushed, although you supposed you could blame it on all the rushing around, “Sorry.”

His brow furrowed slightly, “What are you sorry for?”

You gave him a wry smile, “Seems like I keep getting you into messy situations. I’d hate for you to get into real trouble.”

“I’ve been in real trouble before, you don’t need to worry.” He chuckled and you almost felt like you were being left out of a joke. But he smiled at you, “But just to be safe, when will you be back? So I can set another alarm. Just in case you get busy again, you know.” You weren’t prepared for Steven to tease you; you suddenly felt a bit warm.

You turned away, absently examining a stuffed mummy off one of the racks, “When do you have time?”

“I’m working the morning shift tomorrow; if you came by around two, we could do like we did on Saturday,” he offered.

“You don’t mind staying late after a real shift?” You smiled; teasing him wasn’t flirting. And he was doing it to you too. 

“I told you, love, I’ve always got time for you.” It was like he wanted you to suffer.

You chuckled weakly, “And you’re sure you haven’t gotten yourself punished with inventory again this week?” 

“I haven’t been punished quite yet, although that might change now that Donna’s read your review,” Steven smiled. “She was a bit steamed about it this morning.” You tried to smile back, but your mouth was suddenly dry. Steven tilted his head, “You alright?”

You prayed your cheeks didn’t give you away even as you could feel the warmth creeping through them, “Sorry, yeah. I didn’t, um, realize you’d seen that. It’s a bit embarrassing.” 

“Why’s it embarrassing?” That little furrow between his brows returned and you wanted to shout the answer at him; it felt like it was so obvious and it was somehow more humiliating that he hadn’t picked up on it.

“You didn’t think it was-” you bit your lip, searching for the most diplomatic way to put it, “A bit much?”

Steven’s lips parted in understanding, but his brow remained furrowed, “A bit more than I deserve, maybe, but I thought it was lovely. No one’s ever said something so nice about me- not that I can remember anyways.” 

You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from telling him that he deserved to hear so much more than that; Steven was oblivious, but not that oblivious. At least you didn’t think so. “Well, I’m glad I posted it then. Especially if Donna wasn’t happy,” you smiled.

“She read about half of it to me and it was quite satisfying, if I can be honest,” Steven grinned guiltily.

“Did she see any of the others?”

“The others?” Steven cocked his head. “Did you leave more than one?”

You shook your head, “No, the other people who have been listening to your tour did.” He stared at you like he didn’t understand, so you smiled, chagrined, “Okay, so maybe I mentioned it to a few of them when that little boy was asking you if he could draw on the walls like in the displays.”

You gestured for him to check his phone and Steven was quiet for a long moment, just scrolling through and seeing his name before speaking softly, a small smile on his face, “No wonder Donna was so short with me this morning.” 

“And you still didn’t get inventory? You must be having a good day.”

Steven remembered how nervous he’d been this morning, thinking that you didn’t want to see him anymore. You’d pulled away from him and he wasn’t sure why. But all of those worries had dissolved into nothing when he’d heard you laugh. And he’d gotten to hold you close, albeit because of Marc’s split second of intervention. And you were coming back to see him again tomorrow.

The corners of his lips tugged up, “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” you patted the counter. “See you tomorrow at two then?”

He nodded,  “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Once you were out of sight, Marc spoke up, “No one’s ever said anything that nice to you, huh?”

Steven rolled his eyes at the gift shop mirror, “I was excluding people I share a body with.”

“Oh, well you should have said so-”

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to mention that to her next time, won’t I?”

Mark’s retort was cut short by the clack of Donna’s shoes on the polished floor. “Stevie, glad to see you’re back at your post,” she mused, sarcasm evident. He opened his mouth to protest, but she tapped her watch, “I came by at three seventeen and where were you? Not here, that’s for sure. Off with your little girlfriend again? You know what I’m gonna say.”

“Donna, no- I’ll stay late tonight to make it up-”

“What good does that do me? No. You’re in the back tomorrow.”

“I can’t work late tomorrow, I’ve got a date.” He was going to ask you to dinner after the tour was finished.

“Well I imagine you don’t anymore, do you?”

“I can’t cancel, Donna, I’ll do the next two Fridays instead.” Steven hated that he had to plead with Donna; he usually just put his head down and took it, but he couldn’t cancel on you. He couldn’t risk messing this up again. 

Donna gave her head a derisive toss, “Well, guess you should have thought of that before you took an extra long break, yeah?” And she clacked away, taking Steven’s good mood with her.

Steven shook his head insistently, “I can’t- I can’t cancel on her.” But still, he took out his phone, sending you a text, “Spoke too soon on inventory, I’m afraid.”

You were already on the bus, on your way home, so you replied quickly, “Oh no. Was it because of the reviews?”

“No, completely unrelated.” Steven wasn’t going to tell you that it was because he’d gone over on his break either. He didn’t want you to feel guilty about coming around to visit him.

“Well, I’m still sorry- I’m sure it wasn’t justified. We can reschedule, no big deal.” 

“We could still get dinner after I’m off at eight, if you like?”

Last week you would have been overjoyed at the offer, but now you felt strange. You wanted to go, but you had a feeling it might be bad for you in the long term. You were already pushing your luck as it was. 

“I’m sorry, Steven. I’ve actually already got plans for dinner tomorrow.” It was difficult to type and even more difficult to actually send it; you hated lying to Steven.

“Right, of course. I’ll let you know my schedule tomorrow. We can choose another day.” He felt a bit of panic; what if you had a date with someone else?

“Looking forward to it.” You sent a follow-up message, “Don’t forget to read those other reviews. Hope they cheer you up a bit.” 

Steven sighed at his phone. So much for his good day. Although, thinking about the nice things you’d said about him, the way you’d looked at him when he’d held you close- maybe it was still alright. He returned to the website, searching more thoroughly this time. 

There were a handful of others, the most recent from barely twenty minutes ago. He wasn’t even sure when you’d found time to speak to anyone today, but somehow, you had. And they were all lovely. He felt his face flush at the idea of all of those people saying nice things about him. One in particular caught his eye, though not because of what it said about him.

In the very last paragraph, it read, “Steven, if you’re reading this, you’re a lucky man. Hold onto her. -Dorothy.” She signed her name on the review like it was a letter. Steven remembered the older woman who’d been trailing after you during his tour; he’d slowed down a bit that day so she could keep up.

“Well Dorothy, I gotta get my arms around her to hold on, don’t I?” he murmured sardonically. 

Come Friday, Steven started his shift feeling a bit downcast. He should be walking around the museum with you right now- making you laugh, finding a way to hold your hand again. Instead, he cursed Donna under his breath and clocked in. He was pleased to find out from the first shift at the gift shop that she’d left for the day; at least he wouldn’t have to listen to her complaints today.

Around four, Steven’s heart leapt as your name popped up on his phone, “How’s the inventory going?” 

“I’ve not started yet. Manning the counter until 7 and then inventory after close.”

“I could call Donna and try to order a pizza if it’ll make you feel better.”

Steven chuckled, “Afraid she’s ducked out early today.”

“That’s hypocritical.”

Steven hit a bit of a busy spurt in the gift shop; it was Friday, which meant that the kids in the after-school programs were extra rowdy. They needed to touch absolutely everything, but rarely had the pocket money to buy anything. So he spent a great deal of his afternoon fixing the displays, his phone still hastily stuffed in his pocket.

Meanwhile, you were deciding where to order pizza from. If Donna wasn’t in, you could afford to brighten Steven’s day a bit. Especially since you still had a sneaking suspicion that he was working late because of you.

He’d told you about JB’s negligence; you waltzed right through the lobby at quarter to seven with a pizza box in your hand and he didn’t even look up from his phone. Pausing at the entrance to the gift shop, you watched Steven for a second. He was typing something on his phone, only to shake his head and mutter something before deleting and typing again. He repeated this process twice before tucking his phone away and moments later, your own phone chimed in your pocket.

Steven’s head snapped up from the plushes he was sorting and you lifted the pizza box, “I really wanted to order that pizza.”

A slow smile spread over his face, “Are you having a laugh? You’ve actually brought pizza into the museum?”

You shrugged, “You told me JB wasn’t the best security guard.”

“Actually I said he was bloody awful, but you’re much sweeter than I am,” Steven chuckled. 

You set the box on the counter, “If we want to eat before I get busted with this, we’d better get going.” Noting his hesitation, you added, “It’s vegan cheese. Don't worry."

The corner of his mouth quirked up. He'd only mentioned it offhand, but of course you were listening. You always listened- you made him feel like the most interesting person in the world, even if no one else but you cared. He followed your lead, taking a slice of the still warm pie, “Thanks- for this. I’ll admit, I was having a bit of a shit day-” he caught himself, “Sorry-”

“Steven Grant, did you just curse?” The little bubble of laughter that left you was pure delight.

His face went hot, “Yeah, sorry, slipped out I guess.”

“No, I love it,” you grinned. “I wanna hear more Steven curses.”

“You want me to- curse?”

You nodded, laughing again, “Let them all loose- all the curse words you know, right now.”

“I don’t think it works that way,” he chuckled weakly, half-tempted to comply, if only to see the way your nose scrunched up when you laughed. “After all, you’ve gotta earn a true curse.”

“I suppose you’re right,” you conceded.

He smiled, tentatively checking his watch; he didn’t want you to go. He was about to invite you to stay while he did inventory- he could tuck you in the back until JB had done his walkthrough, but then he remembered that you were supposed to be busy tonight.

His brow furrowed, “Did your dinner plans fall through?”

He seemed so genuinely concerned, you crumbled immediately, “That was a bit of a fib actually,”

Watching his expression fall made your heart ache, “So you didn’t have dinner plans tonight?”

You chewed your lip, suddenly nervous, as you shook your head, “I thought maybe we shouldn’t get dinner- together, you know. It would’ve felt like a date and you made your position on that clear, so I-”

“Oi, what the- You can’t bring food in here!” JB had started his rounds early, likely eager to get out of work on a Friday night.  

You jumped whipping around, “Right, sorry about that. Wrong address.”

JB grabbed the pizza box from the counter and shoved it into your hands, giving you a firm push toward the exit, “We’re closing up anyway, get moving along.”

Steven felt a flash of anger that was unusual for him, “Hang on now, no need to be so rough.” And he wasn’t finished talking to you; what had you meant about his “position?”

“Stand back now, Scotty, let me do my job, yeah?” He pressed a hand to Steven’s chest and Steven felt the irrational urge to grab his fingers and twist. 

“You don’t need to touch her- she wasn’t hurting anything!” 

“Look mate, it’s Friday, I wanna get out of here, alright?”

Steven pulled JB’s hand from his chest, glaring at him as he dropped the closed sign down on the counter with a loud clatter, “What’s stopping you then? It’s closing time.”

 JB glanced off in the direction you’d gone, muttering something under his breath before moving on. 

Steven wanted to follow you- to chase after you and talk more, but he was on thin ice as it was. He’d been lucky to get his museum position back at all, after everything, and if JB was feeling cross with him, it wouldn’t be a surprise if he reported back to Donna. And he was always on thin ice with her. So he stayed where he was. But once he was sure JB was out of earshot, he pulled his phone out.

You hesitated a second before picking up; you were just out front. You’d needed to stop and take a moment to admonish yourself for blurting so much out; you’d been so swept up in doing something nice for Steven that you’d forgotten about the lie you’d told him. When he’d brought it up, you’d panicked.

“Hello.” You grimaced at the forced normalcy in your tone. 

“Are you alright, love? He shouldn’t’ve pushed you like that and I’ll be sure to have a word with-” there was a pause as he considered who’d he’d be chatting with, “-someone, about this on Monday.” You’d never heard Steven so riled before.

“I’m fine, Steven. No need to get all worked up, alright?” You were hoping- praying even, that Steven had only called to check on you. But that hope was short-lived.

“Yeah, you’re right, I know. I just-” he took a deep breath, “Right. I’m good- I’m aces. Very calm.” There was a pause, then he cleared his throat, “What did you mean, back in there?”

You played dumb, “What do you mean?”

“Well, you said you didn’t think we should get dinner because it would feel like a date.”

“Right, that,” you acknowledged.

“Then you said that I’d made my position on that clear. But the thing is, I don’t remember that. And sometimes I forget things, but I don’t think I’d forget that, you know?”

“Steven, we don’t have to-”

“If I said something, I want- no, I need to know what it was. Please tell me.”

“Right.” You sighed, “Last Saturday, you mentioned that you’d told me you were working because otherwise it would have seemed like it was a date.” 

“It wasn’t, was it?” To Steven, giving you a tour wasn’t a date. Not a proper one, like you deserved. But he did remember saying that and now that he recalled the memory, he remembered the way you’d faltered in the conversation. And you’d worn that dress.

And suddenly it all made sense. The long silence in your absence, the way you’d been reserved when you came back; he’d hurt you. And you’d still left him that lovely review. You’d still come to see him again. You’d brought him dinner at work just to toe the line he’d accidentally drawn in the sand. 

“No, of course not, you said so yourself,” you agreed quickly. “Sorry Steven, I’m getting on the bus, so I’ve got to go.”

“W-wait-”

“I’ll see you again soon, alright Steven?” And then you were gone. 

If he could have made it down the street to the bus stop before they pulled away, he would have made a run for it. But he heard the familiar hiss of the brakes just before you hung up, dropping his phone onto the counter and fisting his hair. 

“God, I’m such an idiot!” He raised his hand in a mock toast, “Cheers to Steven, the biggest knob on the whole bloody island.”

“Statistically, probably not the biggest.” 

Steven glared at his reflection in the mirror at the back of the counter, “Not helpful, Marc.”

“I wasn’t trying to be helpful.”

“Great. Thank you for that. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.” He began working on the inventory, but the real work was brainstorming how he could make this up to you. You deserved something special- something that would make it obvious how he felt about you. 

[venusvity]

If you were concerned that the girls were being overworked before, welcome to the year, Angelico proved you right ten times over! Refusing to lose their hype and cash flow, Venus would release their first full album, "BRAINROT," alongside the title track WORMZ4BRAINZ. "WORMZ4BRAINZ" received positive reviews from critics, who praised its production and the group's vocal delivery. It attained commercial success, peaking at number two on the Gaon Digital Chart and number three on Billboard's World Digital Songs chart.

Showing their full versatility this year, the girls would come back with their sixth mini album, "#dontlike" taking on a more "teen crush" type concept. The EP debuted at number two on the Gaon Album Chart and number six on the Billboard World Albums chart. The songs from the album also performed well digitally. "#dontlike" charted at number one on the Gaon Digital Chart and number three on the Billboard World Digital Song Sales chart.

Controversially, just two months after Jiah turned 19, Venus would release "Come N' Get It," a sexy summer mini album. While a group of Constellations were very vocal about how inappropriate it was for this concept to be done on a freshly legal adult, the general public didn't seem to care. "Come N' Get It" debuted at number 27 on South Korea's Circle Digital Chart. It rose to number one the following week. The song debuted at number one on Singapore's Top Streaming Chart, the Malaysia International chart, and the Billboard Hits of the World charts for Hong Kong and Taiwan, earning Venus their first number-one in Hong Kong.

When asked about how she felt looking back on Come N Get It in the "The Road To Venus" documentary in 2023, Jiah would discuss how she feels currently about the concept vs. how she felt at nineteen.

The music video, full of provocative dancing and the girls in swimsuits, was filmed two days after Jiah's birthday, resulting in another wave of concern from fans. Jiah would only concern fans further by saying she's been waiting to do a concept like this and was very excited to show this side of her.

As a means of damage control gone wrong, VENUS would close out the year with their second digital single, "BAD GIRL," which spearheaded the Venus Hate Train of 2020. A hate train when you're in a successful girl group is to be expected, and the girls handled it to the best of their ability. However, online critics did nothing to the girls charting power and influence.

"Bad Girls" was named the best K-pop song of 2020 by Business Insider, second by Zenerate, and amongst the best songs of 2023 by Elle. Apple's campaign and "Bad Girls"'s music video received awards at the One Show and the Spikes Asia Awards. The song received four music show awards, twice on both M Countdown and Inkigayo.