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#Should I get a hermit crab
donut-entendre · 1 year
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what is your “spaghetti donut AU?” it seems really cool
OUUUUUGH okay the best I can summarize without spoiling too much is basically I looked at Donut's numerous "deaths" and looked at a lot of weird lines from him and said this man is a horror movie monster (the og joke 'theory') And then it spiraled out to an AU where Donut is in fact a weird spaghetti monster that I am... still actively figuring out how he works BUT I can summarize with "what if the Thing and the carrion monster had the personality of Donut" and uh now he's a worm to me. forever. a worm (he is many worms but they all ID as the same guy so?) who's carrying around the world's most mentally ill ex-villains because it's hilarious. they;re all scared of him. he eats cat food and raw yeast and he is a man who will see a mouse and eat it. at some point I decided he was a cat before he got his hands on a human shape because his name is donut. look me in the eyes and tell me that "Franklin Delano Donut" is not the most cat name you have ever heard in your life. anyway hes sooooo normal [donut violence happening loudly in another room but i close the door with my foot]
I have sideblog for it where I mostly rb things that make me go ah yes the worms and I also have an ask blog but I have been a tired little boy lately
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snekdood · 11 months
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You fucking idiots dont fucking get it. ive been taking care of plants since i was 14. Ive tried FUCKING EVERYTHING. Fungus gnats are just apparently gonna exist around me no matter what i do or try, apparently just like these yerfs who also seem to be breeding like maggots.
#please! non plant experts stfu forever.#please! if you dont take care of a grden or live by a heavily wooded areas and dont have any plants inside too that arent succs-#shut the fuck up forever!!#whatever you're about to suggest! ive fucking tried it!!!#but of course. like the yerfs you are you cant ever take me at my word for my own experiences. its always that yall know whats right always#and never that im actually fucking correct about the shit i talk about. like maybe its just really fucking hard to control their population#did you ever consider that sometimes you have to make sacrifices if you want to take care of something like plants? i have to wake up at 6#in the morning now JUST to keep the squirrels scared away from my planters. bc if i sleep in at all i risk letting my plants die bc of#their bs. unfortunately theres just shit that comes with plants that you have to decide whether or not your love for plants is greater than#whatever bs you might encounter while you take care of them. and unfortunately one of those sacrifices is having to deal with fungus gnats#and bugs in general. yall think its so easy to control bugs in my apartment. im poor. nothing is sealed here.#i had a fucking mosquito infestation. how does that even happen? i dont fucking know! but it did.#ive had a meal moth infestation. how did they get in? they were breeding in a little bag of old food i had for my hermit crabs.#how did they get in and somehow get to that bag all the way in my room? WHO FUCKIN KNOWS! I SUSPECT THOUGH ITS BC IM FUCKIN POOR#AND THIS SHIT AINT SEALED IN HERE WELL ENOUGH. i have bug problems all the time.#and you're gonna tell me its just suddenly so easy to get rid of gnats.#this is why ik none of yall *actually* take care of plants. like actually truly. outside of what. your succulents and the one palm you have#im really happy that you have plants you can deprive of water for a few days but i have marsh plants! i have swamp plants! I CANT deprive#them of moisture acrually! so its really not that fucking easy to get eid of the fucking gnats! i feel like i should have to fucking#explain this. if you actually took care of plants forreal forreal you would know they are just not fucking easy to get rid of.#but naw. im trans. so that means i never know what im talking about about anything or whatever and yall gotta act paternalistic about#everything i do. meanwhile im sitting over here ripping out my hair about how dumb and juvenile YALL are bc ik for a gotdamn fact if any of#yall ugly fucks ACTUALLY took care of plants outside of the ornamental ones you have this wouldnt be a discussion.#but naw ya saw a jokey post of mine about how i felt defeated in my ability to get rid of the gnats and decided i wasnt actually trying#bc for some reason yall gotta assume that no trans person actually just knows wtf theyre talking about literally on anything.#anyways i hope yall get plagued by gnats forever and all your planrs die from them devouring the roots.#its like yall are new souls coming in acting like you're an old soul and im the actual old soul tryna tell you what it is but yall are just#*so convinced* you're right because everyone says im the crazy old man on the corner so that means i dont know anything or some#dumb reasoning like that. like idk maybe this old man has seen some shit and knows some shit but sure im sure yall little asses know wrf#ur talking about. totally.
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dreamlogic · 2 years
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aaaaaaah i have. new housing secured.
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bosspigeon · 2 years
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so i havent done anything worthwhile creatively speaking (sorry) but i did make a sims sideblog so i could ramble about my not so berry challenge without being annoying here
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the-breloominati · 10 months
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wrt that last reblog, that and tbh i don’t even know what to draw most of the time. and when I do it just never feels like it’s coming out right (and at that point I’m probably not feeling it anyway so I just. go do something else)
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incorrectbatfam · 6 months
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On the subject of Damian and the axolotl, I feel like people do send him pictures of animals and stuff and he gives a rating, idk tho
Stranger: I thought you'd like to know that Lacey had her puppies. *sends a pic*
Damian: For once, a mother who should be proud. 10/10.
———————
Stranger: *sends a derpy cat pic* This is my cat Momo, short for Movie-Theater Mozzarella-Sticks. He just turned 3 and likes to eat pillow feathers.
Damian: Truly the cat of all time. 10/10.
———————
Stranger: I think I saw Krypto the Superdog on my way to work. *sends blurry video of Krypto flying*
Damian: There goes Metropolis's hero. 10/10.
———————
Stranger: *sends a pic of a lizard in a pointy hat* This is King Gizzard, my lizard, as a wizard for Halloween.
Damian: I would give him all my candy. 10/10.
———————
Stranger: *sends a video of their parrot*
The parrot: Polly loves crackers and Damian.
Damian: Tell Polly I love her too. 10/10.
———————
Stranger: Bruh there are so many gophers at Gotham U. *sends pic of gophers chilling in the quad*
Damian: 10/10. Good for them, living their best life.
———————
Stranger: Do fish count? If so here's Bubbles. *sends video of a goldfish*
Damian: They absolutely do. 10/10.
———————
Stranger: I went to my aunt's farm and got to ride the horses. Meet Dash. *sends Instagram story with a horse*
Damian: A fine specimen. 10/10.
———————
Stranger: Opinions on this stingray? *sends scuba diving footage*
Damian: Superb. 10/10.
———————
Stranger: I found a worm. What should I name him? *sends pic*
Damian: He looks like a Kevin. 10/10.
———————
Stranger: This is me and my stepdad with the hens we've been raising. *sends pic*
Damian: What lovely ladies. 10/10.
———————
Stranger: I went to a butterfly garden today. *sends video of a butterfly landing on their hand*
Damian: Stunning. 10/10.
———————
Stranger: I just got back from a safari. *sends album of savannah herds*
Damian: Next time take me with you. 10/10.
———————
Stranger: *sends a Ratatouille GIF*
Damian: Don't tell my family but I'm training my rats to do the same. 10/10 by the way.
———————
Stranger: This is Herbie, our class bunny. *sends a pic with the teacher fumbling in the background*
Damian: He looks more intelligent than your teacher. 10/10.
———————
Stranger: *sends pic* Got bored and bought a frog. I'm naming him Toad.
Damian: I hope your life is as dull as ever. 10/10.
———————
Stranger: Tzu Tzu keeps leaving her laundry everywhere. *sends video of a snake shedding its skin*
Damian: You're her assistant. Do your job. 10/10.
———————
Stranger: I finally got a hamster!! *sends video*
Damian: Now treat them like royalty and get yourself some tubing. 10/10.
———————
Stranger: Ideas for decorating my hermit crab's shell? For context his name is Juan and he likes the color yellow. *sends pic*
Damian: I suggest black and gold. 10/10.
———————
Stranger: I saw a turtle on my morning walk. *sends a pic*
Damian: Ethereal. 10/10.
———————
Bruce: *sends a family photo*
Damian: *blocks and reports*
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crow-n-tell · 11 months
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I had a lot of trouble with this lil guy. Weird lil music men aren't easy to shift over when their body's are so... Weird. Still, here! Hermit Crab Music Men!
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If you wanna see what went on in my mind for this come right this way...
So a lil info about these boys! These lil music men have adapted to live in the safe shallows, as well as some undersea areas if need be - having two different palettes which match... you've probably guessed by the additions of orange in the music mans usual pastels
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Acid mushrooms! I realized as I was trying to get it all sorted that they are a nearly identical color scheme so it worked out that their colors are a little wacky. Not that real life crabs aren't a bit audacious in their colorings too. Actually the deep sea version of this guy is based off a purple crab called the Palawan Purple Crab who comes from the Philippines.
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Their colors are more so for other crabs of their species to recognize them, or so I've read, but in this particular scenario it suits our lil music man as a sort of camouflage too.
Aside from it being a sort of camouflage, it also gives you insight into these lil guys diet. Most of what (I really need to come up with a name for these guys, but all I keep thinking of is crab rangboom. like crab rangoon? but a sound pun.) they eat are poisonous, which has directly affected how predators view them. Yea see, there are certain families of crabs which are toxic only because they are eating things that should not be eaten.
So music men don't have a lot of predators, other than those who have natural immunities to things like that... ahem, moon.
I imagine that the crabs closer to the surface tend to a little smaller than knee high for an average height human, where as deeper sea versions of them are a lot bigger... Like... I DONT KNOW, Leviathan big? After all these are just lil guys, lets not forget about the big music man!
Next topic is... oh yeah!
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Seismic communication is basically communication through vibrations. Not just through the water, actually it's used by spiders which we can all sort of agree is what the OG music boys are. Spiders use seismic communication when it comes to their webs in particular, able to sense through vibrations in their web if they've captured prey.
Similarly a lot of sea creatures use vibrations as means of communication. Not only in the way spiders do, but sensing out prey; but by avoiding predators or talking to each other. Crabs in particular use all three, but in terms of communication to one another its been noted they will rub their legs together like crickets to talk to other crabs.
For our lil crabby boys, their claws are fashioned sort of like the the original music man has. Hollowed out in the center, they are able to click their lil crab claws together to make sounds and vibrations which distress and confuse their prey long enough to snatch em up and eat em.
Of course they also have the very on brand to SB behavior of just being a literal face hugger if they come out of the shell.
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m...mmmmm..... no... noo....ooo.......
I guess the only thing left to mention is his lil
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Barnacles!
I struggled with how i'd give this lil guy a top hat. Then. I remember how WEIRD barnacles are. You see a lot of barnacles that look a lil something like this:
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But they come in many variations!
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And I hate all of them! they are great for designs, helpful in this case, but I get nauseous when looking at them and I can't even begin to understand why.
Sorry if my adhd really popped out on this one, I am actually holding back some of the mostly irrelevant information about colors and uh, other stuff.
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weirdmarioenemies · 4 months
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Name: Rhubarb the Hermit Crab
Debut: Insaniquarium Deluxe
I have previously posted about my favorite "fish" in Insaniquarium, but there are many more creatures than just the ones you buy and maintain! Alongside them are Pets of all sorts of species, here to help in their own unique ways. And Rhubarb is my favorite, because of course he is!
I love when a hermit crab is stylized with an eyes-in-a-void face. I also love when they aren't, because a hermit crab is lovely in any form! But they feel like the only animal that can be portrayed with a voidy face as the DEFAULT, you know? Turtles can when they're retracted into their shell, but at some point we decided that hermit crabs can keep their eyes in all the time and It's Fine. I agree! It's Fine. Also fine, though, if they want to peek their darling little eyestalks out!
Some pets are powerful, attacking the aliens that want to kill your fish. Some are generous, helping you earn money faster. Rhubarb? He keeps fish away from the ground. When a fish gets too close, he'll snap his claws at it, scaring it away. You should know that there is no real reason to keep them from the ground.
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Rhubarb is ESPECIALLY bad if used in tanks with Guppycrunchers, who wait ON the ground for fish to come down to THEM. Not if Rhubarb has anything to say about it! He'll scare the guppies away from those hungry jaws (which I guess the guppies are not scared of) and cause the poor crunchers to starve...
Rhubarb is, generally, seen as Not Very Good. Let's just refer to his official biography:
RHUBARB has often been accused of being the "worst pet ever". RHUBARB doesn't really care what his detractors think, though. He's not aiming to be a crowd pleaser. He's not trying to prove anything to anyone. He just wishes those darn fish would stay off the ground!
This characterization makes me love Rhubarb even more than I already did, which was a lot! Rhubarb is not very good, and he does not care! He has his own goal, unrelated to YOURS, thank you very much.
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As much as I love Rhubarb for his apparent uselessness and his pride in being himself, he DOES have some actual gameplay benefits, in some situations! Mainly, the further your fish are kept from the ground, the longer it will take for the money they drop to fall and despawn. This also helps Starcatchers in particular, giving them more time to catch the stars they love to catch! If you don't have any ground-dwelling vulnerable creatures, then when an alien appears, you can corral it toward the bottom, and Rhubarb will shoo guppies away from the danger zone.
Rhubarb can be helpful, but more important is that he is just being himself, and he is happy to do so! I know people want me to write about the pregnant fish. I don't know if I want to do that. Goodbye.
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astroboots · 2 years
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RED FLAGS ║ PART 2
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CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS
Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader (hints of Marc Spector x female reader)
Summary: Something strange is going on with Steven. Or alternatively: how you fix your relationship by giving Steven the sloppiest office blowjob ever.
Rating: really fucking explicit
Warning/content: unease around male character, inappropriate office behaviour, blowjob, semi-public sex. Please do not attempt to re-enact this, it will land you with HR.
Word Count: 9.3k (guys this was meant to be a short interlude... idek)
Series Masterlist | Astroboot's Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist
[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]
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Something is wrong.
You’re naked in your boyfriend’s bed—the very same bed where he took you apart some hours ago, desperate, worshipful mouth pressed tight between your thighs. But now he’s staring down at you, that very same mouth set in an almost-disdainful line, eyes flat and blank.
It’s like looking in a funhouse mirror and seeing a distorted reflection of reality. So many of the peripheral things are the same but the essence is different somehow. Off in a way that has your heart pounding loud in your ears. 
The difference is jarring in the same way that the still-healing wounds on his torso are.  Though in this low light, the bruising on his shoulder and the cuts across his chest don’t look nearly as bad as they did when you first saw them. Was it just the shock of their existence that made you think they were worse than they are?
He clears his throat and you realise with a start that you’ve been silently gawking at his chest for the last several minutes. When your eyes fly to his face, you find him poorly suppressing an amused smirk. He’s never looked at you like that before; you weren’t even aware his mouth was physically capable of curving into such a snide expression.
You don’t know what to say to him. To this stranger of a man who has replaced your sweet, awkward Steven. Don’t know what to do with yourself either. In fact, you’re pretty sure you’re staring at him like a deer in the headlights, covers still clutched to your chest. 
His brows draw together, head tilting slightly to the side as he regards you, dark eyes sharp, almost predatory in a way that makes you feel exposed and vulnerable, like an insect pinned to a display board. Your breath stutters in your chest, and a wave of goosebumps raises the hairs along the back of your arms.
Something is wrong, and you want it to stop. And if it won’t stop, you need to leave.
But calmly. Years of experience with drunk blokes in pubs and with overly-handsy coworkers tells you to act normal. Make an excuse. Wouldn’t do to alarm him.
"Is… um…  is your insomnia flaring up again? I should go. I…  really need to be getting home anyway. Early morning at work, you know." You’re babbling nervously, can’t seem to stop as you start to gather up your clothes. You hurry as much as you can without letting go of the duvet, unwilling to lose the only barrier of protection you have against him. 
“I’ll… um… Just let me–” you stammer as you scoop your ruined tights into your handbag and grab your boots. You back prickles uneasily and you have to force yourself not to look over your shoulder and see if he’s still standing there watching you. “I’ll just get dressed and be on my way.”
You don’t look at him or wait for a response. Things in hand and bedding still wrapped firmly around yourself, you scuttle across the flat like a deranged hermit crab, relieved to find that the doorway you spotted is, indeed the loo. You retreat inside, closing the accordion door firmly shut behind you.
Encased in the darkness of the small room, you listen anxiously for any noise from the rest of the flat, but all you can hear is your heart beating loudly in your ears. You fumble blindly with your handbag, pawing through the keys and makeup and all the other odds and ends that seem to accumulate despite your best efforts, cursing yourself for not being more organised.
Finally, after an infinitely long moment of listening to your breathing come faster and faster as you search, your hand closes around your phone, and you yank it free. Your fingers are clumsy as you thumb it open, turning on the flashlight so you can find the pull cord for the bathroom light and tug it down until the room flickers with a jarring glaring brightness. 
You squint down at your phone, and the familiar background screen of you and Steven looks back up at you. Something akin to guilt floods your chest when you pull up the Uber app to secure a ride home—ETA: 12 mins. It’s followed immediately by relief. 
You need the loo, but you feel too exposed to actually sit down for a pee while starkers. It’s ridiculous really, this isn’t a Hitchcock movie, and logically you know that no one is going to attack you from behind the shower curtain. Still you opt for dressing yourself as quickly as you can. 
Fully clothed and with your escape route secured, you feel a tiny bit better, but the tightness in your chest refuses to dissipate fully. 
You use the loo and wash your hands. Catching sight of yourself in the tiny mirror above the sink, you run a quick hand over your hair before giving it up as a bad job, less worried about your looks than… than… What is it that you’re worried about anyway?  
Standing there staring at your reflection, peaky and fretful under the harsh light, you wrap your arms around yourself and wonder what the bloody hell is going on with you. You’re being ridiculous.
It’s just Steven, right? Your sweet, caring Steven. Except it’s not.
He hasn’t really even done anything untoward, and yet here you are, your heart in your throat, ready to jump out of your skin at the slightest provocation. 
He was just so oddly still. Loose and almost... relaxed in a way you’re not used to from Steven. 
Maybe that’s it, you tell yourself, trying to pluck up the courage to open the door to the rest of the flat.  People sometimes act differently after sex. (Case in point: whatever is going on with you right now.)
Maybe this is just what Steven is like once he finally lets himself relax?
The thought warms you, makes the tightness in your chest relax marginally.  But the warmth fades as soon as you open the door to find him standing in the middle of the room, staring at you.
He’s dressed now as well in the well-fitted shirt and dark jacket, so different from his usual oversized clothes. You note absently that it’s a good look on him, but the thought never truly takes hold because you’re too focused on his eyes, just as piercing as before.  Another shiver works its way up your spine. This isn’t just your imagination. 
Something is wrong with Steven, and everything inside you is screaming that you need to get out of here. 
Now.
“I’ll just… um… wait downstairs, shall I?”
He says nothing, and you’re glad, even though that’s wrong too. Steven always offers to walk you, but this time you’re just as happy to be away from him that much sooner.
You’re uncomfortably aware of the weight of his eyes on you as you make your way to the door and start to unfasten the frankly ridiculous number of locks and deadbolts. Even for London this is a bit of an overkill, isn’t it?
Once you finally get the door open, you flash Steven one last wave and a quick, “see you around.” You duck out the door before he can reply, shutting it gently behind you. Resisting the urge to let your head thunk forward against the wood, you turn and head for the lift, still feeling odd about the whole interaction and vaguely on edge.
What was that? Why do you feel more like a witness fleeing a crime scene than a woman bidding a fond goodnight to her boyfriend?
It doesn’t help your nerves that the hallway is dark and empty and one of the lights keeps flickering, lending the whole space an eerie feel. You almost wish you’d asked Steven to walk you down, but you want your Steven, awkward and openly affectionate, not the odd, mostly-silent man you’ve just left behind in his flat.
You reach the lift and punch the call button, prompting a deep hum as the machinery starts to move. You’re staring at the bright red LED light indicating which floor it’s on, willing it to arrive when something grabs hold of your wrist. Hard and unyielding. The persistent grip makes you flinch, jerking your hand back and spinning around to confront… Steven. 
He’s right there behind you, looming over you, looking impossibly large and menacing, and your heart hammers in your chest. You take an involuntary step backwards and clutch your bag to your chest. Your back bumps up against something cold, and you nearly shriek before realising you’ve backed into the door of the lift. 
God, what is wrong with you tonight!? 
It’s just Steven, you tell yourself, willing your rabbiting heart to slow down. (But it’s not. Something inside you is still screaming that this is not your Steven. His eyes are wrong, his stance is wrong, his fucking hair is wrong.)
And you don’t know what you expect (the worst. Oh god, since when have you expected the worst from Steven?) but it isn’t for him to take a step back and hold his hands up in the universal gesture of harmlessness. 
Harmless… right. What a laugh. Right now he looks anything but. Except...
He regards you steadily, eyes dark in his too-serious face. He’s still too still, too... much to be your Steven, but...
There’s something about the way he’s giving you space. The way the stillness is deliberate now, controlled. He’s not trying to make himself smaller—not the way Steven always does—but he’s holding himself back. The power obvious in every line of his body is being restrained in an effort to reassure you, and it’s enough to overcome the worst of your irrational fear.
There’s a tilt of his head, as he gives you a nod, one that seems to say, ‘that’s right. You’re okay.’ And as those dark eyes burn into yours, you can almost bring yourself to believe it. 
He seems to notice too, something shifting subtly in his face. His lips curve up into a small smile, but even that is wrong… almost condescending. And he tips his head slightly to the right.
It’s then that you notice your cheap watch hanging from his hand, the stupid thing looking tiny and delicate in his thick fingers. 
Oh. Oh God. You’ve made a right idiot of yourself, haven't you? Embarrassed warmth floods your cheeks. He must think you’re a complete nutter, overreacting like that over the return of a wristwatch. 
Your eyes shift from your watch back to his face, and there's something—the slightest quirk of an eyebrow or maybe the way that one corner of his mouth ticks up higher—that turns the expression cruel, like he’s having a laugh at your expense. 
The heat spreads and prickles up over the back of your neck, making your ears burn. You’re not even sure anymore if it's nerves or embarrassment or something else entirely, but it rubs you the wrong way all the same, and annoyance comes to the forefront. 
Narrowing your eyes, you send him a look that would ordinarily have Steven withering, but it only seems to amuse the man in front of you.
"Thanks," you tell him flatly, not quite daring to pop off the way you want to. Instead you hesitantly step forward into his space to grab the watch from him. The band pops apart—of course it does—leaving you each holding half of the useless thing, and you have to scramble to grab the other half from his hand under his taunting gaze. 
What is wrong with you? What is wrong with Steven!? God, you just want to be done with this and far, far away from here.
Like the answer to your prayers, a loud ding sounds out in the silence, heralding the arrival of the lift. 
The doors open behind you, and you back in, unwilling to take your eyes off the man who continues to watch you with the same expression of condescending amusement.  Once you’re far enough in, you punch the button for the ground floor, and give him a perfunctory wave as the doors close between you, breathing a sigh of relief once the lift begins to move.
Still, it’s not until you’re safely ensconced in the uber on the way back to your flat that you feel like you can finally take a full breath again. And as soon as you do, doubt floods into you along with it.
What in the bloody hell was that!? 
Why did you react that way? Somehow, in the veritable sea of red flags lining the road of your relationship with Steven, nothing else has set you off like this.
The whole thing seems surreal, and the farther from Steven’s flat you get, the less sure you are of what happened. Was he really even behaving oddly? Or were you the odd one for overreacting—practically having kittens over your boyfriend… what? Not fawning over you the way he usually does or nattering on about one of his interests in the middle of the night? 
Your logical mind is scrambling for some rational explanation: It’s not outrageous to think Steven might be out of sorts because he couldn’t sleep. Or perhaps you had an unremembered bad dream, and the anxiety bled over into wakefulness. Half two in the morning is not anyone’s best hour. 
But the way he looked at you there at the end, like you were nothing to him…
No matter how you try to explain what happened or excuse it away, the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach remains the same. As does the fact that, for a bit there, for whatever reason, you were afraid to be alone with Steven. 
And that’s a giant fucking red flag if you’ve ever seen one. One you don’t know if you can get past. 
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You don’t get any sleep that night, and the entirety of the following workday is a fog. There’s spreadsheets and Team meetings and more spreadsheets, and thank God none of it requires your active brain capacity, because you have none to give today. Your thoughts are entirely preoccupied with last night, and trying to decide what to do about Steven.
The logical part of you votes for cutting your losses and ending things now before you get in too deep. Part of you thinks it’s already too late.
Your phone pings from your bag, and despite your uncertainty and everything that happened last night, your heart still skips excitedly at the thought that it might be Steven. Fishing it out, you unlock it, anticipating a text from Steven; expecting him to be checking in on you the way he always does. 
Except, it’s not Steven. 
Instead it’s an unsolicited picture of an unimpressive specimen of male genitalia taken under the most unflattering fluorescent bathroom light possible. Definitely not Steven. 
Hello, unwanted dick pic #13. 
God, this is what you would have to look forward to if you break it off with Steven, isn’t it? A return to the dystopian, post-apocalyptic landscape that is the London dating scene.
You don’t want to go back to unsolicited dick pics; questionable men, who are either lying about their marriage status or their profile picture; and blokes who leer at you like you’re a piece of meat hanging from a hook in the window display of a butcher’s store. 
But most of all you don’t want to go back to dating strange random men, because you want to be dating Steven. 
You like Steven. 
You like his puppy dog eyes, and his awkward adoration, and his enthusiasm.  You like the silly texts that he sends you throughout the work day— random photos of cute dogs on the tube or Egyptian artefacts with captions full of lame puns and emojis and the reason why he thought of you. 
You like all of it. 
You like Steven. You like Steven a lot. Before last night, you might even have said you were falling in lo– (No. No, you’re not going there. Not right now.) 
But last night was... not good. Quite bad, in fact, wasn't it? You can admit that now. In the space of that last quarter hour with Steven, he made you feel scared and... and... small. And you don’t know how to deal with that from someone you’re supposed to be able to trust. 
Don’t know if you even want to try.
God, you’re a mess. 
You shoot yet another glance at the wall clock, but it’s still not half five. 
You’ve spent the last several hours counting down the minutes and seconds until you can clock out, but the more you check the time, the more it seems to drag on until you think the hands must be clinging to the face of the clock, slowing time itself just to taunt you. 
It takes an eternity and a half but then, finally, the clock ticks over. 
You gather up your belongings in a daze and bid your coworkers an absentminded goodbye before wandering off to the lift. You stare at your own reflection, distorted in the metallic sidewall as the lift descends, still fretting about Steven.
Do you want to break up with him? Keep seeing him? How the bloody hell are you supposed to know when you don't even know what it will be like when you see him again?
When the doors open on the ground floor, you can hear that there’s some kind of commotion taking place at reception. 
“Sir, I’m going to ask you one final time: Who are you here to see?” The no-nonsense voice booms through the entrance hall of your office building 
Susan, the loveable old battle-axe of a receptionist, is giving some poor bloke a hard time again. Nothing unusual there. You can hear her barking out, “If you don’t give me a name right now, you’re going to have to leave. This isn’t a bus stop, alright?” 
“Sorry, Sorry.” 
Oh God. You recognise that voice.  
“I'm not loitering or anything dodgy like that. I'm just waiting for my... girl–uh... lady... um… friend."
Rounding the corner, you see him. 
Puppydog Steven has returned. He’s wearing another novelty print button down and a hangdog expression. Back stooped and hunching into himself, he’s standing in front of the receptionist desk, holding a bouquet of roses the size of a carnival prize in front of himself like a shield. 
“Steven?” 
At your voice, he turns towards you, hunching further over into himself like he’s bracing himself for a blow. As you approach, you can tell he’s nervous and unhappy in a way you haven’t seen since your first date, and your first thought is that something awful must have happened, because of the contrast between last night and now beggars belief. 
“This one yours then, love?” Susan asks, still eyeing Steven like he might be about to make off with the electronics.
“Yeah, he’s um… Yeah. Thanks, Susan,” you flash her a placating smile, then turn to Steven.  
“Steven, what’s wrong? Why are you—,” but you don’t even get the chance to finish the question before he interrupts you.
“I’m sorry. Oh God, this is why I don’t— Sorry, sorry. I–” The words are disjointed, tripping over each other in his hurry to get them out, but clearly it's some sort of garbled apology. “Look, if I– If I did something last night that made you uncomfortable, I’m– Oh God, I’m so sorry.” 
In your peripheral view you can see Susan, working studiously at the corner of the reception desk that offers the best position for her to listen in on your private conversation with Steven. You’re acutely aware of various other onlookers who seem to all have found reasons to loiter in the reception area as well. Unless you want to be the star of the workplace gossip blasted in the office kitchen tomorrow morning, you need to move the two of you somewhere less public, and quickly. 
“Susan, can you block off one of the meeting rooms for me?”
She gives you a slightly dubious look, and for a moment you think she’ll refuse. Susan lives for any morsel of gossip to keep her entertained. But to your surprise, she does you a solid without any further prompting. 
“Room 10, pet.” 
“Thanks. I’ll owe you one.” You flash Susan a grateful smile and make a mental note to get her one of those fancy coffees she likes from the cafe around the corner for brekkie tomorrow.
“C’mon.” You grab the cuff of Steven’s shirt and tug gently.
Steven follows your lead, allowing you to pull him with you down the hallway of conference rooms. Rounding a corner, into a more secluded bit of hallway, you follow the corridor until you reach the last door in the row. The one to the conference room that affords the most privacy.
Swinging the door open, you all but shove Steven inside before closing the door behind the two of you. You flip the lock to ensure there are no unwanted interruptions before turning back to Steven.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he starts again as soon as you’re facing him. 
“Steven, Steven. It's alright,” you interrupt, attempting to reassure him, because God, he looks miserable—every inch the cowering puppydog, just waiting for the kick he knows is coming—and you can’t bear for him to look like that. But he just shuts his eyes like looking at you is painful. He shakes his head, the set of his mouth all misery, and then your heart skips a beat when his eyes snap open and lock onto yours with an intensity that’s startlingly reminiscent of the night before. 
“I just– Look, I—  You’re the best bloody thing I’ve had in my life in a long time—maybe ever—and… and last night was amazing. Better—way better—than anything I could’ve ever imagined.”
He’s so open, so honest, gazing at you with large, pleading eyes. You feel yourself melting despite your earlier indecision on whether you should be done with him, especially when he continues.
“Last night was perfect,” he says with fervent conviction, but then falters and looks down, apparently shy. You feel your heart squeeze at how adoring he is. “At least, I thought so. You were perfect. And I got to fall asleep with you, which was perfect too. But then I woke up and you were gone. And I’m afraid I’ve bollocksed it all up somehow, the way I always do. Good ol' Steven, can't pull a bird to save his life, let alone hold onto one. And it never mattered so much before, but now it does because it’s you, and…”
And he’s still talking, but you’re stuck on one particular part of that word vomit.
He said… he said that he woke up and you were gone. But that’s not right. You know that’s not right. He woke up before you, so clearly you were still there! Does he... not remember? 
You almost ask. Almost say so directly, but something holds you back. Some lingering fear prevents you from bringing up your last unnerving middle-of-the-night encounter. An absurd worry that you don’t dare mention that other, wrong Steven for fear of summoning him back.
Instead you interrupt Steven’s rambling to probe gently, “I was gone when you woke up?”
Steven nods.
“Yeah, this morning. Must’ve worn me out ‘cause I slept straight through.” He gives you a small shy smile that fades quickly when you don’t return it. “Was nearly late for work.”
You’re still reeling, your mind stuck on the bit where he doesn’t remember interacting with you in the middle of the night at all. (Maybe the idea of it being not your Steven isn’t so far-fetched after all?) But Steven doesn’t give you any time to consider; he barely even pauses for breath before barrelling on.
“I don’t blame you for leaving, of course, but I can’t help thinking that I must’ve–” he cuts himself off, gaze dropping to the floor like he can’t bear to look at you. “Look, you... you have to know by now. How dodgy my memory is sometimes. Missing dates or showing up on the wrong day and all that, yeah? Sometimes things happen that I don’t remember. I do things that I don’t remember. And I can’t bear–” 
He breaks off, swallows hard, and finally looks up to meet your eyes. His gaze is serious and direct in a way that almost reminds you of last night, except that there’s no hint of that dreadful, supercilious amusement.
“I can’t help thinking that I must’ve done something, and I’m– I’m sorry if I– Sorry. I– Just please.” His eyes are huge, round and still so open and honest, and there’s something else there too as he continues, “Please tell me that I didn’t do anything to hurt or upset you.”
Fear. It’s fear you’re seeing in his eyes and written across his face. You recognize it now, and you think your heart might break over how scared he looks. Completely terrified over the idea that he might have hurt or upset you.
“Steven... ” You hesitate, brow furrowing as you trail off, not sure what to say or how to describe what happened last night.
“Oh. I– Oh. I did, didn’t I?” He looks vaguely sick at the idea and starts to back away, the hand holding the roses dropping to his side as he hunches into himself all over again, spewing apologies twice as fast as before. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m– Oh God, what did I do? Whatever it was, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t ever– Or would I? Guess I did, didn’t I? God I’m– I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine why I would…”
This whole conversation has been a lot to take in, but Steven is clearly distraught, set to go on self-chastising indefinitely for something that seems to be out of his control. You hate to see him this way—it’s painful to watch his quick descent into misery and self-hatred.
“Steven— Steven!” You try to interrupt his spiral, but he doesn’t even pause. You don’t know what to say to break him out of it, so you stop him the best way you know how.
Surging forward, you grab onto the lapels of his jacket to hold him in place while you press your lips to his. It’s a little awkward—Steven is still talking, mouth open when you make contact, and you misjudged the angle slightly—but it does shut him up rather handily.
His eyes flutter closed and he melts against you with a moan so sweet that you want to tuck it away in a keepsake box and keep it all to yourself. When you pull back a moment later, his eyes are half-lidded and dazed, and he’s wearing an expression like he’s forgotten how to carry out the simple task of breathing. 
“It’s alright, Steven,” you soothe him and it is. With him anyway. You’re not sure what’s going on exactly, but you know you lo– that you care about Steven a lot and don’t want to lose him to… whatever it is that happened last night.
He blinks, gaze focusing slightly as he’s coming back to earth. Then he really looks at you. And the dazed confusion is coloured with something akin to hopefulness in those wide eyes. 
“So, I didn’t… do anything to hurt you?” Those round, pitch dark eyes are so sincere. So ridiculously vulnerable like he was never introduced to the concept of self-preservation. Steven is the living embodiment of wearing his heart on his sleeves to the point where you worry for him sometimes. 
You shake your head no, a smile tugging at your lips at the sight of him, because when that sincerity is pointed in your direction you can’t help the swell of affection in your chest.  
And it’s true. 
He didn’t do anything to hurt you. You were unsettled at worst, and you’ve got the beginning of a suspicion that somehow it may not even have been Steven you were dealing with last night at all.
“So we’re... um...” he pauses and licks his lips, hesitating, and you try not to get distracted by the way his pink tongue slicks over the swell of his bottom lip, “We’re good then, yeah?”
You nod, smile spreading wider despite yourself. “Yeah. We’re good.”
“You’re... You’re sure?” he presses. He’s still gazing at you with those dark puppydog eyes, uncertainty painted across every line of his face. One stray curl has furled up against his forehead as he bites down onto his bottom lip, worrying the plump flesh. 
You reach for him without thinking, wanting to reassure him, and you pull him in to plant another short, chaste kiss against his lips.
Eager for you as always, Steven meets your kiss. Soft, warm lips pressed to yours for a long moment, and then he’s licking into your mouth with a hungry enthusiasm that has your knees ready to go out from under you. His free hand comes up to wrap around your back, and you bury your own hands in his riotous curls as he kisses you hard enough to bend you back over his arm. 
Steven’s kisses are always ravenous, but this time in particular, he kisses you like he’s seeking salvation from your lips; like you’re water when he’s dying of thirst, and he’s determined to consume all of you that he can get before you change your mind.  
You have to plant your hands on his shoulders, barely managing to pull away from his lips long enough to catch oxygen into your lungs. He releases you with obvious reluctance, and your knees are weak enough that you take a moment to be sure they’ll hold you before you take a step back to look him over, drinking in the sight of him. 
Collar askew, curls a frantic mess over his forehead, kiss-swollen lips, just a hint of uncertainty lingering in those big, dark eyes.  Fuck, he’s so damned gorgeous.
And okay, yes, you want to reassure him, but you’re certainly not opposed to messing him up a little bit more in the process. Messy is such a good look on him after all. 
You sneak a quick glance at the wall clock above—6pm, after office hours. 
There may still be some unlucky souls still working upstairs in the office space, but no one is going to be using these ground floor meeting rooms at this hour. No one except you, that is, and you know exactly what you want to do with that privacy.
Grasping Steven’s collar, you tug at it to lead him further into the room. 
He follows without resistance, but clumsily, nearly tripping on the carpeted floor. Too busy staring at you to watch his footing. He’s like a puppy learning to walk on a leash, and it’s adorable. 
You lead him to the mahogany conference table, and take the bouquet from his unresisting hand, laying it down gently on the table top before pulling out one of the large rolling office chairs. A bit of manoeuvring, and you’ve got Steven standing in front of the chair with his back to the door, just in case. 
He gasps when you drop to your knees in front of him, and makes an abortive movement like he meant to catch you by your shoulders but was too slow, leaving his hand hanging there uselessly in midair.  
The rough carpet scratches at your skin through your tights, but you keep your attention on Steven as you make quick work of unbuckling his belt. 
You can see the moment it dawns on him exactly what your intentions are. His eyes grow comically large, tongue darting out in a nervous fit to lick over the swell of his lower lip.
“Wait, wait. What are you–? There’s people outside. We can’t do this here, can we?” He sounds scandalised, and it makes you want to show him just how scandalous you can be.
“It’s fine,” you tell him, nuzzling at the crotch of his jeans and breathing in the scent of him, before the soft whisper of the metal zipper being lowered fills the room. 
“We shou—oh fuck, that feels so…—Shouldn’t be doing this though, should we?”
For all his protesting, Steven is already half hard, the incriminating evidence pressing against the front of his underwear. His throat constricts as he swallows, a nervous reflex.
You still, fingers hooked into the edge of his jeans and underwear, and peer up at him. 
“Steven. Do you want me to stop?”
“No.” The response is instantaneous, accompanied by a vigorous shaking of his head. “I-I– Don’t stop. Keep… um… keep going, please. If you want to.” 
“Good.” You tug down the jeans and pants down over the ample curve of his ass to his thighs in one fluid motion, and his cock springs free from the constraints, rising to slap gently against his stomach. 
“Then sit down.” You wrap both hands around his hips and give the gentlest of pushes, but he drops down so forcefully it’s like you’ve tackled him. 
He’s so distracted—eyes wide and shell-shocked and glued on you—that he nearly misses the chair, not quite making it square in the seat. The chair wheels squeak noisily, as his momentum sends it rolling backwards away from you. 
You blink in disbelief. 
"Oh bugger. Sorry, sorry. Let me just...” Steven, clearly mortified, tries to course correct, planting his feet to kick forward, but he miscalculates the trajectory and sends the chair into a spin instead. “Oh god, I'm so sorry." 
Giddy relief fills your chest, and you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up in your throat. Dear God, why are things with the two of you always like this? It’s practically a comedy of errors. 
Still, if there was any doubt before, it’s definitely gone now. This man—the man in front of you, awkward and fumbling and sweet—is your Steven. 
You shake your head and climb to your feet, still smiling as you walk over to him. Planting your hands on the armrests, you force the chair to a stop. Steven’s horrified expression, now inches from your own face, nearly sends you into another fit of giggles. 
“Stay,” you order with a fond smile. “Don’t move. Just relax, alright? I’ve got you.”
While Steven is normally very good at taking orders from you, this is one that he entirely fails to follow. His whole body remains tense, fingers flexing as they hover nervously in the air until you take them and guide them to the armrests where they grip and hold on tight.
You drop to your knees again and lean forward until you’re caged in by his spread legs on either side of you. Steven lets out a breathless gasp even though you haven’t so much as touched him yet. 
On your knees like this, your face inches away from his cock, you get an up and close personal view that you weren’t privy to the night before. The head is flushed dark pink and it shines slick with the precome that’s beading at the blunt tip. 
Even his cock is ridiculously pretty. It’s really not fair. 
This close the scent of him is even stronger, clean, with a hint of musk and something altogether Steven. Parting your lips, you ghost your breath over him, relishing the way he practically whines at the sensation, his cock twitching and jerking, more precome welling out to drip down the impressive length of him.
So sensitive, your Steven.
You dart out the tip of your tongue to lap up the runner of liquid. It’s a barely-there touch, but from the sound he makes, you’d think you had punched him square in the solar plexus. The choked-out, pitiful sob makes the blood in your veins sing. 
You do it again, just to see if he’ll make the same noise.
He does. 
Then again, and he moans, long and breathless, and it shivers through you. Makes you want to see what other sounds you can pull from him. But first you pull back for a moment.
“Shall I continue then?” you ask, pretty sure you know the answer already.
“Yes, please. God yes.” His voice is breathless, desperate, and you can’t help the self-satisfied smile tugging at your lips.
You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and it jumps in your grip, thick and hot and throbbing against your palm. You love how reactive he is. Looking him in the eye, you drag your tongue against your bottom lip to wet it for him. Then without further ado, you wrap your lips around him.
“Shit. Oh bloody–Shit.” His whole body stiffens under the assault of your mouth, and you can feel him pulsing on your tongue.
Closing your eyes, you savour the sounds he makes for you. Keen little noises and punched out gasps like you’re holding him under water and drowning him in sensations until he can barely breathe. 
His reactions, the way his cock twitches, the sweet tang of precome on your tongue; it’s all perfect, and your stomach clenches with arousal and the aching need to touch yourself. 
It’s tempting, so tempting, to slip a hand under your skirt and indulge in your own pleasure, but you want to stay focused on Steven right now. Want to be able to take in every minute detail of his response to you. So you keep your hands wrapped firmly around the base of him as your mouth inches down, taking as much of him as you can before backing off again to tease him with just the tip of your tongue. 
"Oh God, oh God, that feels amazing. You're so--oh fuck--so good at this… I mean why wouldn't you be? I mean... oh God.” He’s babbling. Fingers gripping the armrest so hard that his knuckles have gone ghost-white. “Pleasedon'tstop."
It is, possibly, the world’s worst and most adorable attempt at dirty talking. But it hardly matters. Steven is so responsive to your every touch, so obviously overwhelmed, that it’s impossible to take his words the wrong way. Impossible not to be aroused by his enthusiastic reactions.
When you kiss the tip of him, he keens. When you swirl your tongue, tracing shapes against the sensitive head, he’ll cant his hips upwards, in an attempt to get even deeper. When you grant him exactly that, letting him slide himself deeper into your mouth, his hands fly to your shoulder, fingers flexing there, digging in until they’re just short of painful. 
And all the while he’s watching you with awe, gaze locked on you, as though he’s afraid to look away in case you disintegrate under his hands. As though he can hardly believe you’re real.
That look in his eyes makes you burn. Makes you want to do even more for him. To make him feel as good as humanly possible. So you suck and kiss and lick every inch of him you can, your hand wrapped in a tight fist around his slick girth to work what your mouth is unable to. 
One large, shaking hand comes up to cup the side of your face, his thumb barely ghosting over the corner of your mouth where it's stretched wide around his cock before moving to your cheek. He rubs small, soothing circles over your cheekbone, gentle even as he's writhing under your mouth. The tender, doting touch sends pleasure skittering down your spine. 
Even now, with you on your knees for him, the man is trying so hard to hold back. To be careful with you. His hips barely hitching up to meet your mouth, as you lick and lap at every inch you can. 
“God, look at you. You’re so pretty. I can’t believe you’re actually–” He breaks off, gasping, then starts again, barely seeming aware of what he’s saying, “Your mouth feels so good. So fucking pretty, you are. Can you— Can you take me deeper?” Then when you hum an assent around his cock, “Oh God, oh please…” 
The words coming out of him aren’t even particularly filthy, but they affect you all the same. 
Heat blossoms in your stomach at how wrecked his voice is as he pants out how pretty you look over and over again. You can feel how wet you are—dripping into the already soaked cotton of your knickers. You squeeze your legs together, moaning around his cock when the pressure makes your cunt clench around nothing. 
“Oh. You’re–? Fuck. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Steven gasps out, and you pull back far enough to look up at him and shoot him a cheeky wink.
“God, you’re amazing,” he groans, thrusting up into your mouth just once, like he can’t help himself, then stilling. Whatever shyness or uncertainty had him tongue tied just a few minutes ago seems to be gone, and he starts to beg for you to “Touch yourself for me, love. Please. Fuck. Want you to enjoy yourself too. Please.” 
Hah. As though you weren’t already enjoying yourself thoroughly. 
Still, it’s no great hardship to do as he asks, so you pull off slowly, teasingly, and sit back on your heels to look up at him. Collapsed back in the chair, chest heaving, cheeks flushed and curls in complete disarray as those dark eyes burn down into yours, he looks gorgeously undone. 
God, and he says you're the pretty one? 
You can’t help but lose yourself in admiring him for a long moment.
Too long of a moment, apparently, because his brows draw together and the light of uncertainty starts to flood those big brown eyes. His hands rise to flutter in the air, a sure sign he’s feeling insecure. 
Quickly, before he has a chance to overthink things too much, you make a show of sliding one hand down to cup your breast. Between your office clothes and sensible bra, you don’t get much out of it, but you’ve certainly captured Steven’s attention.
He looks utterly gobsmacked, mouth hanging open, and his eyes remain glued to your hand as it continues its descent down your body, and up under your skirt. His swollen, shiny cock jerking and leaking precome in an entirely gratifying manner.
You press a hand between your thighs over your clothes and gasp when even that muted pressure sends pleasure streaking through you. There’s an awkward moment as you scramble for the edge of your tights, and manage to drag them down far enough to wedge your hand under and into your knickers. 
The angle is cramped and uncomfortable, but so, so worth it to be able to rub slippery little circles over your clit. Fuck, you’re already so wet, and you can’t help but moan as you feel wetness leaking down between your thighs every time your cunt clenches.
“Oh my days,” Steven breathes, eyes as wide as you’ve ever seen them as his gaze flits between your face and the hand buried beneath your skirt. He seems to have forgotten about his own arousal entirely, totally focused on you.
And, well, that just won’t do.
When he looks up at your face again, you catch his gaze and send him a naughty smile before ducking forward and taking his cock in your mouth again. 
Steven lets out a gasping moan that sounds like it’s torn from his very soul, and this time his hips rise to meet you, no longer holding back. He’s all instincts and hunger now, and you’re reminded of the Steven who took control from you last night and drove you to three orgasms so intense that they left your legs numb in their wake. 
His cock fills your mouth perfectly, and it’s almost too much. You struggle for a moment to fit all of him, but then the two of you find a rhythm between you that lets you take him deep without choking. 
You rock your hips against your hand in time with his thrusts, and the muscles of your forearm ache as you chase your pleasure. It feels so good that you keep forgetting to time your breathing, but fuck, you barely care. Can’t help but love the burn of it down to your lungs. The taste of him, bittersweet and tangy on your tongue, is intoxicating and you could easily get addicted to this. To the uninhibited sounds he’s making at your touch and the taste and smell of him.
You’re overwhelmed, surrounded by him, head swimming with it. Or perhaps it’s the lack of air that has reality going a bit woozy around the edges as you match each roll of his hips into your waiting mouth with a roll of yours rocking against your hand. Your world narrows down to his cock in your mouth, his voice in your ears, and the devastating ebb of pleasure pours through you, building higher with each advance and retreat. 
It’s too much and just the right amount because suddenly you’re there, right on the edge. Don’t realise that you’re moaning until the sound cuts off when you shove forward, desperate to take Steven as deep as possible. You roll your hips down one last time, pressing hard against your clit, and that’s all it takes.
You come hard, white hot bliss surging through you as you convulse on the floor of an empty conference room, Steven’s cock lodged as deep in your throat as you can take him. 
Dimly you hear Steven’s shocked “Oh Lord, are you—? Oh my God!” and then a broken, breathy litany of “Oh God oh God oh God,”  but it hardly registers.
You hold there as long as you can, until your lungs burn and the muscles of your arm threaten to cramp and you’ve wrung every last drop out of pleasure you can out of your orgasm. 
Finally, shuddering with overstimulation, you have to pull back. Pulling your slick hand out of your underclothes, you flex your aching fingers, chest heaving as you suck in a long overdue breath and then another.
“Oh God, oh God, don’t stop.” The head of Steven’s slippery, wet cock glances off your equally slick lips as his hips rise to chase your mouth, “Pleasepleaseplease– I need– Fuck. Please don’t stop.” 
His cock is twitching in your hand in protest from the sudden lack of attention. The length of it is dripping from your spit, precome flowing from the fat tip as if it’s drooling, glistening under the ceiling light. 
You can’t help the shudder that works its way through you when your oversensitive cunt clenches at the depraved sight. 
If your goal was to make a mess of him you’ve certainly succeeded.
To buy yourself time to catch your breath, you press saliva-slick kisses along his hardened length, relishing the way Steven descends completely into incoherence.
Half sentences and broken off words, begging for your mouth. It’s a far cry from the man who was all shy nerves, and worried about people being outside not so very long ago.
And you love it. You love it all.
The sounds he’s making are intoxicating. You want desperately to hear how loud he can get, but there’s a little voice in the back of your head warning that this is not the place to let the volume become an issue.
There shouldn’t be anyone down by this hallway, but the way that Steven is carrying on, you worry the sound will carry far enough that your co-workers on the floor above, still in their offices, will be able to hear you two.
“Steven,” you murmur, pressing another kiss to the fat tip of him, “I need you to keep quiet for me.”
You tilt your head until you can sneak a glance at him. How utterly ruined he looks, chest heaving, rising and falling in tides, eyes dazed, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. You can’t help but smile, fluttering your eyelashes for his attention as you lap up the precome oozing down his cock with little kitten licks, savouring the way he shivers violently below you. 
You know you’re being mean. He’s so overwhelmed that he looks like he is going to jump out of his skin, but you can’t resist as you continue to tease him.
“You don’t want me to have to stop, now do you?” 
He whines at that, and if you had the luxury of time and privacy, you’d scold him again, drag out your fun and tease him just a tiny bit more.
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Steven begs so prettily, shuddering below you as he stutters out, “I—I’ll be good. Quiet, I promise. Please, please don’t stop.”
“Good,” you say, then you lean down again and take him back into your mouth. 
His hand flies up to his mouth, and he clamps a wide palm over it in a desperate attempt to quiet himself. It helps some, but you can still hear the muffled groan that rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest. 
Your previous established rhythm falls apart. 
His hips stutter into a staccato pace as he thrusts into your mouth in a desperate attempt to get deeper. The telltale sign of his sharp jaw tensing, the small muscle there flexing. Those gorgeous doe eyes roll to the back of his head, his face awash in pleasure. 
God, he’s fucking beautiful like this. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the sight of him. 
From the way his thighs are trembling, you know he must be teetering on the edge even before he warns you with a hoarse and broken, “Close. I—I’m close.” 
You hum, and the vibration makes him hiss like you’ve burnt him. His hands come to frame your face, attempting to gently pry you off of him.
You let him pull you away just long enough to form words, hands still wrapped around him to replace the momentum with firm strokes to keep him on the edge, as he twitches and jerks in your palm. 
“Do you want to come in my mouth, Steven?”
He shivers, his eyes are shut tight, and for a moment you aren’t sure if he heard you at all. But then he nods forcefully, choking out a rough,  “Fuck. You can’t just– God. Yeah. Yes. Fuck. Please,” that has the tip of your ears tingling. 
God, he sounds ruined. 
He also sounds loud, and he isn’t stopping.
“Steven.” Your voice is flat, cutting through his desperate rambling. “Shut it.”  
A strangled moan tears out of him at your command, and somehow the suppressed noises he’s making are even louder than when he was babbling. 
In a sudden fit of inspiration, you shove the fingers of your other hand, still sticky with your slick into his mouth. His tongue drags against you, and he gasps around the intruding digits. At the same time, you lean down to take him as deep as he goes, swallowing down the urge to gag when he hits the back of your throat. His body goes rigid, throwing his head back and baring his long graceful throat to you with a muffled groan. He suckles at your fingers, mouth hot against your sticky skin, and you can feel it the moment that he comes. His cock pulsing warm and thick against your tongue, as he floods your mouth, tangy and slightly bitter. 
It’s quite possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced, and it makes you want to drag out that pleasure for him and ruin him even more. 
You hold him in your mouth, tongue lavishing at the stiff underside of his cock, your own fingers pressing against his tongue as he writhes underneath you. You don’t let up, drawing things out until his thighs are shaking violently beneath you and you’re sure that the overstimulation must be bordering on the painful.
Only then do you pull away, sitting back to take in the sight of Steven. Rosy-flushed cheeks, and half-lidded eyes boring into you. He’s staring down at you like you’ve hung the stars and moon in the night lit sky one by one. 
All of a sudden, you find yourself feeling almost shy under that loving gaze. Flustered at the adoring attention from him. You feel silly to be the object of that devotion, while you’re still on your knees, knickers and chin equally sticky, and the remnants of his come still lingering on your tongue. 
You don’t know what to say or do next, but it doesn’t matter.
Before you can even try to figure it out, Steven surges forward, dropping down to his knees in front of you and closing the distance between you to crash his lips against yours. He licks into your mouth with frantic desperation, apparently uncaring that you still taste of his come. 
You can taste yourself in his mouth as well, as Steven devours your mouth with a hungry fervour that you’ve come to associate with his touch. 
It’s sweet; it’s depraved; it’s ravenous. 
It’s all the contradictions of Steven himself wrapped into a kiss. And for better or worse, it’s something you’re not sure you can live without anymore. 
Eventually he slows in his pace, until the one kiss dissolves into many, syrupy and languid in a way that makes the air around you thin. And then...
“God, I love you.” He sighs the words gently into your mouth, so blissful and contented that it takes a moment for you to realise what was said.
You stiffen in his arms as his words fully register with you. Pulling away, you draw back enough to see Steven’s face, not entirely sure if you heard him right until you see the complete adoration in his eyes.
Oh. Oh wow, he really does mean that doesn’t he? 
The expression on your face must betray how stunned you are by his confession, because Steven’s brows draw together in concern and he immediately starts apologising.
“Sorry. Should I… um. Should I not have said that? Not the most romantic moment, is it? Course it’s not. Confessing after you– you–” he stutters, clearly flustered. “Well, after that.”  He flinches, face flushing bright red, and mutters, “God, I sound like a right bloody wanker, don’t I?” 
He’s right.
This was hardly the perfect time, or a particularly romantic one. And he does sound like a bit of a wanker.
Your eyes meet, and he flinches, eyes worried and voice hesitant, as if he did something grievously wrong to offend you. 
“Did I make you uncomfortable? I did, didn’t I?” He drops his gaze, as though he thinks he’s committed some grievous wrong to offend you.  “I’m sorry, we can pretend I never said it if that’s what you want.” It clearly pains him to make the suggestion, but he makes it anyway. “I don’t– I don’t want to lose you.”
That’s the thing with Steven. 
He's all in. 
Whatever else he has going on, Steven’s never been half-hearted about this, about you.
He doesn’t time his moments or play tactics to win you over. Whether it’s bravery or stupidity, you can’t tell, but he’s always been open and vulnerable with his feelings, even that very first night at the restaurant, when his eyes lit up at the sight of you. They’ve always been right there on his sleeve.
And right now it’s clear to see that he’s en route to having a complete nervous breakdown if you leave him hanging any longer without an answer. 
You’ve known for a while that you liked Steven, had feelings for him, and now there’s not a single doubt in your mind about how deep those feelings go.
“I love you too.” 
He looks up at you timidly from underneath those thick eyelashes with shock that’s shading into careful, dawning hope. His mouth opens as if to speak, but then he hesitates for a long moment, jaw working, like he’s too scared to ask you to repeat it in case he misheard or you’re playing a practical joke on him. 
“Yeah?” he asks eventually, voice whisper-soft.
You don’t answer him with words. 
Instead you nod, pulling him close until you can kiss him again. Removing any lingering doubt that still might remain—for both of you. Whatever yesterday night was, you meant every one of those three little words, and want to stay to figure it out. 
It’s you and Steven, red flags be damned. 
~ Continue ~
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Dedication and Credits
To the city of London itself, can you dedicate a city? No? I'm doing it anyway. I'm finally home after 2.5 years of being away and I miss her so. Love of my fucking life.
@thirstworldproblemss my love, my best friend, my soul twin, clown sister. Thank you for being with me literally every single day the past year and almost a half in my pocket, on good days, on bad days, and on the boring-nothing-special days. You've kept me going all this time, and the best part of my gloomy days would be waiting for you to wake up half across the world and start our nonsense for the day. My life is all the better because you're in it. Thank you for keeping me intact and in one piece all this time.
@frannyzooey the kindest, most talented, and most supportive person. You are so loved and truly one of a kind. You give so much of yourself wanting nothing in return and your presence is my life is such a gift. Thank you for always being there with a kind word when I was about to blow my freaking casket in the last year and a half. For talking me down, for being a pillar of calm and reason when I felt like dousing things down with gasoline and setting it on fire. Thank you for being you, I cannot wait to spam you with a million food photos from this day on, that's my promise to you.
@jazzelsaur for your beautiful, curly avocado toast hair that smells like delicious onions. I love you, your baby whore 🥑🧅
@radiowallet with your brilliant big mind. For you love of the comic and nerdy. For being so absolutely fucking wonderful and supportive and kind in a word that is anything but on some days.
@the-ginger-hedge-witch this is not a dedication. This is a call out, remember when you tried to character assassinate Brendan Fraser? Pepperidge Farm remembers. P.S. I love you dearly
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beaniebeensbaby201 · 1 year
Note
Can I request a story with neteyam and it takes place after the he fights Ao’nung where the reader sees him with his split lip and thinks he looks rlly attractive. Neteyam also teases the reader about it plsss🙏 your writing is rlly good! And I’m sorry if my explanation was bad😭
NETEYAM X OMATACAYA FEM! READER
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A/n: I'm sorry if this isn't really accurate to the scene in the movie I don't remember this scene very well.
Also I'm sorry again I hadn't been really writing I just hadn't been really in the writing spirit.
Warnings: cursing, violence, joking flirting, NO SMUT.
I was with Kiri as we were both in the water. I understood Kiri, as we were both somehow connected to Eywa in a different way than the clan would understand.
Neteyam and Lo'ak were doing something as I decided to spend my time with Kiri. We're still adjusting to the new lifestyle as we were meant for the forest.
"Look." I signed to Kiri, as I saw there was a hermit crab moving in the water.
"It's beautiful." Kiri signed back to me.
"Oh, look, it's the freak with her freak friend." I saw the hurt look on Kiri's face, as I quickly got up from the shallow water.
"Can we help you?" I asked, glaring at An'oung and Rotxo and their friends.
An'oung circled around me and pulled my braid, causing me to hiss and wip around.
"Get your fish hands off me!" I hissed at An'oung's friend.
He looked me up and down and smirked.
"Hey!" I shouted as they tried to take Kiri's fingers.
"Do not touch her! Let her go, you fucker!" I growled, as I pushed Kiri behind me quickly.
"So defensive." Rotxo rolls his eyes with his comment.
"You can not touch her. Keep your fish friends away from her. And from Neytyam and the other Sully's." I could feel Kiri's hand on my bicep, but I ignored her as she tries to pull me back from them.
An'noung grabbed my tail, and I hissed in pain.
"Y/n!" I heard Neteyam from the distance, as I went to rush after him and threw myself into his arms.
"Ma y/n." He place his fingers on my face to examine any injuries.
"I am fine, go. They won't stop antagonizing us." I whisper, I was standing behind Neteyam as he held his arm behind me in protection.
"I thought I told you to stay away from my sister and my mate." My tail flicked when he called me his mate.
An'oung just laughed along with his friends.
"You should go away! You are not going to survive in the waters, not even your precious mate." I was about to go after him only to be stopped by the hand on my wrist.
"No." Neteyam said, as I let out a sound of annoyance.
"If you touch her again, you will pay for this." Neteyam threatened.
"Pay? Is that a threat?" An'oung taunts.
"Promise." I shimmied closer to Neteyam as I rested my chin on his shoulder as I wrapped a hand around his waist from behind.
"C'mon. They're not worth it." I cringed even though I have wanted to fight An'oung since we came here.
"Yea, take your freak, Mate, and your freak sister off of our island!" This caused an uproar, as Neteyam was the first to punch An'oung.
Lo'ak came to join his brother as they fought the boys.
"Y/n!" Kiri shouted for me, but I couldn't let my mate get into trouble alone.
"You fucker!" I hissed when they pulled onto my braid again.
"Let go of her hair!" Lo'ak hissed, jumping on Rotxo to punch him in the face.
"What the hell is going on?" I heard an angry Jake and Tonowari.
"You three, with me. Now!" I flinched at Jake's voice as Neteyam grabbed onto my hand.
"What have I told you since we got here?" Jake asked, as he paced the Moraui.
"Not to get into trouble." The four of us say together.
"But sir, there was great reason. They kept calling my future mate a freak. They kept harassing her and would pull her braid." I shuffled closer to Neteyam as I looked down.
"Is this true, y/n?" I heard Ronal asked, as she was Tsahik.
"Yes. They have been doing this to me for a while. I fear your son." I admitted, not looking into the woman's eyes.
"You skxawng! You are a dishonor to the family!" Tonowari shouted, angry at his older son for how he has treated our family.
"We told you to teach this family our ways. We did not say you should hurt another's mate!" Ronal finished, she was just as angry as Tonowari.
"I didn't mean-" An'oung didn't finish his sentence until they heard me scoff.
"You did too! You come after my family again I will-" I was about to finish my sentence until Neteyam stops me.
"You're dismissed. I will talk to my son and make sure he learns his manors." Tonowari promised.
Ten minutes had past and I was with Neteyam.
"I was fine." I couldn't look at him, as I had to stay angry.
"You were not fine!" He hissed when I accidentally pressed onto the wound.
" 'Teyam, you do not always have to defend my honor." I dabbed a little lighter this time.
I tried not to think about the bubbly feeling in my chest.
"What?" He took my hand away from his lip as I realized I was caught.
"You're biting your lip pretty hard." I hadn't realized that I was biting my lip until I let go. I let out a slight hiss when I felt the metallic taste on my tongue.
"I'm so telling Lo'ak that you're into this!" He was about to run to my best friend until I stopped him.
"I am not attracted to you with a bloody lip!" I pressed, but I could see Neteyam's toothy grin.
"Your face is heating up!" I slapped him hard against his chest.
"You're being mean!" I cried as I felt my heart beat faster.
"Because you are attracted to me." I rolled my eyes.
I was getting annoyed and flustered. I went to get up and walk away, Neteyam called out for me but I do not answer.
I heard his voice getting louder as I knew he was close. He grabbed my wrist in a firm but gentle hold.
"I think it's hot that you find me attracted after a fight." He had his hand on my cheek.
"You protect those that you love. You saved me and Kiri from Ao'nong. I love you. Because you saved us from his harassment. And you look hot with a busted lip." I admitted, he places his lips against mine.
I moan at the metallic taste. My hands found their place in his hair pulling him closer to me.
"I'm still telling Lo'ak." He snickers as I hit him.
"You Skxawng." I hissed, only for him to laugh.
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desultory-novice · 1 month
Note
OK, but what about the inverse of the Dark Matter Magalor ask. Magalor dies, returning as a husk puppeted by Dark Matter. Sure, Zero is gone, but it was only ever made to follow Zero's whims, so defeating its masters killer should do it proud. And hey, Kirby probably wouldn't notice too much being different with Magalor. He may sound a little different, but he's been gone for a while. He may have tattered clothes and may refuse to show his (damaged) body, but he was beaten badly.
He may be connected to the dissapearing dream friends, but he surely couldn't have done it.
Because... if it isn't Magalor controlling himself, and if it is "Magalor" doing all these horrible acts...
Then isn't it Kirbies fault for not being a good enough hero? For not defeating Magalor properly when he stuck his hand out and begged for help?
(It isn't his fault, but I'm sure "Magalor" would subtly imply so. After all, if Kirby is happy and has his friends, then he should be able to do anything, stop anyone. "Magalor" may be strong, but It didn't inherit the late mages cockiness. It knows when to feign redemption, when to strike, when to put a small insult or comment to break them apart.)
(It doesn't know why Kirby smiling, or calling him a friend makes him feel emotions it never should.)
((It was never made for happiness))
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Dess's 5 Minute Horror Comic Theater!!
(Just kidding. According to the info panel, this took an 1 hour.)
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Kirby's record of befriending Dark Matter is not TOO bad all things considered (wins: Gooey, Void | loses: Swordsman, Zero, 02 ... if you count suspected ones like Dark Mind, Nebula, and Crafter it gets significantly worse but...) so I definitely think he could make the Dark Matter Hermit Crab that took up residence in Magolor start feeling the feels...!!
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Text
Things to Do Today
1. Sober up and get rid of hangover
2. Ponder on how ridiculous this is
3. Get drunk again because I can't deal with this sober
I thought they were off to Alpha Centauri. Living that sweet life we will never have...
Well, it seems things don't always work out for other people, too.
Obviously. But let's rewind to last night and try to sort this all out.
"I was going to mysteriously appear in your car", Beelzebub said, "but somehow I can't get in anymore."
Oh.
"Also, when I tried to miracle myself in, the car suddenly turned yellow. Like some kind of defense mechanism."
OH!
"Things have changed, Beelzebub. You have to be invited in. And I'm certainly not go... gonna do that."
"Well, that's all right." They take a step closer. "We can just talk here."
"And I certainly don't want to talk."
"I brought booze."
My eyes shift between the empty bottle I'm holding and the full bottle in their hands.
Sigh.
I throw the empty bottle into the Thames (Yes, I should litter, I'm a demon after all. And maybe some hermit crab can build a home in it. Or some little fish family. Oh, lookey here, it's Nemo and the guys.)
Beelzebub passes the full bottle to me. It's obviously not miracled out of Hell, it's good old Earth stuff.
Mhm. Smells like it, too. And I just remembered that Nemo is a saltwater fish.
And so are hermit crabs.
I take a deep sip. Well, obviously not fish, but well.. you know.
"I heard about Aziraphale," Beelzebub looks at me with a sympathetic gaze and suddenly I feel the need to throw up. "I'm sorry, things didn't work out."
Bloody Heaven! I'm not going to talk to them about Aziraphale. It's bad enough with Maggie and Nina trying to get me to talk about Aziraphale, but Beelzebub? Really?
This is one of the few times I'm actually speechless, but being a fellow demon, Beelzebub should fully well be able to read my death glare.
They do. "Well, that's all right. Gabriel and I broke up, too, and I don't want to talk about it either."
They WHAT? They thwarted both Heaven and Hell for their love and now they fall out of it after barely three months?
Lucky for the both of us, Beelzebub freezes the bottle in mid air before it smashes on the ground. They grab it, take a big sip and pass it back to me.
We stand in silence, staring at the river. All is quiet, except for the city noises in the background, the sound of the water and the occasional burp from one of us as we devour the alcohol.
I know, I'm gonna regret this. I'm gonna regret this big time.
"So", I ask, turning to Beelzebub. "What exactly happened?"
~*~
Older Diary Parts minus the Reblogs:
1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8
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officerdooley · 2 months
Note
"Where did you even find this Spam?" McQueen asks, scooping it out of the trash and putting it in a cage, "I think it's a new breed of mimic." Francis has grown increasingly interested in mimics after the infamous snail wizard incident. Before, he thought they were only in old treasure chests and jars, but it's almost like they are a type of hermit crab or snail, stealing empty containers to trick prey. Or perhaps they are like insects, building their trap somehow by seeing a regularly used item and constructing it. If it's the latter, it could prove useful.
"I saw it in Mr Wang's shop. It looked tasty so I bought it." He can't turn down a good looking spam. "Well there goes my lunch!" He pouts. "Mimic? Maybe we should get rid of it. Im not going to fight the bathroom shower again." That was a nightmare! "I should get a refund."
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ohanny · 1 month
Text
stabby murder husbands kentakim au!
does this make much sense? no. is it going to be long? yes. am i sometimes very happy about what my mentally ill lil brain cooks up while i sleep? very much so.
tony chen is a rotten super villain in every universe but in this one kenta was his assassin until he finally had enough, turned on his master during the bloodiest night known in these circles, john wick style, and then disappeared off the face of the earth. was tony running the high table? how deep does the lore go? who knows. i was asleep. my brain did not have the capacity to figure it all out.
flash forward some years. kenta is living a normal life. he has a boring office job. he’s reconnected with babe, his estranged brother who ran away from home at the first sight of sketchy activities and was spared from all of tony’s bullshit. unfortunately for kenta, babe - happily married and pregnant - is channelling all his extra hormones and boredom into a mission to socialize his hermit crab of an older brother.
which is how kenta ends up eating dinner in babe and charlie’s warehouse loft of doom, sitting opposite of kim - a regular customer at the couple’s garage and a casual friend. it’s an awkward affair because a) kim can't stop staring b) babe keeps shooting these looks at kenta all “see, i brought you a hot ginger, do something with it” and c) kenta would much rather be at home. unsurprisingly, when kim offers him a ride home at the end of the evening, kenta says no.
this turns out to be a bad call because on his way home, kenta gets jumped. it happens sometimes - after all, he was tony’s weapon for over a decade and made a lot of enemies, no one can escape their past without occasionally being haunted by it. except this time when he limps out of the alleyway, clutching a minor stab wound on his side, there is a car idling by the pavement.
it's kim, rolling down the window and telling kenta to get his ass in. against his better judgment kenta does.
kim speeds off the scene of the crime with the kind of ease and confidence kenta has only ever seen from babe. it quickly becomes apparent that he knows way more about kenta than he should because he starts asking about cameras and when kenta just stares blankly - bleeding all over the nice upholstery - kim laughs and says “don’t worry, even if you got a bit rusty and missed one, i know a guy. or two. since they live with me you'll meet them soon anyway.”
and fuck, kenta should have just trusted his instincts instead of chalking kim making him nervous up to having someone so pretty pay any level of attention to him. he finally finds his voice (and lowkey also his knife) and demands to know who the hell kim is or if he's even called that. “oh i am,” kim answers gleefully, “and you could say i’m a… freelancer.” which, great. just amazing. kenta is being kidnapped by some amateur bounty hunter and his day officially couldn't get any worse.
… but it does. because once they reach their destination, the second he's ushered into an apartment he's greeted by an obnoxiously loud scream of “holy shit, he actually did it!” followed by a slightly less obnoxiously loud “our kimmy here is a big fan!” and then “oh fuck he’s bleeding all over the place, get the med kit dumbass!” and kenta realizes he wasn't kidnapped by some amateur bounty hunter. he was kidnapped by a fucking fan boy. on the bright side they do seem to be capable of basic wound care so there's that.
(yes, the trio is living their best mercenary vigilante life. kenta’s purge of tony happened right as kim was getting into the game and he went full “holy fucking shit, this man took down tony fucking chen and got away with it?” and basically became obsessed with the legendary lore of john wick kenta. so imagine how pumped he was when babe of all people introduced him to his ultimate murder crush goals)
kim: obviously you'll need to stay the night since you're so injured. You can have my room. i’ll just sleep with north and sonic.
kenta: …
sonic: you have a problem with three men sleeping together?
kenta: … no?
north: great! but if you hypothetically did you could ask kim to share with you instead because trust me, he's like super interes -
kim: shut up or i’ll evict you.
north: pls, whose day job is paying the bills here since you only take on charity cases?
kim: my name is on the lease! and i'm being a good person!
sonic: honey, you kill people.
this is where i got with my dream sequence but other things that just make sense in this verse:
the first person kim ever killed was winner. he was a toxic college hook up who kim dumped after few gos but who wouldn't take no for an answer. kim could have dealt with him being a dick on campus but then he started harassing kim’s dorm mates, north and sonic and kim just… snapped.
it all came to head on an alley behind a trashy gay bar. winner tried to grab sonic and kim honestly just meant to beat the shit out of him but went too far. when they read the news the next day it's weird. none of them regret it. they’re happy about it. and when no one knocks on their door to ask any questions, they realize how easy it actually is to get rid of a bad person.
the second person kim kills is a campus dirtbag who likes slipping shit into girls’ drinks and taking them home. they plan it all together but kim goes out alone and after… he's a mess. winner was a crime of passion in the heat of the moment but this is something different. he's all keyed up. he can't settle down and paces around their living room. a man is dead and he thinks he got off clean but only time will tell. he's nervous and elated and half-hard and full of adrenaline and it's sonic who nudges north and goes “look at the poor thing, we should take care of him.”
the night ends with kim’s head on sonic’s lap, sonic’s fingers in his hair, telling him he did well and he's so good when he cries as he's getting fucked into the mattress by north. kim wakes up sandwiched between them, in a mess of limbs. he has a very brief freak out about what the happened - the sex, not the murder - but north shushes him, telling him it’s not a big deal. “we love you, hyungie” sonic shrugs and pecks his cheek. “you two get some more rest and i’ll bring breakfast, okay?” and that's that.
needless to say kenta is in for a culture shock with the northsonickim arrangement. like he's taking a shower with kim and things are getting good when sonic barges into the bathroom, yanks the shower curtain back and goes on a rant of “kim, you gotta tell north to do the laundry because it was his turn but he forgot and now my favorite pants still have cum stains on them!” and kenta is like “um, excuse us?” but kim just rolls his eyes and proceeds to yell for north and then has an entire damn conversation with his dick out while kenta just stands there all 🧍‍♂️. (after he's done chewing north out for the laundry, he turns to sonic like “and you! we talked about this! kenta is new, we don't want to spook him!”)
the whole murder thing will be another conflict. kenta is happily retired. he killed because that's what he was raised to do and he didn't have any other options until he did. kim though? kim kills because he wants to. kim kills because he believes certain people deserve to die.
kim: i have a date with a wife beater at 2am. wanna come?
kenta: stop calling them dates. and you shouldn't be so… flippant about it.
kim, smirking while pulling on his leather gloves: don't tell me you never enjoyed it.
while kenta’s kills were always obvious hits, done using knives and guns, kim likes to deliver justice personally. he warms up using his hands and finishes the job with whatever blunt object he can pick up.
one time kenta’s boring office job takes him out of town for business and kim is climbing the walls. he calls kenta all “please quit and just become a hit man again, the pay is better and you'd be home when i need you” and kenta sighs because yes, his job is boring but he's trying his best to be normal and he has a morning meeting. so he tells kim to go occupy himself with north and sonic
kim: wait.. What?
kenta: don't you guys have sex with each other all the time?
kim: we did, BEFORE i met you
kenta: … huh. well. go fuck or get fucked or whatever before you start hunting pedestrians for stress relief.
kim: is this a trap?
kenta: no? i would never mess with whatever the three of you have.
Kim barging into north and sonic’s room, growling at them to take their clothes off and sonic’s first reaction is “oh shit, they broke up” but then kim’s like “dick first, rings second, i’m going to wife that man so hard he won't know what hit him” and everyone cheers and no one feels bad about having a pre-engagement celebration threesome not involving one of the grooms.
also, pete? did he step up after tony’s death? does he run a business like the continental? is way his weird attic wife that fucked himself over in the business and now can't step a foot outside the hotel without getting his brains blown out the less fun way? in any case he would have an eye on both kenta (because their whole… brotherhood) and kim (because kim is a wild card and truly independent and neither follows nor knows the code).
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In the car coming home from the pet store
meet the newest addition to the tank:
AHKMENRAH!!!!!
Oct died about a week ago after being nabbed from a friend who couldn’t afford to keep him
unfortunately he was not well kept and was covered in mites
And I wasn’t sure if he’d make a recovery from the neglect
I tried my best to save him but he did not.
But ahk is from a pet store unlike Oct, who was bought from one of those beach gift shops by my friend.
If you’re thinking about getting hermit crabs DO NOT buy them from those.
They are living creatures not keepsakes from a vacation.
They often have horrific conditions for the crabs and try to sell them off as almost no maintenance pets, Which they are NOT.
Part of the coolness of hermit crabs is how they breathe. They have specialized gills which are hardened and evolved to be able to take the oxygen out of the water in the air, and therefore require high humidity, or else they will DIE A SLOW AND PAINFUL DEATH.
OF SUFFOCATION.
if you are not home enough to spray them every few hours to keep the humidity levels above 72%, (yes you need a humidity gauge its honestly not that complicated) then you should invest in an automatic misting system. I did.
“The humidity levels for hermit crabs should be kept higher than 70% at all times. Hermit crabs breathe using modified gills rather than lungs, so when their environment is too dry it can cause severe injury, and extended periods of low humidity can even lead to death.” - Hermit Crab Association
DONT BUY PETS IF YOURE NOT PREPARED TO TAKE CARE OF THEM.
Edit:
HEY GUYS!! Check out the comments! Somebody with a bit more experience with hermies gave some advice better than me!
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fishyfishyfishtimes · 2 months
Note
hi!! recently, you made a post about not ordering shells online and whatnot. what would your solution be for hermitcrabs? im saving uo to get some hermit crabs and have been doing lots of research to make sure they get the proper care and habitat, and ive learned there should be 3-5 shells per crab. i obviously dont want to support something that could be harmful to any kind of creature, but i dont know what the appropriate approach would be for getting shells for my (future) hermitcrabs
Hello friend! Hmm, this issue seems tricky indeed.... in my mind, ordering shells for a hermit crab pet is different and excusable from ordering shells for just aesthetic purposes, as hermit crabs just can't live without a shell! But yes, I do understand and appreciate the desire to obtain these shells sustainably. Looking up sustainable hermit crab shells I couldn't sadly find anything talking about which sorts of shells to go for :/ Perhaps this is the sort of thing people haven't asked before.
Worry not! One can fortunately still go and try find out the origins and collection methods of shells being sold online, it just takes a bit of time. Some mollusk species are endangered from harvesting, but certainly not all, and the method of harvesting the shells will tell you if an animal was killed in collecting or if shells were collected when there was no animal living in them, of course! That's my thoughts on the topic, anyway; I'm no expert on hermit crabs or mollusks, if someone who did know more would kindly aid me and anon, that would be lovely!
I wish you good luck with your research and preparations, anon! I hope you can get those hermit crabs, they sound like the most marvelous pets :3
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