#and yet hes still finding things to have a problem with me about when i got enough to deal with as is like youre not getting money from me

[wilhelminyard]

one thing about the foxes is they are brutally honest. they will tell you exactly how they feel about you and they'll insult you to your face without holding back like they could not care less about hurting people's feelings and let me show you why with these quotes from the first book (yes this will be a three parts post) :

WYMACK :

"do you have any idea how much I hate coming home and finding you in my apartment?"

"that's not fair" "life isn't fair tweedle-dumb. get over it."

"hemmick, get over here and be useful for once in your mangy life"

"things aren't anything but awkward when andrew and nicky are around"

"you looked busy" "I'm always busy. that's never stopped you pricks from interrupting me before"

"you're a sopping mess. get out of my sight and clean up before I wring your neck."

"are you done wasting my oxygen yet?"

NEIL :

"what the hell did you call me?" "I called you a deadweight hasbeen"

"mother, may I?" "your mother's dead. I don't think she cares what you do"

"did no one tell you I hate surprises?" "what makes you think I care?"

"your attitude makes it hard for anyone to care about you"

"you're a team of pathetic bullies"

"your team's ranked first? congratulations and big deal"

ANDREW :

"congratulations are in order, I suppose. since I have none to give I will tell the others to respond appropriately"

"bruises you think, or scars? I think scars, too. can't be bruises if his parents aren't around to beat him, right?"

"you're not very bright. typical of a jock."

KEVIN :

"I'm not good enough to play on the same court as a champion" "true, but irrelevant"

"why are you here?" "I wanted to practice" "as if it will help you any"

"you worry about your incompetence. I'll worry about andrew"

"morning sunshine" "fuck you" "glad to see you're still a morning person" "fuck you too"

"I will wash my hands of you on the court and you can struggle your way through mediocrity alone"

"kevin, the man is dead. like permanently" "it's not a major loss" (not to his face but still SAVAGE)

MATT :

"didn't miss you at all"

"do you even remember how to smile?"

"when you say things like that it makes me think you don't trust us" "no one trusts you"

NICKY :

"the death threats were creative though. maybe this time they'll follow through and actually kill one of us. let's vote. I nominate seth"

AARON :

"you never have anything useful to say"

ALLISON :

"looks like you've managed to completely embarass yourself in both languages"

"you aren't funny. shut up."

"we didn't trust you to keep your mouth shut"

SETH :

"he's short. he can't play, and he looks like he has an attitude problem"

"we talked all kinds of shit about you after you booked it"

"are you stupid?"

[swimmingenthusiasty]

Woah. That phrase is nostalgic of school. Fucking stationary. Pencil case.

Every surface is fucking smooth. and flat. The tables the floors the board the field the court the path the brains.

The girls like steaming compost heaps inside uniform. Sterile, kept from dirt and dust, yet somehow gross. Warm and fixed in place behind a desk like the zits and pustules on their face. Insecure eyes darting side to side and only finding each other, other girls to judge. Like some type of layer in hell.

Loosing their shit over 'guys' who are all mummy's boys at that age. Yelling over their egos, mum flavoured cries for approval. Repeating mum's script. The asian one talking about a 'gud future' it was just what mum said. The stickler worried about safety was just mum's script. Literal fucking babies. With egos. Because those are the two things that mums make. Babies and egos. It's like full circle for the girls looking because nothing less conceited would have sufficed.

There's no patriarchy. Guys stop moving without egos. Without someone to hype them up. If guys want to function without girls, they will invent women amongst themselves to hype them up. If you want dad to keep going to work and mum does a shit job of hyping him up, you better find a way fast. Either you become like a girl and hype or you get used to making your own home. If she insists that you just can't do that and you can't say no because you're still a mommy's boy and her script overrides yours. Then I hope you like lacey stuff. There was one more thing. Oh, this is when I knew it was him. Women created guys like this because of the way they are with eachother. The way they compete and stuff but always indirectly, through a middle thing. That's why they made men.

This is brother's air. Before he leaves for work is when he has the most to give and he only gives when he sees something in my messages. Doesn't make it less true. I mean i don't know if it is fully correct. I'm like a windchime at this point. Anyone you put me near, I'll make a noise to their presence, to their movements, to the air they displace. Guys usually make writing happen though. Girls will make something actually happen.

If I really wanted I can take with me this feeling about -not being a guy's hype prop by releasing my concern for finances and a place to sleep, for stability. Not stability itself but my concern over it.

She wanted me to replace him in her life, to earn for her in his place and she'd go gut whatever he'd had left without holding back. Mistakes me for him often like it already happened in her mind. Like there was no need to ask. She put me between them when I was little and said I should defend when they fought. I think she also liked cucking when they were good. I think she's a bit gay the way she talks about little girls and women's thighs. I don't know if that means I got it from her, like passed down or if I reacted to how gross she was being. Anyway. All that to say that the next time I'll say 'okay burn the house down if you like' when she tries to make herself your problem (her moods and emotions are hers) or her lifestyle your fault (her lack of lasting friendships does not make you a mandatory friend forever, you're no different to all the other people who wouldn't want to stay) or insists her decisons are your decisons (all those times you say something and get ignored, it wasn't hard to hear what you said, she didn't forget that quick. It's up to you to decide how much respect you want) but then that's no way to practice having a house and any fight or playing up will get a crowd. It's hard to affirm without resorting to disrespect when someone is actually dismisive and disrespectful. I can see how their conversations always went the same. She got what she gave. Then that carries over into other conversations. Or you just feel a bit sad and resentful at real kindess, and i've seen it on my father's face. Like he's thinking oh I have to get used to this now? Where were you this whole time. You're only temporary, it's her shit that I'm used to, we'll be back in the shit and you'll be gone, so just be gone early as a favor. It's not just her. He attracted her from a lifetime of the same shits. It made him more than rough around the edges as a consequence and I've gone through all that's like and I wouldn't want to repeat what he felt or how he became. Input output. Change his input, don't have the same shit he had.

All this sympathy towards him. Told you it was the brother. He misunderstands that's why he thinks I need to think this stuff. I need these people to take back their issues. Him you can't tell him anything other than you're hurt, you need to work on yourself. You're allowed to tell someone enough and they should leave. You don't need a million and one ways to push people away. Some are really hurtful. She was at fault when you said enough and she just smirked that you reacted and looked a fool infront of your house. Now for her, you really can't tell her anything. That's why it's taken so long to peel her off. But being here is because he failed me. I went to him, to be my lifeline IF I needed the van sold. End of story. He betrayed himself so often that he just wanted someone else to take the shit. That's why he called her seconds after he hung up and promised me he wouldn't. That's not exactly why though. There's something severly damaged about him from that last disrespect. She went to his last respectable friendship source, the guy she couldn't dis, undisputed source of respectability amongst both of them and the guy called and shamed him. It's like how the guy at the end of 1984 broke. He will just do anything after that. To appease his opressor. My father had a right to a boundary that she could not cross. He is helping by staying away. He is preventing himself from further betrayal. He is of no use to either of us in this fight. Let me finish and if I betray myself it won't be his influence. Don't fuck bears next time pa pap.

Think of leaving and that's how I know brother's air is wrapping up. It always shows up at the end as what he wants. So stressed to see the car parked, room taken up. Doesn't make it the wrong decision necessarily. Im pretty sure i could sneak guys around in the morning. To help line her up. So they want the same thing. I couldn't get him to line up with her though. I can ask for more stuff, room back, more space in the garden, hang around the house a lot. Though I still think he'd stay and get more sabotagey. It's what he's practiced. More foreign for him to get a place. More familiar to ruin something that's around. I get nothing from a fight. I don't want to have the house, I don't like to be here all the time. I can visualise him moving out. Like he does. But again, for what? I would gladly exchange the feelings for them for something good towards myself. It's just that the best way to do that is not clear cut. Everyone did the best they could with what they had. You can't choose them. If however she chose you to be her backup financial plan that's something but not at all uncommon. If she fought hard to hold you back so she wouldn't be alone then that is also not unheard of in love.

It's about learning about these behaviours from others and knowing better and also, unfortunately, it's about undoing hangups they might have caused. If they weren't undoable, many unfortunate consequences are permanent. It becomes a question of acceptance and if you accept will it also define your direction? Will you do something with it, every. single. day.

Early bird gets the moon

Lake Elkhorn, Maryland.

📷: @zalman_waihaus

[bullet-prooflove]

Wes Mitchell + letter 💌 dancing🕺full moon 🌚

Tagging: @kmc1989 @toasted-stiletto @crusoe2000 @vivekaspencer @fanny-123456

Companion piece to:

Budapest

Zserbo

Wes shouldn’t have left the letter, he realises that as he sits at a table in a club called The Full Moon in Madrid, sipping a coke and surveilling their suspect. The idiot has been dancing with a blonde for the past hour and it’s starting to get pornographic. So much so that even Wes is averting his gaze because his idea of a fun night is not watching a drug dealer fingerfuck a stranger on the dancefloor.

He turns his attention back to his phone, to the message you’d text him earlier today.

Sorry Wes, I think it’s time for you to start looking for your own place.

He pushed you too hard, he thinks, trying to get you on board with the flight team. And this is you pushing back. You think he doesn’t know the extent of your psychological issues but you have no idea how deeply familiar he is with PTSD,  the insidiousness of it. He went through 12 foster homes before he found his forever family, he was seven shades of fucked up long before he hit 18.

The thing is you’re a phenomenal investigator, one of the best he’s worked with. The way you work with victims, it’s almost an art form. You have an appreciation for people, a deep emotional intelligence that you just can’t teach back at the academy and Wes wants that on his team. He wants you to be out in the world using your superpower for good.

And that’s the problem, he’s been thinking about his needs and not about yours. He didn’t consider the fact you might not be ready yet, that you’re still coming to terms with what was the most harrowing case of your career. It’s the reason you left the US, why you took up a teaching position at the International Training Academy.

Recovery takes time, his adopted father had told him one night as they sat together drinking chocolate milk. It was something they always did when Wes woke up from the nightmares. A way of turning something negative into a positive. Everyone has to go at their own pace, you can’t force it.

He needs to remember that in the future, that just because he can’t see the struggle  doesn’t mean that it’s not going on.  

His fingertips hover over the keys. It’s hard for him to find the right words for what he wants to say because this should be an actual conversation, not an exchange of messages through the ether.

I pushed you,  he responds, and I’m sorry for that. I should have been more respectful of your boundaries. If you still want me to move out by the time I get back, consider it done.

He sees the three dots appear and then disappear, then reappear before the message comes through.

We’ll talk when you get back.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[reverieblondie]

What if Raphael teleported himself to Tav and she just so happens to be completely naked? Like they haven't really begun courting yet, and BAM! Now he is in her home and he is seeing the object of his affections interests in all of her glory when he wasn't expecting to.

Bonus points if Tav is super calm about it - minus any initial surprise - and just sighs and casually goes to start covering up, maybe while saying "So what can I do for you, Raphael?" or mumbling something like "And this kind of thing was why I asked Korrilla to tell me when to expect you. So much for 'that would never happen'... "

You can decide what happens from there.

A/N: Thank you for this ask! I actually have made this ask a part one to another ask that will be its part two. ( I hope that makes sense! ) Anyway, sorry for the wait and hope you enjoy! Starts off steamy but the ending is more silly. MDNI! 18+ only!

Oops...

He tries to focus on the show in front of him. Raphael crosses his legs. Lounging back in his chair, he intently watches as Harrlep makes the moaning tiefling bend over on all fours. 

These are always his favorites when a client so enamored with him is rewarded with Haarlep. It's the perfect cycle, the client is rewarded for their loyalty, Haarlep is fed, and Raphael gets to feel the ghost of pleasure on his cock as the person is beautifully ravaged. Always so captivated as sharp claws traced down their backs letting beautiful drops of crimson cascade down their skin and decorated his satin sheets. Then there is the musical sound of horse wanton moans with desperate cries of more. 

But today… It's doing nothing. 

Even as Harrlep yanks on the man's tail, making him scream and rut himself back on the incubus's  cock faster. It still stirs nothing; Raphael looks down at his crotch, where he feels everything but nothing in making it swell. He's never had this problem before, and now he's bored of this show.

"Stop, stop," he commands, making Harrlep pause their thrust. 

Haarlep sighs, rolling their eyes while pulling the man's tailback, keeping his ass warming their cock. "Do I need to remind you about critiquing my fucking again?" 

Raphael sneers at the incubus, "No. I'm simply bored." 

Haarlep smirks, leaning down to the man, lifting his head by the horns to face Rapheal. The man's dark eyes are full of tears, his cheeks flushed and panting for breath. "Hear that, darling? You're boring the master…" 

Their words of cruelty taunt as the man's cock throbs, precum drooling out as he lets out a sob. Haarleps's hips started to roll again at the delicious sound and the feel of his quivering. Incubus are always so torturous to their meals. 

Raphael waves a hand before Haarlep can resume their pace, "Go take him somewhere else; leave me alone." 

Haarlep hums, continuing to tease their current meal, til a cruel smirk twists to their lips. "So sorry, pretty boy, but Raphael would have preferred to watch a little mouse instead."

They snap their fingers before Raphael can yell at Haarlep and disappear with the man. They will take all they can from him to get their fill. Raphael has been rather neglectful to his incubus as of late… but to mention you of all people…

Raphael twists his chair to face his desk where contracts sit, waiting in their draft forms. It takes no effort from him to pluck up one of the rolls of parchment and find the contract he had written just for you. You're so clever, having never signed it, much to Raphal's annoyance. Though his mind still lingers back to you. And though your name is not here, it still echoes in his mind. Haarlep, as insufferable as they are, does have a point… Raphael longs to see you, to see you in his bed… though he wouldn't be just watching on the side, Raphael would be the one tracing his long nails down your body, the one to be thrusting you into submission as your body sweats and quivers to take all of him. 

The mere thought of it makes his body grow hotter, and his cock finally twitch. Raphael rolls his eyes at himself; those thoughts get him to stir. 

Not only has Raphael been thinking of your body and how it could be twisted for all of his pleasures, but he also just wonders about you and what you're doing… He could send Korrilla to spy on you, though he doesn't know if he could merely be satiated with retelling your daily happenings. No, he wants to witness it, watch as you wake, follow you as you stroll through the city, and see your wit and quick nature to the worms that dare test you or flirt with you.  

The thought makes him sneer. He needs to get eyes on you; the sooner, the better. Standing, Raphael makes sure his hair is fixed, and his clothes are present. Once he deems himself suitable, he snaps his fingers and lets the blaze transport him. 

Raphaels is already practicing what he will say once he sees you again, but as he's transported to you and finally sees you, all of that rehearsing goes out the window. When the cambion, after all this time, finally gets to see his little mouse, he gets the privilege of seeing her in all her natural glory. From the steam and water running down the curves of your body, it's clear to him that you have just gotten out of the bath. The other thing he observes is that you don't seem all that surprised to see him.

You eye him up and down before rolling your eyes and reaching for a towel. "You have impeccable timing, Raphael..." You wrap yourself up and stroll over to the cambion. "What can I help you with, Raphael?"

Raphael feels his whole body approach him. You could help him with things... but those desires are forced to wait.

"Mouse, I'm hurt. How do you know this isn't just a friendly visit? "

A scoff leaves your throat as you turn away from him, dropping your towel as you do behind a Changing divider. "You don't do friendly Visits in my experience..."

 Raphael tsk. "my, you are cynical.."

You come from behind the divider in a simple outfit, and only you can enhance it into something beautiful... You fold your arms over and do that slight frown that drives him mad... "What have you come for?"

You... he Wants to say, but he bites his tongue.

Raphael is trying to keep his cool facade and does some quick thinking.

"Well, mouse, if you must know... I'm here for your home."

You look at him confused, "My home? Why?"

Raphael steps forward, carefully brushing your hair from your shoulder. "The house of hope has been... busy as of late... the screams, the questions from servants, Haarleps... loud feeding... it's all so distracting... even a devil needs an escape."

"Why my home?"

Rapheul smiles at the simple question, "You have always been my favorite client's mouse."

A Smile threatens to curl to your lips," so you want to use my house as an escape? What if I'm not here?"

"I can find my way around..."

"What if I'm here

"I wouldn't mind, it is your house…"

You think momentarily, "What if I bring a guest over?

Raphael Shrugs as his fingers trace your skin, "Tell them I'm your roommate ... or your lover…

Raphael feels you tremble, "What's the catch?"

"No catch, just sometimes unexpected company." 

You think long before nodding, "Fine, but I have some terms for you to follow." 

"Deal." 

[hxlxnaaa]

𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞

★ synopsis: haunted by your own loneliness, it seems the only cure is to create an imaginary friend

★ character: xavier

★ cw: first-person POV, angst if you squint, real world au, maybe ooc xavier? not really

★ word count: 1.6k

★ a/n: inspired by maladaptive daydreaming! strays so far from canon storyline obviously so this is hella HELLA au, but MC still has her heart problems lmao

When it comes to children, it isn’t surprising when you find out they have an imaginary friend. They’ll giggle, and their eyes will light up as they tell you about their talking dog, who has tea parties with them and rides on the back of their bike. Or the teddy bear that comes to life at night to tell them bedtime stories and help them count sheep.

Yet, eventually, the time comes where they grow up. No longer do talking dogs and dancing dolls follow them around, and the child won’t talk about their little friend anymore, leaving them behind. They fade from one’s memory, a ghost long forgotten…

But what if they don't?

What if they never grow out of their ‘imaginary friend’? What if it follows them all throughout their life? A schizo diagnosis would be in order, and years of therapy.

Sadly, that’s how it is for me; well, not the “seeing things and copious amounts of therapy” part.

He’s just… a coping mechanism.

A world to go to in my head when everything feels as if it’s crashing down. I don’t know where I’d be without him.

When I was small, no one seemed to enjoy my presence. I was always considered a nuisance with all of my heart problems. Making real friends was hard; people would up and leave after a few months, and I’d be alone again. I was a bother, in and out of doctors offices and never able to hang out. Texts would go ignored because I was too busy having tests run in cold hospital beds, hooked up to machines.

The nurses would joke with me, braid my hair and tell me gossip since I was in there so much – but it wasn’t the same as having friends my age that I can go to the movies with. So, when I finally came to the conclusion I’d be alone forever, I made a friend.

Yes, I made a friend.

I put all the qualities of my ideal friend in him; He was straight out of a cool, teen indie movie — the perfect boy next door. He would be the best friend you could go on long road trips with, get donuts with at ungodly hours in the morning. Quiet enough that I could talk for hours and he would just listen, but could still make me laugh with little remarks.

Since nobody else would talk to me, and I had far too much time on my hands, I would travel into my own little world in my head where he existed. I’d talk to him everyday, hang out with him for hours. Whether I was in class, the car, or laying in my bed staring at my ceiling, I’d dissociate into a world where someone truly, really cared about me.

This went on for years. No matter my problem, he’d always have a solution, no matter my opinion, he’d always listen. He was my knight in shining armor from bad dreams and boring moments.

Eventually, I put so much detail into him, it felt as if he was real.

I could practically reach out and touch his hair, know what it would feel like to run my fingers through his messy platinum hair. Pointing out every emotion in his blue eyes, from the joy that sparkled in them when I would tell him jokes that only he would understand, or when they clouded over with worry when I would come to him crying after a stressful day. The moments his angelic smile would let out his signature laugh that would ring in my ears for hours, and I could practically hear it in reality. Or the way I could cringe at him when he would act like an awkward dork, but his giggles made me grin, and I always put up with him. It’s almost as if I could smell the soft fresh laundry scent of him, feel his warm skin from sleep.

Sometimes, I could go months without thinking about the truth;

but sometimes, there were days it would hit me like a truck.

“You’re not real!” I’d cry. He’d be sitting on my bed with me. Reaching out his hand, I’d flinch away. “None of this is real Xavier! You’re not real, this world isn’t real. I’m stuck in this reality where everything is hell, and I have nothing.”

“Hey, I need you to breathe-” This would be one of those moments where I could read his eyes. They’re always so alive, you wouldn’t be able to tell it was all a dream I created in my mind. His electric eyes that would go dark with a whirl-wind of emotions. Sadness, worry, disappointment. It would always be like I could actually see him in front of me, and not like I would be staring at my ceiling sobbing in my bed;

Alone.

No matter what, I’d always forget reality again, and he always came crawling back. We’d pretend like none of it ever happened. Of course it worked, why wouldn’t it? I controlled everything. All of his moves, all of his words, every laugh that came out of his beautiful mouth. He was my puppet and this was my play, just an actor in this devastating work of theatre.

I’d find myself mentioning him without realizing.

“My brother nearly burned down the kitchen yesterday!” One of the girls in my classes had said, groaning and throwing her face in her hands.

I smiled, “I have a friend like that. His cooking skills are… well let's just say calling it ‘cooking’ might be a bit generous.”

They all wiggled their eyebrows, ‘Ooo,’ they’d say, ‘he? Come on, are you holding out on us!’ Laughter erupted around the table, and my cheeks flushed. My whole body lit up with embarrassment, turning red from head to toe.

That night I went home and threw myself into my room, locking my door and screaming at the top of my lungs. Choking out sobs, throwing whatever my frail, shaking hands could grab.

“He’s not real! He’s! Not! Real!” I chanted like a prayer, a prayer that he would just disappear from my mind and I could just be normal. I felt defeated; while my heart struggled, my mind was strained too. My whole world, my entire life revolved around a boy that didn’t exist.

After my breakdown and a shattering ego death, I came to the heart wrenching conclusion that it was time I got over all of this. I needed to grow up, focus on the life ahead of me. I was going to graduate highschool, I was going to go to school to achieve my dreams, I was chasing the life I always wanted.

All by myself.

I couldn’t live the rest of my life tucking myself away everytime life got hard, talking to someone that I made in my head.

I grieved him, mourning as if I had suffered the death of someone so close to me I couldn't bear to go on without him. Yet, with time, the wounds began to heal and the chronic, plaguing thoughts of him fleeted my head. I tucked him deep into a pocket of my mind I couldn’t access if I tried, just to keep myself safe from my own thoughts.

Thanks to all the attention I poured into my studies to distract myself from the emptiness of him being gone, I graduated with excellent grades and got into my first choice, the university of my dreams.

Walking down the campus sidewalk, I took a deep breath of the brand newness of everything. The cold fall air was putting hustle in everyone's strides on the first day of classes, and I mumbled a prayer that things would be different. Life would be different. Things wouldn’t be so lonely or empty anymore.

Trying to navigate my way around, someone bumped into me, almost knocking the both of us down.

They stumbled back, revealing a boy's shy smile, and a quiet chuckle that sounded like an angel's song you’d want to replay on repeat for the rest of your life; one I was all too familiar with.

“Oh, I should have looked where I was going, sorry-”

The boy trailed off and I couldn’t help but stare at him in awe.

The sparkling blue eyes, and his fluffy hair tousled around from the fall wind. The smile that could light a room, and a face that could melt thousands of hearts. He shone bright like a star. I thought if I breathed, or even blinked, he would disappear.

“Anyways, It’s my first day. Well, it’s everyone's first day, but it’s my first…first day. Does that make sense?�� He frowned and his ears turned red, as met my eyes for the first time during the whole interaction.

I blinked, and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, as he didn’t disappear, “Uh, yeah. It’s my first-first day too.”

The boy laughed, his shyness fading. He could laugh a million times, and I’d keep saying things to keep it going. I never wanted it to stop, I wanted to hear it until the moment I took my last breath.

“Well since it’s both of our first-first day, I guess I’ll be seeing you around campus a lot…” he paused, waiting for my name.

I whispered it so quietly, like it was a curse to speak it out loud. I wasn’t even sure he’d heard me, yet he nodded and softly smiled.

“It’s nice to meet you then. I’m Xavier.”

(divider by cafekitsune)

[inkk-tv]

[ ꜰᴏᴏᴛʙᴀʟʟ ᴘᴜʙ ɢᴏʟꜰ : ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ]

Admittedly, it's only when she's standing in the park across from the first pub that she realises exactly what she's gotten herself into. "This feels unfair." "Aw, come on Luce," Arthur says with half a smile, swapping his t-shirt for their team kit. "Have a bit of faith."

in which: Lucy is reluctantly recruited into Chris' pub golf video at the last minute, but it turns out to be very worth it.

4.7k words [ masterlist ]

[oc x arthurtv x chrismd] [warnings: excessive drinking, sexual inudendos]

There’s a certain risk that comes with renting an office in a building full of youtubers. Mainly being ambushed in the kitchen by a camera for a reaction or her two cents on whatever challenge video was underway is not an uncommon occurrence. Although, being fully roped into a video is never too far out of the realm of possibility. 

Luckily, there’s only one person with the gaul to break into her office, and that’s Chris. 

It’s been affectionately nicknamed, ‘the fishbowl’.

Sitting right on the hallway's bend, with two walls and a giant door of nothing but glass that means anyone who steps out the lift can see right into her office. Hence the name. Once she showed up to find someone had stuck fish and bubble stickers all over the windows- she’s pretty sure it was Sam, who does all her captioning, but she’s never gotten him to confess it.

It’s a pretty decent workspace despite the lack of privacy. Lucy’s desk is off to one side, and the three desks for her London-based employees are in a little cluster to the right of it. Only Shelly, the head editor and Lucy had been in today, but it’s nearing five pm and Shelly had headed off about twenty minutes prior, so it’s just Lucy hauled up alone working on a script as she hides from the rest of the building.

Chris invites himself in. As always. For some reason, the wall of glass just doesn’t present the same barrier to him as it does to everyone else. 

She glances up as the door hinges open, the soundproofing scraps against the carpet before closing with a soft click. There’s something a little frantic in his expression- not exactly panic, but stress maybe- and he’s got a white monster energy can that's dripping condensation in one hand and a takeaway bag from the fish and chip shop two blocks over that uses the perfect amount of salt, in the other.

Lucy is no fool. She knows a bribe when she sees one. "No."

All the tension leaks from his shoulders as Chris heaves a defeated sigh, falling back onto the two seater couch just inside the door. "But I haven't even asked yet."

"But you brought me an incentive." She points out and Chris leans over to thunk the can down on the corner of her desk he could reach. Lucy scrunches her nose up at the ring of water that settles underneath it. "You didn't even do that last time and that involved having footballs booted at me for three hours."

Objectively, Lucy has fun on the ChrisMD channel. She’d always been an active person and while the dreams of being a professional athlete did not work out for her like many others, she does still like sports, especially if they’re team based. Chris’s videos are perhaps the most fun variant of them she’s experienced since quitting her Sunday league team back in uni. 

But Lucy drew a hard line in the sand after the break up.

The problem with having fun on Chris’ videos, is that somewhere along the line, wires got a bit crossed. Lucy isn’t really all too sure when it happened, but she remembers realising. Looking at Chris, and realising she fancied him. It was four months before, and she spent all of it agonising over every conversation they had, kicking herself for liking a taken man, beating herself up over every word or glance as the guilt of it all ate away at her. 

Then he was single and the biggest motivator for Lucy to shut her fucking mouth and stomp down her feelings, she got a little worried things would run away from her. She wasn’t keen to make a mess of things, in private or on the internet, so she took a step back. 

It does help that in her last appearance on the ChrisMD channel, she took a particularly solid shot from Simon Minter to the stomach during the World Cup Ball video. A few days later, Lucy's flatmate had bullied her into going to A and E where they found out she’d managed to acquire a cracked rib. 

Simon- bless him- still apologises every time she runs into him. 

Lucy doesn’t know how to thank him for giving her a reasonable excuse to avoid Chris for an extended period of time.

"You had fun." Chris points out with a roll of his eyes, unpacking the takeaway bag to set two boxes on the coffee table in front of him, opening one and digging into a calamari meal.

"And a broken bone."

Another sigh. "This isn't goal keeping."

Lucy's hands still over her keyboard, little cursor blinking on page is of what was going to be a 12 page script. She huffs a breath, telling herself that she will at least hear the man out. 

It was a stupid thing really, fancying him. It’s probably one of those prolonged exposure things, she spent so much time with him that things got blurry in her mind. But the controlled exposure has been working. No more nights out if he was going and no one on one hang outs for the past few months have really helped her get a handle on things. Make the lines of platonic and romantic a little clearer in her head. 

Even if he’s grown a beard that looks annoyingly good on him. She’s allowed to appreciate it without fancying him. Or at least, that’s how she tries to tell her flatmate. 

Lucy had put measures in place, a little bit of distance to get over her puppy crush and they had been working. 

The little bubbliness she used to get has been smothered in the past few months. They’d done Chip’s karting race together just fine and she’s been significantly more invested in the occasional hinge date she secures. Lucy’s building her way up towards nights out again, knowing that he’ll be there and trusting her mouth to not run away from her. Maybe filming with him would be good- keeping her contained to the version of herself that the internet is allowed to see, the version that never fancied one of her coworkers. 

When she pushes her chair out from the desk and turns to level Chris with a look, considering it for a few long moments before sighing and looking up to the ceiling, already regretting what she hasn't agreed to yet. There's a smile on Chris' face - he knows he's won. Apparently, Ciaran Carlin managed to snag himself a case of food poisoning the day of Chris' 'pub golf' shoot ("thought you did football content" - "Its football themed.") so they were down one whole player. Hence why Chris was there, a few moments from dropping to his knees to beg. 

Lucy is, admittedly an outlier amongst the office. At least in terms of content creation. It's actually the Fellas Studio building, but those who invested in the business to help the boys get it up and running, like Chris and Lucy, have their own office space inside. She makes video essays with the occasional social commentary video mixed in - a far cry from Chris' football challenges or the min-maxing style of videos that seems to have taken over the platform in the last few years.

So their friendship has stayed mostly off camera, as she doesn’t often have people on her main channel, posting occasional vlogs on her second channel but he’s only ever made the cut once or twice. The most the internet knows of Lucy Bell and Chris Dixon is that he’s roped her into a few football challenges over the years. 

When it comes to Chris’s channel, Lucy does make for a good feature. She’s just tipped over four million subscribers in the last few months, with almost a completely different audience, so it brings in a lot of new viewers. She’s not half bad at football either, a few years playing football in uni meant she could keep up with most of the UK YouTube scene if Chris begged nicely enough. 

"Alright, but it’s an extra twenty quid for each time you bite me." 

The biting gets her every time. She’s always had a bit of a thing for it, teeth marks and hickeys. It’s a condition that Lucy adds to save her own sanity more than anything.

See, there’s something about Chris when he’s drunk that just makes the man want to bite. Sink his teeth into whichever friend is closest after a pint or two. Doesn’t matter where, hand arm or neck- he’s even gone for her ear once. He’s not handsy per-say, because none of it was sexual really, but it couldn’t be called clingy either because he got way too mean.  

Cuteness aggression seems to fit the bill. But no matter what someone was to call it, the fact is, Chris gets his teeth out when he’s drinking.

Maybe charging him for it will be enough to remind him not to.

Chris grins. "Done." 

Turns out, the pub golf ‘night-out’ she had been lured into starts at one pm. 

Admittedly, it's only when she's standing in the park across from the first pub that she realises exactly what she's gotten herself into. "This feels unfair."

The line up was clearly in no way designed for fairness. With the 'English team' consisting of Lucy, Chris and Arthur-TV, going against the 'German Team' of Stephen Tries, Bambino Becky and Harry Wroetoshaw.

Now Lucy isn’t a lightweight- at least not proportionally. For a woman of five five, she could hold her drink. But Chris Dixon on the other hand, who was the same height, most definitely was a lightweight. There was not a whole lot of faith to be put in their alcohol tolerance.

"Aw, come on Luce," Arthur says, swapping his t-shirt for their team kit. "Have a bit of faith."

She ducks her head to hide the quick frown that flashes over her face. There’s only two people who call her ‘Luce’ and that’s Chris and her flatmate, Spencer. It’s obvious where he’s picked it up from and the thought of Chris chatting about her to one of his friends with such familiarity is enough to make her stomach flutter. Today was not going to be good. 

Lucy's met Arthur before, in passing. At parties or events, seen him at the office once or twice when he'd presumedly come to film with someone. He’s good friends with George and Arthur Hill too. She knows him and Chris have been mates since school, and that he's one of the most frequent victims of the ChrisMD channel. Miraculously, she's never ended up on a set with him before.

She hopes he holds his drink well.

"A little hard to have faith when Becky and Harry are gonna drink us under the table." She says, thumbing at the team jersey she’s been given.

It’s soft, more so than she expected. 

Football has never much been Lucy’s thing. She was on a team during her uni years, but that was more social than competitive. She owns a couple of kits, her old uni jersey that was mainly a work shirt and the Brighton Jersey her brother bought her for Christmas one year- Lucy makes sure to wear it whenever she watches a game. But that’s about the extent of it, she’s never had much reason to go buy an official kit. 

But apparently for the football-ification of pub golf, team jerseys were a must. 

The tag says it’s their away kit from the 1990 world cup and the fabric is so abrasively red, Lucy feels like a stop sign when she pulls it on. It doesn’t help that it was originally bought for Ciaran, so it’s two sizes too large. Sadly it completely tanks her outfit, the black skater skirt and platform mary-janes with lacy white socks had gone so much better with the cosy white knit sweater she’d started the day in, but it does sort of work. Even if it makes her look like a pick-me girl. 

The collar slips about on her shoulders and Lucy pulls the collar about a little, trying to make it sit properly, which apparently, Chris takes as an invitation. 

He comes up from behind and drapes his arms over her shoulders- not exactly unusual behaviour from him, but it does typically take a few more drinks. There’s not even a moment of hesitation before Chris sinks his teeth into the meat of her shoulder, biting down. Not hard enough to hurt exactly, more like a pinch. 

She doesn’t yelp but grunts a little, swatting at his hair to duck out of his grip. When he backs off, there’s a dark semi-circle on the jersey, highlighting where he’d bitten at the material. “Right. That’s twenty quid then.”

Chris blinks, then rolls his eyes. “What? No, come one. We haven’t even started filming yet.”

He’s smiling though, watching as Lucy digs a black marker out of her purse and bites the lid off to draw a thick line on the inside of her right forearm. “A deal is a deal, Chris.”

“We’ll if we’re keeping track like that, someone else has to be in charge of the pen.” He plucks it from her fingers and Lucy goes to swipe it back but he pulls it up high above both their heads. 

She could snatch it back. They’re about the same height; every time someone whips out a tape measure they end up with a different answer to who is taller, so it always depends on the shoes. Today, she’s even wearing platforms with more than enough heel to beat out Chris' white air forces but Lucy’s not sacrificing a single sliver of her dignity to jump for the marker. 

Perhaps realising that she’s not taking the bait, he holds it out to Arthur instead, who has been watching them with a raised eyebrow. “What’s this then?”

“Lucy agreed to be in the video, if I paid her twenty pounds each time I bit her.” Chris says, looking a little proud of himself for some reason, as if wrangling her into a video was some sort of impressive feat. “But I don’t trust her to not just draw a bunch of lines.”

“Damn. That’s smart, you’ll make a couple hundred quid today, easy.” Arthur plucks the marker out of Chris’ fingers and looks at it a little funny. ���Will you give me twenty every time you bite me?”

The marker is tucked away into the pocket of his shorts with a grin. 

“You were coming no matter what.”

“With you looking like that, damn right I was.” Arthur holds his hand up for a high-five, probably more of a reflex than anything. Chris doesn't go for it, but Lucy does, swinging up to her tiptoes, to clap her palm against his.

“Come on,” He grins at Lucy, keeping their hands clasped for a few seconds with the momentum and it has her feeling a little better about the afternoon ahead.

One of the film crew, Sam she thinks his name is, waves Lucy over to mic her up. They make their way through the ‘before game interviews’, with the warning they will be spliced with the aftermath that was to be recorded at the last pub.

"Are you going to enjoy today?" Chris pokes the mic against the tip of her nose and Lucy scrunches it up a little at the feeling of scratchy foam.

"Considering I was bribed to be here, no." She plays the reluctant friend well, but they both know she’d been happy to help Chris out in his time of crisis and that she probably wouldn’t end up chasing him up about the money she was supposedly charging him per bite.

The first two holes (“It’s Goal, Luce. Use the right terminology.”) left their team with a rather bleak outlook.

Lucy’s played enough drinking games in her life to be able to down a pint in one go, so that isn’t a problem. She chugs the IPA, so while it’s down in one, Lucy is left with a bitter taste in her mouth, complaining to the table that if she was forced to drink beer, it should at least be lager. Arthur and Chris both down theirs in one, but are cautioned for shit jokes and chose to do a shot each instead of taking the additional points. 

The second pub is no hands, white sambuca shots, but they get a bench so it’s not much hassle to lean down and get her lips around the glass rim and knock it back.

But when they’re done, and Arthur’s wandered off, her, Chris and Harry pounce on his backpack to turn it inside out. It makes her feel like she’s back in secondary playing silly pranks when someone leaves their bag unattended. Tragically he comes back with the news that he’s thrown up. Twice. There’s an attempt to blame the McDonalds wrap he’d scranned a bit too quickly but Calfreezey is not a forgiving referee and they are penalised three points, leaving them at seven as Chris has failed to down his shot in one. 

“We are not winning that dominos pizza.” Arthur whines, frowning down at his inside out bag.

Lucy holds her hands out, an unspoken gesture that he accepts with a smile and starts piling his belongings into her hands. “Cheer up Mr.Television. I’ll Deliveroo one to the last pub.”

“And ruin Chris’ incentive? Where’s your competitive spirit Miss Bell?” He quips back, grabbing a fist full of his bag’s canvas and turning it back out the right way, shoving his pencil case and jacket back into it. 

There’s an instinct to roll her eyes at the last name but fair is fair. She did sort of do it to him first. “I think winning for us is already a lost cause. Becky and Harry can outdrink us all.”

Arthur zips his bag up and swings it over his shoulders, heading for the door but glancing back at her as he speaks. “Not Stephen?”

“He’s more of a mascot I think.” Lucy muses, skipping up to his side and out the door as he holds it with one hand. “Like Chris.”

“Fair enough, they are the two lightweights.” He says, jutting his chin out to where Chris and Stephen were squabbling a good hundred metres up the footpath. “You seem a bit better at handling the beers than Chris to be honest.”

She can’t quite stop the way her nose scrunches at the memories of parties and chundering in bushes out the front of train stations. Lucy hisses through her teeth. “Yeah, I had a few too many nights out in Uni. Spiked my tolerance.”

There’s this little quirk of Arthur’s head, like he’s a curious cat that’s been offered a toy mouse to play with. “I didn’t know you went to uni, what did you study?”

“Journalism. Hence the video essays- if you know what kind of videos I do.”

“Not to brag, but I'm kind of subscribed.” He puts on a little bit of a voice, an impression of the typical ‘nice guy’ when he says it with an exaggerated roll of the eyes that earns a smile.

“Really?” This time it’s Lucy who’s tilting her head, peering up at him a little from under the few loose strands of hair that hang over her forehead and it makes Arthur sort of sheepish. 

“Oh yeah,” He pulls out his phone and opens the youtube app. She’s in his subscriptions tab, along the top bar even. “I really like the rage bait one. And the one about the barbie movies.” 

“You actually watch my videos?” He must do. The rage bait one was recent but Lucy’s deep-dive into the animated barbie movies of the early two-thousands was from her uni days, buried under six years of more recent uploads. 

“Yeah, they’re good. Informative, funny.”

Lucy blushes. “Flattery gets you everywhere, Arthur. I’ll check out your channel after today, promise.”

“It’s not much, a lot of reality TV content- hence the name. I started with Airline freakouts and ended up with ninety-day fiancé.” He holds out his phone for her to take with his own channel pulled up. 

She flicks though, and it is admittedly a lot of ninety-day fiancé, but when she flicks the ‘popular’ filter on, some of the thumbnails look kind of familiar. “Wait, like the old ‘Airline UK’ show? I used to watch some of those.”

Arthur grins. “Really?”

“Yeah, just compilations of the passengers screaming at the easy jet desk.” 

There’s a mental note to watch them when she gets home (pr depending on how drunk she ends up, tomorrow) and see if they’re familiar. 

It happens every now and then, watching a video then realising years later you’ve just met the person who made it. A couple of months after meeting George Clarkey at the gym she realised she’d watched him chase a beep around his garage on tiktok a year earlier.

“Maybe you saw some of mine.” Arthur offers a little shyly, as if he’s nervous about suggesting it. “They did decent numbers. It’s how I got started with youtube.”

“Yeah?”

He hums in agreement. “Needed something to pay the bills in Uni and youtube ended up being way more fun than Law.”

Lucy can’t help the judgemental tone that sneaks into her voice. “You studied Law?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” He scoffs with a smile.

“No you’re just nicer than all the other law students I met while in Uni. Most of them were right pricks.”

Especially the one she’d dated in second year. He’d been good at first, but after a couple of pints he was anyone's. The guy played up on her all the time and it wasn’t until he tried hitting on the first year who’d just moved into Lucy’s student Accommodation that she finally called it off. 

After that, all the law students who tried to chat her up at the Uni bars left a bitter taste in her mouth. 

Not Arthur though. He isn’t quite a law student, she supposes, he’s a youtuber and Lucy does get on well with most of the UK scene. They were a good bunch and any of the dickheads were pretty easy to weed out- there is a couple she fully avoids, simply because she couldn’t be arsed putting up with them. Lucy scribbles Arthur’s name on the mental list of people she wouldn’t mind chatting to at the next party. 

He’s got decent chat, certainly better than some of the dull people she’s put up with out of politeness and when he smiles, it’s a flash of pearly white. Teeth that all line up perfect- save for his pointed canines. She could stand to see it a bit more often, carve out some space for it in her chest amongst the fluttering of butterflies. “Flattery gets you everywhere, Luce.”

“Hurry up you two, stop dawdling!” Chris shouts from out the front of pub number three. 

They wave him off with a few jeered ‘yeah, yeah’s but do pick up the pace a little. 

“I meant to ask earlier,” Arthur says. “Want to put your purse in my bag? it looks like it’s bothering you.”

Her purse has been bothering her. It was the one she’d taken into the office and was more for fashion than function, a little black leather crossbody bag that she’s had over one shoulder so it doesn't make her boobs look weird on camera. It’s only really got her phone, earbuds and keys in it. She’s been keeping it at her hip with one hand but it’s getting tiring. “Yeah, thanks Arthur.” 

He tucks it away gently, with much more care than he’d had with his own portable charger and pencil case a few minutes earlier. Arthur’s sweeter than she expected. 

Not many of the youtube boys were sweet. Nice, friendly even, but part of being amongst them meant she could take the banter and hard hitting. Catch hurled comments that strangers would say border on cruel with her bleeding hands and hurl them back. There’s an added layer, being a woman online appearing on channels with a male dominated audience. A thick oily sheen that taints the comments of collab videos. 

But Lucy has managed to find the youtubers she could stomach, some of which she spends more time with than others. George is her gym buddy, even if he’s been slacking lately. Will lacks enough of a social life that he tends to rot in the office just as late as she does so they always end up ordering Deliveroo and shit talking for an extra hour or two. She doesn’t mind the occasional pint with Harry or Tobi either. They’re all sweet, but sweet enough that it's threatening to make her blush? Well, only Chris made that far. 

Lucy tucks that thought away and settles into the seat at the end of the table, tapping the toes of her shoes together idly as the production team set up go-pros and camera angles.

Pub number three was goalie rules. Six seconds to down a pint and it had to be done with keeper gloves. 

All six sets set on the table are Large and it looks utterly ridiculous when they all don the gloves. Black and green leathery material that’s oddly padded on the inside, it feels weird enough that it sort of captivates her for a few moments, the new sensation against her hands. Lucy keeps balling her fists up then splaying her fingers again, listening to the scrunch of them before pressing her hands flat against the table to feel the padding compress and spring back up slightly when she released the pressure. 

Arthur has a similar reaction, although he just starts running his hands over everything. From the wooden table to his own legs. Down Lucy’s right forearm where it rests on the table, over Chris’s head. The latter of which, he does so much that it actually gets a reaction, which Lucy is starting to think most of Arthur’s oddities don’t.

“Stop rubbing my head!” Chris squeaks, ducking away from Arthur’s widespread palms that are messing up his quiff. “Rub the head I want to be rubbed!”

Lucy snorts into her keeper glove when Chris gestures rudely to his crotch and Stephen goes to kick it from under the table. 

Thankfully, before things can devolve into more dick jokes, a member of Chris’s team brings over a tray of pints. 

Lucy and Arthur both get it down in one, but Chris fails- laughing after about an inch and having to set the drink down. Easy to say, no one is impressed and he earns them a yellow card for time wasting.

“How have you done worse than the females?” Arthur jokes, setting Chris’ still half full glass between Lucy and Becky’s empty ones. 

“We’ll take ourselves back to the kitchen.” Becky declares, raising a hand for a high five that Arthur meets- an assurance that it’s all jokes- before leaning in to stage whisper to Lucy. “There might be pints in there.”

Despite England's mostly good performance, Calfreezy once again proves that he’s out to get them as he issues two yellows and a red card. Lucy and Chris take the penalty shots- tequila upon request- and there’s three points added to their tally as well. 

It burns the back of her mouth and stings against her tongue. Whichever production member had fetched their shots did not return with the curiosity of a chaser. Still, it’s easier to down than a pint so Lucy takes what she can get. 

Although, everyone seems to be under the impression that it’s going to finish her. Probably because she keels over coughing after getting it down. It’s the closest Lucy’s come to spitting out a drink all afternoon, which is saying something considering the IPA at the first pub was utter shit. 

Her reaction has Steven so confident in his team’s performance that he starts demanding forfeits, anything from shots of the winners choice to public spankings in ‘piccadilly square’.

While Lucy focuses on not tripping over the drag of her platform shoes, the taste of tequila lingers on her tongue and haunts her all the way to the next pub. 

[ masterlist ] [ part two, coming soon... ]

ink note: and we are underway! thanks so much for reading! feel free to send asks about the fic or check out the notes at the bottom of Lucy's masterlist to see how this fic is going to develop.

[ if you would like to be added to the fic's tag list, let me know in an ask and you'll be tagged when each chapter goes up :) ]

[coffeeviolinist]

Y’know I was staying silent about this before but I’m just going to come out now and say it: the way Azusa is written these days makes it really, REALLY hard to like her.

And that sucks because I used to love her when she was just a fun background character working a minimum wage job who happened to pop up every once in a while. Unfortunately, that isn’t how she’s being written these days.

Sure, she’s still sweet and all. But a big part of her character these days is being Amuro’s not-girlfriend - or, more specifically, how she always has to act all bothered about the fact that people keep shipping her with him. She even said, and this is a direct quote, “if someone like me was seen with Amuro-san, it would be hot gossip all over the internet”.

For one, I find it hard to buy that because a potential relationship between two waiters of all people being gossiped about “all over the internet” is just not something that happens no matter how attractive one of them is. Most people have better things to worry about than whether the people serving them their coffee are dating each other - yes, even high school girls.

For another, and this is really the crux of the matter, if Azusa is actually as bothered as she says about the possibility that people would see her with Amuro and jump to conclusions about them…well, you’d think she would also recognize that there’s an obvious solution, right? All she has to do is not go out in public with Amuro, and she won’t be inadvertently fueling any potential rumors. Problem solved!

Except, well, for all her talk about how she doesn’t want to be shipped with Amuro and how much it bothers her that everyone is supposedly gossiping about her online, Azusa has still gone out alone with Amuro in public multiple times. At this point, it’s honestly starting to make her look like a pick me. She’s starting to feel like one of those girls who talk about how “gross” it is that they keep getting shipped with their guy friend but actually not-so-secretly really, really want everyone to assume they’re dating.

Of course, the Doylist explanation for all of this is that Gosho is just using Azusa as a mouthpiece for a cheap ship bait joke. The problem is that (at least from what it seems) he’s approaching this entirely from a Doylist perspective and isn’t considering how it actually looks from a Watsonian perspective.

It’s probably also his inability to write women coming through yet again. Like yes, of course women and girls are all a bunch of catty bullies who go around saying horrible things about other women on social media for no reason other than the fact that these women have attractive coworkers. It’s not like women have better things to worry about, no, our only concern is competing with each other for male attention 💕. Our one and only goal in life is to be someone’s wife 💕💕💕.

Just. Ugh. Azusa is a perfect example of why some background characters should just stay background characters, especially since Gosho can’t write women for shit.

[anamericangirl]

This was very sad for me to read and I completely empathize with how you are feeling - especially because the situation you are in I was in not too long ago. In my thirties, was having to live with my parents, and single. And I know first hand how hard and depressing that kind of situation is and was at a point where it looked like I would never get out of it and just wanted to give up because my life felt meaningless and no matter how hard I tried nothing about my circumstances would ever change - but I was wrong. Those feelings I had and had convinced myself were accurate were all false and they were temporary even though at the time it did not feel temporary.

Now, everything about my circumstances hasn't changed. I'm still in my thirties and still single but I'm in a much better place mentally and spiritually and those things don't matter to me or bring me down. I'm not upset about being single and I'll even be ok if I'm single forever because I know my worth as a human being isn't tied to my relationship status or age and that's true for you too. Your value as a person isn't tied to your relationship status, age, or where you live or who you live with. I know it's depressing when it's not where you want to be, but it's not indicative of a life that's not worth living. And honestly, these feelings that you are having and are projecting onto your circumstances are internal issues that aren't going to be fixed by finding a partner or moving out of your parents house. I know it can feel like that's all you need to be happy but those aren't the source of your troubles and they won't be the solutions. Even when my circumstances started to change for the better the depression didn't go away because my circumstances weren't actually the source of my depression. I had to mentally and spiritually reset myself.

I'm so sorry that's the impression you've been getting from the Christian crowd, but it's a completely inaccurate and unbiblical perspective. While kids are wonderful and a source of joy and become the most important of part of a person's life if they are blessed with children, your life can be just as important and fulfilling and valuable without children. Children are great but not everyone is called to have children and anyone who pressures a person and makes them feel like shit for being single and childless is a jerk. Which is why when I mention Christianity and God I don't recommend seeking out Christians, I recommend seeking out God.

Casting your cares and anxieties on God and seeking comfort through his word and putting your trust and faith in him is where the healing comes from. That is the main thing that got me through my depression. God is the worthwhile thing to live for. He gives your life purpose and meaning and created you specially and intentionally. God created you because he thought the world needed you and he's not done with you yet.

Not killing yourself is not cowardice - it is strength. I can tell you don't want to die, you just are at a loss because you don't see an end to your situation but I promise you there is one and it takes strength and resilience to push through the periods of life where it all feels pointless and hopeless and that's what you are doing!

No one is lying about grieving their loved ones. You are putting too much worth on being married and having kids and that's not the solution to your problems. Being married or whatever doesn't take away the love people have for the others in their life. Doing fine in life doesn't mean you won't grieve the loss of a loved one. I lost a family member to suicide years ago and I will never stop grieving him no matter how my circumstances change in the future - for better or for worse.

Your self worth doesn't come from your circumstances, the circumstances of the other people in your life, or the opinions of other people and you will always be disappointed as long as you are looking there for value.

I know I'm just a stranger on the internet and this all will probably mean nothing to you but I truly hope something resonates with you at least a little bit. You can talk or vent to me anytime and I will be praying for you every day <3

What’s a good reason to not take my own life? I’ve been feeling this way for years. Been to multiple treatment programs. Seen by several different therapists. Anti-depressants. I frequently go outdoors to exercise. Try to fill up my life with being optimistic about my (admittedly nice) job, hobbies, travel, and volunteering. And yet I’m still no better than I was 5 years ago and I have no hope about a happy future. “Your family will miss you.” Ok, and? I think it’s selfish to tell people in pain to continue living like that because some people might temporarily feel sad. They’ll eventually move on. My friends too, especially the ones who are happily married “to their best friends” and having babies and are so happy that they forget I exist.

Hey anon I hope I am not too late! I am just getting out of a hurricane and was without internet access for several days so i apologize for the delay.

But there are so many reasons not to take your own life. In fact, I can’t think of a single reason why you should.

I know it’s tough right now and trust me, I know that depression makes it all feel pointless and worthless and can plague you for years but even though if feels like forever I promise you these feelings and this depression and your circumstances are TEMPORARY. And it would be a tragedy for you to take your life over temporary circumstances and not see what is possible on the other side.

Yes your family and friends will miss you but you should stay because your life has purpose and meaning! Therapy and anti-depressants are good and I’m glad you’ve been trying those things because that means you don’t actually want to die - you just want the pain to stop. And that’s completely understandable and also manageable!

It’s great that you’ve been continuing to exercise and do volunteer work because those things can definitely impact your mood, but they aren’t the source of true joy, peace and happiness. Now I’m a Christian so I’m sure it won’t surprise you for me to say this, but what you are looking for and what you need can only come from God. I urge you to put your faith and trust in him and give him your burdens.

The devil has a hold on you right now, don’t let him win!

“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” - Isaiah 41:10

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. - Jeremiah 29:11

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” - John 10:10

“Cast your cares on the LORD and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous be shaken.” - psalm 55:22

“The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. The righteous person may have many troubles, but the LORD delivers him from them all.” - psalm 34:18-19

But now that I’ve gone on my spiel, here are some reasons I think it’s good to keep living. Not all my original thoughts but ones i agree with.

1. You matter

2. No one else is you.

3. Your younger self

4. Your next favorite song.

5. Warm blankets.

6. Thunderstorms

7. The fact that you’re in control of your future.

8. Experiencing new cultures.

9. Making new friends.

10. Road trips.

11. Sunsets and sunrises.

12. Reading good books.

13. Learning a new language.

14. Adopting a pet.

15. Fresh baked bread and cookies.

16. Getting packages in the mail.

17. Autumn.

18. Pumpkin spice.

19. Drinking coffee in the morning.

20. Beaches and being able to sink your toes into the sand.

21. Stepping on crunchy leaves.

22. Recovery.

23. Falling in love.

24. Rain.

25. Petting puppies and kittens.

26. Drinking water.

27. Trying something new and loving it.

28. Your favorite artist putting out new music.

29. A new season on your favorite TV show.

30. Planting a garden and growing your own vegetables.

31. Farmers Markets.

32. Trying out the newest local coffee shop or restaurant.

33. Karaoke

34. All of the people you have yet to meet.

35. Horseback riding

36. Stars.

37. Ice cream.

38. Ice tea.

39. Scented candles.

40. Learning something new.

41. Museums.

42. Going to the movies.

43. Hearing your favorite song come on the radio.

44. Learning to make a new recipe.

45. Your life is precious.

46. You are enough.

47. Random acts of kindness.

48. God looked at the world and thought it needed you.

49. Your story could save someone else.

50. Looking back on this time in 10 years and realizing you made it.

There’s an endless amount of reasons to stay alive and I hope some of them resonate with you.

But if you are desperate please reach out to the suicide prevention hotline at 988. If you are outside the US then you can find the number for your location here.

Please know that I am praying for you and please reach out to me again if you want to. I would love to keep up with how you are doing 💜

[melancholic-pigeon]

Okay this is the *actual* last comment, for real, but I just found out Spider is now smearing me as a convert and accusing me of being involved with drama I was not involved with because he mistakenly attributed my apologies for his public temper tantrum as being about something unrelated.

THIS IS A FALSE ACCUSATION and I do not appreciate having yet another bit of fake malicious intent falsely ascribed to my actions and* attributing a completely unrelated attack to me.

Also, it's very sad and disappointing whenever a Jew gets mad at a convert because something else is going on in the Jew's life and the convert happens to be in the splash zone and the Jew falls over backwards to smear the convert and invalidate her faith.

Just....the childish aggression is making me so, so sad and disappointed, from someone I used to think very highly of, who is now lying about me and publicly smearing me with false accusations based on a conflict he started because he misinterpreted something I said and I went out of my way to give him the benefit of the doubt when trying to clear up the mistake HE MADE that led him to decide bullying and attacking me for three fucking days was appropriate and okay and that I'm the bad guy for saying it's wildly unprofessional to behave like this in public to a former customer face.

Sorry, but facts, reality, linear time and the truth of what I actually said and did are on my side here, and I will not stand for being smeared and attacked and shat all over because I had the gall to try to kindly resolve his uncalled for, unjustified temper tantrum.

I am also not sorry that I left a side note in the tags that it was also unacceptable for HIM to drag his daughter into a stupid internet slapfight based on his own reading comprehension failure. Because it was and is unacceptable, and she needs to hear that message from someone.

End of story. Keep digging that hole as long as you like, Spider. It's not helping your case and is continuing to make you look progressively worse and more unreasonable, and the only person you have to blame is yourself.

*revised for clarity

[taeyungie]

😺

[worstsequence]

[estellardreams]

Sometimes MK wondered if the universe pitied him.

After all, it was only recently that a mysterious lion came and rescued him from King Red.

Oh... His new savior. He was so happy, so thankful.

He wanted to know how to repay him. Anything, anything he'd ask, and he'd do it no hesitation.

The lion, Azure, quietly kept walking with MK at his side. MK brushed up on his forehead, feeling the now empty scarred spot where his fillet was torn off, relief washing over him once again.

"Thank you... Truly..." he softly thanked.

"It's no problem, MK. I was simply doing what was necessary. After all, I do need your help with something. Something important."

"Really? Like what?"

"You see... My friends, Yellowtusk the Wise and Golden winged Peng, are trapped in this scroll." Azure pulled out a scroll composed of wooden tiles.

Mk curiously took it, holding it. It felt... Ancient.

"What... Is it?" he asked.

"The scroll of memory. It contains the story of the Journey to the West and many more. All I ask, if possible, is for you to go in there and defeat it's protective curse. I will pull you out and then I can release my friends."

"I'll do it!" MK said without a second thought.

Azure blinked. "Really?"

"Yes! You freed me from that... King, I'll do anything to repay you!"

"Ah. Thank you, MK. So much. You have no idea how much this means to me."

Mk now had so many questions after that fight. After being pulled out.

But he did it. He managed.

After finally finding Master Subodhi and being taken to the Monkey King's stone, he met himself... Or at least, the ink version of himself.

A crumbled, torn up prince with a crown, his clothes ratty and torn, monkey fur fluffed out.

Harbinger of Chaos... Is that who he truly is?

If so... Then he at least knew what he should do now.

Mk stumbled a little, panting a bit as he tried to maintain his form, his monkey form threatening to take over.

Azure... Did it. He had his friends back.

Mk softly laughed, falling back onto the ground, finally taking a breather.

Azure turned his attention to him, gently scooping him up and carrying him to his companions.

"Yellowtusk, Peng, I'd like you two to meet the one who freed you; MK the Monkie Kid."

"A-actually, it's... Qi Xiaotian. I just go by MK for convenience." MK winced.

"Ah. Well then, Xiaotian, I suppose I should explain everything." the lion laid MK down on the throne, letting the boy rest.

"The brotherhood was with me, my companions, Sun Wukong, Six Eared Macaque, and Demon Bull King... We all had a dream of a better life. One without oppression. I'm sure you'd understand that, right?"

"Mhm..."

"So we decided to overthrow the jade Emperor to do so."

Mk froze, his eyes widening. "What...?"

"I know it sounds... Crazy, but I promise you it's for the best. It was the only way. And yet... At the final moment of our seige, Sun Wukong failed... He was imprisoned, later wielding to a celestial monk. When we began our own empire, he and his companions were sent to strike us down."

Mk paused, his gaze hollowed.

If... If the Monkey King couldn't be trusted... Who could he trust?

He was so lost...

Mk buried his head in his hands, trying to wrap his hands around this situation.

"I apologize, MK. But that's the truth. Though... This is your choice, but would you like to come with... And help us? Help the brotherhood bring about our freedom?"

Mk looked up at Azure, shocked. He sat up a bit, feeling a small headache coming about.

He stared down at his hands, noticing them twitching.

"The... The ink said I was this... Harbinger of Chaos... Is that true?"

"Well, do you believe in it?"

Mk paused. He breathed in... Then out.

"I... I guess not."

"Then no. Don't let a curse dictate your life, alright?"

"Alright..."

Mk stood up, tugging at his clothes. He still hated having to wear his prince robes in the scroll, just to blend in.

"I... I got nothing better to do. And I'm okay with... With changing things up a bit. So... Let's do it. I'll help you."

Azure cracked a smile, picking MK up a putting him on his shoulder.

"Though I need something in return."

"Sure, MK. Go on ahead."

Mk winced, a bit anxious over requesting it. "Can I... Have a new outfit? I absolutely hate this one."

"Ah, yes. We'll get one for you, kid."

For the first time in what felt like forever... He had a family.

One not forced on him. Not one of his old life. One where he just... Started over.

Sure he had to help kill the jade Emperor but at least he and Azure were successful. He felt horrible about it, yet he had done it anyway.

But now there was a new problem... The Jade Emperor's power went into him.

So much for his new outfit, it immediately got torn up the second the emperor's power forced out his Monkey form.

The world threatened to tear itself apart for every minute he had. Every minute he was still... Around.

And yet... Something just seemed a bit too off about his new destiny.

Is this what... He wanted?

Or was there something else?

Mk got up from the throne, heading into the celestial scriptures. He searched through the scrolls before pulling out one on the cracks.

The end of the cycle... The pillar of heaven. The time stones.

He... He needed those.

They felt like they were calling to him.

With a heavy heart, MK put the scroll back and teleported out of the celestial realm, knowing full well he'd be sacrificing this new life just to start anew.

Start in a world without Demon King Red.

He just hoped in his heart that the brotherhood would forgive him for this choice.

For his destiny.

He was truly... The Harbinger of Chaos.

Not the Monkie Kid.

Not Qi Xiaotian.

Nothing.

His true fate... Was to be the final stone.

The key to restarting the cycle.

And for everyone else's sake.

He would do so.

And as the world crumbled... On its final breath as he let his control over his powers slip away...

He leapt into the pillar, holding onto the stones.

And finally... He was greeted by the goddess of creation; Nüwa.

"Now the cycle can begin once again."

For the first time... He was truly, purely happy.

Mk collapsed to the ground, letting the world fade out into bliss.

He'd have a second chance... And this time...

He hoped that the world would let him stay happy forever.

Suddenly curious since Prince MK is usually locked up in a tower... How does Season 4 go? Would the scroll somehow end up in the kings Posession and accidentally release the ink?

I’m not sure! The whole scheme by Xiangliu to get MK to wake up early so he can get to the chaos beyond is kind of ruined by Demon King Red locking the poor boy up.. so why would he bother to release Azure in the first place if that’s ruined???

Although, he’s been waiting so long to escape the cycles that I doubt he’d let something trivial like some obsessive demon lord get in his way.

Maybe he releases Azure Lion (as normal) but Xiangliu also lets the lion know he has to rescue MK from the son of DBK because he’s the only one who can help his friends be freed as well… some sort of manipulation or another that gets Azure to bust MK out of the tower.

Honestly MK would be so grateful for the rescue he probably would not question any of it and just would do whatever he asked in return 😂

…of course there’s always the possibility that Azure teams up with DKR instead, which is something I’ve mentioned once or twice before too. That scenario MK gets to stay in the tower and nothing changes for him, but Azure and DKR team up to defeat the Jade Emperor

[nerdie-faerie]

My entire uni process since I applied three years ago has just been accompanied by a series of my parents getting pissed at me about information they made up, like how are you mad at me about stories you created

[yelloworangesoda]

i hate the food situation at my house so much for the love of god. theres only so many times a man can eat ramen with nothing or tuna with nothing

[honeypiehotchner]

Juno (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- one shot

Hello again! This goes from zero to 100 in two seconds flat don't @ me!! Sabrina's new album came out and reawakened something in me (everyone say thank you Sabrina) (also this is not beta'd I wrote this in a short n' sweet haze)

Summary: Aaron is working from home but what paperwork he needs to do is the absolute last thing on your mind.

Warnings: smut! 18+ only! this is so filthy! in no particular order: multiple orgasms, cockwarming, choking, brat tendencies, stoplight system, unprotected sex, breeding kink (briefly), face fucking, overstimulation

WC: like 3,400 I lost my damn mind clearly

You’re not sure what’s gotten into you. Blame it on period hormones (probably) or the fact that Aaron looks absolutely delicious right now in his tight black t-shirt (most likely), but you’re going to go insane if either of you have clothes on for another five minutes. 

The problem is, Aaron is trying to focus. It’s one of his days where he works from home, an idea you gave him when you realized how easy it would be for him to do the same paperwork just from the comfort of your living room. It was a brilliant idea at first. You got to see him more, and were able to do your own thing around the house while he did his work. You got to have lunch together, and offer a genuine mental break in between his mountain of paperwork. 

Now, though, you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck about whatever needs to be signed, who needs to clear what, and what phone calls he still needs to make. 

“Honey,” you call sweetly from the kitchen. You watch him from over the island, your thoughts going all sorts of ways -- namely, deep into the gutter. “Want to break for lunch?”

You see Aaron shake his head, still typing furiously on his laptop. “It’s not even noon yet.”

“Brunch?” you try again, walking out of the kitchen. You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms over your chest in the way you know he loves because of the view it gives him of your cleavage. And you’re wearing a v-neck shirt today for that exact reason, too.

Aaron still doesn’t look up. “I’m sorry honey, maybe in an hour?”

You let out a huff that you know he hears because he finally looks up, eyebrows raised just so. It’s a look that you love. Curious, veering toward that playful annoyance that you can’t seem to go a few hours without his undivided attention. 

Which, you can, by the way. You’re more than capable. It’s just that right now, it’s a crime that his eyes have been looking at paperwork when they should be looking at you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and there’s some hesitation in his voice. You know he’s assuming the worst. That you’re not okay mentally, and that’s why you need him to take his lunch break now or maybe for the rest of the day. He’s done it before on your darker days.

But you’re okay. You’re perfectly fine. You’d just be even better if he put the damn laptop away and put his fingers to use somewhere else.

Which is exactly why you come to a stop in front of him and reach forward, tilting his screen down and down until it closes. He lets you.

He lets you take his laptop and put it on the table beside the couch. He watches you, his fiery brown eyes taking in every second. He lets you straddle his hips, your arms circling his neck.

“I see now,” he smirks, his hands finding their rightful place on your waist and squeezing lovingly. “By ‘lunch break’ you mean…”

“Put a baby in me,” you blurt, rocking your hips against his.

He stills, his hands making you stop your movements, too. His eyes are darker now in a way you haven’t seen in a while. “What?”

“Please,” you say, leaning your forehead down onto his, trying to move your hips again. “Need you.”

“Honey, we can’t have--”

“Yes I know the semantics, Aaron,” you mutter, now annoyed and lifting your head to glare at him. He has a vasectomy, you get that. “I mean fuck me like you’re putting a baby in me.”

His hands squeeze again. “I see.”

You frown. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not,” he smirks, one hand leaving your waist to stroke your cheek. “You’re adorable when you’re horny.”

You roll your eyes, peeling yourself off his lap. He lets you go, albeit with a curious look. You turn and head for the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” he calls out after you, still with that damn smirk lacing his words.

“To get myself off,” you reply in a deadpan. “Since someone--”

You don’t have a chance to finish your sentence before Aaron is right behind you, hands on your hips, spinning you around to face him. That look full of fire is back again, stern this time.

“Did I say you could do that?” he says in a low tone.

“Did I ask?” you retort, backing out of his grasp and darting into the bedroom. 

Now there’s a smirk on your lips. It’s quickly approaching shit-eating grin territory, which you know will only egg Aaron on further. This little game of cat and mouse happens to be your favorite, and he knows it.

You’re barely two steps into the bedroom when Aaron is attached to your back yet again, this time wrapping his arms around your waist, locking you in.

“Color?” he whispers, his lips right at your ear, sending shivers straight down your spine.

You groan. “Green. Neon green. So green, I need you to--”

He spins you again, this time backing you into the wall and attacking your lips. Finally, you think, though you know you’re in for it now. The thought has a grin crawling up your lips, and you’re unable to stop it.

“What’s so funny, hm?” he scolds, moving his lips to your neck instead, to the exact spot he knows makes you weak in the knees. Like clockwork, he has to wrap an arm around your waist to keep you upright, your knees buckling when he bites down just so.

“Nothing,” you manage through a moan, tipping your head back onto the wall. “Shit.”

“You’re ridiculous sometimes, you know,” he says, but he’s smiling against your skin. “Can’t let me focus on work because you need me to fuck you.”

“In my defense,” you try, your hands scrambling for his shoulders, for something to ground you. “You didn’t fuck me this morning.”

“I fucked you last night,” he reminds you, as if you needed the reminder. It’s the reason you slept so soundly. “Was that not enough?”

You can’t help it; you laugh. 

He lifts his head, raising an eyebrow at you. The same question as before on his lips.

“Sorry, I thought you were joking,” you say. 

“You’re insatiable.” 

“Guilty,” you grin, grabbing his face and pulling him back in for another kiss.

You make out against the wall for too long like two teenagers behind the bleachers at school. You hook one leg around his hips, pulling him in and grinding against his obvious erection. It’s enough to have him groaning into your mouth, pressing you against the wall with renowned vigor. 

You can feel how wet you’re becoming and fuck, neither of you have even taken a single article of clothing off yet.

Aaron notices, one hand traveling south without you paying attention, too busy relishing the way he licks into your mouth, stealing your every breath. The kissing becomes increasingly sloppy when he works his hand into your leggings, under the waistband of your underwear, and into you.

“Oh my god,” your back arches against the wall, pushing his fingers deeper. He doesn’t bother with one, starting right away with two, curling them when you grind harder.

“You’re soaking my hand,” he practically growls into the next kiss, adding a third finger after only a few thrusts. Your body accepts it willingly, always ready for him. “Jesus.”

“More,” you gasp, pushing him deeper. “Aaron, more, I’m serious--” Your words break off as he scissors his fingers, making your eyes roll back instantly.

“I can feel you already,” he smirks against your cheek, pressing a kiss there, an action so sweet and gentle compared to what the rest of him is doing. “Come on, honey. You’re cumming as many times as you want.”

That makes you inch closer to the edge at a frightening speed. He says you can cum as many times as you want, but what he means is he’s going to force as many orgasms out of you as he can. Until you tell him to stop or he decides you need a break. 

The thought of being an overstimulated mess in his embrace later has you climaxing against his fingers, your head falling onto his shoulder as his movements never cease, milking every last wave out of you. 

You lift your head in search of his lips again, which he willingly gives to you, his fingers slowing to soothing strokes as you whimper into his mouth. You’ve only had one orgasm and you already feel ruined. He can tell the way you tremble against him, so he checks in once more.

“Green?” he whispers, kissing your forehead.

You nod. “Green. You?”

He smirks. “Absolutely.”

He picks you up into his arms, inelegantly tossing you onto the bed behind you. You giggle as you bounce on the mattress, tugging your shirt over your head as he does the same to his. His hands move for his belt and you practically jump to the end of the bed, swatting his hands away.

“Since when is that your job?” you frown up at him, unbuckling his belt without looking.

He laughs, petting your head gently. “So sorry, you’re right.”

“What was that?” you tease. “I don’t think I heard you.”

“Don’t push it.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” you smirk, pulling his belt out of the loops and tossing it somewhere. You don’t wait for him to reply before you unbutton his jeans, yanking them down with his boxers.

There’s just something about his dick. You hate that you love it, or maybe you don’t hate it at all. All you know is you need it in your mouth right now.

So, you do that, without any warning. Aaron thrusts forward into your mouth on pure instinct, not expecting you to wrap your lips around him so soon. You slide down the edge of the bed onto your knees, pulling him back to you by his thighs. 

You take your time, pushing his jeans and boxers down further. When you pull back for air, he steps out of them and kicks them elsewhere, returning to you quickly, knowing better than to keep you waiting. 

You swallow him down again, moaning around him in the way you know he loves. It takes all of two seconds before he gently holds the back of your head, asking silently for permission that you were already about to grant. You look up at him, batting your eyelashes as you squeeze his thigh twice. Go ahead.

The thing about Aaron fucking your face is that it took a while for him to do it as hard as you really wanted. He’s always so gentle, a quality that drew you to him initially. You love how gentle he can be. But you love it equally as much when he is rougher with you.

Like now, when he has you pinned against the bed, one hand on the back of your head as he fucks into your throat. It’s blissful, quite frankly, the way he feels, and you thank the universe every time for your lack of a gag reflex. 

He holds you there with a deep groan, and you feel him twitch in your throat once before he pulls you off entirely. You frown up at him, once again not getting what you wanted, but he doesn’t have any time for that.

He picks you up by your armpits, hauling you back onto the bed. Your leggings and underwear are gone in a single second, along with your bra. He’s crawling up your body and crowding your space before you have a second to protest that he wasn’t down your throat for near as long as you wanted him to be. 

All frustrations leave your mind the second he pushes inside of you, immediately sliding home, his hips flush against yours. 

It’s a feeling you’ve grown to love, the way he hits you so deep. Another thing it took him a while to be comfortable doing.

He’s not average sized by any means, and you’re the first to admit it made you salivate the first time you saw. The first time he fed himself into you and worried that he was hurting you, meanwhile you were clawing his back because you wanted more. It hurt for a moment, only an uncomfortable pressure because he was bigger than your vibrator, but as soon as you were used to the size of him, you wanted all of him.

He stays there, deep in you without moving for a moment, grinding against you. His lips attack yours again before he pauses to lean his forehead on yours, trying to catch his breath.

“You drive me crazy,” he says on a shaky exhale.

You wrap your legs around him, thrusting your hips up to take him a little more. His hips stutter, pushing in the way you wanted him to, the way you know you can make him do involuntarily.

“Fuck,” he bites out, turning his attention to your neck again.

You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging. “Exactly. So why aren’t you moving?”

He nips at your neck. “Because if I move, I will cum right away.”

“Who said I only want you to cum inside me once?”

He groans again, fingers digging into your hips as you circle them, though he doesn’t try to stop you. “Greedy” is all he says, but he finally moves.

The thrusts are slow at first, Aaron clearly trying to pace himself. You can’t say you’re doing the same, already chasing your second high as he slams his hips into yours. Your hand reaches down to rub your clit, but is promptly smacked away by Aaron’s hand as he glares at you.

“Since when is that your job?” he echoes you from earlier, only this time, there’s more heat to it. He grabs both of your wrists, pinning them above your head to stop any other temptation. “Not this time.”

His thrusts pick up speed and depth, his body moving against yours in the exact way that makes you fall apart. It’s not often that he doesn’t let you cum from added clit stimulation -- not that you can’t without it; it just makes the high feel that much better -- but sometimes he does. It’s an ego trip for him as much as it is for you.

It also adds an unpredictable nature to it, which is why your second orgasm takes you by such surprise. You seize against him, your hands doing all sorts of squirming to try to break free of his grasp, but he doesn’t let you, and he doesn’t let up. You don’t realize why until you feel the warmth spreading into you as he reaches his own peak. 

You’ve clearly worked him up as much as you worked yourself up because his thrusts barely slow down, and he doesn’t soften inside of you. 

Instead, he pulls out only to flip you on your side, sliding in behind you and pulling your leg up and back over his hips. The action causes some of his cum to spill out of you, but you don’t have any time to focus on that before he fucks back into you. 

You’ve ceased to have any coherent thoughts as Aaron whispers dirty nothings into your ear, one arm wrapped around your body to keep you pinned against him. The pleasure doesn’t stop and at one point, you question if your second orgasm stopped at all or if it has continued this entire time.

Aaron reaches underneath the pillow where he knows he’ll find one of your vibrators because he heard you using it this morning. No, he didn’t fuck you this morning, but you fucked yourself, and truly, at 8am, he should’ve known you’d end up like this by eleven. 

Your mind doesn’t register what the sound means until the vibrator is pressed against your clit. Your body jerks, scrambling for some grounding, your hands finding it in wrapping them around his arm. 

He switches hands on the vibrator, so one hand is free to wrap around your throat. Your eyes roll back as soon as you feel the gentle pressure, your body practically going limp against him. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmurs directly into your ear, his thrusts slowing to deep strokes. “You’ve got a couple more in you.”

“A couple?” is all you manage to say, your hand squeezing his wrist so he knows to squeeze your throat a little more.

“Mhm,” his voice rumbles in your ear, sending goosebumps all over your body. “Is it too much?” His question is laced with just the right amount of pity that makes you shake your head against him. “I thought so,” he replies, switching the vibrator to a higher setting.

It sends you into your third orgasm instantly, squirming violently against him as he pushes into you deeper. He knows how much you love that, and loves how much you squeeze around him as he slides inside, fighting against your muscles that threaten to force him out. You’ve done it before, a mesmerized look on his face and yours when you both realized what happened. Since then, you told him you liked it more when he fought to stay inside. 

He takes the vibrator away as you calm down, his hips also pausing, keeping himself deep inside you. The pressure is soothing, and you take a moment to take a deep breath. His palm falls away from your throat, instead propping underneath your cheek.

It takes a few seconds before you feel yourself spasming around him. He chuckles against your back, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Still?”

You nod dumbly, rocking your hips again. “Yeah. I don’t know, I just-- Need more.”

“I’ve got you,” he soothes, pulling out again to roll you onto your stomach instead, one of your favorite positions.

You’re floating as you settle into the pillows, letting Aaron manhandle you wherever you need to be. You groan in your happy, blissed out state as he slides home again, draping himself over your back.

He is gentler now, knowing that’s exactly what you need at this point. The last orgasm he pulls from you is just as gentle, and he pushes deeper into you, letting you ride it out. 

He pulls your hips up and thrusts once, twice before he’s spilling into you. You didn’t realize he was that close again. The warmth is soothing this time as it spreads through you. 

Aaron leaves you only to settle behind you, spooning you once again. Your hand reaches behind you to find him, and he catches your wrist. 

“You need to rest,” he chides softly.

“I know,” you whimper. “Need you inside me.”

“Okay, okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your neck as he slides in again, still half-hard, but it’s enough. You settle down as soon as the weight of him is tucked inside you again. “Better?”

“Mhm,” you sleepily nod, pushing back into him so he holds you tighter. “Do you have to go back to work?”

He chuckles against you, sighing. “No, I’m done for the day, I think,” he says. “I’ll tell them you weren’t feeling well.”

That makes you laugh. “We need a better excuse.”

“Or I need to go back to working in the office.”

You roll your eyes. “Like that’ll make a difference.”

He shakes his head, his mind remembering the same memories that you are. The many lunch hours when you went to eat with him, and ended up with your back pressed into the couch, his tie stuffed in your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Go to sleep,” he says, pulling you impossibly closer. “I’ll make us lunch when we wake up.”

“Perfect,” you smile, nuzzling into him. “Love you.”

“Love you too, honey,” he says, pressing little kisses to your neck and cheeks, wherever he can reach. “Now sleep.”

You’re already halfway there. The combination of him nestled inside of you and the post-orgasm exhaustion is enough to lull you into a restful sleep.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Ring of Rage? More Like Ring of Engage

The thing is, Tim didn't mean to put it on. He was just kind of playing with it to keep his hands busy while he was thinking about the recent murder case. GCPD had their hands full with the serial robbers that didn't rank high enough to catch Batman's attention, and Tim never had a problem with helping the police if he had time.

And the ring was a perfect fidget toy, if he is being honest. Small and plain enough not to distract him, but the round stone in the middle was loosely attached, making it able to spin inside the frame. Which is what he did, again and again, like those fidget spinners.

Of course, he was just destined to drop it sooner or later. And then, when he reached under the table to pick it up, his finger caught inside the ring, and, well.

The ring was now firmly on his finger.

The problem was that he couldn't take it off.

It wasn't stuck, at least not in the general sense of it - Tim could easily spin it around, and it wasn't tight. But it wasn't loose either, and as soon as he tried to move it past the knuckle, the ring heavily disagreed, almost like shrinking down and absolutely refusing to be detached.

Barbara suggested soap, which didn't work. Dick tried for a more mechanical approach, first with pliers and then with a laser, which the ring resisted with no effort. Cass, who was actually the one who brought the damned thing into the Cave after one of her adventures in Hong Kong, just smiled and shrugged, which was of no help either. Damian offered to cut the finger off, which probably would have helped, but Tim rather liked all his limbs attached.

Bruce called Constantine. The magician took one look at the ring, barked a humorless laugh, and pat Tim on the shoulder sympathetically.

"Congrats, mate," he said, a wry smile on his lips, "I hope you file for divorce."

Although, while all the rest of the Bats and Birds devolved into fits of hysterical laughter (Steph), indignant sputtering (Damian), and cries of outrage (everyone else sans Alfred, who was pointedly unimpressed), Tim couldn't even bring himself to be surprised. Really, his life had been a shitshow since he was around ten. It's not like he didn't expect himself to be accidentally married to some otherworldly magical creature by this point.

The worst part - worse than the actual engagement, that is - was that Constantine couldn't exactly tell them who the spouse was.

What he did say was that the Ring belonged to the King of Infinite Realms, Keeper of Unseen Worlds, and Eyes of Universe. But those were only titles, and, as John Constantine begrudgingly admitted, there has been a change in the management recently, so no one really knew what the new almighty monarch looked like or what they were, much less their whereabouts.

"You can't blame me for not being keen to find out, though," John said, wincing, "The last one was a bloody tyrant, and the Realms operate under the right of conquest rule."

At least, the mage assured them that since the being had not yet come to collect their shiny new spouse, they might never show up at all. The Ring has been lost for ages after all, so maybe the King didn't even remember having one. Or, the previous King didn't, and the new one didn't know about or didn't care.

The first week after the incident, they spent anxiously researching and worrying. Bruce even went as far as making Tim wear a tracker at all times, which was not great, but he did appreciate the gesture. Kind of.

After the first month with no sign of any changes, the worry started to abate. In half a year, most of the family stopped trying to keep an eye on Tim at all times lest he suddenly disappeared. Two years later, even Tim himself treated the Ring as a natural part of his daily life. The stone inside was still a great fidget toy, engagement or not.

Three years, one month, and five days after Tim first put the Ring on his finger, when the world was falling apart and breaking in front of him and there was not a single thing he could do to stop it anymore, Tim pressed his lips to the cold, dark strip of unknown metal on his finger.

"Whoever you are, I don't even care, please," he whispered in a useless prayer, his voice hoarse and his throat dry, "please, help."

And the world came to a stop with a short, amused chuckle.

"Oh, I thought you'd never ask."

[part 2 ->]