#I need to ask my therapist how to build up patience

[slamminslamminmcgill]

Castigo - Lalo Salamanca/FTM Reader (NSFW!)

DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT

This wasn’t happening. This didn’t feel real. You made one mistake. Granted, it was a big one, but you never would have thought the consequences would be this. You thought he loved you, that you were more than just an employee to him, but you weren’t. You weren’t even that. You were a plaything, a doll, a toy that he could throw away when it no longer did what he wanted. You didn’t do what he wanted, and that meant you were broken. You were broken, and you needed to be fixed. 

tags/warnings: cnc/noncon/dubcon, forced oral, forced penetration, forced orgasm, squirting, knifeplay, cutting, bloodplay, face slapping, degradation/humiliation, punishment, dacryphilia, physical/emotional/sexual abuse, gaslighting, homophobic slurs, dead dove: do not eat

anatomical terms: cunt/pussy, dick

words: 5,585

ao3 link

author's notes: fics to make my therapist read ♥ as always please correct me if you notice any mistakes in the spanish dialogue

Life as a street distributor was often as boring as it was illegal.

Sometimes, you’d be posted up against the wall of a building, your designated spot for the day, and told to just wait. That’s it. Just wait until someone asks you what you got. It wasn’t that bad, in all honesty. You’d definitely had worse jobs. The few weeks you’d spent as a front-line soldier of the cartel had already taught you quite a bit about patience and discipline. Plus, your supervisor Lalo seemed to like you, if the nights you spent in his bed were any indication. Nevertheless, you didn’t get any special treatment when it came to work. He knew better than to spoil you; he didn’t want you going soft on him. 

You were absentmindedly checking your phone when a regular customer approached you. You relaxed your posture and sighed in relief. Regulars were easy. As long as they had the money, and they weren’t wearing a wire, you were clear to sell. His name was Emilio and he was actually a cousin of one of your coworkers, Domingo. Everyone in the cartel trusted him, but you still had to go through the formalities. 

You gave him a fist bump and spoke with a firm but friendly voice. “Alright man, you know the drill. Shirt up.” 

Emilio groaned. “Man, I wasn’t wearing no wire when I bought from you last week!”

You weren’t budging. “‘S not my rule. C’mon. Lemme see.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” He begrudgingly lifted up his tank top and turned around, giving you a clear view of both sides. No cables. All good. He dropped his shirt and spun back around before handing you a fistful of cash. “Just need an eight ball.”

“Got it,” you replied, counting the cash. It was all there. “Okay, you’re good.” You knelt down on the pavement and reached for your backpack. 

“Damn right, I’m good. How’s Domingo been?”

You didn’t look up to answer him. “He’s been doing really well, actually,” you said as you unzipped the bag. You put away the cash and dug around for an eighth. “Rumor is he’s up for a promotion soon.” You grabbed a small bag of coke and got up from the ground, ready to hand it off when one word stopped you dead in your tracks.

“Freeze!”

Your neck snapped in the direction of the unfamiliar voice. A cop was pointing a gun at you. 

 Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

Lalo had told you what to do when this happened, but all the instructions he’d given went out the window the second you were actually staring down the barrel of a firearm. You figured going full deer in the headlights was the wrong move. With not many appealing options in front of you, your instincts were telling you to run. You dropped the coke and took off like a bat out of hell, bracing yourself for the sound of gunshots behind you. You didn’t look back. You didn’t check on Emilio. You just fucking booked it, heading wherever adrenaline would take you. 

Thankfully, you were only a few blocks from El Michoacáno. You ducked into a nearby alley and tried to listen for footsteps, but you couldn’t hear much over your own hyperventilating. You determined the coast was clear, and headed into the restaurant, swinging the door open and storming inside in a frenzy. 

Inside, Domingo and Lalo were set up at a table, and they both jumped when you flashbanged them with the door. Lalo got up from his seat and approached you, noticing the panic on your face.

“Woah! Hey, calm down, chico. Calm down. It’s over now.” He pulled you into a warm embrace and petted your hair, shushing you and rubbing your back. Lalo was always so soothing, so nurturing, you’d soon forgotten what trouble you’d just barely escaped from. You two weren’t exactly a secret, so he didn’t mind showing you tiny bits of affection in front of others, just as long as it didn’t reflect badly on him. He leaned down to kiss your forehead and spoke with a gentle voice, “Now,” he tilted your chin up so you could see him, “can you tell me what happened? Were you robbed?”

You shook your head. “N-no, I was… I was selling over by…” You swallowed some air you desperately needed, “...over by Los Pollos, where you wanted me, a-and I…” you raised a shaky hand and pointed at Domingo. “Your cousin came up and wanted to buy… so I gave him an eighth and a… cop… a cop saw us.”

“Emilio?” Domingo got up from his chair and walked over to you two. “Is he okay?” Lalo let you out of his arms so you could answer him. 

“I… I didn’t see… When the cop came up to us, he had his…” you gulped, “he had his gun out… and I didn’t know what to do so I just ran. I didn’t see what happened to him…”

Sure enough, Domingo’s phone started ringing. “That’s probably him. I’ll be right back.” He stepped outside to answer his phone, leaving you and Lalo alone together.

Lalo gripped your shoulders before he asked his next question. “So, you just ran away?”

You nodded.

Lalo sighed disappointedly, but he didn’t seem mad. He spoke like an exasperated teacher reprimanding a student. “I thought I told you, nene (baby). If that happens, you have to let them pick you up. It’s gonna make things worse if you run. I know it’s scary, but I promise we’ll come get you af-” He noticed something that stopped him mid-sentence. His brow furrowed, he let go of your shoulders, and his voice was more sinister. “Where’s your bag?”

What? What did he just ask you? You patted your shoulders, and your heart sank. You spun around to look for a backpack that wasn’t there. “Oh no… oh no no no no no… I must’ve left it there. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lalo.”

“You left it there?” Lalo asked, contempt and disbelief dripping from his words. Thankfully, Domingo came back inside before he could question you further.

“That was Emilio,” Domingo said as he flipped his phone shut, “He’s down at the station. Cop was going after him ‘cause he had a warrant. He wasn’t concerned about you,” he gestured in your direction, “He didn’t even chase after you, but he took your bag as evidence. Must’ve thought it was Emilio’s. Apparently, whatever you had in there was enough to charge him with intent to distribute, too.”

Lalo stared daggers into you. If looks could kill, you’d be lying on a medical examiner’s table before you knew it. “So you weren’t even in any trouble…” He clenched his fist and swore under his breath. “Carajo (Damn it)… What's his bail?”

“He didn’t say,” Domingo shrugged, “But a repeat offense? Gonna be around $20k, at least, if they even give it to him.”

“Pinches cerdos (Fucking pigs)…” Lalo growled as he reached in his pocket. “No se pueden tomarlo de la mochila que robaban de nosotros? Maldita cosa probablemente tiene lo suficiente dentro. (They can’t take it from the bag they stole from us? Damn thing probably has enough in it.)” He grabbed two wads of cash and tossed them at Domingo. “Acá. Usa eso para negociar con los cerdos, y cuando vuelvas, dime que te digan. (Here. Use that to negotiate with the pigs, and when you come back, let me know what they tell you.)”

Domingo caught the cash and nodded. “Sí, Don Eduardo.” The title felt a little much, but he knew better than to risk disrespecting him right now. He went back outside and headed for the station.

“¿Y tú? (And you?)” Lalo turned his attention back to you, “You are going to come with me.” He grabbed you by your wrist and led you to the back of the restaurant. He let go of you to unlock the door to a room you’d never seen before. It appeared to be a makeshift office, and it was surprisingly roomy. There was a desk covered with papers, a chair, a couch, and not much else. “Get inside,” he demanded.

You could feel your heart thumping in your chest as you crossed the threshold. This was pure terror in every sense of the word. If you had known that this was the alternative, you would have turned yourself in to that cop the moment you saw him. You could hear Lalo lock the door behind you, and you turned around to face him, only to be met with a sharp backhand.

“¡Idiota! (Idiot!)” He slapped you again. “¡Hijo de puta! (Son of a bitch!) Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You lost us thousands, all because what, some donut-eating gringo pointed a gun at you? You got scared, so you drop everything and run away like a pathetic little bunny rabbit?” He spat bile at you, breathing heavily, veins bulging in his forehead. You had never seen him so angry, and you prayed to God you’d never see it again.

You could feel the tears bubbling in your eyes as you begged for mercy, your voice threatening to crack at any second. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, Lalo… It’ll never happen again, I promise…”

“Oh, it won’t, I’m going to make sure of that.” He slapped you across the face once more, and pulled you up by your hair to look at him. “You need to realize something, cabrón (asshole). Working closely with me is a privilege. Everything you do under me reflects on me. If you look weak, it makes me look weak, and I am not weak. And I am not going to give the bosses a reason to think I’m weak. I have to show them that I do not tolerate cowards. Do you understand?”

You answered instinctively, but stopped yourself from making yet another mistake, “Yes, La-, I mean… yes, sir…” You dropped your gaze to the floor, too ashamed to face him. 

“You understand that you need to be punished?”

“Yes, Don Eduardo…” You could only imagine what that meant, and you couldn’t picture anything good. You closed your eyes as your tear ducts began to overflow, your body trembling in fear. 

“Bien.” Lalo reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black object. “Take your clothes off.”

“Wh… what?”

“I said…” His thumb flicked a switch on the object’s side, and out popped a sharp blade. “Take your clothes off. You gonna disobey this order, too?”

“N-no, sir…” You wept softly as you unbuttoned your shirt with shaking fingers. He’d seen you like this before, but this time, you felt an unfamiliar shame wash over you. Your face was on fire, and the tears did nothing to quench the flames. 

Lalo was unphased. When you’d undressed in front of him previously, he was excited, almost giddy even. Now, he just looked hungry. “From now on, you’re going to do exactly what I say, when I say it. You do not say no, you do not argue with me, and you do not run. I don’t care where you are, who you’re with, or what you’re doing. If I tell you to strip, you strip. You got that?”

You sobbed as you kicked your shoes off and slid your pants down. “Yes… sniff… Yes, Don Eduardo…” Your fingers stopped at the waistband of your underwear, and you looked up at him. You weren’t sure whether to ask for approval or mercy, but your pleading eyes conveyed the message regardless. 

Lalo pointed the knife at you. “Go on. Those too.” 

You dropped your underwear around your ankles, stepping out of your clothes and kicking them to the side. The room felt much colder now that there was nothing to shield you from the draft blowing through. In the same vein, Lalo’s gaze was much more chilling now that there was nothing to protect your body from him. You closed your eyes and braced yourself for his next move.

Lalo approached you with malicious intent. He took a fistful of your hair and shoved you to the floor. “Kneel,” he said, as if you had any choice in the matter. 

Your eyes jolted open when you hit the floor. Your vision was blurry from your crying, but you saw something. There was a faint glint in the dim room, a lighthouse that guided you towards it. You blinked the teardrops away and realized what you saw; your own reflection in the steel blade. You wanted to scream; you wanted to run, but you knew that would only make things worse. With fight and flight both off the table, you froze. 

Lalo caught you staring at the knife. He could tell what you were thinking. “Oh, this? This is just…” he pressed the flat side against your cheek, the cool, lifeless metal practically sizzling your burning skin, “to keep you in line, y’know? Seems like you need a reminder. Hopefully, I won’t have to use it. Now," His fingers detangled themselves from your hair, “you,” and shifted to undo his belt, “have a debt to pay. Isn’t that right? Because of your ‘quick thinking’, you owe me a lot of money. But, I’m feeling generous. I’ll let you pay it off another way.” He had an uncanny smile on his face, as if he had somehow forgotten how angry he was just moments ago. His belt dropped to the floor, the buckle clattering as it hit the ground.

You winced at the sound of the belt clanging against the tile. Reality became too much to bear, so you just sobbed into your palms. This wasn’t happening. This didn’t feel real. You made one mistake. Granted, it was a big one, but you never would have thought the consequences would be this. You thought he loved you, that you were more than just an employee to him, but you weren’t. You weren’t even that. You were a plaything, a doll, a toy that he could throw away when it no longer did what he wanted. You didn’t do what he wanted, and that meant you were broken. You were broken, and you needed to be fixed. 

Lalo crouched down, set the knife on the floor, and pulled your hands away from your face. “Shh… shh… don’t worry. It’ll be okay. You just need to do what I ask, sí? This is what happens when you don’t listen to me. Come on, tell me you’ll listen to me. I need to know that I won’t have to do this again.”

Talking felt impossible. Your throat was raspy and chafed, tears and snot coated your face. Your whole body jerked as you cried. You were suffocating on your own misery. 

Lalo cooed to you and stroked your cheek. He was staring right into you. It was horrifying, more so than when he was yelling at you. At least then, you knew he was upset. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a gentle hug from a serial killer, a kiss from poisoned lipstick. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I don’t want to do this either,” Lie, “but I have to,” truth, “You need to know who’s in charge," two truths and a lie, “Just tell me you’ll listen to me.”

You choked the words out, or more accurately, you choked out a series of pained noises that sounded like the words he wanted you to say. “I’ll… sniff… l-listen… sniff… to… sniff… you…”

“There we go, good boy!” He ruffled your hair, an action you loved in the past, a nurturing gesture that showed he cared for you. Now, it just felt like an extra layer of mockery. He stood up straight again, though not before picking the knife up off the ground. “I’ll go easy on you, okay?” 

What sounded like a lie to you was the truth for him. This was going easy on you, as far as he was concerned. You didn’t want to think about what a second offense would entail, but no matter. After today, you would be the most docile, obedient henchman the cartel had on their payroll. 

“Alright, so, first thing I need you to do,” Lalo unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, already hard, leaking precum from his slit. You were on your knees staring down on it, so it didn’t take you long to put two and two together. The knife pressed against your cheek once more, and you flinched. The blade was a harsher command than his voice, although the latter was still pretty harsh: “Suck it.”

You didn’t hesitate to take him into your mouth, though understandably, not as enthusiastic as you’d done prior. Your motions were slow, tepid, cautious of the deadly weapon up against your face, but Lalo didn’t care. This wasn’t about sexual gratification; this was about subjugation. 

Lalo sighed, tilting his head back and relaxing himself to truly savor your mouth. “That’s a good boy,” Ironically, this was one of the best blowjobs he’d ever gotten. The blend of tears and spit made for the perfect lubricant. If only you cried every time you gave him head. I could arrange that, he thought. “Cry all you want, muñequito (little doll), you brought this upon yourself.”

The truth of his statement hit hard. As much as you didn’t want to think of it, he was right. This never would have happened if you just did what you were supposed to. You stopped sucking and merely blubbered around him, and as your body convulsed, your teeth just barely grazed his skin. 

“¡Mierda (Shit!)!” Lalo shouted and flicked his wrist, slicing your cheek with the knife. You shrieked in pain and pulled off him, your hand pressing against the wound to stop the blood. The rage was back in full swing. “¡Pinche puto inútil! ¡No puedes hacer nada correcto! (Fucking useless bitch! You can’t do anything right!) I told you to suck, not bite!”

Your heart was pounding, your chest heaving, your naked body shivering on your knees, your mind racing. You were having a panic attack, an apt name for the symptoms. The only thing you could feel was panic. Sheer. Fucking. Panic. You couldn’t even make sense of what he was saying. Bite? Did he say bite? But you didn’t bite him! If anything, you barely nicked him! You didn’t mean to anyway! Didn’t he understand?! Why was he doing this to you?! You couldn’t even think of an apology, let alone a defense. You were running on instinct and adrenaline. You were the scared, helpless little bunny he saw you as. All you could do was sit there, hang your head in shame, and let your tears, drool, and blood drip onto the floor.

“Ay, ay, mírame. Mírame, te cabrón. (Look at me. Look at me, you bitch.)” Lalo yanked your hair to pull your face up from the floor. “Explain yourself. You wanna tell me what the fuck that was?”

You couldn’t catch up to your breath. The shallow hits of oxygen you could take were not nearly enough. You were gasping for air as you tried to speak. “It… I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…”

Lalo cackled, “Oh, I know, conejito (little bunny). Trust me, I know. You think I’ve forgotten what a whore you are? I know you can suck cock better than that! Here, lemme see.” He pulled your hand away from your cheek so he could examine the wound. Your palm was coated in blood, but it was just a laceration. You were fine, well, fine in this regard at least. Everything else about you was pretty fucking far from fine. “Looks pretty messy, but you’ll be okay. The bleeding’s already slowing down.” He said matter-of-factly, as if he didn’t just slash your face open over a bodily function. He laughed again, warmer this time, though he still had a sinister grin on his face. “Well, I guess your mouth is out of commission, eh? Too much going on?” He looked at you like he was waiting for a response.

The way he could switch personalities in an instant gave you whiplash. He just cut you with a fucking switchblade, and now he was laughing like you just told a casual joke at a dinner party, like there was nothing out of the ordinary. This was the worst day of your life, and for him, it was just another Tuesday. Same shit as always. You just stared at him petrified. There were no words. 

Lalo didn’t mind. “Hey, hey, I get it. It’s okay. I won’t make you do that anymore. I told you I’d go easy on you,” You sighed in relief, relief that was unwarranted, you’d come to find, “We’ll just have to do something else.” You barely got a millisecond to parse the meaning of that before he slapped his hand over your mouth and pushed you onto your back.

You tried to scream, but it was no use. His hand formed a tight seal over your lips. Any noise you tried to make would just vibrate against his palm. He shushed you, climbed on top of you, and pointed the knife at your face.

“Cálmate, chiquito, cálmate. (Calm down, baby boy, calm down.) It’s gonna be better this way, I promise,” He took his hand off your mouth and brought it down to your cunt, making your whole body clench up. “You don’t have teeth down here, do you?” He chuckled, clearly very satisfied with himself, “I’d better check.” He nestled his fingers in between your lips, elated to find that you were already wet.  It was from crying, sure, but that didn’t matter to him. “Oh, wow! Look at that! You like this? I knew it!” He cackled again, “I knew you were a dirty little slut! ¡Qué lindo! (So cute!)”

You didn’t answer. You just hid your face in your hands and bawled, smearing blood and tears all over your face. You didn’t like it. He knew you didn’t like it. He just didn’t care. He was going to say anything he could to make you feel like trash. 

“Hey, c’mon, look at me,” Lalo set the knife down so he could pin your wrists above your head, exposing yourself to him. His other hand slipped two fingers inside you, dragging them along your walls. You grimaced, but he was right there to talk you through it. “No, no. Don’t make that face. It feels good, right? Dios mío (My god), you’re acting like I want to hurt you, or something.”

You couldn’t even process the irony of what he was saying. Like “You’re acting like I want to hurt you” was a perfectly reasonable thing to say to someone whose face you just cut a fucking hole in. He continued to pump and twist his fingers inside you, stretching you out for what was sure to come. His eyes were locked with yours the whole time, reminding you that there was nothing you could do. There was nowhere for you to run. This was your punishment, your penance, your redemption. Though there were no words said, his uncaring facial expression conveyed the message: This is your fault. You heard it loud and clear, and all you could do was weep. He pressed into your g-spot, causing you to arch your back and cry out.

“That’s it! Good boy!” Lalo taunted, pressing into that spot over and over again. You writhed and wailed in agony. This was humiliating. Pure, unadulterated misery. You tightened around him every time you sobbed, and it did not go unnoticed. Lalo raised an eyebrow. “Oh? ¿Qué es esto? ¿Te gusta? Te lo debe gustar. ¡Me estás apretando tan fuerte! Yo sabía que lo querías. Es porque eres un guarro sucio, cierto? (What’s this? You like it? You must like it. You’re squeezing me so hard! I knew you wanted it. It’s because you’re a dirty whore, yeah?) Right? Come on, say it. Say that you’re a whore.”

You cried even harder, which made you grip him even tighter. Saying the words felt like acid bubbling in your throat. “I’m… a… whore! I’m a whore! I’m a whore!”

Lalo smiled and praised you like a dog, “Good boy! Yes you are! Oh, you’re so smart, so obedient. Go ahead, you can cum for me. Let me feel it.”  

He ripped your orgasm from you soon after, and you squirted against his hand, much to your despair. You felt like a sloppy mess. You were covered in blood, sweat, tears, spit, snot and now, as if that wasn’t enough your own cum. You didn’t even get a second to cry before Lalo shoved his fingers into your open mouth.

“Lick it up, whore. You need to clean up your mess,” He held his fingers in your mouth and let you suck them clean. He pulled out when he was satisfied. “Now, say thank you.”

“Thank you…” You really didn’t want to, but you didn’t have a choice.

Lalo smiled. “Did that feel good?”

Physically? Maybe. Emotionally? Not even close. But you weren’t going to say that. “Y-Yes…” You lied. 

“Aw, good boy. You’re welcome.” He grabbed your legs and wrapped them around his waist before pressing his forehead against yours. “This is gonna feel even better.” He whispered, caught your lips in a kiss, and pushed inside of you.

You screamed into his mouth and wrapped your arms around him. You weren’t sure why. Maybe you were seeking comfort. Maybe you did it so you could pretend that this was normal, that this wasn’t what you thought it was. Lalo wouldn’t do this, right? Lalo would never rape you. He would never hit you. He would never put a knife up to your face. He would never cut you. He loved you. He always told you that. You were his conejito (little bunny), his cariño (sweetheart), his cielo (sky), all those cute Spanish terms of endearment that gave you butterflies in your stomach; he meant every single one, every single time he said it. This was a bad dream. It must have been. You would wake up in his bed any moment now, and he’d be there to kiss you awake and ask you how you slept. You would say bad, you had a nightmare. You dreamt that he hurt you. He would be there to comfort you, to pull you into his arms, to tell you he wouldn’t dare to do something like that. This wasn’t real. The longer you kept your eyes shut, the less real it felt… 

…but the slap across your face felt all too real.

You were thrust back into your waking nightmare. Lalo was staring you down. You tried to blink the tears away, but you must have kept your eyelids down for a second too long. He slapped you again.

“Don’t. Close. Your eyes.” He growled and picked up the switchblade. “I need you to watch. I need you to see what happens when you cross me.” He pressed the knife against your throat. 

Your crying stopped dead in its tracks. One wrong move, and you would bleed out on the floor. You stared him down, quite literally watching your life flash before your eyes.

Once he was sure he had your attention, he started to move his hips, coring you out on the cold tile in the back of the restaurant. You sobbed in time with his thrusts, squeezing around him as you did so.

Lalo loved it. He threw his head back and moaned, louder than you had ever heard him before. “¡Ay, Dios mío!” He shouted, “Te sientes tan putamente bueno. No tienes ni idea que desesperadamente yo necesitaba esto, (You feel so fucking good. You have no idea how badly  I needed this.)” he sneered, “Quédate llorando, maricón. Tu panocha se aprieta cuando lloras. (Keep crying, faggot. Your pussy tightens when you cry.)”

You did as he asked you; you kept crying. Even though your throat was burning, your voice was hoarse, and you couldn’t see or breathe through the tears and snot, you kept crying. And he kept thrusting. And moaning. And enjoying every second of this torture. 

“Bien hecho, niño (Good job, boy)” He smacked you again, just for fun this time. He noticed the blood on his hand, and you could see the evil plan hatching in his mind. He dipped his fingers in your blood, and used it as ink to write something across your chest. You couldn’t see it, but from the way he was laughing at it, maybe you didn’t want to see it. “Oh, that’s good. That’s really good. You know what? I don’t think I need this anymore.” He took the knife away from your neck and tossed it to the side. “I think you get the picture.” 

You did. You got the picture. It was a picture of brutality. It was an impressionist landscape of the ninth circle of hell. Art conveys a message, and this painting’s message was “Do as I say, or I’ll fucking cut you.” You understood.

Lalo knew you did, but he still wanted you to prove yourself. “You do understand, right? Tell me you understand.”

You nodded, gasping for air in between broken speech. “Y-Yes…”

“No,” He replied, “Say, ‘Yes, Don Eduardo, I understand.’”

“Y-Yesss… Don… Don Eduardo… I under… I understand…”

“Good boy. Now,” He started to stroke your achingly hard dick, as if you needed any more stimulation right now, “Say you’re sorry. Tell me you’re sorry for being a stupid bitch.”

You wailed, bucking your hips up into his hand. “I’m s-s-sorry… I’m sorry for being a stupid b-bitch…”

“Say it again. Apologize and say, ‘Thank you for treating me like a slut. I deserve this.’”

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry… Tha-ah! Thank you for… for treating me like a slu-... like a slut… I… I deserve this…”

“That’s right. You do deserve this. You know why?” He leaned in to whisper right in your ear as he violated you. “Because you’re nothing without me. You’re nothing but a tight, wet hole for me. You’re garbage. You’re a dirty whore. Say it.”

You didn’t want to say it, but you wanted this to be over, so you did, as painful as it was. You recited your lines. “I’m no-oh!... n-nothing without you… I’m nothing but a… h-hole, for you… I’m g-ah!... garbage… I’m a dirty whore…”

Lalo did not relent. He could feel you throbbing and leaking out against him. It wouldn’t be long now. He jerked you even faster. “Say it again, come on. You’re almost there. Say, ‘I’m a dirty whore, Don Eduardo. I’m sorry I disobeyed you.” 

You spat the words out through a slurry of wet cries and moans. “I’m… a-ah! A dirty… wh-whore! D-Don Edua-ah! Don Eduardo! I’m… s-sorry I- Oh, god! I’m sorry! I’m sorry I disobeyed you!”

“Are you gonna cum for me?” 

“Y-Yes! Yes! Ah! Oh, god! Fuck!”

He slapped you one last time. “Then do it, bitch.”

Your fingers curled into his shirt and you pulled him tight against you as you came. Fluid rushed out of you and bathed his cock in your suffering. He pulled himself out, hissing as the cool air hit him, and stroked himself to completion. He came with a loud groan and splattered all over your chest. Great. Now you had another bodily fluid added to the mess. You had never felt so fucking disgusting.

Lalo took in the putrid sight before him, and he started to laugh. Because of course he did. He was proud of himself. This was a game to him. The game was “So you think you can decimate a human soul?” and he had the high score.

He stopped laughing for a moment to compose himself. “Oh my god! This is perfect! Man, I did a good job with you! Hang on, you gotta see this.” 

You just stared up at the ceiling while he dug around for something. At least it was over now, right? You could go about the rest of your life. The days would stack against each other, and eventually, the memory would fade into nothing. At least, that’s what you thought before you heard a camera click.

“Here,” Lalo handed you your phone, “Look at this the next time you think about running.”

You looked at the picture. It was a time capsule of your shame. Your beaten, abused, ruined body, captured on film. Memorialized in eternity. You got to see what he drew on your chest. It was the word “WHORE”, in all capital letters, written in your own blood. No sound came out of you as you wept. He had silenced you.

Lalo’s sadism was gone. His face and his voice had softened. “Oh, pobrecito, ven aquí, (Oh, you poor thing, come here.)” He pulled you into his arms and let you cry into his chest. Your lover was back, and it was like he never left. He shushed you and rubbed your back, mirroring the compassion he had shown you earlier today. “Let it out, chiquito. Está bien. It’s okay. It’s over now. You did it. I’m so proud of you, but just remember…” He pulled your face out of his chest and tilted you up to see him.

“I won’t be as nice next time.”

#better call saul #bcs #better call saul x reader #bcs x reader #better call saul smut #lalo salamanca #lalo salamanca smut #lalo salamanca x reader #cnc tw #cnc ftm #lalo salamanca x ftm reader #bcs smut #bcs imagine #better call saul imagine #lalo salamanca imagine #dacryphilia #knifeplay #bloodplay #dead dove do not eat

[blissfullybubblez]

Umm.. hiya. I’m new to the tumblr community and I’m new to accepting my age regression. My partner is accepting of it but it’s been a process and an adjustment. He has kind of began to fill a caregiver role in a way. I know communicating is important but I get really uncomfy asking for things and don’t know how… I don’t want to be a burden or ask too much of him. My age range is 2-10 but lately I’ve been staying around 3-6, sometimes 7. I’m really scared of judgement even though he tells me all the time not to be. So when I would like to be babied, I don’t really know how to communicate that. Then I end up feeling stuck on the in between of feeling little and big because I don’t know how to be comfy in that yet and I get triggered because I was a kiddo that had to grow up fast and have lots of responsibility to take care of themselves and then I get frustrated, then I cry. I’m sorry if this is too long, but I think I just need advice…

Hi there! It's great to hear that you're exploring and accepting your age regression, and that your partner is supportive of you. Adjusting to a caregiver role and learning to communicate your needs can indeed be challenging, but it's an important part of building a healthy dynamic.

First and foremost, remember that your feelings and needs are valid. It's natural to feel uncomfortable or hesitant when asking for things, especially if you're used to being self-reliant. However, in a supportive relationship, it's crucial to express your needs and allow your partner to provide care when you require it. Communication is key, and it's essential to create a safe space for open and honest conversations.

Here are some tips for communicating your desires and needs within your age regression:

💗 Start small: If you feel uncomfortable asking for things directly, you can begin by expressing your emotions or stating how you're feeling. For example, you can say, "I'm feeling little right now," or "I'm in need of some comfort and care."

💗 Use non-verbal cues: You can develop non-verbal signals or gestures that indicate your regression or desire for care. This can be a specific look, a gesture, or a certain toy or item that you associate with regression. It can serve as a gentle way to communicate your needs without explicitly saying it.

💗 Write it down: If you find it challenging to express your needs verbally, you can write a note or a letter to your partner explaining your desires and boundaries. This allows you to take your time to articulate your thoughts and ensure that your needs are clearly conveyed.

💗 Gradually increase your comfort zone: It's okay to take things at your own pace. Start by asking for small acts of care or comfort, and as you become more comfortable, you can gradually express your desires for more extensive caregiving or babying.

💗 Practice self-compassion: Remember that it's normal to feel vulnerable or scared of judgment. Remind yourself that your partner is supportive and accepting, and it's essential to trust their words. Practice self-compassion and remind yourself that you deserve care, comfort, and support.

Remember, building effective communication takes time and patience. Be open to sharing your feelings, thoughts, and desires with your partner, and give yourself permission to explore and embrace your age regression journey. If you continue to struggle with communication or emotional challenges, it may be beneficial to seek the guidance of a therapist who can provide personalized support.

#agere blog #age regression #agere community #safe agere #sfw age regression #sfw agere #agere lifestyle #age regressor #agere #agere textpost #little moments big smiles

[lily-orchard]

Could you please elaborate on that thing about people wanting to be miserable because that's a very chilling statement from you

Not that the people pitching a shit fit are going to read this, but...

There's a fallacy on the internet that you specifically can help your friends out of a trauma spiral. That you just need to "be there" for them and everything will magically fix itself. You can't. A lot of people have deep seated issues that can't be fixed with ten dollar words.

Some people are so blinkered that they can be surrounded on all sides by people who love them and build them up, and then there will be that one person who keeps talking shit about them and they will choose to listen to that person every single time. And you could certainly continue putting in more and more effort to try and pull them back, but at the end of the day what they really need is a doctor, and possibly medicine.

Continuing to burn yourself trying to help people in that position will do nothing but hurt yourself. Taking on someone else's problems like this, that YOU ARE NOT EQUIPPED TO FIX is a form of self-flagellation.

There is no shame in stepping back from that. From emotionally distancing yourself from that person's problems. And that's something I have gotten in the habit of doing. When it's clear that someone needs a doctor (or they're just a stubborn creature of habit in some cases) I just step back and go "kay."

Don't chase people. If someone is content to run away, isolate themselves, and avoid the people building them up, don't go after them. Don't chase them down. Don't try and be their therapist.

People used to come to me asking for "advice" with things like shitty parents. And more often than not I would give them a suggestion, they wouldn't do it, and then they would come back asking for more. And when I realized this, I realized they didn't actually want help, they just wanted to vent and trauma dump. So I put a stop to it.

I ended a friendship four years ago when it became clear the person involved was deliberately putting themselves in stressful situations in order to come back and trauma dump. And honestly, I don't need that shit in my life.

And YOU don't need that shit in your life. It's not good for you, and you can't help those people. They need real help from a qualified professional and you are not that. You don't need to have a martyr complex to be a good friend.

It harkens back to a time when people on this hellsite were all like "If you have suicidal thoughts, YOU CAN TALK TO MEEEEEEEEE" who didn't actually care but just wanted to feel like Superman for five minutes, and now that kind of bullshit is believed to be "being a good friend" when it really isn't. It's okay to prioritize yourself and your own health and wellbeing.

It's up to you how much patience and understanding you want to have for that bullshit. I used to have that attitude of having infinite patience with people, but a lot of people took advantage of that patience and now my patience is at an absolute zero. The moment it becomes clear you need a doctor is the moment I detach and stop providing any help other than giving you phone numbers for psychatrists.

Furthermore, if you are that person: You can only keep isolating yourself from your friendships in this weird ritual of denial and self-harm before those friends move on without you. You are treating your friends like shit when you do this. And indeed most of the "backlash" to this is from people who are that person and don't want to accept that their friends won't just sit around and wait for them.

And to the people calling me abusive for the original version of this post: Get therapy and stop obsessing over me.

[princesspastel8]

Chapter 10

Third POV

Due to the indecent with Jeff, Tiffany has decided to add hours to Eboni's therapy sessions in hopes that the teen would open up as to what happened that night. Every day after school, Eboni is forced to endure four hours of more therapy.

To add salt to the wound, Tiffany has been watching the girl like a hawk. The woman decides to stay home while her husband Daniel is away on business. The foster mother wants to make sure Eboni is truly okay before she has to leave again for work. Tiffany has been picking Eboni up from school every day for the past week and a half, dropping her off at her therapy sessions as well- making sure the teen didn't miss any.

Eboni is currently staring at the clock on the wall of the room, watching the minutes pass slowly. "Thirty minutes left..." she thought to herself.

"Eboni. You have sat there for four hours and haven't said a word. You need to talk to me." Loraine, the therapist, pressed.

The teen ignores her as usual, frowning under her mask even though Loraine can't see her face. The silence causes the therapist to lose a bit of her patience.

"Your parents are paying a lot of money for you to be here. It would be a shame for that money to go waste Eboni." Loraine said sternly.

That caused the teen to send a rather chilling glare at the therapist. "They aren't my parents. They're just people who took pity on me for their own personal gain. My real parents are six feet under." Eboni snapped.

Loraine raised a brow, writing down on her clipboard, which irks the teen even more. "Talk about your parents. What are the latest memories of them?"

"Fuck off."

"Eboni Brown, you're making this harder on everyone around that's only trying to help you. Please be more considerate." The therapist tries to reason, her patience thinning.

"Loraine, was it? Look, I don't need a person with a piece of paper of their accomplishments to tell me how fucked in the head I am. Since this is a place of honesty why don't you start? You took this profession not to help people, but to stack loads of money in shorts amount of time. It's funny, taking a job that requires bucket loads of patience for their clients, yet you lack even an ounce of that."

The vein bulging from the therapist temple is hilarious to Eboni, but she holds in her laugh. Glancing at the clock, she notices her session is finally over. Eboni stands, placing her hood over her head and hands in her pockets. The teen walks to the door, giving another glance towards Loraine.

"Since you didn't deny anything I said, how about instead of asking me pointless shit you just sit there and think of the money you'll get from our extra hours together." Eboni said before leaving the woman's office and building.

The teen jumps into the back seat of Tiffany's car, hoping she wouldn't ask how the session went - unfortunately, luck is never on her side. "How did it go?" She asked while driving the way home.

Eboni answered the question by placing her airpods into her ears, turning her music to maximum volume. Tiffany sighs, knowing nothing has come of increasing Eboni's time with Loraine- if anything, it made her worse. The teen has become more closed off. Any chances of Eboni opening up to Tiffany went down the drain once she announced the more added sessions.

The teen knows she hads issues. She knows the way her brain operates isn't normal. Yet being forced to open up about her past isn't what she had in mind on 'helping' figure everything else. She wished Tiffany didn't jump to conclusions that night. The woman thought she was going to cut herself. For what? Eboni's skin looks hideous enough. Why make it worse with scars like the ones her face?

Eboni wouldn't have told Tiffany the truth anyway. She didn't want to risk not being about to see Jeff again. Strange, right? Longing to see a serial killer who showed the slightest interest in her. He was right. Everything he said was true, and Eboni no longer has the will to deny it. So she bites the bullet with these sessions, finding a bit on enjoyment in pissing Loraine off. The teen can only hope on seeing Jeff sooner rather than later.

Tiffany parks in the driveway of their home, Eboni jumping out the car and rushes inside. "Eboni, wait, I forgot to tell -!"

Eboni didn't stop, nor could she hear Tiffany. The only thing Eboni wants is a nice shower, some snacks, and a quiet night of rest. However, the teen is greeted by a blonde munching on her favorite chips while laying in her bed, and a quiet girl sitting on her couch.

"Sup." The blonde nods, Eboni having forgotten both of their names. "Had no candy, so I had to eat these." She shrugs.

"I-I'm so s-sorry about her Eboni. I-I tried to tell her how rude she was, but s-she wouldn't listen. Here! I'll give y-you some money to p-pay back for the chips." The other said quietly but shyly.

Eboni was stunned, but that feeling quickly went and was replaced by anger. "Why the fuck-"

"Tiffany let us in. She was almost in tears when we told her we're your friends." Blonde said with a grin.

"We aren't fucking friends. And you have five seconds to get off my bed!" Eboni shouts, clenching her fist.

The goth one yanks the Blonde off her bed and snatches the chips from her hands. She must've felt the rage rolling off of Eboni. "H-Here... we were j-just worried about you. You've been avoiding us at school a-and wouldn't answer our calls or texts so -"

"Why are you two forcing yourselves into my damn life? I didn't ask to be your friend. I don't want to be your friend. I only gave you my number so you bitches could leave me alone! I fucking forgot your names! That's how unimportant you shits are to me!" Eboni snaps at them, her nails digging into the palms of her hands.

The two girls glance at each other before looking at Eboni, both sharing a look of compassion in their eyes. They seem to understand how the teen must feel.

"Well, I'm Taylor. She's Iris." The blonde one said then points at the other.

"We....understand how you feel." Iris said gently.

"How the f-"

"We met more of them." Taylor said, the look in her eyes becoming serious. "Remember I said there's more of 'em."

Eboni raised a brow, feeling herself calm down. She moves to sit at her desk, opening her laptop, and begins typing away. "Yeah, I remember. Did a bit of research...."

"What kind? On who?" Iris asks, moving to stand over her to get a better view of Eboni's laptop.

"All of them. I created a file for each of them. Honestly, there are so many serial killers in one town. Who willingly moves into a shit hole like this....stupid bitch." She grumbles, referring to her previous foster mother- Melissa. "You two encountered one and survived? How?"

"Same way you did. Faught those fuckers." Taylor shrugs. "The one I had the misfortune of meetin' calls himself masky. He has a partner, though."

"He calls himself hoodie. They attacked us at my home during a sleepover over a few months ago..." Iris said softly.

"Mhm... yeah there's a few reports on them always killing in pairs of... three? Sometimes two? The third one would be -"

"Ticci Toby...Iris sister encountered him a year ago before masky and hoodie attacked us that night." Taylor explains, about to lay down in Eboni's bed again until the teen gives her a warning glare.

"This....shit is crazy...and they haven't tried coming after you? Like at all?"

Iris didn't answer. She looks at Taylor, hoping she'd come up with a response. "Nah. I shot masky so I doubt those fuckers wanna to get full of lead." She chuckles proudly.

Eboni knew they were lying. If those killers are anything like Jeff, she doubts they'll just forget about the victims that got away. The teen doesn't care, though. They have their secrets, and Eboni has her own. The teen focuses her attention back on her laptop, clicking on the file labeled 'Jeff'.

She sighs as she reads through his file for what feels like the hundredth time. Eboni couldn't get him out of her mind. The way his hands felt gripping her wrist and throat, the way his breath felt against her ear when he whispered to her, that crazed smile, and those red eyes.

The way his body felt pressed against hers. She's thankful to be wearing her mask since she's biting down on her lip at the thoughts of this serial killer. Eboni longs to see him again. She hates being the one waiting. She hates being the one desperate for him, but she knows she can't hide it from him. She wouldn't anymore. Jeff sees right through her.

It makes her feel vulnerable in the most terrifying yet delicious way. She has this odd feeling that he wouldn't try to end her life again. A game. He wants to play a game with her. With a heavy sigh, she closes her laptop, climbing into bed. Eboni hopes that she's trapped in the smiling killer's mind as he is in hers. The teen has no idea just how much her life will change from their unfortunate encounter.

#spodify #jeff the killer #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer x you #ben drowned #eyeless jack #laughing jack #sally williams #bloody painter #yandere #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #bdsmplay #bdsmkink #bdsmlife #bwwm love #bwwmromance #dark romance #horror #cw: gore #triggers #slenderman #ticci toby #tim masky #hoodie #zalgo #zalgo creepypasta #Spotify

[villanesus]

I would love to hear your answers to 17, 21, 24, 28 and 39 :)

You did the thing! ( weird asks ) Thank you! :D

17. an earliest obsession you remember?

As a toddler-ish, I was very invested in the mouthfeel of paper. To the extent that my parents had to stop putting books on the bottom shelves of our bookcases. I would just pull out any old book and gnaw the corners right off. Tore up and ate drawings, stole napkins. It was A Thing. My first fandom obsession was Xena. ⚔️

21. your first celebrity crush?

This is rough because I had hella crushes on actresses when I was little, even before I knew I was queer? I genuinely have no idea which one was first, but here’s a fistful. Pre-queer awakening crushes: Jennifer Connelly (because of Labyrinth, but really in anything—her in Dark City? jesus christ), Michelle Pfeiffer (specifically as Catwoman in Batman Returns), Mary Stuart Masterson (specifically as Idgie Threadgoode in Fried Green Tomatoes), Sigourney Weaver (because of Ghostbusters), Nicole Kidman (specifically as Dr. Chase Meridian in Batman Forever). And then the first celebrity crush where I actually understood what was going on: Angelina Jolie (as Legs in Foxfire and then just about everything afterward for several years).

24. what have you learned about yourself?

This is maybe not the most poignant thing, but I was chatting with my therapist this morning and I mentioned that much of my life people have told me I’m really patient and reassuring. (I promise this is not a humblebrag.) The thing that I’ve learned is that I’m massively patient because trauma taught me the best way to be safe is to be the quietest, calmest, least demanding person in any space. As a result, my ability to perform patience is huge, but it comes at an extreme cost to my emotional energy and well-being. So, I need to give myself permission to be a dick once in a while. Or, not even a dick, just to prioritize myself in more situations.

28. an unusual song that’s your favorite?

I’m not sure how unusual this is, but it’s not exactly a radio favorite. I really love And All That Could Have Been by Nine Inch Nails. The build that starts around 2:10 makes me emotional, and I go feral when the drums turn up around 4:15. I recommend it with headphones and a foolishly high bass EQ.

39. is there wise words you live by?

I imagine the correct answer to this is a pithy quote, but I think my life philosophy is best represented by the book I Had Trouble in Getting to Solla Sollew by Dr. Seuss (I know, nothing from my childhood has aged gracefully, including Seuss). The last page pretty much sums it up: Then I started back home To the Valley of Vung I know I’ll have troubles. I’ll, maybe, get stung. I’ll always have troubles. I’ll, maybe, get bit By that Green-Headed Quail On the place where I sit. But I’ve bought a big bat. I’m all ready, you see. Now my troubles are going To have trouble with me! Shit is absolutely going to happen. Just acknowledge it and bring your bat.

#thank you such much for the asks! #these were fun :) #asks #ask games

[multiplicity-positivity]

Haii

Do u have any tips for getting better at communicating and switching (we haven't fully switched for longer than a few minutes that I know of)

We're still living at home sorta want/need to mask a bit but I'd like to be able to switch out for at least a little bit and explore our headspace more

The only thing I'd be worried about would be if we can't control who fronts and when coz that would cause problems so if u have any tips for that then that would also be great (although I know it's probably not something that can really be controlled too much)

Really any tips on communication and switching would be great heh

Thank uu :33

Hello,

As far as controlling who switches and when, I don’t have much advice. Our system cannot control switches, and only our gatekeeper has any sort of access to controlling that aspect of us. Perhaps, if your system also has a gatekeeper, you may ask them about letting other members front more?

As far as building communication, we do have some advice.

We advocate for therapy a lot here, but for good reason. A therapist can help guide your system towards more regular, healthy communication. Seeing someone outside the body regularly who knows about the system, is educated in psychology, and can provide an outside perspective on your system and how it functions can be incredibly beneficial and a great boon for internal communication. If you aren’t already seeing a therapist, perhaps try seeking one out.

Additionally, there are other things you can do to boost inner-system communication, like:

- attempting to communicate externally. Writing notes, setting up a PluralKit and a system discord server, keeping a journal, and leaving voice memos are all excellent ways to begin communicating with each other. With this, keep in mind that patience is key. You may not hear from other system members immediately, but if you keep that line of communication open and functioning, you may start to hear from each other often

- attempting to communicate internally. When you have time to spend by yourself in a calm, quiet environment, try reaching out to your system members. Don’t be too discouraged if you don’t hear back initially, and don’t assume that not hearing anything back means they aren’t hearing your message. Practicing internal communication regularly can help build connections and make communication easier in the future.

- reducing internal self-hate. This was a massive obstacle for our system, one that we’re still struggling with. But our host’s self-hatred was often deflected or aimed towards other members of the system. If you are the host and deal with this, your headmates may be wary or hesitant to interact with you. Try working on some self-compassion, and it may help your headmates feel more comfortable interacting. If you are in this situation, you may have to work on rebuilding trust before you can hope to have better communication with your system.

If you are the host, and if you have never fully switched out before, perhaps learn more about specutien, frontstuck, and median systems. It may be that you will never be able to fully switch out and enter the headspace. In our system, our host can switch out occasionally, but not of his own volition, and he does not enter our headspace. Rather, he goes into a sleep or stasis and has no memory of his time not fronting when he fronts again. That is just the way our system works. Trying to force your system to work in a way that it doesn’t may be detrimental to your system as a whole, so please exercise caution and be careful. Remember that all systems are unique, and your system might function differently from other systems you know.

With regards to masking, I’m linking this post made by a couple members of my system in which they discuss masking a bit. For me, I can mask easily enough by adopting a few mannerisms of the host and trying to speak with a “host filter” (if that makes sense). So far I’ve been able to slip by undetected around people with whom it is not safe for us to be open about our system.

I do apologize that this post got a bit long and out of hand. Good luck with everything.

🖋 Cecil

#internal communication #system communication #masking #switching

[opinated-user]

LO keeps burying herself on the victim blaming ditch

https://lily-orchard.tumblr.com/post/693219855519875072/could-you-please-elaborate-on-that-thing-about anon asked:

Could you please elaborate on that thing about people wanting to be miserable because that's a very chilling statement from you

LO response:

Not that the people pitching a shit fit are going to read this, but…

There’s a fallacy on the internet that you specifically can help your friends out of a trauma spiral. That you just need to “be there” for them and everything will magically fix itself. You can’t. A lot of people have deep seated issues that can’t be fixed with ten dollar words.

Some people are so blinkered that they can be surrounded on all sides by people who love them and build them up, and then there will be that one person who keeps talking shit about them and they will choose to listen to that person every single time. And you could certainly continue putting in more and more effort to try and pull them back, but at the end of the day what they really need is a doctor, and possibly medicine.

Continuing to burn yourself trying to help people in that position will do nothing but hurt yourself. Taking on someone else’s problems like this, that YOU ARE NOT EQUIPPED TO FIX is a form of self-flagellation.

There is no shame in stepping back from that. From emotionally distancing yourself from that person’s problems. And that’s something I have gotten in the habit of doing. When it’s clear that someone needs a doctor (or they’re just a stubborn creature of habit in some cases) I just step back and go “kay.”

Don’t chase people. If someone is content to run away, isolate themselves, and avoid the people building them up, don’t go after them. Don’t chase them down. Don’t try and be their therapist.

People used to come to me asking for “advice” with things like shitty parents. And more often than not I would give them a suggestion, they wouldn’t do it, and then they would come back asking for more. And when I realized this, I realized they didn’t actually want help, they just wanted to vent and trauma dump. So I put a stop to it.

I ended a friendship four years ago when it became clear the person involved was deliberately putting themselves in stressful situations in order to come back and trauma dump. And honestly, I don’t need that shit in my life.

And YOU don’t need that shit in your life. It’s not good for you, and you can’t help those people. They need real help from a qualified professional and you are not that. You don’t need to have a martyr complex to be a good friend.

It harkens back to a time when people on this hellsite were all like “If you have suicidal thoughts, YOU CAN TALK TO MEEEEEEEEE” who didn’t actually care but just wanted to feel like Superman for five minutes, and now that kind of bullshit is believed to be “being a good friend” when it really isn’t. It’s okay to prioritize yourself and your own health and wellbeing.

It’s up to you how much patience and understanding you want to have for that bullshit. I used to have that attitude of having infinite patience with people, but a lot of people took advantage of that patience and now my patience is at an absolute zero. The moment it becomes clear you need a doctor is the moment I detach and stop providing any help other than giving you phone numbers for psychatrists.

Furthermore, if you are that person: You can only keep isolating yourself from your friendships in this weird ritual of denial and self-harm before those friends move on without you. You are treating your friends like shit when you do this. And indeed most of the “backlash” to this is from people who are that person and don’t want to accept that their friends won’t just sit around and wait for them.

And to the people calling me abusive for the original version of this post: Get therapy and stop obsessing over me. i have several issues with all of this. the fact that she's doubling down is the most egregious, but then she basically misses what basic compassion and support means. nobody said that you "being there" will fix trauma for anyone...although makes it ironic because that is exactly what you told ginger she could do when you were dealing with everything that you claimed was happening on your life at the time... that she being there was more than enough. but now, if it isn't fixing someone's trauma then it's not worth it to do it. as long that victim isn't LO of course. that's what is so frustrating and toxic about this. other victims don't deserve to have their friends be there for them to make sure they have someone besides their abuser to talk to. but LO can send MO to guilt trip all of their friends so they talk more to LO and make her feel even more included than they did before. victims currently going through abusive situations can't give you instantaneus results so everyone should ditch them instantly until they are easy and fine again, but LO can make comics, countless rants and videos and podcasts about this trauma she alledges happened to her for years and anyone who has an opinion about it is suddenly in the wrong.

the point of showing support to a friend going through an abusive situation is not to "pull them back up", to fix their issues or magically makes them all better, but to show them that when they do want to get up (since nobody can do it for them) they'll have a support system they can rely on, a safe place to go instead of the alternative you propose... that is nothing at all. you expect a victim to just go up and leave without any plan, friend or safety net with the vague hope of maybe someday getting medical treatment. one question, LO... when are they supposed to get a doctor or medicine if they're currently on an abusive situation? is their abuser going to be the one to provide that medical care? why would the abuser garantee that medical care? reminder that you speak about someone under their abuser's influence on that moment, not someone that already left, so if they aren't running then you literally said that they "want to be miserable" and it's their fault. you blame victims for not breaking out of their situations fast enough for your liking and then blame them some more for not healing fast enough of that trauma. you were talking about a friend, not a stranger that has no connection to you whatsoever so i don't know why you make that comparison with random tumblr posts. you said explicitely that if a friend doesn't listen to you on a timely manner then you'll ditch them out for good, forever. if giving basic support and having a smidge of compassion for a victim of abuse currently being abused is what you consider causing yourself a "martyr complex", then that speaks volumes of the kind of person you're, LO. stop being a disgusting victim blaming apologist and maybe then we'll stop calling you abusive (over that post at least, i can't say anything about all the other allegations of sexual misconduct)

#lily orchard

[jellydishes]

Varric sat with his arms crossed across his chest like that would do the slightest thing to protect him from any probing questions Aveline might send his way. The problem was that he found silence uncomfortable, which they were both very well aware of. She just had to wait him out.

That didn't mean he had to make it easy for her.

"This is just going to make one more trip for everyone," he muttered mutinously. He had his feet shoved as far under the dashboard as his comparatively shorter legs could reach, and he shifted them restlessly. "Which probably means somebody will have to drive out there again, in order to bring Ed's motorcycle out to her. That going to be you?"

"No," Aveline said, making a minor adjustment to the steering wheel that kept them driving down the straight, unbroken road. The high beams sliced through the darkness, an extra pair of eyes staring down the path ahead of him and laying it bare.

Varric sighed and slouched back into the worn seat cover that barely resembled whatever Orlesian flower she'd liked at the time. "...What do you want me to say, Aveline?" She made a noncommittal noise, and Varric groaned. "You can't just… expect words to flow out whenever you want! People need something to build off of!"

"Isn't that your job description? I thought you'd published a few things by now," she said in a neutral tone.

Varric started to get defensive, only to slow to a pause. "Have you read them?"

She hummed for a moment before saying, "I did."

"And?"

"And I think your stories struggle with the same things you do," she said. Without taking her eyes off of the road, Aveline reached out and turned on the windshield dehumidifier. Now that they were crossing into an area of different elevation, it was starting to get foggy in areas.

"My editor called them polished and ‘deeply human’ when they read them over for me," he protested automatically, but there wasn't any more heat in it.

Aveline still didn't look at him, but he saw her roll her broad shoulders in a shrug. "They were a good read, for what they were. I don't claim to be any sort of literary critic. But I see what I see."

"Which was?"

Another hum. "Your story about the lover who turned to stone every morning, and the one about the lover who ran to the bottom of the sea to become a merman?"

"Yes?" He asked with a frown. Sometimes getting complete answers out of Aveline took a crowbar and a lot of patience, and right now he didn't have either.

"The story never questioned how their decisions impacted other people," she said.

"Maybe that wasn't part of the stories I wanted to tell."

"Maybe," she said. Before he could respond she finished that thought with, "Stories don't have to be real. But they do have to be honest."

Varric could feel his face work through competing expressions. “All writing is honest, in a way.” It was an automatic answer, no different than what he would've said to a professor, and Aveline snorted as Varric finished, “It betrays the person behind the pen.”

"Think what you want, you always do. Like I said, I'm no literary critic. Maker knows I'm not perfect," she went on, and Varric felt a flash of guilt again that turned into irritation. He was so tired of everyone lecturing him over and over again, almost as tired as he was of how he kept pushing back each and every time. Both were exhausting, but only one of those things made his stomach twist.

"Let's say you were a literary critic. What would you say?"

Aveline finally glanced at him as they rolled up to a stop sign. She watched him as the truck idled, then mercifully looked away as she got it started moving again. "I would ask what your writing betrays about you."

Varric started to answer her with the usual response he’d given in college about ‘nuanced views on classism’ and ‘humanistic approaches’ but he couldn't seem to find it in himself to actually say it. Aveline nodded. "I think you're in what my therapist called the contemplation phase," she said, and Varric found himself looking at her in surprise.

He almost said, 'You see a therapist?' or 'Andraste's ass, of course you do. I'm sorry.' He thought of a letter he'd gotten while he was away that he hadn't opened until it was far too late. It had been Wesley's obituary, and a plain, unadorned invitation to a wake and funeral that had happened the week before. He thought of how he'd never responded and never responded until enough time had gone past that he didn't know how to bridge the gulf of time and guilt he'd created between them, and he looked back out at the road. "Contemplation of what?"

"Changing behavior. Where you know something is wrong. That you aren't being served by old choices anymore, if you ever were. Where you're thinking and weighing the odds and maybe even swearing to do it, but you haven't put your weight behind the decision yet, so it can't truly be called a decision at all."

"What does all of that mean?" He'd started fiddling with a hangnail on one finger, because not moving and not looking at her and barely breathing in the cramped confines of a vehicle were getting unbearable.

"It means that Edyiss or I or anyone else can tell you what we think until we're blue in the face, but it won't matter until you decide for yourself that something is broken and that you're the one who needs to fix it."

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience," he said in automatic reflex, then winced and lifted a hand. "I didn't mean that. I don't mean to pry into your life."

"...I am speaking from experience," she said unexpectedly. "My husband died. You know that, same as you've obviously picked up that I'm a year sober. I was about as easy as you to convince that I needed to do something." Varric blinked rapidly out at the mist swirling around their truck, thick as old dreams, as she continued, "If you aren't ready, it isn't going to happen."

“Well, that's encouraging,” Varric muttered. “Hope you like hearing yourself talk, because that's about how likely change is at this point. That old saying about leopards and their spots comes to mind."

Aveline made a noise Varric very definitely did not turn his head to look towards, in order to avoid seeing the expression that went with it.

"...I'm sorry," he said after another few seconds dragged on. He didn't clarify about what, and she didn't ask.

"I know you are. Being sorry is easy. Takes no effort at all. I know that, too."

"What do you expect me to do?"

"What you always do, right up until you drag yourself out of old habits and do something hard," she told him as she turned into the road his parents' house sat on. Then, she said something strange. "You can do it."

Varric could only stare at her as they pulled up against the curb. "How do you know?" He almost stuttered, at first, and had to force his voice steady. "Maybe I'm not. Maybe everyone has been right about me all along." He didn't clarify who 'everyone' was, but he imagined he didn't need to.

"You've already shown you can shake yourself out of uncomfortable things that have grown comfortable," she said. "You've come this far before. You can do it again."

He didn't know what to say, and so he said nothing.

#this is my latest chunk i finished today of the sequel to the previous varric/hawke modern au #aveline vallen #varric tethras #alcoholism #Dragon Age

[valdestrate]

I've started working at a certain thrift store known for its values. I was texting my mother about how I might not be cut off out for people pleasing retail and people yes people, not just therapists, have been telling me to write/ keep my writing more. So I decided to save this text and I'm not sure what to do with it so I'm saving it here. If by some reason another person ever reads this I would appreciate any character building you can give me!

The main example of why I'm not cut out for this. The Tardilious! This lady that came to donate today who passed right by the line up, stopped in the middle of the enter/exit lane and got out of her car. I told her she couldn't stop in the road but I'd pause traffic in our unloading lane and she could cut in quick. She gave me this smarmy "the guy ahead of me did '' and I said I told him it wasn't allowed either. He had one item in his hands already so he threw it to me over his truck and immediately left. So she gets back in her car And pulls into the area that I asked her to. Well then she just stays there in her vehicle and I kinda like walk over to the window to look at her. She's on her phone tap tap tapping life away and I'm busy. If she's not ready, I keep moving, to the vehicle behind her, see if any of them need a hand with anything. I recognize they are more easy going people as soon as they comment how busy I look and they're fine unloading into the bin themselves. 90% of the time most people do. Either it's a two person job, they're in a hurry/trying to hurry for my sake, or it's an old person dealing with a awkward, heavy, or a large load, but people like showing they're doing something. Maybe they feel their good dead or "charity" doesn't mean as much if they pull up with a bunch of garbage AND sit on their assess while a minimum wage employee frantically unloads their vehicle. I dunno but long story longer while they unloaded into the bin I turn my attention to the lady ahead of them that was on her phone but now was out of her car walking towards her trunk. I have a bullshit meter that's fairly low. My fuse has always been short but I make Buddha lament in sackcloth and ashes his inadequacy of patience compared to mine so it usually stays pretty balanced between the two and she had not blown my bullshit fuse. Yet. So I start with my apolowing (apologize explaining, not to be confused with Apolloing, which is blowing up. Usually in space on live TV) and she cuts me off "do you guys not go in order?".

Bullshit meter climbing.

"Pardon me" I am genuinely confused at what she possibly could mean

"The sign in front of me says to wait on your vehicle and an attendant will come do it"

Right! I forgot about that sign. But it doesn't say anywhere that we will just start unloading your vehicle, just that we will come AND ask if you we can help

"Yes of course Miss! I tried but your window was up and you were busy on your phone" I happily and confidently respond

"Whatever"

She throws back like verbal pancake covered in syrup

"Well is there anything I can do for you now? Can I help you unload?"

Pancake --dodged

"No, I can do it myself"

She throws out to the crowd of Facebook followers in her mind like Rocky might throw out to the crowd in response to his challenger telling him he can't. That is if Rocky was about a beauty pagant instead of boxing and played by Honey booboos mom instead Sylvester Stallone.

She immediately whispers useless under her breath. I cheerily say

"Well in that case how about a coupon?"

Pancake? Eaten

Coals of fire? Smells like burning hair

She snaps around with her hands outstretched, sees my big grin hiding my sweaty flushed face and the line of traffic, half a dozen people unloading their own stuff looking at this failed suburban mom in the very unflatteringly horizontal bright striped shirt berating a thrift store grunt working for a charity after she just cut in front of everyone. She pauses, stammers a "no thank you" and takes off.

I'm immediately back to work. Tell the whole thing to my supervisor later and he doesn't seem bothered. I feel like I need write a book about the different types of people I meet dropping off stuff. Need to create classes to assign them to, highlight the general different types and differences/nuances, and combine that with individual stories and "highlights"

#creative writing #trying new things

[cuppajj]

Uh - dunno if you are still doing the ask game, but I recently made a new OC for my Counterfeit Paradigm AU and was wondering how Drillburst would think of them!

Some information about my (sort of) therapy OC, Silverfall!

He is very, very small. He only goes up to Karma's mid-thigh when it comes to height, and he is a land vehicle of some sort. Very thick, stocky build as well. Lots of round shapes.

Silverfall is a very open individual: warm, and exceptionally patient. If nobody else seems to be listening to you- he probably is. Also, he smiles a lot. It's small and inviting, but suits his face well.

He's not exactly a therapist per-se, but he acts that way a lot around the people he talks to or meets. Maybe he ends up being one later on, I honestly haven't decided lol. He's a really understanding guy, so I could see it being a possibility.

Due to his size, he got ignored a lot when he was younger, which contributed to the listening skills that he has. He's alright with being alone, but he prefers one-on-one convos a lot more.

His size doesn't make him afraid of another bot who's larger than him. Considering that a lot of bots are larger than he is, he's just used to it being a part of his life. It doesn't get in the way of conversations as much anymore, though there are understandably still a few things that might restrict who he talks to. He's a small guy! What else can he say. Most people look right over him.

A few things that he likes are softer, warmer music, and he very much enjoys listening to people sing. Seeing people in their element is always a real treat for him. Oddly enough, he also really loves the smell of lavender and sweeter scents. Okay maybe that's not super odd lol

He doesn't particularly care for bars, but he will go there once and a blue moon with some buddies. Not to drink, just to watch them and be there for them if they need him. Some of the people there get on his nerves or just off-put him a little- mostly because they had so much Engex that they aren't even really conscious anymore.

Alright, to end it off, Silverfall likes places that are open with nice views and are overall a relaxing, serene environment. Think of earth waterfalls or other such areas and you'll get the idea of what he likes. He also likes forests- he thinks that they are really pretty.

ANYWAY sorry that was a lot- and if these aren't open then I'll just keep all this stuff on a google doc for later lol

Have a wonderful day/night!

Drillburst would think he’s pretty neat, once he realizes there’s a bot directly below him (I don’t know how tall Karma is for reference but I’m gonna assume Silver is ~knee height for Drillburst?). He’s always nice to bots that are nice to him, so if they met somewhere like a bar after one of his gigs, he’d be in a good mood and open to talk. Honestly, Silver’s patience would be a nice change of pace from the usual high-energy (and/or heavily intoxicated) bots he usually deals with this time of night, and it’s refreshing! Honestly something they could agree upon XD

the only problem I could see is that Drillburst has a feeling of hesitation/reluctance when it comes to therapy, because he believes he doesn’t need it when he has music as a coping mechanism for his trauma. So unless Silverfall is really, really stealthy about how he gives Drill his advice, any form of therapy-like exchange will make Drill just a little guarded (he doesn’t openly share his trauma either, and he can say something like ‘I don’t think you understand’ to whoever is helping him if they don’t know what happened to him). It’s not Silver’s fault, it’s just something Drill might not want to hear. He’ll still appreciate him comforting him on whatever it is that’s bothering him. It’s a minor caveat though, and I could see them getting along ^^

#ask game #cjj askbox #krutchs-medbay

[0verthinking1t]

Down For Maintenance: how I got so good at saying I feel bad

Ok, so I just got off my weekly therapy session, and it left me with thoughts of my experiences in hindsight, the things I've learned about myself after quitting social masking, and the "compliment" I keep getting that I'm so uncommonly articulate about my mental health needs and so good at advocating for myself. Fair warning, this is an unfiltered rant. I'm angry and tired, and I need to be angry and tired out loud for a minute.

Here's the secret trick: I'm not. I'm not articulate, or well spoken, or a naturally good communicator. I'm exhausted, and I'm fucking pissed off. I told my therapist it feels like all the social activities and groups that have been my stable foundation for the last few years are disappearing suddenly, and gave her an example of my most beloved D&D group and the two players whose private beef just forced us to take an indefinite hiatus. I told her that I reacted by flat out telling the one of them still talking to us that I'm very upset neither of them warned the group they were having issues; I'm not taking sides, and I'm not saying I don't want to be sensitive to the awful shit they're in right now, but thanks to the fact that I was blindsided by this I am now also in my own shit situation and they needed to have handled their commitment to their other friends better. She commended me, and asked how I thought I was able to build up the skill to tell someone something like that instead of distancing myself and losing the whole game and group I loved in the name of being sensitive to someone else. That's when it occurred to me, not for the first time, that professionals aren't used to dealing with patients who are this self aware and informed. Everyone I've had to go through on this journey, from my doctor to my psychiatrist to both my therapists, has reacted with shock and amazement that I know exactly what's wrong with me and how it can be fixed; "wow, how did you convince your PCP to get you on antidepressants so fast?" Because I was on them as a teenager and specifically know what to say when I ask for them— hey doc, I've had clinical depression since I was a kid, and I'm starting to have episodes of emotional distress and mild suicidal thinking that I can't handle. I was on Prozac years ago and I want to be put back on something now. "Oh, this outline you typed up and brought to our first psychiatry appointment actually covers everything I needed to ask you today. People aren't usually so well prepared!" I'm not, I've just been through psych, therapy, and CBT before and am already aware of a lot of the things you usually need to coax out of people, including the fact that I have memory issues and problems putting thoughts into speech, and I knew that if I didn't write all this and show it to you I wouldn't present as nearly half as bad as I am. "How did you know to tell your d&d friend how you feel? It sounds like you already have a lot of skills coping with things well" I didn't know to tell him shit, my other group just self destructed like a baking soda volcano because someone kept badgering me to 'share my feelings' when I kept telling them I was upset and needed to walk away from the conversation, which led to me running out of energy to filter myself and giving them exactly the angry, overreactive, barely cohesive essay of a rant they were demanding from me. I used up all my patience on that issue, and I'm fucking traumatized by this endless cycle of my friend groups breaking up over drama just when I was starting to relax and feel like this one was finally going to stick around, and at this point it's a matter of either not pretending I'm fine so we can all drift apart awkwardly in peace or putting myself in the goddamn hospital for the final emotional meltdown that has me screaming in the streets and ripping my skin off. I have not built up a skill, I have had my last defense torn down. Advocating for myself is now a matter of life or death.

To explain it metaphorically (because what's an ADHD brain without confusing metaphors that go on too long until they also don't make sense), I'll give the example that the human brain is designed to automatically force shut down your system if you don't sleep for long enough. In an act of self preservation, you will start experiencing involuntary blackouts as your brain forces you to give it the maintenance time it requires to keep you alive. When you've been physically exerting yourself nonstop for several days, you literally run out of power and just. Stop. Likewise, I feel that, at least for me, the mental/emotional system has its own system override to force you into resting and processing. I've been pretty much flooring it for the last 10 years— masking for a good 90% of my conscious time, forcing myself to fit a way of living that wasn't made for me because that's just what I was told was right, going it alone and without treatment because the trauma I was experiencing was still hanging over my head and silencing me, hopping from job to job every few months until I convinced myself the voice of my insecurity was coming from the people around me, studying the correct ways to have certain conversations ("how to ace a job interview", "how to lock down a sale", "how to impress people at parties", etc)— I have not truly rested in an emotional sense for...... I don't remember that I ever have, really. And it's all because when I was 6 and someone told me my brain isn't built right, I was taught that it was my responsibility to be ever-vigilant and critical of my own reality. It was my responsibility to stop mid argument and tell myself 'they don't understand why I'm upset because my feelings aren't proportionate to what actually happened. They must be right, and my feelings are usually lying to me.' my responsibility to hold it in around normal people, to put myself in time out when I get too passionate for the conversation, to parent myself out of temper tantrums and eating ice cream for breakfast and touching things that fascinate me.

I was never taught how to rest.

Making the recent decision to let myself be healthily unpleasant when I'm upset was a matter of my emotional state forcing me to take rest and heal myself. I have been seriously injured by bosses who not only expect, but require me to forgo my enjoyment of life and dedicate my entire soul to them, one too many times. I have been seriously injured by the sudden loss of entire support systems over some petty drama or miscommunication, one too many times. I am finally ready to give people the "honesty" they think they're asking for, not because I have built up confidence, but because I have lost the energy to hold back. My feelings aren't lying to me; it is a scientific, observable, undebatable fact that I am upset about something, and I am as entitled to voice that as everyone else. Yes, I feel upset more intensely than others do, and I can't always explain in a good way, but that is an unchangeable function of my mental illness that the right people who really want to be around me will do their best to be aware of. I am not going to take twice as much damage from things because you don't want to handle my needs. It's time for me to fucking rest.

the Social Etiquette server is currently offline for required maintenance. We kindly ask for your patience during this unexpected hiatus, and we apologize for the inconvenience. We hope to be catering to your emotions again very soon! ~ 💙

#adhd #mental disability #mental health #personal journal #personal experience #d&d #angry vent #therapy #catharsis #deal with it #motherfuckers #im done #im tired #i needed this so bad #feelings #upset #adhd emotions #self advocacy #speaking up #expressing myself #finally #remember to rest #take care of yourself #say how you feel #dont hold it in

[canongf-archive]

Hi Liv! I have yet to drop by your inbox (i think), so I wanted to preface by saying how much I love your blog! You're such a wonderful person, truly a staple to this community. Please never forget that! And as far as I'm concerned, your ships are canon, I can't think about Bucky without thinking of you. Anyhow, I had a question about self ship. My previous therapist moved away and I'll likely start looking for a new one soon. (1/3)

anon!!!!! i am so glad you decided to drop by!!!!! 💗

thank you so much for!! everything!!! for thinking positively of me!!! for treating me with kindness!!! for letting me and bucky be together in your mind!!! thank you for being here and thank you for being you!!!

and thank you for trusting me enough to ask this question!!! i'm so sorry that you've had some not so great experiences talking about this with your past therapists. it's already hard enough sharing something so vulnerable with someone, and having it dismissed or not taken seriously makes it that much harder!!! but i'm grateful that you opened up to me about it and i'm proud of you for wanting to open up to a new therapist about it too!!!

i think my biggest piece of advice is!!! to just be as honest as possible with whoever you see next!!! and i don't just mean about the self shipping itself (though that too!!!), but the feelings you have towards it and the experiences you've had previously!!!

when i brought it up to my therapist!!! i actually prefaced it with the fact that i was scared to bring it up at all. i told her that i wanted to talk about something but that it was something very personal to me and i even told her that i was scared that she'd judge me! i told her it was serious to me and i told her i didn't want her to think it was silly or childish! and it's helped us both and our relationship!!!

it's helped me because by being completely open about self shipping, it's allowed me to be completely open about the feelings that come with it. i don't have to keep things to myself or try to downplay anything, i can tell her exactly what thoughts and emotions i'm dealing with and why, and that allows me to dive deeper into myself!!! and it's helped her because it let her know what i need!!! she realized that i needed her to take it seriously, i needed her to treat this aspect of me and my life with kindness and care, and it let her know just how big of a part it plays in my life!!! and we were able to build trust. she proved that i could trust her with sensitive things and i proved that she could trust me to be honest with her so we could move forward.

and i think that's what i'd tell you!!! tell this person everything. you don't have to make it sound pretty or put together. a good therapist doesn't need that. they just need you to be you. so tell them you want to talk to them about something but you're scared. tell them you had past therapists that you felt dismissed you and didn't take you seriously and tell this new therapist that you need them to be different, you need them to treat you with care and patience and you need them to take it seriously. be honest!!! not only will it free you, but it will strengthen your connection with your therapist and it will tell them exactly how they can help you. and helping you is their job!!!

i hope that you find someone that you feel safe and comfortable with and i hope that they give you what you need!!! wishing you comfort and growth and healing on your therapy journey!!! i am sending you all my love, anon!!!!! 💗

#THIS GOT LONG I'M SORRY!!! #just had a lot i wanted to say to you <3 #advice.ask #anon #long post

[poeteroyal]

For a Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic.

Patience is not rewarding. It still holds space in our energy and makes us tired, exhausted and hopeful. Patience leads to disappointment. Long periods of time without confirmation, if you get it at all. Doing all the work- the healing, the building, the boundaries, are all for ourselves. It doesn’t bring in what we are being desperately patient for. It may help in a way of becoming content, but the reward will never be what we hope for. I took my time, although impatient with healing, building, boundaries, to be where I am today. Mentally sound, financially secure, and knowing what I want and how to keep it safe does nothing for desire. I can get an inch close to my desire and it whisps away leaving a lesson that is necessary. I accept the lesson and sit with it until I can apply it to my life and/or ways of thinking. I express gratitude for everything that comes into my life, and everything that leaves. This time, the exit wasn’t so painful. Once again, disappointed, but not terribly distraught or sad. I do this thing where I go to the gym early in the morning, I grab a coffee afterwards, and on my way home I say what I want to say to whoever. I thought I didn’t care as much about this current situation, but I do, just not to the same degree as all the others. It took a while, but I finally cried. Out of frustration. Not because he put himself in the category all the other men have ended up in, but because he made me want something that is more likely than not, something I’ll never have.

His exit was confusing, but ultimately because he wanted kids and I didn’t. Saying he needed a few days to think about things then ghosting me. No good morning or good night texts starting the day. Every woman knows what that means. It’s over. I told him I may consider kids, but that it requires further conversation and time together. When confronted with my boundaries, he pulled the, “I need to focus on myself.” card. Then why ask me to be yours, then days later, disappear? No explanation, no communication, another man that didn’t do what he promised he would. Since then, I’ve seen my PCP, my psychiatrist, therapist, and friends to examine my thoughts and side in this. Ultimately, it comes down to the trauma of my first pregnancy. I won’t go into details because I’m not trying to get triggered. But when posed with the inquiry of having another kid, and what it would look like, that's when I got upset. 

I thought about how I’d feel if I got pregnant on my terms. Now at a secure time in my life, where it’s not out of the realm of possibility, and my [conception] health being the best it's ever been, I felt the joy of looking at a positive test like I had been desiring it. What it would look like to have a partner I trusted to do this with. Now, I can’t stop thinking about it. Knowing that with my history of solidarity and the caliber of man that it would take, that the chances of feeling safe enough to move forward with having another child is not only slim, but nearly impossible. I thought he just needed time. I was waiting on his call, on our next conversation to explain this revelation, but that call won’t ever come. He’s gone, stuffed into that category, and I’m not letting that affect my mood. The lesson I learned from him is that I want to feel the joy of creating another life. That’s a heavy, heavy point for me to even get to. That if I had the right partner we could still travel with the baby, create an empire of our own joy and provide an example of what a stable and loving family can look like. 

As of now, I’m doing what I usually do, retreating. Back into my cute little cave filled with plants, cats, and my beautiful daughter. I’m not responding to anyone or going anywhere. I’m writing, playing music, and reading. I’m living in a state of faith, connecting with spirit, and gratitude for my progress. He closed the door, but I opened one that could bring the most unique bliss into my life. I just need to remove the lazyboy recliner that I post myself in, staring at it, waiting for someone to come through it that I can experience it with. If it happens it happens. I won’t be impatient or patient. The door is open, and I’ll feel the breeze from time to time. It may make me colder than I want to be at times, or the perfect chill that brings relief to overheating and exhaustion. I am the mother I always wanted to have, I am proud and loving and present. And I hope I get the chance to grow another child to share that with. If not, I’m content as is. Patience does not bring reward, but being content is better than being miserable.

[findingselene]

random thoughts at 6 am on “vacation”

i really did think that I couldn’t sleep because of stevie waking up in the middle of night. and sure that could also contribute to my sleeplessness but here i am. on vacation and awake at 5-6 am.

let’s address a few things. it’s incredible how much things have changed in a year. I was reading my oldest post (after i finally decided it was time to do some journaling again) and wow… what a year,

I graduated. I moved states. i got a job. I moved in with ryan. stevie does not like living with ryan. a new chapter of my life is starting again.

new place. new friends. new coworkers. new environments. a lot has changed in a year,

but i really don’t know where to start. plus i no longer have my therapist so it’s all me right now, the issue is I kinda don’t know when “it” started. I can’t really pinpoint an exact moment that things changed/happened/… and maybe that’s the issue, i kinda don’t know how to properly define what’s going on,

so with all these changes happening to me, it left no room for me to process them. it all happened so fast that I just had to accept it, so let’s retroactively process them,

let’s start with the job, I’m obviously very happy and blessed to have gotten my job all by myself without the help of my advisor. but my lord, the struggle at the beginning was so annoying, everything was a mess, i couldn’t figure out the workflow. I didn’t even know what type of questions to ask because I was confused by everything. I vividly remember asking WC (coming back to this in a bit) about a project and they said “um… yeah I don’t know how to help you.” at the beginning, the days were long and boring because I was just starting. days start at 8. day ends at 5. walk stevie. make dinner. workout. sleep. waiting for the weekend. repeat.

i kept asking myself. is this it? is this how life is going to be forever? i will acknowledge that I did move in the middle of winter so I was mostly inside. with no friends.

it was hard to keep this frustration just at work, since I wasn’t happy (yet), I brought all this negativity into the home that Ryan and I were trying to build since we also moved in together. I was so snappy and would lose my patience so quickly with him. I would get upset at the smallest things. so many little arguments about dishes, time, cleaning. I had no patience at all. I swear I was turning into my dad.

but Ryan would keep trying. he would tell me to communicate better. he would remind me that he isn’t perfect and I needed to be more patience. he would spend more time with me since I was/am feeling lonely with no friends. at the end of the day, he is changing for me. because he loves me.

THAT is very important. but in truly old fashioned stubbornness, I started to question my relationship with him. is this it? are we too different? are our differences really deal breakers now? do I start changing for him or…? I cannot even write the alternative. or do we break up?

i think the feeling of questioning my 3-year relationship AND NO FRIENDS left me very vulnerable (but not an excuse). and this is where WC appears.

more work background. i work and interact with mostly men. I am one of the two women in senior engineering positions. I am the only woman of color. everybody is friendly and approachable, but they’re either older or cannot click with me for them to be put in the friend category,

because of this project, I had to work closely with WC. it was so easy to connect with them. we have similar academic backgrounds, share similar perspectives about work and we are in the same age group box. since I am one of the only people that work in a certain area and they previously worked in my team, they quickly became my go-to person for help and work gossip.

again I cannot pinpoint the moment but I remember I was in their office and just like I used to ask my advisor at the end of every meeting, I asked if there is anything else they needed from me. they quickly replied in a flirtatious way and I blushed a little.

just like that, - I can’t believe I’m admitting this - I was intrigued. I suddenly became aware of how I would say things. We would send the occasional funny or smiley teams message. Our chats were still very strictly about work with the occasional sprinkle of personal information. And yes I did omit telling them I was in a relationship.

but that’s all it was. an innocent work crush. confined from 8 to 5 and from Monday to Wednesday (since they work from home the rest of the week).

until Cleveland, TN.

since this project involved working with manufacturing people from a different location, my boss suggested I should tag along with the auditing team (Jordan and WC) so I could gain more perspective about my job. anyways, I was spending most of my time following them around, asking dumb questions and translating for them.

as a good coworker, I would invite them for lunch and dinner to build our coworking relationships. in one of those dinners, WC told me that Jordan wasn’t joining and since I didn’t have Jordan’s number, I didn’t press about it. we ended up at this diner with WC. we got drinks and food. I spilled my blue moon since I don’t know how to pour beer. I was so embarrassed in front of the waitress. so yeah… we talked about work, relationships, religion, science, hobbies. we were at that diner for almost 3 hours. at the end, I told them they finally had access to my pink phone and I had finally told them about Ryan. but we kinda clicked? plus they were super observant about me… they noticed how people wouldn’t look at me to address and almost caught me when I almost fell with those stupid safety shoes.

next day I found out that Jordan did want to come to dinner but WC never told him where, and I tried my best to not think too much about it.

after this trip, I realized I was entering a very dangerous zone. and I feel/felt so guilty. I ended up telling Ryan that i was crushing on WC and he got very upset. I wanted to be honest, but I think it brought his insecurities to the surface. after lots of reassurance that I still want to be with him, we were okay.

now the task was to kill this crush. which is turning harder than I thought. since I work closely with them, it’s been hard. especially after this week when shit kinda hit the fan. everybody was so upset. I was pissed. frustrated. helpless. and they were too.

they reassured me that I was doing a good job and “apologized” if they contributed to my merpy feeling. through text. but the conversation did not end there. they suggested I should help them with running. I suggested they should run with me after work. when they responded that it could be arranged, I felt giddy and guilty again. I left them on read because again, I am nearing that dangerous zone.

after that, I think they have been acting weird… they left me on read at work and when I asked if they were okay, they responded quickly and shortly, without wanting a follow up. and you know that empty feeling when your chest does when you feel disappointed. yeah I had that after these interactions.

and that’s why I can’t sleep, I can’t rest thinking that I’m hurting my partner and maybe leading someone on (?).

it sounds so easy to put people in a box. I have to build these boundaries for them where they can only exist. Only work talk.

No texting.

No more personal talk.

No check-ins.

No emojis.

More distance.

Boundaries only work if you actively put them in place. but I am also human. I can make mistakes. I can also hurt people too. I can also hurt myself in the process.

So yeah… no wonder I cannot sleep.

#journal

[madameyes]

I’m not gone lie and I ain’t gone hold you up. This grey area is tough.

#me😁 #I need to ask my therapist how to build up patience

[extremelyblackandwhite]

dress

pairing: sheriff lee bodecker x younger! reader

warnings: cheating, smut, age gap, angst, blackmailing 

a/n: the reader is at least 10 years younger than lee. if that upsets you, please don’t read this work. additionally, i based reader’s 60′s style mostly out of  that oufit margot robbie wore for once upon a time in hollywood and megan from mad men, you can see my inspiration outfits here [x] [x] hope you enjoy it xx

Inescapable, I'm not even gonna try and if I get burned, at least we were electrified. I'm spilling wine in the bathtub, you kiss my face and we're both drunk. Everyone thinks that they know us, but they know nothing about all of this silence and patience, pining in anticipation, my hands are shaking from holding back from you ...

The rain fell harshly and unkindly on the pavement for the fifth day in a row, the sun having forsaken the forgotten hellish town that was Knockemstiff, Ohio. Few could say the name and ever fewer dared to enter the town. Even God’s afraid of it, his mother would tell him after nursing what felt like another one of her endless bottles of liquor. It was a haunted town, not a lot left and those who did never crossed paths with it again. Murder and crime were all time highs but not even the government dared to come in and try to to anything which meant any police force in the town were like gods, deciding who lived and who didn’t. One of those god-like men was Lee Bodecker, however he preferred you called him Sheriff Lee Bodecker.  He was a chubby man in his early thirties, tall but the beer belly made him hunch making him look shorter than he was. He had once been the envy of the town, one of the most handsome men of the town but years of living in Knockemstiff wear down everyone. His own poison had been alcohol which had ended up with him in therapy with his wife and with a therapist who had told him to curb the craving of alcohol with sweets instead. It had little to nothing as he still drank like his life depended on it and tonight was no different from other nights. He took off his hat as he entered the local bar in town, the only bar in town, and everyone looked his way, silence installing the ever noisy bar. He liked it, Lee liked it. He knew he was not the handsome one, in fact his look made him quite funny so he made himself scary. Lee made sure that everyone who looked his way, heard his voice or saw his shadow was afraid of him. It definitely worked as once he sat on the bar stool, there was already a glass with 5 fingers of his favourite drink. 

Everything was silence except for the mumbling of men discussing their days until suddenly the mumbling was no longer about the hell that was living in Knockemstiff. He turned around in his chair and understood why the men were suddenly so interested. There she was, dressed in a high neck black shirt which stood over a white skirt. Matching go go boots left her legs bare, something women in Knockemstiff did not do, still stuck in decades of last. She wasn’t from around and everyone knew it merely by the way she dressed but Sheriff Bodecker knew different. Men watched like dogs as she made her way to the bar, to his side. 

     - Y/N. - he greeted her. - What are you doing here? Trying to disrupt the town?

     - My grandmother died.

     - I heard. My condolences.

     - She left me all of what was hers including the house so I’m here to sell it. 

     - The one in Brewer Heights? - she nodded. - Tis a nice house, but I don’t think anyone here would have enough to buy it.

     - I’ll decide that. - she held the glass the bartender in between her hands, her eyes roaming over to his hands were his wedding ring had started to become tight around his finger. - Still with Jane?

     - Why wouldn’t I be? - he cocked an eyebrow at her. - What are you doing here, Y/N?

    - I told you, I’m here to sell ...

    - No. - he interrupted. - Why are you here, at the bar? What do you want?

    - Nothing ...  I see you’re not in the mood to help me anyways. - she got up from the stool she had sat on, straightening her skirt as her feet hit the floor. - Good evening, Sheriff Bodecker. 

He was sat, watching her leave but also giving an aura to the men who too watched the modern girl exit the building not to get any ideas. Lee knew these men, they were like dogs and once a suitable amount of time passed, he took to returning to his cruiser and follow her. How could he trust this town with her, an outsider? Y/N had been brought up in Knockemstiff, the daughter of store owners who had both been killed in an assault gone wrong. After that, she was ushered to live with her grandmother, the last of socialites in Knockemstiff. Rumours said her grandmother had moved from New York to wed with a penniless man already expecting once she wore her wedding gown. Rumours or not, she still held much more money than anyone in the town together and she wasted not a cent in her granddaughter’s education, moving to a more upscale house in Brewer Heights once she got her under her care. She was always the one with everything and Lee remembered seeing her while still an officer driving around a brand new glossy red car, hair loose through the wind. In all honesty, he thought her never too leave town but as she reached her tender 21st year of life, she left leaving everything behind. 

He parked outside her grandmother’s home, stopping just a bit away from it looking at the house that was so eerily sketched in his mind. He leaned against his seat watching Brewer Heights, the place he so wanted to have lived in his youth. Of course he now owned a place there too but it was faint, fickle. If he were to not be sheriff anymore all would shatter. He would do everything he could to keep his position. He deserved it, he deserved it more than any damned soul on this planet. A knock on the glass removed him from his mind state as he looked the way of his window to see her. 

     - Can I come in? - she asked, eyes lingering on the passenger seat. He stretched over to the side, opening the door for her but not exiting the car. She entered, closing the door as she sat on the seat. - I’ve always hated when you were mad at me. 

     - I’m not mad.

     - You have no reason to be. I know what you’re mad about and it’s your own fault, you know that.

     - Is it my fault you left? - his hands tightened against the wheel of his cruiser, anger coursing through his veins. Lee never liked to hear the truth.

    - She knew, Lee and she was right ... If anyone knew, if the town knew I would’ve been ruined and I didn’t deserve that. You must understand I didn’t deserve that. 

    - I didn’t deserve you leaving without saying a fucking thing now did I, darl’?

    - You were married. - she almost spat the words in his face. - You are married, Lee. Now you can be mad at me all you want, you can hate me for all I give a damn but I was not gonna destroy myself for your happiness, and I will certainly not allow you to destroy yourself for lust. 

    - Y/N ...

    - I don’t need your help anymore and I would enjoy it if you parked your cruiser away from my house. I wouldn’t want any rumours about your infidelities to resurface. - she exited the car and climbed the small incline of grass up to her home. Lee still remembered seeing her in a little white dresses her grandmother would buy for her, climbing that incline while holding the fabric so it wouldn’t fly up. She seemed to have gotten the hang of it.

Lee had met Y/N when she volunteered at the station back when he was still a patrol officer. She did the duties of every single secretary plus cleaning which was what she had volunteered for. It’ll be good for my university application, she told him when Lee asked what she was doing there. She started at 17 and remained there until she was 18 and ready to leave and become something other than a Knockemstiff resident. However, her mother having sudden heart attack ruined her plans and she decided to stay to take care of her. Lee didn’t see her for two whole years until she was 20 years old and he spotted her at the supermarket getting an earful from Mr. Collins about dropping a bottle of olive oil while trying to reach something from the higher shelf. Lee didn’t like it, he didn’t like Mr. Collins berating her for a simple mistake so he stepped in. He remembered her thanking him before reintroducing herself to him. 

He wasn’t one to be swayed by women, he’d married his Jane when he was fresh out of high school and while his relationship was more than stale, he had his mind on work and alcohol. Sure he could’ve divorced, found someone else but he wasn’t the teenager he used to be anymore, he was hardly someone who women would be attracted to besides a single man for a Sheriff? That surely wasn’t gonna happen. Yet, he couldn’t help but be entranced by her, fresh into adulthood with a mind full of ideas about what she wanted to do. He didn’t mean it, he didn’t mean to start a relationship with her, to start an affair yet he couldn’t say he regret it. He didn’t regret the nights where she’d meet him in the woods, covered by a black trench coat. He could still feel his, his hands against her back, feeling the fabric of her undergarments as the windows fogged. 

Y/N was upset. Her friends had told her she better not expect the man who she had left without any notice to help her but she was upset. What choice did she have? After her grandmother heard about it, it would’ve taken no time for everyone in town to hear about it and she would’ve been a disgrace and Lee would’ve certain not become Sheriff. Nevertheless she was upset. Instead, she asked an old friend from school, Billy. It was no surprise he was here, nobody left, nobody ever left. She had left but yet here she was once again, 4 years later wondering about an affair which shouldn’t have happened. Her grandmother had berated her for ages “you don’t sleep with a married man” and of course she knew she shouldn’t yet she had. She didn’t know better. 

She had boxes and boxes packed with whatever it was left of the house, photo books, clothing, bedding, all of it packed. Once she got to New York she could sort through it but right now all she wanted to was leave. Her friends even offered to come over and do it for her but the damned lawyer said it had to be her. In the morning she waited for Billy in the steps of her home, dressed in one of her old 50′s fashioned white dress, a far cry from the mini skirts she used at home and off he came in the exact same car he had when they were both teens. 

   - Y/N, look at you. - he walked off the car. - You look gorgeous, darl’. 

   - Thank you, Billy. - she scratched the back of her head. - Uhm it’s only 5 big boxes. I’ll pay for the gas if you help me take them to post office. 

   - You’re not keeping the house?

   - And live in Knockemstiff? - she rolled her eyes, climbing up the stairs to grab the boxes from the front of the door. The boy helped her pack the car before the two hopped onto the car. - So, how’s the town been?

   - Nothing changes. Mr. Collins died, no one was upset about it and that Bodecker guy became Sheriff. - he light up a cigarette as he turned on the engine. - It’s still as boring as its been and people mostly gossip around the same old gossip.

   - What’s new in gossip?

   - Eleanor still says you and Bodecker were fucking. - he chuckled. - As if ... I mean, look at you, you were prom queen and he’s a fat bastard. 

    - You should watch your mouth, Billy. He’s the sheriff. 

    - Because he bought it. - he shrugged. - Dad says he’s pretty much doing everyone’s dirty work. I mean his sister and her husband disappeared and were found dead. 

    -  I don’t really care for that type of gossip. - she leaned against the seat, watching the trees pass by. It wasn’t that she and Billy were good friends but she needed help and she’d rather die than go beg Lee to help her out. She had tried and it’d failed. Besides what was the worse that could happen?

The worse that could happen became very clear as instead of driving into town he took a left into the woods. She rose her head from the seat as all the ways one could reach town rushed through her mind. This definitely wasn’t one of them, it was hard to even get to the town through the woods. She knew that because, well ... it was where she would meet Lee to ensure no one from town found them. The car came to a stop and Billy got off the car. Maybe he just needed to pee or to get some air. She waited til he was on his back to open the car door and start running but he rushed after her, grabbing her arm and throwing her to the ground before standing over her, hands holding her wrists above her head.

   - Billy, what are you doing? - stay calm, that was what they always taught her, stay calm. 

   - Come on, Y/N. They always wanted us to be together in high school, remember? 

   - I don’t know what you’re talking about. Billy, calm down. 

   - You fucking calm down. I know you want me too, Y/N. You called me, you need my help, darl’. I can make you feel so damn good ... - his mouth lowered down and she started to trash around, trying to get rid of him. 

   - Stop, please stop. - she looked up at the sky, the morning sun barely up as she recalled why you don’t come back to Knockemstiff. You don’t get back because you get stuck. As she convinced herself there was nothing the do, a short was heard through the air. 

  - What the heck are you doing William? - she recognised the voice. She had never been more grateful for that voice. Billy jumped over to his feet.

   - Sheriff ... me and Y/N were just having a bit of fun ... You know, you understand, right?

   - Y/N ... - he looked her way. - What were you doing?

   - It was against my will, Sheriff. - she climbed onto her feet, leaning against a tree at a healthy distance from him.

  - Get the fuck out of here. - the young boy in his mid 20′s rushed out like a child afraid of the dark, forgetting his car and everything he had left behind. Y/N watched him running, tripping onto his legs as Lee fired a warning shot in the air. If this was NY, there would be someone here already but this was Knockemstiff and gun shots were as usual as rain during winter.

He smirked, happy to have once again imposed the authority he so much treasured. Lee never liked Billy, he never liked when he’d drive Y/N home from school even when she was volunteering at the police station. That boy was no good news and always looked at her like she was a piece of meat. Lee still remembered the old Sheriff telling her that boy was no good and looking at her now, dressed in one of her white dresses stained in dirty and green grass stains, he guessed he was right. 

  - Billy, Y/N? Don’t you have other friends?

  - Billy’s the only one with a car. - Y/N mumbled as she grabbed his keys from the floor to take her stuff off his car before he could return. - Thank you but I had it under control.

  - ‘Course you did. - he put his hands on his waist. - Come on, I’ll drive you to wherever you want to go.

  - I don’t want any favours from you, Sheriff Bodecker. - she held her boxes against her chest. Well, if she started now maybe she could be at the post office with all the boxes at nighttime. - That’ll be all.

  - Y/N, come on. I’m a public server so let me help you.

  - I don’t want your help. - she almost barked at him, taking another box from Billy’s car. Maybe she could drive the car, yet again she knew the captain particularly liked Billy and could fine her if 

  - Fine, can you tell me what you’re doing at least?

  - I’m shipping these boxes to New York. I don’t have time to completely go through them so ...

  - Put them in the cruiser. I’ll take them to the post office and take you home. 

  - I don’t want any favours.

  - It’s not for you, it’s for your grandmother. Now get into the car, please. - he opened the door to her.

Y/N huffed. The last thing she needed was a favour from Lee Bodecker yet in all honesty she had no other choice. She packed her boxes into the truck of his cruiser and sat on the passenger seat, arms crossed as he sat in the driver’s seat. Her mind played tricks on her, reminding her of what they used to do in that driver’s seat of his back when she was younger and full of ideas for the future. She shouldn’t have done it and she knew it, Jane Bodecker wasn’t the best woman but she didn’t deserve having her husband sneaking around with a 20 year old despite her herself having had her fair share of affairs. Not that Lee knew and she wasn’t gonna be the one to tell him about the time she was working late in the station and saw his wife getting busy with a new patrol. She didn’t have that right, after all he was doing the same to her. She shouldn’t have done it, nevertheless. Her grandmother died ashamed of her and now she had to deal with it. 

   - Billy said Sandy died. Is it true? 

   - Yeah, last year.

   - Oh ... I’m sorry, I didn’t know. 

   - She had it coming. That weird husband of hers ended up driving her off the edge. That Arvin kid shot them yet I can’t say they hadn’t it coming ... She was still my baby sister. 

   - I’m sorry, Lee. I’m so sorry ...  - she looked down at her skirt. 

   - Almost got me too ... stupid kid. - he shrugged. - Good thing I was fat enough to stop the bullet, I guess.

   - Well, I’m sorry about Sandy. - she said as she saw her house become clearer through the window. He stopped in front of her home, unlocking the doors so she could walk out. 

Y/N walked out before she could do something stupid. Whatever she did, whatever he had, whenever they were together she always ended up doing something stupid. She sat in the empty house of her childhood, only now containing furniture. She could remember it so well from her years as a child running up and down the stairs, not knowing what awaited her outside the world. Nevertheless, she didn’t want to owe anything to Lee. She knew who he had to answer softly too, she knew those men Billy spoke about. They always ran for Sheriff ever since she was a kid. 

She looked at the clock on the wall, 3PM. She knew exactly where those men would be at that time and so she changed and took her way downtown. Everyone turned their head as she walked into the badly light, old bar in tones of musky green which greatly contrasted with her baby blue short dress. The town had gotten stuck in the 40′s and 50′s, women barely showing their legs or any skin and there she was, a woman born and raised in Knockemstiff dressed like a movie star. The table of three men clearly noticed, the under-sheriff, the division chief and the captain. She stood in front of the round table, taking her sunglasses and setting them on top of her head, a nice, covergirl smile on her pink painted lips. You can get the girl out of Knockemstiff but you can’t get Knockemstiff out of the girl.

    - Hello boys. You mind if I seat with you? - she put her hand on one of the chairs. 

    - Hey, you’re Elizabeth’s granddaughter aren’t you? - Frank, the under-sheriff asked, pulling the chair for her. - I thought you were in New York.

    - I was but I just came here because of my grandma’s inheritance, but I have something to discuss. 

Another night, another day of useless parading around for Lee. He’d pass by the post office and shipped Y/N’s boxes and that had been the highlight of his day. As per usual, he made his way to the bar only to found the environment was slightly different. He knew this town like the back of his hand, anything off always rang alarm bells. As the bartender placed his usual poison in front of him, he decided to get to the bottom of the situation. 

   - Why’s everything so quiet?

   - I don’t know, Sheriff. - the man replied while cleaning glasses. - Elizabeth’s girl was here and I don’t know what she did but Frank, Jonah and Fitzwilliam left as if she were the devil.

Fucking hell. He drowned the last of his drink before grabbing his hat and entering his cruise. Damned Y/N, she used to be such a nice girl before leaving to New York. God, the only complaint he ever got about her was when the mayor complained about her wanting to run a march. He drove to her home like a mad man. What was she doing messing around with those three? He’d seen them do worse things for much less. Lee climbed the grass patch up to her door, knocking on it as if his life depended on it. 

   - Y/N, open up. Right now. - he thumped the door again. - I’ll break in if you don’t answer it!

   - Jesus. - the door opened up to Y/N dressed in what he was almost entirely sure was the shortest dress he had ever seen a woman wear. She stood against the door, hand on the wood while the other on her waist as he entered her home. 

   - Took you long enough. - he stepped into the home which he had never dared to step in.

   - I was upstairs. - she closed the door, locking it behind her for good safety. No one can be trusted in this godforsaken town. - What do you want?

Lee walked further into the house ignoring her question as he shut all the windows of the ground floor, anything that could allow anyone to look inside the house. Last thing he needed was for anyone to see inside the home and start any rumours. Stupid bastards. Y/N followed him around asking the same damn question anytime he shut any window and pulled any drapes down. 

   - Stop touching my stuff. - she put herself in front of him. - What do you want, Lee?

   - What do I want? - he sat against the couch, sighing. - What the fuck did you do, Y/N? Why were you at the bar?

   - I didn’t do anything. - she batted her eyes innocently. 

   - Y/N, I have another election coming up soon. I’ll ask again, what did you do at the bar?

   - It’s none of your business. 

   - Y/N, I’ve seen those men kill for less so you tell me now what you did. 

   - Stop ordering me around. - she rolled her eyes at him. - I don’t like owing anyone so now we’re even.

   - We’re even? - he pitched the skin of his nose. - What the fuck, Y/N? 

   - You wanna know what I said? Would that make you feel better? Would that make you feel like you rule this damn town, Lee? - she looked down on him, almost teasing him. Had it been a few years ago she would’ve been under him already. - I helped you out.

   - Y/N ...

   - It’s not just you who was sleeping around with a younger girl. They were sleeping around with friends of mine. The only difference is I have evidence of it ... - she grabbed her purse from the hanger, taking a beige envelope from it and throwing it his way. Lee looked up to her and then to the envelope opening it to see various pictures of girls he knew in compromising positions with his opponents, letters, everything. - They don’t have anything on you because unlike my friends, I don’t keep souvenirs from my affairs. 

  - You blackmailed them? Are you stupid, Y/N? They are going to kill you.

  - Please. - she rolled her eyes at him. - My grandmother owned half this town, if I die everything goes to charity and this town falls apart. Besides, it’s not like I’m planning to stick around for longer. 

  - So what now? You had fun playing femme fatale? You’re bored, is that it?

  - I just won you an election without any competition, Lee. You could be nicer about it. 

  - I don’t need your help. 

  - I don’t need your help either. I was just repaying a favour. - she leaned against the wall. - You can go now. 

   - Did you need to wear that? - he pointed at the dress. - Couldn’t have struck blackmail dressed appropriately?

   - Do you not like my dress? - she looked down, hands grabbing the baby blue fabric as she expanded the flowey skirt. - You know, I bought it for you. I was planning on using it for birthday a few years ago but you know ... had to leave earlier.

   - You bought that dress for me? - he rose from the couch, walking up to her until he had her caged against the wall.

   - I bought it so you could take it off, actually. - Lee must’ve been hallucinating because he swore she was pouting.

She looked up at him with that look she used to give him after a long day at work when he needed something to unwind. Both of them had promised each other not to do anything else when she left, Y/N had told herself no more coming bak and Lee had decided to spend his life content what whatever shred of marriage he had. Yet, she was there in what looked more like lingerie than a dress and he was in uniform, both of them were never good at making good decisions, and this was Knockemstiff. Lee took the first move, leaning down to kiss her like his body dependent on it which in some way he did. She held onto his shoulder, flushing her body against his as his hands started trying to pull the dress away from her body. Baby blue fabric flowed to the ground as he picked her up, throwing her against the couch he had just been sat on. He stopped kissing her to look at her, to look at the body he still dreamed at night or whenever he shut his eyes. She could’ve been gone for 4 years but she sure never left his wildest fantasies. 

  - Lee, wait. - her hands stopped him from returning to kiss her. - Let me treat you, please.

  - Oh sugar, you don’t need to ask. - she got up, walking slowly past him, her matching baby blue undergarments much more racy than what she used to wear back in Knockemstiff. She pushed him against the couch, smirking as she went down on her knees. - What are you doing down there, sugar? It’s more than you can handle. 

  - Don’t worry, Sheriff. I’m a big girl. - her hands unbuckled the belt off his trousers, throwing it to the floor followed by his trousers. She peppered kisses over his thighs down to his knees and then to the edge of his underwear. Slowly, she peeled them away, making eye contact with him. The silent girl he had known before was definitely long gone and he didn’t know how to feel about it. Before he could make up his mind, she took him entirely inside inside her mouth. - Fuck, you look fucking flawless with my big cock in your mouth, sugar.

She smiled at his praise, moving her head up and down still at a painfully slow pace, his balls in her hands. Lee pushed his head back, groaning at her motions and thinking it could no get better until she started to move her head faster, his tip reaching the back of her throat, but it didn’t seem to bother her. Instead she moaned against him, the vibrations making him feel like he was on cloud 9. Fuck being sheriff, nothing made him quite higher than having the one who got away with his cock down her throat. He started twitching against her mouth, his hand grabbed a handful of her hair, pushing her against his pelvis and starting to control her moves. She kept moaning against him, bringing him over the edge until he just couldn’t hold himself anymore. His grip loosened on her head as his muscles gave up on him.

Y/N got up from her kneeling position, thumb pushing whatever cum had spilled over into her mouth. That image alone made him harden up again like some horny teenage boy. She smiled at him, hands on his shoulders as she sat on his lap. 

   - What do you want me to do, Sheriff? - she batted her eyes at him, leaning down to kiss his ear lobe lowering down to his neck. 

  - You wanna ride my cock, sugar? - he hooked his hand on her nape, pushing her so she was looking at him. - You wanna make up to me for leaving me all alone?

  - Yes, Sheriff. - she lined up and slowly sunk down on him, both of them moaning. 

   - Come on, sugar. Show me what you can do. - she started riding him as if the devil had possessed her. He pushed her lips against his, a sloppy messy kiss which definitely was more lust than anything else as she moved up and down against him.  - Yeah, you like that don’t you, sugar? Tell me you like it, sugar. 

  - It feels so good, Lee. - she leaned against him, her hips still moving as he pulled her bra down, pinching her nipple. - Fuck.

  - You’re never gonna leave me again. - he started thrusting up, moving her from under him so she was laid across the couch. - Promis ... fuck ... promise me, sugar. Promise, you’re not gonna leave.

  - Lee ... - she moaned against the couch’s pillow as he speed up his pace, hands holding her hips and moving them against and away from him. 

  - You’re not gonna leave. - he groaned, feeling the way her walls milked him with such need. - You’re not gonna leave me, sugar. You’re not, right? You’re gonna stay.

   - Lee ... - she cried out before her mouth opened up in a perfect O, her orgasm washing over her. He didn’t take too long to cum, groaning like a wild animal as strings of white painted her walls. He slipped out of her, holding her before turning so she was standing on top of him. - Lee, I can’t stay. You know that, right? 

   - Why not? Things were good when you were around. 

   - I left for a reason, Lee. - she got up from him, grabbing her dress and quickly slipping it on. - And that reason still stands. 

   - Y/N, please listen ...

   - When I was 20 and we started this, I truly believed you were going to divorce your wife. You were going to divorce her and you were gonna marry me and ... and my grandma would’ve been upset but she would’ve learned to deal with it and then she would’ve taken me to the altar. I waited a year to see if I would ever become something other than a mistress and then the elections came around and I understood you were not gonna divorce Jane. You were going to be Sheriff and you’re still going to be Sheriff and maybe sometime Mayor. I’m not gonna be your mistress anymore, Lee.

  - Y/N ...

  - Please, leave. - she wiped whatever tears were threatening to fall off. Lee furrowed his brow, putting on his trousers before trying to approach her but she stopped him, arm raised firmly keeping distance. - Please, leave.

  - Y/N, c’mon. Let’s talk.

  - LEAVE! - she rose her tone at him. Lee wasn’t going to argue with her, it wasn’t his place to argue with her at her own house and so he left. Y/N stayed in the middle of her leaving room, arms crossed until she broke down crying.

She could almost hear her grandmother’s words “there’s no use crying about it” when she told her Lee was running for Sheriff. Funny how even after being dead, the old nag still was as right as she was four years ago. She wiped her tears with her hand and climbed the stairs up to her bedroom, sitting on the bare bed. It was going to be alright, tomorrow she’d be able to sign the rights over to the letting agency and could return to New York. Things were fine there, or at least she wasn’t sleeping with a married man there.

The sun didn’t raise up that morning, rain instead replaced it and so Y/N remained laid in bed watching the rain drop rush down the fogged up windows until a loud thumping on her door forced her to get up. She wrapped herself in her robe and went down the stairs to open the door. 

  - Good morning, miss. - she opened the door to her letting agent. - How are you?

  - I’m alright, Don. I’m sorry, I thought the open house was later. I’ll just get my stuff and leave.

  - No, it’s all right miss. I am just here to tell you that we’ve sold the house was above the price you were asking for.

  - Pardon me?

  - At least two times the asking price. It was such a good price, he had to take it. Paid upfront.

  - What really? Who?

  - He should be coming to see the place in an hour. - he said. - We’ll bring you the check later on. 

  - All right. Thank you Don.

That was good news at least she got to leave Knockemstiff before anything else happened. She didn’t know what had overcome her to decide to have sex with Lee. Pull yourself together Y/N, you’ve had four years to learn how to deal with it. It was fine, it was going to be fine. She packed whatever was left of her stuff into her small patched up luggage and put it by the door. She just needed to wait for Don to bring her check back and she could go on back to New York, where her mistakes only included putting coloured clothes with whites and then having pink clothes for the rest of her life. A knock on the door made that decision come much faster. Okay, Y/N. Get the check and go.

  - Lee? - she opened the door to see the least person she wanted to see. - Go away, I’m expecting someone.

  - I know. - he walked in as if the house was his. - You’re expecting me.

  - This is not funny, Lee. Don should be bringing my check anytime and the owner will be here in an hour.

  - Yeah, I’m sorry I’m early.

  - Pardon? - she rose her eyebrows at his statement. - What do you mean?

  - It’s my house now. I was thinking of upgrading, ya know? This house is the best one in Brewer Heights after all.

  - Are you fucking kidding me, Lee?! - she stood in front of him before he could walk further into her home. - You’re bringing your wife into my childhood home? YOU’RE BRINGING YOUR WIFE TO YOUR MISTRESS’S HOME?!

  - How many bedrooms is this house? They said they thought it was over five in the contract. 

  - You have a perfectly good house. Why do you want mine?

  - Mine is too small. Only one bedroom, I’d have no place to build a nursery.

  - A nursery? You and your wife are having a baby? In my childhood home ... how swell. 

  - You know I’m thinking about running for mayor. I mean, it’d look good if I had a family.

  - Good luck convincing Jane. - she gave him a cynical smile. 

  - I don’t have to convince Jane. I’d have to convince you. 

  - Me? Fuck off, Lee. I’m not having a baby for you and your wife. Fuck off. 

  - We’re a good team, Y/N. Besides, Jane is no longer in the picture.

  - Lee ... - she sighed. - Please.

  - You see, my wife isn’t as good as me at keeping her infidelities casual. The other candidates have caught wind of it ... I need someone who’s almost as good at blackmail as me.

  - I’m better at blackmail than you. - she crossed her arms at him.

  - So what do you say, sugar? Want to be the sheriff’s wife?

  - Do you promise I’ll get to be the mayor’s wife someday? 

  - With you on my team, I think you’re gonna be the mayor’s wife sooner than you think.

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