#I mean I was seeing one - and it was fucking WORKING - before my insurance changed

[this-doesnt-endd]

I feel like my crown just shifted up oh my god

[marvelingjules]

You’ll all be very proud to know that I finally messaged my doctor to request she provide me a referral to an asthma specialist.

So we’ll see how that goes. 🤞

[rafeandonlyrafe]

feeling generous

words: 1.3k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, dubcon!!, blackmail!!, blowjob, cum eating???, voyeurism, public sex, car crash but like its in a parking lot lol, pogue!/broke!reader

“shit, shit, shit.” you groan, quickly putting the car into drive and moving a few feet, cringing when you hear the crunch of metal coming undone. you throw the car into park and hop out to see your worst fears actualized.

“are you fucking blind?” the shout makes you jump. you didn't even realize that the owner of the car was sat in the driver's seat.

“im-im so so sorry.” you shake your head quickly, surveying the damage. you caught their back bumper with your own, the red paint from their car flaking onto your silver one. “i-i didn't see how close-”

“no shit you didn't see! jesus fucking christ, do you know how expensive this car is?” he shouts, standing to his full height and slamming the car door closed. you don't know how much the car is, but judging by the look of it and the man driving it, certainly not cheap. “this is a custom paint job too.” 

he places his hands on his hips, eyes shifting between glaring at the ruined back end of his car and you.

“insurance and id. now.” he huffs out. “before i call the cops.”

your eyes widen. you have the minimum required insurance, and even that payment is killing you, there's no way you'll be able to afford it if you get an increase for a crash.

“can i pay you out of pocket?” you offer, clearing your throat, trying to keep a level head.

“no way you're able to afford it.” his eyes turn towards your car. it's old, a junker, but gets you around fine enough. and best part, it was free, a hand me down after your grandma bought a newer car.

“i-i probably cant, but i can't afford the insurance increase either and i- we can work something out. please.” you don't care how pathetic it is, you'll get down on your knees in the parking lot if you have to. you're not beyond begging and pleading.

he looks you up and down before grunting, heading back towards his car. your feet spring into action, grabbing onto his wrist, not wanting him to reach for his phone.

“no, please, sir-”

“rafe.” he says, hand twisting so now he's the one holding your wrist. “my name is rafe.”

“oh.” you blink up at him before responding. “my name is y/n”

“you shouldn't have told me.” rafe holds his hand up. “in case i change my mind. you're lucky im feeling generous today.”

“oh my god, thank you so much!” you feel tears well up in your eyes.

“don't thank me yet, darling.” his gaze turns dark as he looks down at you, only now realizing how tall he is, how he towers over you.

“what do you mean?” you question.

rafe takes your hand gripped tightly in his fist, turning it and bringing it down to place it on his crotch. your eyes widen when he moves your fingers back and forth over his shorts, stroking along your length.

“i- what are you doing?” you try to pull your hand away, but he's holding on too tightly.

“it's either this or we can get insurance involved.” rafe looks at you, the shiny lip gloss smeared over your mouth. you may be a broke pogue, but your mouth should be good enough to please him, to ease some of the tension from getting his car hit.

“im not a prostitute.” you say, certainly not meaning this when offering to work something out.

“yet you're gonna get on your knees and suck me off. or i call the cops.”

“right here?” you look around the parking lot. it's pretty empty, but it's the middle of the day, the sun shining down on you, making the illicit act obvious to anyone who looks between where your two cars are parked.

“yeah.” he shrugs, pressing your hand harder into his crotch. he's obviously hard, seemingly almost painfully so.

you look back to the damage, the cherry red color that you're sure isn't stock, and then sink down to your knees. rafe smirks down at you as he drops his hand away from your wrist, light purple bruises already forming.

you gulp and resolve yourself to what you're about to do, tugging at his zipper before undoing the button on his shorts. you open up the flaps, eyes widening when you take in his length through his underwear.

rafe chuckles before pushing the elastic down to pull his cock out, exposing it to the warm summer air.

“suck.” he simply commands.

you open your mouth, taking an experimental lick at his tip, surprised that the taste isn't completely repulsive. you lick again before wrapping your lips around the head of his cock.

“come on.” he spurs you on. “do it good or ill cum in your mouth and still make you pay.”

the threat has you moving quickly, sinking down onto his cock, closing your eyes so you don't have to see rafe looking down at you. he may be attractive, but you're still getting forced to do this. 

“ahh, that's good.” he groans as you set a quick pace, bobbing your head up and down. you pray no one pulls into this part of the parking lot or looks your way. you'd be absolutely mortified to be seen on your knees for a man in the middle of the day, not even going into his car to suck him off.

rafes hands grip your hair, pulling them into two makeshift pigtails.

he lets you stay in control for a while longer before he gets sick of you sucking him off however you please. he shoves his hips forward, causing you to gag when his cock buries deep in your throat.

rafe doesn't give you time to recover, thrusting while holding your head still by the hair, tears now streaming down your eyes as he pushes in then out, in then out.

“fuck, you're actually good.” rafe chuckles. just his luck the dumb bitch who hit his car gives good head, your throat tightening as you swallow around him with every thrust.

you feel the combination of drool and tears drip down your chin, hoping rafe cums soon so this can end.

you place your hands on his thighs as your knees dig into the pavement. your jeans are going to be completely ruined by the time rafe is done with you, but at least you'll have money to buy a new pair.

you feel rafes cock swell in your mouth, your eyes widening to look up at him, the sun behind his head, illuminating him in a perfect halo, but he's no angel.

rafe pulls his cock out before he can cum. you stick your tongue out, knowing exactly what to expect as rafe strokes himself quickly, moaning as if he doesn't care about being seen as his cock shoots out ropes of white cum onto your face and awaiting tongue.

he taps the tip against your tongue, smearing it through the mess of white. “kiss it.”

it's humiliating, but not any more than what just happened. you pucker your lips and press a kiss to the tip of his cock, seeing that it's already beginning to soften.

rafe tucks his cock back in as you pant on the ground, hands coming to your thighs as you try to gain composure.

“hey.” rafes voice has you looking back up, your eyes widening when you see he's got his phone now, taking a picture of your disheveled state, face still covered in his cum.

“what was that for?” you shout.

“part of your repayment in case you ever try to go back on our agreement.” you understand what rafe means. in case you try to tell anyone he forced you into it.

rafe smiles when the look of acceptance sinks into your features as you resign to your fate. he bends down, looking you in the eye before his tongue presses against your jaw, dragging up your cheek, tracing the trail of your tears, not caring that he also tastes his own cum on his tongue. 

“see you around.” he smirks, swallowing your tears dramatically as he gets into his car, speeding away before you even get your knees off the ground.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeyisthelastname @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @auryyz @mayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut

[yaut-jaknowit]

Hiya! Was wondering about a bad blood that takes a woman from earth but she's fine with it? He expected more fighting from her but is pleased. Not sure how you feel about soulmates but maybe he's been drawn to her for awhile and finally just took her?

Are We Meant To Be? Part 2

Pairings: Cew’voc (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 2995

Summary: So much time has passed since you last saw that mysterious figure. He saved you then abandoned you. You had discovered he was your soulmate too late. When all hope was lost, he comes back to you. Is it too late?

Author Note: Okay, I know this isn't entirely what you were asking for. But, I hope it's still okay. If not, let me know and I do another for you. I wanted to use this as an excuse to write a part two for this story.

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 1

All the years since that faithful day offered no relief. Since then, you’ve had your ups and downs. From ending up jobless and homeless, you were able to barely bounce back to a decent life. It wasn’t normal. It would never be normal again. Not without what you saw that night. Who or whatever that creature was… he was yours. As much as you were his. Two souls destined for one another.

The reminder made your heart ache. You gritted your teeth and rubbed the heel of your hand over your sternum. Some of your co-workers gave you a puzzled look before shaking their heads and going back to their business. You cleared your throat before squaring your shoulders to face the lobby and customers all over again.

A pain that’ll be with you till the end of time. You were used to it.

Twelve hours in the building was an average shift. It was the minimum you needed to work five days a week just to make do.

From living an average, normal life, meeting what had to be your soulmate had ruined everything. Despite the longing to see him, just a glimpse every so often, there was no chance. He abandoned you. It was unheard of. Usually soulmates for the first time they meet each other can’t leave each other. Some say its physical and others say its emotional. But to break apart within even the first day was beyond cruel. It’ll leave someone, yourself, broken and hollow.

That’s exactly what you are. A shell of the person you used to be. Now, here you were, a beggar for any change, even a penny. It could mean the difference between having a roof over your head or being homeless.

No one wanted you. Not even someone destined to be with you until you died.

The plates in your hand wobbled precariously. Your attention returned to your surroundings only to watch the four plates you had been carrying slip off of your arms. They came crashing down onto the ground. The porcelain shattering into tiny pieces at your aching feet. Food smears across the ground.

In the moments after that, you could only look down at the mess you’ve created. Your shoulders slumped. There was gasps that sounded through the lobby of the diner you worked out. But, you heard nothing. Stuck in your own world again while all you could do was look at the disaster at your feet.

This was it. Your last straw that broke the camel’s back. It seemed like you couldn’t hold down a job anymore. The pains in your chest only growing worse with the passing time. No one understood. This didn’t happen. Worst of all, it’s not like you had any insurance to work with. There was no help. All you did was suffer through the pain.

Over the white noise in your ears, you heard your name shouted at the top of someone’s lungs. Avery. Your boss. She came stopping around to stand in front of you with a heated glare in her eye. You simply lifted your head to look at her, dead and emotionless.

Her gaze flickered for a moment but returned to steel. One of her hands whipped out to point towards the door. “Get the fuck out of my establishment. You’re fucking useless,” she bit out with a ferocity you didn’t know she had. You blinked at her before finally picking up your feet and making your way to the door. Not even clocking out or taking off your apron.

There you had done it again. Lost another job. Useless. Just like she said. You couldn’t do anything right. Not even your own soulmate wanted to stay with you.

The concrete was harsh on your knees despite the jeans you were wearing. You had collapsed in the middle of the sidewalk. No one gave you a second glance; only giving you a look of disgust and going on their way. A broken sob left your chapped lips. The world around you closing in. You tilted your head backwards to gaze at the darkening sky.

It wasn’t long before day morphed into night. Sometime during the transition you had pulled yourself up and meandered along the path set in front of you. It was random and leading you further and further from the dingy apartment called home. The city you resided in offered nothing of relief. It allowed you to stay on a decently lit path through the side of town you resided in.

In your heart, something tugged you to stop. Your head finally picking up to find the street deserted. You had walked so far that not even those brave enough would venture out. A whine built in the back of your throat. This was pointless. Now, you were somehow lost. Your head tilted back to look at the dark sky. There was little to no stars that would dot the night sky. “What am I doing?” Your voice was hoarse. It lacked the warmth it had years ago.

All the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. The muscles that lined your back tightened. Your breath caught, body prepared for the worst while your mind hoped for the best. But, your luck has shown you how well that’ll go.

You neck creaked while it turned towards the dark alleyway. Nothing could be seen down the endless path. Either it turned off or ended towards the end.

A loud thump echoed off the walls. Your entire boy turned towards the entrance. The soft clicks of something entered the air. Your brows furrowed while you tried to deter was creating that noise. In your careless state and defense, you weren’t of sound mind. There was one thing in the world that would solve all of your issues.

It wasn’t here.

At the crest of the entrance, you eventually spotted the silhouette of a humanoid figure. Oh, not again. You took a couple of stumbling steps away and nearly fell over your own two feet. It seemed your lucky wasn’t the greatest.

Light shined off metal. Faster than a blink of an eye, your throat was snatched. Your back was pressed to a firm, hot surface. Humid heat washed over the top of your head and ran down the back of your neck. A shutter ran its course. The muscles in your body only tensing more.

Yet, in this moment, after everything that’s happened after four years… you didn’t care. Not any more.

Sharp clicks and growls vibrated into your ear. The firm grip around your throat tightened only fraction. “Mi-ne.” A voice growled that it could be felt in your bones. The declaration strong and firm.

A voice you recoginized. Your hands instantly go to the one holding you in place. Try as you may, you couldn’t tilt your head far enough back to look at the figure. But, the lack of an ache in your chest only solidified your thoughts.

This had to be him.

As your mouth opened to speak words he deserved, his free hand pressed something into your mouth. Two fingers coaxed you to swallow dryly whatever he had placed on your tongue. His palm still covered the lower portion of your face. You tried to speak and began to fight him. Anger filled your veins at not only past action, but his current ones now.

When the hands left you, you believed there was a chance for escape. Your entire body whipped around to face the towering creature. Only, for you to sway from the sudden, unwise move. Strong, capable hands grasped your shoulders before you could slam into the ground. A haze took over your mind and left you unstable.

The ground left the bottom of your feet. Then, you were hoisted onto a thick, muscular shoulder that dug into your waist and belly. The move caused you to wheeze and grab onto the a fish net like material that covered at least his toned back. “Let me go!” you screamed at the top of your lungs then began to beat on his back with clenched fists.

He takes it. Without complaint. The humanoid figure spins on his heel and lets the darkness engulf him again. Your cried for help and desperate attempt for freedom begins to fade. Whatever he forced you to ingest was starting to take effect already. Your movements turned sluggish. Every beat was weaker than the last.

“I… hate you,” was what you could say before the darkness consumed you. Your body falling limp on his shoulder.

Warmth. Comfort. Those were the first two things to greet you when your consciousness finally decided to wake up. A soft blanket swaddled your entire form and kept you safe from the lurking monsters. A groan left your lips. You squirmed in the swaddled you’ve been placed in until it loosened.

It took a monstrous amount of strength to open your eyes and blink away the fatigue sitting in your bones. What greeted you made you believe the night still claimed you.

Metal from ceiling to floor made up the room you were in. The blankets on your shoulders slipped off when you sat up to fully take in the space. Your jaw dropped. Five skulls were line on the wall behind you. All were creatures you didn’t recognize. You gulped and kept taking in the room. Weapons decorated some parts of the wall. A bean bag like chair was shoved into one corner. A fur like blanket draped over it.

That’s when you realize the blankets you had been covered with are fur from an unknown creature. You shuttered to think of all the death that was proudly displayed in here. Why… why would he take you in here? Surely, it wasn’t to kill you? No. Your head shook in the negative. He wasn’t. He would’ve already done that if so. Plus, something in your heart told you he wouldn’t harm you.

You were in the process of shuffling to your knees when the door slid open. The entire room filled with tension. It was him. Face still covered a metal mask.

He doesn’t move. The two of you engage into a staring contest.

Thoughts were running wild in your mind. From the last time you had saw him, there had been slight changes. Mainly scars. He was already adorned in them and proudly presenting them. But, more had been added to his collection. A nasty looking one started from an inch above his right collarbone and descended with small jags mostly downwards.

All of them… made him look good, despite not seeing his face yet.

Your first move was to tug the blanket tighter around you, like some sort of shield. He wasn’t terrifying. Not an ounce of fear in your heart at the sight of his towering form.

But, you were nervous, unsure of the whole situation. The most of all. You were angry. Four years. It’s taken him four years to come back into your life and decide you were worth something after all. Tears pooled in your eyes at the thought.

A glare set over your features. You sat back down on your butt and looked away from him. The creature doesn’t deserve your attention, let alone a second of your time. For all you could care, you were going to completely ignore him until he gives up. Let him feel the pain of being abandoned by the one you thought was supposed to your other half.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched at the mustard yellow figure stalked forward. Your ears strained to listen to each step as he made his way towards you. You strengthened your walls. The beast stopped at the edge of the mattress and gazed down at your figure. Then, he gingerly sat down a couple of feet away from you.

His scaly hand reached out timidly. A move you observed closely. When he got in range, you swatted at the approaching limp. The creature snatched his hand back and made an offended noise. You didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was looking at you as if you had grown a second head. To go against someone three times your mass was obviously stupid. Yet, here you were, protecting yourself from his touch in what could be taken in an aggressive matter.

Except, he held back and took the sign completely. The figure bowed his head. “I-I kn-ow… you are u-pset.” It sounded like he was struggling to speak English. Not as it’s a language he does not know, but like his mouth and throat can’t make the sounds well. “I have reasons. I-it shouldn’t b-e possi-ble. Can’t be.”

If his words were meant to be soothing he was doing the opposite. You hugged your knees tighter with a scoff and a roll of your eyes. You wanted to ask him the reasoning but felt like that would give him too much attention. Despite what your soul wanted since it finally get’s to see your other half again after so long.

“It’s wr-ong. You’re ooman. I’m…” he trails off and glances over at your curled up form. A position meant to protect you from incoming harm. “I’m not.”

For him to confirm your suspicions, you weren’t surprised. Not after finally getting to see him in a better light. The dark, mustard yellow of his skin was dotted with scales. The color and texture wasn’t normal. The size of him wasn’t normal. The blonde rubbery-like dreads that poured from his head weren’t normal.

“I-it’s aga-against ev-everything I know. I came back. I sh-shouldn’t have.” The masked creature made a noise of agony. One of his hands came to rub at his sterum. “But the pa-in. A-after s-so long. I grew weak. Co-uldn’t handle it. I-I ne-needed to lay e-eyes on you.” Words kept tumbling from him. Words you barely understood while he struggled with your language.

They almost, almost softened you. The same pain you endured the last four years was what he experienced as well. But, there was a difference. He purposefully abandoned you. He deserved the pain. You, on the other hand, did not.

You were only human, after all. “Where am I?” Your voice was barely about a hoarse croak.

He perked, only slight, at the sound. “My s-hip. I’ve h-idden us-us from your go-vern-ment senses behind a plan-et you ca-ll Jupiter.” Him clarifying he was an alien though, wasn’t on your list of possibilities. At least, not very high. The most you thought of him was a mutated, escaped human experiment. Not… that.

“Y-you’re an alien?” you gaped before reeling in your shock. There was no reason him to give the benefit of the doubt. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve you.

“Yes,” he confirmed and dipped his head. The strange, rubbery dreads slipped over his shoulders to sway. “I a-m a Yautja. No-t t-that you know w-hat that is.” You bristle at his offensive words and sent a heated glare at the alien. He brushed it off with a shrug. “My name is Cew’voc. A-and yours?” You turned your head away again as your answer. He has not earned that right to know you.

Newly named Cew’voc purred with mirth. It took every ounce of will not to spin around and punch him. How dare he laugh!

“That is-is okay. I-I can just look-k it up.” Whatever he had for a face, there had to be a smirk on it. You could hear it. You bristled against and huffed. This surely couldn’t be your soulmate.

A new silence fell over the two of you. For a moment, tense peace. Until you heard a mechanical hiss. Your head whipped over to find Cew’voc’s hands gripping the metal mask that adorned his face. Carefully, the alien tugged the cover free and let his features be revealed.

Alien. He was completely alien. Three mandibles tipped with sharp fangs protruded from where what looked to be a mouth. The mouth area had an animal like jowl but the front area was open. Similar to a person, he had a jaw. Teeth protruded from both the jaw and upper side of the mouth. Terrifying teeth that looked deadly.

Then, his eyes. Those felt like a predator was staring directly into your soul. You couldn’t help the shutter than ran its course. They were a bright, scary yellow that almost seemed to glow in the calm lighting of the room.

After you exploration of his face, you find the alien with its only upper mandible quirked up. As if he was smirking at you. You glowered.

In broken, struggling English, the Yautja spoke your name. You swiftly got on your knees to be the same height as him and pointed a finger at him. “You don’t deserve the right to say my name! You abandoned me,” you grounded out. Cew’voc simply raised a brow in your direction then amusedly shook his head. “Oh, no you don’t! You don’t get to brush me off like that. Four years of misery because of your scared little ass running away.”

Now, that got a reaction out of him. The alien stood up to a lumbering height above you and glared down at you over his mandibles. “I am n-o co-coward. I’m Yautja. S-strong, mi-ghty.” He thumped a fist over his chest. “Do not a-cused me with fa-lsehood.”

You didn’t fear him. Not one bit. You stood up to be eye with him on the bed and got into his face. “Yes. The fuck. You are! You ran away with your tail between your legs like a little sissy crying to your mom!” Despite nearing twenty-three, you used some middle school insults that hopefully did the trick.

The anger that covered his features melted away when he slumped back with another smirk. “Oh, we may g-et alon-g yet.”

Oh, you doubted that.

[minervas-hand]

Right to fear, wrong to believe

Just had a horrible realization and needed to meta it out.

How different they were before Edinburgh, when Crowley was sucked down into Hell.

Look at this flirty babygirl in the Bastille:

I mean could he climb that tree any faster?

(This is why I really like fics that place a more physical relationship here, pre-Bastille or just post-Bastille, because c'mon look at them. )

In S1 the next thing is 1862 and Crowley asking for insurance (with a cane ffs). And Aziraphale freaking out with his "fraternizing" BS. It's jarring, until we get 1827 filled in for us in S2.

@takeme-totheworld notes in this post:

Crowley sure went from "our respective head offices don't actually care how things get done" and "nobody ever has to know" to "walls have ears" FAST after Edinburgh. And Aziraphale went from looking at Crowley with hearts in his eyes to "I've been FrAtErNiZiNg" just as quickly. I'm more convinced than ever that Edinburgh was the first time Crowley ever actually got caught and punished for fucking around with Aziraphale/doing good deeds/whatever it was they yanked him back down to Hell for, and it scared the absolute shit out of both of them and changed the whole tone of their relationship after that.

Yes! - it's clear to me as well that the Edinburgh graveyard was a very bad turning point, where they both saw that Hell was listening and would intervene. And it did change their relationship drastically, for over a century and a half (really, until looming Armageddon loosened up the stakes for them).

But what about Heaven?

See the thing is, we know Azi's been worried about Heaven watching him for the past 6000 years.

But they haven't.

[GIFs posted by starrose17]

All this time, and Heaven had not seen them together. Hadn't noticed. Had not even LOOKED.

I want to mention what @starrose17 says about this here in this post:

What I love about this is her choice of words, “went back through the Earth Observation files.” This implies that these photos were already filed somewhere meaning somebody had to have been watching them which meant somewhere in the depths of the bureaucratic heaven there’s an underpaid angel clerk tasked with watching angels on Earth, and he’s been hording photos of his favourite Angel/Demon couple not reporting them to Michael because he wants to see what happens.

And that's exactly what this fic covers!: Spying Omens by @ednav

(Give this a read, it's fabulous.)

While I am here for this being exactly how that happens, the other scenario is colder and worse - there's no one watching, at all. It's just filing automatically and never seen until some Scrivener is called to pull a file.

From @fuckyeahisawthatat's comment here :

I found this scene to be quite chilling, actually. Not only is the idea of Heaven as a surveillance state brilliant (way to make “God is always watching” sound way more ominous) but this is exactly how modern surveillance states work. They don’t actively watch everybody all the time. That’s not physically possible for humans, and even if it is metaphysically possible for Heaven, it’s not a very efficient use of resources. Surveillance states watch people they deem “suspicious.” And once you’ve been put in the category of “suspicious,” they have massive amounts of data that they can comb through to collect a lot of information about you–to retroactively build a case justifying why you’re suspicious, to collect information about where you go and who you associate with, etc.

Yes.

So we either have secret collusion in the rank and file, or we have a surveillance state that is constantly reinforced to its subjects for fear's sake, for control.

(Well, it obviously could be both.)

BUT my point is… Up until Edinburgh, Hell has not been watching (or caring at least). And up until near the end of Armageddon't, neither has Heaven.

Oh, my poor Angel. Thousands of years, of denying yourself, of pushing Crowley away, of carrying around a tension that is it's own constellation.

After 1827 you might have reason, but for the 5000+ years before that?

Thousands of years and Heaven was not watching nor cared.

You were right to fear. And you were wrong to believe.

And that just breaks my heart.

[zialltops]

honeysuckle’s & huckleberry’s

Cowboy!Joel (41) X F!Reader (25) | 42.1k words | wip | explicit | 18+ minors dni | enemies to lovers | slow burn | au: no cordyceps outbreak | oral (f receiving) | (semi) public sex | vaginal fingering

masterlist | ao3 | spotify playlist

“In just—“ His eyes slip closed when his mouth connect with the inside of your wrist. His lips are warm and so tender you fight down a soft whimper at the intoxicating sensation. When they open again, dangerous amber irises peer back at you like you’re their salvation. “-my cowboy hat.”

Oh—fuck.

a/n: this chapter was so fun to write, I accidentally made it 9.5k words lol, but it was such a relief (ish) to write. Some new warning apply to this chapter, so please be advised of those. We get to see a whole new side to Joel this chapter and we’ll get to see some “in the making of” this chapter in the following one. A little bit of context on why Joel changes so abruptly and the reasoning behind his decisions. I hope you all know how much i love love love you guys for being here for me while i struggle to find time to write. I’m working on getting back on my feet every day and this is the one safe place I have to escape and indulge in my favorite coping mechanism. Much love, H 🤍

Chapter 7–You Don’t Want That Smoke

Your birthday falls on Friday this year, (lucky you) but it also means the First Friday dance falls on your birthday this year as well. It’s the first community event after the cold winter months and by that time, most people are itching to get out of their snow-buried homes. The town usually puts on the event to celebrate the coming spring, hosting venders of all sorts and games for the families. Growing up, your parents would take you to the petting zoo and let you ride the ponies, like you didn’t have a horse at home, like there wasn’t a whole ranch to attend to, animals to raise up and sell, like you could just for a moment, be a normal little girl from a quiet street who’d never sat in a saddle in her life.

If only that had been the case, ever. If only you’d had parents who pursued safe, reliable careers, where they had pensions and retirement, insurance and benefits, instead of breaking their backs for a ranch that had been dying long before it was left to your mother by her parents. Was it obligation that kept them here, or was it something else? Was it the same thing that got you through years of college, all in an attempt to keep your parents' dream alive for a little while longer?

It’s Wednesday, which means you have two more days before your birthday and Melly’s plane lands in a few hours from Colorado, but so far your morning has taken you five rounds in the octagon and is currently coming back for more.

“—No! The statements I just got in the mail yesterday said we have ninety days to come up with three months worth of the mortgage before the property faces foreclosure.”

The woman on the other end of the phone sighs at you and you can hear the way her hands hit her keyboard. “I know that, ma’am, but that was a month and a half ago and we still have not received any payments. The bank sent another letter, requesting that the entire six month worth of back payments be received by the end of the ninety days or the property will be foreclosed on.”

The routinely scripted response feels like an open handed slap to the face, white hot pain snapping through your veins like lightning on the Wyoming plains. You sink down into the dining room chair and let it soak in all the way.

“How many days do we have left?” You hear yourself whisper into the phone but it’s not you speaking, not really—its a absent reflex like blinking or breathing.

“That's…51 days, ma’am. We’ll contact you again in thirty days if we have not received the entire amount by that time.”

Your eyes burn and blur, tears for the years of your life wasted on a useless education, until they surge past the dam and plummet to the paper below. When you look down at the document, your tears are stained red by the ink on the foreclosure notice. “How much will it be, again?” Defeated, Inadequate and Doomed.

“Fourteen thousand, three hundred and forty dollars, for six months worth of the Mortgage and late fees accumulated.” She sounds annoyed when she reads off the obscene number, like she isn’t sealing the fate of your family home, the dream your parents have worked their whole lives for to pass down to you—all wasted on a backed mortgage that your parents took out on the farm when you were born.

The full circle indicates that losing your family’s livelihood was your fault, from start to finish. You didn’t make it in time. All your hard work, and you’re still going to lose it.

“Is that everything, ma’am?”

Click

You drop the phone and sob into your arms, your whole body shaking and heaving with every sharp inhale. In your best attempt to keep quiet, you attract the attention of the one person you long to keep this from, your sweet, well meaning mom.

She’s soft spoken when she soothes you, rubs your back while you dry up your tears against her chest and she doesn’t ask why, just kisses your forehead and smiles one of those sweet sweet smiles at you and says, “We’ll get through this, Honey, don’t you worry about that. We’ll figure this out together.”

And you believe her, enough to reel in your hiccups, enough to ease your searing tears. “Why don’t you take a break from work, Melly gets here soon, yeah? You got everything you girls need?”

You smile at her, thankful for her ability to distract you from the things that keep you up at night. She knows you better than anyone, she’s your best friend. “Maybe we can stop at the store after we get her, but we gotta leave soon—“ you check the time, one hour until her plane touches down in Jackson and it takes forty five minutes to get there alone.

“Actually Honey, about that…I can't go with you. I’m not feeling up to it and I thought I would whip up dinner for you girls. But I got someone to go with you,”

You stand up from the chair and put the papers back into the envelope. “Mom, I really can go alone, I drove all the way here—“ she stops you with a quiet scuff. “You got stuck in the snow and Joel had to pull you out.” Joel, that son of a bitch…that big, sexy cowboy son of a bitch who left you in the snow. Who huffs and puffs and walks around like the sweatiest, filthiest, most delicious version of every nasty fantasy you’ve ever had. Of course she would drag him into this, maybe she’s the one who’s after the help.

“Speak of the devil,” she has this knowing look when her gaze travels past you to the doorway of the dining room. You glance over your shoulder to find yourself smack dab in the middle of one of those filthy dreams, dressed in green plaid and his brown Carhartt jacket, his black cowboy hat resting atop his head with curls peeking out of the sides, kissing the tips of his ears. His beard has grown out a tad too, making him look soft all over, scruffy and curly with a dimpled smile. The sight of him comes with a sudden rush of soothing comfort, warm eyes that make you feel safe, hidden in the shadows of his hat.

“Heard I was takin’ you somewhere?” He’s broad and sturdy, with a slight sheen of sweat on the peaks of his collarbones under his shirt. Under his beard, his neck is taught and his muscles are strained, his pulse visible beneath his skin despite his cool composure. If you know Joel, he did a days worth of work this morning to clear his schedule for the rest of the afternoon. He probably smells like sweat and dirt, like horses and leather under all that damn southern charm he possesses.

Actually, you can take me anywhere. On the couch, in my room, hell—in the glow of a fridge light.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to bite off your involuntary groan, shooting your mom a sharp look. She may play coy, might act like she's this innocent and sweet, cookie baking, laundry folding, house making mom who knows no better, but you see what she’s really up to. How she hides behind her little false oblivion, a facade she usually only uses for good. This doesn’t feel like it was for the greater good.

“You—“ you sneer at her quietly and she smiles with a “Not sure what you mean dear, but you better get a move on. I have to get dinner in the oven!” She scurries out of the room and into the next, letting the door swing closed behind her. Joel remains in the same spot, one shoulder pressed against the white wood frame of the old door, his muddy boots on the dark hardwood floors. Your eyes drag up the rest of him, his pants are tight in the middle, hugging his hips and probably just barely restraining what lays below the dark blue denim. There's a soft curve to his belly, made apparent when his arms cross over his chest and pull his shirt tight against his front.

His belly looks so damn soft. So fucking round and bite-able. A few more clicks up, his chest nearly bulging out of the buttons of the flannel. The buttons hang on for dear life, but you’re afraid if he flexes, they will scatter to the floor with your resolve.

He clears his throat and you finally meet his eyes. “Doin’ alright there, darlin’?” If his presence wasn’t enough, the bourbony southern drawl and the way he cocks his hip makes your thighs squeeze together involuntarily. “Yeah—Yep, just need to get dressed and I’ll be ready.” You’re still in a big sleep shirt, have been all morning because work for you doesn’t require pants half of the time. When you start to breeze past, his eyes drop to the exposed skin of your thighs.

“Been wonderin’…” he stops you with a big hand, pressed against your sternum when you try to pass by his solid form. He’s still faced the opposite direction than your body, only his head turns to look down at you, gone still beneath his stern fingertips. “If you always walk around naked under these shirts, or if you’re wearin’ somethin’ under there when mom and dad are ‘round?”

His eyes flick back to the door leading into the kitchen, where your mother is currently hiding from your scowl, then back down to the hem of your oversized shirt. The hand on your ribs shifts when you haul in a deep, stuttering breath. It slips a few inches lower, the tips of his thick fingers dipping into the flesh of your stomach, just below your belly button. He’s so close and so fucking firm where he holds you in place.

“Why don’t you have a look for yourself, Cowboy?”

You challenge him back and you swear he stops breathing beside you. He meets your dare with a low growl, reverberating inside his rib cage like a shout in a vast canyon. What the hell is happening right now, did he hit his head or something? Is he finally getting the fucking hint? How desperately you want him to have his way with you? Then again, the last time he saw you dressed like this, you were bent over, knowingly showing off everything you had to offer, the place you wanted him most, while you listened to the guttural sounds leaving the unsuspecting man behind you. You aren’t going to complain about the sudden shift in his attention, hell no—you’ll soak in what you can get from the leery cowboy.

You hardly register the way he moves until he leans forward and warm fingertips graze the skin just under your ass. He’s looking when he lifts the shirt all the way up to your tailbone slowly, covered by smooth black satin, a thong that hugs your hips but leaves your cheeks exposed to his greedy sight. His eyes are everywhere, your thighs and the curve of your bare behind. His fingers dip just under the black satin band on your hip, his expression is just shy of a devoted man as he drinks in the contrasting sensation of your smooth skin and the silky material.

“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, letting his hand slip from your panties to travel back down, unsure fingers tracing along the crease of your ass, curling under your cheek when he gets to the bottom. It’s the softest touch you’ve ever felt, full of admiration and barely restrained desire. It sets your skin on fire, radiating behind your eyelids. “Those are…damn pretty, sugar…but you better go get yourself ready, before you’re late.” His hands slip away from you completely and he turns in the direction of the door, already on his way out before you even fully process what just happened. What flipped inside of Joel on a random Wednesday afternoon in late February?

He leaves with a satisfied smirk with intentions of starting the truck while you stammer against the doorway and remind yourself to breathe. When the front door closes behind him, you lean against the wood he was just propped against, hoping his heat will still linger there. He instigated something, a secret whisper of want, the thought makes a grin break out from one side of your face to the other, pulling your cheeks tight. He wants you.

You get dressed with that same stupid grin plastered on your face. You shift through your closet a few times, but you keep falling back on the same outfit. A pair of flared jeans, light in color with stitch work on the sides. With a pair of boots, they make your ass look like a dream—just what you are going for, just so you can rile Joel further. You find a tight top and a thick wool flannel to throw over it, before tracking back down the stairs to the front door.

It’s the rush of adrenaline that shocks the agony from your brain, but the moment you bound down the front steps to his waiting truck, the door already propped open, you pause.

You stop at the foot of the stairs and turn, looking up the steps you’ve known your entire life, the screen door you’ve spent numerous summers swinging in and out of. The porch you’ve watched storms roll in from, the porch swing where you had your first kiss. All this and…your heart sinks. When you turn back towards the running chevy, Joel is staring back at you, his once knowing smirk traded in for a furrow of concern on his handsome features.

You climb into the passenger seat and fasten your seatbelt while Joel puts the truck in gear and pulls away from the house.

There’s a long stretch of road that passes in near silence, before it’s you who just can’t take it anymore. Joel, sweet fucking Joel sat beside you, respecting your emotions and your boundaries once again. “Ranch is ‘bout to be foreclosed.” You tell him. Once it’s spoken aloud, you realize just how imminent your family’s demise really is. How quickly you are going to lose everything, watch your parents walk away with no retirement and nothing to show for themselves, for generations of hard work.

You expect something, questions about how you know, how long you have, if there's anything he can do to help you, but the questions never come. Instead, Joel reaches over and presses his fingers into the latch on your buckle, pulling it off of you with one click.

“C’mere, sweet girl.” His tone is low, soft enough to not interrupt your thoughts, but enough to have you drawing across the bench seat and slipping under his sturdy arm while he drives. He keeps you tucked in close beside him, his hand trailing up and down your arm to ease out the pain residing in your veins. He takes one glance down at you and leans forward, his lips connecting with the crown of your head. “We’ll get through it. We ain’t goin’ down without a hell of a fight.”

We

We

Because after the years you’ve spent away from this place, Joel has come to think of the Rising Sun ranch as his home just as much as it is yours. He’d raised every one of the cattle on that ranch, he’s worked day and night to ensure its survival, he’s lost sleep and nearly limbs fighting to keep them afloat while you were gone. This is his home, his fight right alongside yours. Finally, the weight seems to ease up, shouldered by Joel's sense of responsibility for your family’s livelihood.

Beside you, he’s solid and warm, he’s alive and overflowing with strength, enough to spare, for something to cling to. You turn your head and bury your face in his shoulder, covering yourself in the shield of protection he has to offer, sturdy, devoted support that makes you feel lightheaded with security. He doesn’t push you further, doesn’t prod you for details. He just hangs on, keeps your body tucked in close to his while he drives into town. At some point, the rattling of the old truck along patchy highway roads lulls you into sleep with your head against his shoulder and one leg across his lap.

Joel, with all the strength he can muster—holds on tight.

“Hey,” your senses come rushing back when the truck comes to a stop and your warm pillow jostles under your head. You lift up off his weight a little and glance at him through a sleepy gaze, a soft smile present on his lips. “As much as I like you droolin’ all over me…” he gestures to wet stain on his flannel. “Think your friends plane lands soon, don’t want you to miss it.”

You get yourself together enough to look out the window. Joel parked right outside of baggage claim at Jacksons little airport and his arm still sits tightly around your shoulders. A deep sigh sets in to your bones and you lean against him for just a moment longer to soak in the warmth. “Hey, look at me, darlin’,” his hand wraps around your chin gently, coaxing your eyes up to his. “Don’t think about the ranch, at least till the week is over. Ain’t nothin’ you can do right now, so don’t let it ruin your birthday. Everythin’s gonna be alright.” His words trail off when a broad thumb swipes across the underside of your bottom lip, his gaze caught in yours so tightly you’re half sure the jaws of life couldn’t draw you apart. He breaks out into a grin and heaves a shallow laugh. “Had a little drool there.”

The little laugh that bubbles up in you breaks the eye contact and Joel shuts off the truck, untucking you from his arm. You check the time for safe measures, there's still a few more minutes before the plane lands and she still has to make it out the gates.

“Joel?” He’s fiddling with his key chain, adjusting a few backwards keys. “Hmm?” He barely makes eye contact—is he embarrassed? From holding you while you slept? “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me—for my family while I’ve been gone. I can't think of a way to…repay you for everything.”

Joel glances over at you and something flashes in his brown eyes, something that looks like discomfort and shame. He takes a sharp breath in and squeezes his knuckles around the keys. “I didn’t do it all selflessly…please don’t take this wrong. I haven’t felt a sense of belonging in years. Me and Tommy have been drifting since I was twenty eight, working on one ranch after another. We’d stick around a town for six months and he’d get antsy, stir up trouble and we’d have to hit the road again.”

He brings his hand up to his mouth and chews on the corner of his thumb. He’s anxious, you can tell by the way his eyes flitter to you then away quickly. “I’ve covered his ass more times than I can count because I don’t know if I’ll be the same if I have to leave here. It feels fuckin—selfish, like I’m usin’ your folks. M’gettin’ old, my bones are tired and all I want is to…stop. Slow down for once in my life. I’ve never been more at peace than I am here, with your parents and the ranch. I was doin’ so good, gettin’ my mind right, hatin’ myself a little less and then—“ he trails off with a distant look in his eyes.

And then…what? What’s caused Joel to lose that sense of peace and stability? “What happened?” You sink back in the bench seat, run your fingers along the stitched pattern of color adorning the warn padding. “S’big snow storm came in…I was comin’ back from town because I took Tommy to pick up flowers. He’d been a real asshole to a sweet lady who didn’t deserve it. Was pissed off he was smokin’ in the truck, pissed he was jeopardizin’ our home again, when we see this little car stuck in the embankment, met this—real pretty girl, and she…” he sneaks a glance over at you, but he’s doing his best to find anywhere, anything else to look at. Cars passing by, the sun reflecting off the bright white paint on the cross walk. The older woman in-front of you, helping what looks like her daughter, load her luggage into the trunk.

“She got under my skin and I was flustered for the first time in a really long time. Kinda freaked me out—and then I left here there—‘cuz I was scared shitless and nothin’s ever been the same since. Sorta think she hates my guts half the time for it.”

There's this unsettling silence in the cab, Joel's nerves and his admission hanging in the air between you. He’s never ever been this vulnerable and honest with you before. You’ve talked to him more times than you can count now, a meaningless little conversation where you found everything you needed to change your mind about him. But he’s never opened himself up like he was right now, in the damn pick up line of the Jackson airport.

“Joel I…I already forgave you for that.” You forgave him for that when he gave you your necklace for Christmas. You forgave him when he carried a newborn calf half a mile through a snowstorm for you. You forgave him when you came down the stairs to him in that damn cowboy hat.

You forgave him when he came back for you and looked at you with those pretty brown eyes.

“What?” He looks over at you and you hold onto the eye contact for as long as you possibly can. “I don’t hate you. Furthest thing from it actually—I do hate how much you avoid me. Like I’m going to bite your head off any second—“ he snorts, cracks a white smile at you and his eyes crinkle at the sides, making your stomach flutter, little blue butterflies soaring through your abdomen. “You do bite my head off—often.”

Okay—maybe he’s a little right, maybe you let it get too far a few times, spent too many afternoons angry at his distaste for you, when all you wanted was a taste of him. “Well, I’m sorry…for all the things I’ve said to you, the things I’ve called you. But I’m not upset about that anymore. I forgave you for that a long time ago. You’ve already made up for it a million times, Joel.”

He’s grinning at you like you just told him he won the fucking lottery, his nervous hands drumming a absent tune against the steering wheel. He’s looking at you like it’s the first time you’ve ever met him, his eyes shining with mirth and admiration. “Think…you could give this ol’ cowboy another shot?” That nervous little shake of his jaw, the tick in his voice and the hopefulness in his eyes is enough to break anyone, but you? You’re so lost on him you never want to find your way back. Throw away the maps, toss the keys somewhere you’ll never find them again—you never want to go anywhere else in the world. Another shot? You’d give him all of them.

“Pretend you’ve never met me before.”

He blinks, cocks an eyebrow and makes a face of confusion at you. “I’ve never met you?” You nod, turn your whole body to face him on the bench seat of his old beat up chevy. “Like it’s the first time we’ve met. I’m Hank's daughter and you’re picking me up from the airport to take me home for the first time in years. We’ve never met. Try again, shoot your shot, cowboy.”

You’d like to imagine that's how it went—your mom and dad were too busy to come get you and you decided to fly because you knew your little car wouldn’t make it. They send Joel, because he’s trustworthy and punctual. They know he’ll treat their daughter with respect, they trust that he’ll use his better judgment, because they know he’s a good man. You know that under that rough, hard exterior is an anxious man searching for belonging, a good man.

Joel takes a deep breath, lets his mind drift out the window before he turns it back to you with a charming smile, one you’ve never been on the receiving end of. It’s smoldering, flirtatious—everything you imagined Joel to be after all those years of pinning after a man you’ve never laid eyes on. A Joel you’ve never met and desperately need to get to know better. “Prodigy daughter finally returns,” his drawl is thick and his eyes rake over you once, twice, before settling on your own. “I’m Joel.”

You giggle—rightfully so, because this Joel? This Joel is all quick wit and chivalry. You fake introduce yourself back, your grin mirroring his own. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Joel.”

“Pleasure is…all mine, darlin’.”

You could stare at him forever with that damn goofy smile on his face. “Anyone ever tell you—you look good in this?” You tell him, reaching up to flick the brim of his hat, but it stays firmly in place despite your efforts. He snorts and snaps up to catch your wrist, holding onto it tightly in his big hand. “S’funny, I was just thinkin’ about how good you’d look in my hat.” His thumb circles the inside of your wrist slowly,’ pushing down the fabric of your sleeve with the effort. Slowly, he draws your appendage closer, till his mouth hovers just above your skin. His eyes are like witnessing something tragic, so devastating you can't bring yourself to look away.

“In just—“ His eyes slip closed when his lips connect with the inside of your wrist. His lips are warm and so tender you fight down a soft whimper at the intoxicating sensation. When they open again, dangerous amber irises peer back at you like you’re their salvation. “-my cowboy hat.”

Oh—fuck. There’s an image you’ll never get out of your mind—your hands on his sweaty chest, the brim of his hat falling in front of your eyes while you try to keep it in place, despite the way you ride him—

“Joel—Jesus, you can’t just—“

He breaks out into a chest filled laugh, his eyes slip close and his head falls back. His whole body responds to the way he laughs, his legs kick up, his chest heaves and his belly bounces. He’s a menace, a damn trouble starter—he makes you see hearts around his head and a sparkle in his eyes you’re sure you’re imagining. He calms his laugh down with a few deep breaths, a grin still plastered on his handsome face. “What can I say? I’m really bad at first impressions.”

He is, but it doesn’t bother you like it used to. Joel isn’t and never will be the perfect man you’d envisioned. He’ll never be the Joel you’d made up in your head for so long, because that Joel was made solely for you, from your interpretation of a man who’s perfect for you in every way. But that Joel and the one in front of you are two vastly different people—this Joel is gruff at times, opinionated and flawed. He wasn’t made perfect for you, but you find that the things that make him the least like the Joel in your mind—are the things that you like most about him. He’s gruff, but he’s punctual and takes no shit. He’s opinionated, but he’s wise about life, he’s earned the right to voice his beliefs. He’s flawed—he has crows feet by his kind eyes, graying curls and weathered hands—but it’s his flaws that entice you to learn more about him. They make him real in front of you instead of a made up, faceless man in your dreams.

Your phone chimes in your pocket and it sucks you from the void in the cab of this old truck, away from Joel's charming smile and his burning hand on your wrist. He pulls away and the moment dissipates into dust on the dashboard.

Melly: I just got my bag, headed out now!

“Be right back,” you slip out the door with a firm shut and try your hardest not to glance back at the man in the cab of that blue and white truck.

Finding Melly is easy, she sticks out like a sore thumb with her blonde hair and too-blessed chest. What did she do in a past life for tits like that, anyways?

She comes out the double doors and jogs to you with a grin your wearing on your own face. “Oh my gosh!” She squeals, finally getting close enough to throw your arms around each other. It’s been months since you’ve seen each other after spending everyday together for the last two years. You tumble around together in your hug for a few minutes before she pulls back to look you over, in a pair of flared jeans and boots. “Oh man, the country got you.” She jokes, faking a deflated sigh. “Would you fuck off?” She laughs menacingly, slinging her bag over her shoulder for more security. “Let me guess, you’re still trying to drive that cowboy crazy, right?”

With a deep eye roll, you finally look back at the truck. He’s looking right back at you, an easy smile on his lips when your eyes connect. You look back to your best friend and make a face. “He uhm…he actually drove me…to come get you. He’s in the truck, please be nice to him, okay?” She sneers and you know she means trouble when you help her with her things on her way to the truck.

“Please don’t fucking embarrass me, I swear dude—“ Mel gives you a little shove and huffs a laugh when you put her suitcase in the bed of the pickup. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ruin your shot with the old dude.” She looks around you, eyeing him from outside of the truck without his knowledge. “Holy shit, dude he’s hot. He’s like, stupid hot.”

You look over at him too and like he can feel your eyes on him, he looks over his shoulder, smiles warmly and you know it—

Know you’re fucked.

“Not a word.” Mel throws her hands up innocently and follows your lead when you open the door of the truck and climb in the middle, sliding in right beside Joel, reclaiming the space you’d taken up on your way here.

The whole drive back to the ranch, your body is on fire along the parts that connect to Joel, pressed so close you’re afraid you might melt into him.

Two days pass in a blur.

You spend a lot of time with Mel, catching up on how she's been doing since graduating, how she likes work—she’s a wildlife biologist in Colorado, who’s still learning the ropes of the job but she’s never been more excited to be a part of something. You don’t tell her about the ranch for a good reason, but she still asks and doesn’t say anything if she notices the look on your face when you lie to her.

We’ll get through it

You love spending time with her, but you don’t see a lot of Joel besides meals. He’s pleasant and soft, smiling at you like he’s never worn a frown on that handsome face. He sits too close at dinner, draws your gaze in far too many times for it to be an accident. It’s not anymore but it’s still so damn hard to make yourself believe that this isn’t just a fleeting moment—temptation breathing life into you for the first time in years, teasing you with possibilities.

He makes you burn but he doesn’t push further, doesn’t chase that desire down its narrowing path. It’s so close—you’re so close to finally making him yours.

When your birthday rolls around, he’s nowhere to be seen at breakfast. When you head out to the stables, the horses have already been fed and there's no trace of the man who plagues your every waking moment. The truck is gone and the tire-tracks in the driveway look old, like he’s been gone for hours. It’s not that he’s required to see you on your birthday, but you thought things were going to change. You thought that re-meeting him in the truck at the airport would restart everything, he’d realize you want him around more than the ranch hand who got under your skin and made you desperate for his attention. It feels naive, to watch out the window for his truck for most of the morning, pining after that faded powder blue and rust.

“This is depressing to watch from the outside, you know that right?” Comes Mel’s voice from the other side of your room when you check the window for the first time in the last half hour. She's painting her nails on the chair in your room while you peer through the blinds like he might appear out of thin air without you hearing the rumble of his old chevy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You do your best to defend yourself, stepping away and crossing your arms as you trudge to your bed.

“Don’t play dumb with me, I know you. You’re pacing your room wondering when you’ll see him. You know everyone can see the way you guys look at each other right? When are you guys going to like…kick it up a notch, get in his pants?”

You toss yourself on the fluffy sheets and close your eyes tight, letting your mind wander for a moment. “I don’t know…” what are you going to do, if you cant even see him long enough to get him alone? Tonight is the dance and you were hoping he’d be there, maybe he’d ask you for a dance. You’ve never told a boy in your hometown yes to a dance at this thing, but you’d change that for Joel. If he asked, you’d let him spin you around all night long.

Only problem is, he can’t do that if he’s still avoiding you like you're an illness he can’t afford to catch. “He’s so confusing. One second he acts like…he wants me, the next he’s hiding from me, probably—ugh, I just wish I could get him out of my head if he wants nothing to do with me!”

The room is silent, still for all of five glorious seconds before Mel breaks it. “Does he still run away to jerk off?” You snap your eyes over to her with a sharp glare. “Yes! And he drives me up the fucking wall, dude! All I want is to get my hands on that delicious man and he runs away every time. How am I ever supposed to accomplish anything if I can't even get him alone for five minutes. And every time I do, something happens and ruins it all.”

You can't seem to get a second with him no matter how hard you try. The last two days, he hasn’t been around aside from his work in the morning, a few meals he makes it to in between. If you’re being honest, it's painful to think about the way he’d smiled at you a few days ago and the way he doesn’t have the time of day now.

“If he shows up at that dance tonight, I’m making sure you get your second alone. Now come on, let me help you pick out your dress. He won't know what he’s missing out on.”

By the time you’re headed out the door for town, Joel is still nowhere in sight. You thought you’d heard his truck for a moment earlier, but when you’d peered out the window a few minutes later, there was no blue chevy in the driveway. No cowboy waiting out front for you.

You trudged to the car in your black dress, two slits up the sides where your thighs peak out and a back so low your half afraid your ass is going to fall out of the damn thing. You do your best to hold it up when you walk through the dirt, a pair of knee high red cowgirl boots are the only thing saving you from the mud right now.

Melly isn’t far behind, but she's not dressed in anything nearly as revealing as you. She’s making friends with Tommy who surprisingly hasn’t tried to flirt yet and claims to have no idea where his older brother has disappeared to. He’s endearing, but you know he’s playing for both sides here, hiding something for his brother.

On the drive into town, your parents take your dads truck, leaving you, Mel and Tommy in your car. When you get about half way, you finally break and ask if Tommy has seen Joel, if he knows if he’s coming. Tommy shrugs in the rearview mirror with a smile.

“I’m sure we’ll see ‘em.” Is the only answer you get.

It doesn’t happen for hours.

Hours of forcing a smile through mind numbing conversation with people you haven’t seen in years. The same old how have you been in the big city? and you tell them it was hard work and commitment. They ask no plans for the future? like you’re doomed without a ring on your hand at your age. You keep your head up through every comment, back handed compliment and pick up line that passes you by for a whole fucking hour on the dance floor alone.

“I think I want to go home soon. I’m having the worst fucking time, my feet are killing me and I think my eyelash is falling off.” Your whining and limping, faking distress and discomfort for any shot to get the fuck out of here, go home and maybe you can chance a run in with Joel.

Maybe he’s coming in from the north pasture where he’s probably been hiding all day. He’d be covered in muck and sweat, dirt clinging to the creases in his face. He’d be tired and worn out, vulnerable to the way you’d take advantage of his weakened restraint. “You sure you don’t want to stay a few minutes longer?” Melly muses beside you sipping on a tall glass of tequila on ice, watching the small town’s people converse and dance, laugh and gather together under the low string lighting.

You take a long drag of the drink in your own hand, your third of the night that's finally starting to warm your insides. It’s not enough to ease the ache of wishing Joel would appear. You know he won't, there's only a few hours left and people are starting to get tipsy. “I think you might want to rethink that…the devil himself just walked in, twelve o’clock.”

You look up at her, in a pretty green dress with curly hair framing her face. She’s smirking over your shoulder at something—or someone behind you. You turn the rest of the way around and swear you’re in the middle of one of those movie scenes.

The ones where the love interest walks in and sexy rock plays while they walk in slow motion. With wind blowing this hair back even though they are inside. Joel fucking Miller was doing exactly that at this very minute, striding through the hall in his cowboy hat and a black button down, dark wash jeans and his boots. He looks like a wet dream standing there, looking a little bit lost and so damn handsome. Under his hat, you can see that his hair is slicked back and he looks clean like he’d gone home and gotten ready.

He’s here.

“Oh he looks…if you don’t ask him to dance, I will. He’s hot.” You wish you could explain to her that Joel is more than that, that he’s funny and endearing, that he’s honorable and loyal to a fault. He’s so many more things than just hot. You swivel around as he makes his way through the crowd, he’s bound to find you and you don’t want him to spot you gawking at him. “Do I look okay? Fuck he looks so good—is my hair alright?” You try to do a quick pat down but Melly grabs your hand with a smile. “You look fine. He’s not going to know what hit him, I promise—but he’s coming this way so whatever you do, chill out.”

She sets her drink on the tall table, the ones that adorn the outside of the dance floor for people who want to mingle. You take a long drink of yours and move to set it down when someone clears their throat behind you. The drink hits the table and you turn slowly, till you rotate around to face him completely. He’s even more devastating up close with pearl snap buttons on his shirt, his arms nearly bulging out of the damn thing. His facial hair looks shorter, his eyes shimmering with reflected light.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’, standin’ here all by herself on her birthday?” He grins at you and takes another step forward. “Guess I’m just waiting for the right cowboy to ask me for a dance.” You tease back, reaching out for him once he’s close enough for you to touch. You start at his stomach, soft under his dress shirt. When your hands make contact, a visible shiver runs through Joel.

There’s suddenly two more hands to join the party, one high up on your waist while the other curves around low on your hip, his digits digging into the top of your ass. “I’ll be real’ honest with you here, doll—askin’ you for a dance is the only reason I came tonight.” He smells good for once, usually you catch a hint of his shower under the smell of dirt and manure, a faintness of his once clean skin. Now, it’s all you can focus on—how he’d taste like his soap, smooth and clean, every part of him reachable by your watering mouth. “Well, Cowboy…go on.” Your hands slip up his chest and over his broad shoulders, like you’ve imagined yourself doing a thousand times. He’s responsive, lowers his shoulders so you fit along him perfectly.

“Would ya make this old man's day, let me have a dance?” His hand drops lower, along the side of your thigh until he can dig them into the curve under your ass. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was trying to hoist you up, drag you into that vice-like grip you want to be at the mercy of every day of your life. “Can’t get me any closer, Joel.” You giggle, hiding your face against his neck. He smells like after shave and a little like whiskey. “I thought you were giving up drinking?” You nip at his jaw lightly, just to listen to the way he rumbles against you.

“I’m—tryin’ to keep my cool here, but you look fucking incredible tonight. Needed a little courage to walk up to you, s’all.” He leans back slightly, looking down at the way your dress squeezes your tits together, nearly pouring out of the black satin. “Fucking…gorgeous in this thing, you know that? You knew how sexy this little thing was, didn’t you?” He pulls at the slit that exposes your thighs, raking it up a little higher, until he can get a handful of bare skin. He’s not wrong—you’d put the dress on and thought about all the ways it would drive Joel crazy if he saw you in it.

“You better take me dancing before you take this off of me.” The dance around you has started to fade away. Melly took her cue to go and has started to make conversation elsewhere. “With pleasure, darlin’.”

Joel all but carries you to the middle of the dance floor before you notice his obvious nervous ticks, the shake of his hands and the way he’s fighting the urge to gnaw on his thumb. He’s anxious despite his obvious attempt at faking composure. When you wrap your arms around his shoulders again, he stammers. “Need to tell you somethin’.” His voice is a little shaky on the inhale when his hands find your waist again. “I went into town last week, there’s this dance studio on sixth street and I thought, maybe I could trade work for someone to…teach me how to use my damn feet.” For added flair, he reels away from you and spins you once before drawing you back into his chest as he moves. “So, I take it someone taught you?”

The song changes, something slow, romantic and sweet that couples join in around you, swaying together around the dance floor. “Lady said she’d been lookin’ for someone to replace the dance floor. Told her I just wanted to learn to dance, so I’d stand a chance against the other schmucks askin’ you.” He dances you around for a few more moments, pulling out all the stops—every new move he learned. Was that why he was gone so much, disappearing every time you turned around? He was replacing a damn floor and learning how to dance, all for you?

“Joel—“ you start, trying to grab ahold of him for long enough to make him still. “There's somethin’ else,” he dips you back and your insides flutter, looking up at him with those big brown hopeful eyes. He stands you up right again and the dancing slows to a stop, right there in the middle of the dance hall. You’re sure the towns eyes are on you, your mom and dad, friends from high school, older people you’ve been around your entire life. “She wouldn’t let me leave without payin’ me for it, said dancin’ lessons don’t cost that much after all.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a envelope, sealed tight with a number written on the front.

“Ranch needs it a whole hell of a lot more than I do. S’just two grand, but I’ve found a few other odd jobs, so there will be more comin’, but it’s a start—“ your hand clasps over his clutching the envelope. You push his hand down, stepping forward until you're nearly standing on his own feet. “Joel Miller…are you going to stand there all night running your mouth, or are you going to kiss me?” This endearing man, this big, expressive cowboy who can’t seem to get anything right in his own eyes, but everything right in yours.

He chuckles, the hand not holding the envelope finds the side of your face, sliding his thumb along the apple of your cheek. He’s not the one to make the first move after all—after all the leading him towards it, the teasing and the showmanship. It’s you that stands up high on your tiptoes and drags him the rest of the way in, until his mouth finds yours in the lull of the dance hall, surrounded by swaying bodies and sweet music.

He sucks in a breath through his nose and his mouth opens, slots your lips between his when he finally, fucking finally gives all the way in. It’s sweet, chaste while you stand there, smack dab in the middle of the floor. Joel stuffs the envelope back into his pocket and his other hand finds your body again, yanking until you're flushed against him, digging your hands into his shoulders when his tongue licks along the seam of your mouth, begging to be let into the slick heat. What was slow and steady, soon becomes frantic, hot and needy. Your fingers tug at the buttons of his shirt and someone shoots off a whistle from across the room, enough to have you reeling apart. Joel's mouth is red, his lips swollen and shiny from your spit.

“You want to get out of here?”

Yes. Fucking hell yes you wanted to, you’ve wanted to all damn night, but with Joel standing in front of you, a strained tent in his dark jeans, it’s all you can think about. Instead of a response, you grab him by his hand and all but drag him out the back doors towards the parking lot. It's quiet, dark—the dance isn’t even close to being over so there’s next to no one in the parking lot.

You never stood a chance, looking back on this moment right here. You never would have stood a chance, with Joel’s ragged breathing behind you when he closes the door tight behind him.

One look at his wild eyes and parted lips, you should have known how this night was going to end.

Joel was desperate. He needed you, needed to touch you every second of his day. He thought about you every second he spent awake and he dreamt of you all night long. When he’d heard about the dance, he wanted to kick himself for not learning sooner. Finding the dance studio was a fluke, learning to dance was a damn nightmare and the floor wasn’t much better, but he’d do it all again for another opportunity to press you up against the brick wall with your thighs pressed apart and his hips slotted between them while he all but devoured your mouth.

He’s ruthless, relentless as he drags your bottom lip between his teeth. You—you can't keep your sounds to yourself, hiking your legs up higher around his waist when he presses in closer. He can feel himself straining through his jeans, can feel the heat of your core against his painfully hard cock. He’d take you right fucking here if you let him. “Joel—Joel,” your hips roll down to meet his uncontrollable press forward. “I know—fuck, baby, I know.” His movements are hurried and frantic, like this might be the only shot he has to get his hands on you. His mouth finds your jaw and he bites down on your flesh, relishing in the salty taste of sweat from dancing, the tang of your perfume and the sweet taste of your skin. It’s your sharp whine that gets him in motion again, his stilled teeth still hanging on to your delicate jaw. “Touch me, please—please, touch me.”

In a scurry, he drops his hand between your bodies, pushing the fabric of your dress to the side so his fingertips can work under the elastic of your panties, past the soaked material to the place he’s always longed to touch, always wondered what it would feel like.

And you are fucking drenched under his exploring digits. He slips them through your lips, your slick already dripping down his knuckles when he finds your clit and presses the pad of his thumb to it, swirling it around in a swift motion. Your head falls back and your mouth hangs open, a silent scream on your parted lips.

“There it is, huh? S’what finally gets you quiet? Just needed me to touch your pussy, didn’t you?” He groans when your thighs tremble against him, trying to tighten up around his waist where he has you pinned to the cold wall. His thumb keeps its rhythm while his fingers dip lower, making him breathless at how easily your body draws those fingers in. You come apart like you were meant to do just that, your body rapidly chasing him towards the brink. If he hadn’t gotten himself off twice today, he’s sure he’d already have cum in his pants from just this. “Yes-Yes, Joel—make me cum, please!” Your voice is wrecked.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, your chest heaving in that pretty little dress—your tits are about to bust out of the damn thing. He picks up the pace, slams his fingers into your heat and curls them while his thumb makes quick work of your clit. It’s been so long since he touched a woman, but he’ll never forget the signs.

You are dangerously, furiously close in mere minutes alone. “That’s it, pretty girl—cum on these fingers, let me feel her squeeze me.” You cry out sharply and he nearly covers your mouth with his other hand, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he revels in the pulse of your pussy on his fingers, the way you grind down against him while your body grasps for release. It comes to you with a whole body shake, a ragged gasp of his name and his tongue on your jugular.

When he pulls his hand free, it’s with a wet sound that makes his gut tighten and his knees weak. He has to get you somewhere more secluded, away from the prying eyes of the town folks. “Wunna taste you,” he growls lowly, dragging you away from the building despite the way you stumble, the lightheadedness from cuming on his fingers.

His truck is parked in the back for lack of a better spot, due to his tardiness. He’ll thank his lucky stars for it later, if he can remind himself of it. Now, he slings the door open and nearly throws you down on the bench seat. “C’mere, girl.” He’s running out of will power and common sense, the only thing driving his mind right now is sheer want, carnal desire to get his mouth all over what he’s already ruined. He’s lucky for the part of his brain that slips off his hat and sets it on the dashboard. “Lemme see that fuckin’ pussy.”

His hands find the backs of your knees and he yanks you to the edge of the seat. At this angle, he can spread you out and kneel beside the truck, let you use the door jam to rest your foot on. When your eyes find him, he thinks you’re just as far gone as he is, blinded to the world unfolding around you, to rubber hitting asphalt nearby.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you, babygirl. Only word you’ll know is my name when I’m finished with you.” He pushes your dress up with your hurried help, both of you desperately trying to rid you of your clothes as quickly as possible. The second he has your panties dangling between his finger tips, he pushes his head between your spread legs and buries himself under your dress.

The thing about Joel is, he’s always been too good at this. Half the time, it's the only reason women stick around. It must have been the only reason he got his ex wife to marry him.

He’s abandoned his shame and better judgment. He’s starved, famished for a taste of you. This man, this unhinged version of Joel eats pussy like he’s going to die without it. From the very second his mouth finds your center, he’s lost to your immodest cries, your mindless begging for him to keep going, never stop, never stop, Joel—please. He opens his mouth wide, slops his tongue through your folds like he’s trying to lick every drop from your sensitive skin. He pulls away for a breath and his eyes bounce up to meet yours, transfixed on his relentless attack. “Wunna split this little pussy open on me,” he says, muffled against your soft mound. He takes another long lap and moans at the heady taste of you on his greedy tongue.

“I’ve been practicing—I got, oh, fuck Joel, like that,” your head tips back and he pulls his mouth away completely. “You got what, baby, use your words.”

Your body clenches on nothing and his eyes track the movement with a low rumble. “Got a toy that’s as big as you so I could practice. So I'd be able to take you.”

You’d thought about this, about him. You’d thought about him while fucking yourself on a toy you’d bought to train yourself.

He doesn’t have the words to express the way it makes his chest tighten, so he presses his face between your thighs again and gets back to work, drawing out every secret you can no longer hold onto, how good he makes you feel, how hot and devastating his tongue is—how the sound of a car pulling up doesn’t even register until—

“Jackson Police department, step away from the vehicle!”

You should have known.

[lostbetweenvampiresandmusic]

Hello! New prompt list just dropped. Can I get number 8 with Marko. It just fits him so well

Yes, absolutely! I hope you like this!

8. Why do you think I am the one most likely to wreck my bike?

------------------

"Hi, how can I help you?" I looked up, putting my standard customer service smile upon my face as I saw four bikers enter the store. I had seen them before, racing around the boardwalk on their motorcycles, tormenting the security guard. They seemed like wild people, not caring about a single thing in the world. It made me wonder, why would they be here?

"We want to sign up." The man clad in all black spoke, his voice demanding and cold.

I nodded, looking over some files. "Alright, I will need you all to fill in these forms."

"That's it?" A blonde looked at me, a certain sense of surprise in his tone. "You said it was way more work."

"Shit do I know," the leader of the group spoke again as he took the four forms, handing them out between them.

"Well, I mean, you do have to pay for our program."

It didn't take long, or the files were handed back to me. I looked them over, checking certain things. Their address, their account number at the bank. I was about to let them pay, when I noticed something.

"Which one of you is Marko?"

The curly blonde stepped forward, a slight defiant look on his face, as if daring me to say something.

"If you're eighteen I'll need to charge you more for the insurance."

"What? Why?"

"Statistically speaking, out of the four of you, you're the most likely to wreck your bike."

"Why do you think I am the one most likely to wreck my bike?"

"Your age, mainly."

"You really believe that?"

"I don't necessarily," I said, mentally adding that his attitude was a definite reason why he could crash his bike at some point, "but the company does, I can't help it."

"And what if I was nineteen?"

"What, you have a timemachine to age yourself up?"

"I'm flexible when it comes to age."

I raised an amused eyebrow. "Sure. The thing is, I can't change a thing about it. If you want insurance for your bike, you'll need to pay more."

"See, this is what's wrong with the fucking system!" Marko grumbled, still dropping some bills on the desk in front of me.

"Blame capitalism, not me."

"What if I talk you on a ride, show you how save I drive?"

I looked at him, realising there was only one year difference between us if he hadn't lied about him being eighteen. He looked tough, but even though his attitude was a thing, he did know what he wanted and why. Because of my conversation with him, I'd completely forgotten the other boys, but when I looked up, I saw them pretending to be busy at the other end of the store.

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

"Would you say yes?"

"Would you be okay with me going out with you even though I didn't do a single thing to lower your price because I can't?"

"I'll never shut up about it, but I might forgive you."

I chuckled before nodding. I put their files in the right computer format, scanning them in and letting their leader - David - pay for the insurance on their bikes. I locked the store, smiling as I saw Marko waiting for me.

He helped me on, even giving me a helmet before he told me to hold on tightly. He raced off, sand flying everywhere. He jumped his bike up in the air, landing on the sand several feet below. I screamed.

"What, the bike's all save and secure?!"

"The bike might be!" I yelled over the rumble of the motor as I held on tightly to him, "but I am not!"

[ametrictonofaudacity]

Gaps 3

Yandere Platonic Batfam x Mentally Ill/Forgetful Reader

Warning: This is a yandere work, and as such, contains themes of obsession and unhealthy relationships. This particular snippet from Gaps will be an escalation, since this is a series, so trigger warning for kidnapping, non-consensual drugging, obsessive behaviors and manipulation.

There was a half full bottle of psychiatric meds in the glove box of your car. You have absolutely no clue when this got there, buried as it was under your insurance information, registration, and car owners manual, but it was there.

You turn the bottle over in your hands, reading the small label. Prazosin. You were glad to have some extra, in case Bruce hadn’t been able to get your refill this month. He had been good about it, the past couple of months while you waited for your appointment at the DMV, but it was always good to have spares, just in case. And something in your stomach urged you not to rely on the billionaire too much.

You pocket the bottle of pills. Sure, your script had been changed from prazosin to nitrazepam, by Dr. Leslie Thompkins since she was the only person that would treat you without an ID, but you didn’t like how the nitrazepam left you sluggish the next morning. You also didn’t like the thought of just how vulnerable you would be, in such a deep sleep.

Your cell phone rings. You pick up on the first ring, humming.

“(Y/N).” It was Damian. A bit of a surprise, since he didn’t really seek you out, but not an entirely unwelcome one. “You used to have a cat, correct?”

You snort. Of course one of the few times Damian calls you, it was about an animal. You didn’t expect anything less.

“Yeah. I had a Maine Coon kitten for a while before I moved. She was the sweetest little thing too, would always climb onto my shoulders whenever I got home from work.”

“What happened to her?”

“When I moved, I had to give her to my roommate. I visit her whenever I go to Bludhaven.” You explain, beginning your nightly routine. You brush the knots out of your hair, root around for your pajamas, drop two tablets in your hand.

“I see. I’m sorry you had to leave her behind.”

You smile, glancing at the time. The two tablets go down easy, and you double and triple check your locks. In Gotham, it didn’t hurt to be vigilant.

“It’s not a problem. I do have work tomorrow, so I’m gonna turn in, okay?”

“Of course. Get some rest, (Y/N).” He says it like it’s practically a demand, and you laugh when the line goes dead.

You drift off to sleep, eventually, your limbs heavy and numb.

——————

Your woken up by the sound of your bedroom door creaking open. Your heart stops, before thundering in your chest, slamming fast against your ribs.

Your mind races, and you force yourself to breath slow and deep, feigning sleep. The average thief wouldn’t bother to kill a sleeping person, but who knew what would happen if they thought there were witnesses. Carefully, you shift, making sure the movement looked to be the shifting of a sleeping body.

There’s a sound of crackling above you, and you don’t know what that means before the intruder speaks.

“You sure you got the dosage right? They’re moving around a lot for someone who’s sedated.” A modulated voice, indistinguishable thanks to the static. Your stomach drops, and it takes everything you have not to stiffen in terror. No average thief would have a fucking voice modulator. And what did they mean, the dosage? What the fuck did they mean?

Your fingers close around the handle of the small folding knife you kept under your pillow.

“It’s not full sedation. They’ll sleep deeply enough that we can move freely, but too high of a dosage would cause issues.” A low, gravelly voice and you feel your breath hitch. Both voices go quiet.

You hear a soft rattle as a pill bottle is picked up. Your heart hammers in your throat. You can’t remember which bottle of meds was by your bedside.

“Didn’t you get them put on nitrazepam?”

“Yes.”

“Old man, this isn’t nitrazepam. It’s an old script of prazosin.”

Silence. Deafening silence. Your eyes snap open.

You don’t even give yourself time to process the fact that there were two of Gotham’s vigilantes in your room. You don’t give yourself time to panic, or feel betrayed, because if you do, you won’t stop. You’ll be frozen and defenseless and unable to do anything.

You lunge up, throwing the blankets off yourself, and you try to twist away when the goddamn Red Hood lunges to catch you, only for his arm to wrap around your waist, yanking you back. The small fold out knife clatters to the ground, and a hand wraps around your wrist.

“Why don’t we all just cool off, yeah? No more stabbing attempts.” He sounds almost amused, but there’s an edge of danger in his voice that makes you shudder. He releases you, and you stagger away from him.

Batman hovers in the corner of the room, and even though he is the furthest from you, he feels so much closer.

“You got my script changed. Why?” Your voice is trembling, and you grimace. You don’t like the way you sound far too vulnerable.

“The old man is paranoid as hell, that’s why.” Hood grumbles, crossing his arms. He leans back, giving you space, and even though you know you aren’t any safer, you appreciate it.

“Hood. Now is not the time.” Batman growls, and Hood snorts.

“When would be the time old man? We would have avoided all of this if we had just gone with my plan.” Hood points out. You have no idea what he means.

“They weren’t ready.” Batman snaps, and you don’t know what that means. “This isn’t the place for this discussion, Hood.”

He turns to you, and for a moment, hesitates. The moment passes, and he lifts his hands, tugging back his cowl.

You stare. Staring back at you with intense blue eyes is Bruce Wayne.

So many things click in your mind. The inexplicable cancelling of your appointments. The paranoia. The way you had been struggling to work past the constant fear you were being watched. The way your things went missing when you needed them.

“(Y/N), I know you’re confused right now. Just let me explain.” Bruce says gently, and you shake your head, backing up.

“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say right now. You.. how long have you been breaking into my apartment? How long have you been using my meds to do it? And why?!”

“(Y/N), you barely manage to function on a day to day basis. I was just insuring your safety.”

“My safety?! Arguably I would be even more vulnerable SEDATED in an apartment in Gotham? Why do you think I check my locks so often? Why I have lists, of every possible thing I could need? I KNOW how to take care of myself, but clearly I made some sort of mistake when met all of you!” You shriek, and there are hot, ugly tears streaming down your face.

You didn’t need this, you didn’t need him, and you certainly did not need him pulling the strings on your life.

“Alright, you clearly can’t handle this old man.” Hood turns to you, arms crossed. “Listen, I get it. Batman’s a controlling, manipulative bastard. But we aren’t having this discussion here.”

You yell when his hand closes around your arm, and raise your hand to slap him away. He tugs you forward, twisting your arm behind your back and holding it there, and you yell.

A sharp pain in your neck, and your vision blurs.

You feel your knees buckle, feel yourself start to sag.

Gloved hands hold you up, and your head spins. Armored arms scoop you up, and you push at the thick Kevlar.

The last thing you see before unconsciousness takes you is white lenses staring down.

[seresinsbabe]

Conveniently Yours

Pairing: Jake Seresin x fem!reader

Synopsis: In a desperate attempt to pay for your mom's cancer treatment you take a job as a dancer at one of NYC's prestigious strip clubs where you meet Jake Seresin who just happens to need a wife.

Warnings: Cancer, talk of death, talk of parental death, cursing, eventual smut. Uhhhh nothing else I can think of. If I missed anything I apologize!

Word count: 1k

A/N: Prologue is here! I'm going to try getting chapter one out today or tomorrow, just depends on what my holiday plans end up being!

I do not consent to having any of my work shared on any other platform. If you see any rendition of my works on another site know that it has been posted without my permission.

Masterlist | Next Chapter

“The board thinks it would be good for the company’s image if you had a woman at your side.” Jake Seresin rolled his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. The sleeve of his shirt pulled down enough to show off the expensive Rolex on his wrist as he rubbed his eyes out of frustration.

“That’s ludicrous. What does my relationship status have to do with a fucking tech company’s image?” He stared over at Javy who just stared back apologetically.

On the other side of the meeting table Chester Cain cleared his throat. Fucking fossil that asshat was. Jake had been hoping that when his father retired and passed the company on to him that Cain would take his leave as well. Apparently Cain decided to make it his personal mission to throw a wrench in every aspect of Jake’s life until he died a bitter old man. “The latest tabloid photos of your escapades have caused a downturn in our stock numbers. You either stay out of the public eye,” Jake let out a snort. That wasn’t going to happen. He was a social creature, he couldn’t just avoid the public eye. Not when you were the CEO of the world’s largest tech giant. He was named number one in Forbes latest “Forty under Forty”. Avoiding publicity wasn’t a possibility for him. Besides, he liked seeing his face plastered everywhere. 

“Or you settle down. Get married to a respectable woman. Not one of these aireheaded heiresses you like so much.” If looks could kill Cain would have met his long overdue death right now.

Marriage?

Sure, maybe when he’d been young and naive he had thought about marriage. Then he started to really date and he learned that money is what ruled the prerogative of most. Women didn’t want him for who he was, they wanted him for what he had. After getting burned more than he felt his fair share, Jake knew a meaningful relationship wasn’t in the cards for him.

Javy could see that his vision was growing red and he called the meeting. If they let it go on any further it was bound to get explosive. “We’ll come back next week and discuss this further.”

The other board members cleared the room, Cain staying longer, intent on saying something but Javy stopped him before he could. 

“I wish the old man would bite the dust already.” Jake mumbled dryly. “What changed? I mean, our stocks waver all the time. That’s the nature of the fucking stock exchange.” As far as he was aware the stock hadn’t dropped that drastically. Maybe a point or two, nothing they couldn’t come back from.

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“I’m sorry, we’ve tried everything to get approval through insurance, but they won’t approve it.” Doctor Sandlin’s eyes held an apologetic look as he watched you take in the information. For weeks they’d submitted everything they could, he’d been on the phone with the insurance company more times than he really cared and still they denied to cover your mother’s cancer treatments.

You felt your mother squeeze your hand from her spot next to you. “What does that mean doctor?” Her normally vibrant voice was weak. She’d already gone without several rounds of her chemo and the cancer was hitting back hard.

The treatments had been doing well and she was getting closer and closer to beating it and then suddenly insurance flipped the switch. Refusing to cover any of her costs.

“It means any future chemotherapy sessions will have to be paid out of pocket prior to treatment.” You stared at a poster on the exam room wall. Your vision started going blurry as you tried to wrack your brain for something you could do. 

In all her life your mom had never done any wrong to anyone she’d ever met. You wished you were half as kind hearted as she was. Ellen had never met a stranger, she never made an enemy. Your friends loved her, but maybe that was because she was like a second mom. Out of all your closest friends, you were the only one that had a stable home environment. Two loving parents, you didn’t have a ton of money growing up, but you never had to worry about a meal or having a warm bed to sleep in.

Everything came crashing down two years ago, when your dad had been killed in a mugging. Suddenly your family was without a father and without the main source of income. You’d nearly completed nursing school, but you had to drop out to work way more than full time to make ends meet. And then when your mother started her cancer treatments she couldn’t work anymore, which left you as the sole bread maker. 

“If she doesn’t get the treatments, how long does she have?” It was a question you weren’t sure you wanted answered, but knew it needed to be.

“A matter of months.”

“And with the treatment?”

“Provided it works, she could go into full remission and have years left.”

You drew in a shaky breath, tears brimming in your eyes as you pictured life without your mom. Of course you always knew one day it would happen. Just…you hadn’t imagined it being this soon.

“I’ll figure it out. We’ll schedule her next chemo treatment and I’ll have the money.” Both your mom and Doctor Sandling looked at you, your mom with concern and Doctor Sandlin with skeptical pity. You weren’t backing down. Not anytime soon.

You hadn’t been able to save your dad, but you would be damned if you didn’t at least try to save your mom.

While your mom scheduled the chemo appointment you walked around the corner, not wanting her to hear what you were about to do.

The phone rang a couple of times before Natasha finally answered.

 “Nix, is the club still looking for another dancer?”

[aspengenic]

in regards to aspens other video about minors not having hrt and explaining that hosts change and etc etc. i CAN see where shes coming from with that since that is something we are kindaaa facing rn.

before, we had a transmasc alter as our host now the transmasc alter is still the host but also so is an alter that is a demigirl and super femme. the femme alter is out more than any of us now. were still on hrt tho bc overall it is something we wanna do, the femme alter finds her ways around it to still present as femme as she can when shes out and not at work.

BUT that doesnt mean we should keep minors or ANYONE from having access to hrt. i do believe that is something that should be something that a system DOES consider as a possibility and really think things through, but if it is something they wanna still do, they should be allowed to.

no one else should be allowed to make bodily choices for someone else. before hrt, a doctor always explains the side effects of hrt and the irreversible changes that will happen to your body to MAKE SURE you really are fully aware of what youre in for. in some states (florida, where i first started t) you even have to see a "gender therapist" that will "clear you" to be able to have access to hrt.

also not all of the effects of hrt are irreversible. we had to be off of it for a year bc of some insurance issues and our voice got a little higher again and our chest started getting a little bigger, we even got our period again. our facial hair and other stuff (that i dont wanna mention here uh) remained the same though.

having hrt isnt JUST so other people will affirm your gender either. its also for YOURSELF and your OWN dysphoria! if people saw us as a man and affirmed our gender without us being on hrt then cool, thats great. but when we looked in the mirror before started hrt, we didnt like what we saw looking back. it wasnt us. our hrt is for ourself and for no one else.

anyway. i think she does have a valid concern in the "hosts can change" but that should be something that you let systems know about and make sure they understand that theres always a possibility of a host change, rather than something you fucking gatekeep from children entirely because theres a CHANCE a host will change. some systems dont even have host changes. it should be up to the system wanting access to hrt, not you.

thats my opinion on that.

[livelovesimallways]

"Baby Johnson's Arrival"...Pt. 5

(previous)

20 Minutes Later......

"Deanna?..." *closes the door*

*sees who it is* "Oh hell no! I don't know why you're up here, but you can get out! Tell that mothafucker to give me my son and my phone, we're leaving! I'm getting a restraining order and filling for full custody. He'll be lucky if a judge allows supervised visitation."

"I know you're upset right now but just take a moment to think rationally."

"Rationally!??? Look at my face!!" *voice cracking* "This is more than one punch!...I'm done."

"Listen, he had no right to put his hands on you. Nothing in this world justifies that. But with that being said, it didn't come out of nowhere. You named his son after Sean, something he has to live with for the rest of his life. That was fucked up too."

"Well he should've handled that like a man, instead of using his fists! Of course I was wrong, but that doesn't mean I deserved this."

"I'm not saying you did, I just want you to see that there's cause and effect. Going to the courts over this one incident doesn't make sense. It wouldn't be a regular case. He's Michael fuckin Johnson!...The world famous, six time NBA champion, multi-billionaire! Do you realize the rippling damage that would cause? Think about Silas. Labeling his father as an abuser would mess up his future."

"Oh please, only Mike is going to suffer, and rightfully so."

"How can you be so sure? If this gets out, he'll be flooded with lawsuits from people looking for a payday. They'll say he's a monster and use your situation as ammunition. No one will care if they have any real claim, it'll be believable. His reputation will be finished, he'll have to resign from his companies, and he'll forever be blackballed. Silas is his son. No one will want to work with him or put him on a team because of the negative attention his father's name will bring. Sure he'll be rich, but will he be happy? All the comments, ridicule, comparisons...It will take a toll."

"Well, what do you suggest I do then!? I can't be here and I'm not leaving my baby. He's not going to give me custody without a fight. I won't win without telling my truth."

"I know. He's stubborn and not capable of seeing the bigger picture, but you are. You're Silas' mother and have been protecting him since you found out you were pregnant. Continue to do that by letting this go. Everything was fine before today. He knows he messed up and I promise you he won't do that again. Just take a breather, rest, and reset."

*shakes her head* "This is crazy..."

"I agree. It's alot, but you're doing the right thing. I'll go get you an ice pack and some Tylenol."

"...And Silas?"

"Hmm. Maybe I should bring him up after you get some rest. Babies can sense stress. You'll feel better afterwards and that will make all the difference."

A Little While Later.......

"Took you long enough, I was beginning to get worried. Ryan handled his part and got through to Sean's agent. Once he heard the words blackballed he had him make a post addressing the rumors." *rubs Silas' back* "So what happened with Deanna?"

"She's hurting but I think I got through to her. Right now she's resting."

"Good. Did you give her the pain medicine?

"Yes. I told her it was Tylenol like you asked." *with a slight attitude*

"I know you didn't want to do it but it had to be done. I can't trust that she won't change her mind, so it's just a little insurance. Technically Percs have Tylenol in them so you really didn't lie."

"So how exactly will that work in your favor?"

"It's simple. If she goes to the courts, I will have the judge order a hair sample drug test. They leave your system but stay in your hair for up to 90 days. My lawyers will paint a very different picture that you and Ryan will corroborate. I told her ass, I don't play about my kids. She's either gonna fall in line or lose him for good."

[thewnchstrs]

The Letter

Pairing: Winchester!Sister(OC Ellie)

Disclaimers: n/a

Word Count: 754

A/N: sorry this one is so short omfg. also, this would take place at the beginning of season 3 :)

M A S T E R L I S T

REWRITE MASTERLIST

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“Are you sure it’s in here?” Sam said, rummaging through the glove box of the Impala, running a finger through the neck of his shirt that clung to his back. 

Dean grumbled, sifting through the visor above the driver’s seat in search of the same damn insurance card that seemed to go missing every year. “Check the visor.”

Sam pulled down the visor, two white pieces of paper flittering into his lap. Sam picked one of them up, showing the insurance card to Dean who snatched it from his hands. Sam chuckled, shaking his head as he grabbed the small white envelope, going to put it back in its place when he noticed the large, looping handwriting across the front. Handwriting he immediately recognized as Ellie’s.

“What’s this?” Sam asked, holding it up.

Dean narrowed his eyes, reading his and Sam’s names across the front. He shrugged, taking it from him and ripping it open. He unfolded the thin notebook paper, glancing to Sam in confusion before looking back down at it again.

Sammy + Dean,

Fuck. I guess I’m dead. I mean…if you’re reading this, then I probably am. Or maybe Dean went looking for that insurance card he loses every year. Sorry for dying, by the way. That really sucks and it was kind of shitty of me, leaving you two alone. I’m sure you’ll manage.

Sam and Dean glanced up at each other from the note and up to the motel room where they could see Ellie through the window, packing her clothes into her duffel bag. They both looked back down at the letter.

At the time that I’m writing this, I only have about six months left. It’s strange, knowing that every day that passes on the calendar I’ll never see again. I’ll never see the fireworks on the 4th of July, or the leaves changing in the fall. I’m just trying to soak it all up while I can. My birthday’s coming up. And to be honest, I never thought I’d see 22 years of my life. I’ve lived much longer than I ever expected to.

I’d never say to your faces, but thank you for all you’ve done for me. No matter what happened or where in the world we were, I always knew you guys would be right behind me, every step of the way. We never had any stability growing up. No home, no school, no friends. But in the end, none of that really mattered, because I had you. And that was more than enough.

So, please, for the love of god, don’t sit around moping. I mean…maybe a few days is okay just for you guys to remember how fucking cool I was and all that…but then, you need to move on. Hunters die every day, but that doesn’t mean the job does. I lived a good life, despite it all. I’ll be okay. And maybe one day we’ll see each other again.

Kick some ass for me.

Love,

El

Dean let the paper fall in his lap as they reached the bottom, sitting silently back in their seats. They watched her move across the motel room, unaware of what they’d found, something she’d intended for them not to find until she was long gone.

“We can’t let her go,” Sam whispered, looking over to Dean. “We can’t let her go to Hell.”

Dean had been telling himself this ever since he found out about Ellie’s deal. That he couldn’t let his sister be dragged to the worse place he could imagine, but nothing he tried was working. Either Ellie died and went to Hell and Sam lived, or vice versa. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself either way.

He glanced over at his brother, nodding. “We’ll figure something out.”

“You have to promise me, though, Dean,” Sam said in a serious tone. “You need to promise me that whatever we do, we do it knowing for sure that we all live. No more deals, okay?”

Dean wished he could keep the promise, but he knew better. He’d already been down every avenue, looked under every rock to figure out a way to get Ellie out of her deal, but nothing was working. He knew that if it came down to it, he would sell his soul for Ellie’s in a heartbeat. 

“Okay,” Dean agreed guiltily. Sam continued to watch him, like he didn’t believe him. Dean nodded, folding the paper again and sliding it back into the envelope. “No deals.”

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FOREVER TAG LIST

@spnbaby-67​​​ | @luciferslucille​​ | @anti-social-club​​ | @search-bar​​ | @mellorine-paprika​​ | @thepocketshoelace​​ | @jaremish​​ | @the-salty-asian​​​ | @robynannemackenzie-blog​​ | @mersuperwholocked-lowlife​​​​ | @damnedimpala​​ | @lauren-novak​​ | @adeanmon​​ | @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​ | @defenderrosetyler​​ | @resanoona​​​​ / @nyotamalfoy​ / @ykta-m​

WINCHESTER SISTER TAG LIST

@resanoona​​​​​​​ | @bunnyandy12​​ | @breereadsthings​​ | @slytherinrising​​ | @stressedoutkitten​​​ / @dragon-master-kai​ 

[canyonroads]

Trans Healthcare is such a joke I can only complain in Greentext form.

>be me

>back on Testosterone for about a year now.

>getting these meds oddly difficult in my new state. They give me a very limited supply, and then regularly hold my Rx refill hostage until I "get more blood tests done"

>Overall, I'm getting bloodwork done like 1x a month.

>A few months ago, insurance randomly changes my doctors office. Old guy quit or something. It's really annoying bc it went from like 2 minutes from my house to literally 25 minutes. But whatever.

>New place just can NOT draw blood from me. I make 2 appointments and they fuck up both times- one time sending me home crying because they wouldn't stop poking me.

>Only other option is to drop in for blood tests at the nearby hospital (note: nearby my office, not me. So still like 25 mins away)

>Hospital had no problems drawing my blood but every time I go in I have to wait 1-2 hours before they can see me (they don't do appointments)

>Get a new job. Suddenly working a more regular Mon-Fri 9-5.

>Which means I can't go to this hospital for bloodwork, as their lab is only open same days/times.

>And again, it's a 1-2 hour wait and an eternity away so I can't do it on my lunchbreak.

>Beg my doctor to send my bloodwork somewhere that I can go on a weekend.

>She supposedly does. It's another drop-in hospital but it's open a few hours on Saturday and hey, it's even a little closer to my house!

>Go in today. I'm hydrated and I'm ready. I had to change my injection day and everything for this.

>Wait 1+ hours for them to call me back.

>Hospital has no record of my bloodwork and they don't even take my insurance.

>Honestly detransitioning might be easier than this.

>Also I'm hemophobic so already scared of getting my blood drawn. Yay!!

[penumbrialhexandroga]

I put this in a discord chat im in but i wanted to put it here too. Today i got diagnosed by my therapist with c-ptsd.

Hhhh today is a day of surthriving. Had therapy this morning and was rough, but i was able to communicate some of my frustrations well. Got some clarification on stuff. Like he said forget about any of the schizophrenia stuff, i dont have it, so thats a relief. He said for a clinical dx i do have CPTSD. And that my episode that id had before when i started seeing him was a dissocaitive episode. So it was nice to get clarification on that i was thinking it was like a psychotic or manic or something but dissociative makes sense with what all went on. Ugh gah but then talked with a real young part and stuff coming up and just ugh fuck i hate. People. Just very heavy. Having things validated. But im so grateful for the coping mechanisms ive developed. Hhhhhhh fuck its just hard. Heavy heavy heavy. Just trying so hard to keep every thing contained so i can get through work. Thank god for Work Mode 🙏. Id been dxed with ptsd already but i did suspect it was cptsd but man having that validated by a therapist ugh i just feel like ive been taking punches and punching brick walls >.< idk i just wanted to express this all somewhere. "Put it out there"

Thats what i put in the chat earlier.

Idk i wanted to write about it i guess. He was saying too how like a diagnosis yknow its fluid it can change. Which im fully on board with i know it can only really be a snapshot of your current whatever experiences. But one thing i really appreciate about getting that dx and that validation and assurance is that it supplies me the language to tell my story. I realized that that was one issue that i had with how generally non-pathologizing my therapist is. Its also something i appreciate about him though, but i just felt like i couldnt really. Like not even tell my story but know my story. I felt lost and confused and uncertain about what my experience was and how i fit in with the world and people around me.

Who really am i? What defines me as an individual? It helps me answer these questions more fully. Not to say my diagnoses are all that i am or can capture the complexity of me as a being.

Its incredibly validating to do this work. I feel alive and autonomous in a way i never really have before. Some of the parts i work with are so so young. If i wasnt doing this work with a therapist i dont think i would really be able to do it. So im very grateful for my circumstances that allow me that. Although i can tell my therapist wants to do more frequent sessions, but it is expensive and insurance sucks so. Idk. Is what it is.

Ugh but this work also fucking sucks and makes things so so hard. But i know im better for it. Gahhahahshbsgdgdgdhd.

Oh man im also really glad too he labeled what that episode was. I was thinking it was a psychotic or manic and maybe i had bipolar, bc some of my family has been dxed with that. But no he said it was CPTSD. and a dissociative episode. Which man even just writing that out again its just. I cant even really identify how it makes me feel its just this kinda hmmm pressure?? Electrical flux? Along the back of my head.

Im grateful for being able to communicate better with my parts too. I was able to get across some things today that i havent been able to for a while and im glad things went well, even if it got tough. Really friggin tough. I know im moving in the right direction.

Id already been diagnosed with ptsd but that was through my psych who specialized in autism and idk it didnt really sink in. Its different now getting diagnosed by someone who knows me very well, ive been seeing him for like over two years now, so i have a lot of trust in his oppinion. But gosh so many raw nerves. Plus its c -ptsd which like, doesnt mean its worse than ptsd or anything lol some people seem to think that but thats more what i was suspecting. It just made more sense to me than standard ptsd with all the dissociation. But i feel really validated and seen and heard and hmm self assured even! Which is so rare for me. I feel like there was a lot of movement and change today. So this post is really just to commemorate it all. Getting diagnosed with cptsd tho, for me its very different than it was getting diagnosed with autism. Maybe thats because of meeting with that part right after tho :/

[wake-me-up-inside-imagines]

hi! I have no clue if the previous message went through but I did mean to say platonic j and david hcs when i requested it at first sorry I should've specified and take ur time going through all of the asks <333

Hi! You're totally fine, thank you for specifying! You're initial message did go through, I was just working my way through requests. I typically write from oldest requests to newest so that nobody's waiting too long for an answer, so I apologize if it seemed like I was ignoring your message!

(You mentioned in your original ask that you had a sibling headcannon for them, so I'm going to write this like they're siblings)

Platonic! J x David and how they comfort each other

-These two have wildly different personalities (even with David's true colors shown) so they both have very different comforting styles

-I also feel like David's way of comforting is slightly different depending on if he's putting on his persona or if he's showing his true personality

-If he's using his persona, his go-to comforting tactic is words of affirmation

-J often feels like she'll never be seen as anything but an extension of her mother, but David's always there to remind her that that isn't the case

-He reassures her that she is nobody but herself, and that she has her own amazing, brilliant talent that she should be proud of

-Constantly praises her works in theatre, he's very perceptive so he compliments J on small, minute details that would normally go unappreciated

-He also offers J a hug whenever she needs it

-It's his way of telling his sister that he appreciates her work and sees the effort she puts into it, even when others don't

-He also tries to get Arturo to back off but he's nicer about than J is

-After he exposes his actual personality, a few things change

-He still uses words as his main way of comforting, but the way he speaks is more crude than before

-It's kinda like "well everyone here sucks and most people in the outside world are talentless losers, but you actually have a talent so really you shouldn't be feeling insure" (Than you David, very reassuring)

-He's not big fan of people touching him so the most he'll offer for physical comforting is an awkward pat on the back

-Instead, he does small acts of service, mostly just actually being nice to J when he isn't to anyone else, or checking on her when she looks down

-He still tells Arturo to fuck off, but he's 10x harsher about it

-When J's the one doing the comforting, she prefers silent methods as opposed to talking

-J is naturally a more blunt, harsh character, so she often finds herself unable to come up with verbal reassurances that are actually comforting

-She also knows that David has a tendency to not believe a single kind word that comes out of peoples mouths, so her way of comforting is often just sitting in silence with him

-She'll listen to him rant if that's what he needs her to do, but she doesn't offer solutions to the problem as she knows he most likely wouldn't listen anyway

-If the two are with the rest of the crew and can tell David's in a mood or getting overwhelmed, she'll pull him off to the side to cool him down

-Overall, these two my have harsh exteriors, but they do really care about one another and will continue to look out for each other

[soullikethesea]

TW hopelessness

Sometimes I wonder if I can overcome my childhood trauma stuff. Especially the part about how I'm avoiding romantic/very close relationships. To me it just seems so fucking painful. Honestly, I find all conflict excruciating.

Plus the whole "asexual" stuff - I don't know what I could handle. All in all, I think there is so much fear involved for me that there is very little motivation or drive.

I think it's also about perfectionism. I don't want kids for that reason, because I don't think I'll be able to do a good enough job. Same reasoning for relationships, I don't want someone else to have to deal with how broken I am.

But I think it's also something that's visible in the rest of my life. Like, I tried the karate workshop and I think I kind of liked it, but I got soooo overstimulated just trying something new. It took me hours to calm down somewhat and I got a migraine. I think part of that must be fear about being incompetent. Just like when I got back my new job evaluations and they were *ridiculously* high... I don't think they should be that high just for a second try at that particular skill. Maybe I try a bit too hard?

I notice it around T too. Yesterday there was more news about insurance and probably this next year really will be the final year I can see T. That's so activating!!! Once again, it makes me feel like I can't get attached. Just like I've been doing, I mean, before Fox showed up and when some little ones stay quiet.

From the time I can remember, life has been overwhelming and I needed more time to learn things, but I do learn them very deeply and intensely and detailed.

When I try to look up things online about working on attachment, it makes me feel alienated. Almost everything says that it's only suitable for minor struggles. Or the comments are filled with things like "I did this one meditation and it changed my life!" Yeah, no. I've been trying for over a decade and this is where I am. I'm at that weird point of outward functionality/stability and no one would suspect a thing. Yet inside... it's different.