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bet-on-me-13 · 10 months

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Stranded Danny AU

Danny gets pulled into a faraway Dimension by a Villain one day, just after the events of Phantom Planet. He is barely 15.

He has no way to get back, but he does manage to unlock the power to make Portals. Unfortunately, none of the dimensions he ends up in are his own, and none have enough Ectoplasm to open portals for very long. It takes up to a week to scrounge up enough Ecto to open a single Portal into the next dimension over.

And none of these worlds have Technology strong enough to take him home either. The few times he did find some tech that could potentially get him home, it never worked or it was destroyed before he could finish it.

He spends well over 30 years of his own Personal Timeline trying to get back to his home dimension, constantly gathering scraps of Ectoplasm and Tech until the day he eventually collected enough to build a safe way home.

But time does not pass the same across dimensions.

What to him was a 30 year long Journey, was actually just 10 for his home Dimension.

And they had to move on without him.

Sam became a Business Woman who used her money to fund Nature Preservation Organizations. She hired Pamela Isley and helped her through her powers when she became Poison Ivy (still a Villain, but secretly working for Sam)

Tucker got a high ranking job at Star Labs, and helped Cyborg come to terms with his new life when he became a cyborg. He even helped upgrade his tech a few times.

Jazz became a successful Psychiatrist, and now works under Daina Lance as one of the Justice League's top Therapists, specifically their Child Psychologist for young Heroes

Ellie took his place as a Hero and became the new protector of Amity after he dissappear. After the Justice League was formed, she joined them and became one of their best members, always working and nor really taking many breaks.

They always wondered what happened to Danny, and spent many years trying to figure out what happened to him, but never succeeded. They finally began to assume that he was fully dead after a few years of searching. They had enough time to come to terms with it.

...

So one night, while a 22 yr old Ellie is resting on one of her rare days off, she gets called in by the League about a possible Dimensional Breach near her Home Town. JLD was deployed to investigate, and she was asked to tag along since she was the Resident Hero of the area.

But she refuses, thinking it's just some random ghost trying to enter the Living Realm illegally after she began regulating the Portal. JLD would be able to handle it on their own, let her sleep on her day off!

Meanwhile, JLD has located the spot where the Dimensional Breach is about to appear. They surround the Area, and prepare to interrogate whoever is about to appear, or deal with them if need be.

Space begins to tear apart as the fabric of Reality breaks apart at the seams. And from that wound in existence, an Adult Danny steps out. He is 44 years old, and looks like a less buff version of Dan without the mustache (basically imagine Danny as Ford Pines from Gravity Falls)

The JLD can sense that he is strong, but not too much so. It feels like he is powerful, but like that power has been starved for a while.

"Who are you?" Asks Wonderwoman, ready to jump into battle if needed. "What are your intentions in this World?"

Danny ignores them. He is staring into the Night Sky, eyes wide. The Constellations he hadn't seen in 30 years were there. The stars were in the right locations. He takes a deep breath, tasting the amount of Ectoplasm in thr Air. This is it. He's home. He's finally home.

"Finally" He says breathlessly. A slightly manic Grin on his face.

"What the hell does that mean?" Demands Constantine. The grin had unsettled him, and he began preparing a few spells just to be sure.

Danny ignored him again, this time deciding to close his eyes and finally eat his fill of Ectoplasm for the first time in 30 years. He was ravenous, this was the first decent Meal of Ectoplasm he had been able to have in 30 years. He was giddy, he was so happy to finally be home.

However the Heroes didn't know what was happening. All they knew was that some guy had ripped a hole in reality, said "finally" with a crazy grin on his face, and started emitting a dangerous amount of Death Energy for no apparent reason.

Constantine reacts on impulse, trying to cast a Banishing Spell on this guy.

Danny, feeling the spell begin to pull him away from his home after he had just found it again after Thirty. Fucking. Years. Does something that he would consider reasonable.

He quickly dashes over to Constantine and slams him through a tree.

This sparks a fight between Danny and the JLD. And at first he is having some serious trouble, but as he continues to feed on Ectoplasm and recover his strength, he becomes progressively more Powerful. It comes to the point where the JLD can't keep up anymore, and call in Backup.

Ellie was enjoying her night off, but the desperate Call from JLD about a powerful Entity at the edge of Amity finally got her going.

She rushes over and slams into Danny just as he is about to attack Constantine again. Neither of them recognize eachother, since they have changed since they were kids (Danny moreso) and continue to Duke it out.

Ellie is trying to banter with him, but Danny is really angry at this point. So he resorts to his final attack, his Ghostly Wail.

He levels a good chuck of the Forest, and in the end he is standing over Ellie as his anger fades. He says "Sorry" and he starts taking a look around him to see if there is anybody else.

Ellie is on the ground, shaken because she recognized that power.

She gets up, and asks "Danny?"

Danny finally gets a good look at her and says, and says "Ellie?"

Meanwhile JLD still has ringing in their ears and thinks that Ellie just called Danny "Daddy"

(Which makes sense because of the new age difference)

#Dp x dc #Dpxdc #Danny phantom #Dc #Dcu #ellie phantom #Danielle Phantom #Planes walker Danny #Danny is stranded on the other side of the Multiverse #He can't open a Portal to the Infinite Realms #Danny has not had a decent amount of Ectoplasm in 20 years #Aged up Characters #Angst #Justice League Dark #The Justice League #Dimension Travel #Danny traverses the multitude like Ford Pines

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wingedjellyfishflight · 2 months

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The Couch

Your official job is as a psychiatrist, but not a single one of the men who visit you care about that. They don't care about you at all. They just want... your cozy damn couch. Every time you walk in the room, there is a big burly man sleeping or lounging on it. Rarely, it is a woman. This time, there are three of them fighting over it. You sigh and submit a request for three more couches. When the supply officer asks why, you claim it is for group sessions. He sends one couch over. It is almost as comfortable as the original, and they take to it quickly.

You stop in your tracks the day you spot a KorTac man sitting nervously on the couch. So far, only Price's team and his associated strays have taken advantage of the open couch. You smile briefly before moving to sit at your desk.

"I'm here if you want to talk, but the couch is open to whomever wants a nap or to relax. No talking required." He nods, slightly more relaxed, and you focus on your computer. When you look up later, you see he has laid down and fallen asleep, his soft snores filling the room. After that, you send in another request and another for more couches and a couple of reclining chairs. You are denied. They tell you to just bring in folding chairs. You decide to use your paycheck and bring in something more comfortable than folding chairs.

The next week, you are struggling to get a reclining chair down the hall as silently as possible when you freeze, a chill running down your back. Turning, you see Ghost standing only a foot away, silently watching with his arms crossed.

"I got a new chair." Your bright smile seems to just bounce off his broad chest, but you pay no mind to him, turning back to the task at hand. You get a few feet further and glance back to say something witty, but Ghost is gone. Another few feet, and you are bodily lifted by a set of strong arms before Ghost and König pick up the chair and carry it to your office with no effort. You thank them and ask if they would be willing to help you with one more thing since they are here. Rolling their eyes, they follow you.

Proudly, you show them the three large boxes that you bought. The men are not amused. Their body language switches from annoyed to almost angry when you pick up one of the boxes. König nearly tears it from your hands, and Ghost swiftly grabs the second box. Holding up your hands, you wait until they storm inside to pick up the third box and follow them.

It takes most of the day for the stuffing in the giant floor pillows to fluff up from being vacuum packed in the boxes, so you take the time to rearrange the room. The next day, opening the door after lunch, you spot no less than ten men and one woman lounging in various spots around the room.

A few weeks later and Soap asks if you can requisition another chair because he is annoyed that Captain Price is constantly snoring away in the only one. You shake your head sadly.

"Sorry, bud. I can't get another one for a while. Too expensive." He nods but puzzles over your wording for the next few days before filing it in the back of his mind.

It takes another couple months for you to save up, but you do bring in a second chair. Soap nearly dances when he sees it.

"I tried to ask supply for one of these for my office, but they had no idea what I was talking about."

"Oh, they wouldn't. They deem my request too frivolous every time." You tap away at the computer, only half paying attention to Soap.

"Then, how did you convince them?"

"Didn't. Had to go get it myself." The silence that falls over the room is far more tense than usual.

"You, you bought these for us? Like with your own money?" You sigh. Here is the conversation you were hoping to avoid. Turning to Soap, you see every person in the room staring at you, trying to work out what is happening.

"Yes, of course. Nothing but the best for my patients. I am the psychiatrist for KorTac and 141, after all."

"What?! We just, we thought you were just an officer with a comfortable couch. But you're a god damn psychiatrist?!" You can see several edging toward the door, nervously.

"Yep. Ghost, please wait just a moment." He hesitates with his hand on the doorknob. "Think about how long you've been napping in here. Have I ever overstepped? Four years I have been assigned to the 141, and not once have I updated your files. Luckily, I can claim patient-doctor confidentiality, or I would be out of a job."

"So, you haven't been doing your job at all?" This comes from Captain Price, who looks confused.

"Oh, I have been. If you don't mind sharing, what is the thing your last psychiatrist kept trying to force you to do, Captain?"

"Fuckin golf. Claimed it would be a good stress relief like I want to be a lazy damn officer."

You nod and glance around. "Ghost, what was your recommendation?"

"God damn yoga." You hear Soap snort and give him a small smile.

"Mmhmm, not something I imagine you would ever be interested in. And you König, if you don't mind?"

His voice is quiet but strong, "Guided meditation."

"Every one of those is rooted in the idea that you need to rest. My job was to find a way to make it happen, and I wasn't keen on being stonewalled and hated by the people I work with. So, I left the door open and passed a rumor around that there was a mythical comfortable couch. Sort of a build it and they will come." You pause and gather your courage. "As I have said from the beginning, talking is optional. Naps and resting are welcome. That's the way it will stay as long as I am here."

Turning back to your computer, you submit another supply request, worded slightly different from the last. A bigger office for more group sessions so both teams can be present. The silence in the room is less tense, but you don't look up from your screen, not wanting to see how many left, knowing who you are now. To your surprise, when you stand up to stretch, every spot is still occupied.

The next week, you get your denial and an inspection scheduled as you haven't been logging apppointments since posted there, and your constant requests have been noticed. The stress shows in the tenseness of your jaw and the furrow between your eyes, but you don't say a word to anyone.

The day of your inspection comes, and you brace yourself for invasive questions and the likely anger from whomever shows up when you refuse to answer those questions. You hint three time and then outright tell the lounging men to leave just minutes before the scheduled appointment, frantically trying to tidy up and make it look like you have adults as patients instead of sleep away camp.

"What is goin' on, lass?" Soap asks lazily from the floor pillow he refuses to vacate.

"I- I have an inspection, like right now." That gets their attention.

"Och aye! We will clear ou-" A knock at the door interrupts him. You take a deep breath, forcing your emotions under a smile.

"Enter." A man confidently walks in, faltering when he sees so many eyes on him.

"I am here to inspect your work, Captain. You were informed as to the time?" Standing, you salute him, then motion him to one of the seats.

"Yes, my apologies, Lieutenant Colonel. This group session ran a little late. If you could excuse us, everyone. We can pick this back up tomorrow. Hopefully." They all stand and salute the Lieutenant Colonel before walking out. He stalks to the chair in front of your desk.

"You will be lucky to make it to the end of the day if I have anything to say about it. You have clearly squandered resources buying all of this furniture, and there isn't a single update to any personnel files. Your explanation better be damn good, Captain."

You meet his gaze squarely before answering. "I am assigned to a unit whose work is often above top secret. I do not take notes on what is said in this room. I have found that doing so makes patients uncomfortable and, therefore, less likely to relax."

"That doesn't explain why you are not charting recommendations." You lean back and pull out a paper from a drawer.

"These are the recommendations previously listed in the files of various patients who are now under my command. Almost all of them fall into the same category: relax. So when I reviewed the files, I notated in the general team file for The 141 that relaxing activities would be undertaken as needed. The KorTac file gained the same note when they were switched to my purvue. There is no need to update individual files when I do my utmost to only hold group sessions, again for comfort to the patients."

He sits back, clearly not convinced, but at least pondering it a moment. "Why did you have KorTac transferred to your care? They were previously under another, frankly more competent, psychiatrist."

"Was that psychiatrist able to get them to open up? Honestly, I am curious if the team even showed up to their sessions by how sparse their files are. Colonel König has been here for six years, and his entire file is less than a dozen pages. The same could be said for nearly all of the KorTac team. There are notations in most of these files that KorTac and The 141 can not be in the same room for more than five minutes at a time without fighting. Yet nearly every day members of both teams are here for upwards of an hour a day, and they haven't had any fights outside of here in months." You snap your jaw shut, noticing the slightest of movement behind the Lieutenant Colonel. You stand and salute.

"Corporal, you've already saluted me. Sit down."

"She is saluting me, not you, Lieutenant Colonel." Colonel König salutes you back as the Lieutenant Colonel grouses about being interrupted before he turns and pales. He hurriedly stands and renders his own salute, which is returned with deliberate slowness.

"Colonel, if I may?" At his nod, you continue. "I did not mean to speak so flippantly of your records. I should have guarded their contents more closely. You have my deepest apologies." His eyes lock with yours, and you could swear he is either smirking or smiling.

"It is of no consequence. I am glad to know that you feel such concern, despite the public nature that such personnel files often suffer during inquests such as these." He pulls up another chair from who knows where and sits just behind the Lieutenant Corporal. "I will monitor to ensure sensitive information about need to know operations is not disclosed."

You nod, "Yes, Colonel. Understood."

The Lieutenant Colonel shifts uncomfortably with the gaze at his back. "Circling back to my first concern. The wasting of British coffers on unnecessary seating is clear gross misconduct. You will need to return all except for the standard single couch immediately."

"Yes, Lieutenant Colonel. When can you send supply over to fetch the other couch?" He looks surprised, as though he expected more of a fight.

"I will have to confer with them to see when they will be able to take so many large items."

"Hmm? Oh no, only the two couches, desk, computer, and the chair you sit in were issued. The rest I brought in at my own expense to better facilitate having over a dozen soldiers and officers in here at the same time. I do ask to keep the original couch. It is the only one long enough to fit many of the men I treat." He looks shocked.

"You furnished the rest?" You can see him fighting not to look around at the room, hand fidgeting on the desk.

"Of course. Patients come first in my care. Every request I have put in has been denied since the second couch. The number of patients I see has more than doubled with the strays that Captain Price and Colonel König have dragged with them into my office. We are running out of time today. Would you like to meet again next week, or do you have the information needed to close out this inquiry?" The Lieutenant Colonel seems shocked.

"But I have more questions. And you need to answer them."

"I understand that, which is why I am offering another meeting. But you scheduled just one time block for this, and I have others coming in right after. The noise he made was pure frustration, and he let loose without thinking.

"Listen here you cunt! You will not get out of this by claiming an appointment. You will answer my questions until I am satisfied and have enough to properly fuck you over the way you deserve! I-!" A hand claps onto his shoulder, making him wince in pain.

"Lieutenant Colonel Riggs. That is not conduct becoming an officer. You will cease your screaming and see yourself out. Your lack of preparation and knowledge does not permit you to abuse officers of a lower rank. You will join me in my office while we discuss this further." The icy tone has you wincing in sympathy. When the door shuts behind them, you nearly collapse on your desk in relief. After a long moment of fighting the urge to cry, you jolt when a hand rubs your back.

"Ghost, why are you still in my office?"

"Support?" You grunt before looking up at him.

"Thank you. Now, I'm going to have a good cry, so if you need to leave to avoid it, now is a good time." Instead of leaving, he makes you stand and walk to the couch where he tugs you to his chest.

"Cry all you want, Luv. I'm here for you, just like you were for me all those times these past few years."

#call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #konig cod #fluff

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scarletlizzard · 3 months

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Part 1: Get Help

Sessions Series

Pairing: psychiatrist Wanda x female reader

Tags Minors DNI: being stalked, paranoia, therapy, mentions of sex

Masterlist

Fall 2018

It was the same thing every day.

You wake up, make breakfast, and go for a run. You go to work, a normal 9-5 job downtown. After work, you would wind down by making dinner and sometimes taking a bath with a glass of wine. You go to bed around the same time every night, letting the sounds of I Love Lucy lull you to sleep.

Your routine was all but normal, though. You had a shadow.

Your daily jog was filled with turning your head, constantly aware of a presence behind you, one that you could never see. You thought it was over until one night when you were making dinner, you happened to look out the window and saw a person standing across the street. The glass of wine you were holding dropped from your hand onto the floor beneath your feet. You step back onto the glass and wince, tearing your eyes from the shapeless figure.

When you look up again, they've disappeared.

This happened for weeks until you finally gave in and told your friend one night over a bottle of wine.

"Look, this is them. They're back," you say, handing the phone to Natasha. She raises an eyebrow and looks at the blurry picture on the screen. Practically a black dot next to the bus stop a few houses down from yours.

"But why would they wait so long? It's been over a year, and.." she squints, staring at the picture. "That kind of just looks like a blob.." the woman says and sips her wine, a concerned look on her face at your frantic state.

"It's not. It's them! I-I swear I'm being followed, being watched... every where I go, it's like, I can feel them. The police won't do anything about it." You move your shaking hand away from her to gulp down the rest of your wine.

"Look, Y/N.." Natasha sighs and sets down her glass, turning her body to face yours. "I know you've been through a lot, everything that.. happened last summer. I think - maybe you should.. get some help." She tries to soften the blow of calling you crazy by resting a hand on your thigh. You only look to her with betrayed eyes.

"I'm not crazy," you speak calmly, your tone stern, but the crack in your voice only solidifies Natashas' point.

"I don't think you are, Y/N. Here.." She grabs her purse, pulling out a business card from it casually, as if she just happened to have it. You knew her better than that. "This is my friend. She's an amazing psychiatrist. Just talk to her, give it a chance."

You snatch the card away from her hands, not making eye contact with her. Natasha sighs again and stands, watching your leg bounce harder. She leans down to kiss your forehead.

"I'll call you tomorrow. I love you.." She trails off, unsure if you'd even reply.

"Love you." You mumble, pouring yourself another glass.

After she leaves, you stare at the business card in your hand, eyes settled on the name in bold lettering. You crumple the card, ball it up in your hand, and throw it across the room. It bounces off the wall with a small 'thunk'. Then you're left sitting, recalling the events of last summer.

***

Summer 2017

It was an exceptionally hot night. The air conditioner had been broke all day, leaving you sweating and fanning yourself with a magazine. Also leaving you with no choice but to leave the windows open, letting a cooler breeze flow through your quiet house.

You shot a quick text to Natasha- See you tomorrow, meet at the coffee shop near yours.

With a sigh, you rest your head on the back of the couch, listening to the voices on the TV. You get a strange feeling suddenly, your whole body covered in goosebumps, the small hairs on your arms standing straight up. You slowly open your eyes, staring straight ahead at the characters running around the screen.

"Get a grip, Y/N.." You mumble to yourself, patting your cheeks as if to wake yourself up. Maybe you just needed some sleep. Your anxiety seemed to be kicking up again. Your hands reach for the remote on the table in front of you, and you press the power button, turning the TV off.

It's then you see, in the black screen, reflecting an image not only of you but a person standing directly behind you.

***

Current Fall 2018

No, I'm NOT doing this right now.

You think to yourself, swallowing down your third glass of wine for the night. Instead, you get up to double -no, triple- check all of the locks in your house. The windows to the backyard, locked. The sliding glass backdoor, locked. The windows to the front of the house, locked. The front door, locked. The side door leading to the garage, locked. Windows in any bedrooms, locked. Your bedroom door and window, locked.

It was exhausting, but it was a routine you had been following for the past year. It kept you safe. You turn on I Love Lucy, drifting off into another nightmare with your mysterious shadow.

The morning after, you awake to your alarm and slap your hand on your loud phone to slide it off. You lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. The morning sun shines brightly in the room, the light warm on your skin.

I am NOT crazy...

You repeat to yourself over and over, a mantra easily spoken and believed in your mind. Breakfast was made and eaten, running shoes tied to your feet, laces double knotted, ID and cash in case of emergencies, and headphones settle snug in your ears. The first mile was fine, humming along to your music, and enjoying the cold fall. It was when you were heading back towards your house that you began to have that unsettling feeling.

Your panicked eyes look around as you jog, your head constantly turning from side to side as you look for your shadow. You find yourself reaching into your pocket, letting your hand grab onto the pepper spray you had brought with you. Only a little ways to go. It's fine.

Your pace sped up, but your shadow was creeping up closer to you. Your heart was racing. Sweat was dripping down your forehead. With your thumb gripping the spray, you suddenly turn around, spraying the shadow behind you.

"Ahhh! What the fuck!" A man screams, falling to his knees in front of you. Your heart was beating out of your chest at the sight of him, rubbing his eyes and screaming in pain. But on the sidewalk in front of him you see your emergency clip that held your cash and ID.

"Jason! Oh my god, what did you do to him?" A woman comes running up to his side, sliding her arm around him. "Are you crazy? You dropped this. He was trying to give it back to you!" She screams at you, throwing the clip in your direction. Dollar bills fly to the ground, and you back up.

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't know, I thought he was - I didn't know.." Your voice trails off as you shake your head, hands shaking. "I didn't know.." You repeat it 4 times.

"Y/N, you're lucky he didn't press charges, I can't believe you actually pepper sprayed him.." Natashas voice sounded from the phone in your hand as you recall the events from the morning.

"I know, I can't believe I did either. I feel so fucking bad about it.." you hold your head in your hand, guilt filling your gut.

"It happened. There's nothing you can do about it now. He'll be fine.. people get pepper sprayed all the time," she tries to joke, attempting to lighten the mood.

You sit up and sigh into the phone, looking around the room. The TV playing, the dusty art supplies sitting on a desk in the corner. Your eyes find and focus on the crumpled business card on the floor by the wall. As you stand, your feet carry you over, picking it up.

"I'll talk to you later, Nat," you say, letting her say goodbye before you hang up. Your hands straighten out the card, and you once again read the name in bold lettering.

The clock on the wall read 5:28 as you sat, one day after work, on a chair in the hallway near the front door. You look around the hallway that leads to a massive house. It seemed the front was used for her practice, a room on either side of the hallway. One you assumed an office, the other a room to meet with patients. The clock ticked to 5:29, and your leg began to bounce.

The door on the wall across from you opens, revealing a brown headed woman with a warm smile on her face. She was taller, a creme colored blouse and brown pants settled on her legs. Her familiar green eyes find yours, and you both let out a small, awkward chuckle.

"Y/N.." Wanda says and holds out her hand to you, watching as you stand in front of her.

Your hand reaches for hers, "Wanda.." Her hand is warm and soft in yours. You know you linger too long in her grip. She leads you into room number two, a medium-sized room with one big, comfortable looking chair and an even more comfortable looking couch. Behind her comfy chair was an extravagant looking fireplace. Bookshelves lined the walls, and as you walked inside, your fingers trail the spines of the books that sat on them. It felt comfortable and safe. The sun was beginning to set, and an orange glow filled the room. Wanda sits in a chair, a notepad, and pen in her lap. You follow suit, sitting across from her on the couch.

"So, are you sure you want to do this? I'd be more than happy to recommend you to some other, highly recommended, co-workers of mine?" Wanda says with a smile, and you can't help but blush. She just had that effect on you.

"As long as you're okay with it, I am. I trust you, and right now, I really need that.." You mumble the last part, sitting back into the couch. Wanda nods, understanding of you.

One of the last times you saw Wanda she was in your bed, giving you what still stands today, the best orgasms of your life. Natasha had thrown a Christmas party where you met. You and Wanda came alone. You both had a lot to drink, and one thing led to another. You spent the night talking and laughing, getting to know each other as you came on her fingers. After that, you saw her from time to time, over a couple of months. She let you eat her out on your couch and fucked you against the counter in your kitchen. It was the best sex you'll probably ever have. You felt more alive with her than you had in years.

But then you had to leave town for work, and by the time you came back, the two of you had lost touch. Then, a few months after, during the summer, when your shadow appeared, you cut practically everyone out of your life.

"Well then, let's get started," Wanda interrupts your train of thoughts with a click of her pen, crossing her legs. "I reviewed the file you sent over from your stay at the Bay Point Medical Center. Do you want to talk about that?" She asks, her voice as smooth as honey.

You let out a shaky sigh, playing with the zipper of the bag you held in your lap. "I've always been.. anxious, since I was a kid. Always had these uh, routines. Tie my shoes until they felt right, flick the lights 4 times before bed."

"Were you ever diagnosed or tested as a kid?"

"No, my mom didn't believe in that sort of thing."

"So you were first diagnosed with OCD and Bipolar Disorder at Bay Point." Wanda makes a note. You tap your leg 4 times.

"Yes."

"So what led you to that moment, to that night?" Her voice is so inviting. You would tell her just about anything at this point.

"I'm sure it says in the file.." You clear your throat, suddenly being unable to look her in the eyes.

"There is a version, but I'd like to hear yours." Her eyebrows raise, pen hovering over the paper of the pad.

"It was a few days after I saw my shadow," you start, Wanda has a curious look on her face.

A pause.

"Your shadow?" She asks, you nod.

"The stalker, person watching me." You reply, she nods for you to continue. "I hadn't slept in days. The police didn't believe me. There was no evidence, they said, that anyone besides me had been in the house that night. So I went to the docks, and I-I bought a gun from some junkie. I'm not proud of what I did," you say, meeting her comforting gaze.

"I'm sure. You hadn't slept in days. You were delusional - sleep deprived. No medication, no diagnosis. Under extreme stress. Given the circumstances, I'm glad no one was hurt." Wanda concurs.

"Well, maybe not physically. But when you wave a gun around at 3 in the morning down the street, maybe a little psychological damage to the family that found me," you groan and put your head in your hands.

"The report said you had left a note at your house. What did it say?" Wanda asks, and you think back to when you scribbled on a piece of paper, what you thought would be, your last words. You're quiet for a moment. Wanda can tell you won't answer that question just yet.

"How about, who did you leave it for?" She asks.

"For my shadow."

The rest of the session you had spilled about your feelings that night and talked about you OCD and Bipolar disorder. You told her about your stay at the mental hospital, and told her about your routines. You spoke to her of almost everything.

"I think this session was really productive, Y/N. You've been very open with me, and I appreciate that." Wanda stood at the front door, smiling down to you. It was dark now, the sun at set completely. "I'll see you at the same time, Thursday?"

You nod and smile back at her. "I'll see you then." You walk to your car, feeling lighter. But you also can't ignore the hair on the back of your neck rising as you drive away.

***

Summer 2017

You scream loudly as you turn to see a figure behind you. A shadow, dressed in all black. A white faceless mask covered their true face. They stand still as you back away, slowly tilting their head to the side.

"Run." A menacing whisper, a familiar tone.

You run.

#marvel #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x reader #elizabeth olsen #lizzie olsen #dark fic

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keen-li · 5 months

Text

Only one | 01

Warnings: toxic relationship trauma, trauma in general, mentally broken oc, manipulation, yendere jungkook. [Still more warnings to be added]

Psychiatrist jungkook x patient reader

.......

"I just wanna be good enough for someone you get" you play with the hem of your hospital gown.

"But no one is ever good to me" you take a deep breath feeling the tears coming but you hold them in.

"It's okay to cry, don't hide your emotions from me" your psychiatrist, Mr jeon, says having noticed you holding back. Once he says that your tears fall drop by drop until they're leaving your eyes like a waterfall. Mr jeon doesn't say anything, he just notes down what he observes.

"I know I'm good girl, don't you think I'm a good girl?" Good girl, a word You’ve been trying to stop referring to yourself as. Ever since your last relationship, which is one of the many reasons you're in this damn hospital, where your boyfriend would use it so often and even make you refer yourself as that, you haven't been able to let it go yet. Mr jeon hasn't addressed it yet but you're so sure he's noticed it by now.

He's silent to your question, "don't you think I'm a good girl" you ask so genuinely it's sad. Mr jeon simply smiles at you.

"I think you're a good person" he says no emotion behind it.

You scoff.

"I'm sorry, is there something else you would've liked me to say" he sits attentive and alert. His tone is gentle though the question feels sharp.

"I-i just..." You fail to speak and he gives you a reassuring look to help you speak.

"H-he always told me no-one will ever find me good enough apart from him" jungkook knows who the 'he' is, he's been a major topic of your sessions.

"Mmm" Mr jeon acknowledges as he takes note of something. Sometimes you spend your nights wondering what he's writing about you.

Could it be about how much he doesn't want to work with you anymore. Or maybe you're just insecure.

.....

"No please take me back" you flop around in the nurses hands.

"I'm okay, I promise." You don't sound okay and the nurses know better. It's one of those days where you have a mental breakdown. You don't see the damage you cause but others do and that's why they have to take you back to your room to cool down.

Mr jeon watches from afar as they take you away. You were having a session with him that's when you had your breakdown. You weren't even done with the session only in an hour out of the two hours you always have set. Mr jeon has seen your breakdowns before and even took notes of what you said while in that state.

Guess he has to see you next week.

......

You're sick of this place, its so plain and boring. You've been here for eight weeks and even though you feel you're getting better, the hospital thinks otherwise. Mr jeon hasn't given you anything on your progress, only praising you for your strength and openness. You want to know when you can leave this place. You wanna go back to your home, where your can rest peacefully with your dog and pet fish. Oh, you remembered your mother took your pets since you can't be there to take care of them. You just wanna be around them. And they've been on your mind lately.

"So how have you been?" He starts as he settles in his seat with just notepad, glasses glued to his face.

"I'm sorry I wasn't with you for the last two weeks" it's true, he's the only psychiatrist you trust and he hasn't been with you for two weeks. That caused you to have to speak to another psychiatrist, she honestly didn't understand you like Mr jeon does and that made it harder for you to express your true feelings.

"I had an emergency I had to attend to" Mr jeon doesn't talk about his personal life with you only focusing on yours. He doesn't need to tell you anything about his personal life and you don't need to know.

"I've been thinking about home more often lately." You say avoiding Mr jeon's eyes. He noticed you always did this when you expressed something to him that you weren't sure he'd be interested in. But he's always interested in what you say to him.

"Mm, what is it that you're missing at home?" he says in his ever present professional tone.

When he asks this question you remember the cute dog that's probably missing you right now, and the little fish you kept fed and clean in the tank, you hope whoever is looking after them is doing a good job cause if they aren't they're gonna feel it. Those animals have been the only source of comfort and joy in your life, until you were separated.

And now that he's asked that question and you realise the answer, the tears begin to form.

Mr jeon notices and smiles "its okay" his voice is so comforting that it aids your crying. Next second tears are flowing down your face as you try to control your sobs and breathing.

"I-i-i m-miss.." he can see you struggle with your words and reminds you of the breathing tactic he taught you.

You cool down a bit from the tactic, enough to say your words atleast.

"I miss my pets. My dog, my fish" you say and he can see how much they mean to you.

"Why do you miss them?" Seems like a bad question to ask someone in tears but because it's Mr jeon you don't mind.

"They were my only comfort, my only joy and my only hope" you sob as memories of them, especially your dog, make it to your brain.

He watches intently as you sob, he takes down some notes but you're too emotional to notice.

"I just wanna go home " you confess. "I'm tired of it here, I miss home" you sob intensely forgetting about the tactic.

"I'd honestly do anything to leave this place" Mr jeon stops at that.

"I just wanna leave this place" you confess all of this unconsciously. You feel so free around Mr jeon that you don't even think before you say anything.

"I just wanna go home" you whisper finally calming down.

You can see as you wipe your tears, Mr jeon places the note book down and even takes his glasses off. He only takes them off when he's leaving after his shift. He stands going to the door checking outside and locking it when he finally gets back.

You're confused about this new found behaviour, during your sessions he only focuses on you and never does anything else, especially not take off his glasses.

You're confused even more when he squats in front of you as if speaking to a child. He places his palms on the couch on each side of you as you stare at him with raised brows. It's weird seeing Mr jeon like this, he looks different from the the psychiatrist you speak to most of the time.

"Would you do anything to go back home?" he looks at you with so much patience and determination, like you would a child you're trying to convince to go to school.

"You'd do anything huh?" Even the way he's speaking is different, it's more casual.

You remember your previous confession, and even though it was an unconscious confession you still meant it. You can see him waiting for your answer and you unsurely nod.

He shakes his head declining your response.

"I need you to use your words. I need you to be sure" his tone is so soft and gentle and it makes you even more comfortable around him.

After thinking about it, which he lets you do, you have your answer.

"Yes I would." You nod along your words. He smiles at that, feeling to be going in the right direction with you.

"You know I can get you out of this place in a second, right?" He questions you.

You nod. "Words y/n"

"Yes, I know you can"

He nods. "Do you trust me? " It's actually something you've thought about. Do you trust Mr jeon? yes, yes you do. He's the only one you trust in this whole hospital or even the world.

"I do trust you, Mr jeon" he smiles at the honorific. You're unsure to what's he's getting to but you listen close.

"So if you trust me, then let me get you out of this place" why is he asking you this. Does he do this for others as well.

"I can take you somewhere better. I can take you home" and when he says home your eyes light up.

"Home?" You ask and he nods. "I do wanna go home"

"Okay then" he smiles at you. His eyes then turn dark But you can barely notice mind clogged with the hope of being able to go home.

"But you have to do one thing for me"

#fanfic #jungkook #jeon jungguk #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #bts #jungkook au #yendere jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook and reader #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook x you #jungkook x oc

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madisonwritesstuff · 8 months

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hi there!! could i request hannibal with a patient! reader who suffers from dermatillomania?

★ ; dermatillomania. -------------------

Hannibal Lecter x Patient! Reader.

im devoted so I spent like a solid 10 minutes researching about dermatillomania 😭 hope u enjoy !!

Tags ; reader has dermatillomania (obviously), no specified gender of reader, headcanons :33 hanni has a crush on reader..

When you first came to his office he was surprised by the scabs on your lips and face. You felt embarrassed and nervous but he assured you that you had no reason to.

You'd had been to a few psychiatrists but none of them had helped you with your disorder. So Hannibal was your last hope.

After a few sessions you had noticed a change in your habits, you started picking on your skin less and the previous wounds had started to heal.

In those months you had really gotten to know Hannibal, and you were happy he even talked about himself even if it was just a teensy bit of information.

You overshared practically every inch of your life, and he didn't judge you one bit and you actually felt a lot better getting all that stuff off your chest.

And no matter what he never judged you for anything, you felt like you could really be yourself around him.

Needless to say you were insecure of the marks they left behind, but Hannibal assured you the marks did not mess with how beautiful you appear to him the world.

When you denied him and told him you still feel ugly, he invited you to his dinner party and even bought you an outfit of your favorite color just to prove to you how beautiful you can be.

Now he mentioned a couple times how he refrains from getting to know his patients outside the office, so you felt a little giddy knowing that he still invited you to his dinner party.

At the dinner party, you were getting many compliments from the people around you, which definitely boosted your confidence.

That was until an snobby woman pointed out your scars, calling you “A disgrace to mankind's image.” You felt the stares around you and the whispers people made.

You began tearing up as the woman kept making jabs about your appearance.

“I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you to leave, Miss Constantine.” You heard Hannibal's voice from behind you as his hand wrapped around your waist. “Excuse me? You're defending that pig? And I thought you were better than that, Hannibal.” She spoke and crossed her arms.

“Miss Constantine I request you to leave my establishment before I make you.” He spoke, and even though you didn't look back at him the discomfort on the woman's face let you know he definitely intimidating her.

After the woman left, Hannibal made sure you were alright and even took you aside to a secluded place to comfort you .

“Do you think I'm ugly?” You asked him in a whisper. “You're the most beautiful person I've seen in a long time.” He gently spoke and cupped your face, smiling softly. “Don't ever doubt yourself, Y/N.” He assured you before planting a kiss on your forehead, and hugging you whilst putting your head against his chest.

#hannibal nbc #nbc hannibal #hannibal #hannibal lecter x fem reader #hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x y/n #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter x male reader #hannibal lecter x patient! reader #hannibal lecter x patient reader #dermatillomania #headcanons #hannibal lecter headcanons #headcannons #fem reader #female reader #male reader #patient reader

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c0ca1nekatee · 1 month

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here’s how i managed to lose 9kg/20lbs in a month (august-september)

literally just cut out everything but yogurt and water. not even kidding. all i ate in a day was a 90g cup of yogurt, aka 72 calories (80cal per 100g).

went from 51kg/112lbs to 42kg/92lbs from august 2nd to september 4th. got down to 39kg/86lbs in less than three weeks. 37kg/81lbs in november. just for clarity, i’m 168cm/5’6.

absolutely fcked up my life, though. had to get 10 iv fluids transferred in a row when 3 are considered dangerous. my blood pressure was 78 when the norm is 90-120 for my age. lost count of the amount of medications i have taken and the amount of money my parents had to spend on them. became the cause of my moms menopause, literally. my family was terrified that one night, when i’d go to sleep, i would never wake up again. made absolutely everybody hate me because i was a completely different person. went through 3 therapists, 2 psychotherapists and 1 psychiatrist. neither of them helped. tears, breakdowns and crazy panic attacks and family conflicts every single fcking day.

am i ready to do this all again? yes. shouldn’t have been a cow and gained all the weight back.

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imagining-in-the-margins · 1 year

Note

For the audience challenge - how about pregnancy themed fics? ❤️

Well, this is a popular one... 🤭

Smut

Domesticity: Reader gets worked up watching Spencer with kids. He notices. (Content Warning: Breeding kink, established relationship (married), unprotected sex)

Santa’s Gift: Reader asks her husband what he wants for Christmas. (Content Warning: Spencer/Reader have a son, Christmas mention, mentions of the Santa story, established relationship, breeding kink, unprotected sex, trying for a baby)

Thimble of Honey: Fantasy!AU, Fairy!Reader. Spencer falls for the fairy in his garden. (Content Warning: Fantasy elements, Magical!Reader, Fairy!Reader, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, brief allusion to breeding kink/pregnancy, marriage mention, nickname “Princess”)

Different Kind of Daddy: After a rough day, Reader has good news for her husband. (Content Warning: Oral sex (female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, DD/lg kink, alcohol, Reader’s weight is implied)

Fluff

Painting by Numbers: Spencer is still a little worried about his pregnant wife painting the house.

Practice Run: Spencer and Reader take on Derek’s challenge to babysit.

Impromptu: Reader learns some shocking news when a case lands her in the hospital. (Content Warning: Hospitals, unexpected pregnancy, concussions)

Moral of the Story (Series): (NSFW) Spencer has a surprise for you on the night before you two get married. (Content Warning: Unprotected sex, breeding kink, marriage, jokes about infidelity, Garter removal/toss)

Keep reading for Angst Fics & Series !

Angst

From the Tree: The kidnapping case becomes personal when Spencer and Reader get a call from their nanny. (Content Warning: Kidnapping, fighting, knives, children in danger, guns, death (minor character), murder, happy ending)

Stork Song: Spencer and Reader try to find intimacy again following a terrible loss. (Content Warning: miscarriage, trouble conceiving, potential infertility, crying, yelling (brief), grief, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, vague references to divorce (does not happen)

Phoenix (Series): (NSFW) Spencer Reid had a secret, and now you have a funeral to attend… Rewrite of the Emily/Doyle arc with Spencer taking Emily’s place. (Content Warning: gun violence, major character death (faked), heavy portrayals of grief, heated arguing/yelling, pregnancy/miscarriage)

Lily of the Valley (Series): (NSFW) Unsub!Spencer was found guilty but mentally ill after the torture and murder of several men. He finds solace in his psychiatrist at the institution. (Content Warning: institutionalization, state hospital, Doctor/Patient, Major Character Death (not shown), Mentions of death/murder, public sex, penetrative sex, forced sedation/tranquilizer use, needles, kidnapping, displays of force/violence, rough sex, chemical and physical restraints, knives/cuts, blood, reproduced/false depiction of a rape scene, DubCon (in that neither party wants to be violent, but both feel it is necessary), tearing clothing, choking, crying during sex, pregnancy discussion, guns, yelling, arguing, murder, death, stabbing, implied threats of assault on a woman)

Thanks for reading!

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid/you #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfic

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6lostgirl6 · 1 year

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Can you do a request for me with Hannibal x Fem Reader where she starts seeing him as a patient and you reveal to him that you have kinda gray morals when it comes to murder and stuff like that and over the course of about 6 months or so you two start falling for each other but he tries to keep it professional until he can’t anymore and fires you as a patient which upsets you until he tells you why he did it (which was so he could date you)

Unexpected Romance

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Fem!Reader

TW: slight meltdown, hints of murderous thoughts, dependence, slight angst, arguing, fighting, happy ending

You sighed, walking out of the building that once held your third psychiatrist of the month, clutching onto the white paper labeled 'referral.' It felt like a slap in the face, sitting in a comfortable office chair and spilling your deepest secrets to someone you barely knew, only for them to refer you to someone else.

'I don't know how else to help you.'

They would question you, offering you a false sense of security, yet when their prescribed medications and deeply-rooted questions did nothing, they simply lost hope in rekindling your sense of morality.

You were...beyond saving...

You slammed your car door shut, flinging the piece of paper onto your passenger seat where it lay abandoned, seemingly mocking you that it would add to your collection of your previous referrals, prescriptions, and office information. You sniffled, staring at the leather of your steering wheel. The next second, you were screaming, crying, and slamming your fist against the steering wheel as if it insulted you.

"Fuck!" You yelled, clutching your sore knuckles, staring at the bruises that were already starting to form from the force of your rage. "Fuck..."

You sniffled, staring into your rearview mirror, hastily wiping away the tears that were streaming down your face, eyes bloodshot and nose threatening to plug up from your excessive crying. You tried calming down, taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself down. Your first psychiatrist taught you about breathing exercises.

Yet, those techniques didn't stop you from the plague that invades your subconscious. The images of your family murdered, blood staining every crevice...

You shook your head before glancing over at the piece of paper, sighing to yourself as you reached over, picking it up. The name of your new therapist stared back at you, promising you of more false promises and hurt.

Dr. Lecter.

A few weeks later, you were sitting in the waiting room waiting for your first session. Well, first session with your new therapist. You were picking your nails as you watched the clock, dreading the unavoidable. The minutes were ticking by, seemingly mocking you of your adversity.

You were anxious all morning, pacing in your room, dressed and prepared only a few hours ahead of schedule. The drive was hellish, thoughts of canceling the appointment, suffering a fee and turning back haunted you. Now, you were in the waiting room with a racing heart, the pattering of the raindrops outside distracting you.

'I am beyond help...'

"Miss (L/N)?" A deep-toned voice asked.

Your head snapped, mind clearing as you faced the person that had called your name. Standing by the door, keeping it open with a charming yet polite smile upon his face, was your new and fourth psychiatrist.

Dr. Lecter

"Sorry, yeah, that's me." You said, standing from your seat but keeping your distance, you simply didn't want to barge into his office. You gave him a small smile, still feeling uncomfortable with the beginning of your session. "It's very nice to meet you, Dr. Lecter."

"Likewise." He replied, stepping to the side with the door still opened for you. "Shall we begin with our session for today?"

"Of course." You walked past him, nodding in thanks before stepping into his office, maintaining from letting out a gasp of surprise over the vastness of his office. If you hadn't known this was his office, you would have guessed it was. The room screamed elegance and filled with decor one would see in an art museum.

"You have a lovely office." You complimented, looking around the room as Dr. Lecter closed the door and walked over to his desk, picking up some papers.

"Thank you, I quite enjoy displaying decorum through interior decorating." He replied, almost in a teasing way. "I apologize that you've been waiting a few weeks before we could start. Your psychiatrist had to send your information over from previous sessions."

"I wish it were longer, actually." You stated halfheartedly, finally taking a seat when he gestured silently towards one of his many available chairs nearby, nodding in thanks.

"Not very fond of sessions are you, miss (L/N)?" He asked, glancing your way as he shuffled through some of your paperwork, most likely your old medications and lack of diagnoses.

"I'm not particularly fond of wasting my time talking about my issues until the person trying to help me figures out I'm just incurable." You refused to return his gaze, fiddling with your nails. "They can't figure out what's wrong with me."

"There is no such thing as being incurable, there's only being overlooked."

"How do you figure?" You asked in confusion, looking up to watch him place down the papers and take a seat across from you. You didn't like the way he refused to look away from you, it made you...fuzzy.

"I believe your experience with your previous psychiatrists are, in better terms, unfit to handle someone like you." He paused for a moment, "You need someone that is able to understand you, discover your innermost self and I'm simply a better fit."

You felt your cheeks warm slightly, glancing away and unable to understand that fuzzy feeling you were feeling in your chest. "You make it seem so undemanding." You only glanced back when he called your name.

"You, my dear, are not incurable."

You were speechless, you didn't know what else to say. Something that would make him deter him away, but nothing could cross your mind before he continued.

"You are not beyond saving."

You stared at him for a while, the words sinking into your mind and chasing away some of the doubt that has haunted you for a majority of your life. You decided, against your judgement and the aching of your heart at the risk of more pain, you would give him a chance.

You nodded, which prompted him to give you a polite smile.

Time to restart the process.

At first, it was morbid curiosity.

When Hannibal was notified that he was being referred to a fellow colleague's previous patient, he was curious, very curious. He wanted to know the reason a respected psychiatrist, with an incredible track record, couldn't help a patient for once.

Therefore, he decided he would see the person behind his fellow colleague practically being close to ripping their hair out in stress. However, he was genuinely surprised when he opened his office door and saw you sitting in the waiting room. Your timid form playing with your nails with your gaze laser-focused on the clock that you didn't even react when he stood in your presence. Yet, you were oddly polite and if Hannibal didn't read your paperwork, he would have assumed you were an ordinary girl with her own issues.

However, you were...different.

He couldn't place his finger on what it was, but you weren't like anyone else he had seen step into his office. Your profile made it seem like you were a delinquent waiting to happen. However, you were polite, respectful, and had a deep passion for the arts similar to himself. He's never met an individual who shared a multitude of common interests with him. Perhaps, he underestimated you. He certainly wasn't prepared by how pretty you were and how close you two would become and he wouldn't forget your first session. When he had the opportunity to dig deep within your center and rip out your deepest secrets about yourself, in his own space.

Your gaze was focused on the window, watching the water droplets from the rain slide down the glass, the sleeves of your sweater hiding your delicate fingers. Those slim fingers that he couldn't stop staring at. You seemed so helpless, desperate for validation for the things you were going through, and he wanted to know the root of the problem.

Perhaps then, his curiosity would dissipate and he would have an easier time letting someone like you go.

"You must tell me what you're feeling if I am to help you, Miss (L/N)." He spoke softly, crossing his fingers and catching your gaze as you turned away from the window to return your attention with him.

“I feel…” You muttered with a pause, before turning your attention to the man across from you, “like I’m a danger to myself and others because of the things I think about.”

“And what do you feel?” He asked, voice subconsciously matching your own.

“I think about hurting people, people that I used to care about. Seeing their faces twist in pain as their life drains from their eyes.”

“How does it make you feel? Those thoughts that haunt you, you mentioned that they plague you. Is it because you’re ashamed of them?” He mentally cursed himself, allowing his growing curiosity and obsession to take hold in order to discover you.

“They do haunt me but…it’s not because I’m ashamed of them.” You avoided the intensity of his stare, staring at the loose fabric of your sweater. “I’m ashamed of them because I like the thoughts.”

He swore he felt his heart skip a beat.

It has been six months since you've become his patient and Hannibal was plagued with conflicted feelings. Over the course of six months, Hannibal began to notice the ever growing affection he held for you. The soft moments between you during the break between sessions where you both would discuss your various common interests of art, music, and food.

He never thought he would find an individual so interesting, articulate, and extremely beautiful. He could still remember your lovely smile when he presented you with one of your favorite books he happened to have in his many collections of literature. He knew that he had fallen in love with you. Something he never quite expected to happen in his entire lifetime.

However, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Not when he was still continuing to be your psychiatrist.

A few days after your last session, he turned in his referral for your new psychiatrist and he prayed that you would allow him to reason with you when you find out what he has done in order to be with you properly. From your previous sessions, he knew of the abandonment you’ve feared, however, he didn’t want you feeling like he gave up on you.

He was sitting at his desk, checking his watch as he waited for your arrival. His mind was repeatedly going through the possibilities of your reaction. Your consistent timing insisted that you would arrive any minute. He decided with a heavy sigh, that he would check the waiting room and hoped that you would accept his feelings.

You smiled to yourself, sitting in your usual spot in the corner of the waiting room. You arrived a few minutes early, yet it allowed you to have some time for yourself before you continued your session with Dr. Lecter.

Despite the happiness you felt, you still felt a little nervous. For the past few weeks, you have realized something about yourself that you didn’t think would possibly ever happen. The fuzzy feeling that continued to tickle your mind all those months was the blossoming feeling of love.

It left you scared, scared of the possibility of what it could do to affect the professional relationship between doctor and patient. The possibility of Dr. Lecter discovering your feelings and refusing to continue helping you. All due to the disgust of having someone like you fall for someone like him. It left you feeling defeated already, yet you will allow yourself to continue to be around him. To be around him and never letting your feelings show.

The sound of the door opening made you stand, giving Dr. Lecter a smile which he gladly returned with a soft greeting. However, something in his face made you hesitate in replying. He seemed to have something bothering him and your heart skipped a beat.

This couldn’t be what you think it is…

Pushing the thought from your mind, you quickly returned the greeting.

“Afternoon, Dr. Lecter.” You said, stepping forward when he moved to the side to allow you to walk past him and into his office. “Something troubling you?”

The suit-clad man quietly closed the door, walking past you to stand near his desk, he leaned against the wood, hands perched on the surface. “We have something to discuss.” He finally said, gesturing to the recliner.

“I think I can manage just fine standing.” You retorted, voice full of ice as your eyes hardened slightly. Your body tensed as you continued standing your ground, crossing your arms. “What’s the issue?” you asked, desperately trying to keep the hurt from your voice.

“Please, allow me to explain myself, I do not wish for you to assume-”

“I think I’m assuming correctly, right? Just go ahead and tell me what you’re thinking.”

He sighed, glancing away, presumably gathering his thoughts.

“I believe it is best if I am no longer your psychiatrist-”

Crash.

Hannibal ducked when something was sent flying towards his head, resulting in a loud crash as the object practically combusted against the wall. In instinct, he was quick to cover his face with his forearm, protecting himself from getting hit directly. He was shocked for a moment, processing what occurred before hearing you rush towards him.

“How could you?!” You yelled, trying to hit him with raised fists, becoming more annoyed when your old physiatrist kept blocking your feasible attacks. “You said you wouldn’t give up on me! You fucking liar!”

“I’ve never lied to you! Let me explain!” You couldn’t bother to see his reaction, his face expressing a mix of emotions of shock and desire. He never witnessed you become so angry before, especially at him. He found his fascination for you grew even more. “You’re only making things worse.”

“I don’t care, asshole!” You screamed, pushing him which didn’t even move him an inch as he stared down at you, gripping your forearms as you started crying. “Why are you getting rid of me!”

“You stupid girl!” Suddenly, you were pinned against the wall, gasping in shock at the warmth of Hannibal’s chest pressed against your own, your wrists pinned on each side of your head. “I only did it to be closer to you!”

“What…?” You were breathless, staring into his eyes that were full of darkness and something else you couldn’t recognize. His warm breath hitting the side of your face from his close proximity. “Then, why would you?”

Instead of answering, Hannibal simply leaned down and kissed you, warm lips pressed against your own, which quickly turned passionate. Eagerly, you returned the kiss, pressing closer to him as Hannibal let go of one of your wrists to grip the back of your head, fingers tangling into your hair.

After a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, he slowly pulled away, gazing down at you while you tried catching your breath.

“I’m in love with you, (Y/N).” He stated, fingers pulling away from your hair to instead delicately graze the soft skin of your cheek. “I cannot court you properly if I remain your psychiatrist.”

“Dr. Lecter, I-” Your eyes watered, ashamed of your previous behavior.

“Hannibal, darling.” He muttered softly, stroking your cheek as he pressed his forehead against your own. “I accept you as you are and I want you to be mine, always. Will you consider that?”

You smiled softly, sniffling as you nodded, resulting in Hannibal pulling you into a tight embrace which you gladly returned. “You already have me.” You replied.

Spam Liking = Blocked

Taglist: Comment to be added!!

@prettywhenibleed

#hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x you #hannibal lecter x y/n #hannibal lecter fanfiction #hannibal lecter fanfic #nbc hannibal #hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter x fem!reader #fem!reader #hannibal nbc fanfiction #hannibal nbc fanfic #nbc hannibal fanfiction #nbc hannibal fanfic #slasher fanfiction #slasher fanfic

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thedisablednaturalist · 2 years

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I think what trips people up in the neurodivergent vs. physically disabled discourse is that you can't treat disabilities the same way as you treat LGBTQ+ identities. The goal for LGBTQ+ identities if for us all to one day be equal to cishet+ people. Someones gender identity or sexuality or race will not make them inherently more privileged or oppressed eventually. But with illnesses it's different.

I'm an ambulatory wheelchair user. I am disabled, but someone who is paralyzed is less privileged than me even though we both use wheelchairs and are disabled. For example, if I reach an area that is inaccessible, I can stand up and go around or remove the obstacle. It is not as easy for someone who is a full time wheelchair user. But we are still both disabled. Someone who has only ADHD and no physical disabilities is more privileged than someone with physical disabilities. Both people are disabled. However if the building is burning down, one person can take the stairs and escape and one person has to wait for rescue. And for the foreseeable future, unless there comes a day that prosthetics and medicine become so advanced there are no longer any negative aspects of disability (pain, illness, mobility, mental state), this will be the case.

And instead of trying to burst into the paraplegic support group and whine at them and throw a fit that they aren't talking about ME, I use my privilege to advocate for more accessibility in my town and at my college campus. Not that they aren't able to, but being able to mask my disability has put me in sort of a medium between abled people and the disabled community. I've been able to help so I do.

I am physically disabled, so I consider myself part of the cripplepunk community. I can do this because people look at me and label me as a cripple. People don't look at a mentally ill/neurodivergent person and do that. There are other descriptors used for neurodivergents if you would like to reclaim one of them.

Also, I consider myself neurodivergent as well. Some of you don't consider that people can be physically disabled AND neurodivergent. The barriers I faced with my neurodivergence and the barriers I faced with my physical disability are worlds apart. Both are challenging, but my physical disability has been harder. Does that mean I should ignore my neurodivergence? Does that mean neurodivergents should no longer be supported? Of course not! But in many cases, especially in modern times, mental health has made a ton of progress but it's left us physically disabled peeps behind. So please stop talking over physically disabled and chronically ill people and derailing the little support we get for yourselves. You aren't a cripple and you don't need to be one to be a part of the larger disabled community. You don't need to be a cripple to get support. In our society it's the opposite. We get left behind, ignored, our lives ripped from us. And yea, neurodivergents have this happen to them too but please understand that our pain has continued while neurodivergence is becoming more accepted.

I was able to get on meds so easily. I was screened for depression at my school. There were problems with this of course but they actually tried to seek out depressed kids and help them (even if it caused issues). Yes it costs money. Yes it may be harder outside of the states (or easier idk). But the same shit happens to us cripples as well and our mobility devices cost THOUSANDS out of pocket while meds cost hundreds at the most. My psychiatrist gave me a Zoloft prescription my first appointment and my rheumatologist laughed at me for wanting a walker.

We are tired and we are mad. We have a right to be angry at the mistreatment we've suffered. It's incredibly insulting to dismiss that pain. It's what our doctors do to us, our parents, our friends, our communities. Stop tearing us down to push yourselves further forward. If you truly want to get rid of any division in our community, help bring us up to your level instead of throwing a tantrum about the meanie cripples not letting you take our word that doesn't even fit you. It's insulting to want a word so bad that would never be thrown at you in the first place. It's like a cis binary queer person crying that they can't use the word tranny for themselves.

Please try to understand our pain and educate yourselves about history and experiences outside of your own diagnosis. Don't assume we have it easier because you see us. Most people don't.

#fibromyalgia #chronic disability #chronic pain #spoonie #cripplepunk #any other physically disabled people feel free to chime in #abled people dont clown on this post #honestly there was such a stark difference in how i was treated when i disclosed my adhd/anxiety/depression/DID vs #when i started using a wheelchair #people reacted badly to both sides but reacted so much worse to the wheelchair

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eijirousbestie · 11 months

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“I’m done talkin”

inspired by the song below (i recommend listening while reading

pure angst sry not sry

unresolved anger issues

no happy ending

“Are you sure you don’t wanna talk about it at least?”

“There’s nothin’ to talk about.”

“With what happened out there just now? There is definitely something to talk about.”

A long silence fills the air. It’s hard and steely, unwilling to waiver or break. It felt like all the progress you two had made was ripped away in less than a second.

“I don’t wanna push but I need us to be on the same page here yeah? It’s harder to figure this out when it’s just—never mind.”

“‘When it’s just’ what?” When it’s just me trying is what you wanted to say but decided better against it. His eyes settle on you, the gaze pointed, almost accusatory. You don’t want to antagonize him and potentially make the situation worse because of your poor word choice. But it’s hard. Hard to walk on eggshells around someone just to stay in good graces.

“It’s nothing. I misspoke.”

“Here we go with that shit.”

What does he mean?

“What do you mean?” A beat passes and he’s speaking again, although reluctantly.

“Would you drop the psychiatrist bullshit? Actin’ like you know every fuckin’ thing when you don’t know shit about me.”

Where is this coming from? You try not to get emotional. It’ll only get in the way of finding a fix to… whatever this is.

“Katsuki, if you felt that I was overstepping I’m sorry. But I’m just trying to better understand what’s got you lashing out like this.”

“Don’t talk down to me like I’m a fuckin’ kid. Just say what you wanna say straight up. We both know you don’t talk like that.” His jaw is clenched hard, the muscles on the sides of his face flexing and constricting every few moments.

He’s entirely pissed off right now. But it’s almost an unadulterated rage you hadn’t seen on him since he was fifteen. All these years he’d done better, been better. He’d calmed down and grown to let out his frustrations on a punching bag instead of an actual person. You’d been there by his side along the way, but he’d mainly made the change himself. He pushed himself to be better, to be less angry at the world and all that resided it.

But today is different. And you’re not sure why.

“Can you at least tell me what’s got you pissed?” You’re not really sure what to say. It’s like walking on a mine field. One wrong step and it’s all over.

A short, exasperated chuckle leaves the lips of the man in front of you. Seated on the edge of his bed, forearms propped up on his thighs with his head hanging low, messy tufts of blonde shaking slightly as his body trembles with his laughter. It’s mocking.

“You.” His eyes flicked up to yours, the ghost of a sarcastic smile still gracing his face, like he couldn’t believe you’d asked him such a dumb question with such an obvious answer.

Your heart sinks. “Me?”

“Did I stutter?” His tone switches. No longer mocking, but now all too serious. Like he’s physically biting his tongue to not tear down your entire character.

“Why am I—why do you have an issue with me?”

His eyes narrow, embers flickering behind his lashes. His hands ball up together in front of him in a tight grasp. Like he’s trying to keep himself together.

“Cuz—you piss me off. You agitate me.”

“Katsuki I—”

“Don’t talk over me.” Silence.

“You do that thing where you try to ‘get down on my level’ like I’m somethin’ that needs to be studied. You talk like you know everything I don’t already know about myself. Shit’s infuriating. You always gotta make me talk after I get upset about anythin’. Every. Fucking. Time.”

His jaw is set and he shakes his head in disbelief.

“And I’m sick of that shit. What if I don’t wanna talk about how I feel after every situation huh? It comes easy to you. You’re good at that shit. Expressin’ your emotions. M’not. I just—close up.”

It hurts your heart to hear how he’s been struggling this entire time. On the outside it’d seemed like he was opening up and getting in touch with his emotions. But maybe, that’s only what he wanted you to see. Or maybe, you were looking through rose tinted glasses throughout the last four years. Your eyes fall to the floor under your feet, trying to find the right words to say. But nothing. How can words do justice to how much guilt you feel for overlooking what he was really harboring all by himself? It hurts.

“Katsuki… I didn’t know…” It’s as if no explanation was good enough.

“Save the dramatics for somebody that gives a shit. I’m over it.”

“No, there’s no way you could be—”

“I said I’m over it. I’m deading the shit. I’m not dealin’ with it no more. I’m done talkin’.”

The feeling that sits heavy in your stomach is uncomfortable. It’s unnerving. Never once has an issue with one another not been resolved, but he doesn’t even want to try. You can’t help but to respect his choice and give him his space.

But something tells you that you might not be able to come back from this. You nod and let out an okay in response, your voice barely above a whisper. You walk to his door, placing your hand on the doorknob and freeze.

“I know it’s a fucked place to be in right now but I’m always gonna be here for you. I’m not walking out on you Kats.” More silence fills the room. Nothing comes from him. Not even a grunt or a nod. You twist the knob and leave his room with a heavy heart and a heavy mind.

#sometimes small things build up #bakugou katsuki #Spotify #mha headcanons #bakugou headcanons #mha drabbles #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #mha bakugou #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou fic #bakugou angst #mha angst

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creepy-friday · 1 year

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Creepypasta Jeff x Proxy fem!Reader

|"Good person"|

Warnings: angst,drugs mentions

"I need you to tell me that I am a good person" ~inspired by Bojack

"Jeff?" you asked the man next to the tree,his figure being shallowed whole by the shadows of the night.To be honest,you didn't expect the smiling killer to be out at the time you ended your demon hunt,was he high?

"I'm not fucking high." he broke the silence with an angry tone as if reading your thoughts."You're staring at me like you haven't seen a fucking-just,let me be,kay'?I fucked up a little,I need some time out.No jokes,no funny business,just leave to your witch hunt or something.." the pale man mumbled loud enough for you to hear.

Jeffrey sure was an odd individual,and without question he suffered some sort of mental illness,but you never pressed anyone to open up to you.It wasn't your job to be their therapist-but to calm down any outburts that would cause trouble.

This is the first time you have this much time to stare at him like that,the first time he doesn't have any spark in his eyes nor any blood on his clothes.

Instead of trailing off you noticed how he simply stared at his hands,a white dust being nearly visible on them.Did he lost his drugs?Was he having a withdrawal?Maybe he was injured and didn't want to tell you like a little bitch.

Your accusations were interrupted by the man's tears that started to trickle down his pale cheeks,falling down his sickly figure.

"I need you to tell me that I am a good person." he whispered,head titled down as his eyes moved from one place to the other,as if he was searching on the ground for a reason for you to respond.

Why did he need your approval?Why yours?Were you two even close to begin with in order for him to consider your opinion?

You clenched your jaw and continued to look next to him,sharing a comfortable silence yet to be filled with sadness.After a few moments the dark haired man suddenly moved his hands to wipe his tears."Sorry,that was a moment of uhh.." he continued to rub his hands on the pale skin of his face until he left red marks on it.

"Of weakness.Yeah.." he stood up,looking for a second in your eyes then focusing on the empty space next to you."fuck." his eyes grew wide then an expression of utter disgust mixed with despair appeared on his features

"Ah,FUCK!" his eyebrows furrowed as he moved his hand trough his dark locks.

"Jeff,calm down." the sudden response from you made him jump.

"I am calm-I am fucking calm." the memories of his 18 year old self flooded his mind,from the psychiatrist who told him to calm down to his brother.

"Listen,Y/N,just this once,do not talk to anyone about this.See,I am calm." he stated,voice as clear as ever as his eyes betrayed him."Forget this."

"Just..ha..I had my moment." he joked as he hurried past you,leaving you all alone.You didn't chase after him,but looked as he disappeared trough the trees.

Upon a closer look at the spot he used to sit on,you noticed one of his knives. Surprisingly,this one was clean and devoid of any red substances.Picking it up you further analysed it,deciding on which option was the best one-to give it back to the killer or to leave it be-like you left him hanging on his question.

#creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta #y/n #headcanons #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer headcanons #jeffrey woods headcanons #jeffrey woods x reader #jeffrey woods #angst #jeff the killer #creepypasta jeff

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scottishaccentsareawesome · 4 months

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OK this one's going out to @redfurrycat specifically. I just finished watching this movie, so I'm on a high, so bear with me....

"Sleepless in Seattle" IceMav AU

Bradley Bradshaw is eight years old. His biological father, Nick Bradshaw, passed away a year ago, leaving Bradley to be raised by his partner, Pete Mitchell.

Ever since Nick passed away, Pete has basically been a recluse. He raises Bradley the best he can, and goes to work, but he doesn't spend time with friends very much, and he definitely doesn't date.

Bradley is worried about his Uncle Pete, and believes he should move on and start dating again. But he doesn't know how to help his uncle get past his loneliness, so he does what he thinks is the most logical thing - and calls in to a psychiatrist's radio show for advice.

Tom Kazansky is halfway across the country, driving to his fiance's parents house for Christmas, when he hears Bradley calling in to Dr. Penny Benjamin's show on satellite radio. He is instantly charmed (and saddened) by this young child who wants so badly for his guardian to get out there and meet someone new, so he won't be lonely anymore.

After Bradley talks to Dr. Penny for a few minutes, Penny asks Bradley if he can put his uncle on the phone. Tom is floored by the cajones on this woman, and as he listens, he discovers that Pete Mitchell is too. The guy definitely doesn't sound appreciative of being asked about his personal life, on a radio show, by a complete stranger. But after a couple of minutes, Pete starts to open up about Nick, and how much he and Bradley miss him, and how much he loved him - and how these days, the best he can do is tell himself to get out of bed, and remind himself how to breathe, and hope that not all days will be as difficult as these ones have been.

Tom is in tears by the end of the segment. He is so moved by Pete and Bradley, and somehow so drawn to Pete, even though he'd only heard his voice. He doesn't know what he looks like, he doesn't know anything about him, except that he's recently widowed (why do they call it widowed if you're a widower? They should call it widowered, shouldn't they?), and that he's raising what sounds like really great kid.

In the days that follow the radio show, Pete receives thousands of letters and emails from people who want to date him. He thinks the whole idea is nuts and refuses to look at any of them, but Bradley pours through them, intent on finding a new love for Pete, and a new step-parent for himself.

Tom tries to go on with his regular life - his fiance, his job, his friends - but he cannot get Pete Mitchell out of his mind. Which is RIDICULOUS, because he lives hundreds of miles away, and damnit TOM IS ENGAGED!

...But somehow that doesn't stop Tom from looking up all he can about Pete Mitchell. He considers even going to his home address to meet him (you can find anything on the internet now...if you hack a few databases, it's so creepy!).

...In the end, despite his location, and his fiance, and the fact that everything could crash and burn in one foul swoop, Tom decides to send a letter.

He's inspired by his favourite romantic movie, An Affair to Remember. And after he tell Pete a few things about himself, he writes that he would love to meet him on top of the Empire State Building in New York City, on Valentine's Day.

A few days later, in Pete and Bradley's house, Bradley rushes into Pete's bedroom holding Tom's letter.

"This one!" Bradley exclaims. "Tom's the one I like!"

#top gun ficlet #top gun 1986 #sleepless in seattle #icemav au #icemav #maverick & bradley #past-maverick x goose #pete mitchell #tom kazansky #bradley bradshaw #nick bradshaw #penny benjamin

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atlafan · 1 year

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Carnal Attraction - Part One

a/n: sexology professor!harry is here!! Just a reminder, this is the only part being posted on here. The rest will be on Patreon. I can’t wait to know what you all think so far. This is going to be a good one, I think.

Warnings: talk of sexual acts, mentions of sexual misconduct

Words: 4.7K

Tumblr Masterlist I Patreon Masterlist

The world of academia is astounding. People stay in higher education for so many different reasons. Some go off to become medical doctors, others become doctors in specific fields like psychology or literature or philosophy. Some choose to stay in academia because they don’t want to sell their souls to industry work. Mavis always loved school. She was one of those kids that did well no matter what the subject was. She studied hard, wanting to take in more and more information. She was naturally gifted in the art of time management. Everything clicked for her. If something was puzzling, she’d figure it out.

There isn’t much she can’t figure out. Which is why she’s grown increasingly aggravated with her sexology professor. She can’t figure him out. She swears he hates her. He’s short with her, and less personable with her than he is with the other students. She’s never struggled like this with someone before. And he wasn’t even supposed to be the one teaching her courses!

When Mavis tells people she’s in graduate school for a master’s in sexology, they look at her funny. Furrowed eyebrows, puzzled facial expressions, etc. No one can ever piece together why someone would get an advanced degree in a subject like this. That’s because people can’t get their minds out of the gutter. In undergrad, Mavis majored in psychology, and minored in gender and sexuality studies. She eventually wants to produce literature and perform psychoanalysis on sexual behavior and sexual issues. She thought she wanted to be a psychiatrist, but that involves medical school. And as smart as she is, she’s rather squeamish when it comes to blood. So, then she thought maybe being a psychologist, some type of sex therapist would be good, but she honestly has a tough time speaking aloud about the various subjects. And sex therapy isn’t just for helping couples have better sex, a lot of it is helping people with history of sexual abuse recover and find ways to heal. Mavis doesn’t have the stomach for that. She cried too many times reading case studies about it in undergrad.

All that being said, she eventually wants to get her doctorate in psychology with a concentration in sexology, so when she found a graduate program to help get her started on that journey, she went for it. She could write about sexual disorders and the like all day. When she’s writing and researching, she’s quite helpful to others. She enjoys learning about sexual history, those were always her favorite courses. Learning about how trans people in the 1800’s used binders to hide their breasts, learning about how two opposite sex couples would get married, go in on a duplex together, and use the basement to sneak over to sleep with their same sex partner, learning about different gay and lesbian liberation movements, the HIV/AIDS epidemic, and so much more was where her interest was. It all just fascinated her, it all astounded her, and a lot of it just made her downright upset. Tears would litter her textbooks as she read about people being beaten senseless until they were left for dead in the streets. She’d cry because all of it was happening not too long ago. She cried because it still happens today.

She’s quite empathetic, and almost too much to a fault. But she can’t help that she cares! She enjoys studying the psychology side of things, how the brain functions of these people work, how the brains of bigots function, if there’s a disparity between the two on scans or octopuses. All Mavis wants to do is hunker down in her own academic sanctuary and research and read and write and publish.

Mavis had been assigned an advisor over the summer, one whom she emailed with frequently to make sure she was taking the correct courses in the correct sequence. Her advisor recommended courses with one specific professor, Professor Amaro. Apparently, her classes were top tier, and she was a favorite amongst the other graduate students. No brainer – sign up for Amaro’s courses.

Except when Mavis showed up for her first day of Human Sexuality, a co-requisite for her Sexual Pleasure Education course, there was a man standing at the podium, hooking his laptop up to the HDMI cable so he could project onto the screen up front. At first, she thought maybe he was a TA just setting up for Professor Amaro. She paid it no mind. She found a seat in the middle front, and got her own things set up. It’s syllabus week, so there won’t be much to go over, but Mavis still likes to take handwritten notes. She pulled her agenda, a notebook, and her copy of the syllabus out, and set them on her desk. The classroom is small, only meant to hold about twenty-five people. Mavis prefers small classrooms. She’s not a fan of lecture halls with stadium-style seating.

“Is anyone sitting here?” A woman’s voice took over Mavis’ attention. The desks are set up for two people to sit at. “If it is, I can sit somewhere else.”

“Oh! No, go right ahead.” Mavis smiled. “I’m Mavis.”

“Thanks.” The woman says with relief as she sits down. “I’m Taraji, I use she/they pronouns.”

“Nice to meet you. I use she/her. Thanks for letting me know yours.”

“Nice to meet you too, and no problem. It’s something new I’m trying out. I don’t…I don’t always feel like a she, you know?”

“Totally get that.”

“Sorry, I hope that wasn’t too much info too soon.”

“No worries.” Mavis waves her off. “We’re going to be talking about some real shit in this class, it’s best to just be open and honest.”

“Agreed.” Taraji takes out her own agenda and notebook. “I hate that we have to take this course in conjunction with the sexual pleasure class. I feel like I’ve taken a million human sexuality courses at this point.”

“I know, it seems a little odd, but I figure there must be more high level stuff to discuss since this is at the grad level. And review isn’t always a bad thing, I like refreshers.”

“Well, aren’t you full of silver linings?” Taraji smiles. “We need more people like that in this world.”

The girls continue to chat while the class fills in. At 10:30, the man at the front closes the door and turns the projector on, revealing his screen. Mavis’ stomach drops when she sees Human Sexuality – Professor Styles – M/W 10:30-12:00 in big bold letters.

“What happened to Professor Amaro?” She whispers to Taraji.

“Beats me.” Taraji shrugs. “Maybe we signed up for the wrong section?”

“That can’t be it, this is the only section being offered.”

The man, Professor Styles, clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. He’s wearing a button up, but it’s not buttoned up all the way. You can see his undershirt. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing quite a few tattoos. Round glasses are on the bridge of his nose, and his hair is pushed back with a couple of curls falling forward on his forehead. He looks young. Who the fuck is this guy?

“Morning, everyone.” His deep voice fills the room as he rounds the podium to stand in front of the desk attached to it. He leans back against it, gripping the edge behind him. “I’m Professor Harry Styles, I prefer to be called professor, so please try to remember that. I’m sure you’re very confused as to why I’m standing here and not Professor Amara.” He pauses to take a sip of water from his Nalgene. “I quite literally found out the other day that I would be taking over her courses. To be transparent with all of you, Professor Amaro is under investigation for sexual misconduct with her patients. As many of you know, a lot of the professors in the psychology department have their own practices outside of academia. Summer is when Professor Amaro picks up new patients. There was someone undercover seeing her for therapy, and she was caught taking advantage. It’s extremely disappointing. So, not only will she be losing her licensure, but she has been let go from the institution as well. We do not condone the abuse of patients. We also do not want someone so unethical being the one to teach our future therapists. How many of you are in here as part of the clinical licensure program?” More than half of the class raises their hands. “Right, I thought so. I usually teach undergraduate courses, but I’m fully prepared to teach at the graduate level just the same. I know many of you have already taken different iterations of Human Sexuality, but this course is integral for you so you can fully get what’s needed out of the Sexual Pleasure Education course. It says 10:30 to noon up here, but I’ll typically only be keeping you for about an hour, if that. Many of you have research and other time consuming things to do, and I want to be cognizant of that. I am also working towards my PhD, I’m about two years into my program and research.” He pauses again, knowing he just word vomited. The class is stunned with the bomb he just dropped about Professor Amaro, and they’re whiplashed going from that to the basic information about the course. “Any questions so far?”

“I have one.” A brave soul in the back raises their hand. “Which undergraduate courses do you teach? Will you need any TA’s since your load just got bigger?”

“Great question, thank you for asking. I will end up needing TA’s, but I have to wait to meet with the department chair to see what our budget is. I teach the undergraduate intro to gender and sexuality studies, and I also teach some of the higher level special topics courses. This semester I’m teaching the history of feminism, which is one of my favorites to teach, and I’m also teaching the film history course that focuses on how sex has been depicted in film since its start to the present.”

“You’re teaching a course about feminism?” Another person asks.

“Yes.” Professor Styles smirks. “It’s one of my main focuses of study. I may not be a woman, but I am a man that believes in equity and equality. Plus, I’m a huge history buff, so I enjoy teaching about how the movement began and how feminism has transformed over the years, both the good and the bad of it.”

Mavis swallows thickly. She’s a history buff too. Maybe she could be a TA for one of his classes. The extra money would be nice, and so would the bit of teaching experience if she were allowed to give a lecture or two.

“Let’s focus on this class. We’ll be going over a number of topics, and at times you may feel the need to giggle because of nerves. We’re going to discuss endorsement, communication, fantasy, masturbation, homosexuality, bisexuality, desensitization and resensitization, female and male sexuality, sexual enrichment, special problems, therapy, and cultural expression. So, this gives us a base for what we’ll be discussing in the co-requisite course. Now, I’m going to do something that I do with my undergrads, I’m going to say a ton of words and phrases that you’ll feel the need to giggle about as we discuss certain topics. This is your only chance to laugh. If you do it throughout the semester, then we’re going to have a problem. If you become a sex therapist, you can’t laugh at your patients. We’ll get into why these words make us feel nervous, and why we feel the need to laugh when we hear them.” He grabs the remote for the projector and clicks it. Everyone gasps and starts laughing when they see many words and phrases appear. “Alright: penis, vagina, pussy, cunt, cock, dick, mutual masturbation, anal, penetration, fingering, eating out, going down, blow job, hand job, sucking someone off, breasts, boobs, nipples, fetish, BDSM, whips, chains, handcuffs, threesomes, orgies, condoms, contraceptives, birth control pills, IUD, sex toys, dildo, vibrator, cock ring, lube, dirty talk, dominant, submissive, daddy, baby talk, douching, porn, clit, clitoris, prostate, prostate orgasm, orgasm, vaginal orgasm, stimulation, fucking, fisting, getting wet, wet, come, precome, squirt, squirting, ejaculation, and sex.”

The entire class is snickering and giggling and laughing, even Mavis. Hearing all of those things back to back and watching the words dance on the screen in an animated fashion is hilarious. What a fun approach to getting people more comfortable with these terms.

“There are many more words and phrases, obviously, but these will be the ones we use more often.” Professor Styles explains, smiling fondly to the class. “If you’d like to be considered for a TA position, please come up to me after you’re dismissed. “Any questions?” No one raises their hand. “Great, then you’re dismissed. Enjoy the nice weather.”

Mavis and Taraji exchange contact info, and agree to meet for coffee tomorrow morning before their sexual pleasure course. A few people go up to Professor Styles to tell him they’d like to be a TA, and he takes down their information. Mavis is the last in line, the last student in the classroom with Professor Styles.

“Name?” He asks, not looking up at her.

“Mavis Ashford.”

“Alright.” He looks up at her now, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Do you have a preference?”

“I’d love to help out in the feminism course or the film history course. I like the historical side of things when it comes to studying this content.”

“Great, those are usually the ones I have trouble finding help for.”

“Really? I’m surprised.”

“Since a lot of you are here to become licensed therapists or psychologists, not a lot of people are interested in the theoretical aspect of things.”

“Well, I definitely do not want to be a therapist. I want to do research, eventually get my PhD, like you, I suppose. I’m sad about Professor Amaro, I heard so many good things about her.”

“None of us knew about any of it. She hid what she was doing well. She had been doing it for years, supposedly.” He sighs and takes his glasses off, putting them into their case. Mavis catches how green his eyes are, almost like sage. “Did you have any other questions? I need to get across campus to my office so I can take some time to edit the Canvas courses a little more.”

“Oh! No, sorry. Guess I was just curious to know how long you’ve been teaching for. You mentioned you were in your second year of your doctoral program, so-“

“There’s a bio page for me. My listing lives under the Psychology department. I’ll keep you in mind for my special topics courses. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.” Mavis watches the very flustered, unorganized man leave the room in a rush. His papers were all over the place, and he just shoved all his things in his bag. How chaotic. Maybe if she’s able to become his TA, she could help him with that.

Since Monday went so well, including Mavis’ other courses, she’s excited for Tuesday. She meets Taraji for coffee, as planned, and then they head to class. A course about Sexual Pleasure Education at 9AM is wild, but if coffee doesn’t wake the class up, the content of the course sure will. Harry is at the podium, connecting his computer, just as he did yesterday. Mavis and Taraji sit at the same table they did yesterday. The class eventually fills in, and Harry turns the projector on.

“Let’s see, did I scare anyone off since yesterday?” He asks out loud, but it’s more for himself, as he checks off names on his attendance sheet. “Great, you’re all here.” He smiles. “I know you’re probably thinking how I could have possibly memorized all your names already, but I haven’t. I just have your student ID pictures next to your names on my sheet.” He leans back against the table, gripping the edge of it, same as he did yesterday, and scans over the class. “Welcome to Sexual Pleasure Education. In this class, we will discuss strategies for improved sex life, sex aids, sexual approaches, and male and female pleasuring. We will also be stressing the value of various body work techniques for persons intending to work in the field of sex therapy and counseling. Lastly, we will discuss sexological exploration of objects which have been created in response to sexual desire and experience.” He pauses to take a sip of water. “Basically, this is sex ed on crack.”

“Professor Styles?” A girl in the back raises her hand, and he nods for her to continue. “So, are there going to be, like, demonstrations in class?”

“Yes. Most people learn best by doing. And it’s important for you to know what you’re talking about if you end up becoming the type of therapist that has to make recommendations for couples. The conversations we’re going to have in this class are going to feel awkward and taboo. There are going to be days where we look at various sex toys and how to use them, and why people use them.”

“I sort of meant, like, is anything going to be demonstrated on an actual person?” The same girl asks.

“Considering that this isn’t a tantric sex workshop, no.” He smirks. “We’ll look at various anatomical diagrams to go over specific areas where people find pleasure and how best to get them to feel it in those areas.”

“Professor Styles?” A boy in the front raises his hand, and Harry nods for him to continue. “I know this isn’t technically a psychology course, but are we going to get into kinks and why some people have specific ones or like using specific objects?”

“Yes and no. We’ll discuss the psychology behind kinks in our Human Sexuality course. What we do on Mondays and Wednesdays will be more theoretical, and what we do on Tuesdays and Thursdays will be more practical. Great questions so far. Anyone have anything else?”

“Will there be trigger warnings?” Taraji asks. “For both classes?”

“Yes, when we get into some of the heavier topics, there will be trigger warnings. I’m working on updating the syllabus so you’ll all know when to expect those. If the topic is so heavy that you don’t feel as though you can come to class, please let me know so we can have a one-on-one session so we can go over the material. I can meet in-person or on zoom.”

“Thank you.” Taraji smiles softly.

“Are we going to be talking about our own personal sex lives in class?” Another girl asks.

“That depends on how comfortable you feel. We may share anecdotes, and we may not. If you become a therapist, remember that what might work for you, might not work for others. However, your patients will ask you about your personal experience with some of the things you recommend to them. I’m not saying you need to shove a butt plug up your ass in order to have a frame of reference, but sometimes it helps for your patient to know you’re a real person. Just don’t cross any hard boundaries. We all know that many patients tend to experience romantic feelings towards their therapists. That can happen twice as much with sex therapy. You need to make it clear right from the start that even though it’s a safe space for them, things will still be professional. No one is to ever take their clothes off during an appointment. That’s what leads to things like what happened with Professor Amaro to happen. Respect will be integral to this course, as well as not kink-shaming. You may find something weird that someone else may love, and vice versa. You don’t have to agree, but please be mindful of how you speak to and about others.” He drums his fingers behind him as he takes another pause. “All of that being said, if we do discuss personal sexual experiences, you need to speak about them educationally. I don’t want to hear things like, ‘this one time I was fucking this dude and he,’ blah blah blah. Okay?”

The class makes a collective noise of agreement that makes Harry very happy.

“I’m hoping to have the courses updated to my liking by next Monday. I should also know by then about TA positions for my undergraduate courses. Do we have any other questions right now?” No one answers. “Excellent. For tomorrow’s Human Sexuality class, I’d like you all to fill out these surveys.” He starts handing out papers row by row. “They’re to give me a pulse check on what you already know a lot about, and the areas you need a bit more information on. It’ll help for Thursday’s lesson in here as well.” Once all of the papers are passed out, Harry goes back to the front of the room. “If no one else has any questions, you’re all free to go.”

Everyone begins packing up their things. Mavis is stuck looking over the survey questions. Her cheeks are beat red, she just knows it.

“You coming?” Taraji asks her.

“Um, yeah.” Mavis blinks and starts packing up her things. “I just have a few questions for Professor Styles. Wanna get lunch later?”

“I’d love to. Text me later.”

Mavis nods to her new friend, and goes to the back of the line of students that have questions for Harry. Just like yesterday, it’s the two of them alone in the room. He doesn’t look at her as he stuffs his papers into his bag.

“Have you ever thought to use an accordion folder for all of that?” She asks him.

“You waited in line just to ask me that?” He looks up at her, taking his glasses off and putting them into their case.

“No.” She laughs sheepishly. “I just had a few questions about this survey.”

“Alright, shoot.” He tells her, crossing his arms over his chest loosely.

“The first question says to list five common sex toys that I know of.”

“Correct.”

“Then the second questions says to explain the function of each of the toys.”

“Also correct.”

“What if you’re not familiar with well-known sex toys? Is it okay to look up the functionality?”

“No, just give your best guess as to why someone would use it.” He looks at her, studies her. He has a question of his own to ask, but it could come off as inappropriate. “I’m going to try to phrase this in the most professional way possible…do you not have much, um, first-hand experience with sex toys?”

Mavis’ eyes widen. All she can do is shake her head no. Harry nods in understanding, not being the least bit judgmental.

“It’s not that I haven’t wanted to know more about them, like, I know a lot about the history of them, the…the theoretical side of things, as you mentioned before. But in practice…I guess that’s where I need to learn more.”

“That’s fine, you can just say that on the survey. You can keep it anonymous too. I didn’t leave a space for your names at the top.”

“So, it’s not a big deal if I haven’t personally done some of the things we’re going to discuss.” She says for clarification.

“Perfectly fine. You could be a virgin for all I care. You just need to be able to discuss and write about these things knowledgably and eloquently.”

“Well, I’m not a vi-“ She’s about to scoff, but he raises his hand to halt her from finishing her sentence.

“I don’t need to know the particulars of what you have and haven’t done, Miss Ashford.”

“You just said we need to be able to discuss these things, though.”

“Yes, as a class, when other people are around. Not when you’re in here alone with me. Someone could get the wrong idea about why we’re having this very conversation.” He slings his bag over his shoulder. “Don’t over think it, it’s just a pulse check.”

He leaves her there, sweating. Did he think she was coming on to him? Did he think she was flirting? She wasn’t! She would never do something like that with a professor.

The rest of the week goes by smoothly. Mavis makes sure not to ask Harry any questions after class. In the second session of Human Sexuality, they went through all the changes Harry made to the course Canvas page and to the syllabus. They did the same for the second session of Sexual Pleasure Education. Pretty easy stuff that the students are thankful for. The other courses Mavis is taking are research methods and a high-level sociology course. So starting off on the slower side is a major bonus. Harry lets them know that he’ll post a paper on his office door on Friday with who has been selected as TA’s.

Around noon on Friday, after a work out and a hearty breakfast, Mavis makes her way to the building Harry’s office is in. She takes her headphones out as she gets inside, and makes her way upstairs and down a hallway until she gets to the psych department office suite. His door is closed, so the paper is easy to read. Her eyes scan over it, and she’s taken aback when she doesn’t see her name. Four students were chosen: Eric, Alyssa, Mohamed, and Liza. Mavis frowns deeply. How could she not have been chosen? She spoke to Harry directly about helping with his higher level courses. What made these students better choices than her?

She hears the squeak of a sneaker skidding, and turns her head in its direction. There Professor Styles is. He looks rigid, almost like he had stopped short and was about to turn around. He sighs heavily and makes his way down the hall.

“Miss Ashford.” He nods and unlocks his office door. “I would have thought you would have been here first thing this morning.”

“Why didn’t you just email the students that got selected instead of making all of us come down here?”

“Because I didn’t make my decision until very late last night.” He tells her, opening his door and setting his things down on his desk. His office looks like a tornado hit it.

“Still, you could have emailed-“

“Miss Ashford, what is it that you need? I don’t have office hours today and I’m very busy.”

“I want to know why I wasn’t selected. I told you how much I love the history courses, I could have been a major help.”

“I’m sure that’s true, but I didn’t think you were the right fit for what I needed.”

“You came to that conclusion from only a week of knowing me?”

“I know the four students I selected better. I had them in my courses as undergrad students. They already know my teaching style and the learning outcomes of the courses.”

“Again, if you knew-“

“You need to go now.” He tells her, taking a dominant step forward, making her take a step back. “Don’t take it personally.”

“How can I not when you just told me I wasn’t the right fit?” She pouts, and she swears Harry’s eyes flicker down to her mouth, only for a millisecond.

“Mavis, I don’t feel comfortable with us being alone like this. There’s no one else in the office right now, I’m one of the few instructors that actually utilizes their space on Fridays.”

“But if you had office hours, I’d be alone with you.”

“Yes, with the door open, while other people are around.”

“Are you afraid of someone accusing you of doing what Professor Amaro did? I feel like you’re being overly cautious…with me.”

“You ask a lot of questions, and it’s annoying. You’re annoying. That’s why I didn’t select you. I don’t have any desire to be around you more than I’m already obligated to.”

“Are…are you allowed to speak to me like this?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Or maybe not. Who’s to say? It’s your word against mine, right? No one else is here. Are you picking up what I’m putting down? I already told you I felt uncomfortable, now please go before I have to call campus police to escort you out.”

Mavis is stunned, and about ready to cry. Harry rolls his eyes when she doesn’t budge, so he goes into his office and slams the door in her face. What the fuck is his problem?!

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