#but it's not your responsibility to be their therapist or the one exception who will be there for them or whatever else either if they're

[cosmicwavelengths]

staring problem

pairing: avenger! bucky barnes x physical therapist! reader summary: you’ve been working with sam, joaquin, and bucky for the past few months, and you couldn’t help but notice how bucky just… stares. (based off of dialogue from the falcon and the winter soldier: “does he always just stare like that?” “you get used to it.” and “you’re doing the staring thing again.” + more)

a/n: hello and welcome to my first one shot! i saw captain america: brave new world last week and it was tremendous! i went back and watched the falcon and the winter soldier and it inspired me to write this fic. i've been pretty excited to share this, so i hope you enjoy! likes and reblogs are always appreciated forehead kiss

comments/tags: ca:bnw (spoilers!), fluff, bucky barnes is a 106 year old grumpy ass, bucky has a staring problem (quite severely), physical therapist/trainer f! reader, sam wilson, joaquin torres, bucky doesn’t hate joaquin here but he has a youthful energy that old man barnes finds mildly exhausting (sometimes), there’s technically a girthy age gap between bucky and reader (probably 60-80 years) but bucky can’t help that so we will collectively ignore it, strangers-to-lovers except bucky is just Confused, no y/n use

cw: mentions of alcohol (drinking, reader getting drunk), sebastian stan’s intense glare (swoon), kissing, language (bucky has a potty mouth)

wc: 3.9k | masterlist | ao3 ────୨ৎ────

In his 106 or so years, you were the first person who Bucky Barnes met that genuinely perplexed  him. And he couldn’t exactly put his finger on why.

During his over-extended life, he prided himself on his ability to read people and understand their intentions almost immediately. Maybe he’s a cynic, but he finds it to be much easier to organize the recurring figures of his life into different areas of his mind. Of course, there’s the rare individual that Bucky genuinely likes, such as Sam. And with others he tolerates, like Joaquín. But you? He wasn’t exactly sure how he felt. And if Bucky was being honest with himself, it scares him.

Considering he already knows almost everything about you, it’s almost frustrating how little Bucky truly knows you. Sure, Joaquín sat you all down as a group to discuss their new physical therapist. Similar to Joaquín in age, graduated from college not too long ago,, has significant experience with working with service men. You’ve been working with them for nearly six months already, and Bucky has yet to properly assess where you sit in his brain.

Whenever you entered the room -- any room, you had a certain energy. Maybe it’s the way you carry yourself, but you seem to have this natural ability to alter the space around you in some way. Your teeth and eyes seemed to sparkle, the way they open up so wide to greet him and the others at the beginning of each training session.

“Does he always just stare like that?” you inquire quietly, leaning over to Sam as you create a hamstring out of a roll of kinesiology tape. You subtly nudge your arm in the general direction where Bucky stood next to the weight rack.

Sam chuckles, “You get used to it.” You shrug in response, putting your head down and continuing to wrap the tape around his calf. “He might be a bionic staring machine, but he’s been through a lot. It’s just how he is, I wouldn’t take it personally,” he smiles down at you. Making a quick glance in his direction, Bucky continues to stare pointedly, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. Intimidating. You suppose any regular person would be skeeved out under such intense pressure, but it makes you rather demure. Even though you’re looking in his direction, he continues to look at you with his intense eyes. You’d think that most people would stop after being noticed, especially since you’ve caught him staring at you more than twice, but he continues with his piercing gaze anyways. 

Since Sam had decided to rebuild the Avengers, you had been brought in as their physical therapist. If you were honest, you weren’t exactly sure why superheroes of all people needed physical therapy, with what cutting edge technology and medicine they have at their disposal, but it pays well and you can’t complain about that in this economy.. Since starting, you’ve already become relatively close with Sam and Joaquín. But Bucky…

…Well, judging by the way he’s practically staring through you, you’d be safe in assuming that he hates you or something. You’ve not really had a chance to have a full fledged conversation with him. You helped him stretch, applied kinesio tape when asked. Within your first few days here, you surmised that he was just a private person. But, you’ve seen the quick smiles he flashed at Sam and the occasional short conversation with Joaquín. You normally don’t take these things too personally, but the people pleaser side of you tends to rear its ugly head. Aside from that, there was something about Bucky that made you want him to like you at least a little bit. You’ve tried your best to be friendly to him during your brief interactions, but he didn’t seem to have much of an interest in conversing with you past exchanging pleasantries. Even though it hurts a little, it’s just how some of these jobs go, after all, you can’t expect to be friends with all your clients. But his nearly constant staring at you is… menacing.

“I just don’t think he’s taken to me that well,” you breathe, finishing the wrap on his quad and cutting away the excess tape with scissors. “He doesn’t seem to like talking to me… or like me, at all.”

“It’s not you,” Sam reassures gently. “Give him some time to open up.”

--

“Y’know, you probably scare her with how much you stare at her like that.”

Bucky re-racked the weights with much more force than he wanted, causing the weights to make a heavy clunk sound against the metal, making her and Sam’s heads snap over in their direction. Shit.

Bucky looks at Joaquín and frowns. “Don’t sneak up on me like that. And I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Dude, you have something of a staring problem,” says Joaquín. “Do you know that? It’s important to us that you know that. You have zero tact.”

Bucky grumbles under his breath in response, turning back to the weight rack to select a heavier dumbbell. “At least say something to her when we go out later? You can tell it bothers her,” Joaquín offers with a smile. Bucky steps back from the rack, preparing for his next set. “Stay out of my business, Torres.”

“This seems like a very unnatural problem for someone like you to have. Maybe we should call Wakanda, tell them that our cyborg puppet has stopped working and is in urgent need of recalibration.”

“Fuck off.”

--

The bar is loud. Far too loud for Bucky’s taste as he enters the establishment with Sam. Had it been up to him, he would have picked his usual quiet spot near his apartment. But, it is her six month anniversary of working with the guys, and Bucky wasn’t going to miss a chance to drink for free on Sam’s tab. Bucky stuffs his hands deeper into the pockets of his leather jacket, scanning the many faces around the room. Keep an eye out for any potential threats…

“Well?” Sam asks, turning to Bucky and breaking him out of his concentration. Bucky’s jaw tightens, “Don’t you and Torres know better than to be in my business?” he says, crabbily. Sam shrugs his shoulders, hands out in defense. “Hey! I just want you to be happy, man. Just think about what Torres said, maybe?” He steps back from Bucky with a smile, clapping his hand against Bucky’s shoulder before approaching Joaquín at the bar. And there you are, sitting next to Joaquín, shining like the stars and moon… yet unsteady. Your warm expression grows upon seeing Sam, pulling him into a tight hug. What the hell, sure, Bucky ponders briefly before stalking up to the only open space in the bar and ordering a beer.

“Sam!” you answer excitedly, throwing your arms around him in a warm hug. He reciprocates in kind, saying a quick greeting during the embrace. “Wo-oah there!” Sam teases, “Has Joaquín here been filling you up with drinks here?” He gestures to the glassware that you and Joaquín collected, lightly crowding the bar surface.

“Hey, look, it’s a cheat night for all of us, and more importantly, her six month work anniversary!” Joaquín reminds Sam with a laugh. “Yes, tonight is all about me, guys,” you tease, smiling lazily at them. You generally don’t make it a habit to engage with clients outside of the gym, but Sam and Joaquín had truly welcomed you to the team with open arms these last few months. It was truly kind of Sam to pick up the tab tonight, and you’d feel rude refusing.

You settle back into your barstool as Sam and Joaquín begin a conversation. You scan the many faces around the U-shaped bar until you notice Bucky standing there, waiting on his drink. He’s of average height, about six feet tall or so, yet he stands out among the others around him. He wears his infamous scowl as he toys with his leather gloves. You took care in noticing how the light of the bar catches his upper cheek bone and the top of his jawline by his ear. His brooding blue eyes as they scan the area round him. So intimidating… yet..

He glances up at you quickly, incidentally locking eyes with you across the bar. Your eyes grow wide, feeling smaller than you’ve ever felt before. It’s almost eerie the way he studies you, as if he is trying to memorize every atom and particle of your facial structure. You almost freeze under his watch, sobering up a little as you sit up straighter. Properly. You cast out your usual friendly gestures, an invitation -- a small smile and a shy wave of your finger tips. Maybe it’s your alcohol-muddled brain playing tricks on you, but you could’ve sworn that the corner of his lips turned ever so slightly upwards.

It felt like time stopped when Bucky noticed you. The small wisps of your hair caught by the lowlights above the bar, reaching to the bow of the lips that once held a grin. Your wide eyes holding a sparkle of light. How he can see the way your skin flushes due to your alcohol consumption. Bucky finds it adorable the way you lightly smile at him, waving your hand gently. He sees the way you’re a bit wobbly, having to lean against the bar to keep things steady. He couldn’t help but be amused. His attention is torn away by the bartender setting down the beer bottle in front of him. Bucky fishes for cash in his pocket, setting it in the man’s hand and finally approaching the group.

He stuffs his beer-less hand deep into his jacket pocket as he stops next to Sam. He claps his hand on Bucky’s shoulder in greeting, Bucky acknowledges him with a slight nod of his head. “Bucky!” Sam exclaims, gesturing to the group. “Welcome. We were wondering when you’d show up!” Bucky looks at him with a tired expression. “Lost track of time at the gym,” he mumbles. “Likely story,” Joaquín laughs, before being cut short by Bucky nudging him sharply with his flesh elbow, using a bit more force than necessary.

--

Minutes pass. Then an hour. Two hours. Rounds of drinks later, you all lapse into steady conversation telling lively stories of the past, previous jobs, missions, interactions with other superheroes. You and Joaquín chortle together loudly at Sam’s seemingly endless stream of stories and jokes, while Bucky resigns himself to polite nods as he sips on his beer. The initial lively crowd of the bar had died down to the regular crowd, who’d delegated themselves to chatting amongst themselves, playing darts and shooting pool.

Several vodka cranberries in, your face and hands feel oddly numb, and the room spins more than usual. Shame on you for thinking you can match Joaquín drink for drink. Sam and Joaquín throw back the last of their drinks before heading off to the pool tables. Bucky stares off at them as they apply blue chalk to the tips of their cue sticks, ready to begin a match.

Turning towards Bucky, you prop yourself up against the bar, cheek in hand. You attempt to mock the way he stares at you, to make him feel how you’ve felt all these months.

“So,” you hiccup, interrupting yourself with a shy giggle. “What’s your deal?” You mockingly raise an eyebrow. “What’s your damage, Bucky? What is it about me you don’t like?” It slips out so easily. You should be embarrassed, but you’re far too gone.

Bucky sits up straight, giving you an unsure glance. That’s new. “I’m not sure what you--.”

“And you’re doing that staring thing again, that thing you do with me,” you comment, words slurring slightly as you gesturing unsteadily in Sam and Joaquín’s direction. “When you look at me like that, I can’t tell if ‘ya like or hate me!”

“Y’know, maybe I’m a people pleaser or sumthin’, but I-I really want you to like me, I think,” you sigh. Shrugging comically, you throw back the rest of your drink sitting on the bar. Leaning over, you clap your hand over his large gloved one. Bucky freezes, suddenly being hyper aware of what you’re doing and how small your hand feels compared to his. “And y’know what else? I don’t even mind when you stare at me like that. It’s almost as hot as it is intimidating.”

Bucky was warm -- not from the alcohol. He knows he can’t really get drunk anymore due to the serum, but he still feels the sweat from his palms against the smooth leather interior of his padded globes. And again, he states. Wide eyed at the flushness that cascaded down her cheeks to her collar bones. She fully lost herself in a fit of uncontrollable giggles, leaning against the bar again, not even knowing what you’re doing to him.

He wants to look everywhere all at once, eyes darting. Your bright, round lips stained with cranberry juice and the remnants of your lip gloss. The small beads of sweat by your temples and the crown of your hair. Your smooth thighs, sparkling in certain spots from the cold  of your glass. Bucky was truly rendered speechless. Not that he usually speaks much. Not that he was able to get much of a word in with you beforehand. But this time, he feels truly stumped. So, naturally, he did what any former brainwashed assassin turned semi-normal guy would do. With every ounce of charisma and bravado that a man like him could gather, he took one last look at her and drank the last bit of his beer. “Excuse me,” he said with a voice he was unfamiliar with, and turned around to walk out of the bar. And kept walking. All the way home.

--

Sleep is elusive to Bucky, who had spent the previous night drifting in and out of light sleep. He usually takes this as a sign to get an early start of the day, maybe go for a long run or walk outside.

He rises, making his way to the bathroom.. Squeezing out toothpaste, Bucky couldn’t help but reflect upon the event of the previous night. The sound of your gleeful, drunken laugh. How the warmth radiated off of your body. He can just barely recall the ghostly weight of your hand on the back of his. Even through his thick gloves, you may as well have burned him.

As Bucky splashes water on his face, he concludes that maybe a run wasn’t what he needed. The subway station was right outside of the bar on East Houston Street, yet he elected to walk two hours back home to his apartment in Brooklyn instead. He’d hoped that walking over the Manhattan Bridge in the middle of the night would turn out to be somewhat therapeutic, yet he was still unable to shake the memory of you at the bar. 

Letting out a deep breath, he takes a moment to sit on the couch and put his boots on. Standing, he shrugs on his leather jacket and reaches for the gloves in his pocket. Gloves you touched, he recalls, feeling uncharacteristically giddy about it. Heading out the door, he hopes that this early morning workout will help him clear his head.

--

It is far too early to wake up today, especially after having a night out like that. You awake with a raging headache, an unsettled stomach, and an aggressive thought of what the fuck did you do. As you lie there, gazing at your slowly spinning ceiling fan, you start to feel each and every one of the drinks. Groaning, you sit up, clutching your stomach in an attempt to settle yourself and you are quickly reminded of the conversation you had with Bucky. At that, you shoot up far quicker than you should, running to the toilet to rid yourself of the contents of your stomach and regrets from last night. Sigh.

You couldn’t believe that you had said that, feeling waves of embarrassment. You normally wouldn’t push yourself that far with the drinks, much less with the boundaries of a client. Grimacing, you reach up to the counter, feeling for a towel to wipe your face of sweat and residual make-up. Turning on the faucet, you cup water into your hands to drink and splash your face with cold water. Approaching your closet, you preemptively mourn one of the best jobs you’ve ever had. Every fiber of your being begs you to return to bed and wallow in self pity, but you think it’s best that you get to the gym early for a quick workout. Sweat out the hangover, you think bitterly. Your head lightly pounds when you make a sudden movement. Bringing your hand to your forehead, you realize this is going to be one long day.

Entering the compound, you hear the sound of a treadmill running and rhythmic steps in accompaniment. It would be good to see Sam or Joaquín, figuring that one of them decided to work off the alcohol consumed last night. But since you are, evidently, not God’s favorite, running on the treadmill is someone you’d rather avoid right now. And there’s Bucky Barnes, shirtless and sweating as he jogs on the machine. Your eyes follow his dog tags dangling from his neck, bouncing rhythmically against his skin. He heaves gently, hair flopping with each step. 

Even though you stopped in your tracks, he had already felt your presence and began slowing down. Bucky steps off the treadmill, collecting his water and patting his forehead with a small towel he brought. You figure it’s best to just talk and not dance around the topic. He didn’t seem like the type to beat around the bush. You breathe shakily before approaching him.

“Hi, Bucky,” you say, tone laced with nerves.. “Look, about last night—”

“Hey, it’s fine.” he interjects accidentally, cutting you off. He raises a gentle hand of reassurance. “You don’t need to apologize for anything.”

Your shoulders relax a bit, knowing that there was maybe a small chance that he wouldn’t tell Sam or Joaquín about your interaction. “Thank you, it’s just that I rarely go out with clients like that, nor do I drink that heavily.” You shift lightly on your feet, fumbling with your water bottle. “I didn’t mean to be unprofessional or cross any boundaries. I just hope that we could maybe move past this, pretend like it didn’t happen?” Smiling, you look up at the taller man, eyes filled with hope. He himself shifts on his feet, “Oh, I didn’t realize we were just clients to you.” You look down with embarrassment, searching for a response. “Uh, I didn’t mean any offense—”

“I’m just teasin’, sweetheart,” the nickname rolling smoothly off his tongue with a smile. A smile. “Did you really mean what you said, though? About me staring?” Drunk words are sober thoughts, he recalls to himself, having learned the phrase from Torres. You flush, suddenly taking interest in the top of your water bottle rather than the man in front of you. Him speaking with you, much less jokingly is more than foreign territory for you. “I-I mean,” you sputter out, self consciousness taking charge. “I wouldn’t mind being friends with you, of course, I try my best to be friendly with the people I work with.” He takes a step closer. “Now, you and I both know that that’s not the part we are talking about.” Your breath hitches. You take in how you feel crowded by him. He’s not exactly within your personal space. Yet.

“Really, I’m the one that should be apologizing.” Bucky says, loosening up. With a sigh, he starts: “I’m sorry to have kept you at arms length all this time. It’s rather difficult for ‘someone like me,’” he dramatically emphasizes with air quotes, “to ‘nurture friendships.’” So says my therapist, he thinks with an internal eye roll. “What’s wrong with me isn’t your fault. I’m just old and cynical.” He pats the outside of your arm in reassurance. You smile, feeling the spot grow warm under his touch. “For the record, I don’t exactly mind that you called me hot, either,” he casually notes. “It’s certainly better than the other reactions I tend to get.” You didn’t think it was possible to blush harder, feeling the warmth creep down your chest. Fuck, you were hoping he wouldn’t mention that part specifically, but you can roll with it. “Well, I do pride myself on being honest, I guess,” you chuckle nervously trying to play it off as cool.

“Y’know, since I had met you, I had been so confused on what to think of you. In all my life, I had never met anyone that was able to do that to me.” His voice darkens. “Care to clue me in as to why?” You feel stuck again, just how you felt last night when he was staring you down at the bar. You attempt to nervously mutter out a response, which instead leaves your mouth gaping open. He closes in on your space, you can feel his body heat radiating off of him. He glances down at your curved lips, light pink and glistening, then back into your doe eyes. “Please, sweetheart, it drives me crazy when you look at me like that,” he uses the nickname again, making your mind spin and your knees a bit weak. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

His eyes drop to your lips again as you stand there, stupefied. His eyes drift downwards to your lips and you almost feel like crumbling under the sudden pressure. He closes in again, sneaking his hands around your waist to pull you in closer. You’re both suspended in silence for a beat, and you think your heart would stop until he continues. “I don’t mean to make things weird, but maybe I like the way you fluster when I look at you.  I’ve been alive for a long, long time, and you’re the first person I’ve met that’s made me feel this way.”

Before you were aware of his movements, he closed the distance. Your eyes flutter shut as you take in the softness of Bucky’s lips, moving slowly and calculating over your own. His grip tightens on your waist, and you feel how the tips of his fingers press into your skin, making your mind go white. You press your body closer to him, breathing heavily as you press your lips against his. He pulls away when he feels your knees buckle gently, chuckling. “Careful, doll. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.” You shake your head in an effort to come to and give him a response. “N-no, It’s fine, you didn’t make me feel uncomfortable.” 

“Good,” he replies, voice darkening. He laughs again, causing you to giggle with him and lean in again.

“You do have a staring problem, though,” Sam chides through the speaker of Red Wing. Thecombat drone floats into your line of sight, hovering menacingly over Bucky’s shoulder. You jump back away from Bucky as if you were burned, feeling embarrassed. Bucky sighs exasperatedly, leaning against the treadmill and shaking his head. “By the way, thanks for finally taking our advice! I have all of that on camera, you know that, right?”

Bucky rolls his eyes with a huff. “Get out of my face, Sam, or I’ll break it.”

[monochromed-elf]

Random astro notes 1

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Take what resonates! I'm no professional astrologer.

These observations are made from my experiences.

╚═══════°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══════╝

✮⋆｡ 6h Jupiter and easily gaining weight. especially if you're also Jupitarian.

✮⋆｡ 6h Jupiter also makes you suck at managing your time and tasks (Overly optimistic about it).

✮⋆｡ Again, my experience with 6h Jupiter and being called big animals.

✮⋆｡ Cancer Mercury and what is that handwriting of yours omg I'm sorry you're getting complaints about it😭 I can understand a doctor's paracetamol but not your hello.

✮⋆｡ Cancer/4h Lilith, your mother is most likely to hate on your friend with a Cancer stellium/prominent Cancer placements for no reason whatsoever. Especially if the friend is healing your mommy issues. Your mother will automatically think they're brainwashing you.

✮⋆｡ 4h Lilith also means you always try to save your mother. Don't do it. Stop that. Because she won't appreciate your attempts and will side with what hurts her! Learn that she's not your responsibility.

✮⋆｡ I feel like Gemini Mars will certainly space out during anything sexual, literally getting railed while thinking of taxes or whatever is going on. It's definitely the ADHD lol.

✮⋆｡ Gemini Venus please stop accidentally flirting with us, oh and the mixed signals.

✮⋆｡ Heavy water placements but with an Aries Moon can give off the vibes of the therapist friend with heavy random outbursts when they're tired of therapitizing everyone. Especially if Moon conjuncts Uranus.

✮⋆｡ All of the Capricorn Moons I know have heavy sociopathic traits.

✮⋆｡ Meanwhile Aquarius Moons can't stop blaming body chemicals for their emotions (dopamine and all of that).

✮⋆｡ "Choose the person who has your Moon sign as their Venus sign" is actually true. But it won't last long (maximum 2 years) and you both will become strangers. (unless you both meet daily or live together).

✮⋆｡ Mars conjunct Saturn will make you like BDSM a lot.

✮⋆｡ 4h Chiron, please do not create a family UNLESS you are healed. You'll traumatize all of your kids but fucking be an angel parent to other families. Similar with 5h Chiron but it's mostly with kids.

✮⋆｡ 4h/5h Chiron could be an indicator of being a narcissistic parent too. I'm indeed traumatized.

✮⋆｡ Always remember that Neptune=Delulu. Be careful where it is, it's both a blessing and a curse.

✮⋆｡ A close person's Venus in your 12h and omg they fucking appear in your dreams.

✮⋆｡ 9h Saturn are one of the most closed minded people I've ever met. They are seriously unable to see other perspectives.

✮⋆｡ The Sun House shows you how you treat your own dad. 11h sun: your friend, 10h: your boss, 4h: an actual parent Imao. It also can show why your dad loves or hates you because of such status: "I'm your dad stop treating me like a: (11h) friend/(3h) older brother/(5h) kid".

✮⋆｡ Fire IC/4h ruled by a fire sign is really a strong indicator of a bad family.

✮⋆｡ 3h Saturn natives bond by talking shit about their siblings.

✮⋆｡ 3h Saturn also might indicate having a loud voice (especially with prominent air signs placements).

✮⋆｡ 3h Uranus and yes 90% chance your siblings were unexpected, or you may have an unexpected story of a sibling (like you had a sibling that died before you or smth wild).

✮⋆｡ I find that Lilith/Chiron placements are so...damn, similar. Except that Lilith is horny and Chiron is actually serious about the problem lol. An example: 9h Lilith might fetishize their religious trauma/an experience with a foreigner. While 9h Chiron will be disgusted and crying and trying to fix fix fix. Lilith needs to be embraced as it is, Chiron actually needs the fucking healing instead.

✮⋆｡ One vs one opposite Nodes will either fix or ruin your life. For example you're an Aries North Node. A Libra North Node will be quite the teacher for you.

✮⋆｡ 5h/7h stelliums have the juiciest stories about their love life. But 7h is more likely to give you great advice about love lol.

✮⋆｡ Pluto conjunct Ascendant is very likely to look young compared to their age (my bestie being called a high schooler while she's in college damn).

✮⋆｡ Give a 3h Neptune alcohol and watch them become a professional poet and creatively high (Like those old Chinese/Arabic/Persian poets lol).

✮⋆｡ Neptune conjunct Ascendant, always seen as lazy and sleeps a lot.

✮⋆｡ Cancer/Pisces Mars can be actually super violent and not the usual passive aggressive shit. Especially in men.

✮⋆｡ (Vedic!) We always hate the type of men/women with our DK planet energy somehow (But we end up being really good with them). Mercury DK hates young and childlike people. Venus DK hating overly romantic and artistic people. It's life's way of saying SIKE—

✮⋆｡ Having the South Node in a sign and someone having a stellium/prominent placements of such sign (like, you being Leo South Node and you meet someone with Leo Stellium). Please run away from them. Early meetings and encounters with them feel like heaven but will slowly ruin you.

✮⋆｡ The same goes with your Rising Sign. If someone's stellium/prominent placements is in the same sign as your rising. The stellium person will be better than you at the things the sign values and your rising will become bitter. It'll be ugly. Go for people with your descendant's energy.

Thank you for reading💜

@monochromed-elf

[screaminglygay]

Professional distance (my ass)

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: you start driving your younger sister to therapy, you don't expect the real challenge to be resisting her therapist.

word count: 4.7k

warnings: mild language, themes of mental health and therapy, bad flirting, mentions of self-worth and responsibility, a healthy dose of yearning:D

an: to everyone who’s sent requests - I see every single one and I’m so grateful for your ideas and support. I’ll be writing them throughout the summer, so stay tuned and thank you for reading!

☀️ Summer with A masterlist ☀️

The waiting room is quiet except for the soft hum of the AC and the sound of your sister nervously picking at the edge of her sleeve. You nudge her knee gently with your own.

"Hey," you murmur, offering her a small smile.

"If this therapist doesn’t vibe right, it’s okay. We’ll try someone else. No pressure, okay?"

She exhales shakily and nods, though her hands are still fidgeting.

You continue, light but sincere, "Worst case scenario, she’s a weirdo who makes you draw your feelings with crayons. Best case… she’s actually helpful and everything will get a little bit better."

That earns a little laugh, which feels like a victory. You loop an arm around her and pull her in for a quick side hug. She leans into it, her forehead pressing against your shoulder.

"You’ve got this, Ellie," you whisper, pressing a kiss to her head. "I’ll be right here when you’re done."

The door opens behind you before she can answer, and a soft voice says, "Elena? Hi, I’m Dr. Wanda Maximoff."

You turn, and- oh.

Okay, wow.

She’s beautiful. Sharp cheekbones, soft eyes, a calm, composed presence that makes you shift a little straighter. Her hair is perfectly styled, her voice warm and level, and she’s wearing a blouse that does deeply unfair things to your focus.

You stand with your hand out, easy smile already in place. "Hi. I’m her sister. Thank you for seeing her."

Wanda takes your hand in a gentle shake. Her skin is warm. "Of course. It’s nice to meet you."

You watch the two of them disappear down the hallway, and you can’t help but think, yeah… we’re in trouble.

Forty-five minutes later, Ellie walks back out with pink in her cheeks and a calmer step than before. You put your phone away and stand, watching her approach.

"So?" you ask, walking with her toward the exit.

She shrugs, but she’s trying not to smile. "She’s nice. Like… really nice. And she doesn’t talk down to me. I actually talked more than I thought I would."

You bump your shoulder into hers, "that’s what I like to hear."

"She said I did well. That I should be proud." Ellie glances at you. "And she asked about you."

You blink, "me?"

"She said you seemed very… supportive," she teases with a smirk.

You grin, "did she now?"

Ellie groans, "oh my god, don’t flirt with my therapist."

You throw your hands up, mock-offended, "I didn’t! I just said hi!"

"Uh-huh." Your sister knows you too well.

You nudge her again, laughing, "I´m just being nice."

Ellie rolls her eyes but leans into you anyway as you walk down the steps to the car. You unlock the doors and both slip in, and for a moment, there’s a quiet stillness. She’s staring out the window, a thoughtful look on her face, and you glance at her before speaking again.

"I know I say this a lot," you start, voice softer now, "but I really am proud of you."

She doesn’t look at you, but her shoulders rise like she’s holding in emotion.

"And I know when I say it all the time it might sound less… important," you continue, "but it’s not. I mean it every time."

Ellie turns to look at you now, eyes a little glassy.

"I’m really happy your session went well," you say, smiling at her gently. "But I understand you want someone else to talk to so… You deserve to feel safe, and seen."

Ellie blinks rapidly, "you’re being weirdly perfect right now. It’s gross."

You snort, reaching over to ruffle her hair, not really caring she´s almost an adult now, "yeah, yeah. Let’s go home."

The next week you pull up to the same office building, Ellie next to you sipping from a smoothie you grabbed on the way.

"You sure you’re good?" you ask.

She hums around the straw, "yeah. Just gotta pee first."

"Again?," you tease.

She hops out of the car and hurries into the building ahead of you while you trail behind, phone in one hand, sunglasses perched on your head. You’ve barely had time to sit down in the waiting room when you hear a familiar voice.

"Is Elena here?"

You look up. God. She’s in another dangerously well-fitted blouse today. Burgundy, soft silk, her hair tucked behind one ear. Her tone is professional, her posture easy, but the moment your eyes meet, something crackles.

"She is," you answer smoothly, standing. "Just in the bathroom."

Wanda nods politely, "I see."

You shift, hands in your pockets. “Thank you for being so… patient with her. This is like… our fourth try. Every other therapist made her feel weird or shut down. It’s been hard."

Wanda’s expression softens. "That’s not uncommon. It takes time to find the right match."

"Yeah, well," you say with a small grin, "I’m just glad you’re making her feel safe. It means a lot. To both of us."

There’s a pause. A quiet kind of understanding settles between you.

"You two are very close," Wanda says gently.

"She’s my little sister. It’s been just the two of us for a while now. I think she gets tired of me hovering," you say with a smirk, "but that’s the job."

Wanda smiles, and something flickers in her eyes, warmth, maybe. Curiosity.

You tilt your head slightly, grin sharpening. "I should probably thank you with something more formal. Do therapists accept bribes in the form of coffee?"

Her brow lifts, but her smile grows, "not usually, no."

"Shame," you say, just as Ellie steps out from the hallway.

"I’m ready," she says, tossing you a look like she knows what you’re doing. "Okay, thanks, sis," she says, then adds with extra emphasis, "I’ll see you later."

You smile more innocently this time and just nod, "see you later. Dr. Maximoff." You give her last smile for now. Your sister snorts and disappears into the hallway with Wanda, who glances back once at you, just for a second longer than necessary.

And you smile to yourself. You’re definitely in trouble.

You and Ellie have made a little ritual of it now, smoothies on the drive, music just loud enough to sing over your nerves, and a whole playlist Ellie insists on cueing up just right so she doesn’t walk into her session with sad girl energy. Even though it wouldn´t be a bad thing.

You drop her off at the front again, waving as she disappears into the building. Usually you hang around in the parking lot, scrolling on your phone or grabbing a coffee from the coffee shop nearby. And it was ritual that neither of you mind. And you weren´t really upset since you got to see such a pretty lady like Dr. Wanda Maximoff herself.

Another week later you’re halfway across the street, sunglasses on, when you spot her.

Wanda.

She's in line at the coffee shop, where you often came to, dressed down this time, dark jeans, flats, and a tucked-in navy blouse. She’s holding her phone in one hand, eyes skimming the menu above the counter.

You walk up to her, "didn’t think I’d run into you outside your natural habitat," you say-

Wanda glances up, mildly startled, then her lips curve. "It’s just coffee. Even therapists are allowed that."

"Really? I had this theory you only drink existential potion with a bit of widsom."

She huffs a quiet laugh, and it’s adorable, even if she tries to smother it,"funny."

You offer an exaggerated shrug, "I have to use my charm somewhere. Otherwise it just leaks out."

Wanda doesn’t respond immediately, just tilts her head at you, lips pressing together like she’s trying very hard not to smile.

"You’re still being professional. Even away from your office? That’s commitment."

"I try," she says dryly.

"Impressive," you murmur. "I’d be more impressed if you told me your coffee order, though. For future bribery purposes."

She narrows her eyes at you, "I thought I told you, bribery doesn’t work on me."

"Oh, I know," you say, taking a step closer, eyes flicking from her hand to her amused expression. "You’re far too composed for that. But I also know you’re currently analyzing me, aren’t you?"

Wanda takes a slow sip of her drink, keeping her expression unreadable. "You’re charming, confident, and used to getting your way with a well-timed smile. You flirt to test boundaries, not to disrespect them. It’s calculated, but not cruel."

You blink, "whoa…"

She shrugs lightly, "occupational hazard."

You recover quickly, tilting your head with a slow smile. "Well, I hope you can also tell I don’t just… let things go that easily."

Something flickers behind her eyes at that, interest, maybe. She hides it fast, covering it with a sip of her coffee. Still, the tiniest smirk curls the corner of her mouth.

"I’m sure you don’t," she says smoothly. Then, almost teasing, "have a nice day, (Y/N)."

That smirk widens just a little when she sees the reaction her saying your name does to you.

You grin, "you too, Dr. Maximoff."

She nods and starts to turn, and you casually call out, "almond milk latte with one pump of vanilla, right?"

Wanda glances back over her shoulder and rolls her eyes.

"What can I say? Occupational hazard."

That earns you a soft, amused laugh she doesn’t quite manage to suppress. She shakes her head as she walks away. You’re not crossing the line. But you’re dancing on it and she’s dancing right back.

Once again Ellie sits beside you on the curb outside the coffee shop, fidgeting with her phone while you wait for her session time to come up.

"You okay?" you ask, nudging her with your elbow.

She sighs, resting her chin on her hand, "yeah. Just… more nervous today, I guess."

You glance over at her, chewing her lip, shoulders tense and place a reassuring hand on her back. "Hey, no pressure, okay? If you just sit the whole time, that´s okay too."

She doesn’t say anything, but she leans into your side a little.

Ellie hums, "I feel like not going, but I know I should."

"You know you´ll feel better, you always do." You softly say.

Ellie hums once again, "I wouldn´t go if you wouldn´t be here."

"Oh I know."

"I´m glad you do tho. At least I don´t have to walk home."

"So now I´m just taxi to you?" That makes her laugh, then you glance at the clock. "Come on, sweetheart. Go do your brave thing."

Later, after the session Ellie gets in the car with a light step and a kind of glowy calm around her.

"Go well?" you ask.

She nods, buckling her seatbelt, "Wanda was really understanding and helpful with her methaphors"

"I´m glad."

Ellie watches you for a second, her eyes narrow.

"What?" you ask.

"Nothing," she says. "Just… do you always smile like that when I say her name?"

You raise an eyebrow, "like what?"

"Like you’ve got a crush in a high school and you just spotted her across the cafeteria."

You laugh, "Ellie-"

"I’m just saying. You’re subtle, but I´m not blind."

Next session, mid-conversation in Wanda’s office Ellie hesitates, pulling her sleeves over her hands, "can I ask you something?"

Wanda’s tone is calm, encouraging, "of course."

"Let’s say… hypothetically… there’s this woman."

Wanda tilts her head, smiling slightly, "alright."

"She likes someone. A lot. But she’s scared they don’t really see her because… well, she acts all tough. Like a jock. Real confident, sarcastic. But inside she’s, like, soft. An actual marshmallow."

Wanda’s brows lift with interest. "So, she thinks the person she likes might not notice the vulnerable side of her?"

"Exactly," Ellie says. "And she flirts. Like, all the time. But she’s scared to be real because what if the other person just thinks she’s joking?"

Wanda’s expression softens, "well… I’d tell her to be honest… carefully. To show the vulnerable side when she feels safe. To let the person she likes see her. Because no matter how charming someone is, people can tell when it’s real."

Ellie nods, thoughtful. Then Wanda pauses. Her eyes narrow slightly, but there's amusement there too.

"This is about your sister, isn’t it?"

Ellie bites her lip and shrugs. "… hypothetically?"

Wanda exhales a slow breath, hiding a small smile behind her hand, "I see. You two are truly sisters."

Ellie tilts her head, "what’s that supposed to mean?"

Wanda chuckled lightly and gestured for them to continue, "let’s get back to you, shall we?"

Ellie later slides into the passenger seat, tugging the seatbelt over her chest and giving you a look that's way too smug for someone who just left therapy.

"What´s up with that smile?" you ask, starting the engine.

She shrugs, "nothing." She leans her elbow against the door, looking out the window with a faux-innocent tone. "I was just trying to figure out how someone like you might… I don´t know show her true self, since I´m understanding myself better, I figured you should do the same. So I simply just ask the one and only."

Your jaw drops, "you didn’t."

She grins, "I might’ve."

"Oh my God, Ellie."

"Relax! I didn’t say it was you. I was just describing a certain type of woman who might wear tank tops too tight on purpose and smirk a lot."

You glance at her with mock scandal, "you're trying to psychoanalyze me with your therapist’s help?"

"I would never," she says, putting a hand over her heart. "I’m just looking out for your emotional well-being."

You snort, "oh right."

Some days later you tap your fingers against your thigh while the line moves slowly forward. Something about the quiet hum of the place, the soft clink of ceramic cups, and the smell of espresso is making you more fidgety than usual. You glance over your shoulder. Then again. When you finally turn around, you spot her again, Dr. Wanda Maximoff, halfway through the line, her hair shining in the light, eyes glued to her phone.

Your breath catches for half a second. You try not to grin. You step to the barista. "I’ll pay for the lady in the black top," you say casually.

The barista glances over, "you know them?"

"Uh-huh." You pay. No big deal. Just a small, innocent coffee. That’s all.

Wanda doesn’t look up until she’s called forward to order and the barista says, "You’re all set. Your drink’s been paid for."

She blinks, "oh?"

The barista points, "by them."

Wanda follows the gesture. Your eyes meet. You raise your cup in silent greeting, smirking just enough to get under her skin. She stares at you for a long moment, her lips parting like she’s about to say something. Then, to your surprise, she walks over.

"I’m starting to think you’re more trouble than you look," she says lightly.

You lean back against the chair, eyes warm. "And yet, you came over."

Wanda exhales, a soft puff of a laugh, "maybe I was curious."

You raise your brows, sipping your coffee. "Careful, Doctor. Curiosity can be dangerous."

Her lips twitch, "so can charm."

You grin, "I wouldn’t know. I’m just a supportive sister making small talk with my sister’s therapist over overpriced caffeine."

Wanda leans slightly forward, her eyes scanning you like she’s doing more than just looking. "Do you always deflect with humor?"

That stops you for half a second. The coffee cup stills in your hand.

"That’s a real question," you say, laughing, half-caught off guard.

She smirks and tilts her head, waiting for your asnwer, that she already knows.

You tilt your head, thoughtful for a beat. "Maybe. But sometimes I just think life moments are too heavy not to laugh through it."

She hums, "that’s… fair."

You sip your drink again, a little slower now, like the air between you shifted. Not tense. Just more… present.

Wanda glances at your cup, then back up. "So, what is this little moment to you?"

You don’t even hesitate, "definetly a date." You smirk at her.

She blinks, "this is what you call a date?"

You shrug, playful. "Two attractive women, coffee, soft lighting, emotionally probing questions? Sounds like a date to me."

Wanda leans back with a smile that’s far too amused for her usual clinical composure. "Interesting definition."

"Oh, come on. What would you call it?"

"An ambush."

You laugh, "you’re not running."

She raises an eyebrow, "not yet."

You grin wider, satisfied, "so, you’re saying there’s a chance."

She shakes her head, but the fondness in her eyes lingers, "you’re relentless."

"And you’re still hereee," you chuckle, stretching the word with a teasing grin.

Wanda sips her drink again, not looking at you this time, "maybe I’m just being polite."

"Mm," you tilt your head, eyes still fixed on her. "I don’t know, you don’t seem like the type to do anything just out of politeness. Especially not sit through my very charming advances."

She raises an eyebrow, finally looking at you again, "is that what this is? Charming advances?"

You gasp, mock offended, "you wound me, doctor. I’m doing my best."

"I can tell," she says, her tone still calm, measured, but the corner of her mouth betrays her, tugging up just slightly.

You lean in a bit, elbows on the table, voice dropping into something softer, "I know I joke a lot, but I’m not… messing around."

That earns you a pause. Her eyes flicker, searching. You can see it, how part of her wants to keep the wall up, to gently but firmly redirect the moment. But another part of her… is just enjoying this.

"I’m not supposed to enjoy any of this," she murmurs.

"But you are," you whisper back.

Before she can respond, your phone buzzes. You glance down and see Ellie’s name light up the screen. Your smile falters, just for a second. Wanda notices.

"Go be a good older sister," she says gently, nodding toward your phone.

The way she says it, soft, but knowing, catches you more off guard than the text itself. You look back up at her, blinking.

"Right," you clear your throat, "yeah. Duty calls."

You grab your coffee and stand, still a little stunned by the shift. Wanda’s gaze lingers on you, unreadable now.

As you turn to leave, you glance over your shoulder and shoot her a softer smile. "Thanks for the not-a-date."

She doesn’t respond right away, just watches you. Then, finally, "drive safe." You nod, then head out the door.

Weeks passed like clockwork. Drop-offs. Pick-ups. Quick coffees. Soft smiles. Glances that lingered a little too long. Your routine with Wanda had become a rhythm a familiar song that played each time you brought Ellie to her session. The flirtation had grown playful, easy. And maybe a little dangerous.

Today felt the same, until Wanda opened her office door and as Ellie went out Wanda waves her hand at you.

"(Y/N), could I ask you to stay for a moment?"

You blink, surprised, nodding as you went it, when the door close you speak up, "so we gonna finaly talk about a date, hm?"

Wanda’s lips curve up slightly, but she leans against the table with that same unreadable calm. "I’m here to talk to you. About Ellie. She said it might help her… to have me speak with you."

Your smile falters, warmth settling into something more serious, "oh, of course."

She pulls a chair beside yours, angled just slightly. "She asked me to talk to you because she wasn’t sure how," Wanda starts, gentle but direct. "She’s been carrying something. And she’s afraid you’ll dismiss it or reassure her… instead of really hearing it." Wanda sits down, on her chair.

You straighten a little, heart tightening, "what is it?"

"She’s worried about you," Wanda says. "Not in a way that suggests you’re doing something wrong. But… she feels like she’s taking up too much space in your life."

You blink, frowning, "that’s ridiculous. I want to be here. She’s-"

"I know," Wanda interrupts softly, hand resting on her knee. "But that’s part of the problem. She knows how much you love her. She knows you'd move mountains for her. And she’s grateful, she really is. But… she feels like you're putting your entire life on hold. Like her healing is coming at the cost of your freedom."

You swallow, throat suddenly dry, "I don’t see it that way."

"I believe you," Wanda says. "But she does. And it’s heavy for her to carry, the idea that she might be holding you back. That because it’s just the two of you, you’ve felt like you have no choice but to be the strong one all the time."

You glance down at your hands, flexing them once in your lap, "she’s all I’ve got."

Wanda’s voice softens even more, "that’s exactly why she’s scared of being the reason you lose yourself."

You nod slowly, "I never wanted her to feel like that."

"I know. That’s why I agreed to talk to you. So you could hear it without her breaking down trying to say it herself."

You let out a quiet breath.

"She’s trying. And so are you. But she needs to feel like you’re living your life too, not just existing to keep hers stitched together."

You nod, pressing your fingers to your brow, "I should talk to her." You glance at her. "You’re good at your job."

She smiles, wry and warm, "I try."

You nod, pushing yourself up. But just before you open the door, you glance over your shoulder. "…Thanks, Doc."

Wanda raises an eyebrow, playfully, "you can still call me Wanda."

You give her a tired, affectionate smile, "okay. Thanks, Wanda."

Then you step back out, into the hallway, where Ellie waits, pretending not to look anxious, even though her fingers are twisting the strap of her bag. The drive is quiet for a while. You don’t turn on the radio. Just the soft hum of the engine and the muted sound of traffic outside. Ellie’s curled into the passenger seat, legs pulled up slightly, her head against the window. You glance at her every few seconds, hands firm on the steering wheel.

Eventually, she speaks. "I didn’t mean it like… I don’t want you around."

You exhale gently, "I know. Wanda told me."

She looks at you, visibly nervous.

"She said you asked her to talk to me. Said you were worried I’d just brush it off if it came from you."

Ellie shrugs a little, "you always joke when stuff gets heavy with yourself. Or change the subject. Or pretend you're fine." You nod, "I guess I do."

There’s a quiet beat before you pull into a quieter street and park under a big leafy tree. You turn the engine off and sit in the quiet stillness.

"I never saw it like that, El," you say softly. "That I was giving up anything for you. I just wanted to be the one thing you didn’t have to worry about. The one constant."

"I know," she whispers. "But sometimes it feels like you're holding everything together and forgetting you're allowed to want things for yourself too. We came from the same fucked up parents, so we both need therapy."

That makes you laugh, fair point. "I guess that is true, yeah." Then you look over at her. "And I do want things."

She turns her head once again, one eyebrow raised, "like what?"

You shrug, half a smile, "... buy a motorcycle, a dog, a wildly inappropriate amount of chocolate."

Ellie snorts, "okay, serious things."

You hesitate, then say, quieter, "a life that’s more than surviving. Something real. Someone real."

She watches you for a moment, then leans her head against the seat, "that’s why I think you should go for it," she says.

You blink, "go for what?"

Ellie doesn’t look at you as she smirks, "ask her out."

"… ask who out?"

She turns slowly, eyes narrowed in the most sarcastic way she can muster. "Hmm, I don’t know. Just someone you’ve been making eyes at for weeks. Subtle as a truck."

You scoff, grinning, "okay, rude."

She smacks your hand lightly. "Come on, you’re not even trying to hide it! You go all heart-eyes when she says your name."

"I do not!"

"You literally look like a school girl!"

"I´m just being polite!"

Ellie rolls her eyes dramatically, "just ask her out, dummy. She likes you too. I can feel it."

You lean back with a groan, dragging your hands down your face. "Great. Now I have my little sister coaching me through my love life."

Ellie crosses her arms, smug, "well, someone has to make sure you don’t die alone with your motorcycle and dog."

You chuckle, the weight in your chest lifting just a little. "Fine," you say, nudging her arm. "But only because you’re such a convincing therapist."

"Damn right," she grins. "Now buy me a smoothie and we never speak of this again."

"Deal."

You both laugh, the kind that sounds like something settling back into place.

Another week passes. The routine has become something comforting - morning traffic, Ellie’s music in the car, Wanda’s smile at the door. You don’t say it aloud, but things feel…lighter. Like whatever storm the two of you had been walking through is finally easing into something warm.

Ellie’s session is about to end when you glance at the clock and stand from your spot in the waiting room. Your heart’s thudding a little louder than you’d admit. When the door opens, Ellie walks out with her usual post-session softness, tired but calm. You meet her with a smile.

"Mind waiting in the car for a sec?"

Ellie raises a brow, but then realizes, "oh- of course!" She winks at you and head out.

Wanda appears in the doorway, immediately sensing the shift. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no," you assure, gently. "Nothing’s wrong. Ellie’s doing amazing. You’re amazing, honestly. I just… I wanted to talk to you for a second."

Wanda steps aside, gesturing for you to come in. Inside the office, it’s quiet, comfortable. Wanda stands near her chair, arms crossed gently, gaze curious but cautious.

You breathe in, "I know this isn’t how things usually go. And I don’t want to make anything weird for Ellie or mess with boundaries. I just… wanted to ask you something."

Wanda tilts her head slightly, "go on."

You smile, trying not to fidget, fuck this is harder than you thought it would be, you exhale softly, "would you like to go on a date with me?"

There’s a beat of stunned silence.

Wanda blinks, "oh."

"I mean- no pressure," you add quickly, hands lifted in surrender. "Just… you are really phenomenal."

She arches a brow, amused despite herself, "phenomenal?"

"In every way," you say, voice softer now. "And if it doesn’t work out after one date, that’s okay. But… I know it will."

Wanda exhales a short laugh, shaking her head as if trying to hide the smile creeping up, "you’re confident, aren’t you?"

You grin, "like I said… I’m not backing down."

Another quiet moment. Her expression shifts, not flirty this time, but thoughtful. Then she nods small, but real. "Alright," she says, "one date."

You´re suprised, "really?"

"Really," she replies. "Though I’m starting to think Ellie’s not the only one I’ll end up analyzing."

You chuckle and back toward the door, "we’re a package deal."

As you exit the office and walk back to your sister, "well?" Ellie stares at you.

You try to hide the grin spreading across your face.

Ellie narrows her eyes. "No. No, no, no- don’t you dare try and be cool right now- well?!"

You turn to her, grin slipping free, "she said yes."

Ellie gasps, "WOOHOO!" She fist-pumps the air and nearly knocks over her water bottle in the process. "Yes! My matchmaking era!"

You laugh as she cheers again, pounding her hands on the dash with unfiltered joy.

Back inside the office, Wanda hears the muffled noise through the door and smiles quietly to herself, shaking her head.

Then suddenly, Ellie’s voice cuts through the joy like a knife, "wait a minute."

You glance over, "what?"

Ellie turns toward you slowly, horror blooming in her expression. "Holy shit. Does this mean I have to change therapist again?!"

Thank you for reading!:)

[psychemochanight]

✨Incorrect quotes✨

(Except they are real conversations that I or my friends had).

Wally: I'm going to kill myself.

Dick: Same.

Wally: ... Figuratively speaking, right?

Dick: Literally.

Wally: I'm calling your therapist.

Dick: You don't know my therapist.

Wally: Well, I'm gonna find them and then call them!

Dick: What's life without a little of risk?

Donna: A longer life.

Dick: ...

Dick: Who needs to live so long?

Random Socialite: You are just like your dad (Bruce). His genes must be strong.

Literally any of the Wayne kids (minus Damian): I'm adopted.

Tim, after going back to drinking natural fruit juice instead of five cans of Monster: I feel nutritious.

Bruce, after being told how handsome Dick is by like five people; completely confident and proud: Yeah, he got it from me.

Dick: I'm literally adopted.

Dick: The only thing I got from you is an addiction to using expensive sheets.

Tim, listening to loud music, knowing Jason was there and wanting to annoy him:

Jason, completely fed up with the world: TURN OFF YOUR MUSIC IT'S TOO HOT OUTSIDE.

Tim:

Tim: And what the hell does that have to do with it??? *proceeds to turn up the volume*

Annoying math teacher: Okay, students, do your math...

Dick: Do we do it mentally or can we use the calculator?

Teacher: Do it mentally with the calculator.

Dick, and probably the rest of the class: ???

Tim: I slept for 14 hours and I'm still sleepy.

Jason: Wtf. And I thought that sleeping 10 hours was a lot.

Damian: I don't know how you sleep more than 8 hours, you are lazy.

Steph: Let them enjoy their sleep. I can't even sleep 6 hours because of college.

Cass: 4 hours. Take it or leave it.

Bruce: At least you sleep more than 2 hours.

Dick: What the fuck did sleep mean?

Tim: I failed the natural sciences exam.

Dick: How? You said it was one of the easiest subjects.

Tim: It is!

Dick: So?

Tim: ...

Tim: I put "solar ecosystem" on the exam.

Steph: When I was little, we had to sweep the classroom at school, and since I hated sweeping, I pretended I didn't know how to do it.

Steph: Then, a classmate who always wanted to be superior, made fun of me, grabbed the broom and started sweeping for me.

Steph: She stayed sweeping the whole recess and I was able to go out and play without doing anything.

Dick: I'm so fucking proud of you.

Duke: What are you doing on the floor?

Dick, overstimulated because there is too much shit going: Floor time.

Barbara: You're autistic.

Barbara: Artist, I mean. Sorry, the phone's autocorrect.

Dick: We are having a face-to-face conversation.

(This is a bit lost in English, but in Spanish the words are "artista" and "autista", and they sound and are written in a similar way.)

Tim: Can we go to the sun if we go at night?

Duke: I swear they told me you were smart.

Damian: Who lied to you that way?

Steph: Which Hogwarts house would you be?

Dick: According to the test, I'm a Hufflepuff.

Steph: I've seen you angry.

Dick: Have you ever seen an angry honey badger?

Steph: ... Good point.

Dick: I take pills, everyday, so that I don't kill myself. 🎶

Roy: I'm dragging you to the psychologist right now.

Dick: We need an adult.

Garth: We are adults.

Dick: Responsible adults.

Roy: Normally you are the responsible adult.

Dick:

Dick: How the fuck are we still alive?

[lostintransist]

Divorcing John Price | Reddit Replies

AITA Part 1

I read through some of the responses from my moment of weakness. I shouldn’t have posted to Reddit of all places but dammit I couldn’t talk to anyone about this. My therapist knew but watching her lock down her muscles all I could see was the ‘don’t react, don’t react, don’t react’ screaming through her mind as I dropped the news on her. Objective would be the only kind of conversation I got from her.

“Is there anything he can do or change that would make you want to stay?”

“Have you thought about couples therapy?”

“Let’s check in, is there any part of you that doesn’t want this?”

Telling any of my friends before I told John felt dishonest and shameful, apparently telling the entirety of AITA forum didn’t hit that same bell though. I don’t plan on replying to anyone, but answer them in my head anyway.

Reddit user/veto58468731247

Dude…are you okay?

Heh, I guess? Finding the choices I made at twenty don’t fit as well in my thirties.

Reddit user/ Vanta (say happy cake day)

Have you thought about talking to him? Maybe if you talk with him and let him know you can start a trail of actions and therapy to show you at least tried. IDK 🤷🏾‍♀️ I also think maybe he married you as a beard of you think he is too friendly with the guys he works with. Have you heard of a lavender marriage?

Well, damn. A lavender marriage wouldn’t be that bad. I would want my own money though, need it. I can’t keep up the tap dance of toeing the line between keeping him happy and making sure I can live and enjoy my life. It would have to be a friendship kind of relationship and not a marriage. A friendship means I can go ahead without having to check on things that truly don’t matter to me but will cause stress if mess with. That would be the only way that I could keep going like I have been. I never had a chance to be a dumb twenty-something; the idea of kissing a girl doesn’t light a spark but I want to try you know? Just to see.

Reddit user/ NotReallyDumb:

Poor guy. This is why men should be careful about who they get pregnant. His wife is complaining about being a fucking housewife.

The slow blink that I can’t stop reading this one pairs nicely with the block button. Making sweeping statements about a situation you only know the grievances about will never be helpful for anyone. Like why the fuck would the jerk type that out? ‘NotReallyDumb’ seems really dumb.

Reddit user/ DontDropTheSoap:

Is this who I think it is? Is John [redacted] who I think it is? 👀👀👀

This one got a reply. I shouldn’t have, but if any of his men were sleeping with him and smiling in your face? That roiled in my chest like a hurricane at sea.

I don’t know, Soap, [please read this with a popping of the p]. Why don’t you schedule lunch with the wife of who you think this is and we can compare notes.

I pop the p on Soap at least once every time I see him. Tiny bits bring me joy.

Reddit user/ therapyisforsuckersandassholes

Husband must not be a real man if he can’t do more than crash after coming home from work.

First off, asshole, my husband does crazy hard work and him collapsing into himself wouldn’t be a problem if he could pull himself out of the funk for anything except his men. If I was important to him, if the kids held a higher hold on his heart, he would at least try for us.

Mentally replying to this one caught me in the neck. Tears started without my permission. That was it. The big issue. John would always find the energy to save his men from anything, but couldn’t find the will to schedule a babysitter or take me on a date. He commanded men all day, a captain. But one annoyed sigh from his strong-willed wife and he crumbled. Fucker needed to step up or step out because I couldn’t hold this teeter-totter still much longer.

Reddit user/sharingcaringandassstuff

Do you have a job hun? It sounds like you’re gonna be needing one soon if not.

Not a full-time gig, no, but soon the kids will all be in school and I can swing getting job that pays more and has more h. I’ve been using John’s pay to clear the debt that hasn’t yet been wiped away. While you want the house I won’t fight him for it. I would happily find somewhere to sleep during the weeks he is home and with the kids. Honestly, keeping it for them would be the best option in my opinion.

Reddit user/8675309999971

Does your husband do anything?

Both too much and not enough. Therapist said he sounded avoidant and that if he can’t face the ninety seconds it would take for his brain to stop throwing panic why would I want to keep trying for this marriage? Can’t I step back and keep him as a co-parent instead of drowning under the weight of my own unmet needs?

Three days later a text from John’s sergeant, Soap, with an offer to go to grab lunch solidifies the fact I cannot stay as I am.

Drafting the options takes several days. There it sits in stark black and white, the end of what we were and the beginning of what we could be.

If he chooses divorce, I won’t ask for alimony. I will fight tooth and nail to be the primary custodian of our children though. Between his job and his long absences, any well-educated person could see that child support payments would be cheaper than a nanny.

However, if he chooses a lavender marriage I want him out of the main bedroom. I get two days free every month to do whatever the hell I want while he gets to be home with the kids. I will treat this legal agreement exactly like what it is. A legal agreement. The thing about contracts is they can be updated, adjusted, changed, if both parties agree.

John will balk, but the man had ten-plus years to buck up and try for something different. I’m not waiting on his inconsistent timing anymore.

Masterlist | Taglist

Shout out to @miss-vanta-likes-to-write and @skeletonsucker for helping me with the reddit replies 😘

[bbystark]

♡ simon is a bad stalker part 2 ♡

badstalker!simon x reader series - pt one three

♡ masterlist ♡ request more! ♡

summary: in which you meet your stalker, but not in the way you thought. mdni

a/n: the response on my last fic?? omg?? crazy. this is for @madzzz0797 and everyone else who requested! i love yall.

simon isn't someone to be stunned. the dude has seen some shit, not much has the capacity to knock the air out of his lungs.

except you, of course. "i want to meet you."

what in the actual fuck.

the words rattle around his skull, and he has to actually brace himself against the wall.

there is actually no way. he shouldn't be surprised, really. despite the fact that you didn't even know his name, he knew everything about you.

he knew the reason you started seeing a therapist wasn't because you were afraid of something happening to you, it was the fact that you didn't know what was going to happen.

above all else you really just hated not understanding what the "why's" in life. of course you weren't going to the police. only you would be primarily focused on figuring out why he was doing what he was doing, personal safety aside.

simon has no idea how to respond, so he simply hangs up. he's suddenly overwhelmed by the consequences of his own actions. he hadn't covered his tracks well because he somehow simply missed the severity what he was doing.

to him his motive was simple; he found you to be one of the only good things left in this world and it was only natural that he tries to protect you from the bad.

but then he realized that to you, some strange man was interfering with your life and literally sending personal drivers to your rescue seemingly out of nowhere.

again, simon thinks, he's completely fucked.

he weighs his options, like he has any. so far, you've taken the situation relatively well, and it seems like the only way he could do any type of damage control is to give you what you want.

on the other hand, he wants to run for the hills. to ghost you, essentially. but he knows he can't for the same reason he started this whole thing in the first place.

simon had an undeniable need to keep you safe and close.

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

when the line goes dead, you audibly say "what the fuck!?" to no one. he's the one stalking you, and he hangs up? what a dick.

then, as you begin to sober, you realize how much of a fucked up situation you're in. you contemplate calling a friend, spilling your guts about everything. then you realize it's 3am, and you should probably go to bed.

the following week you kind of just... go on as usual. you still feel watched, but for some reason you don't feel it as intensely. you wonder if you spooked your own stalker, and the thought almost makes you giggle.

then you come home one day and you immediately know something is off. your cat doesn't greet you as quickly as usual, (something that started when simon started coming around, he knew how much you worried about the thing being lonely, so he took it upon himself to drop by and give it attention every once in a while).

then you see it, a box of pastry on your kitchen table. you drop your purse on the ground, approaching it like it was an explosive.

a pretty little bow is wrapped around it (simon had seen your pinterest, he doesn't understand the bow obsession, but he knows you would like it)

you open the box, a note taped on the lid. it was your favorite croissants from your favorite bakery, and you shiver a little when you realize the box is still warm.

you snatch the note from the lid, shooing your cat away from sniffing at the croissants.

"i'm sorry. we can meet soon, i promise."

you roll your eyes. you can't believe he's suddenly back with a note and pastries like he's an ex you broke it off with.

and then it sinks in, he said you would meet soon.

almost as if on cue, your home computer chimes.

you pick up your cat, clutching to her like she would be any help in the situation. you open your inbox and pale when you see a blocked email.

you open it, almost dropping your cat when you see that it's a zoom link.

your stalker just sent you a zoom link like you were about to have a business meeting. you click the link before you can change your mind, seeing the little pop up that informs you one person is in the meeting.

there was no way you were about to have a meet and greet over zoom with your fucking stalker.

you immediately close out of the tab and walk away, setting your cat down and laughing at the absurdity of the situation. you laugh like a psycho for a long time, your cat throwing you judgmental looks.

then you stop laughing, and you find yourself sitting in front of your computer with your cursor hovering over the 'join meeting' button.

you check one more time that your camera is turned off and will your shaking hand to click the stupid button.

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

simon watches as you laugh, and it does nothing to help calm his nerves. he silently hopes that you choose not to join the stupid video call because he's not even sure he could get any words out if you did.

the zoom was soap's idea, saying it might take the edge off (and the risk of you calling the cops). simon thought it was stupid but reluctantly agreed at the prospect of being one step closer to you.

he's pulled from his thoughts when the annoying doorbell chime lets him know that you did it, you actually joined the meeting. with your camera off, of course, not that it mattered when simon had your whole place bugged anyway.

his heart stops, he sees you staring at the screen, taking in a scarily large man in a mask and hood. he doesn't know where to put his eyes, much less what to say.

you break the ice for him, "this is way fucking weirder than just meeting you in person."

he wants to laugh, but stays silent, watching as you instinctively lean farther and farther away from your screen.

he watches you for a second before responding. "thought it would be easier like this."

for you or for him, you have no idea. you don't ask about the mask, assuming he just didn't want you to be able to identify him.

"yeah okay. um," he watches your face screw up as you try to find the words.

you settle with a simple "what the fuck?"

you watch him as he shifts in his seat, room dark and giving you no hints as to who he was.

"name's ghost." you scoff.

"i-," he stops and collects his thoughts, "i don' wanna hurt you."

you raise an eyebrow. "then what do you want?" he stays silent.

his silence irritates you, and you spur on. "what's the endgame here, ghost? because it's starting to get real fucking weird, i mean if you're gonna murder me eventually just get it over with because these little acts of kindness are driving me fucking insane."

his callsign coming from your lips sends a thrill through him, and he has to really concentrate to respond.

"...didn't really think about it. just know i want to keep you safe."

you balk at him. you had no idea why you thought he would spill his whole manifesto and confess his every thought to you.

"you know what you're doing is wrong right? being in my apartment, following me around? despite the good things you do for me?"

his entire body warms when you acknowledge the small things he's done for you, he revels in the fact that you know he's taking care of you.

"'spose so." a beat "then why are you doing it?"

he doesn't have an answer for you. "listen, ghost. you're going to meet me in person and you're going to have a lot more answers or else-" you find your voice wavering. "or else i will go to the police."

you don't give him time to respond, you simply end the call and or good measure unplug your computer, like it will somehow distance you from what happened.

you go to your bedroom, sitting on your bed heavily. you were shaking, uncontrollable shivers wracking your body.

you had just dug your grave deeper, in your childish and immature quest to understand you had just given your stalker an open invitation to come to you.

you were so fucked.

[drdemonprince]

I’m part of a large kink group on Facebook. Like 40k+ people. I love it because people ask for help about anything and everything and members of the group are supportive and positive and it’s like “trading cookie recipe” level normal regardless of what is asked. Except like when there is obvious dubious shit going down with bad boundaries, lack of clear consent etc. people are honest and give good advice about that.

However I saw a post a few days ago that kinda stumped me. It was in response to another post that got taken down and I didn’t see it so not sure of context but basically post was about feeding fetishes. And how that OP who removed their post should not be encouraging something that is so inherently bad for someone’s health. It talked a Lot about being fat and the toll on the healthcare system and how this person should be asking why they’re attracted to that and doing some inner work. Then went on to say it is basically the Most harmful form of kink or fetish because it makes people unhealthy and then a burden on the healthcare system. It tried to come off like out of concern for people’s health and wellbeing but really just stank of fat phobia and shaming people for being into kinks that involve fat people, therefore shaming the fat people themselves.

What kinda got to me was that no one was challenging them. So I didn’t feel comfortable jumping in like maybe I’m in the wrong and this is the general consensus out there? I am fat, enjoy kink although not into the whole feeding thing personally.

The idea that someone should sit down with someone else and ask a bunch of questions about their fat kinks and why they feel this way when it’s generally accepted that even things like cnc and rapeplay etc are not questioned (because it would be weird for people to act like your therapist before wanting to fuck you) is so strange to me.

I guess their point was that feeding kinks are encouraging over eating and obesity which is bad, but other kinks could arguably be also inflicting physical pain and also reinforcing emotional distress and yet we’re not all out there trying to be doctors for each other…

I don’t know it was just weird. Wondered what your thoughts are on it.

Nah, they're full of shit and fatphobic and you can tell that by the fact they're spreading the usual concern-trolling unscientific nonsense about *besity and health. They're disgusted by fat and by the idea a person might actively want to become fat and couching it in the language of concern, replicating the exact disgust-as-morality cueing that the sex negative Puritans would against them. It's bullshit but it's incredibly commonplace. Even some fat people wring their hands against feedism/gaining/fat fetish stuff because of their own internalized respectability politics, but it's bunk, because if there's nothing wrong with loving fat people or finding them desirable, or with enjoying being fat, then there's no shame in wanting to become fat or wanting the world to have more fat people.

Feedism, gaining, fat fetishism are all great. It's great to derive sexual pleasure from being fat or being with fat partners, and it's lovely to want to become more fat. More people should do it.

[kjack89]

New year, same bullshit. I’m sorry I’ve been so MIA, friends, but I hope you accept this drabble as an explanation of sorts. Love you all ❤️

“Should I be worried?”

Grantaire’s eyes flicker up to Enjolras’s, his cereal spoon halfway to his mouth. “Do you mean, like, in general?” he asks. “Because I mean, like, it’s 2025. And we’re all fucked. So.”

He sticks his spoon in his mouth and shrugs. Enjolras doesn’t smile. “That’s on me for not being more specific, I guess,” he says, scrubbing a hand across his mouth before crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You’re not painting.”

Grantaire swallows. “Well, no,” he allows, “mainly because I’m eating breakfast at the moment.”

“Be serious.”

Grantaire’s lips twitch. “It’s somewhat less funny when you know it’s coming.”

Enjolras arches an eyebrow. “And yet that’s never stopped you before.”

“Fair.” Grantaire twirls his spoon between his fingers before pronouncing, like the well-worn, inside joke it had become, “I am wild.”

Almost certainly despite himself, Enjolras smiles, just slightly. “Yeah, you are,” he agrees. “But you’re also not painting.”

Grantaire’s answering smile fades. “Could be,” he says, a little sullenly. “It’s not like you’re around enough to know.”

It’s a low blow and he knows it, but Enjolras doesn’t flinch. “Maybe not but we live in a late capitalist surveillance state so I have my ways of finding out.”

“Well, well, well, typical white man, complaining about the system except for when it directly benefits you.”

“Yep,” Enjolras says. “Are you going to keep deflecting? Because I can do this all day.”

For a moment, Grantaire’s tempted to take him up on it, to see just how long he’ll actually allow this to drag on. It’d almost certainly be good fun, and it isn’t like Grantaire’s got anything better to do.

But he can also see that Enjolras is genuinely worried, can see it in the tightness of his shoulders and the lines at the corners of his eyes that he tries to claim aren’t crow’s feet because he’s not old enough to have crow’s feet. And considering Grantaire’s previous point about all of the other things that are almost certainly more worth Enjolras’s worry, he supposes he owes him at least a semblance of the truth.

“Yes, I haven’t been painting,” he says, dipping his spoon in his bowl of cereal and stirring it, mostly to give himself something to do with his hands. “No, you shouldn’t be worried.”

Enjolras nods like he didn’t really expect a different answer. “Are you depressed again?”

Enjolras’s bluntness, characteristic though it may be, still startles a laugh from Grantaire. He sighs and looks down at his cereal bowl. “There’s not really a way to say this that won’t worry you.”

When he sneaks a glance at him, Enjolras meets his eyes evenly. “Try me.”

Grantaire jerks a shrug. “I’ve never really not been depressed,” he admits, which isn’t really a dirty secret so he’s not entirely sure why he’s saying it like it is.

Maybe because he really doesn’t want Enjolras to worry. They don’t talk about this, really, other than for Enjolras to reiterate more times than Grantaire can count that he’s always there to listen if ever Grantaire wants or needs to talk.

He knows that Grantaire’s in therapy, and takes meds, and had some very low lows previously, but Grantaire’s never felt the need to fill him in on the specifics.

It was depressing enough living it the first time.

He made that joke, such as it was, to his therapist, who didn’t laugh. “Do you frequently feel like you’re a burden to your loved ones?” she asked in response.

Of course Grantaire does, but again, he won’t tell Enjolras that.

Enjolras taps his fingers on the table, the way he does when he’s deciding on the best plan of attack or how to most effectively dismantle whatever asinine argument Grantaire’s brought up. “I thought you were doing better,” he says hesitantly after a moment.

He doesn’t pitch it as a question but Grantaire still nods. “I was.”

“What happened?” Enjolras asks, before pausing and asking, “Did something happen?”

Grantaire sighs and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “It doesn’t always work that way,” he says. “It’s not always triggered by something happening.”

Enjolras’s brow furrows. “Right,” he says shortly, something like disappointment flitting across his expression.

It took Grantaire a very long time when they got together to realize that this kind of disappointment isn’t aimed at him, but at a problem Enjolras can’t fix, an enemy he can’t fight.

At least, not directly.

He clears his throat. “But in this case, I think probably everything over the past few months played at least a contributory role, shall we say.”

True though it is, he mostly says it for Enjolras’s sake. Enjolras just nods slowly. “Are you not painting because your depression is bad again?”

Grantaire exhales sharply. “I’ve painted a lot while depressed.”

Enjolras’s expression doesn’t shift. “Another excellent deflection.”

Grantaire barks a laugh and scrubs both hands across his face. “You know me too fucking well.”

“Or just well enough.”

Grantaire lowers his hands and sighs again. He doesn’t quite meet Enjolras’s eyes as he says, “Every time I go try to paint…it’s like I can’t see it anymore, you know?” Enjolras almost certainly doesn’t know, but he’s struggling to put it into words in a way he can understand. “Like I can’t picture it in my mind, how I want it to look, or how to get there. It’s– it’s like trying to paint in fog.”

It’s not an exact metaphor, but it’ll do.

Enjolras nods slowly. “But I don’t need to be worried.”

“No,” Grantaire says, before wrinkling his nose. “Yes? I never know what the correct response is.” Enjolras just gives him a look, and Grantaire tells him, “No, you don’t need to be worried.” He pauses, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth before telling Enjolras with an almost tired conviction, “It’ll come back. It always has.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire cracks a smile. “Then you can worry.”

Enjolras takes a deep breath. “Ok,” he says simply.

Grantaire eyes him resignedly. “You’re going to worry anyway, aren’t you?”

A smile twitches at the corners of Enjolras’s mouth. “Newsflash, asshole, I’ve been worried this whole time,” he says dryly, and Grantaire’s smile widens at the quote.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Enjolras’s smile disappears.

“What? Why?”

Grantaire shakes his head, mostly because he knows Enjolras won’t like his explanation. “Because you shouldn’t have to—”

Sure enough, Enjolras cuts him off with a scowl, though his voice is gentle as he tells him, “That ship I’m pretty sure sailed when I fell in love with you. Or, frankly, probably a good deal sooner than that.”

There are so many things that Grantaire wants to say that, but he can’t bring himself to. Instead, he stretches his hand across the table and tells Enjolras, sincerely, “I love you.”

Enjolras takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I know,” he says softly. “I love you, too.” He squeezes Grantaire’s hand before adding, “I hope it comes back soon.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire agrees. “So do I.”

[sourpeachsayshi]

Praise kink with Nanami, please😭

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: therapist!nanami; client!reader; guided; forbidden; doctor-patient relationship; size kink(?)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ notes: I went overboard with this one.

nanami's eyes darken, his glasses resting just below the bridge of his nose, irises blurring like the haze between night and day. he uncrosses then crosses his legs, desperately trying to adjust the bulge in his pants. his notebook is still resting comfortably on his lap, one of his hands fidgeting with the pen that he lightly taps against the paper, while the other traces the outline of his lip.

your legs are spread apart, your skirt flipped up, underwear pulled to the side. your shirt unbuttoned, exposing the lace fabric of your pretty, pretty bra. the sight of your cunt forms a knot in his throat, which he swallows while trying to forget the many nights he's jacked off picturing himself fucking you.

the one who came to him after leaving her horrible husband. who has struggled to find any sexual pleasure ever since, and who timidly admitted that she finds her underwear soaked after every session with dr. kento.

"I don't think," you sigh, your bottom lip trapped between your teeth. "I don't think this will work..."

"but you look good," he reassures, noticing your lashes flutter at his words. "Wet. I can see it from here..."

your face burns with embarrassment, and you part your lips to say something though no words come out.

"just keep listening, okay? you're doing really well for me, I promise this will help," he lies through his teeth, his cheeks tinting a shade of crimson of him abusing his role. "your middle and index finger, use it to rub your clit, not too fast...nice and easy..."

you oblige, and that doesn't take him by surprise. you listen to his guidance, start massaging the nub of your clit gently. a few minutes pass, but he's busy paying attention to your reactions. the way your breath hitches and your chest hiccupping as you try to stifle a moan.

"don't hold it in," he coos, "give in to your natural reactions. it's okay, I'm right here. I'm watching you, helping you. you trust me, right?"

"yes, doctor," you whimper and he hums in response.

"feels good?"

"uh-huh"

"you sound lovely, like you're enjoying it..."

"mmph~"

"faster. add a little more pressure, that's right..." he continues, "how do you feel?"

"warm-" you add, breathless and needy which only fuels his desire. "I l-like it, I like how it feels..."

"This is excellent progress, I'm proud of you," he praises, a hint of a devious smile ticking the corner of his lip. "try putting a finger in, there you go..."

his eyes narrow as you sink your middle finger into your hole. you gasp in slight shock, taken aback that you actually enjoyed the tiny stretch. nanami nearly snaps the pen his half. knowing full well that the length and thickness of his fingers would do far, far better.

you pump in and out, so slowly like you're trying to figure out what pacing you prefer. "doctor kento," you moan, though you are not addressing him with anything specific except to simply call out his name.

his cock twitches.

he takes his glasses off, and folds it neatly between his pressed shirt. he closes his notebook, the page filled with mindless scribbles that he put together to distract himself from being aroused by you.

"when we discussed your sex life prior to your marriage, you mentioned you enjoyed receiving oral," he states.

you gaze up at him with doe eyes from underneath your lashes, finger fucking yourself tenderly as you shake your head in confirmation.

he gets up from his seat, takes a few steps closer as he carefully rolls up his sleeve. he kneels before you, the afternoon light sparkling against his golden hair. his face far too close to your cunt.

"a more manual approach might do you some good," he mumbles, his large palms reaching for your plush thighs.

the heat burns behind your ears and down your neck, your muscles in your lower belly start quivering with delight and anticipation.

"you're gorgeous, by the way," he admits, dropping his professional mask and allowing his inner thoughts to speak on his behalf. "it's a shame your ex couldn't appreciate that..."

he moves on hand to circle around your wrist and draws it away from your soaking cunt. he brings your shaking fingers to his lips to taste your essence before releasing you with a pop.

"so sweet," he purrs. he drops your wrist, his hands smoothing over your inner thigh and over the curve of your pelvis. when he looks up at you, you almost don't recognize the devilish expression on the face of such a gentleman. "you deserve to feel this good. may I?"

you melt into the pillow behind you, your heart pounding so hard against your chest it makes the room around you spin.

"we'll go for as long as you can handle. alright, sweetheart?"

"yes, doctor kento"

"good girl," he murmurs, the depth of his voice making you tremble in your seat. "such a good girl..."

your eyes roll to the back of your head, a cry leaving your lips that sounds like an ache when he brings his tongue to your sex and drags upward along the glittering slit.

no more secrets x

[hpgal]

DC X DP: VACATION TO A DIFFERENT UNIVERSE Pt. 1

CW: mentions of death

TLDR: Danny is stressed and depressed feeling like despite all the changes in his life, he feels like he is still the same.

Word Count: 1310

a/n: I plan on making multiple parts to this one but it will take some time. This is more a draft to part 1 than anything else and will most likely end up on AO3 in the future as a more completed version of itself once it is done here on Tumblr. Any feedback and suggestions (or even if you want to continue this plot with your own spin on it as long as I am credited/ tagged so I can read it too!) is very much welcomed!!

Danny wanted a change.

Not just for fun either. Though fun would be nice between all these Ghost King responsibilities he had been forced to start learning for when he comes of age, or well not, technically?

He doesn't know! It's complicated! He was 17 now, but his ghost age was only 3! The Observants said to fully assume the throne his ghost age was supposed to be 18 at the youngest but they'd make an exception for when he was 18 in the living realm.

Ghee, thanks you weirdos, because I totally wanted my adult life to already be over so I can manage my undead life.

Anyways, between trying to graduate and learn his forever job, he had been going to therapy now that he isn't the only ghost fighter in town. He has breaks! A support system! 14 year old Danny would never believe his parents accepted him for his ghostly side!!

His friends learned to fight and trap so well over the years that they don't even need him by their side anymore for every fight. The GIW was chased out of town and supposedly disbanded by the government because "it was a scam and ghosts don't actually exist." Even his parent's business was booming in town.

They started leaving the field work to others and focused on research. They hold ghost defense classes 3 times a week for any and all citizens. They build home defense gadgets and other anti ghost equipment to sell to the town, too. There are even kids from his class who want to get into the field now and intern at FentonWorks.

Over the years, everyone in town has grown incredibly capable of handling ghosts themselves that there is a city funded ghost protection task force. And that is all to deal with the ghosts that are more on the unruly side.

The reality is that it is not exactly necessary anymore to always be prepared for the next daily ghost attack. Since it became public knowledge for the Ghost Zone that he'd be assuming the throne, most ghosts have opted to leave Amity Park alone since it was his haunt. However, he has opened it up to any ghost who wants to visit as long as they do not leave Amity Park. And so, ghosts and the living live in harmony in the town.

In his senior year, the town has become so open to ghosts that when a ghost whose obsession is teaching, they hired him at Casper High! Danny is even in the class. He teaches an elective on astronomy, something the school could never afford. Ghosts didn't want to be paid in cash, so it helped! All Dr. Denver wants was to teach and to be allowed to claim the observatory for his research.

But while all this was great, Danny felt depressed. Which leads him back to why he was in therapy. It felt like all these amazing things have happened. That everyone has changed, except him. Thanks to his halfa status, his physical state isn't changing as much either. He discovered he is aging much, much slower.

Talking to his therapist, she helped him realize that what he craved was for a change for himself. Sure, he IS going to become The Infinite Realms king and that'll be a big change but it isn't what he wants.

He doesn't know what he wants, really. Which meant his therapist has given him an assignment to figure it out. So he talked to Clockwork, naturally hoping for some help. And Clockwork told him something surprising instead.

"Yeah, I'm ready for a change, but I don't know what to change." Danny told him in hopes the wording would draw Clockwork to give him an answer instead of something cryptic. He really didn't want to do the legwork to figure it out while he had midterms to study for and more ghost king lessons with The Observants later.

Clockwork paused as if in thought, "You could take a vacation to your universe of origin," he suggests. "That may help give clarity in what you need to change to be happy."

Danny floated next to him. He couldn't bring himself to be frustrated with the being of time for knowing exactly why Danny was here. Instead, he stared at him in confusion, distracted by what he just said, "What do you mean? I am not from here?"

He grins, his form flickering from old to young, "When you became a halfa, you changed universes from the complicated process you went through to become one."

Danny contemplated for a moment, confused but intrigued. A different universe? I wonder how different it would be from here. Without a second thought, Danny grins eager.

"I wanna go!" He exclaims like a young puppy who discovered a new toy for the first time.

"That would not be a problem, time runs differently between there and here. A week there will be an hour here so you won't need a time medallion." Clockwork simply looks off into the space surrounding them before continuing, "I have a friend who will act as your guardian while there. Head through the star shaped door near the Yetis whenever you are ready and he will be standing by, waiting for you" He shifts back into an older version of himself, pleased with himself for already knowing Danny would be taking this chance to go and made the preparations for this moment weeks ago.

Danny does a small dance in midair without a second thought and starts to drift off in that direction, "Oh, and Danny?" Clockwork calls out, "Legally, you are dead in that universe and.. well, much is different from what you know, so do be careful. Due to how time and the laws of that dimension for being such as myself, I am not the main ruler of time there, so the protection spells I placed on you are not guaranteed to save you this time." Clockwork grins knowingly towards Danny as Danny speeds off, oblivious to how serious his warning was.

---

Danny flies like the wind through the vastness of The Ghost Zone until he arrives at the door Clockwork described. His thoughts start to sour at the thought of this universe where he is considered dead despite it being his origin.

The door he arrives at is huge. Like he was not sure how to open the door huge. But wow, was it beautiful. It was like staring into space itself. It sparkled unlike any night sky he has even gazed upon. As he approached the beautiful door, he hesitated.

He was technically returning home, but he didn't feel any attachment to the universe in front of him. To him, nothing seemed different. Everything was exactly the same when he woke up after the accident, so he never noticed. The entire idea that he abandoned his family and friends by dying here was a horrible thought, but it wasn't his fault. He didn't know what happened here.

Wait, did that mean Vlad wasn't from that universe either? Danny shakes his head at the thought. It was pointless to fall down that particular rabbit hole now.

Maybe he should've asked Clockwork more before flying off without a thought. Clockworks words echoed inside him for fear of what he might find. Was this really a good idea? To return to the place he no longer existed? Could he handle seeing what the grief of his passing had done to those he loved?

A moment passes, and Danny shakes his head and steels himself. He needs to know how much changes, if he really did make an impact. Was he important?

With his decision made, the door seems to open itself. A bright beam of a soft white light floods through the threshold, and Danny steps through.

[forgotten-ties-au]

Character Files [1/?]

Let's start with the Smiling Critters shall we

Character descriptions under cut

Luan: Luan is a quiet cat. No matter what, you will always see him smile and it's often hard to tell his emotions behind that smile. Except for Cyrus. Luan and Cyrus are very close to eachother and love eachother very much. Luan is the watcher of the Playtime Co Factory, who keeps an eye out on everything going on. He makes sure that everything is doing alright and nothing bad is happening. He is willing to lend a hand too. Tho he is the last person you want to get mad.

Cyrus: Cyrus is the serious but yet kind-hearted leader of the Smiling Critters. Despite his serious look, he is actually quite the sweetheart and won’t hesitate to be there for someone. He makes sure that everyone in Playcare is safe and no danger is lurking in the shadows. He is also very close to Luan and loves him very much. So even with his angry and serious expression, don’t hesitate to talk to him. He won’t bite unless necessary.

Melora: Melora is a determined pig. She was determined that she and her friends will be free from this nightmare, she was determined that she is going to get better and she is now determined that everything will stay happy and safe as they are. She is the cook and the one taking care of the food supplies. Melora knows a lot about food and cooking and how to make the tastiest dishes even with just very few ingredients. She is also a great listener to her friends. Melora is there when you need someone to talk to.

Roshan: Roshan is a focused elephant. He is also the smart one in the group, just like his cartoon version Bubba Bubbaphant. Tho he doesn’t like it to be reminded of that. He doesn’t hate Bubba Bubbaphant, no, it just reminds him of unpleasant memories. He is also the one who cares for the Critters, even if he doesn’t show it. Roshan is responsible for the Files in this place and working alongside Ollie. So he knows a lot more then the other Critters. Not everything tho, the Files about his friends is one example. Informations that feel like he shouldn’t know about. He already knows to much.

Karah: Karah is a optimistic rabbit and quite sporty. She does her best to see the best in everything. Tho she can put up a fight when necessary. She is also best buddies with Aster. Whatever it is, these two are up to something. Karah is responsible with carrying stuff to anywhere it needs to go. She learned her lesson tho to not carry multiple things at once. That cannot end well. So if you need anything to be carried from point A to point B, Karah is the bunny to do that.

Aster: Aster is the self-proclaimed cool chicken. He is pretty chill and has a laid-back personality. That doesn’t mean tho he isn’t ready to take action when he has to. He is also best buddies with Karah. These two are always up to something. Aster is also very good at repairing stuff. He can fix anything physical and bring it back to it’s working self. So if you need something to be fixed, just go to Aster. He will help you.

Cordelia: The sweetheart of the group. Cordelia is the most sweetest person you could meet. Always kind and caring. She is afterall the Nurse and Therapist. If you have any problems, physically or mentally, then Cordelia is the bear to go to. She will make sure you'll be back on your feet in no time. Tho keep in mind that she will scold you if your injury was the aftermath of a reckless cause. Cordelia is always ready and there to give her friends a hug aswell, no matter the time! She also likes to sew as a little hobby.

Lillian: Lillian is the shy but yet sweet and kind unicorn. She might be shy at first but over time she will warm up to you and you'll find out that she is actually quite a lovely unicorn. Lillian job is to look after the little Smiling Critters plush as they are quite similar to little kids and it's probably for the best that someone keeps an eye on them. Lillian takes care of them like they are the children from daycare and enjoys every day with them.

[acatinabox]

I've seen a bunch of posts about sparring so I thought I'd make another one of my unrequested what if I want to write Antiva as if it was Italian posts.

Today's topic: INSULTS/SWEARWORDS/PROFANITIES

Like all other times, disclaimer. I'm not claiming Antiva as Italian, but I am Italian and I'm not comfortable about writing about other cultures, so this is just some silly writing reference for those who might need it.

I am also not responsible for how you use these, I'm just teaching you swearwords over the internet, if you offend someone with this that's your own fault, lol.

Let's go!

Common profanities:

Cazzo: literally means dick, but it's used as an exclamation like fuck, shit, etc.

Note: in the canon there is a variation of this, "cazza" that is used a couple of times. I frankly don't know if it's a spelling mistake or if they wanted to be quirky about it but it sounds weird to a native speaker. Figured I'd add it for the sake of completeness.

Merda: shit

Vaffanculo, can be shortened to Fanculo: fuck you, fuck off

Stronzo: literally shit, but same meaning of jerk

Testa di cazzo: dickhead

Muori: die

Puttana/Troia: whore

Bagascia: more old time sounding version of whore

Porca puttana/Porca troia: it's usually used as an exclamation of disbelief or annoyance like fuck, shit etc. literally means dirty whore or something.

Figlio di puttana: son of a bitch

Cazzata: bullshit

Che cazzata! That's such bullshit!

Non dire cazzate: don't bullshit me

Stronzata: can replace cazzata in all the above

Coglione: idiot, literally testicle. Beware because this can be a lot more offensive in the south of Italy than in the north so if you use it in real life don't do it in the south. I care for your safety but also I'm not legally responsible for you, you have been warned.

Che culo! Such luck! Culo in general means ass, but mostly the body part. Please don't use it as an equivalent of ass in English because it's actually a homophobic slur. And no, I won't teach the other slurs and this is why I didn't make a separate voice for this.

Rompipalle: literally ball breaker, it describes someone who's annoying.

Profanities with god:

This one deserves a special mention. Profanities that include the name of god are generally frowned upon in public or formal settings (all profanities kind of are but these are not allowed on TV for example) and I'm not a big fan of them because while I am secular I do respect other people's faith, but it is true that the Devs chose to use Treviso as a city name and Veneto has a cultural tradition of very creative swearing against god. So if you want something authentic I guess this would be a fun addition to the language of the crows who live in Treviso.

There is honestly not really a baseline I can give you about that because it can really get very verbose and creative so I don't want to hinder your creativity, honestly go wild with this and the wilder you go the more culturally appropriate it will probably sound. We have two elven gods in this game so it's even funnier if they're the targets of your swearing.

"Andraste's sweaty tits that were left to dry in the sun" is the first example that came to me off the top of my head and I don't know what it says about me. I should probably talk to my therapist.

Good luck, have fun, feel free to make requests and I'll be happy to help except with real life slurs. I don't do those, but I'm happy to help you make up some in-world appropriate stuff if it helps enrich your fiction.

My other Italian/Antivan posts:

Italian/Antivan romantic vocabulary

A collection of cultural and food stuff

[flintoaster]

Let's talk about Branches trauma for a hot second-

*I know it was like all silly goofy because he's a cute baby in a boy band and they didn't plan three movies ahead, but that doesn't change the fact that they were still using their baby brother, I'm guessing 3 to 5 years old, to make money and fame. I don't care if your 3-year-old has the most angelic voice on the planet, but you can't be putting all that work on a child so young. That is a child. That's child exploitation!

*Then on top of that, there's the toxic work environment and the toxic family environment. His brother was being bossy and perfectionist, which is harmful to everyone, but especially the child in his formative years. He's a little baby! He grew up to internalize what he said which manifested as severe anxiety and OCD tendencies. That's potential child abuse. That's one reason he has such severe anxiety because he felt like he needed to be perfect. He blamed the family's breakup on himself.

* even before his brother's abandoned him, he was clearly not being treated like an actual kid. They were babying him sure, but they didn't seem to give him enough emotional support except his pep talk before the show. They still treated him like a colleague which is inappropriate if he's a literal baby.

*And then they left after blaming him for the breakup, and leaving him to take care of his grandma! Yes she did watch over him and was his guardian, but he still felt responsible for taking care of her. He felt alone and like he had to be a grown up from that point on. Before she was even eaten, he had to be his own parent and his own support. I don't know where his parents fit in all this, but clearly they're out of the picture enough for his brothers to know that they are the ones responsible for Branch. I know he loves Floyd the most because he saw him for who he was but he still left him. You can't leave a kid and say "I'll be back eventually like bye take care of your grandma." That's child neglect and child abandonment.

* he thought he was the reason his family broke up, and the reason his grandma died. He probably made the bunker not only to hide from the world, but to protect the world from himself.

*Later in the movie he thinks that Poppy is going to abandon him too, and she's like "I can see why you're afraid of that but I'm not going anywhere" and that's why I love them.

Get this boy a therapist. (I love him your honor)

[sphacelating]

I'm a psychology student, honestly I wonder if on meds and with a trained professional Andrew could've been better

Part of me doubts it, because either he'd become dependent on the meds even the lightest ones or would be dragged down due to still being in his active people cycle and I don't think he'd be willing to leave his cycle even if a professional requested

Your thoughts?

it’s impossible to improve in therapy when your symptoms are either caused or exacerbated by ongoing abuse. no competent psychiatrist would slap any disorders on him that are difficult to diagnose when so much of his behavior is just a shitshow of trauma responses, old and new, and even if the abuse stopped and you could take a crack at what’s left when the dust settles, andrew would compulsively lie to any therapist he saw every time he was asked a difficult or uncomfortable question pertaining to himself rather than just his environment and relationships. he would be rather willing to talk— about everything except the shit he has buried as deep down as he can shove it that never stops blowing up in his face.

even if he sought help of his own accord, he’d present any professional tasked with picking his brain with a strategically polished version of himself, a guy who barely needs therapy, for them to psychoanalyze instead. he’d answer questions, but there would be nothing in those answers to work with. always andrew “normal” graves who has a fraction of his mental problems, and none of those could evoke a negative reaction, none he could be judged for, none that would taint his therapist’s idea of him as someone redeemable and likable and make him a bad person. his obsession with how even his therapist perceived him would be at the forefront of his mind through every session, overwhelmingly distracting and making honesty impossible, because his only peace is found in that nobody knows what goes on in his head, that he can disguise his true thoughts, feelings and intentions and instead feed people appropriate lies.

and andrew really doesn’t need a therapist to figure him out. he’s so painfully introspective that he’s already self-aware enough to solve his own issues, he’s not delusional, just in deep denial, and what causes him distress and confusion is not that he doesn’t understand himself and why he does what he does. quite the opposite. he gets extremely frustrated and unstable when emotional and psychological abuse makes him feel, think, act and react irrationally. it’s from having his head fucked with, after which he doesn’t understand what the hell is going on up there despite normally having clarity.

medication would do less for him than his nicotine addiction unless we’re talking prazosin and zopiclone to let the guy get some sleep at night. past that, you’d have to give him a lobotomy.

[residentrookie]

dr. potter’s whirlpool

microfic summary: james loves being a physical therapist. until he takes on regulus as a patient and discovers that compartmentalizing his work and his love for his husband might be harder than he anticipated; 1794 words; married jegulus, car accident survival, physical therapist/patient, hurt/comfort (cw: injury, mentions of vomit); in my head this takes place a little bit before part 1 and before part 3

James is a really fucking good physical therapist. Which, most of the time, is great. He loves to feel accomplished, more than just capable of doing his job, but doing it expertly. It fulfills him. It makes him happy.

Right now though, he wishes he could go backwards in time and select any other occupation in the world. Because if had, he wouldn’t be able to look at his husband and know exactly what’s wrong with him and exactly how much pain he’ll have to endure to get better.

James has to put him in pain to make him better. Has to hurt him to heal him.

He doesn’t want to be the person responsible for it, but he is. Which means he has to endure days like this. Days that make him want to scream at Regulus or himself or any unlucky person who crosses his path.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Regulus give up halfway through an exercise, panting for breath, sweat slick across his forehead. James waits for him to start back up and when he doesn’t, approaches the table he’s stretched out on.

“Regulus. I saw that,” James sighs.

“Saw what?” he asks innocently.

“You give up at 15. It’s 30 reps. No exceptions.”

“Oh, sure. Right away, Dr. Potter,” he replies scathingly. James doesn’t react.

It has to be this way, he’s found. He has to compartmentalize. When Regulus is here, at his practice, he’s not James’ husband— he’s his patient. The reason James is so good at his job is because he’s relentless— emotions never make him compromise when he needs to push. In his profession, results are hard won by his patients, fought for through gritted teeth and steelhard determination to overcome the pain it brings.

So, yes. He’s been forced into a calm, collected, professional role when all he really wants is to fall to his knees and beg Regulus for forgiveness every time he sees the all-too familiar pain wash across his pale features. But if he does that, then everything, everything, will fall apart around him. And he can’t let that happen.

Regulus rolls his eyes at James’ silence. “It fucking hurts, if you haven’t noticed.”

“You don’t have to tell me it hurts, Reg. I know it does.”

Regulus laughs cruelly. “Really? Because I feel like someone should remind you. Since you aren’t the one up here on the table having to do these exercises.”

James glances up at the clock on the wall. They’re nearing the end of their session which makes sense. Regulus is always crabbier right around now, partly because he’s hungry and partly because putting yourself in pain for an hour isn’t anyone’s idea of fun.

“Why don’t you give me 10 more and we’ll call it even?” he offers.

This tactic might have worked on other patients, but not Regulus.

“How generous of you,” he says flatly.

“Five?” James really shouldn’t be bargaining with Regulus on this, but he’s the one who has to go home with him after this. He does have some self-preserving instincts left.

“I’m done for today, James,” Regulus tells him firmly, sitting up with a groan. “Let’s go home.”

James has a choice here. He can choose to let this go or he can choose to push. Should he be the understanding, sympathetic husband or the hardass, ruthless therapist? Always, the impossible choice presented itself to him. But only one of those choices was going to produce results.

“Fine,” he say, his voice clipped. “But any stretches you don’t do here are just going to be added to your home exercises. And I’ll know if you don’t do them because, well. We live together.”

“Funny enough, that fact hasn’t escaped me,” Regulus hisses, eyes narrowing to slits. “You know when I signed up for this, I didn’t realize I’d be exchanging my husband for a fucking drill sergeant. Is Dr. Potter following us home now? Is Dr. Potter supposed to sleep in my bed and fuck me and make me coffee in the morning?”

James doesn’t rise to the obvious bait. ‘Technically, Dr. Potter does all of those things anyway.”

Regulus isn’t even close to done. “Seriously, James, what is it that makes you incapable of fucking human emotions in this building? It’s like you’re devoid of any care or concern for me and how I feel as soon as you walk through those doors. Sometimes, I don’t even recognize you!”

James doesn’t reply. He looks down and starts picking up cones from the floor, gathering them in his shaking fingers. He will not lose his cool. He will not. Will not.

“Look at me, James,” he demands, but James refuses to, knowing he needs to keep his hands busy with something. He grabs a metal water bottle off the floor and starts to carry it over to the shelf.

Regulus continues regardless. “Every single day I come in here, and I do exactly what you tell me to. And every day is fucking hell on earth. But I do it. I do it for you. So why is it that you can’t let up every once and a while?” He laughs once, bitterly. “What, do you fucking enjoy this or something?”

And then the water bottle in James’ hand is suddenly airborne as he hurls it with all his strength against the opposite wall. It hits the sheet rock with a devastating crack before clattering to the floor, rolling a comically far distance before bumping into the front desk. Breathing hard, James studies the hole it left behind and calmly thinks about the supplies he’ll need to buy to patch it. He doesn’t look at Regulus, who has fallen silent. He simply turns and walks to the supply closet. Opens the door. Closes it. Sinks to the floor.

The tears are falling before he can stop them. They flow almost as fast as the memories now crowding his brain, reminding him of things he wishes he had the power to forget.

It’s been five months since the accident. Five months, six days, and a couple of hours, to be exact.

At the risk of sounding cliche, James remembers exactly where he was and what he was doing when he got the call. That call. The one that could have killed him on the spot if he’d had a weaker heart.

He was washing the leftover dishes in the sink. He answered his phone with suds still on his hands, his soapy fingers smearing the screen as he pressed the speaker button. When he’d bolted to the car, he’d accidentally left the sink running. It had run for days. The price of their water bill that month was the least of their worries.

As someone who works in healthcare and frequents hospitals more often than the average person, he can say with authority that no amount of familiarity prepares you for seeing a member of your own family in one of those beds. James only has to close his eyes to picture Regulus there, fresh out of surgery and delirious on drugs and pain. He had a bad reaction to the anesthetics and couldn’t stop vomiting from the endotracheal tube removal and the nauseating medicine which only pulled at the stitches on his back. And he was crying. Through it all, he was crying, these horrible, racking sobs taking over his whole body, making him shake and shiver. This was misery at a magnitude he had never before experienced, even half lucid as he was. This was helplessness at a magnitude James had never experienced before, even with his fancy medical degree.

For that entire, terrifying night, James thought that Regulus was going to die. He sat there by his bed, fully believing he was going to watch his husband die before they could even celebrate their first wedding anniversary. But when the vomiting stopped, and the medicine started working, and Regulus could finally rest for a few hours at a time, James felt the breath return to his aching lungs in small increments. Things weren’t exactly easier after that. There were two more surgeries with two more difficult recoveries. Every day was a struggle, but Regulus was born a survivor and wasn’t about to let this change that.

Thankfully, Regulus has no recollection of those first few nightmarish weeks. Maybe that’s why he could say those awful things to James about being incapable of human emotions, because he didn’t watch him lose his actual fucking mind at the sight and sound of Regulus’ pain.

For a time, James did stop being human, but not in the robotic, emotionless way Regulus accused him of. Instead, he let his emotions consume him, crowding his senses, making him useless to his husband who was hurt and needed him strong. It took the combined efforts of his friends and family to pull him up out of the whirlpool of madness and fear and guilt that was sucking him down into the depths. But Regulus doesn’t remember that. And every time James feels even an inkling of that all-encompassing fear return, he shuts it down, focusing instead on actions that will produce results. He can’t exactly help that those actions cause pain and suffering to the person he loves most in the world.

The touch is so familiar that he doesn’t register it at first. Regulus’ hands cup his wet cheeks, lifting his face up.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus murmurs, kneeling before him, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m so sorry. I was so awful to you. I know you’re just trying to help me. I’m sorry, James. Please don’t cry, baby.”

“I hate watching you suffer,” James croaks. “It makes me hate my job. It makes me hate myself.”

Regulus whimpers, holding him tighter. “Don’t. Don’t do that. You love your job. I don’t want to be the reason that stops.”

James squeezes his eyes shut. “I try so hard. To compartmentalize. I have to, Regulus. I don’t mean to be unfeeling or uncaring, but if I let myself be ruled by my emotions, you won’t get better. And I need you to get better. I need you to be okay.”

“I know,” Regulus nods. “I understand. I’ll do better, I promise.”

“I love you,” James whispers. “More than anything.”

“More than anything,” Regulus replies knowingly.

“That never goes away. Not even when I’m Dr. Potter.”

After a moment, Regulus speaks again, his voice coy. “You know when all of this is over, we could make this whole ‘Dr. Potter’ business into a kinky sex thing. If you weren’t such a dick and I wasn’t hurting so bad, I might actually enjoy you bossing me around like that. Under different circumstances, of course.”

James can’t help himself. He laughs. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“Think about it,” Regulus bids him, rising to his feet.

And James, bless him, knows with certainty he won’t be able to stop thinking about it now.

(also posted these two one shots on ao3 so u can find them there as well :))

[sysmedsaresexist]

The "alters aren't separate people" discourse is getting way too nasty. It is really none of anyone's business (except for you and your therapist) how you view the people/parts in your system.

All people need to know is that alters exist in the same body and mind. They do not have separate bodies, thus they are a system and need to learn how to cope and share responsibility as a system.

My therapist literally does not care if I refer to my system members as "parts of me" or "the other people." I do both all the time. I would not care if I had a CDD patient myself and they did the same. Your therapists want you to be able to express yourself authentically. They will help you explore your own beliefs and whether any are exacerbating your symptoms and how to untangle that if necessary.

It's important, as a psychologist, not to treat a CDD patient as separate people with no relation to each other. They are a system. The system is not their own abuser because they have an abuser introject, the system does not need to be enrolled in kindergarten because they have littles, the system is not committing crimes if one of their human alters is in a relationship with their own animal alter or whatever, etc.

Please can we all just be normal about this and let people recover and self-determine at their own pace?

Some additional thoughts on all of this --

Parts vs people language discourse is so interesting to me because I actually see a lot of systems who use people language treating their system as parts of a whole. These things aren't mutually exclusive. I wish people would actually listen to the experiences that others are communicating instead of barely scratching the surface because they got mad at the words the other person was using.

Anyways, years ago I remember another psychologist with DID bringing up how often pwCDDs early on in their recovery are triggered by the idea of being parts of a whole. Think about what that confronts them with. Think about how that puts them face-to-face with all the compartmentalized things that got so thoroughly dissociated away.

Before I was diagnosed, earlier on in my own recovery, I thought that my alters were supernatural in nature. Different parts had their own explanations for it. It ranged from tamer psychic/spiritual belief stuff like telepathy and mediumship, to actual genuine delusions. Some of us thought that we were all real people who existed in different parts of the world, connected mentally. Some of them thought the same thing but that we were all from different universes, somehow interfacing within a single body.

We struggled heavily with the delusions and dissociation. We were just trying to make sense of our fragmented experience.

Even after our diagnosis, even after we realized that alters were not like that, we still struggled. Because dissociation does that. Dissociation carves a divide between all parts of the system. We struggled to see ourselves as parts of a whole until we got far enough into recovery to lessen that dissociation and finally see how we were all interconnected within.

Thank God we discovered our DID before nowadays. We would've been flayed alive by the online community. We would've been attacked for just being Not Recovered enough, for using all the Wrong Words, and for having odd beliefs and genuine delusions about our own mental health.

There's nothing wrong with simply stating that alters are all parts of a whole. We are. Because that's what being a system is. We all share a single body and mind. But taking it further to invalidate the individuality of alters, police the words they use, dismiss their personal/spiritual beliefs, or attack them just because they're triggered or can't see it yet...?

What are we even doing???