#i still don’t like my psychiatrist though | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inlovewithquestionablecharacters · 7 months ago

Note

Hello,

could you write a Hannibal fanfic, where the reader is Will‘s student ( very protective of her) and Hannibal takes a interest in her, after psych. evaluation? He starts wooing her over and Will (platonic) doesn‘t like it at all. In the end there is smut between the reader and Hannibal after a dinner party ?(Maybe Will later here‘s from Crawford about it, because Crawford went to Hannibal‘s house to get him for a case)

Hannibal x Reader: Off limits

Warnings: smut, kissing, patient x therapist, fingering, pet names, cowgirl, ridding, penetration ( p in v), no use of y/n, female reader

Words count: 4,6K (dear lord 🙃)

“I don’t know if this is a good idea Will.”

“Why not?”

“Talking to your psychiatrist about my shit? Don’t you think that crossing some kind of boundary?”

“First he's not my physiatrist, not officially anyway. And secondly I would say drinking at my house crosses more boundaries than this. That didn’t stop you though right?”

“Yeah I guess you’re right.”

“Plus you need this. Talking to someone about stuff helps.”

“Fine. You’re sure he’s okay with it right?”

A week ago Will had mentioned you to Hannibal for the first time since he’d started having his sessions. The conversation had begun because Hannibal had asked him if he had anyone in his corner that he could trust. Will had immediately thought of you. Despite being his student you had helped him through a lot of stuff and pretty soon he considered you more of a friend then a student. He worried people would accuse him of favoritism but you were one smart cookie so he didn’t really have to worry about that. You knew your shit. No one could deny that. Of course Will also worried about people spreading rumors that you were sleeping with him but when he’d shared his concerns with you you’d just shrugged.

“People are gonna say shit about us anyway Will. I’m not gonna cut our friendship because of what some idiots say about us.”

He’d known he could count on you for anything but he could tell you were dealing with a lot more shit then you’d let on. It was one of the reasons why he’d told Hannibal about you. Will wondered if maybe talking with someone you knew he trusted would put your mind at ease. So here the two of you were standing in front of Hannibal's office door. You fiddle with your fingers trying your best to call your racing mind. Will notices your fidgeting causing him to grab onto your hand. You look up at him with a small smile which he returns. You hear the door open making your head snap to look at it.

Hannibal takes in the sight before him, his eyes catching on the way Wills hand is latched onto yours. He forces his gaze to move back up to your face. His eyes soften a bit at the sight of you. You have a sort of deer in headlights look in your eyes and Hannibal can’t help but feel a bit of pity. From what Will had told him you weren’t super into the whole therapy thing but you’d accepted to talk to him because Will thought it would help. Still from the look in your eyes Hannibal could tell you were hesitant. He would have to convince you that you could trust him.

Dr. Lecter gave you a welcoming smile before stepping to the side and gesturing for you to enter. You looked at Will for a moment, a twinge of fear present on your features. Will simply gave your hand a squeeze before letting it go.

“It'll be alright. Dr. Lecter will take care of you. I’ll be here waiting for you.”

“You aren’t going to come in?”

“I’ve found that the session works best if it's just the two of us.”

You glanced at Hannibal as he spoke, trying to make up your mind about him. He placed his palm out to you, inviting you to take his hand. After a moment of hesitation you accepted his invitation, taking his hand in yours and allowing him to guide you inside. He released your palm once you were inside, turning to close the door behind you.

You watched as Will's face slowly became out of view, his boyish smile no longer able to be seen. You turned around, taking in your surroundings. You’d never done this before so you didn’t really know how it worked. Should you sit down? Or were you supposed to lay down like they showed in the movies?

Luckily for you Hannibal seemed to sense your confusion. He made his way to his chair, taking a seat before gesturing to the empty seat before him.

“Please make yourself comfortable.”

You did as he asked, making your way over to the chair. You moved a bit trying to find a comfortable position. Hannibal watched you squirm a bit, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You were quite a sight. Will seemed to have forgotten to mention that. Not that that bothered Hannibal. In fact he welcomed the surprise.

Once you were satisfied with your position you stopped fidgeting and raised your gaze to look at Hannibal. For the first time you saw him. Really saw him. He was oddly attractive with a sort of Victorian beauty. You weren’t used to guys like that. In the FBI most of the guys were covered in scars and built like monster trucks. They needed to look tough, even if they weren’t. That was just part of the job.

But the man before you was nothing like that. With his tailored suit and perfectly combed hair he looked like a man of great importance. The sort of guy you’d call when you needed tickets into some sort of high society party. And yet he had this sort of energy to him that made you feel he wasn’t as innocent as he seemed. If anything his looks hid behind them a sort of unfiltered violence. But somehow you didn’t fear him. In fact you found yourself suddenly intrigued by a man you’d only exchanged less than a few words with.

That was about to change however. Because the moment Hannibal started talking to you it seemed like everything you’d been holding in for years just started to spill out. You told him about how you were treated in the FBI, about how no one thought you had it in you to deal with this kind of stuff. You told him about your home life and your relationship with your family. Your deepest thoughts spilled onto the floor of Hannibal's office and he didn’t seem to mind. He listened to you with so much attention and understanding that it shocked you a bit. By the end of the session you felt like someone had taken the weight of your shoulders.

Will watched you come out of the room, the sound of your laugh filling his ears as you and Hannibal finished talking. A sudden wave of anger filled Will's chest. What had Hannibal said to make you laugh in such an unfiltered manner? The thing about Will was that he was very protective of you. He saw you like a little sister so he couldn’t help but become on edge when in the span of one hour Hannibal had managed to strip away any hesitancy you had entered the session with. He was glad you seemed lighter but he also knew Hannibal and he couldn’t help but worry about his intentions with you.

“I’ll see you next week Dr. Lecter.”

“Just Hannibal is fine dear. There’s no need for these pleasantries.”

“Okay then Hannibal. Same time next week?”

“See you then dear. It was nice seeing you Will.”

Will rose from his seat giving Hannibal one final glance before making his way to you. He placed his hand on your back guiding you towards the door. Hannibal didn't miss the way Will looked at him, but the thought disappeared when he saw the smile you gave him before you left. There was no denying it now. Hannibal found himself very interested in you. If there was something about Hannibal it was that he got what he wanted. And right now what he wanted was you.

You continued to have your sessions with Hannibal. Sometimes you’d talk about the FBI and your studies. Other times you’d talk of your dreams of the future. And then there were days where you felt like you had nothing to say so you’d convince Hannibal to tell you about himself. You’d begun to enjoy your sessions. The closer the day came the more anxious you became. You found yourself contemplating what to wear to therapy. Even though you knew your feelings weren’t exactly “professional” you couldn’t get yourself to care. You’d often catch Hannibal looking at you in ways that didn’t scream professionalism. The more you talked to him the more you felt like you were becoming friends and then one day Hannibal decided to make up his mind.

You were walking around the room, a habit you’d developed during your sessions. Hannibal watched you move around the room, his eyes following the sway of your hips. You had been talking about Will and Hannibal couldn’t seem to hold his tongue any longer.

“Are you interested in Will Graham? Romantically I mean.”

“What? No way! I mean Will is great and all but I see him more like an older brother then anything. He’s been there for me you know?”

You turned to look at Hannibal, your eyes finding him. He stared up at you with a blank look.

“Why do you ask?”

“Oh you just talk alot about him is all.”

“Oh come on Hannibal. Talking about someone a lot doesn’t mean you like them. You of all people should know that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you talk about Dr Bloom a lot but you’re not….interested in her.”

Hannibal watched your brows furrow for a moment, your gaze suddenly glued to the ground.

“Unless you are and I've just read it completely wrong.”

You tried to keep your voice steady and impassive but Hannibal could see the slight disappointment in your tone. He called out your name forcing you to return your gaze to him. You glanced down at him in curiosity.

“You are right. Talking about someone doesn't mean you like them.”

You held your breath for a moment awaiting for the verbal confirmation of what you already imagined.

“I am not romantically interested in Dr. Bloom. I merely respect her as a professional.”

You let out a small sigh, trying your hardest to not show the joy you felt. Hannibal rose from his seat making his way to his desk. You watched him open one of the drawers grabbing a piece of paper. He made his way back to you standing mere inches from you. You looked at the piece of paper in his hand before grabbing it. Your eyes ran over the words scrawled out in his handwriting.

“What’s this?”

“An invitation. I’m having a dinner party on Saturday and I'd love for you to come.”

Will had told you about Hannibal's dinner parties and his custom of inviting people over for dinner but you never imagined you’d be one of these lucky few. A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. You looked up at Hannibal catching the way his eyes narrowed in on your lips.

“Thank you. I’ll be there.”

“Wonderful. It seems our time is up. I’ll see you at the party then.”

He walked you over to the door opening it for you. You nodded your head in thanks, making your way out. Just as Hannibal was about to close the door you spun around.

“Oh um… I've never been to a dinner party. What should I wear?”

It seemed like a silly question but you wanted to fit in with Hannibal's friends. You wanted to show him you could keep up with him. Hannibal looked at you for a moment before speaking.

“Wear whatever you feel like dear. I’m sure you’ll look beautiful in anything you choose. Your presence is the only thing that matters to me.”

Your heart almost stopped at Hannibal's words. It's had been a while since someone had given you such an unfiltered and direct compliment. You were a bit taken aback. In a good way of course.

Hannibal had just revealed to you, in a short amount of words, that he found you beautiful in any way and that he enjoyed being around you. Your mouth was dry as you tried to force yourself to speak. You managed to make your brain work enough to squeak out a small ‘Thank you until Saturday’ before racing to your car.

When Saturday finally came you were practically buzzing with anxiety. You’d tried on three different outfits and settled on one you thought fit in with a dinner party, something stylish but not too flashy. The whole drive over to Hannibal's house you couldn’t seem to calm the hammering of your heart. You tried blasting music to calm yourself but it didn’t work. Fortunately your brain seemed to go into automatic mode because before you knew it you were parking in front of Hannibal's home. You stared at the house from the car window, noticing the lights peeking through the curtains. You took a deep breath in trying to dull the anxiousness you felt.

“He invited you. He wants you here. There is nothing to worry about.”

You stepped out of the car making your way to the door. You thought of knocking for a moment but you doubted he’d be able to hear it over the classical music that seeps through the door. Your finger moved to ring the doorbell, heels tapping the ground as you waited. You turned around talking in the rest of the houses on the street.

Hannibal made his way to the door tugging it open. He didn’t know who to expect, he’d invited quite a lot of people and many of them still hadn’t arrived. All thoughts seemed to leave his mind when his eyes caught onto your frame. You had your back turned to him, the backless dress you’d decided to wear allowing him to see your bare skin. He stared at you for a moment opting to bask in your beauty before calling your attention.

You spun on your heels as the music suddenly grew louder, eyes falling on hannibal. He was wearing a suit like he always was but you could tell this one was special. You were suddenly relieved by your choice of clothing.

“Good evening dear.”

“Hi.”

“You look exquisite. But then again I knew you would. Please come on in.”

You took a cautious step forward entering his home. Hannibal closed the door behind you.

“Come there are some people I want you to meet.”

He placed his palm on your back guiding you around the room. You were used to Will doing that when he was around you but it felt different with Hannibal. There was something arousing about the feeling of his bare skin on yours. You welcomed the feeling, moving across the room full of people with ease. Hannibal didn’t leave your side the entire party. Whenever he needed to do something he’d ofer his forearm to you, a silent request for you to join him. You laughed along with his friends and filled yourself up with the vast variety of food Hannibal had prepared.

As the night went on people began to leave. They’d thank Hannibal for the invitation and go on their way. Oftentimes they’d thank you for hosting as well and you simply didn’t have it in you to correct them. You understood that the way you behaved with Hannibal made it seem like you were an item and even though you knew it was wrong you felt a thrill at the thought.

You finished saying goodbye to the last few people left at the party, closing the door behind you. Once you made sure it was locked you made your way over to the kitchen. Hannibal stood before the counter, his hands working on drying a glass of wine. His head snapped up at the sound of your heels against the floor. You smiled at him, making your way to where he was.

“Need help?”

“No that's alright. There are only a few left.”

“Okay”

You turned to look at the clock seeing the time.

“It’s already that late? I should probably get going.”

You didn’t want to leave but you knew better than to overstep. Hannibal hadn't invited you to stay over. He'd invited you to the dinner party and that had already ended. Hannibal placed the glass in the cupboard before turning to look at you.

“Don’t go yet. There is something I want to show you.”

“Oh okay.”

“Go wait in the living room, I'll be there in a bit.”

You made your way over to the living room. Your feet were starting to hurt so you decided to take off your heels, leaving them by the couch. You walked around the room, making your way over to an odd looking instrument. You sat down on the bench in front of it, eyes moving over the instrument as you tried to understand what it was.

“It’s a theremin.”

Your head snapped over to where Hannibal stood. He had removed his vest and suit jacket leaving him in only his dress shirt.

“How do you play it?”

Hannibal made his way to you. You looked up at him when he stopped next to were you sat.

“May i?”

“Yeah of course.”

Hannibal moved to sit behind you. You sucked in a breath at the feeling of his chest against your back.

“It’s a difficult instrument. You must find the right pitch.”

You watched Hannibal move his hand over the empty air, a small gasp leaving your lips as sound began to come out of the instrument. Hannibal turned to look at you. His heart warmed at the smile that had spread over your face.

“Would you like to try?”

“Oh sure.”

“Give me your hand.”

You lifted your arm allowing Hannibal to grasp your hand in his own.

“Relax your fingers. And try to keep your hand steady.”

You were finding it rather difficult to stop shaking due to the closeness you had to Hannibal. Every time he spoke you could feel his hot breath on your neck and your mind couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have his lips on your skin. Hannibal guided you hand with his. Sound filled the room once more but it wasn’t as nice sounding as when Hannibal had played himself.

“This is hard.”

“It is. The theremin requires a lot of practice. You have to be good with your hands.”

You wondered if he’d meant the innuendo or if he was simply talking and your diary mind had understood something else but you weren't about to waste your opportunity.

“You must have quite skilled hands then Hannibal.”

“I haven’t had any complaints yet.”

A small whine escaped your mouth, immediately followed by a pathetic sigh of Hannibal's name. HIs hand had found its way to your thigh, fingers drawing small shapes on the skin. Instinctively your body relaxed into his frame, your back pressing up against his chest. Hannibal's hand continued to travel down your thigh moving closer and closer to where you wanted him most. His lips found their way to your neck placing kisses to the skin. Your head moved to the side, offering up more of your neck up to him. He sucked a hickey onto you, marking you as his.

“The body is a lot like a theremin.”

Your body jolted forward as his fingers found their way to your pussy. He reached into your underwear, slender fingers moving against your folds. You reached for his thigh hands wrapping around it in desperation.

“You just have to find the right pitch to make someone-”

A moan ripped through your body as he entered his fingers into you.

“Sing.”

Your legs widened, allowing Hannibal to move with more freedom. His fingers moved into you at a slow pace. If it weren't for the pleasure he was bringing you you would almost think he was trying to torture you. Your free hand found its way to his cheek forcing him to turn to look at you. You place your forehead against his, panting as his thumb found your clit.

Hannibal watched your brows furrow as your eyes rolled back in your head for a second, your mouth falling open in a silent moan. He adored you like this. Completely wrapped around his finger. Your nose bumped against his as you moved to kiss him. His lips welcomed you with ease, mouth opening to let your tongue in. Your muscle moved against his as he continued to pleasure you with his hands. You disconnected your lips from Hannibal, a small string of spit continuing to connect him to you. You were starting to get closer to your orgasm and Hannibal could tell. Your hand latched onto his shoulder, nails digging into the skin beneath his shirt. He kept his face close to yours as he continued to work on making you cum. Your breath fanned over his nose as you struggled to keep your eyes open. Your hips bucked up into Hannibal's hand searching for the last bit of friction you needed. With a skilled move of his thumb over your clit Hannibal had you cumming on his fingers. Your body spasmed against him, head falling onto his shoulder as white flashed over your vision.

Hannibal watches your chest rise and fall rapidly as you float back to consciousness. He removes his fingers from your pussy guiding them to your lips. You open your mouth to him, sucking on his digits eagerly. Your eyes snapped open as he removed his fingers from your mouth, placing them inside his own for a moment before releasing them with a pop. You look at him dumbly, your mind completely fogged from your orgasm. Hannibal guides his hand to wrap around your face. You allow him to crash his lips onto yours, your body molding into him once again. It's then that you feel the hardness of him against you.

The feeling of his arousal sends a shock wave into your body making you come back to reality completely. You break the kiss, maneuvering your body so that you're facing Hannibal. You lift your body placing your thighs against his, forcing him to close his legs. You gaze down at him as you move to straddle him, your hand moving to his zipper. Hannibal continues to look up at you as you relive his dick of its confines. A pleased sound makes its way out of your throat at the sight of him. Your free hand moves to your pussy, tugging your soaked underwear to the side. You inch yourself down onto Hannibal's dick, watching his face scrunch up at the feeling of you. His hands find your hips, his impatience causing him to tug you down onto his dick in one go. You gasp at the stretch hands moving to grasp onto his shoulders.

“Fuck hannibal.”

“Feel so good dear. So perfect around me.”

You lift your hips slowly before bringing them back down. You try to start off slow but pretty soon your desperation gets a hold of you. Your hands move to Hannibal's neck, arms wrapping around him. Hannibal presses his face against your chest, his own arms moving to wrap around you. His hips move up, fucking into you. You try to help him as best you can but your thighs are already starting to hurt from being in this position too long. It doesn't seem like Hannibal minds though. In fact once he notices you’re giving your body up to him he seems to find some super strength because before you know it he’s ramming into you.

Your body bounces against his as he guides you up and down on his dick. You release his neck moving your hands to rest on his thighs. The new angle allows him to move against you with more ease causing him to speed up. Before you can even tell him you’re close you’re already gushing around him. Hannibal grunts as his cum paints your walls, his hand moving to rest against your chest. Your fingers move over his hair as he regains his breath, face still pressed against you.

Hannibal lifts his head allowing him to look at you. You have lipstick smeared all over your face and your hair is all tangled but your face holds a look of pure unfiltered joy. Hannibal grins up at you, his hands moving to cup your cheek before pulling you into a tender kiss. You let out a satisfied hum against his lips. He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours.

“Sleep here tonight.”

“Okay.”

You wake the next morning to the sound of the door bell. You groan, lifting your head from Hannibal's neck to look at the time.

“Who the hell is at your house this early on a sunday?”

“Shh go back to bed. They’ll leave soon.”

You snuggle back into Hannibal allowing him to tug you closer. Sleep starts to take over your mind just as the doorbell rings again causing you to let out another groan.

“I should see who it is.”

“Yeah and tell them to fuck of while you’re at it.”

Hannibal chuckles at your words, kissing your cheek before moving to get out of bed. You lift yourself up wrapping the sheets around your bare body as you watch Hannibal tug a sweater over his head.

“Stay there dear. I’ll be right back.”

You nod at him watching him leave the room. He left the bedroom door open allowing you to hear him open the door.

“Jack, what are you doing here?”

Oh shit.

You scramble out of bed tugging on one of Hannibal's sweaters before searching the ground for your underwear. You almost fall over as you try to put it on but you manage to do so without causing an accident. You pad through the house barefoot making your way to the front door.

“Good morning. Sorry to wake you up so early but we have a case that we need help with. Will said you-”

Jack's eyes caught sight of you standing in the corner. Hannibal seemed to notice the shift in Jack's attention causing him to look in the direction he was staring at. Hannibal's eyes fell on your frame observing the way his sweater looked on you. You looked at him, your hands fiddling with each other.

“Is everything okay?”

Hannibal stuck his hand out to you inviting you to come over. You made your way to them allowing Hannibal to pull to him. He placed a kiss on your temple.

“Hi Jack.”

“Hello rookie. I didn’t know you knew Hannibal.”

“Will introduced us.”

“He knows you’re here?”

“No. Why?”

“He called me yesterday. Said you weren’t home. And that you didn’t pick up your phone.”

“Is that why you came?”

“Oh no. We have a murder we need Hannibal to help with.”

“Okay. I’ll come too.”

Jack gave you a look of surprise.

“You aren’t ready for the field, rookie.”

“And Will is?”

Jack opened his mouth to counter you but he knew better. He knew you were close with Will so he knew that Will had told him of all the shit he'd been through because of the FBI. Plus he knew you were famous for your stubbornness and he really didn’t feel like dealing with it right now.

“Fine. Go get ready. Both of you.”

With that Jack exited the house moving to grab his phone out of his pocket. He dialed Will's number. The phone rang twice before he picked up.

“I got Hannibal. We are going to the crime scene now.”

“Okay i’ll be there in a few.”

“Oh and I found your friend. You’ll never guess where.”

Will didn’t even need Jack to finish his phrase to know where you were. Anger bubbled into his body again. He’d have to have a talk with Hannibal about professional boundaries.

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buttercandy16 · 19 days ago

Text

Asylum

Chapter Four: Enemy of my Enemy

PAIRING(s): Psychiatrist!Agatha Harkness x Patient!Reader x Inmate!Rio Vidal

SUMMARY: Wrongfully imprisoned, Reader becomes the obsession of Agatha, a cunning psychiatrist, and Rio, a fiery inmate. Together, they’ll ensure she’s theirs—forever.

WARNING(s): Obsession, Manipulation, Violence, Confinement, Madness, Dubcon, and Betrayal.

Rio's whispered promise to free you played in your mind like a scratched record for the rest of the day, the words insidious in their persistence. You didn’t want to believe her—couldn't trust her—but the possibility of escape, no matter how fragile, made your breath catch in your throat.

Could you really leave? And, more terrifying, would either of them let you?

By the time night fell, the edges of your resolve had begun to crumble. Your small cell felt more like a tomb, the walls pulsing with the weight of what lay ahead. The conflicting forces of Rio and Agatha loomed over you, as though the air between them left no room for you to breathe.

Then came the night Rio made good on her word—or so she claimed.

The clock had just struck midnight when your door creaked open.

“Psst.”

You jolted upright to see Rio’s unmistakable silhouette leaning in the doorway, her wild grin catching what little light filtered into the room. She looked untamed, even more so than usual, her hair messy, her eyes practically glittering with adrenaline.

“Get up, mi amor. Time’s up.”

You hesitated, instinct screaming at you to stay still, to stay quiet. If you left with her, this wouldn’t end well—Agatha would see to that.

Still, the thought of escape pulled at you like a siren song.

“Rio,” you whispered sharply, clutching the blanket around your knees. “This is insane. What are you—”

“Shut up and move,” she hissed, her voice low but fierce as she slipped into the cell. She crouched beside you, her fingers gripping your arm tightly. “We’re doing this. Now.”

Her intensity was suffocating, her presence taking up every inch of the confined space.

“Even if you don’t believe me, what’s keeping you here?” she asked, her lips brushing against your ear in the dark. “Her? You think she’s going to save you?”

Your breath hitched, your mind racing through every tangled interaction you’d had with Agatha over the past weeks. As terrifying as she was, there was safety in the familiarity of her controlled demeanor. But the memory of her possessive whispers and the subtle threats she weaved in her kindness still sent shivers down your spine.

“Let me save you, cariño.” Rio's voice softened now, tinged with what almost sounded like genuine affection.

And maybe that was why you found yourself swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. Maybe that was why, against your better judgment, you allowed Rio to take your hand.

The corridors of the asylum were eerily silent as Rio led you through them, her steps swift and silent on the cold floor.

"How do you know where to go?" you whispered, glancing nervously over your shoulder.

She smirked without looking back. "Unlike you, I’m not new to this place. I know its secrets."

Her confidence rattled you as much as it reassured you, the fine line between competence and recklessness blurring with every step she took.

But before long, that line snapped.

"Where do you think you're going?"

The voice sent ice through your veins. Agatha stepped out of the shadows at the far end of the corridor, her dark eyes cutting through the dim light like razors. Her usual composure was cracked just enough to show the rage simmering beneath her surface.

Rio froze, but only for a moment, before letting out a sharp laugh. "Of course you couldn’t just mind your own business, doc. Always watching, always scheming."

You stepped back instinctively, your heart pounding in your chest as Agatha's gaze slid to you. Her lips curved into a smile, but it wasn’t warm or reassuring—it was predatory.

"Step away from her, Rio," Agatha commanded, her voice dangerously calm.

"Not a chance," Rio shot back, shifting her body protectively in front of you. "I told you she’s not your toy to keep. She’s coming with me."

The tension in the air was suffocating as the two women locked eyes, the silent war between them more terrifying than any shouting match. You could feel their conflicting wills tugging at you like invisible chains, each pulling you closer to their side.

But you weren’t a pawn—or, at least, you didn’t want to be.

"Enough!" you snapped, your voice trembling but firm as you stepped forward.

Both women froze, their gazes snapping to you in unison.

"I can't—I can’t do this," you stammered, clutching your head as the weight of their obsession crushed you from both sides. "You’re both insane, and you’re dragging me down with you!"

Rio’s face twisted in frustration, while Agatha tilted her head, her dark hair framing her sharp features.

"Darling," Agatha began, her voice syrupy with forced calm, "you don’t know what you’re saying. You’re overwhelmed, but you’ll understand soon enough. You belong here—with me.”

“No,” Rio growled, cutting her off and stepping closer to you. “You don’t belong here at all, cariño. Let me take you away from her, from this place.”

"You think she’ll last a day out there?" Agatha snapped, her mask of calm fracturing entirely. "She’s fragile. The world will eat her alive without someone to protect her—someone like me."

“I’m right here, doc.” Rio’s voice was sharp enough to draw blood. “And I’m not letting her rot in your twisted little fantasy."

You felt dizzy, their words washing over you in an endless tide of possessiveness and control. Escape was no longer the question—survival was.

The choice was ripped away from you in the next moment. Before you could speak, Rio lunged.

She moved faster than you thought possible, closing the distance between herself and Agatha with predatory precision. For a moment, you thought she might actually win—until you saw the glint of silver in Agatha’s hand.

The syringe plunged into Rio’s neck before she could react, her wild grin faltering as her legs buckled beneath her.

"You fool," Agatha hissed, catching Rio’s falling body with chilling ease. "Did you really think you could win this game?"

You backed away, terror clawing at your throat as Agatha turned her attention back to you.

"Now," she said, smoothing her rumpled coat as though nothing had happened, "let’s get you back where you belong."

Her calm words were the last thing you heard before darkness closed in around you.

When you woke, your body felt heavy, like you'd been pulled from quicksand. The world swam into focus slowly, the familiar dim light of the infirmary's ceiling above you. A sharp sting in your arm drew your attention downward to find an IV taped against your skin.

Panic surged as the fog of sedation lifted, and the fragmented memories of last night crashed down on you. Rio’s body crumpling as Agatha overpowered her, the clinical calm in Agatha’s tone as she promised to “fix” everything.

Your throat tightened. Had she drugged you, too? How long had you been out?

The sound of voices filtered into the room, growing clearer as the door swung open. You didn’t need to look to know who they belonged to.

“She’s mine, Rio,” Agatha’s voice was sharp but level, though it carried an unmistakable tension. “You nearly ruined everything.”

Rio’s laugh was ragged, tinged with defiance despite its weakness. “Oh, yeah? And what’s your excuse, doc? You don’t think chaining her here with your manipulative crap will snap her eventually?”

You turned your head just enough to see them. Agatha’s posture was as stiff and upright as always, though her dark eyes burned with barely-contained rage. Rio, in contrast, looked disheveled and furious, leaning against the wall for support, a hand pressed to her neck where the syringe had struck.

“I wasn’t the one trying to haul her through the asylum like some thief in the night,” Agatha spat. “You’re reckless. No plan, no care for what would’ve happened if you were caught. Do you think security wouldn’t have thrown her in solitary for weeks after your stunt?”

“And your plan is so much better?” Rio shot back, stepping closer despite her visible weakness. “What, smother her until she loves you back? At least I wasn’t drugging her into compliance.”

“She would never survive outside of here,” Agatha snapped, her control slipping for the briefest moment. “You may think you’re the lesser evil, but what you tried would have destroyed her.”

The weight of their conversation fell heavily on you, the realization settling like a stone in your gut: they were arguing over you like you were some prize to be won. Not a person, not a victim of circumstance, but a thing—their thing.

You’d been nothing more than their pawn this entire time.

The truth ignited something deep within you, a flame that burned past the sedation weighing on your limbs. You clenched your hands, determination coalescing with your fear.

If neither of them would let you go, you’d have to take matters into your own hands.

The next few days blurred as you began quietly planting seeds of misdirection. Every word you said to either of them was careful, calculated—designed to sow discord between the two. It didn’t take much effort; their hatred for one another was barely concealed beneath the surface.

Agatha cornered you in the therapy room on the second day, her gaze softer than usual.

“You look tired, darling,” she said, her voice low and soothing as she sat across from you. “But don’t worry. Things are going to be different soon. I’ll keep you safe from her.”

You nodded numbly, knowing better than to argue. “She scares me,” you whispered, a faint quiver added to your tone. “She... she keeps talking about getting me out of here, but... I don’t know if I trust her.”

The faint twitch of satisfaction in Agatha’s expression didn’t escape your notice. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing yours in a way that made you shiver.

“You don’t need to worry about her,” she murmured. “I’ll handle Rio.”

Later that evening, you sought Rio out, finding her in the common room, idly twirling a fork between her fingers like a weapon. When she saw you, her expression softened, though her grin remained sharp-edged.

“Well, if it isn’t my little escape artist,” she teased, gesturing for you to sit beside her.

You hesitated but obliged, lowering your voice to a whisper as you leaned in. “She’s watching me, Rio. Every move I make. I think... I think she knows I’m still considering leaving.”

Rio’s grin faltered, her jaw tightening. “Of course she is,” she said bitterly. “That witch has her claws in deep, doesn’t she?”

“She told me she’d stop you if you tried anything again,” you added, your voice soft but urgent. “I... I’m scared of what she might do to you, Rio.”

Her eyes snapped to yours, and for a moment, her fury seemed to melt away, replaced by something softer—something raw.

“Let her try,” Rio muttered, her voice low but vicious. “But she won’t win.”

What you hadn’t counted on was how far the two of them would go to maintain their hold on you.

It started small—subtle shifts in their behavior. Agatha spent more time with you, her demeanor bordering on saccharine as she reassured you that everything would be alright if you stayed under her care. Rio grew increasingly protective, pulling you into hushed conversations where she ranted about Agatha’s manipulative control.

But then came the night they both broke.

You were woken by the sound of voices raised in anger just outside your cell.

“You idiot!” Agatha’s voice was sharp, her words slicing through the silence like a blade. “Do you have any idea what your little games are doing to her?”

“Oh, spare me the concern,” Rio shot back. “At least I don’t treat her like some fragile doll you can lock in a cabinet.”

“Because dragging her into chaos is so much better?” Agatha sneered. “You’re reckless, unhinged—she doesn’t need that.”

“She doesn’t need you either,” Rio snarled.

The sound of a struggle followed, something crashing against the wall.

“I’m not letting you win,” Agatha hissed.

For a moment, silence reigned, heavy and suffocating.

Then came Agatha’s next words, quieter but venomous: “If either of us pushes too hard, she’ll break. We’ll lose her. Is that what you want?”

The shift in tone sent chills down your spine.

“If you think I’m teaming up with you, you’re crazier than they say I am,” Rio said, though the venom in her voice faltered.

Agatha’s response was disturbingly calm: “We don’t have a choice.”

Your blood ran cold as realization dawned. You weren’t escaping. You were being pulled even deeper into their web.

And now? Now they were working together to keep you there.

_-_-_

Please don't forget to vote, reblog, and comment 💜💚

#agatha harkness x reader #agathario #rio vidal x reader #dark fanfiction #agatha all along #rio vidal #agatha harkness #agatha harkness fanfic #kathryn hahn #marvel #aubrey plaza #dark!agatha harkness #dark!rio vidal

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reiding-writing · 1 year ago

Text

RESPITE — SPENCER REID!

Dealing with addiction withdrawals is a horrible experience. Having to sit at a desk for eight hours and act like they weren't happening was even worse. If only someone would just ask him if he was okay.

WARNINGS: Details of addiction withdrawals, Mentions of Spencer's kidnapping, Needle mentions, Vomit mentions, Thoughts of self-induced bodily harm, Inaccurate portrayal of therapy and legal loopholes, Mentions of touch-starvedness

s3!spencer x gn!psychiatrist!reader | ANGST | 5.6k

a/n: all the love in the world to my beta reader and loml @flowersfromautumn 🫶🫶🫶, and to those of you who followed me after my first upload, be warned, i almost exclusively write angst 😭

masterlist!

Spencer Reid was sat with his head in his hands, silently praying to Gods that he didn’t think existed to rid him of the enervating sensations flooding every nerve of his body.

All he wanted to do was be productive, to prove that he was still fully capable of doing his job. But no, instead, his body had decided to attack itself as though it were a foreign object, screaming at him to give in and supply it with what he most craved.

It had been six weeks since he’d returned to the BAU, and whilst he desperately tried to prove his mental stability, his physical reactions were letting him down.

He knew the statistics surrounding addiction. Of course he did. He knew that over 1.5 million people in the United States were addicted to opioids. He knew that they were the leading cause of overdose related deaths. He knew that the more he indulged in his compulsions the worse the withdrawals would get, and he knew that injecting it was the most harmful way to get the drug into his system.

His logical brain knew it was wrong; But his body didn’t care.

Knowledge wouldn’t stop the tremors in his hands. It wouldn’t stop the goosebumps littering his skin. It wouldn’t stop the ever-present lump in his throat, or the strain of his eyes as he desperately tried to absorb the information from the files on his desk. So much for an eidetic memory.

Knowledge wouldn’t stop him from wanting to claw at the skin of his elbow until his cephalic vein was exposed, or the urge to pierce the needle in so deep that it came out of the other side.

He had tried to find solace in his work, to distract himself from the cravings that consumed him. But no matter how hard he focused, the relentless ache in his bones refused to subside. It was a constant battle between the rational mind that knew the consequences and the primal instinct that sought relief at any cost.

He was so deep in his own mind that he didn’t notice you walk over to his desk, nor did he make any acknowledgement of you calling his name. It took you waving your hand literal inches away from his face for his eyes to finally turn up towards you, and you couldn’t help but notice how his pupils had almost completely overtaken the hazel of his eyes, his scleras tainted pink through the blood vessels clinging to them like ivy.

“Spence?” Your voice, usually soothing, was defiled by the constant ringing in his ears, sending a pounding ache through his head.

“Spencer…”

You wave your hand in front of his face again, each passing moment making you feel increasingly guilty for bothering him.

The whole team had noticed Spencer’s change in attitude after his kidnapping, as had they noticed his bouts of irritation and dissociation, and probably the most telling of all, his newfound habit of itching the inside of his right elbow over the sleeve of his shirt.

Sure a normal person could write off those behaviours as normal for recovering from what he’d been through, a mix of distrust and anxiety making him more irritable. But you weren’t normal people, you were a team of profilers, and as much as everyone tried to stick to the unofficial ‘don’t profile your team members’ rule, they could tell that Spencer’s behaviour wasn’t solely due to being held hostage for a few days, not even with the mental and physical torment he went through.

Everyone suspected, but you knew. Your years in medical school for psychiatry meant you could spot the signs of addiction in your sleep. You just wished you could say something.

Trouble was, under Section 4.1.2 of the FBI’s Fitness for Duty regulation, if Spencer’s addiction were to be officially recognised, he would not longer be deemed ‘fit’ to work, and no one on the team wanted that.

“hmm..?” The most Spencer could evoke was a soft hum, barely audible over the usual chatter littering the bullpen. His eyes remained static as he looked up in your direction, but he wasn’t actually looking at you, more like he was fixed on something just over your shoulder.

You have to consciously suppress a sigh as your eyes flicker over his features. His skin, already pale, seemed to have lost all colour barr the dark purple collecting under his eyes, and his face had become gaunt, shadows starting to form where his skin clung around his cheek bones. He looked awful.

“I’m sorry to bother you… Do you have the autopsy files for the most recent case?”

“Oh, yeah- yeah of course, i have a copy uh-” Your question seemed to remind Spencer of where he was, that he was sat at his desk, in his workplace, and that he should be being productive.

He rifles through the files on his desk, piling up due to his lack of motivation to actually finish any of them, and as he finally reaches the one you asked for, he pries it out from under the stack, the manilla folder shaking with the tremor of his hand as he holds it out towards you.

If only someone would just say something.

Spencer knew he was acting “weird”, he just wanted someone to say something about it. Anything.

He knew it was unprofessional, and that he had the potential of losing his job over it. Still he wanted someone to ask him if he was okay.

He just wanted someone to ask.

“…Why do you need it?” Spencer’s voice is hesitant, almost a whisper as he tries to stop himself from choking on his own words.

“I’m finishing up the medical report and i want to make sure I have all of my facts right…” You take the file from him with a frown, barely able to mask your concern through your expression. “Thank you…”

Spencer manages to give you a weak smile before he slumps back into his chair, fighting the lump in his throat that threatens force it’s way out of his mouth and spill all over his desk. He was twitching to say something. To tell you that he’s not okay. To break down in your arms and have you promise him that everything was going to be alright.

But he doesn’t. Because no matter how much he was suffering, he would never want to unload his burden onto somebody else. Especially not you. He just sat, silently praying that you would be the one to initiate the conversation. And lo and behold, you did. Albeit not directly.

“Hey uh…” You mindlessly flick through the file he’d given you, not really paying attention to any of the words on the pages as you use it to keep your hands busy and alleviate the awkward tension running between the two of you. “I- work overtime a lot… If you’re ever here after hours-”

There’s a small glint that returns to his eyes as you indirectly suggest that you’d like to speak to him off the clock. He almost spills everything to you right there at his desk, but as he sucks in a breath to speak, he catches himself, clearing his throat.

“Yeah… Thanks…”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You watched as the digital clock on your desk turned from 18:00 to 18:01. The work day had officially ended an hour ago, and most of the agents had already left to enjoy their long deserved weekend. You however remained sat at your desk in your dimly lit office, fiddling with a 5 x 5 Rubix Cube that Gideon had given you during a case in New York, tired of the way you’d tap your fingers against the table of the jet when you got bored.

You hoped that Spencer had understood the implications of what you’d told him earlier.

Watching him suffer in silence ripped a chunk of humanity from you every time you saw him, and it was getting to the point where you could barely look him in the eye without feeling so guilty you wanted to cry.

But as the time ticked on, you feared he hadn’t, and by the time it reached 18:30 you were dejectedly preparing yourself to leave, throwing your jacket around your shoulders and packing up your messenger bag.

Your retreat home was stopped by you almost walking straight into Spencer as you opened your office door, his hand slightly outstretched as if he was on the verge of pushing open the door himself.

“Oh… uh…” Spencer stumbled over his words a little as you took a step backwards, and his eyes flickered over your frame, focusing in on the bag hanging off your left shoulder and the jacket you were half-wearing. “Sorry…”

He stepped out of the way of the door to make way for you to walk past him, but you didn’t move, remaining stood in the doorway , your eyes watching his as they desperately looked anywhere except in your direction.

“”Are you alright?”

Spencer nodded hastily at your question, pursing his lips to the point where they were barely visible and bringing his hand towards his inner elbow, itching at it through the fabric of his shirt. “Yeah- Sorry, i’ll uh- I’m-”

“Spencer.” You stop his stuttered excuse to with a raised hand, slightly relieved that he had indeed come to your office, even if it had taken him over an hour and a half to build up the courage. ”Come in,”

You gesture for him to enter with your head, to which he replies with a shake of his own.

“No- No you’re going home, I don’t want to keep you-”

“Spence… Please, come in.”

You repeat your request with a gentle insistence, cutting him off once again.

You never liked to interrupt Spencer’s train of thought, it happened all too often with the people around him cutting him off before he could get his full thoughts out, but right now it was an unfortunate necessity. You knew that if you let him continue he would pull himself into a spiral and back out of reaching out for help, so you wanted to cut off the idea before he even had the chance to voice it.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh and stepped into your office, his shoulders slumped with the weight of his internal struggle. It was clear that he needed someone to talk to, but despite him standing outside of your office door, he’d seemingly started to regret coming to see you.

You gesture for him to sit down on the small sofa lining the far wall of your office, and he hesitates for a moment before finally taking a seat, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and apprehension as they flicker around the room.

Spencer had been in your office a few times, although he’d never stayed long enough to actually look around.

Of course he’d noticed the floor to ceiling bookcase behind your desk, lined with a string of dangling fairy lights, as had he noticed the large cream rug with small tassels lining its short sides, covering a majority of the exposed hard wood lining your office floor.

He’d often found himself looking over at the wall closest to your door, covered in re-prints of renaissance paintings and gold framed mirrors of different sizes, your Psychology PhD and Psychiatry Doctorate Certificates hung right in the centre, framed in a similar rustic gold.

What he hadn’t noticed in the few times he’d visited were the small stress balls of different colours littering your desk, or the paperweight shaped like a brain holding down the small pile of scribbled notes you miscellaneously taken.

He hadn’t noticed the small replica of a marble Aristotle statue tucked into one of the squares of the bookshelf, lined with fake ivy, or the framed photo of you and your parents on the day of your first graduation.

Everything about your office was warm and inviting, and he was beginning to wonder whether your home was the same.

God how he wanted to go home. To lie in his bed and sleep until his bladder forced him awake under the threat of bursting inside his body from its own pressure.

"Spencer," you say softly, breaking him out of his short-lived observation as you pull the blinds closed, ensuring privacy on the unlikely occasion anyone was still roaming the bullpen.

“Did you know that one of the great things about being a private practicing psychiatrist is that anyone can ask for a private session without any paperwork involved?”

You place your bag onto your desk chair, re-draping your jacket over the back of it. “it’s called a ‘recordless session’, and holds the same confidentiality rules without any paper evidence, the cache being that it has to be under an hour,”

As you speak, you can see the weight of his struggles visibly lift off his shoulders, and a glimmer of hope flickers in his eyes.

“Yeah I… Yeah, I knew that…”

Of course he knew that. What didn’t Spencer know?

“I, uh…can I book an appointment?” A single tear rolls down his cheek, but he dries it with the back of his sleeve before more can escape.

“Please..?”

It takes you all of your willpower in that moment to not pull Spencer’s head into your chest, to not run your fingers through his hair and rock him back and forth in your arms until all of semblance of sorrow left his mind.

Instead you settled for taking a seat besides him on the sofa, gently reaching out to pull his left hand away from his elbow, holding it between your own as you try to transfer some of your body heat to his ice-cold fingers. “When would you like to start?”

“Can we start now? Please, before I change my mind?” Spencer looks up at you with a slightly desperate expression on his face. He just needs one session, he can figure out what to do next, but for now, he needs help.

You exhale softly with a sympathetic expression as Spencer’s voice threatens to break with his words.

“Now’s perfect…” You gently rub your thumb over the top of his hand in small circles, offering a simple form of reassurance before gently pulling them away.

You pull your sleeve up a little to reveal the electronic watch on your left wrist, the face on the inside for easier access, and you set a timer for 59 minutes, just under an hour. The perfect legal loophole.

“Alright, i’m all yours…” You send him a soft sympathetic expression as you mark the start of the session.

Spencer listens to the timer tick down, suddenly hyper aware of the noise despite not having taken any notice of it before, and he clasps his hands in his lap as he tries to gather his thoughts and his courage.

“I- uh- um-“ he starts quietly. He can’t force himself to make eye contact with you, but he takes a sharp breath in and tries to push the words out. “I’m an addict,” he says quickly, turning his head away from you.

And there it was.

You give him a soft nod at his confession, but don’t give a verbal response, fearing that if you were to say anything it would scare him from opening up any further.

Spencer can’t believe he’s actually admitting it out loud. He can already feel the panic rise as he speaks about his addiction, but he needs to open up, he needs to get this off his chest.

“I- I’m addicted to Dilaudid. Opioids. I- I started when I was held captive... He would inject me with it to stop the pain, i- I don’t know how to get off it,” he pauses, trying to form his thoughts. “I-“

Spencer exhales heavily, leaning forwards to drag his palms over his face. “I don’t know what to do-”

Spencer takes a few deep breaths, glancing back up at you. “I- I know that I need help, I know I should reach out to a support group or something, but I- I can’t do that, I- have work, everyone is relying on me, and this is- this is my fault I- I kept taking it and-“

“Spencer.” You take his left hand in yours again, pulling it away from his face and bringing it down to rest on the small gap in the sofa between you and him. “I need you to slow down for me alright? working yourself up isn’t going to help…”

Spencer falls back into a quiet panic as you speaks, the thoughts going so fast his brain feels like it’s on fire. Words fly in and out of his head and he desperately tries to grasp onto them, trying to string them together in a way that makes sense.

“Slowly, yeah, yeah, slowly…” he takes a few more deep breaths, his eyes staring down at the floor in front of the couch.

“I need help.”

He looks down at his hand as it sits in yours, your palm warm and soft, a harsh contrast to rigid coldness of his own. “I can’t think about work. I- I can’t hold a proper conversation, I cant even look at myself in the mirror anymore...”

“I just- I don’t know if I can do this alone…” Spencer quietly whispers the last sentence, staring down at the floor. He stays there, sat silently for a few moments before he raises his head towards you again.

“Did you know that addicts who don’t reach out for professional help have an 85% chance of relapse within a year of trying to quit?”

Spencer always seemed to revert back to his intelligence to shield his emotions, although the waver in his tone continued to give away how he was really feeling.

“Well I suppose it’s a good thing I’m a professional then,” You reply to his statistic with a light tone, trying to keep some semblance of optimism in the conversation as you give his hand a small squeeze.

"Addiction is a ruthless battle Spencer, but you've taken the first step by acknowledging that you need help."

Spencer's eyes flicker with a mix of relief and uncertainty. "I’m just- scared,”

"I know Spencer… It's normal to feel ashamed or afraid of judgement. But remember, addiction is a disease, not a personal failing. Seeking help is incredibly difficult, and it's also essential for your well-being."

You absentmindedly run your thumb over the back of his hand slowly, conveying your unwavering support. "I'm proud of you, Spencer. Recognising your readiness for change is a significant milestone in itself."

Spencer nods slowly, his eyes filled with a mix of determination and vulnerability as he looks up at you, his eyes burning into your own as the resolve that he had quickly begins to falter.

Then, he takes a deep breath. And he breaks.

“I-I… I want to relapse,” He whispers. “I want to more than anything. I’m having trouble focusing, and… I can’t get it out of my head. And I’m scared I… I might-“

Spencer looks at you with a heartbreaking expression, his breath catching in his throat as his pulse quickens. His eyes flicker, the addiction begging to be let out as his expression becomes one of utter desperation.

He needs to be clean.

But that need to be numb outweighs everything else, and it’s terrifying him.

“Hey,” You give both of his hands a gentle pull to hold his attention, letting them rest in your lap. “I want you to listen to me when i say this alright?”

Spencer gives a half-hearted nod, small streams of tears beginning to trickle down his cheeks as his emotional wall completely crumbles.

“You are allowed to struggle. You’re allowed to not feel like you’re improving, but that does not mean that you’re failing, and it definitely doesn’t mean it’s your fault,”

”You’re allowed to struggle.”

Spencer doesn’t know why, but you saying it out loud makes him feel better, and for the first time in over a week, he actually starts to calm down to a point where he doesn’t feel like he’s self-destructing.

“I’m scared….” he whispers quietly. “I’m so scared that I’m going to give in.”

Spencer sighs as he lets his head hang, small tear drops beginning to speckle the fabric of his trousers.

“Truth be told… I already have.” He squeezes his eyes shut as he says it. He’s so mad at himself.

“I only did it once, I promise. And I regret it more than anything,” he speaks quickly, trying to explain himself before you’re able to get upset.

“I’m so sorry-“

“Hey- No, listen to me Spencer,”

You tilt his head upwards with one of your hands, brushing a tear off his cheek with your thumb.

“Recovery is never a linear process. And the more you beat yourself up over it the worse you are going to feel.”

Spencer’s eyes flicker, but he doesn’t make any movement to pull himself away from you.

“I just… I can’t help but feel like I’m letting everyone down.” He sighs. “I promised myself I-“

He closes his eyes and leans his cheek against the palm of your hand as he breathes out sharply. “I’m really sorry for dumping all of this on you,” he whispers, his eyes still closed.

“I just wanted to get it off my chest,” Spencer whispers. “To tell someone something without them cutting me off for once.”

“No,” You shake your head gently at him. “No apologies, this is what I’m here for Spencer,”

Spencer nods softly against the warmth of your palm. He trusts you. And about now he’s thinking that you’re the only person he would trust with this type of information.

“Sorry,” he mumbles out another apology. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I really don’t.” He sighs. “I was doing so well, you know? It took me weeks to even start feeling okay. And then everything was so much better in the office. And I was so happy and I- and then this happened.”

There’s a few moments of silence as Spencer mulls over his self-disappointment. He’d made such an effort to better himself after returning back to work, to go back to being the Spencer that the rest of the BAU were familiar with, and right as things seemed to get back on track he’d spiralled himself into another hole.

“I want to get better. But… withdrawals are hard.”

“And… I really liked how it felt.”

Spencer turns his face to speak into your palm as he mumbles his admission of enjoying the feeling. As upsetting as it might be, it wasn’t surprising. It was the main reason that people formed addictions in the first place, enjoying the euphoric release from reality that the substance gave them.

“Can… Can I ask a question? A stupid question?” His voice is quiet, slightly muffled as his lips graze against your hand.

"There’s no such thing as a stupid question Spence,”

Spencer takes a hesitant breath. “Why aren’t you going to… you know, have me fired?” Spencer pulls away from your touch to straighten his posture, leaving your hand to fall back into your lap.

“That’s the protocol, right? If someone has a drug problem and it makes them a liability.” He stares at the floor, expecting your answer to be ‘yes’ and to be asked to leave. “I… I know I shouldn’t be here. But I really don’t want to leave.”

"What the Bureau doesn’t know won’t hurt them Spence," You squeeze his left hand lightly as it remains in yours.

Spencer is shocked at your answer. For a second all he can do is stare at your hand as it remains around his, squeezing it back. “I… but… you could lose your job. Why would you…” After a second his words trail off as the severity of your words sink in. Someone cares. Someone actually cares.

Thank god.

“Thank you.” He whispers.

Spencer’s shuddering hands finally stop. He just sits there, soaking up the warm sensation of your words, of your fingers as they held his hand in a gentle embrace.

“Why do you care?” He whispers.

“I’m here for my brains, my memory and my profiling skills. And- I can’t even do any of that right- i shouldn’t-”

As he tries to finish the sentence, his mind goes completely blank, and tears begin to slip down his face once more.

"Spencer… Those things are a part of you, but you are so much more than just that…"

Your words almost feel like a promise. A promise that no matter whether Spencer was able to hold up his ‘genius’ reputation or not, that you would still be there. That you would still care.

“No one’s ever said that to me before.” He says softly. He smiles as best he can and wipes at the tears on his cheek.

"Well, I am. you’re a human being Spencer, you should never be confined to your intelligence,"

Spencer’s heart swells hearing the words “human being”, he’d gotten so used to being utilised as a human super-computer that he sometimes feared people forgot he had emotions.

“Can I- Can i have a hug..?”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice.

He barely gets the whole question out before you’re guiding his head to rest against the curve of your shoulder, rubbing a hand tentatively down the length of his back.

He’s hesitant at first to hug you back, despite being the one to ask for the hug in the first place. Although he eventually brings himself to connect his hands behind your back, allowing himself to lean into your touch. He’s never felt so safe, so comforted before.

“I… I want the withdrawals to stop…” He says after a while, his voice muffled by your shirt.

"They will Spencer, you’ve just got to tough it out for me okay?" you bring up your right hand to run your fingers through his hair softly, gently detangling the flattened sections that he hadn’t been motivated to brush out himself.

“I never understood how hard it would be until I had to do it myself…” he says quietly. “My head feels like it’s being pushed through a giant crusher. And I… I don’t know if I can stay sober by myself.”

"You don’t have to do this by yourself Spence…" A shudder runs through Spencer’s body at your touch. He pushes himself closer into you, letting out a contented exhale.

It’s been such a long time since someone has touched him, since he’s been able to feel warm and safe. He lets out a small half laugh.

“This was meant to be a therapy session.”

"Sometimes the best form of therapy is just having someone to comfort you,"

Spencer wraps his arms around you tightly nodding into your shoulder. You can almost feel the waves of his tension fade away and turn to content relaxation under your touch.

“You smell like lavender.” He whispers after a minute. He takes a deep breath, breathing in the scent.

"It’s probably my new shampoo," You laugh lightly as you continue to gently run your hands through his hair, not at all surprised he picked up on the difference in scent. He had always been more perceptive than the average person.

Spencer hums slightly as your scent fills his nostrils, sending a wave of calm and soothing through his body. “It suits you.” He says softly.

"Thank you," You smile down at him, your eyes meeting as he looks up towards you. "How are you feeling? be honest with me…”

Spencer swallows with a small exhale. “I can still feel those waves of shakes in me, and my head is hurting.” He answers, although you can hear the relief in his voice. “But I’m feeling… better. A lot better. I can’t thank you enough for doing this…”

“Don’t thank me Spencer, I haven’t done anything, this is all you,” You carefully move a piece of stray hair that had fallen over Spencer’s forehead to fall back properly with the rest of his hair.

“No really, you-”

Spencer’s attempt at a rebuttal was cut off by the faint beeping emitting from your watch.

Looks like the session is over.

He reluctantly removed himself from the soft comfort of your arms to sit up straight again, and you press a button on the side of the watch face to stop the noise. “Well uh- I guess I should go now,”

Spencer’s tone changed back to one of slight apprehension, seemingly trying to put up that emotional shield as your watch reminds him that even the respite he found in your company was temporary.

“Hey,” You instinctively call out to Spencer as you see his face fall again, you had just gotten him to a point where he was calm, and your subconscious was taking every effort to make it stay that way.

“I’ll tell you what-” Your voice is soft but slightly rushed, the words leaving your mouth as soon as they enter your head. “I’ve got a spare room in my house, how about you stay over?”

“What?” He blinks a few times at your suggestion, turning his head to face you properly.

You almost want to kick yourself for being so impulsive. I mean sure the two of you had become close over your years working together. But asking him to stay at your house? What were you thinking?

"I mean- don’t hesitate to say no if you don’t want to-" you add, attempting to downplay your sudden offer. His surprised expression lingers, and you worry that maybe you've overstepped some unspoken boundary.

“I just thought, you know- we’re friends, and friends have sleepovers sometimes right?”

You began to dig yourself into a hole the more you tried to explain yourself. Of course the real reason you wanted him there was so you could make sure that he was actually alright, that he wouldn’t fall back into a negative spiral the second he was left alone in his own apartment.

"I- Are you sure?" He asks cautiously, uncertainty tinging his voice.

You nod, mustering a reassuring smile. As much as your impulse was making you want to eat soap in the hope that it’d force you to think through your words, you wanted to be a lifeline for Spencer, and if that meant offering him a safe place to stay with somebody to talk to then so be it. Even if it was just for one night.

"Yeah... We can uh, watch that new season of Doctor Who that just came out-“

Spencer can feel his throat tighten as he looks at you. He can’t help but smile as he sits himself up, hugging you tightly with a small exasperated laugh.

“Really?” He breathes out. “You’re really sure..?”

You give him another nod, this one more confident than the last, leaning your head on top of his as he again rests it against the curve of your shoulder. “Definitely.”

“You can stay for as long as you need…”

Spencer tightens his arms around your back in response, tears threatening to spill from his eyes again. Except this time they weren’t the type that stung his eyes, followed by a wave of grief. They were almost comforting.

“Thank you…”

God, he’s been so… stagnant during all of this, and the thought of being at your place, with you, not hiding from everyone else like some kind of ghost, fills him with a type of joy he can’t quite describe. It’s like that child-like wonder coming back to him for just a moment.

“Let’s go home Spencer…”

Spencer sighs as he buries his head against your shoulder again. Of course you’d call your house home.

Of course he’d call a house with you in it home.

“Okay,” He mumbles, his voice thick with emotion as he relaxes against you, the world fading away around you.

”Let’s go home,” he repeats, the words feeling natural as he closes his eyes.

—part two.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #mgg #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #my poor boy needs therapy #so much therapy

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mmogurl · 4 months ago

Text

Daddy Issues Part 1: Savior

18+ | 1.7k | Homelander X Female Reader | protective homelander, reader's back story is a little dark, reader might be a bit of a nympho, mentions of suicide, rape, assault, alcoholism, emotional child abuse. My Own Writing Prompt: What if Homelander became your Daddy and was really good at it? This is my first attempt at writing for a 'Reader' character! I usually always write it as an OC, so this should be a fun challenge. There will be more, but I'm not sure how many yet - maybe 3 parts. I wanted to keep these side ideas shorter and easier to pick up and put down. Part 1: Savior | Part 2: Baseline | Part 3: Spoiled | Part 4: Comfort

You’ve not had the best childhood. You were raised by an alcoholic, neglectful mother who cared more about getting laid by strange men that she met at the bar than you. This was paired with a father who would literally do anything but spend time with you, even when you flew fifteen hundred miles via airplane and stayed for the whole summer. Love, affection, attention, validation. These are all things that have been acutely missing from your life and so it should come as no surprise that you might be tempted towards the more hedonistic side of things.

After all, there is no better way to pretend that someone loves you, then when they’re fucking you.

Your bedroom has been a revolving door of men, much like your mothers had been when she was still alive. But, she’s left you alone in this world, long since dead from cirrhosis of the liver, and you’d really rather not have anything to do with your piece of shit father. With no siblings or family to call your own and nobody left to really give a shit, your life feels kind of empty. Fucking is the one thing that makes you feel alive, at least until it’s over and all of the feelings of guilt and shame come flooding back in.

That’s alright though. That’s what the beer is for. When too many voices start to nag you about your choice of lifestyle, you just drown it out. And no, you don’t think of yourself as an alcoholic like your mother. You are just self medicating, and find this over the counter prescription much more effective than the ones your psychiatrist had given you. You’d rather feel something than nothing after all. Maybe this makes you a hypocrite, but you really don’t care.

Perhaps it is this very state of inebriation that has led to your current situation though. You really should start taking accountability for the way your life has turned out and stop playing the victim. Sadly, there may not be enough time to make any serious life changes because things are looking pretty grim. A chance encounter with a good looking man named Mark that you’d met, ironically at the bar, has turned into a complete catastrophe, and even you with your insight and feisty spirit, especially when drunk, cannot see a way out of it.

Mark said he was parked just down the road, and there were so many lights and people walking down the main throughway that you really hadn’t considered you might even be in danger. That was until you’d both walked a ways down the alley, past the point of lights and still there was no car. Who the fuck drives a car in New York City you found yourself thinking, but by then it was too late. By then, Mark’s lackeys had jumped out from hiding, dragging you down an intersecting alley and against the wall of some abandoned building.

You are pressed painfully against the cold and dirty brick wall with two men holding you in place, one on either side of you. One heavier set man has a knife against your throat while the other laughs in a way that makes your skin crawl. Mark stands before you still looking like the handsome bait that he was and you can’t help but wonder what they might possibly want with you. You are too old at twenty eight to be thrown into some kind of grooming gang or human trafficking and you have nobody for them to extort funds from for a ransom.

Maybe they are just interested in raping and killing you and this is just more shitty luck that life has thrown your way. It is always so easy to play the victim, even when you are still partially responsible for how the cards fall in the wake of your bad decisions.

You try to jerk your arms free, thinking it better to be cut than to be raped by these scraps of human excrement. You had already intended to fuck Mark or you wouldn’t have gone home with him, but this show of depravity has most definitely changed your mind.

You feel the heat of dripping blood from your neck as the bigger guy with the knife actually nicks your skin. Mark already has his paws on you, a look of disgusting lewdness on his face as though he’s so pleased with himself for cornering you. His hand rounds your breast and the feeling of him touching you like this elicits the most gut wrenching scream from the very depths of your chest cavity.

Then the raw, searing pain erupts across your face. Always the consummate gentleman, Mark has struck you and he didn’t pull any punches. You can’t help but hear the rimshot play in your head and you wonder how it is that even as you’re about to die, your struck with the plaguing of your morose sense of humor. You supposed in the end, it was just a way to make light of how messed up things were. And right now, they were definitely about as bad as they had ever been.

As Mark once more closes in on you, the friend not holding the knife joining in at groping you as well, you attempt to scream again. Another throbbing fist hits you so hard in the cheekbone that it literally takes away all the fight you have. You’ve never been hit so hard before in your entire life and you feel a wave of defeat roll over you like the most hated white flag flapping in the wind.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to zone out the disgusting mitts clawing at you. For a moment you consider shoving your neck into the knife to avoid letting them take this any further. But, graciously, your thoughts of escape through suicide are averted when the ground shakes as though an asteroid had just been ejected from space and landed right beside you.

There is another flash of pain as the stout man with the knife slips and cuts you once more. Free from their grip for a moment in light of the confusion, you feel your neck and are relieved to find that the cut is shallow and not gushing blood. You slowly look up and find that all the men are turned away from you, looking at something incredulously.

Your eyes grow wide when you realize they are staring at the fucking Homelander. Your jaw drops in shock as he hurls forward, grabbing the neck of the man with the knife and popping it like a grape. Blood splatters everywhere as your blond savior’s eyes flare up with bright orange light, straight into Mark’s crotch creating a massive hole that you can actually see through. You almost laugh at the thought of his likely raging hard on getting evaporated to charred bits and nothingness. Serves him right you think as his body hits the pavement with a fleshy thud.

The last man attempts to flee and you follow the outline of his backside as he runs. Homelander’s eyes glow once more and you watch as the plasma hot lasers cut across the distance, starting at the assailant’s groin and carving all the way through his head, leaving him cleaved in two even pieces.

You barely have time to think about it before Homelander’s gaze returns to you, a look of concern in his eyes as he crowds you against the wall. “Fuck!” he shouts and you startle as he starts wiping the gore and blood away from your face, your neck. “Did I hit you?”

“N-no,” you manage to squeak out. “I think it’s the fat guy’s blood.” You say this with a little more humor than you probably should, not being able to resist the idea of insulting your attacker.

Homelander stops his fussing and regards you with eyes that are so much bluer in person than they appeared on television. He raises up one hand, finger pointed at you as though you’d just fooled him, in quite a clever way. The grin on his face almost makes you forget that you’d just had strangers threatening your life and your right to choose who you spread your legs for.

“You’re funny,” he finally said, looking you over, his expression growing more grave, almost irate. “Especially for someone who just narrowly avoided getting raped and thrown in the Hudson fucking Bay.”

You can’t help but wonder why he cares. You always thought he was just a pretend super hero for the cameras, for the mega corporation known as Vought to make big bucks. It all seemed staged and as far as you knew it was. Yet, here he was, America’s patriotic golden boy, making a very unscheduled save.

“What the fuck are you doing anyway!?” he asked cynically, interrupting your thoughts. “Do you have a death wish or something? You like the idea of serving yourself up to any guy who shows you a little bit of attention?”

His line of questioning was strangely personal, as though he knew more about you than he was letting on. Even though he had just come to your rescue, exactly when you had needed him most, you can’t help but feel a little indignant.

“It’s not like I wanted this,” you retort with a furl in your brow.

“You have to know you’re beautiful,” he sputters out, eyes darting around with discomfort at the topic, barely containing his frustration. “You deserve better than this.”

“Well, God has not seen fit to bestow me with anyone better yet. I’m still waiting,” she quipped back, but she could feel her shoulders getting weak and shaky as the shock of her encounter started to weigh on her.

“Fuck God,” Homelander barked back and his countenance relaxed significantly as his anger turned to worry at the sight of your trembling body. “You’re coming with me,” he stated more than asked.

Before you knew it, his arms were scooping you up, holding you securely against his chest as he shot into the night air. Despite the sound of rushing current in your ears and the tendrils of hair whipping at your cheeks, you felt safe and comfortable. You closed your eyes and waited for the ride to be over, but little did you know that it had just begun. Continue to Part 2

#homelander fanfiction #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander #antony starr #writing prompt

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cillians-sweetheart · 28 days ago

Note

Can you do a Jonathan Crane x depressed reader with smut he falls in love with her

yesss! (apologies If this is not exactly what you wanted, I've just gotten so used to writing messed up fanfics😭)

Doctors Orders - Johnathan Crane

Dr Crane (30) x Naive!Depressed!Reader (18)

Plot: Y/N is depressed, and lonely, and seeks reassurance and help from Dr Johnathan Crane. But instead he falls in love, and manipulates and takes advantage of her for his own twisted pleasure.

Content: talk of depression and daddy issues, manipulation, dub-con, smut, oral (m), unprotected pv, dry rubbing/handjob (m), pet names, daddy kink, rough sex, breeding, age-gap

With a heavy pressure in my chest, and a shiver in my legs, I entered the gloomy office of my new psychiatrist. He sat with a perfect posture in the leather chair larger than him. His hands crossed neatly and an unsettling look in his piercing blue eyes.

“Dr Crane” He introduced me with an easy but stern voice. “Sit”.

His eyes through his glasses pointing to the chair opposite of his desk. I moved quickly, My dress flowed with my subtle movements, to obey and sat in the chair, looking forward to his sharp face. I noticed his eyes taking a glance at every feature of my young face. Eventually with his stabbing stare, I got uneasy and looked to my lap. “So…Y/N” He said, reading from the chart in front of him. “What seems to be the problem?” His eyes return to me from the paper.

“I am um… just struggling…”

“With?”

“I always feel like I am empty and that everyday is the same draining routine. Most of the time I don’t even want to wake up..” My fingers fidgeted in my lap, and my eyes remained down in shame of my feelings.

“And why do you think that is?” He asked, leaning forward in his chair.

“I don’t really have any friends… or family to be honest”

“Are you an orphan?” His head tilted.

I looked up at him in confusion. “No, my dad just doesn't acknowledge I exist most of the time.”

“I see.” He nodded and gently pushed his glasses up the bridge of his perfectly shaped nose. “So you are lonely? Per say.” I nodded in response. A devious smirk grew on his plump lips. “Mhm… you just want to be loved, don’t you?” His silky voice had an attraction on my body, making me melt, and believe his every word.

I nodded again, unable to tear my eyes away from his personable face.

“Good… Good…” He nodded slowly. “And why do you think no one would love a doll like you.” He purred low under his tone.

“I-I don't know…” I replied shyly. “They just don’t..”

“It makes you sad, doesn't it?” He changed his tone, and body language to appear as though he were being empathetic. Even though it was nothing but his twisted trap to lure me in and use me like his toy. But of course no one but him knew that.

“Mhm” I nodded. My eyes; big and pure looking at him.

“Aw, poor, poor girl…” He shook his head slowly. “You just want to be happy, and loved, don't you?” Again I nodded. Falling deeper and deeper into the hole he is digging in my fragile heart. “Well, I know how to make you happy, my dear.”

“Really?” My voice was delicate and my eyes watery.

“Of course.” He chuckled quietly at me. Seeing how mesmerised I was by him, the words he spoke to me, he adored just how desperate for love I was. And how easy I was to manipulate, and break into pieces. “I can give you all the love you want…”

My eyes lit up at his words. Dr Crane was just hysterical with himself at how vulnerable and eager I was for him. “Please…” I said just under my breath. My body, and eyes felt as if they were sinking into the floor as I stared at his perfect, perfect face.

“My sweet doll… all you have to do is listen to me. Can you do that?”

I nodded quickly, willing to do anything in my power at that very moment for him. My psychiatrist I just met.

“That’s a good girl…” He leaned back in his chair. “Come.” He demanded, motioning me to go to him.

I stood from the chair -and with my eyes still melted onto his face- I walked around his desk and in front of him. Standing between his spreading legs.

“Sit.” He pointed to the floor below him. In an instant I fell to the floor, sitting on my knees between his legs. My innocent eyes laid upon him above me, reading to do anything in his command. Dr crane groaned in satisfaction at the sight of me sitting before him. So, so easy I was.

“Good…” His voice was low, and seductive. “If you behave yourself, and be my obedient doll, I will give you all the love in the world.” He said to me in a sarcastic tone I hadn’t recognised while leaning down closer to my face. “You’d like that… Wouldn’t you? Me loving you and being the daddy you deserve."

“Mhm” I nodded. My thighs shuffled just inches closer to him.

“You do everything I say, and you can be all mine. Understood?”

“Yes…”

He paused for a moment. Staring at my face. Desire, and corrupt in his blue eyes.

Dr Crane’s hand came down onto my face. Gently he stroked my hair, down to my soft cheek. My eyes closed as I melted into his comforting touch. “My pretty girl…” He said softly. “So pretty.” His tone lowered, and his other hand undid the button of his pants.

I hadn't noticed anything he had been doing besides the feeling of his hand on my skin.

"Do you want to please me, my doll?"

My eyes opened -and with my face still in his hand- I nodded honestly.

"Mhm... and you love daddy don't you?" His hand slowly continued to undo his pants. Dr crane chuckled to himself, "That's a dumb question. Of course you do."

"Do you love me...?" I asked fearfully but my eyes were praying for his acceptance.

"Sure" He smirked. "But if you want all my love, you my dear, are going to show me just how much you love daddy. Okay?"

"Mhm. I'll do whatever you want...I promise."

"Really?" His zipper came down. "Anything for me?"

"Yes"

Dr Crane smirked to himself at how much easier this was then he could've ever expected. "That's a good girl... Give me your hand."

I lifted my hand to him and he roughly grabbed onto it and held it over his hard lap. My eyes widened and my body froze. Through my hand I felt movement and Dr Crane's grip becoming tighter on my delicate hand. With his, he moved my hand along the growing bulge. My eyes stared at the lengthening shape forming through the tightening fabric of his pants.

"You like that?" He asked lustfully.

I was frozen in the moment, not knowing what to say, or do, with the growing sensations of my own. My thighs squeezed tight together, and I still had not looked away from his stiff, covered cock.

Eventually coming out from my daze just slightly, I nodded and on my own, continued to rub him.

He lifted his hand off mine and let me touch him freely. Crane winced and groaned at my gentle hands on his throbbing cock. To my eyes it looked as if It were going to break out from his pants because of the size, and tightness. So to be the obedient little girl I promised I'd be, I thought it wouldn't hurt to go further. I reached under the hem of his pants and onto the hot, hard skin underneath.

"Good..." He purred. "just like that sweetheart."

He was incredibly pleased at me doing what he wanted without even asking. My ability to somewhat read his mind, and lustful fantasies he wished for us.

Holding his warm cock, I slowly pulled it out in front of my innocent eyes. He groaned as my hand moved along the length. I was stunned at the sight, never seeing such a thing. The flesh between my legs pulsed and itched with a growing, sensitve sensation.

“Oh, such a sweet thing” He praised while stroking my hair. My eyes glared up to his, my hand still gripping around him. “Show daddy you love him…” He spoke with his eyes penetrating through mine.

I nodded with obedience. And not so sure of what to do, I had just gently stroked him. With his hand he rubbed and caressed my face and cheeks in admiration, but also lust. I could feel the subtle movements of twitches and pulses in my hand. My eyes; unable to peel from the beauty of him. Of his cock, and alluring face.

Dr Crane's hand grabbed at the back of my head. Roughly but not painfully. “Open your mouth baby doll…” He purred, staring at my little lips. I looked at him and slowly opened my mouth with confusion. Before I could take an inhale he pressed onto my head and filled my mouth with his thick cock. He held onto my hair while I choked from the suddenness. “Suck.” He demanded. I instantly sucked in my cheeks. The soft flesh from within my mouth was tightening around him. With his grip in my hair he pushed my head down, and up. Forcing me into swallowing his every inch.

It was an experience I felt guilty enjoying. It felt so strange, but tasted so oddly pleasurable.

Dr Crane’s hand gently began to lift from my hand. It was his message for me now to do all the work. As he removed his hand, I slowly and un-surely kept going. Gently stroking, and sucking his perfect cock with my soft lips.

He hadn’t made much noise until my lips would come up and suck around his pink tip. From there he’d groan, and his hands would grip tightly onto his chair.

“Mmm… Good girl…” He groaned with his voice low. Eventually my slow pace and inexperience became not enough for him. He had to feel more. Feel the sweet sensations of virginity on his cock. With his impatience he demanded down to me, “Get up.”

I lifted my head from his lap and with shaky legs stood from the floor. As I came to my feet his rough hands grabbed onto my hips, and he forced my stomach and chest down onto the hard wood of his desk. My cheek laid against the desk and I stared at the wall. My legs, and body are shaking.

I felt Dr Crane’s hips, and his hard cock, against mine. He lifted the dress and ripped through my thin panties. I could hear him quietly chuckling to himself feeling the wet fabric, and then my wet skin. My legs twitched as his cock rubbed through my wetness and against my sensitive clit. I whimpered from the ticklish pleasure and squirmed against him uncontrollably.

His hands grabbed tightly onto the bare skin of my hips, and butt. In a quick movement his cock was pushed deep into my virgin hole. I cried out a whimper, and moaned. So many sounds of pain and pleasure combined. He beat me with his cock, loving the look of me bent over his desk and suffering with the intensity.

Uncontrollable moans, and cries escaped my lips. I tried to stay quiet but it was impossible. It felt as if he were ripping me open, but also caressing my pussy with such pleasure.

Each thrust of his hips -his cock sinking deeper with each one- made my wetness drip for my used hole, and along my thighs. I held my hand over my mouth to mumble my embarrassment, my moans.

From behind me I could hear his sweet groans of pleasure as he used my body like a toy. Using me in a way I hated to admit that I loved too much. My legs shook and my cries and whimpers got louder, and more frequent with his every movement. My insides sunk inside of me, feeling as if my little pussy were going to explode.

“You like daddy’s cock don’t you?” He taunted, still pounding aggressively into me. “Mmm… so tight and perfect… your pretty pussy will never be the same after this…” He whispered down to me. I felt sick, but also like that ticklish sensation was becoming too much for me to handle. And to my surprise I finally did explode. I felt wetness spread and drip down my legs. The pleasure becomes increasingly intense. It felt as though I were going to cry. My legs shook profusely, and I melted on Dr Crane’s cock.

He smirked and chuckled at me, still thrusting incredibly hard into me. My quick but also first orgasm was amusing to him. And soon after several bruising thrusts, He groaned, and moaned, filling my used little pussy with his thick cum.

He leaned down to me, close to my face and whispered to me, “I’d like to see you in my office next week. My sweet obedient girl."

#johnathan crane smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x fem!reader #johnathan crane #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #cillian x reader #cillian fanfic #batman begins #cillian murphy x y/n #johnathan crane x reader #johnathan crane fic #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian fic #batman #cillian murphy x you #smut

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ctrlsht · 1 year ago

Text

Fragment of the Past 02

pairing: patient!jungkook x psychiatrist!reader genre: thriller & yandere au

summary: You are a well-known and respected psychiatrist and author. You start treating Jungkook, who suffers from PTSD after surviving an extremely traumatic incident. As you help him confront his traumatic past, he begins to act strangely, and you start uncovering something about him that will change everything.

chapter summary: after finding out that Jungkook is responsible for his own mother’s death, you decided to terminate him as your patient but Jungkook didn’t agree with that idea and pulled his cards against you.

chapter warnings: fraternity, hazing, blackmailing, ASPD, unstable mental health of mc, disturbing thoughts of JK word count: 8.8K

parts: (1) | (2)

note: this fiction will contain multiple mental disorders and psychology facts. I conducted my own research to avoid spreading misinformation, but there may be aspects I've overlooked, so I am open for any corrections.

As the words tumbled from his lips, confessing the heinous act, his expression transformed into something disturbingly demonic. In that moment, you couldn't shake the feeling that he was no longer the person you knew, or perhaps that was just the chilling façade he was revealing.

“You’re the one who did it.” It wasn’t a question.

“Is that what you believe, Dr. Y/N?” He tilted his head trying to prevent himself from grinning.

“You do know that it’s a grave offense, right?”

“Is it?” He smirked before he poke the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

Jungkook is messing around like he just didn’t confess his crime, like it was just a big joke for him.

“Are you aware of the consequences of your actions?”

He didn’t respond and just continued staring at you while he smiled devilishly. You weren’t prepared in this scenario because in your years of your career, you haven’t encountered a situation like this. Guess it will be added to your experience.

After a few moments, he looked at his wrist watch and returned his gaze at you.

“Oh no, we have already exceeded our normal session hours, Doc. We can just continue this for our next meeting, or do you consider my offer to you?”

“Jungkook, this is a serious matter. We have to talk about it.” You spoke with hardness in your tone.

“You still have your next patient, doc. Huh Yunjin, right? Diagnosed with persistent depressive disorder. It’s unfortunate that even though she has everything, she still suffers from depression. But I think it's all because of his useless and abusive boyfriend who keeps messing with her mental health. What a shame. Her work may be perfect but for her boyfriend, it was trash.” you were taken aback with his statement. He shook his head as he clicked his tongue.

“How did you know that?” You outburst as you stand up. He also stood up and walked towards the door. “Jungkook, I’m not done talking to you.” At this point, you were still containing yourself from being angry but you just can’t help yourself.

“I’ll just see you next week, Dr. Y/N.” It’s his last statement before he twists the doorknob and steps out of your office leaving you dumbfounded.

You didn’t expect the outcome of this session and most especially, you don’t know how you will react with the information that he just said. From how he was the culprit of his own mother’s murder to how he knew about Yunjin’s boyfriend because as far as you know, you’re the only one that she trusts regarding her situation with her boyfriend unless he knew Yunjin’s boyfriend personally.

You’re still at your position when Jungkook leaves you for a long moment until Soyeon knocks on your door informing you of the arrival of your next patient. You don’t know if you can still handle a new session after him but you cannot cancel the session in this late notice.

“Tell Yunjin to give me a minute before she enters. We’ll start in 10 minutes.” You instructed Soyeon before you composed yourself. You don’t know how to face Yunjin with your condition but you don’t have a choice. You will just see how it goes.

—

You’re standing 5 feet away from an old house on the edge of town, all by itself. It’s surrounded by overgrown grass that hasn’t been cut for probably a year or two and there are no neighbors around. It looks like it was abandoned but you’re sure that there is someone living here. Mr. Jeon, Jungkook’s father should be here.

You were observing the house for a couple of minutes before you decided to knock on the door and find out if there is someone inside.

“Hello? Is anybody here? Mr. Jeon?” You call out while you’re knocking but no one is answering. You’ve been knocking and calling for a lot of times already but there’s really no one answering. You take a few steps backwards and look at the whole exterior of the house. This is where Jungkook once lived along with his parents and this is where the crime scene happens.

You take a deep breath before you decide to turn around to leave. Maybe Mr. Jeon isn’t around.

As you take a few steps towards your car, you suddenly hear a door open. You immediately turn around, and from where you are, you see Mr. Jeon standing beside his door with a cigarette in his mouth. You didn't expect him to appear in such shabby attire. Perhaps Jungkook truly despised his father to the extent of letting him live like this.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeon.” You give him a smile and walk towards him.

“Who are you?” He asked as he inhaled his cigarette.

“I am Y/F/N, a psychiatrist and I am handling your son, Jungkook.” You introduce yourself and extend your hand to give him a handshake but he only stares at it so you take your hands back.

“What do you mean? Has that bastard become crazy already? Actually, he did lose his mind years ago.”

“No, Mr. Jeon. Your son suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder after the incident that happened to your wife. I am here to ask a few questions about him to help him recover with his disorder, if you don’t mind.”

He looked at you with furrowed brows before he blew smoke from his mouth.

“Post-traumatic what? What kind of bullshit do my son is pulling? What, he had the audacity to be traumatic after he killed his own mother?”

His father knew. But how come he didn’t ask for his statement? Or did you overlook it?

“Do you believe that your son killed your wife? What are your reasons? Why didn’t you say anything about it?” You didn’t know that you’re already asking multiple questions because of how desperate you want to know the answer. Mr. Jeon only looked at you as his response and after a few moments, he smirked and inhaled from his cigarette.

“You act more like a detective rather than a psychiatrist, Y/N.” He blew a smoke before he continued. “Come in. Let's discuss your questions inside. It’s already getting cold and you wouldn’t want to catch a cold.”

The house doesn’t seem like a home. It only looks like a place where a person has to stay for them to be sheltered. Inside, vintage furniture fills the rooms, and faded wallpaper lines the walls. In the dimly lit living room, a faded armchair sagged, its upholstery torn and revealing the stuffing beneath. Only a few personal items adorn the space but you haven’t seen any family photo frame.

Mr. Jeon lets you sit on a single couch, you haven’t touched the upholstery yet you already know that this hasn’t been cleaned in ages. But you didn’t mind because you’re here not to be comfortable.

“I’m sorry, I can’t offer you anything. It’s only me in here and you show up unannounced so I didn’t prepare anything.” You immediately shook your head with what he said.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. I’m just here for a few questions. I apologize for showing up unannounced.”

He lit a new stick of cigarette and blew a smoke before returning his gaze to you.

“So, what do you want to know?”

You have a lot of questions that you want to be answered but you have to pick the most important one before you proceed with the others.

“How is Jeon Jungkook as your son?” He didn’t answer right away. He just stares at you as if his answers are in your eyes. Or perhaps, he’s just thinking the right answer to say.

“Well… Jungkook is a smart kid. He has a passion for photography which I find a waste of time. But look at him now. He managed to build a studio and become successful.” He smiled like a proud father but it only lasted for a second before he was back with his seriousness. “I don’t know how you see him but there is a high possibility that he just built a personality that he wants you to see. You cannot trust him especially with what he says because most of them aren't true.”

“Can you be more specific with your statement about him? Maybe, give a few examples on how you can justify what you just said.” You slowly grab your phone inside your bag and instantly open the voice record and hit the record button before you return your attention back to him.

“It’s complicated to explain and elaborate because even I cannot understand him. All I know is that he’s a dangerous man.”

Just like what he said about his son, you should not trust him as well, especially now that he doesn’t even have any evidence to justify his statements.

“You’ve mentioned that he was the one who killed your wife. Do you have any proof to prove that?” You asked him and he took a deep breath.

“I don’t, but I am positive that he’s the one who did it. I knew my son so well.”

All his statements don't have concrete evidence and all pure accusations. Maybe that’s why he didn’t raise his accusations to the higher position because it wasn’t supported with anything. But you still ask, anyway.

“Did you try reporting it to the police?”

"Yes, I did. But did you know they do? They showed a lot of interest in my statement about him and assured me they would stay in touch. But, after the following day, I didn't hear anything from them anymore. They didn't reach out, and when I approached them, they said that the case had been resolved and my statements weren't sufficient to prove anything."

Based on his story, if you’re the investigator of the case, you wouldn’t think much about his report because like what’s happening right now, his claims support nothing. But you knew better because Jungkook already admitted it to you.

“If Jungkook really did it, what may be the reasons?”

“There are a lot but the major reason is he’s a psychopath.”

That's a serious accusation from a father against his son. However, you must allow him to explain because, no matter what, he knows Jungkook better than you do.

“I admit that me and my wife aren't the perfect parents for him. There are problems that we always argue about, like work problems and we also have a trust issue with one another, and he doesn’t deserve that. We try to separate our problems as husband and wife to him but every time we try to reach him out, it’s like he doesn’t want to be reached out. When he turned high school, that’s when I started to notice the major changes in him. He was always angry and he doesn’t treat us as his parents anymore. We’ve tried to talk to him but it only gets worse.”

He takes a long pause as he remembers everything that he’s talking about. He tapped the ashes into the ashtray and inhaled another smoke before he continued.

“The principal of his school wants to talk to us about our son but the message wasn’t sent to us because he finds a way for us not to know. We only knew when his teacher visited us here and we found out that he’s involved in an illegal fraternity. One of the initiations rites at his fraternity is making the people suffer before they officially become a member. He killed a lot during the initiation rites and he didn't look like he was bothered. He was still a minor at that time so he didn’t go to jail. I was relieved but right now, I wish that he just went to prison.”

His cheeks flushed, and his eyes glistened with the threat of tears. He’s looking away and he took a deep breath without making it obvious. He tossed the cigarette butt on the ashtray beside him and returned his gaze to you.

“I was patient with him but he’s too much. I let him be, we let him be. But when things get harder, that’s how I realized that he has no hopes. We’ve lost our wealth and he was on the peak of his success. We tried to ask for help but he just threw us out like we weren’t even his parents. And when he killed my wife, I completely disowned him.”

—

You’re back at home after visiting Jungkook’s father and you keep on repeating the recording you had during the conversation. You believe in the story that Mr. Jeon has told you because of two things; first, he doesn’t look like he’s lying while telling his story and second, there are certain things he said that connect to how Jungkook describes him as a father.

“He’s a horrible person and he doesn’t deserve to be a father to me. I never got to experience the love from a father because the only thing that he gave me is hatred. He always gets drunk and gamble and he cheated with my mom multiple times. I’m not going to be surprised when I find out that I have other siblings from different mothers. He’s the worst person I’ve known.”

Maybe the reason why they lost their wealth is because he’s a gambler. And he and his wife have trust issues because he’s cheating on her.

“He only wants money from me.”

Mr. Jeon mentioned that he asked for the help of Jungkook after they lost their wealth.

You have already got the perspective of both sides and Jungkook’s relationship with his parents has a big impact on who he is now.

You were in the middle of your business when your phone rang, and when you saw the caller’s ID, your heart raced, thudding against your chest. You didn’t move and you just stare at your phone contemplating whether you will answer or not.

After a moment, the ring stops and when you think that you’re already safe when it rings again. Your hands shake as you pick up your phone and slide the answer button.

“Good evening Dr. Y/N! How are you?”

Jungkook greet in his usual energetic voice.

“Jungkook, it’s already late. Do you need anything?” You ask in your low voice, hiding your nervousness.

“I just want to check up on my favorite therapist after I left her last time.” his chuckles erupted at the most unsettling moment.

“You walked out even though we’re not done talking. We can continue our discussion in our next session.”

“You surprised me, Doc. I thought that after our conversation, you'd go straight up to the police, but you did not. Instead, you chose to run to my father.” His words are sinister to your ears. Your heart is beating rapidly as you try to stay composed. The reason why he knew that, you don’t know. You want to ask but there are no words coming out of your mouth.

“Have you eaten your dinner?” he asked after a long pause.

“I already did.” You lied.

“But I haven't. You promise me that you’ll come with me for dinner, Dr. Y/N. It’s a perfect time for you to fulfill your promise.”

“Jungkook, I’m sorry but I really can’t. I have a lot of things to do.”

“Tsk Tsk. Your excuse is already overused, Doc. Do you have other excuses?” He laughed once again and continued. “But I won’t force you anymore. I’ll just see you on Tuesday. Goodnight, Dr. Y/N”

—

You were occupied through the following days already, thinking about Jungkook’s case. You’ve been trying to connect the dots by communicating with the people behind this case but unfortunately, no one is useful. You have to do it yourself and the progress was so slow that you’re about to give up.

You got more important things to do but you left them behind for this and it’s not healthy anymore. You aren't a detective but a psychiatrist. Not a lawyer but a successful book author, therefore, you should stop this madness and go back to your track.

Tuesday came and you should have a lot of patience to attend to and things to get done with but you cleared your schedule out just for the person who’s not worth your time.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Y/N. You look so stressed out. What have you been up to lately?” Jungkook said as he entered inside your office. He wasn’t wearing his usual clothes when he visited your clinic for a session, on the contrary, he’s wearing the clothes that you used to see during your photoshoot with him. A casual long sleeve polo paired with tight black pants.

He doesn’t look like a murderer. He’s very charismatic and no one will know what’s behind his mask.

“I bought you a salad and orange juice to boost your productivity for today.” He places the paper bag that he’s holding on the top of your office table.

He acted like everything was normal and fine but deep down, you were terrified.

You let him settle down on the couch in front of you before you spoke.

“Jungkook, we have to talk about everything. This is a very serious matter. I want to understand you as your doctor and choose what’s best for you.” You started before you pressed the record button on your phone and placed it on the top of your table. Jungkook glanced at it but he returned his gaze to you.

“Are you the one responsible for your mother’s death?” You don’t want to ask it immediately but you’re itching to know the truth.

He chuckled as he caressed his lips before he crossed his legs.

“I didn’t know that you’re also a detective, Dr. Y/N. Did you also ask that to my father?”

“Jungkook, I’m serious right now. Please, cooperate.”

You were waiting for his response but it didn’t come. The whole room became deadly silent and Jungkook continued to play with his lips, looking at you with intensity.

You only have 5 more sessions to go before the psychotherapy treatment will come to an end, but you don’t think that you can attend more sessions with him anymore.

“I’m not stupid as you think, Y/N.” He finally speaks out, without addressing your title. You only heard him twice calling you without your title, during the photoshoot and now.

“After I tell my heart-dying story about what happened, you won’t waste any second to go to the police and surrender the recording you had with me.”

Your eyes widened in alarm as your lips quivered, betraying the anxiety building within.

“What do you mean?” You try your best not to stutter as your words come out in fragments as your nervousness is disrupted.

“Oh, you know what I mean, Y/N. Don’t play dumb.” He intertwined both of his fingers and wiggle his ankle while his legs were crossed. His stares swivel from you to the phone that’s placed at your table.

You didn’t move, afraid of what’s going to happen next. He slowly stood up from his seat and took a step near your chest drawer, looking at the different licenses, certificates and achievements that were placed on the top.

“You become so successful within four years of your career while others take decades of their life to be where you are right now.” He caresses some of the frames standing. You didn’t move, nor say anything, letting him speak. “Are you proud of what you become, Dr. Y/N?” He turned his head towards you and you tried not to show any weakness to him.

“Yes. Yes, I am.” You answer with a low voice.

“If you want to keep that way, then you should keep out of my business.” He smiled so sweetly, like he just didn’t say something to threaten you.

He took a step towards the door and opened it but before he stepped out, you spoke.

“No matter how fast and long you run, the truth will eventually come to you, Jungkook.”

—

"Can you believe how surprised I was when I read your message, inviting me for a drink?" You chuckled at what Taehyung said as he continued to drive to your destination. "It's such a rare occurrence, and I thought I must have read it wrong. But, damn, it's like a once-in-a-blue-moon moment when you're the first one to invite me for a drink!"

“Yeah, congrats to you.”

Taehyung was right about you inviting him to go out for a drink. You don't usually do that, and most of the time, he's the one who invites you. You're used to being alone and doing things by yourself, so you don't often think of inviting him. But right now, everything is fucking you up, and you can't be alone with your thoughts because you might end up losing your mind.

You didn’t show any signs of your problems to him. You act like everything is fine and you just miss him. You don’t want to make him overthink. Just like you, he also has a lot on his plate.

You ask him to have a drink with you in Itaewon where everyone goes at this hour. It’s friday and it’s a perfect time to chill with someone you’re very familiar with.

The night is lit up with neon streets in different colors, and the sound of laughter and music filled the air. Everyone is having fun as if the city itself was a living as well. There are a lot of pubs and bars beside each other but you chose where it wasn't so rowdy.

“Will people recognize you?” You ask him as you sip on your beer.

“Nah, and if they do, so what?” He spoke a little loud as the music became louder as well.

“Do you mind when you’re out and people recognize you, asking to take a pic?” The crowd is getting louder along with the music so you have no choice but to speak louder as well.

“I don’t mind. I’m cool with it.”

You did talk to him about his life and when the night went deeper, the crowd was becoming wilder as well. People started to recognize Taehyung and ask for a quick photo. You can’t help but smile whenever he interacts with people with so much energy and happiness. This is what he wants ever since high school, for people to recognize him and his music. Music is Taehyung’s language.

After a few moments, Taehyung joins the crowd and dances along with the ocean of people. He asked you to join him several times but you refused, content with your position right now. You just watch him become the center of attention inside the bar you’re in.

You’re not a fan of parties and nightlife but right now, you embrace the music and the alcohol that’s influencing you right now.

You were suddenly startled when a subtle but distinct crept up your spine, an unshakable sense that someone's eyes were fixed upon you. You tried to look around to find if someone’s looking at you but you found nothing. You’re about to brush it away when a familiar figure is standing 10 feet away from you. A pair of eyes bore into you, a gaze so penetrating it felt like a laser, igniting a trail of fire across your skin. The music and the crowd faded in the background and your eyes are fixed at the person while your heartbeat increases rapidly. A person blocked his view and when you tried to find him again, he wasn’t there anymore.

You don’t know if you’re hallucinating or Jeon Jungkook is really around.

—

You will terminate Jeon Jungkook as your patient. You have to terminate him.

You have your reasons for you to terminate him and as far as you see it, they were valid. Since he first stepped into your office, there is something about him that you couldn’t understand. You’ve been brushing off that feeling multiple times already and now, you should have trusted your instincts.

Jeon Jungkook isn’t a victim. He was the one who killed his own mother at their own house. You don’t have a concrete reason why he did it but you’re sure that it’s about their relationship as a son and mother. Based on the two-sided perspective, Jeon Jungkook is capable of killing someone without showing any remorse.

He pretended to have experienced trauma solely for his own benefit. His condition isn't post-traumatic stress disorder; instead, it's characterized by antisocial personality disorder, which is evident in his absence of empathy, aggressive and criminal conduct, and a background of lying and deception. Similar to those with ASPD, Jungkook possesses charisma, attractiveness, and above-average intelligence.

You can help him. You really can, but you were also affected by his condition. He crossed the boundary between a doctor and patient several times and you couldn’t tolerate that. If you’re going to keep him, there might be worse that can happen not only to him, but to you as well.

You still have 4 more sessions before the final session comes to an end but you cannot wait for that day to arrive. When Tuesday comes, you must inform him already. So you are sitting at your swivel chair while he’s seated at the black couch in front of you when you finally say it without any hesitation. You want this to be done already.

“We can no longer continue your remaining sessions, Jungkook.” You started without stuttering. You try to stay calm and strengthen your mentality before you continue. “There are several reasons but on the top of all, you’re not improving with your mental state.”

His arms are on the top of the arm-rest while his fingers are intertwined. His legs are crossed as he wiggles his ankle while he’s staring at you with so much intensity like he’s looking at your soul.

He’s not responding so you continue to your list of reasons why he’s being terminated.

“I also diagnose you incorrectly but I can still refer you to other doctors that can help you start up. I’m really sorry for failing you, Jungkook but it's best if you can see a new doctor to help you with your mental state.”

Of course, that’s not only the reason but you chose not to go further, afraid that you might trigger him.

After a few moments, he leaned forward, not removing his intense gaze away from you. You know that this won’t be easy but you must proceed with it.

“Is that really the reason, Dr. Y/N?” He slowly stands up from his seat and takes a step towards your countertop beside the chest drawers. From there, he looked at the instant coffee sachets, coffee grounds and a coffee maker before he took a mug and placed it in front of him. “I would appreciate it if you tell me the real reasons.”

You didn’t respond immediately as you watched him make a cup of coffee using the mug that you always use. When he’s done, he turns around to face you and takes a sip of his coffee.

“What’s taking you so long to answer?” He said after he sips his coffee.

“That. What you’re doing right now is one of the reasons why we cannot proceed with the remaining session.” He wants to play like this? You will give him what he wants. “You cannot touch my things without my permission, Jungkook. Remember, I am your doctor, not a colleague. You should know what the boundary is.”

“Oh? You will dump me just because I made a cup of coffee without your permission?” He raised his brow, as he smirked with the sarcastic undertone of his statement.

“You’ve been threatening me, multiple times. You’re making it difficult to maintain a professional relationship between the two of us. You know that to yourself, Jungkook. Don’t make me state every reason why because I want to keep my professionalism towards you.” You try to compose your tone but there’s still a hint of irritation.

He rests his hands on the top of the counter and sip from his coffee.

“Uh huh. But what if I refuse?”

“You don’t have a choice. That’s my decision and it’s legal.” A mocking smile tugged at the corners of his lips, as if you were the punchline of a cruel joke.

He releases another soft chuckle before he gets his phone from his pocket and scrolls down. Your eyes widened in horror as a shiver ran down your spine. Your skin prickled with goosebumps and waves of fear washed over you when he played a voice record coming from his phone.

“I started hiding my painting from Louie but he managed to find out about it and he kept telling me to stop painting again. He said that they were trash and I should just focus on my academics.”

“That’s unfortunate. You don’t deserve that, Yunjin. Your boyfriend kept on messing up your mental state. I’ve been telling you to break up with him.”

“I can’t because I love him—

“Where did you get that?!” You instantly stood from your seat. He looked at his phone and scrolled once again before he played another voice record.

“He’s been stalking me, doc. He’s just finding the perfect time to kill me.”

“Mr. Park, you have tons of your bodyguards around you. He doesn’t have a chance to—

“Give me that!” Your eyes blazed with fury, as your voice erupted, a thunderous roar that reverberated through the room. You tried to snatch the phone away from him but he was too tall for you to reach.

“Will you think twice about your decision when I decided to upload your illegal voice recordings with your patients on the internet?” His voice dripped with mockery as he grins.

“Those are not illegal because I asked for their permission to be recorded.” You respond in your stone voice. He smirked once again before he played another voice record.

“How are you, Jungkook? Did you sleep well last night?”

“I did, doc. I even sleep so early. Thanks to the medicine that you prescribed me because it helps.”

“As far as I remember, you didn’t ask my permission to be recorded.” He smiles mockingly before he puts down the cup of coffee that he’s holding on the countertop.

“I can already see the headline for these voice recordings. Bestselling author and psychiatrist who records their patient without consent. That’s going to be number one on social media and in front of the newspaper.” He returned his phone in his pocket and took the coffee to sip from it.

“Where did you get that?” You asked as you clench your jaw.

“It doesn’t matter, Dr. Y/N. What matters most is the backlash you will get when I decide to upload these online. With how you quickly reach the top, that also determines how quickly you will fall down.” He smirks.

Your eyes bore into him with such intensity, a storm of anger raging just beneath the surface. Your anger has reached its boiling point and any moment now, the tears forming on your eyes will flow over your cheek.

“What do you want?” You ask with your teeth. His gaze softens as he pouts.

“Come on, Doc. Don’t be so upset at me.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Your voice was raising again as your right hand balls into a fist. “You stole my recordings and you are threatening me now!”

“You’re dumping me. I have to do something.”

You take a step backward without removing your gaze from him. “What do you want?”

“It’s nothing big, Doc. You wouldn’t have a hard time.” His gaze softens before he continues. “I just want to continue our sessions. That’s it.”

“For what? I didn’t see any progress from you. Your condition might worsen.” You cannot be in this room with him for another session. He’s too much. “I will refer you to another psychotherapist who is much better where you’re going to recover.”

He shakes his head. “You were wrong. I do make progress, Dr. Y/N, and I would like to completely recover with your help. Besides, there are no ‘much better’ doctors beside you. I want you for me.”

You didn’t respond and continue to stare at him, hoping to see any sympathy or even a change of mind, but you only see a demonic who’s in the body of a human.

“Okay. But when the 12 sessions with you are completed, that’s it. Our business will end there.” Jungkook smiled devilishly and took the last sip of the coffee before he nodded.

“That’s all I want, Doc. To complete our session so I can get better and nothing else.”

—

You can’t believe that Jungkook has something to hold against you. Everything happens so fast and you didn’t know why it had to come to this. You’ve tried to make him speak up on how he got the recordings but he never did, instead, he keeps on blackmailing you about what might happen when he uploads it online.

“I wonder how your other patients will react when they find out that you recorded their most vulnerable moment. Will you ever get someone to trust you after that?”

You’ve tried to imagine what’s going to happen if he really uploaded it online. You can just simply tell the truth that you record your patient because it helps you to create a better book that will help a thousand people as well. That’s the truth, anyway. You can just accept your mistakes and move on.

But that’s not the case. Even if you kneel down just for the people to forgive you, that won’t change anything. Your name will be ruined and you might lose your license for violating the patient’s privacy and confidentiality. The worse thing is, everyone will hear the recordings you took and you can be subject to criminal charges.

Yes, you can blame everything on Jungkook but you know better. He got away from killing his own mother and he can also get away with this. You don’t know how powerful he can be.

You don’t know how to handle this. It’s so heavy that you can’t proceed with your daily routine. From waking up until you go to bed, that’s the only thing that keeps running to your head and it’s getting out of hand.

You don’t know if Jungkook can be trusted that he won’t upload it online if you continue with the remaining sessions or he will betray you at the end. You cannot hold onto his promises. You have to do something before he completely ruins your reputation.

“Your clinic became my second home at this point, Doc. It’s so comfortable already that I can practically sleep here.” Jungkook transfers from the single couch to the bigger one and lays down and uses his palms as a pillow.

“How are we supposed to start with our session when you’re lying down?” You rolled your eyes and dropped the folder that you’re holding to the table.

“We can still have a conversation even if I’m in this position. It’s not like I’ll be muted if I lay down.” He responded without moving from his position. You rolled your eyes once again before you face your desktop and pretend that you’re busy with something. It’s hard to deal with a patient when you’re irritated with them.

You glance at him when you hear him laugh. He was laughing while he sat up from laying down. “You look so cute when you’re angry, Dr. Y/N. It’s a rare moment. Or this is really how you feel deep inside when you’re facing your patients.”

“Am I supposed to smile and clap my hands while you’re blackmailing me? You can’t even settle down properly to begin our session.” your voice dripped with sarcasm.

“And you’re being sarcastic too! How adorable.” He laughs, matching his grin as he returns to his original seat. He placed his arm on the arm rest before he spread his legs, looking at you with a smirk on his lips. “I just want to push the buttons and see who Dr. Y/F/N really is.”

You sip on your coffee and open the folder once again, trying to relax while staring at the folder. After a few moments, you take a deep breath and return your gaze to the monster in front of you.

“I’ll prescribe you with another medicine, although you can continue to take the medicines you have right now.” You said and listed down the prescription for him.

“Thanks, Doc. I’ll take note of that. And thank you for accepting me once again. I really appreciate it so much.” He’s back with his sweet voice which you would be glad not to hear again. You’d prefer his demonic voice because you know that it’s his true nature.

“No problem. As if I have a choice, right?” He chuckled and proceeded with his habit of playing with his lips.

“Come on, Doc. You’re really helping me to recover. That’s really what I wanted because you’re so good with what you do.”

“Uh huh.” You said while flipping the pages from the folder. “If that’s what you believe. So, do you want to talk about something that happened recently? What might be the reason why you think that you’re getting better?”

“There are a lot of good things that’s happening to me lately,” which you don’t deserve. “I have new investors for the growth of my business. It’s going to be a corporation. And I’m here, sitting on this couch in front of you.”

“That’s good for you.” You said, trying not to sound sarcastic. “How do you feel when you tell me who’s really responsible for your mother’s death?”

“That’s an excellent question, Doc.” He leaned forward before he continued. “I feel relief because I don’t need to fake my traumas, nightmares and anxiety because my mother died. I can finally celebrate it with you.” A twisted grin crept across his lips, eyes sparkled with a sinister delight.

A shiver ran down your spine, and goosebumps erupted on your arms. But you still manage to take note of his statements.

“I also plan on bringing my father along with my mother but I’ll save that for later. I’ll let my father live even though his life is useless. His existence only adds pollution to the earth, don’t you think? You’ve met him already.” A wave of nausea washed over you, as your skin turned clammy and cold. You can’t believe that he just told you his plan to kill his father like it was a normal thing he does.

“Jungkook, that is inhumane. You can’t talk about that during our sessions. Our goal here is to get your life back on track, not to plan on killing your father. You know that I can report you, right?” You lowered your voice in a softer way where Jungkook can feel that you’re really concerned with him.

“Come on, Doc. You’re so boring! And I know that you can’t do that because you’re putting your life on a pedestal.” He grins.

“You said that you wanted to recover so you want these sessions to continue, instead, you’re doing the opposite. You kept on blackmailing me and telling me your desires to kill your father.”

“You’re the one who said that you didn’t see any progress with me, so maybe, it’s better to talk about other things rather than talking about bullshit that only triggers me to do something worse.” His voice raises and his face remains completely lacking emotion while his gaze is penetrating that it feels as if he’s peering into your soul.

You froze on your seat as your body language reflected the overwhelming impact of what he just said.

“I am a psychiatrist and psychotherapist and my job is to help my patients with their problems and situations and not to tolerate their wrong behavior.” You close the folder that you’re holding and place it back on your table before you continue. “We’re not being productive here, Jungkook. As mentioned earlier, I would be delighted to connect you with one of my highly skilled colleagues who can assist you in making progress.”

He shook his head and he even used his finger movement to indicate that he disagreed. “No. We’re not going to do that.”

“Why?” You said, almost losing your control.

“Because I want you, Doc. You’re the only one I wanted.”

—

The remaining 3 sessions with him were all the same; very unproductive and a waste of time. He kept on pushing to talk about his desire to kill his father and topics you never want to talk about. He insisted on discussing his desire to harm his father and other topics you'd rather avoid. He continued to blackmail you, leaving you with no choice but to wait until the final session ended. You allowed him to talk about whatever he pleased while you sat there, pretending to listen. You try your best to give him proper therapy but he was the one who kept pushing away the help that you give. It may sound tolerable but god knows how horrible you feel with every word that’s coming out of his mouth.

“Nowadays, everyone seems so pathetic. I can't grasp why they constantly attempt to alter society, as if our lives are like a movie capable of transforming the entire universe in a single snap. They should learn to deal with it and adapt to what's happening instead of wasting their effort on making changes while acting like hypocrites themselves.”

“Individuals remain consistent throughout their lives. Scientific evidence indicates that our genetic imprints predefine our existence, our personality, and our decisions. If you're born stupid, you'll continue to live with your stupidity, and it will remain until the end of your life.”

During some of your sessions, you can’t help but to argue with him on how he sees things versus how you see them. You tried to let him understand that life is more than just existing. There is something that he hasn’t seen yet, but he was already the one who refuses to change.

If your life is not in danger because of him, you will risk everything just to help him recover and change his perspective in life. But that’s not your case because you’re trapped in the palm of his hands.

It's the last Tuesday of the month, marking the arrival of the final session with him. You've been anxious the whole day, eagerly waiting for it to end. The hours have felt agonizingly long, but you remind yourself that it's the last day, and you need to endure it just a little longer.

“Our deal is off. We’ve completed the remaining session.” You remind him before he steps out of your clinic. “Keep your promise, Jungkook.”

“Days are running fast, I didn’t even notice that it’s the last Tuesday of the month.” He smirked and twisted the doorknob. “See you again soon, Dr. Y/N.”

It’s done. You’ve managed to push him away, but you can’t stop thinking that he still has something against you. He promised that after the final session, he’s done with you but you can’t hold onto that because he’s Jeon Jungkook and dealing with him isn't as easy as you think.

And you were right, because one week hasn’t passed and Jeon Jungkook is already inside your office unannounced.

“What are you doing here?” You spoke with the hint of anger in your voice. “Aren’t we finished with our business?” Jungkook maintained a smirk on his lips as he sat on the black couch.

“Why? Can’t I visit my favorite doctor?” He spread his legs, his eyes met yours in a sultry, lingering glance and a playful smile graced his lips.

“Jungkook, we have no business here. I have tons of things to do, so, if you still have a conscience left, please, leave already." You remove your reading glass and throw it on your table.

He licked his lips and tilted his head before he responded. “As far as I know, patients can request additional sessions with their therapist, and that’s why I am here. So technically, I still have business with you.”

You grimaced, deep furrowed formed on your forehead as your anger intensified. A sly smirk of amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth as he raised an eyebrow in a mocking arch. “You look upset.” He pouted in a mocking way. “It’s too obvious how you hate that idea, Doc.”

“We had a deal, Jungkook. Stick with our deal.” You said with a clenching jaw.

“Yes, it’s still ongoing. We have to finish our sessions and we’re done.”

“We are done. We’ve completed your 12 sessions.”

“But I asked for another session and it’s legal. Therefore, our deal is still ongoing.”

Your hands were shaking while you breathed heavily as if you’re out of air. You want to stand up from your seat and pounce on him. You want to struggle him until he’s out of breath. You wanted to hurt him so badly for you to calm down but you kept your composure, concealing the simmering anger that threatened to erupt.

“You said that you’ll leave me alone after our deal.” Your words were delivered with restraint.

“That’s true, but I asked for another session, so our business is not yet done.” He smirked.

“Get out!” You can’t control it anymore. It’s too much. He’s too much.

“Oh. You’re kicking a patient out?” He laughs and he gets something in his pocket. “How would people react if they found out that the psychiatrist and a best-selling author that they are looking up, is kicking a patient out.” He faces his phone for you to see that he’s recording the conversation.

Your mind raced like a hurricane, breath came in short, shallow gasps as your hands can't stop trembling.

“Why are you doing this to… me?” Your voice caught up your throat, and choked sobs filled the room as you began to let your tears flow from your eyes.

He stood up from his seat as he slowly took a step towards you, putting both of his hands on the platform of your table, leaning towards you. He looks at your eyes with so much intensity that he can practically read your mind.

“I’ve told you already. I just want to continue our sessions until I recover. Is that too much to ask?” He whispers as he pierce his eyes on you. He lifts up his right arm, slowly wiping the tears from your cheeks using the back of his fingers. “Weakness doesn’t suit you, Y/N. So I suggest that you stop with your tears.”

—

If you can only bring back the time where Atty. Kim Namjoon asked you to take Jeon Jungkook as a patient, you’d immediately refuse. If only you knew what kind of a living hell that you will live when you work with him, you would never wish to see him standing in front of you from the first time.

You know that your life won’t be easy when you enter the industry that you are in right now. Life will put you on a test and see if you will survive. You in fact did, not knowing that you haven't even experienced half of what you're going through now in the hands of Jungkook.

You thought that Jungkook was already at his worst, but little did you know that he could deteriorate even further.

His weekly ‘sessions’ became almost every four days. His supposed 90-minute session stretched into a painful 2 hours, and that went on and on. You don’t know when he’ll stop with his madness.

You tried to convince him to stop, but every time you do it, he will always pull his card against you. It’s too much that you can’t take it any longer. You’re getting tired already and it’s consuming you. You’ve already reached the point where you think that what he’s doing to you right now is much worse than what you’d experience if he were to post the recordings you took in public.

If he can’t be convinced to stop, then you have to do something that will make him stop. You have to take action because if you let him continue to tie you up, you will no longer escape.

You put your both hands inside the pocket of the coat that you’re wearing right now. It’s getting colder because winter is just around the corner.

Jongno Police Station

The police station stood tall with a large reflective window that had a sense of transparency and modernity. There are people that passed by and police officers standing outside the glass door with cigarettes in their mouth.

You took a deep breath before you took a step towards the entrance.

“Hello, may I talk to detective Jung?” You speak to the male receptionist as you enter the station.

“For what reason?”

“I just have to report something about the case he’s handling. I am Y/F/N and a psychiatrist.” You gave him your ID and when he looked at it, he kept on shifting his gaze to you and to the ID.

“Wait for a while. I’ll call detective Jung.”

You sit in the waiting area as you wait for the person you’re looking for. The receptionist is on a call and you notice that he keeps on glancing at you while he speaks with detective Jung, as you guess.

When you saw detective Jung approaching you, wearing a denim black jacket with his ID, you stood up to greet him.

“Good afternoon, Detective Jung. I apologize for showing up unannounced but I just have to talk to you about something.” You greet as you extend your hand.

He shook your hand as he smiled so wide, like a ball of sunshine.

“That’s okay. Come, let's talk inside.”

Detective Jung's office was a place for investigating, featuring a comfy leather chair and a sturdy oak desk in the middle. The walls showed years of hard work with awards, old news articles about big cases, and a bulletin board filled with clues and suspects.

He was the one who handled Jungkook’s case, and he’s with Atty. Kim Namjoon when they bring Jungkook to your clinic, asking for you to take him as a patient.

A decision you wish you never made.

“So, what brings you here?” Detective Jung asks you when you already settled down on his leather couches.

“I’ll go straight to the point, Sir. I’d like to talk about Jeon Jungkook, the one you want me to handle as a patient, do you remember?” Detective Jung smiles before nodding so you continue. “He’s responsible for his mother’s death.”

You explained thoroughly on how it happened and he carefully listened to you. It's the first time you’ve talked to anyone regarding this manner and it was as if a heavy weight had been lifted from your shoulder. You wanted to burst out when you explained to him about your situation but you strengthened yourself and went further.

Telling him gave you a sense of relief because you never expect that you’d come to this, reporting him. You know that the situation may escalate when Jungkook finds out that you’ve reported him but you don’t care anymore. What he’s doing to you is worse than the backlash you’ll experience if the recordings went public. There is nothing worse than dealing with him.

You ask for a restraining order against Jungkook and Detective Jung assures that Jungkook will pay for his crime.

You wanted to cry. You should’ve reported him a long time ago but you were overtaken by fear. You were scared of what could happen to you when Jungkook decided to carry out his threat but you can’t live your life with fear forever.

There are several ways that you can do if the recordings go public. Ask for the help of a security specialist, confront your patients regarding the situation and even report Jungkook with what he did.

You should focus on eliminating Jeon Jungkook in your life now, and deal with the consequences later.

You’ve strengthened yourself with the situation that can happen. Asking Detective Jung for help gave you strength and encouragement to stand up against Jungkook.

He may be a psychopath but you’re Y/N, and you’re greater than him.

Or that’s what you thought.

Your hopes and courage crumble at your feet as Jungkook visits you the same day.

taglist: @iloverubberduckiez-blog @kingofbodyrolls @fangirl-death-rose @looneybleus @softie00 @yoonjinhusbands @ash07128 @kookiesbunny @cinnikoi @yluv-damara-13 @hoseoksluv89 @darkuni63

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propertyofkylar · 7 months ago

Note

crawls in covered in blood

Harper 19 👀?

doctor's orders - m!harper x gn!pc

tags/warnings: 19. kidnapping, drugging, dubcon, medical kink, reader's genitalia left ambiguous

word count: 1810

note: wow....i hope THE harperfucker enjoys this...

“Mhm. And how has your mood been lately?”

You shifted slightly in your chair, sitting on your hands. Dr. Harper was a strange one. He was something of a therapist and psychiatrist. But he also treated injuries, and you had heard he’d even done gynecology work, so you still weren’t entirely sure what kind of doctor he even was. But the pills he prescribed worked well, so you came every Friday to see him.

“Um,” you hedged a bit, but Harper’s encouraging smile urged you forward. “I mean, it’s not great. You know? Things kinda…suck.”

Harper nodded as you spoke, looking the perfect image of a doctor as he jotted down something on his notepad.

“So I guess I’ve just been kind of…down. If that makes sense?” You offered.

Harper nodded again. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Huh?” You hadn’t expected that. Harper offered you a warm smile.

“I’m experimenting with more herbal remedies,” he explained. “I’ve purchased some tea leaves that claim to help with feelings of depression and anxiety. I thought you might like to try some. I know you like the pills, so this would just be a supplement of sorts. It may help lift your mood, even just a bit.”

Something made you feel a little uneasy. But your doctor had never steered you wrong before. And it was just a cup of herbal tea. What’s the worst thing that could happen? It would taste bad?

So, you nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”

Harper gave you another smile and stood up, busying himself with an electric kettle in the corner of the room. You watched idly from your seat. Maybe a warm cup of tea would be exactly what you needed.

Several minutes later, Harper handed you a steaming mug. An herbal smell of chamomile, lavender, and something else you didn’t recognize wafted towards you. “If you like it, I’ll send it home with you along with your meds.”

You thanked the doctor and took a sip. It was warm with a mildly sweet taste. “It’s good,” you said, going back in for another sip.

“I’m glad you like it,” Harper said.

At the very least, a warm drink would make you feel better temporarily. The doctor made idle chitchat with you as you continued drinking. By the time you had emptied the mug, though, your head was feeling a little fuzzy.

“Are you alright?” Harper asked, only seeming mildly concerned. “The herb blend does have a relaxing effect. It may be that it’s making you tired.

“Mm…yeah…” you rubbed your eyes, suddenly feeling groggy. “Haven’t been sleeping well lately…”

“Don’t worry,” Harper was leaning forward in his chair, almost in anticipation. “Close your eyes. My next appointment isn’t for a while. You can sleep here for a bit, no worries.”

“‘Kay,” you murmured, your eyes shutting of their own accord. “Just a lil bit…”

You were out like a light.

When you came to, you had no idea where you were.

It didn’t feel like you were still in the hospital, though it still seemed like a doctor’s office of sorts. But the light was harsh and artificial, and you got the feeling this room wasn’t used too often.

Also, your arms were bound to the bed, which wasn’t great.

“Mm?” You were still quite groggy, so actual words didn’t come out of your mouth. You suddenly became aware of a figure looming over you, smiling. “D-doctor…?”

Harper undid your arm bindings, inviting you to sit up. “Sorry for that! I didn’t want you to move around or get violent in your sleep. The…tea effects are a little unpredictable.”

You rubbed at your sore wrists - how long had you been like this? - as you took in the surroundings. “Where did you take me?”

Harper rolled a chair next to the bed, stroking your hair in a rather unprofessional manner. “This is my private office. You need a more intensive therapy.”

You blinked. “I do?”

Harper nodded. “Yes. Your depression and anxiety is rather treatment resistant. I want to try some different things with you to help you get better,” he slid his hands to hold yours. They were cold and smooth. “Doesn’t that sound good?”

There was something wrong. Something was off. But your brain felt so, so fuzzy. “Yeah…that sounds nice.”

Harper beamed and clapped his hands together. “Excellent! Now, let’s begin,” he pulled his notepad out and studied it closely. “You say you’ve experienced rape and sexual assault. Is this right?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “Uh…yeah.”

He nodded again and checked something off on the notepad. “Good. Then we are going to have sex.”

“What?!” Your ears were ringing. Did he just say that?

Harper set down the notepad and looked closely at you. “You say the assaults cause you trauma. Correct? I can show you how sex can be pleasurable and it will sort of rewire your brain.” He smiled placidly at you. “Don’t worry, you can trust me.”

It was weird. Something felt off. But…you trusted him. So you found yourself agreeing.

“Good!” Harper smiled warmly at you, standing up in front of you. Despite the smile, there was something oddly intimidating about him. But he was a doctor, and you weren’t. So it was probably okay. Right?

The doctor sat next to you on the bed, moving closer then he’d ever been. “The first step is foreplay. This usually begins with kissing. Are you comfortable with that?” His breath was warm on your face. You nodded.

And then the two of you were kissing, Harper’s mouth surprisingly cold, much like his hands were. “Very good,” he murmured. Harper practically tugged you into his lap and your patient gown rode up, making you suddenly very aware that there was nothing on underneath. Wait, weren’t you in a therapy session before? Where did your clothes go…?

Your thoughts were interrupted when you realized you could feel Harper’s cock rubbing against your most sensitive areas. The feeling drew a whimper out of you, which sparked Harper to reach under the gown and grab at your back.

“P-please,” you whined, grinding down on Harper.

But he did not relent. “Please what?” He asked. “You need to be specific.”

“Please…” you sucked in a deep breath. “Please, fuck me.”

“Very good,” Harper pulled away and beamed. “You’re a very good patient. You learn quickly.”

He reached into a nearby drawer and pulled out a small tube. As he squeezed the slimy fluid onto his fingers, you realized what it was - lube. “This may be cold,” Harper said before slipping two fingers into your hole. You bit down on your lip and groaned as the doctor scissored his fingers inside of you. It felt good, but it also felt methodical and practiced.

You pawed at the bulge in Harper’s pants, which he was not expecting judging by his sharp intake of breath. “T-that’s enough,” he stammered, momentarily losing his cool composure. “I think you’re ready now.”

Harper pulled his hand back and unzipped his pants. With one movement he tugged down his pants and boxers and you were suddenly staring directly at his thick cock. It was flushed and twitching, and the bead of precum on the tip gave you the sudden urge to lick it.

But that wasn’t what was going to happen, at least not today, as Harper was stroking his dick with additional lube, and the way he was looking at you - no, leering - was decidedly unprofessional. You were too far gone at that point, though. The only thought in your head was how badly you needed that cock inside of you.

Your doctor grabbed you by the hips and, ever-so-slowly, lowered you down onto his cock. Harper practically hissed as you sunk further and further onto him, until your hips were flush with his.

“V-very good,” Harper managed to get out, his face turning red. This was an act you were quite familiar with, and your instincts kicked in. You started moving up and down, Harper’s hands still gripping you tightly, and he began rocking his hips in unison.

Harper seemed practiced in every aspect, with his cock managing to hit every sensitive spot inside of you. He was consistent, too. Every thrust was almost rhythmic. It made the hospital bed creak and squeak, and if you weren’t almost entirely fucked out of your mind, you would’ve worried about its stability. But all you could focus on was riding Harper and how fucking amazing it felt. Maybe it was that tea you had, or maybe your doctor was just that good at fucking.

His grip on your hips only added to the pleasure and you quickly began feeling heat intensifying within you.

“I think,” you tried to start but were cut off by your own moan. “I’m gonna…”

“Cum,” Harper said plainly, though clearly struggling to stay calm. “You can cum. It’ll - haa - be good for you and your…fffucking treatment.”

You didn’t need Harper to tell you twice, his hips slamming into you. You grabbed onto his shoulders and cried out as the orgasm wracked your entire body. You squeezed your eyes shut, but when you opened them, you noticed Harper was staring intently at you. It felt as though he was staring into your soul.

After several more thrusts, you could tell Harper was about to hit his limit as well. Never easing up on his grip, Harper held you down as he came, filling your insides with his hot cum. The two of you stayed connected for a few moments before he gently pulled you off, you letting out a whine at the loss of contact. Harper quietly studied his cum leaking out of your hole and dripping down your leg, then jotted down a few more notes in his notebook. You wondered what he was writing.

“Well,” Harper smiled at you, straightening his clothes out. “You did a great job. You’re a fast learner. I hope that was pleasurable.”

You could only nod in response.

“However,” Harper looked down at his notebook with a slight frown. “I’m afraid you still have a long way to go. This is only the beginning. I’ll need to keep you here at least for a few more days for further studying and treatment.”

“Oh…” you mumbled. In your post-orgasmic state, you struggled to understand what was going on. But maybe a longer stay wouldn’t be so bad.

Harper stood up, clutching his notebook to his chest, and gave you a few soft pats on the head. “No worries. I’ve already communicated with your guardian and school, so everything will be just fine.” He gave you another grin, one that felt a little less genuine, and made you feel a little uneasy. “Trust me. There is no better place for you to be right now than right here.”

And with that, he left the room.

#degrees of lewdity #dol #harper the doctor #dol harper #dol fanfic #dol x reader #writing #prompt event #this one got a little silly!! and the smut could've been longer #but i couldn't figure it out #o well #i hope u guys like #it was fun to write #just had to um. suspend my disbelief for a bit

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 7 months ago

Note

AITA for asking my partner not to be around me when she has panic attacks?

Probably sounds bad, but please read first. I (28FTM) have been with my partner (25MTF) for just over two years. We’ve lived together just over a year. We both have significant mental health issues, although her symptoms have always been more severe/uncontrolled than mine.

I have always been extremely supportive of my partner’s mental health issues. About 6 months after we started dating she had a mental health crisis that resulted in her being hospitalized for severe suicidal ideation; I helped her get support with her college, find a psychiatrist, therapist, and an HRT provider (since she was extremely dysphoric at the time and hadn’t started).

Around 6 months ago she had another suicidal episode where she actually attempted in front of me. I helped her receive medical help again, supported her throughout and after the hospitalization process, helped her find accommodations for university classes, and find and start alternate treatment (ketamine). I’ve also been supporting her in between her crises by attending some of her therapy with her at her request so I can learn what grounding exercises and such her therapist recommends when she’s panicking or suicidal, since she often forgets her coping mechanisms when in a crisis, and just listening to her and being there when she wants help.

All that is to say, I believe I’ve been extremely supportive in helping her find ways to sustain a healthy life while having mental health issues. However, one of her diagnoses is tourette’s (which I’m aware is neurological and not necessarily psychological) and this results in her having compulsive verbal tics that worsen especially when she’s stressed.

One of these tics is her saying “I’m going to kill myself” repeatedly when distressed (along with other severely hateful statements toward herself). This has always been extremely distressing for me to hear, even when I talk to her to make sure it’s a tic moment and not actual suicidal ideation.

I have been working with my personal therapist so that I don’t immediately go into my own damage-control type crisis when I hear her ticcing. However it’s still been extremely anxiety inducing for me to deal with this, to the point where I’m starting to either dissociate or panic when I even notice that she’s having a panic attack, because I expect to start hearing her say really awful things again. It’s even to the point where I think it’s affecting my overall mental health because I’ve been hearing these distressing tics so often I feel like I’ve started to internalize them (like, me more often having intrusive suicidal thoughts when depressed) although I certainly don’t blame her for how I’ve been feeling or my own thoughts that I’m having when depressed.

I talked to her about this recently and explained how I think it’s been effecting my mental health, especially as I work from home and her panicking often interrupts my work when she comes into our shared office to talk to me while panicking - which then makes me get behind on my work, since I feel like I can’t ignore her and want to help when she’s having a panic attack.

My mental health has also been extremely poor lately as I’m dealing with a lot of work and a sudden diagnosis of (benign) kidney adrenal tumors that I’m starting treatment for. I’ve been doing things to try to improve how I’m feeling but I’m still in a very difficult place right now.

Even though I feel extremely bad for asking I asked her to please try grounding herself at least to the point she’s not loudly saying that she wants to kill her self and hates herself when she’s panicking and wants to talk to me. I emphasized that she should always come talk to me if she is actually feeling like she’s going to do something harmful. But I’m seriously starting to feel like these verbal tics are affecting my functioning day to day, and I don’t know what else to do. And of course I still love her and want to be with her, I don’t even feel like that needs to be said but I want to emphasize it. I just feel like I need to make sure that I am safe and taking care of my basic mental health needs, like not having extreme panic attacks when she’s panicking, to even begin to try and help her out when she’s struggling.

So AITA for asking my partner to stop coming to me when she’s having these extreme panic attacks?

#aita #am i the asshole #suicide cw

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disillusioneddanny · 2 years ago

Text

This was inspired by this post. This will also be turned into a multi chapter fic on my ao3. You can subscribe here

But enjoy <3

Tw: talks of vivisection and abuse

Harley Quinn stumbled through the streets of Amity Park, newborn baby clutched to her chest as she furiously checked over her shoulder to make sure no one was following her. She had done it, she had finally gotten away from Mr. J for good just six months before. If he came lookin’ for her, she would be able to handle him on her own, especially with the help of Ives. But Danny wouldn’t be able to do jack shit against his crazed sperm donor. So, Harley was doin’ what she thought would be best. She was going to ask her step-brother and see if he and his wife could take him.

If anyone would be able to protect her baby it would be Jack Fenton, her step-brother was a hulking giant of a man and while his aim may have been shit, his wife’s wasn’t. The two were scientists, ghost hunters if Harley remembered right and they would be just crazy enough to think Mr. J was a ghost if he showed his slimy face around Amity Park.

“Don’t worry Danny, they’ll keep you safe, I promise. You’re never gonna have to worry about a crazy father tryin’ to kill you or use you for his own gain, I won’t ever let that happen,” Harley said quietly before pressing a soft kiss on her son’s head and knocked on the door of Fenton Works.

His father was trying to kill him. Danny allowed his sister to drag him out of Fenton Works and to her car, head spinning, lungs burning for oxygen. Telling his parents about his ghost form had gone bad, it had gone so, so, so bad and now Jazz and Danny were running for their lives as Jack Fenton shot another ectoblast at the siblings.

“Jazz, where’re we going to go? What are we going to do? You destroyed the portal,” Danny gasped out once Jazz had shoved him into the backseat of her beat up, gray, ‘78 Volkswagen Beetle. He scrambled in just as Maddie shot in the spot he had just been occupying, his sister grunted as she took the shot. While she was liminal, she still had enough human in her that it was nothing more than feeling like she got an instant sunburn.

Jazz slammed the door shut, ignoring the shouts from the Fentons behind her as she got around to the driver’s seat and sped off, tires spinning against the pavement.

“We’re going to Aunt Harley’s,” Jazz said determinedly.

“My mother?” Danny squawked from the backseat. “Didn’t Da-Jack say she was crazy?”

“Jack’s crazy Danny! He had you strapped to a table-” Jazz stopped herself as a guttural growl escaped her lips. “Whatever. Aunt Harley will be the best option. If anyone can keep us away from the Fentons it’ll be her.”

Danny slumped down in the backseat and finally looked down at the giant cut on his chest and let out a groan. His mother. Jack and Maddie had never hesitated to tell Danny where he had come from. Jack in particular boasted about how his poor, abused sister trusted him of all people to raise her baby and keep him safe from harm.

Joke’s on him apparently considering he was the very person who had managed to hurt Danny the most. Danny wasn’t stupid, though, he had heard about Harley Quinn. The psychiatrist turned villain who was now in her own way a hero but remained the self titled Queen of Chaos. He knew that his mother was dangerous, each time she had come to visit with her pasty white, tattoo covered skin, chemically bleached hair, and slightly crazed look in her eyes, Danny knew. He knew that the reason Dan was a reality was because of his genes, because of where he came from.

He had done everything he could to make sure he wouldn’t turn out like his mother. And if his suspicions were correct, he would do everything to make sure he didn’t turn out anything like his sperm donor. There was a reason Danny hated clowns and it wasn’t just because of Freakshow.

“Do you think she’s going to be happy seeing us at her house, though? Or Aunt Ivy? She’ll probably be annoyed that we dropped in unannounced,” Danny said before reaching down and grabbing the metal box that held his first aid kit. He used his powers to thread a needle with fishing wire and bit his lip hard as he forced the needle through his skin and started to sew up where his parents had started the vivisection. It would most likely scar but Danny didn’t want to think about that right now. Danny didn’t want to think about anything right now except for the fact that they were going to his mother’s house of all places.

“Danny, your mom adores you. She didn’t drop you off at the Fenton’s to abandon you. She did it to protect you. Aunt Harley knew that she wasn’t capable of raising a baby and she did the most responsible thing she could think of. But she loves you, she’s loved you from the moment you were born,” Jazz told him, glancing in her rearview mirror to watch her baby brother sew himself up as she sped down the highway.

“And how do you know that?” Danny asked, a hiss escaped from between his clenched teeth as he got to the worst part of the cut and continued with his sewing.

“Because I was there the night she brought you home. And I see it in her eyes when she comes to visit us. She loves you Danny, she was just in a bad situation,” Jazz reasoned, knuckles white on the steering wheel as she sped onto the onramp to start their journey from Amity Park, Illinois to Gotham City, New Jersey.

“And she’s just going to be happy to have her sixteen year old son randomly appear in her front door? She couldn’t take care of me then, what makes you so sure she can help us now?” Danny spat out as he finally finished his stitching and tied off the thread. He reached into the kit once more and grabbed a few of the antiseptic wipes that had been packed in and cleaned the ectoplasm-blood mixture off of his chest as best as he could before taping gauze to his chest. It wasn’t the best patch job and Frostbite would probably be horrified if he saw it, but it was the best Danny could do with a tiny first aid kit in the back of his sister's rickety car as she went well over a hundred miles per hour in a seventy.

“I think so, yeah,” Jazz admitted after a few minutes of silence. Danny let out a huff of a laugh as he struggled to sit up. “There’s a shirt in this bag,” she said, tossing him the backpack that sat in the passenger seat, the go bag for if the worst had ever come to fruition. Which it definitely had.

Danny dug through the bag and found the tried and true NASA shirt folded carefully within the bag and let out a sigh through nose as he carefully maneuvered around to get the shirt on without angering the stitches on his chest too much. Even if his mother wasn’t happy to see them or able to take care of them, she’d be able to help. She was a better option than any other.

Vlad was completely out of the picture. Dani was ancients only knew where and she wouldn’t have been able to do much anyway. Sam and Tuck still didn’t even know what had happened and Danny hadn’t decided how he was going to deal with that. Aunt Alicia would most likely call mom-Maddie if she saw them on her doorstep.

Aunt Harley was their only option now that the portal was destroyed and Danny certainly did not have the strength he would need to open a portal. Plus, Gotham had plenty of ambient ectoplasm according to Tuck’s research.

When they had first made this plan, Tucker had looked into any place that came close to having the same amounts of ectoplasm as Amity Park and Gotham had been number one on the list. So at least Danny had that going for him.

“I’m going to try to get a little bit of rest, getting cut open drains a guy,” Danny said with a chuckle, pressing the backpack into the car seat and carefully laid back down. “When I wake up, we can switch and I can drive for a bit. You need rest too.”

Jazz simply hummed in response and said nothing more as her little brother settled into the backseat and allowed sleep to take over.

“I told you I could have helped drive here,” Danny muttered as Jazz pulled into a shady looking, nondescript building.

“Danny, you had to sew yourself back up in my backseat. You needed the rest far more than I did, besides, no use in complaining, we’re here now,” Jazz said, glancing back at the tired, pouty look on her brother’s face and smiled. “Aren’t you excited to see your mom and Aunt Pam?”

“Is she technically my stepmom?” Danny asked once Jazz put the car in park and shut off the engine. She got out and went around to Danny’s door and helped her baby brother out of the car.

“Technically?” Jazz said, crinkling her nose as she thought it out. Yeah, that would make the most sense anyway. “Are you okay?” She asked as Danny winced, pressing a hand to his chest as he climbed out of the small car and leaned heavily against Jazz’s side.

“Yeah, just hurting,” he murmured and shook his head as if that would get rid of the pain. “Let’s just go.”

Jazz gave her brother a concerned look but locked her car nonetheless and started to help the boy up the stairs before she rung the doorbell.

The two tensed as they listened to footsteps stomp their way.

“Look, I’m Jewish, I ain’t interested in that Jehovah’s Witness shit,” they heard Harley shout before the door swung open.

Harley’s jaw fell open as she froze in place at the scene in front of her. The two teenagers were quite the sight. Harley had never seen the usually put together Jasmine look so frazzled as long as she had known her niece. Her son was in even worse states, if the eyebags on his face, the strange blood and green stains on his shirt, and panting told her anything.

He looked up at her tiredly, the dark circles under his eyes even darker than she had initially noticed. “Hey mom,” he said with a huff, hanging from Jasmine’s shoulders.

“Aw fuck, come in, come in,” Harley said wearily, ushering the two into the building. “Ives! I need your help!”

Harley carefully moved her niece out of the way before she quickly lifted her son into her arms and started down the hallway. “It’s okay Danny, Mama’s gotcha,” she murmured, cradling the sixteen year old boy to her chest as she carried him bridal style. Jazz followed her aunt as they made it to the living room just as Ivy came out of the bedroom looking confused.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, though, as she spotted the three before her. “Shit, I’ll get the salves,” she stated before her eyes landed on Jazz. “Come help me?”

Jazz looked between her aunt and her brother before looking back at Ivy and gulped, nodding her head once before following the eco-terrorist back into the bedroom.

“Oh sweetie,” Harley murmured, carefully setting Danny on the beat up couch. “Baby what happened to you?”

“Jack and Maddie happened,” he said with a hiss as his mother raised his shirt and took in the cuts that had been sloppily stitched up.

Harley’s eyes flicked between the incision that seeped red-green liquid and Danny’s pained face. “Jacky boy did this to you?”

Danny nodded, letting out a whimper. “It’s a long story,” he said as his mom traced a finger over the cuts, the pieces connecting in her brain.

Harley Quinn was a lot of things but she was not stupid. She may not have gotten the chance to visit her son as often as she wanted but the last time she had seen him she had noticed something was different about him. She had been around Ivy long enough to know when someone had gained powers that they barely had control over. She had noticed the way her son’s eyes would flash a startling green whenever his emotions got out of hand. Noticed the way he was colder than before and how his shoulders looked as though they carried the entire world on them.

She didn’t know what had happened to her son or what it had done to him, but she knew he was more than human now. She had seen that plenty of times before. And it looks like the Fentons had discovered this and decided that Danny was one of their new experiments.

“You’re dead, aren’t you?” She asked bluntly, recognizing the toxic ectoplasm that seemed from between her son’s stitches. “Not all the way but somethin’ happened and they didn’t like it.”

“Yeah. I uh, I was fourteen, didn’t kill me all the way, just enough for me to be considered a ghost and you know how mom-Maddie and Jack are about ghosts,” Danny said just as Ivy and Jazz came back with towels, wet rags, and salves to cover the incisions.

Harley raised her eyes from Danny’s wounds and looked her son in the eyes. “I’m gonna kill ‘em,” she snarled, snatching a wet rag from Ivy and started to better clean the wound. “I’m gonna murder them and then when they turn into ghosts I’ll give ‘em a taste of their own medicine,” she said, hands gentle as she cleaned around the wound.

“You’re going to need to redo those stitches,” Ivy said softly, sitting beside Danny’s head and taking it in her lap as she ran her fingers through the black locks, trying to distract her wife’s son from the stinging pain he was likely feeling.

“There’s no point, the wound will be closed by tomorrow,” Jazz said quietly and handed a warm, dry towel to Harley after she had finished cleaning the incisions and carefully patted the skin dry. She then took the salve and carefully coated it over her son’s chest.

“Don’t kill them,” Danny said quietly, taking his mother’s hand in his and squeezed the pale hand in his. “Just, mom, just protect me. Please?” He asked, voice cracking slightly.

Harley let out a sigh and squeezed her son’s hand tight. “Baby, I’ll always protect you,” she promised, still feeling her chest burn in anger at the fact that her step-brother, the one person on this earth she had trusted to take care of her son had caused him this much pain. Jack and Maddie Fenton would rue the day they hurt Harley Quinn’s baby.

#dp x dc #DPXDC #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp fanfiction #dc x dp prompt

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