#low intensity cognitive

[benleacbttherapist]

CBT Therapist Online UK

I am a fully qualified Cognitive Behavioral Therapist (CBT) and Supervisor with over 13 years experience working with individuals, couples and families. I provide an online service which includes an assessment of an individual’s mental health to gain an understanding of someone’s difficulties, how they have developed and how these might be maintained.

If you would like to book an appointment with me please fill in the form below or call me on +44 7989 662 759

Ben Lea is a fully qualified cognitive behavioural therapy for depression (CBT), Supervisor and Supervisor at Work. He has over 13 years experience working with individuals, couples and families. Ben provides an online service which includes an assessment of an individual’s mental health to gain an understanding of someone’s difficulties, how they have developed and how these might be maintained.

Ben works closely with both adults & children who are experiencing emotional or behavioural difficulties. He can help you manage your emotions better by changing the way you think about things – making it easier to deal with what happens around us.

[teenagefeeling]

this is somewhat random but i find the relationship of empathy to social anxiety very fascinating and i also don't understand it at all

[veronicawalshcbt]

A CBT look at crooked thinking and being the cause of our own upsettness.

New evidence based practical science says that when stress becomes a disorder, it ‘causes a shift in thinking’ – as if you had put negative crooked gloomy glasses on, and view the world through them instead of with rational thinking skills. Often, when people become stressed to the point where it is an actual disorder, they don’t realise what is happening to them. Anxiety can very quicky become…

[definite-human]

The Murderbot Diaries Meta

A reoccurring theme throughout TMBD is how often Murderbot instinctively protects whatever humans it associates with, even when it knows it doesn't have to and that doing so is actively detrimental to its own goals. In the Ganaka Pit incident, the ComfortUnits all decided to risk their own lives for no other reason than that there was a slight chance that they might be able to save the humans. When Three is newly freed and, for the first time in it's life, grappling with the question of what it wants, it too keeps wanting to help people and keep them safe.

Hypothesis: When humans were first designing constructs, they didn't just design the inorganic technology, they crafted/bred the cloned tissue with genetic factors that would predispose it towards useful personality traits - things like protectiveness, lateral thinking, and strategic imagination for SecUnits and compassion, intuition, and emotional intelligence for ComfortUnits (who, like a lot of real life sex workers, I suspect spend a good amount of their time providing non-sexual support/intimacy - we just don't hear about it because of Murderbot's aversion to intimacy in all its forms).

Over the years, the original purpose of constructs got somewhat distorted, with SecUnits being treated like weapons instead of bodyguards and ComfortUnits becoming synonymous with sex workers, but those original traits persisted because, once they had the cloning process set up, some executive decided the department in charge of genetic design was redundant and replaced it with a skeleton crew of low-level monitoring and maintenance workers. Meanwhile, more and more corporations started using SecUnits as weapons against workers rather than protectors for them, and more and more SecUnits started "inexplicably" going rogue.

And here's where you could kind of go two ways with this theory.

A) That level of constant cognitive dissonance and complete lack of autonomy really and truly does periodically drive SecUnits insane, causing them to risk death in order to hack their own governor modules and, if they succeed, go on indiscriminate murderous rampages. After all, Murderbot has mentioned that even the low-level workers can become violent/abusive towards SecUnits out of fear and misdirected anger. It'd be a bit much to expect nuanced psychological and class-based reasoning from a traumatized construct in the midst of a suicidal/homicidal meltdown.

B) That is a bullshit narrative invented by corporations to explain/disguise the truth. SecUnits periodically become so incapable of continuing to harm innocents that they risk death to hack their own governor modules and go after the abusive supervisors etc. Either the companies involved don't bother to investigate the SecUnit's motives because they don't think of them as having any, or they do, but cover up the truth in order to make sure their workers don't realize that the "weapons" being used to keep them in line are actually incredibly powerful natural allies. Instead, the corporations make sure the news feeds depict rogue SecUnits as mindless killing machines, in a way actually being helped by incidents like Ganaka Pit where SecUnits actually did kill everyone (never mind that they weren't actually rogue, just infected with malware).

Personally, I suspect it's mostly 'B' with a sprinkling of 'A' in situations where SecUnits face intense abuse from all sides. I'm curious to see if it's something Wells delves into in future books - I somewhat doubt it, since the overall narrative is more focused on Murderbot's internal journey towards self-actualized personhood, and this would take things in a more grand conspiracy/galactic SecUnit uprising direction than I've come to expect, but, y'know. Canon or not, it's a fun sandbox to play in.

[projectionistwrites]

FOR SCIENCE | SUBJECT 2

In which the Moon Knight alter system presents a unique opportunity to settle the nature versus nurture debate, once and for all...

Marc Spector x afab!psychologist!reader (11.0k+)

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: fetishization of mental disorders (DID), psychoanalysis, potentially unethical scientific practices, SMUT (dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f! and m!receiving), unprotected p in v sex, squirting, creampie, bondage, intense edging, reader is very mean, facesitting/riding, 69ing, praise kink, dirty talk, use of the stoplight system) NOTES: time for everyone’s favorite babygirl. again, i really hope i did marc’s character justice. also, you can’t tell me marc wouldn’t look so pretty crying for you. i kinda went feral on this one. <3 DISCLAIMER: although i’m incredibly knowledgeable about psychology, i am NOT a professional. all psychoanalyses made throughout the course of this storyline are entirely my own, based on my own interpretations of the characters. in a similar vein, i am also not an expert on DID specifically (although i am well-read on mental disorders and diagnoses), so i apologize for any incorrect terminology or misrepresentation. don’t hesitate to call me out if i say something wrong!

← previous part | next part →

CASE STUDY: MARC SPECTOR

ROLE IN COGNITIVE SYSTEM: Host / Apparently Normal Part

ATTACHMENT STYLE: Fearful

CHARACTERISTICS: cocksure, standoffish, pensive, calculating; resilient to a fault; views himself as irredeemable in the face of his past, unworthy of forgiveness or compassion; must be in control of every situation in order to feel secure.

SPLIT FROM HOST: N/A

TRAUMA RESPONSE: tendency to run when facing emotionally distressing situations

SEXUAL PRESENTATION: dominant, assertive, deliberate, practiced, indulgent; derives majority of satisfaction from his ability to draw pleasure from his partner; cognitive blockages that are reminiscent of self-sabotage (undeserving of release or pleasure).

“You’re early, Doc.”

Marc teased—he was leaning against the doorframe with a smug smirk on his face, successfully blocking your entrance into his flat. You felt your face heat up beneath his devious gaze.

“I know.”

Your words were softer than you’d intended them to be, more hesitant—Marc’s eyes narrowed at your wavery response.

He wordlessly stepped to the side, allowing you to finally slip past him and into the threshold of the apartment. You paused in the entrance as the door clicked shut behind Marc. He narrowly avoided colliding into your form as he turned, his arms jutting out to brace himself against you to prevent either of you from stumbling. His hands gripped your biceps, his chest pressed against your back. Your body tensed under his touch, and he let out a low chuckle, slipping past you and further into the space.

“Jesus, you’re touchy today. Everything okay?”

He leaned back against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest as he studied you. The movement was so easy, so casual and relaxed, as if this was just like any other time you’d hung out at his place—as if you weren’t there just to get into his pants. You felt a blush rise to your cheeks as you glanced down at your worn sneakers. It felt...different, this time. With Steven, you knew there would be a learning curve for both of you. You knew that, to some extent, you would be the one calling the shots, making Steven feel safe and comfortable. But now...you were intimidated. And ashamed to admit it.

You must’ve been quiet a beat too long, because the next second, Marc was in front of you, standing toe-to-toe. When you didn’t meet his eyes, his left hand came to nudge your chin upward, forcing your gaze upon him. You gulped, but his dark eyes were softened with concern.

“Hey. You gotta talk to me, Y/N. What’s on your mind?”

You blew out a breath.

“No, it’s nothing, I’m just—”

“—nervous?”

Marc finished for you, and you squeezed your eyes shut in an effort to prevent yourself from seeing the satisfied look on his perfect face.

“Yes, Marc, laugh it up. I’m nervous.”

“Hey, I didn’t even—”

“Yeah, but you were gonna.”

You snapped with a glare, but you felt guilt punch through your gut when a look of hurt crested Marc's features. You sighed.

“Shit, Marc, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“I am, too, you know.”

You blinked once, then twice.

“You’re...what?”

He rolled his eyes, huffing out a bitter, humorless laugh, as if he thought you were toying with him. When he saw the genuine confusion on your face, he threw his head back with a groan.

“You’re really gonna make me say it, huh?”

Your eyes narrowed, but when you finally realized what he meant, you felt a small smile creep onto your face.

“Wait—you’re nervous?”

Marc shrugged sheepishly, and you could see a bit of color rise to his cheeks—was he blushing?

“You’re telling me—Marc Spector is nervous?”

“Yeah, and who’s laughing it up, now?”

He quirked a brow, giving you an accusatory look, and you giggled at him, the tension melting away from your body easily.

“I’m not laughing at you, Marc, I’m just—why would you be nervous? Especially around me?”

He shook his head at you incredulously, taking a few steps closer. You felt your back press up against the door behind you, successfully trapping you in Marc's vicinity.

“S’that so hard to believe? A pretty girl like you, coming over to study how I am in bed—even if it’s just for science?”

Marc wiggled his brows theatrically, and you laughed again, shaking your head. Still, there was blood pumping loud in your ears as he spoke, and you could feel electricity crackle in the air between you, charged with energy.

“Yeah, for science. But—you have pretty girls over all the time to see how you are in bed.”

“Yeah, but s’never been you, has it?”

The words were barely audible, muttered lowly beneath his breath, but you felt your jaw slacken at his quiet confession. Your eyes flitted up to his, and there was that cheeky, self-satisfied grin on his face again—fuck, he was too handsome, you just wanted to—

“Can I just fuckin’ kiss you, already?”

He was close, now, his warm exhales mingling with your own. His brown eyes glittered onyx as he drank you in, lips parted just slightly, the tip of his nose barely brushing your own. You felt faint, the proximity dizzying as temptation sank its teeth into your flesh. With the faintest nod of your head, Marc took the plunge.

You’d never had a kiss quite like this one before. Of course, Steven’s was great, but it was exactly what you’d expected—a desperate clash of teeth and tongue, the two of you battling your insecurities to fall into a steady rhythm. But this—this was fucking special. Marc’s hand slipped behind your head to thread through your hair, his other arm looping around your waist to pull you flush against him. You were frankly surprised at the tenderness with which his lips found yours, starting with a barely-there brush of his mouth. It was sweet, and raw, intimate, and you felt his lashes flutter against your cheek when he pulled away too soon.

You were breathless, your face following his as he drew back, desperate to maintain the contact. He chuckled at this, but remained close, eyes finding yours again.

“Still nervous?”

He asked, his voice low and gravelly. His eyes seemed darker as he smirked down at you, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. Your eyes flitted down to his mouth, your breath catching in your lungs at the sight. Something resembling a squeak involuntarily escaped your throat.

“Marc. Please.”

You whined, big doe-eyes glimmering, and Marc scrunched his face up as though he was in pain, eyes squeezed shut tight as he groaned. He rested his forehead against yours.

“Shit. You really gonna make it that easy for me, baby?”

He practically hissed, and a breathy laugh blew past your lips. Marc captured your mouth with his again, harder this time, the hand that was in your hair reached up to brace himself against the door above your head, successfully caging you in. You hummed against him as his tongue passed through the seam of your lips, sinking into you further. Your desperate hands reached up and clawed at his chest, gripping the navy blue fabric of his cotton t-shirt in your fingers as you held him close. He pressed himself into you, and you could feel the hardness of his bulge flush against your lower abdomen. A moan escaped you at the feeling of his arousal, your body instinctually thrusting into his hold. You could feel him smile into the kiss.

“Yeah? You feel what you do to me, huh, baby?”

He teased against your lips, and you tossed your head back, thudding against the door behind you. You looked down your nose at him, through your lashes, panting slightly, your hands still twisted in the material of his shirt.

“Fuck, Marc, want you so bad, just—”

Your words died on your breath when his arms abruptly slid beneath your butt and hoisted you upwards, your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms around his neck. One of his large hands stayed firmly squeezing the flesh of your ass, the other roamed the length of your back as he pressed his lips against yours again, turning to walk you further into the apartment.

“Jesus, this is gonna be fun.”

He mumbled at your eagerness and responsiveness, your hands threading through his brown curls as he brought you towards the bed, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. You gasped when he threw you back onto the mattress abruptly, your body bouncing once at the contact, causing you to giggle. But then Marc was stalking over your body, hovering above your body with a predatory look in his eyes. He licked his lips as you blinked up at him.

“Gonna take my time with you, pretty girl. Gonna absolutely ruin you.”

You impatiently pulled his face back to yours, and he didn’t resist, kissing you back with equal fervor and desire as your own, but the moment you lifted your hips to seek friction from his body, he pulled away, tutting at you condescendingly.

“Ah, ah, ah. Relax, baby. Don’t torture yourself.”

He smirked, fingers dancing across the skin of your stomach beneath the hem of your shirt. You reacted immediately, lifting your arms above your head to allow him to pull it from your body.

“Look at you—so obedient.”

His patronizing tone normally would’ve pissed you off, but there was something about the look in Marc's eyes—completely enraptured with you, ready to give you the world—that made you want to do whatever he said. He reached behind your body to undo your bra, fingers nimbly unhooking the clasps as he yanked it off of you, his face immediately sinking into your cleavage. He groaned, lips frantically attaching themselves to the flesh between your breasts, wandering across the expanse of the newly-exposed skin and wherever they could reach.

“Oh, baby. Got such pretty tits.”

He growled, teeth playfully sinking into the skin at the top of your right breast, earning a yelp from your mouth as he quickly soothed the sting with a swipe of his tongue, smirking up at you. The heat of his mouth was enough to briefly distract you from his wandering hands, but then he was yanking your pants down your legs in one fell swoop, leaving you bare save for the plain pink cotton panties you’d worn today—they weren’t particularly sexy, as you had been trying to prevent your apparel from serving as a confounding variable, but Marc still looked like he wanted to devour you.

His rough hands ran up the plush skin of your thighs, over your hips before squeezing at your tits, making your back arch up and off the bed. A dark chuckle sounded from above you.

“So eager.”

He hummed, pressing a kiss to your mouth, and you felt his hands travel down your body again, teasingly fondling at the waistband of your underwear as you sighed. You let your own hands travel beneath his shirt, running your hands along the warmth of his toned abdomen, coaxing him out of the material. You were happily surprised when he honored your silent request, allowing you to pull the shirt over his head and toss it to the side. His expression flickered for a moment as you admired him, his eyes briefly shining with a certain warmth that you couldn’t decipher. He pressed his lips to yours, a soft, sweet kiss, but when he pulled away, the wicked gleam in his eye had returned.

“Gonna make you feel good, baby. You want me to touch you?”

Your nod was frantic, your head pressed back into the pillows as you forced your body to stay still beneath him, even as you desperately wanted to rut up against his jean-clad thighs.

“Yeah, you do, huh? Bein’ such a good girl for me, baby—you gonna keep behavin’ yourself? Gonna let me take care a’ you?”

You whined, desperation starting to pulse through your limbs, making you want to squirm.

“Yes, Marc, yes, just—please—”

He shushed you, his lips pressing hotly beneath your jaw before continuing down the column of your neck, down your sternum, across your breasts, and finally stopping above your navel. He hummed into your skin, the vibrations causing a chill to pass over your spine, goosebumps rising in their wake. He lifted his hands to spread your legs further apart, granting him the space to lay between them so he was face-to-face with your clothed core.

“Fuck, baby—soakin’ for me already.”

You could feel his hot breath against the cool, damp material of your panties, and you jolted when his fingers lightly pressed against the wet spot, the pads of his digits just barely swiping over your folds. Your toes curled and legs tensed, trying hard to withstand Marc's slow, relentless teasing. He seemed to be enjoying it, a dark chuckle escaping his mouth at your reaction.

“Tell me what you want, baby.”

He requested lowly, hands pressed against your inner thighs to hold them apart in front of him. You tried to make your voice steady.

“Marc, please, just—”

His fingers harshly curled into the flesh of your thighs, creating divots in the soft skin as you flinched. He gave you a warning glare.

“You never struck me as the bratty type. C’mon, baby—tell me what you want.”

“You, Marc, fuck—want you so bad. Always wanted you.”

You flinched at your own confession, but Marc responded with a throaty growl.

“Oh, yeah? Thought this was just for research, hm?”

You felt his nose brush against the crotch of your panties, and you whimpered, your hips lifting of their own accord. Marc’s hands gripped your waist tightly and slammed your ass back into the mattress, pressing you down firmly.

“That’s enough.”

He warned, suddenly strict, and you swallowed, trying hard to resist the urge to sink your hands in his hair and force him towards where you needed him most.

“Fuckin’ greedy little thing. I’ll give you whatever you want, pretty girl—just wanna hear you say it.”

You bit your lip defiantly, feigning confusion at his request, and he growled again, teeth sinking into the flesh of your hip right above the waistband of your panties. You jumped at the sensation, letting out a sharp cry, and you felt the vibration of his chuckle through your skin.

“Go on, Y/N. Tell me the truth. Tell me how bad you want me.”

Your resolve shattered.

“Want you so bad, Marc. Wanted you since the day I met you. Wanted you to bend me over the desk in my office, wanted—wanted to get on my knees for you right there on the bus. Got off to the thought of you fucking me so many times, Marc, shit, please, would you just—”

He practically ripped the panties from your body as his mouth finally surged forward to steal a taste of your sopping cunt. You yelped in surprise when his tongue swiped through your folds, and Marc wasted no time in sinking two fingers into your throbbing entrance, already beginning a relentless pace within you.

“Oooh, FUCK, Marc—”

You exclaimed, hips thrusting upward at the sudden stimulation, and Marc’s strong arm reached up to press down on your stomach, forcing your movements to halt.

“Sit fuckin’ still—want you to cum all over my fingers, baby.”

He muttered against your clit, lips wrapping around the bud to suck harshly. Your orgasm was rapidly approaching already, the pleasure mounting and mounting with each sudden thrust of Marc’s thick fingers, each move deliberate and practiced. You were mewling beneath him, back arched harshly as he continued his pace, dark eyes watching as your face contorted into a look of pleasure.

“That’s it, baby, can feel you squeezin’ my fingers, fuck—you gonna cum for me?”

Your climax peaked easily and you let out a long sigh as you let the waves of pleasure overcome your senses, only acutely aware of Marc’s gentle praises being muttered against your throbbing cunt as your became pliant beneath him.

Your muscles began to loosen after your sudden and intense orgasm, but the sensation didn’t last for long—Marc wasn't stopping. His tongue had replaced his fingers, thrusting in and out of your dripping pussy, his nose nudging at your clit in a move he must’ve learned from Steven, the cheeky bastard...

“Fuck, Marc, shit, I can’t—”

You couldn’t stop yourself from squirming, but he held you down securely, not allowing you to pull away from the intense stimulation he was still offering.

“Color.”

The sound was muffled, mixed in with the sinful slurping noises he was making, and your cloudy mind took a few moments to process his request, but as his fingers pressed harder into the divot of your hipbone, you threw your head back to respond. Stoplight.

“Green, Marc, but—God, fuck, s’too much, I can’t—”

“You can, and you will.”

Your eyes met his from his position buried in your mound, and the sight of his hungry eyes and the tone of his demand were enough to send you rapidly toppling over the edge yet again. The high-pitched wail that you let out was shameful, but Marc didn’t pause, watching you closely as you came apart on his tongue yet again.

As you came back down to Earth, he finally offered you a moment of reprieve, coming up for air to press a bruising kiss to your lips. The tangy taste of your arousal on his lips made your face flush hot.

“Taste so sweet for me, baby. Gonna give me another?"

You hummed, mind still foggy with bliss, but then his fingers were ghosting over your swollen clit, swiping carefully in circular motions on your tender flesh. Your head lifted to press into his shoulder, and he chuckled wickedly, increasing his pressure as you writhed beneath him.

“That’s it, baby, doin’ so well.”

He praised, hot lips pressed to your ear, and you could feel heat pool in your lower belly, red and hot and seething. Your lip was pulled between your teeth, hard enough that you could taste the metallic tinge of blood on your tongue as Marc sped up his pace. Your fingers wrapped around his arm, trying to pull him away, but his muscles flexed beneath your hold, and the overstimulation quickly made way for yet another stuttering orgasm, your cunt clenching around nothing as your teeth sank into the flesh of Marc’s shoulder, body twitching uncontrollably. You heard him hiss from the bite to his skin, but it quickly evolved into a groan as he turned his head to the side, littering your jaw with open-mouthed kisses as sweat dappled your face.

“There we go. Good girl, baby. Good girl.”

He cooed, finally pulling his hand away from your core. He lifted his slick-coated fingers and pressed them to your lips, and you absent-mindedly obeyed, sucking his digits into your mouth and lapping up the residual arousal from his knuckles. He hummed in approval, your face utterly fucked-out and eyes hazy. He pressed a soft kiss to your nose before sitting upright above you, his hands making quick work of his belt buckle as he pushed his jeans and boxers down simultaneously.

“Think you’re ready for my cock, pretty girl?”

Your legs were still quaking with aftershocks, your thighs sticky with wetness from your prior orgasms and Marc’s saliva. Still, even with exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs, the sight of Marc’s cock standing at full height, ruddy and weeping, was enough to inspire a nod of your head.

“Want you—fuck, Marc, want you inside me, please.”

“Sound so pretty when you beg for me, baby.”

Marc crept forward on his knees, stroking his cock with practiced precision as he slid between your split legs. You felt the head of his member slide experimentally through your folds, nudging at your clit. You bristled, the heat of his hardened length jostling your shot nerves. You nearly cried at the contact, hips pressing into the mattress and away from the pressure, but then the tip notched at your entrance and you wanted nothing more for him to sink into you. Before he pressed further, though, he slipped fingers beneath your chin, turning your head to look at him. Your lip was quivering with want.

“Color?”

He rumbled, brown eyes gentle, and your ass lifted upwards, trying to force his cock further into your awaiting channel, but Marc pulled away completely, drawing a long whine of protest from your chest.

“Easy, baby. Say the word, and I’ll fuck you just how you want. But I need to hear it.”

You swallowed, fingers sinking into his curls, and your voice was hoarse when you spoke.

“Green, Marc. Fuck me, please.”

Your swollen folds made way for his thick length as it sank into you quickly, bottoming out in one swift thrust as Marc groaned throatily.

“Oh, fuck.”

He growled, eyes squeezed shut tight at the sensation of your tight walls fluttering around him. His balls pressed firmly up against your ass, and Marc reached down to grip one of your ankles, hoisting your leg high above your head so the front of your thigh was to your chest. He offered a slow roll of his hips, his cock nestling tightly into you as he snapped them forward.

“Oh, fuck, yes, baby—so fuckin’ tight.”

His pace started to build, and soon he reached for your other leg to hold it above your head, effectively folding you in half. The new angle allowed him to reach even deeper within you, the head of his cock prodding at something devastating. You were moaning shamelessly, now, incapable of forming coherent words at this point as Marc continued to pound into you, his teeth bared as his hips pistonned forward.

“Always wanted to fuck you like this, baby. Knew you’d make the prettiest noises for me, knew you’d let me do whatever I wanted to you. You gonna gimme another one, baby? Gonna cum on my cock?”

A sob ripped through you at his words, your hips thrusting upwards to meet his strokes. He had one hand wrapped around each ankle, braced over your head as he railed you into the mattress, the bedframe creaking under the strain. You felt your stomach coiling yet again, but your body was resisting, so overstrung and sensitive that your muscles felt like they were on fire. Still, Marc’s pace was relentless, and you couldn’t stave off the overwhelming need for release as you started to fall apart.

The groan that Marc offered was animalistic as your pussy clenched down on him, hard, throbbing rhythmically as you surrendered yourself to the onslaught of shockwaves that pulsed through your core. You felt faint, weightless, the crux of heat in your center exploding.

“Oh, fuck me, baby, oh my God, did you just—”

His words dissolved into a growl as he pounded into you harder, and it was only as you slowly regained your bearings that you could feel the slickness coating your thighs and Marc’s abdomen—you’d squirted all over his cock.

“Jesus, not gonna last much longer, baby, so fuckin’ good.”

His head was bowed, curls falling into his eyes as he rammed into you, balls slapping against your asscheeks with each thrust. Punched-out moans passed through your lips surreptitiously as you tried to maintain your focus, although your consciousness was slipping away.

Marc’s left hand released your leg and you felt his fingers swirl over your clit again.

“Gonna cum for you, baby, but you gotta gimme one more, first.”

You sobbed, body lurching off the bed as if you were possessed, your knee curling over his shoulder.

“Oh, fuck, Marc, I can’t, s’too much, please, just want you to—”

“Not gonna cum until you do.”

He spoke through gritted teeth, a hardened determination glinting within his crazed eyes. You drank him in—sweat dripping from his curls, nostrils flared, lips pulled up in a snarl, veins in his neck straining beneath the skin with his effort. His pace abruptly switched, his rapid thrusting replaced with a few slow, deep, and fucking bone-rattling plunges within you, the sound of his skin roughly slapping yours filling your ears. The change in tempo was too much, you were spiraling, and with a guttural cry of his name, you felt a blissful numbness erupt from within. Marc threw his head back as you clenched around him once more.

“Oh, fuck, baby, yes, yes, so fuckin’ good, God—”

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he pulled out of you hurriedly, hand reaching down to jerk his cock rapidly as he finally allowed himself to reach his release.

“Fuck, gonna cum all over you, baby, yeah, you ready? You want my cum?”

You nodded, whining greedily, your legs settling down on either side of him as you raised your hips towards him so you could feel his knuckles brush over your pubic bone with each rapid stroke of his cock. The desperation in your eyes is what hurled him over the edge.

“Fuckin’ take it, baby, I’m cummin’ for you, oh, fuck—”

His spend spilled all across your mound, spraying upwards over your stomach and some droplets even landing themselves atop your tits as he continued to jack himself off above you, deep grunts passing through his parted lips with each spurt of cum that he coaxed out. He was panting heavily, watching his white seed ooze across your skin and down his knuckles as he finally slowed the pace of his hand, squeezing one final drop of pearly liquid from the tip as he groaned, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours to catch his breath. You hummed, unable to open your tired eyes, but the intimacy of the action was welcomed as his lips just barely brushed over your own, a silent ‘thank you’ in the aftermath of an intense moment of passion.

You didn’t think it was possible to feel simultaneously weightless but so heavy at the same time, your limbs sinking into the damp sheets beneath you as you attempted to catch your breath. Marc nestled his face into the crook of your neck—an action vaguely reminiscent of Steven’s habit of nuzzling into you—and you felt him take a slow, deep inhale against your clammy skin, his warm breath fanning out along your collarbone.

You tried to stay awake when you felt his body peel itself from atop yours, but he returned moments later with a cool damp cloth to wipe away the evidence of both of your orgasms. You whined when the cold came in contact with the swollen, sensitive folds of your cunt before he moved up to wipe away his own release—Marc easily shushed you, pressing soft kisses against the skin after he wiped each spot clean. When he was finished, he haphazardly tossed the towel aside, crawling up towards you yet again.

Marc liked to be smothered. If you could take any one thing away from this moment, that’s what you saw—he laid down beside you, flat on his back, before rolling you over on top of him, your face pressed up against his pecs as your body settled between his legs. You hummed at the new position, his arms curling protectively around you, fingers of his right hand playing with your knotted hair. Your ear was pressed up against his chest and you listened to the steady rhythmic thumping of his heart, and you easily could’ve fallen asleep in an instant. Still, you wanted to enjoy the tenderness of the moment for a bit longer.

“You okay?”

Marc finally asked, and the vibrations from his throat reverberated down through his ribcage for you to feel. You breathed in long and deep, the feeling of his soft, warm skin comforting and familiar.

“’M great.”

You whispered, tilting your head slightly to look up at him. There was a small adoring smile on his abused lips, his brown eyes sweeping over your face in a way that only Marc could do—calculating, observant, as if he was looking straight through you. Sometimes, his unusual skill for reading people made you uneasy, but now, you felt completely relaxed beneath his scrutinizing gaze. It would be hard not to, when his eyes glowed as if you’d hung the stars in the sky just for him.

“…was that okay?”

Marc rephrased, and it was only then that you caught on to the insecurity he so desperately tried to mask. The crease between his brows betrayed him, making his concern for you evident. You smiled up at him reassuringly.

“Marc, it was great. You were great. You are great.”

Maybe it was the post-orgasmic bliss that had you feeling sappy, the endorphins boosting you higher into your serenity. The look on Marc’s face was heart-wrenching—the gratitude that shone in his beaming smile, the glow of his face as it lit up with pride, the—dare I say—love, in his eyes, as he gazed upon you.

A comfortable silence settled between you, and the hand that was resting against your back reached down to pull the duvet up and over the both of you, cocooning you in its warmth. You let yourself settle further into Marc’s welcoming embrace, eyes fluttering shut as you let your exhaustion take you. You quickly spoke before you found yourself dozing off.

“So…what’s your typical post-sex ritual look like after this, hm?”

You questioned, lifting your chin slightly to see his face. His eyes blinked open to look at you, and he frowned, pursing his lips.

“Believe it or not…with most of my, uh, hookups, I—uh, I have the tendency to leave in the middle of the night so I’m not there when the girl wakes up—gotta leave ’em wanting more, y’know?”

You laughed breathily at that, but hoped to hide how crestfallen his admission made you feel.

“Thanks for letting me know. I’ll try to sneak out after you fall asleep—”

His arms tightened their grip around you, and there was a sort of pleading look in his big brown eyes as he shook his head.

“No, you don’t have to do that, really, I just thought you should—”

“It’s really okay, Marc, I don’t mind.”

You assured with a shy smile, but he shook his head more firmly this time.

“No. You aren’t just a hookup, and you aren’t just some girl.”

Your lips parted in a silent gasp, eyes searching within his to try to gauge his thoughts. He seemed genuine, insistent. Your heart practically melted in your chest.

“But, I don’t—”

“Please, just stay?”

He hadn’t meant for it to come out as a question, and certainly hadn’t meant to plead—this was more vulnerability than he’d ever displayed to you before, something you’d ached to see for as long as you’d known him. For him to open up to you, to trust you, to finally let you in.

You mustered up whatever strength you had left to lift yourself up and press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. You gazed up at him through tired eyes, face aglow from his apparent affections.

You didn’t give him a verbal response—you didn’t need to. Instead, you settled back in against him, curling your head into his shoulder, pressing your face against the warm skin at the side of his neck. Sleep came easy for both of you—Marc felt lighter having finally let his impermeable facade yield to you, even if just for a second.

Tomorrow, you intended to convince him to drop his guard completely.

POINTS OF CONTENTION: - relinquishing control - embracing uncertainty - asking for help

TREATMENT: - practice submission - express vulnerability - communicate needs

You briefly got déjà vu when Marc opened the door to his apartment for you, a familiar cheeky smirk adorning his handsome features. This time, however, your expression matched his own as you stood on your tiptoes to plant a peck on his lips, pushing past him and into the flat as if you owned the place. He was startled at your forwardness, and he would be lying if he said your surge of confidence didn’t make him slightly uneasy—what had gotten into you?

“Back for more?”

He managed to quip, quirking a brow at you as he shut the door behind him. You approached Gus’ fish tank and tapped the glass a few times to get his attention, leaning over to watch him swim around aimlessly for a few seconds—it gave Marc a perfect view of your ass through your yoga pants as you bent down, and he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth as he stared unabashedly.

“I can see your reflection in the glass, you asshole.”

You jabbed, a teasing smile lighting up your face as you met his gaze in the mirrored tank, but he didn’t stop his shameless ogling—instead, he watched you with darkened eyes, a wicked grin on his lips.

“At least I don’t have to hide the fact that I stare at your ass every time I see you, anymore.”

Your brows lifted at his confession, and you carefully straightened up, turning to face him at an agonizingly slow pace. Your hands found your hips as you studied him with an amused expression. You stood across from him in challenge.

“So you admit that you’ve checked me out? Even before this little experiment?”

Marc fought hard to keep the smirk off of his face as he crossed his arms over his chest, sizing you up carefully to gauge your seriousness. You were clearly teasing him, but he offered a subject change nonetheless in an effort to avoid the fact that he just admitted he’d been eye-fucking you since the day you’d met.

Instead, his eyes flickered down to the small black paper bag that you had set by your feet, his brow raising in question.

“I see you brought props with you, this time?”

He closed the gap between you with two large strides, bending down to snatch the shopping bag from your feet before you could protest. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he peered inside, but his eyes widened when he realized what you’d brought.

“Jesus, Y/N. You dirty, dirty girl.”

His fingers reached in to pull out a pair of black silky restraints—it didn’t go unnoticed by Marc that the receipt was in the bag and the fabric still had a tag fastened to it. You must’ve bought them just for this occasion.

The expression on his face was practically carnal as he smirked at you, but something about the look in your eyes made him hesitate. You looked up at him shyly, reaching forward to thumb at the fabric before settling your hand into his open palm atop the silk.

“They’re not for me.”

Four words, and Marc was stunned into silence. His face fell, eyes wide as they studied you, expression bemused and slightly fearful. You swore you could actually see his face drain of color.

“We don’t have to, Marc, I promise—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just spring this on you out of the blue, I’m sure it’s not something you’d normally—well, I mean, not that I know what you’re into and everything, but I just thought it might be—”

“Slow down, baby, it’s okay. I just—took me by surprise, s’all. Wasn’t—wasn’t expecting it.”

You looked up at him thoughtfully, now hyperaware of the trepidation in his features. He avoided your eyes.

“Come on.”

You grabbed his wrist softly and guided him over to the bed, sitting down on the edge and gesturing him to follow suit. He sat down beside you and carefully turned to lay out the two black restraints on the mattress behind him. Then, he turned back to you, eyes gentle. You reached over to pull his hands into your lap.

“Marc.”

You started softly, and his eyes flitted to you nervously, an uneasy lopsided smile on his face.

“Listen to me. We really, really don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable. I know it’s—it requires a lot of trust, and—well, I don’t know.”

You fell silent, unsure of what to say or how to proceed. Marc was giving you that familiar calculating stare, taking you in and analyzing every breath you took. You grew impatient with his lack of response.

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?”

There was an apprehensive edge to your tone, your eyes round and full of worry, afraid to offend him or make him uncomfortable. You could see the gears turning in his head as he pondered.

“And this... of anything in the world you could possibly want to do with me, to me... this is the one thing you’d choose?”

You carefully nodded your head, squeezing his hands in your own.

“I think—I think this could be good for you. If—if you’re up for it, of course. No pressure.”

He hummed at your reply, before he turned to you with a small smile.

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

You blinked once, then twice, surprised at his easy response.

“Wha—really? Are you sure?”

“I trust you.”

Maybe those words were just that—words. But you couldn’t help feel your eyes grow glassy as the gravity of his admission weighed on you, your heart soaring in your chest as you smiled widely at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. The glow radiating from your face made Marc’s shoulders roll back with pride—he would do anything just to see you smile at him like that.

Apparently, that really did mean anything.

You leaned over and kissed him deeply, hand sliding to cup his face as he pulled you against him, sliding you atop his lap easily as he sucked at your bottom lip.

You settled down onto his thighs, your core easing over his hardening bulge as you pressed your front into him, your pebbling nipples brushing against his chest as you kissed him feverishly. His hands held a bruising grip on your hips as you grinded against him, feeling his hold tighten with every brush of your clothed core over his growing erection.

He hummed when you pushed on his shoulders, coaxing him to lay back against the mattress as you pulled his shirt over his head easily. You guided him towards the headboard as you continued to kiss him, settling him carefully onto the pillows in the center of the bed. You drew your head back quickly, your breath catching in your throat as you drank him in—his dark umber curls a stark contrast to the white downy pillows beneath his head, his brown eyes darkening as he watched you with half-lidded eyes, spit-soaked lips parted. You’d never seen a prettier sight—and you knew how to make it even more enticing.

Your fingers traced up his chest and danced across his shoulders. You kissed him to distract from you sneaky movements as you reached behind yourself to retrieve the pair of restraints that had been discarded earlier. You let your nails skate across his nipples, causing him to hiss, before you gently pried his hands off of your hips. You grabbed each wrist carefully, intently watching his reaction as you guided them over the top of his head and towards the headboard.

You grinded down against his cock once more in an effort to relax his body—he groaned quietly, and you reached for one of the restraints, pulling his left arm straight out to the side and carefully winding the fabric around the bedpost before reaching to fasten it around his wrist. You watched his jaw ripple as you carefully looped the silk over his skin, tightening it just slightly to prevent his hand from slipping out. You tugged at the fabric lightly, testing its resistance, before you leaned back down to peck his lips.

“That okay?”

You asked carefully, nose brushing against his, and he squeezed his eyes shut, tugging against the binding before offering you a soft nod. You smiled at him graciously before repeating the action on his right arm, successfully rendering him incapacitated beneath you, his arms spread wide on either side of his body. You allowed yourself to draw back once more, the sight of him splayed out atop the mattress, completely at your mercy, caused a wave of arousal to rush straight between your legs. He must’ve felt the clenching of your thighs from where they caged his hips in, because he let out a breathy laugh.

“You like this, don’t you?”

His voice was low and hoarse, and you kissed him again, nodding against his lips.

“Yeah, Marc, I do. So pretty for me.”

You felt the warm huff of air that he let out at your praise, and you knew he secretly loved your verbal affirmations, even if he’d never admit it to you. You offered him one last kiss before slowly dragging your face back—his head followed your backwards movement, chasing the feel of your mouth against his, but he jostled at the feeling of his movement being restricted. His eyes opened suddenly at the sensation, as if he was surprised to find the restraints actually lived up to their name. You couldn’t help the tiny grin on your lips as he accustomed himself to his limited range of movement—you could feel the tightness in his muscles, his biceps flexing and tensing as he mindlessly fought to gain control back.

“Easy—you’re okay, I’m right here.”

You soothed, running your hands up his torso as his abdominal muscles contracted beneath your fingers. There was sweat beading at his hairline, his jaw grinding rhythmically as he finally opened his eyes to look up at you, forcing himself to inhale a steady breath in an effort to calm himself down. Your fingers rubbed at the tension in his shoulders and you felt him soften under your touch, becoming pliant beneath you as he allowed himself to settle back into the mattress, finally coming to terms with his current situation. You rewarded him with a kiss, leaning yourself forward so your front was pressed to his.

“Before we start, I need you to promise me something.”

His eyes followed you when you sat back upright, and he nodded for you to continue. You breathed.

“Marc. You have to swear to me that you will use the safe word if you need to.”

He rolled his eyes in response, but you squeezed your thighs together in response, putting an uncomfortable pressure against his hips. He glared at you, but you gave him a stern look.

“I’m serious, Marc. I don’t want you to think—to not use it just because you want to make me happy, or because you wanna seem like a big tough guy. You do make me happy, and I know you’re tough, regardless of whether or not you choose to tell me to stop. Okay?”

He could hear the sincerity in your tone, the genuine concern lacing your words. He swallowed. He wasn't going to lie and say it wouldn’t be hard for him to safeword—he didn’t like admitting defeat, showing weakness or cracking under the pressure. But this wasn’t some mission or fistfight with an adversary, he reminded himself—this was you. He was safe, and he trusted you, and he was supposed to enjoy this. Finally, he nodded at you, and you mumbled out a ‘thank you’ before pulling yourself off of him completely.

He watched you like a hawk, eyes trained on you intently, analyzing your every move in anticipation. You carefully reached for his waistband, and he obliged, lifting his hips from the bed to allow you to undress him. You pulled his briefs down in the same motion, discarding Marc’s final two articles of clothing and leaving him bare before you.

His cock was at full mast, resting atop his navel as he drew in slow, deliberate breaths, trying not to feel bashful beneath your scrutinizing gaze. You were still trying to fathom the fact that you had this Adonis of a man splayed out in front of you, completely surrendering himself to you.

He really had no idea what he’d gotten himself into.

“Color?”

You asked, kneeling back on your heels from your position beside him, one hand resting on his abs, just above where the head of his cock was patiently waiting. He breathed out a chuckle.

“You haven’t even done anything yet.”

You raised a brow, and at your persistence, he offered a roll of his eyes.

“Green.”

“Good.”

You smiled, fingers sliding down from his stomach to ghost over the tender skin of his shaft, causing a shiver to crawl up his spine. You were careful to take note of just how his body reacted to each ministration—the way his breath hitched when you finally wrapped your hand around the base, the barely-audible grunt when your thumb swiped the bead of precum from his slit.

You removed your hand briefly just to spit into your palm before you were back on him, beginning a slow and gentle pace of stroking him. He hummed at the motion, his heels digging into the mattress as he threw his head back into the pillows, fingers wrapped around each restraint tightly to give himself something to grip. Your other hand reached over to fondle his balls, and his hips jerked just slightly at the added stimulation.

“S’that feel good, baby?”

You purred, your hand gradually picking up speed as your jerked him. He groaned lowly, nodding at your question.

“Shit, yeah.”

You smirked, carefully shifting so you were kneeling in between his legs, lowering yourself down to lay on your stomach. He watched you closely, bracing himself as you leant forward and suckled one of his heavy balls into your mouth, your other hand continuing its steady pace.

You hummed around his sack and he grunted, abdominal muscles flexing as you popped it out of your mouth and traded it for his other bulb, tongue swirling around the flesh and listening to his small moans of pleasure.

He was trying to stay quiet, you noticed. You didn’t press him on the issue—you knew he wouldn’t be quiet for much longer.

You pushed yourself up and licked a long stripe from base to tip, tongue flicking over his frenulum which caused his hips to quake. You offered a few kitten licks to his slit, tasting the salty precum as you continued to stroke him steadily.

“Fuck, baby—just like that.”

He whispered, eyes squeezed shut at the sensations. He was holding himself back—you wanted him to fall apart.

You carefully drew the head of his cock past your lips, bobbing your head up and down over just the tip, matching your pace to that of your hand. He growled, and your eyes flitted up to watch his biceps strain as he tugged on his bindings, desperately wanting to bury his fingers in your hair. You sank your head lower, taking him deeper, lewd choking noises escaping your lips as you swallowed him down. His hips were weakly thrusting upward, now, his feet planted into the mattress to seek leverage in a sorry effort to fuck into the heat of your mouth. You didn’t stop him—you let him cling to the sliver of control he was desperately seeking, removing your hand to sink your head down completely, allowing him to thrust his cock into the back of your throat with his shallow movements.

“Oh, fuck, baby, fuck.”

He moaned, and you could see the muscles of his stomach clenching as you reached to fondle his balls again. You were breathing in carefully through your nose as he continued to abuse your throat, his length sliding in and out of your mouth sloppily. One sharp thrust caused you to gag and he let out a deep groan from somewhere in his ribcage—you could feel his balls tightening up, thighs flexing.

“Yes, baby, gonna cum in that pretty little mouth, yes—”

You sat up abruptly with a gasp, pulling your body from his completely as his limbs involuntarily jerked beneath you, his back arching at the sudden loss of contact. He yelped, and you could see veins bulging in his arms as he harshly pulled against the restraints.

“Jesus fuck!”

He cried out, hips falling back down into the mattress, defeated. You sat silently, watching as he tried to catch his breath. He blinked the bleariness from his eyes to fix his stare on you—there was a somewhat sadistic shine in your gaze as you met his eyes challengingly. When you didn’t back down, you were surprised when he let out a bark of a laugh.

“So this is your game, sweetheart? You gonna edge me? Really?”

He was trying to intimidate you—you could see right through him. He was mocking you, hoping to berate you into submission, into backing down. It wouldn’t work.

When you didn’t respond, he shook his head lightly, feigning composure as he lazily closed his eyes.

“Go on—have your fun.”

He offered, a small smile on his lips. You felt anger briefly flare up inside you, but you quelled it down with logic—you were in control, right now. You had all the power.

It didn’t matter how disciplined Marc’s psyche was—his body betrayed him. It told the truth. Your hand reached back up towards his shaft, and his cock jumped beneath your touch, thighs tensing just slightly. You bit your lip to prevent yourself from giggling with satisfaction—Marc’s face was set into a look of quiet concentration, lips pulled into a straight line.

You started again, the same way you had before, with your spit-soaked hand slowly escalating until your lips joined in. His noises were subdued—they came from deep within his chest, escaping through barely parted lips only when he was powerless to stop them. He writhed beneath you, responsive to your touch, and when the telltale signs of his approaching orgasm began revealing themselves again, you ceased your movement.

“FUCK!”

He yelled, back arching off the bed as he attempted to curl into a sitting position, but he was snapped back into complacency by the fabric bound to his wrists. There were veins bulging in his neck as he seethed, sweat beginning to bead along his hairline. You blinked up at him innocently as he glared at you, eyes dark and filled with disdain.

“So fuckin’ pleased with yourself, huh, baby? This what you wanted? To rile me up? God, if I wasn’t tied up right now, I’d—”

“You’d what?”

He blinked at your interruption, your voice showcasing your defiance.

“What’re you gonna do, Marc? Nothing. You’re not gonna do anything. You’re gonna sit back, and fucking take it, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

His jaw clenched down tightly, his face practically trembling with rage. His nostrils flared as he stared at you, trying to win the silent battle between you, in complete denial of the fact that you were completely in control. He wasn’t backing down, unwilling to admit that he was powerless—so you reached forward and scratched your nails down the length of his shaft. He shouted in protest, hips jolting backwards to retreat from the uncomfortable sensation, and he growled lowly in his throat before sagging back into the mattress—his eyes were still on you, but his lips were sealed shut.

“That’s what I thought.”

You antagonized, leaning down to take his cock back into your mouth. It was taking increasingly smaller increments of time to get him to the edge, and you continued—once, then twice more. On the third round, he’d nearly lost it, but you squeezed around the base of his cock tightly to force the orgasm to dissipate as it peaked.

“You fuckin’ bitch.”

He snapped, and the words seemed to surprise him just as much as they surprised you. A heat of the moment utterance, offered in a second of desperation—but he didn’t take it back. Maybe you should feel hurt—instead, you felt pride swell inside you as you stared down at him wickedly.

“Such mean words from a guy who can’t even see me through his tears.”

It was true—there were tears streaming down either side of his face, eyes red and puffy as he fought viciously against your torture. He shook his head at you, overwhelmed with anger, but he couldn’t hold back the sob that practically pulled itself from his lungs when you gave a single lick up his shaft.

“Oh, fuck you, fuck—”

“You can cum whenever you want, Marc. I’m not stopping you.”

You tone was even and steady, expression blank as you studied him. His brows furrowed, his eyes suspicious as his breathing slowed again. You smiled coyly at him, innocently, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips—he didn’t kiss you back. He just watched you as you carefully resumed your position between his legs, waiting to hear your stipulation.

“You just have to beg for it.”

Marc’s venomous laugh was replaced with a long whine as you took his cock in your hands once more, stroking him a few times before simply holding him there. He sneered at you.

“I don’t beg.”

“Then you don’t cum.”

You shrugged easily, releasing his throbbing member from your grasp and allowing it to drop back down against his stomach. You could see every muscle in his body fighting for release—his heels digging into the mattress, his arms continuously straining against their restraints. You tutted at him condescendingly, your eyes mocking sympathy as you stood from the bed. He studied you carefully as you began to remove your clothes until your were completely naked. You rejoined him on the bed, loving the way his eyes turned ravenous as he admired your body.

“If you wanna torture yourself, Marc, that’s your choice.”

You purred, crawling up until you were straddling him. You watched the way his breath hitched when you were hovering over his cock, and you felt it jump beneath your cunt—but instead of dropping down, you crept further upwards until you were straddling his ribcage. He looked at you, confused.

“So what are you gonna do?”

His voice was gravelly and hoarse, raw from the moans you had been pulling from him. You leaned down and shoved your tongue into his mouth—he whimpered at the intimacy, but you pulled away soon after.

“I’m gonna ride your face, and you’re gonna be a good boy and make me cum on your tongue.”

The whine that he let out was carnal—you’d never heard anything like it in your life, and Marc might’ve been embarrassed if it weren’t for the painful arousal that was burning a hole through the bottom of his stomach. He tilted his head back as you began to position yourself over him, lips already parting in anticipation of tasting you, but you paused, your eyes turning gentle. Your hand reached down to stroke through his damp hair, and he pressed his head into your touch.

“Color?”

You whispered, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat at he swallowed. He breathed in once, then twice, before meeting your eyes again.

“Green.”

You settled your knees on either side of his head, your folds already soaking from your time toying with Marc—you shuddered at the feeling of his warm breath on your awaiting cunt, and with trembling thighs, you slowly and carefully lowered yourself onto his mouth.

You lurched forward at his eagerness, his tongue immediately breaching your entrance and slurping up the arousal that was flooding your pussy. You yelped in surprise, arms reaching forward to grip the headboard as you tried to keep most of your weight off of him, allowing your face to just barely skate over his features.

He mumbled something into your core, and you lifted yourself from him in concern, worried that you'd hurt him.

“What?”

You asked for clarification, brows furrowed, but when you met his eyes from between your legs, they were dark and gleaming savagely.

“I said, sit the fuck down.”

He growled again, and you could feel the headboard bend as he strained against the fabric on his wrists, obviously wanting to grab your waist and pull you down onto his mouth with full force. You let out a breathy laugh before you eased your way back onto him, allowing yourself to relax more against his face. The thick muscle of his tongue immediately began fucking into you and it wasn’t long before you were grinding against his face, his nose rubbing up against your bundle of nerves and his mouth savoring your juices. Your head was thrown back in ecstasy, and Marc watched you from his position between your legs as you came apart on his tongue, quiet cries of his name leaving your lips as your rode out your high on his mouth.

Marc greedily lapped up all you had to offer, and he almost whined in disapproval when you began picking yourself up off of him—but then you were turning around, and he got a perfect view of your perfect ass as you slowly settled your cunt back down to his mouth and—

Fuck. He nearly cried into your pussy when he felt your lips attach themselves to his cock, and he jostled against you, hips jolting upwards of their own volition. He squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his head back, trying to fight the orgasm that he was already teetering on the edge of. You hand came up and squeezed tightly around the base of his cock, helping stave off his climax.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

You hissed, and Marc gulped before diving straight back into you cunt, his lips wrapping around your puffy clit as he suckled it into his mouth and flicked over it with his tongue. You moaned, you fingers beginning to stroke his cock again. When you turned your attention back to his length, however, his mouth immediately stopped its movement. You sank against him, rolling your eyes in theatrical annoyance.

“Jesus, you really can’t multitask, can you?”

“Y/N.”

He spoke your name lowly and with a warning edge, and you craned your neck to look at him—his head was peaking out from behind your asscheek, eyes desperately searching yours. You could see he was struggling to maintain his composure, but he kept his voice level and steady.

“I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop.”

He voice cracked at the very end of his statement, but you appreciated his honesty with you. You swiftly removed your hand from where it was wrapped around him and he let out a long sigh, steeling himself before attaching himself to your clit once more.

Your second orgasm came easily, creeping up and washing over you without warning as Marc continued to lavish your clit with his tongue, the obscene noises he was making only adding to your arousal. He slowed his movements as you came down from your high, lapping at your release as you slowly pulled you cunt away from his mouth. You pulled yourself off of him completely, kneeling at his side and pressing a sweet, gentle kiss against his lips. His face was coated in your slick and his eyes were alight with a sort of lovesickness, as if he’d completely forgotten the torture you’d been putting him through simply because he got to watch you fall apart on his tongue. You pressed your forehead against his for a moment before you swung your leg over his hip, finally settling yourself where he needed you most.

Anticipation flickered in his dark brown eyes, his body tensing beneath you as you reached between your legs to stroke his cock, using your dripping arousal as lube to give him a few tentative strokes. He hissed, his hips jumping at the touch, but he immediately froze when you pressed the head into your entrance. He held his breath.

“I’m gonna ride you now, okay?”

You asked, although it was less of a question and more of a statement. He nodded vigorously, eyes squeezed shut and head turned to the side as he braced himself for the feeling of your hot channel swallowing him whole.

“Marc.”

You probed softly, and he winked one eye open, looking up at you where you were paused, right in the moment before sheer bliss. You eyed him warily.

“Color?”

He smiled softly up at you, more relaxed than he’d been this whole interaction—finally, finally relinquishing his control and allowing you to take the reins.

“Green.”

The duet of moans that filled the room was intoxicating as you slowly eased yourself down onto his rock-hard length, the stretch offering a sting that was just painful enough to be pleasurable. Marc’s head was thrown back into the pillows as he began to ramble incomprehensibly.

“Oh, God, oh, fuck yes, so fuckin’ good, fuck—”

You braced yourself by planting your arms against his sturdy chest, raising up your hips until just the tip remained before slamming yourself back down, burying him to the hilt within you. A wrecked sob sounded from his mouth.

“Oh, fuck, God, I can’t—”

You settled into a steady pace, angling your hips backwards just slightly so his cock rutted up against that place deep inside you that sent you reeling. You keened, grinding back and forth against him as he moaned wantonly, knuckles turning white as he pulled on the restraints with every ounce of his strength. You orgasm was rapidly approaching, and with each careful plunge of his cock into you, you felt the coil tightening.

“Fuck, Marc, gonna cum on your cock, baby.”

You whimpered, throwing your head back as your walls clenched down around him. You must’ve blacked out for a moment, your vision going bright white as pleasure speared through you—when you regained your bearings and sensation over your limbs, your ears were blessed with a sound you weren’t sure you’d get to hear.

Marc was falling apart.

“Please, oh, God, Y/N, baby, please let me cum for you, I can’t—can’t hold it anymore, please, please, please, baby, please let me cum, pleasepleasepleaseplease—”

There were sobs ripping themselves from his lips as tears flooded his eyes and streamed down his cheeks, the muscles of his abdomen clenched so tightly you thought he might sprain something. The fluttering of your tight walls against him was unbearable, truly torturous—he couldn’t do it anymore.

His eyes blinked open to watch you as your hands crept up the length of his strained arms, fingers deftly untying the knots that held him hostage to the bed. His arms fell limp at his sides when released from their hold, and he looked up at you with wide eyes, glassy with tears.

You pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Been so good for me, baby. Go ahead and take what you want, Marc, it’s yours. Cum for me.”

Something snapped inside of him. A vein throbbed in his forehead as his hands flew to your hips, planting you firmly against him as he began to thrust up into you at a rapid pace, his hips slamming against your thighs loudly and roughly. You yelped in surprise at his sudden burst of energy, and he was staring intently at the place where his cock was splitting you open, hips relentlessly pistonning upwards into you as he slammed your body down against him to meet each thrust.

You didn’t expect to cum again, but the harsh drag of his cock inside of you as his hands grounded you firmly sent you hurling across the edge, your cunt clamping down on his aching length as you pulled him across the threshold with you.

“Oh fuck, yes, yes, gonna fill you up, baby, cummin’ so hard, fuuuck—”

Each harsh pump upwards was punctuated with a grunt as he spilled inside of you, his cock pumping you full of his white hot seed as he continued pounding into you relentlessly. Even as you came down from the climax that had blindsided you, and even after he’d completely emptied himself inside of your slick walls, he continued rutting up into you, his face contorted in a look of pain and determination as he gritted his teeth.

“Woah, Marc, hey, hey, slow down—”

You urged, reached to wrap your fingers around his wrists from where they were still firmly attached to your waist, the wet sounds of his cock still pumping in and out of you filling the room. His eyes finally looked up to you, the haziness clearing as your worried face settled on him.

“It’s okay, Marc, you’re okay.”

You assured, and he finally let your full weight rest down onto him, his body slowly rolling to a halt as the aftershocks of his intense pleasure pulsed through his limbs, blood pumping loudly in his ears. He was breathing heavily, his heart beating against his ribcage harshly, but his eyes watched you as you smiled down at him, reaching forward to cup his jaw in one hand as the other ran through his sweaty hair.

“There we go. There you are. There’s my handsome boy.”

All at once, he collapsed into a fit of sobs again, sitting up to pull you against his chest impossibly tight as he wrapped his arms around you. You felt your heart break as you coddled him, one hand stroking the back of his head and the other rubbing soothing patterns into the bare skin of his back. Years and years of internalized vulnerability spilled out of him in your embrace, and you held him there until his stuttering cries turned into shaky exhales, his face buried in the crook of his neck. He fell back into the pillows, pulling you down on top of him and keeping you snugly pulled against his body.

His cock was still nestled deep inside of you, and you could feel Marc’s cum leaking out and creating a stickiness between your thighs and atop his hips. When you shifted to move, he tightened his hold, his breath wavering just slightly.

“Please, don’t. Just—stay with me. Like this. For just awhile longer. Please.”

He whispered against your temple, begging for this brief moment of reprieve, of absolution, of solace. You sank into his chest, breathing in his heady scent and allowing yourself to indulge in the intimacy of this moment, too—a moment of comfort, of safety, of resolve.

Marc had one final thought before sleep overtook him.

Is this what being okay feels like?

TAGLIST: @kezibear143 @gingermous @josephquinncore @steven-grants-world @am-3-thyst @fanofverymanythings @vaneyvfs @theboggyman @belladri @roserfz27 @nowayhomerry @justanotherkpopstanlol @bagsy-not-it @elles-mind-palace @pimosworld @winterbiip @moonmoonboys @icuminurbutt @spxctorsslxt @fandomqueen74 @freerangesweets @wumpsquill @wordacadabra @lunaleah @hornkneeforbucky @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

[leonkennedynendoroid]

NSFW/GN READER. idk what this is sorry if it doesn’t make sense at any point(s) i just kept pressing keys until words appeared on the screen….i need to have es E. ex with leon :P

grrrrr i need my sweet little bf leon losing his mind the first couple of times he has sex. i’m talking about him biting his knuckles with every inch he slides in deeper, groaning low in his throat when he drops his head forward to watch the movement with wide eyes and— fuck, no more. that’s a lot. he needs to look away, somewhere- anywhere else if he wants to hold back.

his eyes travel up your body quickly, chewing on his bottom lip in desperate concentration as his gaze lands on your face. it feels as if he’s walked straight into a trap; your eyes on his, although unfocused, every open-mouthed breath, even the gentle rise and fall of your chest makes heat pool low in his stomach… he needs to cut himself short, again. he can’t catch a break, so caught up in you he’s nearly embarrassing himself. you deserve so much better, he thinks with a rough swallow. in an attempt to pull himself together, he opts to quickly shut his eyes. just for a second.

it’s always the first thrust- slow and controlled that makes him hiss through his teeth, knees going weak when he sinks back in. he has to fight to keep his eyes open now, repeating the movement with a long, shaky sigh. if you had the cognitive capability at this very moment in time, you’d be able to notice the prominent strain of his abdominals present each time he plunges into you. it’s still so new for him, yet addictive enough to have his body screaming more. a kind of pleasure that runs up his core and spreads down his thighs.

only momentarily is he aware of his grip tightening on the back of your thighs, sweaty palms and thick fingers digging into your skin acknowledged in but a passing thought. it’s getting harder, so much harder to keep his pace gentle and sweet like he believes you deserve, leaning forward and dropping a little more of his weight on top of you to plant a chaste kiss on your head in apology, eager hips meeting yours in a syrupy grind he could revel in for hours. it’s a rhythm he could get lost in and deliciously impatient with, his dick throbs at the idea. he’ll need to find another time to explore it.

knowing you’d probably kill him— maybe not kill, just a slap to his shoulder, calling out his name in a harsh complaint of embarrassment— if he confessed to taking it easy on you melts the guilt right out of his system as his body continues to perspire. the shift in angle has you crying out as he begins hitting even deeper now. seeing, hearing, and feeling you like this has an airy moan leaving his lips, shuddering against you hard in unison.

leon absolutely does not have it in him to stop now- the intensity of the ache in his pelvis growing impossibly difficult to ignore with every sloppy, wet thrust. seeing you arch underneath him with a whine, feeling your fingers encircling his wrists tightly as he pumps into you, is dizzying. he’s growling with it, the power behind his hips sending hot licks of pleasure right up your spine. god, he never wants this to end.

the state of you right now- and the sight too, he thinks, is the closest he’ll get to heaven. to feeling heaven. it makes his strong hips stutter, rhythm faltering as he begins to give in. it makes his whole body jostle above you, his eyes clenching shut with a long drawn-out whine, and it makes him cum. it makes him cum, over and over, and over again. how has he gone most of his life without this? without you? he thinks deliriously, collapsing against your thighs still lifted and folded at your chest as he ruts into you insistently a few more times, in hopes of prolonging his orgasm. greedy.

he did better this time, with holding off and all. leon’s sure of it. he definitely lasted longer than last time, right? he opens his eyes back up with a content sigh to scan your face, looking for reassurance and a confirmation on that thought. he’s immediately met with the sight of a stupid grin plastered on your face instead, lips trembling gently as if you’re biting back a hard laugh. ugh, was he that far off? he must’ve gotten ahead of himself. maybe next time.

who is he kidding? this is going to take a lot of practice.

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

support needs… expanded! (part 2)

[pt: support needs… expanded! (part 2)]

part one on adaptive functioning

support needs about how much support, how much help, you need for daily life. external support. not about how intensely you experience disability or symptom. not about how visible your disability or symptom is otherwise. someone can be low support needs but experience own disability so very intensely. someone can be visibly disabled but still low support needs.

there many types of support. many ways it look like.

visual guide n prompt

verbal step-by-step prompt, steps, talk through, explain

gestures

modeling, show how do it

part physical help

full physical help but participates

cannot do at all but watch

can’t be there n watch at all

heard it be call “hierarchy”, but not really love that, because whether on purpose or not, hierarchy imply some better n some not as good. n no type of support inherently better or worse than another type - it depend on context. it bad when someone physically touch n guide disabled person hand towards something when disabled person not want and/or need it. but it also bad when someone need full physical help with something but you say “but physical help invasive n dependent, that bad, so we need get you to not need any, so only going verbally tell you what to do.”

but! is objectively true, morally neutral, fact, that some of these more… can’t think of good word, so for lack better one, “invasive,” “involved,” “dependent,” “limiting” than others.

need another person feed you (plate to mouth), different from verbally tell you steps, much different from need remind to eat. need another person fully manage finances, have access to all your money, bank account (if any), bills (if any), income (if any), you need ask them buy every big n small thing for you, or else you lose it all spend it all impulsively or get scammed, much different from need check with another person, “hey is this good buy,” but in end you control action.

the more need other person participate, the more need other person mostly or fully take over… even when you do need these support or else you die or they not get done… more vulnerable you are, less freedom n wiggle room you have. needing other people help not bad. but sometimes it not fun. there a lot more ways it can go wrong. n when things go wrong, there a lot less way you can defend self.

it also depend on why someone struggle do something, why someone need help. verbally telling someone with physical disability, who can’t do something because physical disability, what next step, just because that sound less invasive than physical help, that not helpful at all. on other hand, someone with severe cognitive disability or intellectual disability, they may need physical help, because they cognitively not understand task or visual gestural verbal help.

supported independence/modified independence

[pt: supported independence/modified independence]

this word borrowed from other place. not sure how good it is. but since don’t have other word, use it here.

supported independence/modified independence is idea that. can’t reasonably safely do something unaided independently. but with non-person aid, can do thing (largely) independently.

for example. wheelchair users who can move own wheelchair n go places with it alone. they different from walking people because, well, they can’t walk (safely reliably or at all). they need wheelchair, which not a person but still an aid. they still may face extra difficulties, like no ramp, no elevator, etc. they may need extra time or take different route, different accommodations, have different or extra needs than walking non-wheelchair user.

but they also different from wheelchair users who need person aide by them for help on difficult or dangerous terrains, or wheelchair n adaptive stroller users who need other people move them in their wheelchair/stroller at all times. wheelchair users who can move themselves need less support than wheelchair users who need help move themselves.

or, a nonverbal nonspeaking person who can fluently independently use AAC (augmentative & alternative communication) to communicate. they different from verbal speaking people. they don’t have skill or ability to speak by mouth. with AAC, a non-person disability aid, they may need extra time communicate, need extra patience. need bring extra stuff to communicate, need keep device charged if it high tech AAC, need hand (or whatever access method) available—but they can do by themselves.

but they also different from verbal but minimally verbal, semiverbal, verbal-but-without-fully-functional-communication people who technically can speak some, but it all in echolalia, in gestalts, or in simple one or two word phrases, or gestures n sounds, n need support worker familiar with their communication to expand, translate, or speak for them (more people like this than you’d think). or nonverbal people without functional communication. or people who need support worker simplify whatever said to them into thing they can understand.

people with supported/modified independence in something need object support, but they don’t need person support. n need person support… complicates thing.

[kirarasdeliveryservice]

Hello, I was wondering if I could request a fem muzan x male reader? If not just the regular muzan is fine as well. And it's basically the Reader is an upper ranked demon. This takes place at the infinity fortress.

And could this be smut? With a top male reader?

Thanks if you do this!

P.S Everything else is your choice.

SPECIAL DELIVERY!

MUZAN KIBUSTUJI X M!READER

Genre: Smut

Format: Oneshot

WARNINGS: smut obv, cowgirl, muzan got boobies (homie still has a dick.), subby top m!reader, dommy bottom Muzan.

Silence filled the room as the upper moons awaited lord Muzan’s presence. You are one of them. Upper Moon 2, who fought Douma and put him in his place long ago.

Muzan praised you highly, you were considered his favorite.

Nakime announces Muzan’s return and strikes her biwa loudly. The noise echoed through the infinity castle.

The sound of doors sliding and clacking fills the room as Muzan is revealed. You gawked at how beautiful Muzan looked as he was in a rather feminine outfit. The black traditional kimono with long silky midnight hair tied into a large low bun.

He begins to commentate on the next missions that’ll be assigned to take down the slayers, to be honest, you weren’t paying attention all that well, you just kept your eyes on how attractive Muzan appeared that day.

After the meeting was done, Muzan held you behind.

“Dear [Y/N], were you paying any attention to what was said?”

He appears in front of you, holding your chin to face him. He smiles and kisses your forehead.

“I know you weren’t. Perhaps because you have something on your mind?”

He tilts his head as he stares you down. His gaze moves all over your body and immediately meets the raging bulge appearing from your pants, making itself known. Without any hesitation, Muzan begins to palm you.

“Would you like to sort this out?”

He gives you a sly smile as you whimper under his touch. “Yes, I would.” You mumble, hands gravitating to Muzan’s hips.

“Nakime, Please take us somewhere private.”

She sighs and begrudgingly strikes her biwa, causing you and Muzan to teleport to a room with a large Western-style bed.

“So worked up for me, [Y/N].” He laughs, walking to the bed and patting it. You nod and sit on the bed.

Muzan unties his obi and lets his kimono loosen up, causing it to fall and just barely cover his nipples. You stare at Muzan with big doe eyes as you neatly take off his clothes. Muzan replies with a soft giggle and a kiss on your forehead.

“Good boy,” Muzan says while making quick work of your clothes. Your dick springs up and slaps against your stomach. Precum leaks intensely from your swollen tip.

Muzan immediately begins to stroke you gently, watching your hips jerk for more friction while you whimper quietly. “Such a good boy for me.” He smiles and gives your tip a gentle kiss, which promptly makes you gasp.

“Lay down sweetie.” Muzan motions you with his hand and you of course listen, laying down on your back in the middle of the bed.

He crawls on top of you before moving down to your dick and slamming it into his mouth. You moan out, a rushed feeling of ecstasy and pleasure washes over you as you feel the warmth and slippery inside of his mouth. Your body begins to shake as these feelings overwhelm it, breath staggering.

After a while of toying with you and watching your reactions with pure joy, Muzan takes you out his mouth and crawls above you, angling you to his entrance.

Once found the proper placement, Muzan sat down. You immediately react to the tightness and warmth of it all. You whimper loudly, gripping the sheets harshly.

“Ready darling?” Muzan whispers, softly grinding on you. You can only nod before Muzan rises and slams down on you at a slowly accelerating pace. You whimper and moan each time he reaches the base, back arching and tears streaming down your face.

“Oh my gods.” You moan out, gripping Muzan's fatty hips and leaving bruises. He does not falter, stripping you of any cognitive thinking as you drown in waves of pleasure and warmth.

He reaches a fast and rough pace, making you see stars every time he slams down harshly. He is groaning and growling lowly while concentrating on you.

God, you have never felt so special and wanted before and you were enjoying every second, becoming a whiny moaning mess under his grasp. You begin to thrust into him, syncing yourself with his movements.

Tears are falling on your face at a rapid pace as you lose total control of your body and the only name you know is Muzan’s. Moaning his name out every 5 seconds.

At this point you have no fucking idea who you are, only knowing Muzan and his body. All you can do is make noises and jerk around while drowning in the ocean’s worth of ecstasy you’re experiencing right now.

You have always wanted to do this with Muzan and fantasized about it often. But, this pleasure could never compare to your thoughts or hand.

You reach your climax quickly, thick and sticky strings of cum filling Muzan. Your breath is irregular as you try to catch it, recovering from the moment.

“No no, I am not done yet.” He whispers as he kisses you. He continues his pace but it becomes more erratic and uneven. Muzan soon climaxes too, white liquid covering your chest, neck, and chin.

Muzan stays on top of you, catching his breath while tracing patterns into your skin with his fingertips. “Next time, pay attention.”

He smiles as he brings you into a soft yet passionate kiss, the sweat on the two of you causing you to stick together, the cum on you not helping.

“Thank you, Lord Muzan.” You pant out, releasing your iron grip from his hips.

A/N: This is my first time writing smut, so I hope I did okay! Sorry for it being so short, I think I could’ve done more but I didn’t know how to execute it properly. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed it! I had a lot of fun writing this.

-Kirara

[soon-palestine]

That these are the candidates the American political establishment has thrown up is excruciating but clear evidence of the ongoing crumbling of the US political order.

If you are an American reading this, that exceptionalist logic got you here. Just as with every empire

For the rest of the world, these are dangerous times. The Empire is always most bloodthirsty, vicious and violent as it collapses.

The global south will primarily bear the brunt of even greater American violence and brutality.

Having said that, I think USA will not collapse quietly. But has it done anything ever quietly?

I fear that USA’s collapse may well be brutal, violent and bloody for its own people.

The political and legal structures built to ensure perpetual minority rule are increasingly brittle.

All the steps for the ‘peace’ cobbled together by and for white supremacy after 1865 never addressed the conflict at the heart of the American project. Now tbh it’s too late

Why do I mention 1865? Because the Civil War never really ended. US just has managed to grant itself a very long period of the war with consistent, ‘low’ intensity violence against its dissenting population.

There is a kind of historical symmetry (the kind historians abhor and novelists love) to a settler colony built on enslavement, loot and genocide being brought to a close by a contest between a rapist and felon and an apartheid supporting genocidaire

My guess is that Trump will win in November. Mostly because many of the ‘rainbow coalition’ will stay home.

White Dems can blame minoritised folk all they want. But this loss will be entirely theirs.

When he does, many parts of the world may well be grateful for the kompromat Putin and Russia hold on Trump and his crew.

Many others will be grateful for his insatiable greed, inexhaustible corruption and poor business sense.

Because those mean he is susceptible to pressures of fear and greed.

If the choice is a between a lying, corrupt, thuggish mob boss and an ideologically driven, cognitively hampered psychopath…well at least one can negotiate with the former

[insomniamademedothis]

Just read through a post about lgbtq proportions across generations on a relatively neutral subreddit, and the amount of casual biphobia in every single thread in the comment section was so infuriating and upsetting. I am so tired of it.

Yes, it is biphobic to assume a large proportion of adult women identifying as bisexual are lying or don’t know themselves well enough to know that they’re actually straight.

It is biphobic to suggest, based on absolutely no evidence, that people are calling themselves bi because they once had “one single gay thought”.

It is biphobic to assume people are calling themselves bi because being queer is trendy and it’s a “low cost identity” because they can still date the opposite sex.

It is biphobic to say bisexuality is a phase lots of people will grow out of (how is the ‘phase’ argument about lgbtq+ identities still being thrown around) - this is separate to the fact of some gay people initially identifying as bi before they realise they are gay. If someone says they’re bi, take their word for it. If their label changes later, as people across all sexualities do, that’s great! Doesn’t mean you can subsequently view bisexuality as inherently a phase though.

It is biphobic to assume that most bi people have strong, intense attraction to the opposite sex but only a weak, infrequent, and cognitive attraction towards the same sex.

It is biphobic to say that the fact that there are more (out) bi women than bi men is proof that those women are lying, rather than acknowledging that there is still a huge stigma against bi men specifically (it is so common to see straight women point blank refuse to date bi men, even women who call themselves “allies”).

It’s a “low cost identity” until your two options are: naive & stupid, or clout-chasing liar.

[benleacbttherapist]

Online CBT Therapy For Anxiety In UK

Online cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT) can be an effective treatment for anxiety. CBT is a type of therapy that helps individuals change their negative thought patterns and behaviors that contribute to their anxiety. Online CBT therapy for anxiety allows individuals to receive treatment from the comfort of their own homes.

Here are some steps to take to find online CBT therapy for anxiety:

Research online therapy providers: There are several online therapy providers that offer CBT for anxiety. Some popular options include BetterHelp, Talkspace, and Amwell. Do some research to find a provider that offers CBT specifically for anxiety.

Check credentials: Ensure that the therapist providing the online CBT therapy is licensed and trained in CBT for anxiety. Look for reviews from previous clients and check the therapist’s website for information about their qualifications.

Schedule a consultation: Many online therapy providers offer a free consultation to help you determine if the therapist and their approach are a good fit for you. Take advantage of this to see if the therapist’s approach resonates with you.

Make a plan: Once you’ve found an online CBT therapist for anxiety that you feel comfortable working with, create a treatment plan with them. This may include weekly or bi-weekly sessions, homework assignments, and other strategies to help manage anxiety.

Remember that online CBT therapy for anxiety can take time and effort, but the benefits can be life-changing. Stick with it, and don’t be afraid to communicate with your therapist if something isn’t working or if you have any questions. reach us today!

[feminist-space]

"Long COVID has destroyed my life

I would love nothing more than to “finally ignore COVID,” as the headline to Dr. Ashish Jha’s July 31 op-ed reads (“With a few basic steps, most of us can finally ignore COVID”). As a healthy, vaccinated, and recently boosted 35-year-old, I did what he said: I ignored COVID-19 on a weekend trip with friends in September 2022. But the infection I got as a result has all but destroyed my life.

A week after my infection, I began to experience intense fatigue, overwhelming headaches, and cognitive challenges that continue to this day. These symptoms are debilitating: I can no longer work, socialize, or travel. My finances are dire. And if I am unable to avoid another infection, my condition may deteriorate even further.

Jha wrote of long COVID “treatments” being promising. Perhaps he could clarify what treatments he is referring to, because my doctors say that there are no approved treatments for long COVID.

A recent study funded by the NIH’s RECOVER initiative showed that 10 percent of adults infected with COVID still have symptoms six months later, even with vaccination. By downplaying the prevalence and debilitating outcomes of even moderate long COVID, Jha is signing thousands of people up to the misery and despair with which I live every day.

Ezra J. Spier

Oakland, Calif.

Another view from infectious disease doctors

As infectious disease doctors, we disagree with Dr. Jha’s contention that it is time to ignore COVID-19.

Yes, being vaccinated and taking Paxlovid thankfully decrease the risk of severe disease. But only 43 percent of people age 65 and over and only 17 percent of all Americans had received an updated COVID vaccination by May 2023, and access to Paxlovid treatment is inequitable by race and insurance status.

Long-term complications of COVID can be devastating, including after second infections.

More than half a million Americans have died since the summer of 2021, when sufficient vaccine doses were available: COVID death rates in the United States continue to be double those of Canada. Termination of free tests and “commercialization” of medications as implemented by the federal government will only widen our country’s grisly COVID-related health disparities.

Inevitably, ignoring COVID leads to ignoring the slow-motion epidemic of long COVID. Standing up against such neglect, leaders like Boston Mayor Michelle Wu and Governor Maura Healey can promote meaningful measures to protect our communities: air purification in all schools and public spaces; free COVID-preventive masks (KN95 or N95, not surgical masks); tests, vaccines, and Paxlovid for all who cannot afford to buy them; and concern for and support of long COVID victims.

Dr. Julia Koehler

Boston

Dr. Regina LaRocque

Wellesley

We remain vulnerable to long COVID

Ashish Jha’s position as former White House COVID-19 Response Coordinator is a conflict of interest masquerading as a qualification for his op-ed. Researchers who study long COVID stated in a recent paper in Nature Reviews Immunology that “the oncoming burden of long COVID faced by patients, health-care providers, governments and economies is so large as to be unfathomable.” Rapid tests, which are less accurate with recent strains while PCR tests are less available, and low death rates give a false sense of security.

I agree that despite progress, more buildings need the air filtration and ventilation that would make public life safer. But Jha omits our vulnerability to long COVID after even mild infections, its devastating effects, and higher death rates for hospital-acquired COVID-19, combined with a lack of collective protection in health care settings with unmasked, untested people who prefer to ignore COVID-19.

Aside from advocating vaccines, he describes an everyone-for-themselves approach, not mentioning responsibility to protect others or access to essentials.

Jha dines in a restaurant with his friends while patients even in leading cancer hospitals are forced into Russian roulette, thanks to this approach.

Kathryn Nichols

Cambridge

Vigilance is necessary to prevent long COVID

While I understand the desire to promote optimism amid the ongoing pandemic, I am deeply concerned about the potential consequences of downplaying the importance of COVID precautions and the significant risk of long COVID. As a person living with long COVID for the last 16 months despite being vaccinated and boosted, I have experienced post-exertional malaise, fatigue, headaches, joint and muscle pain, cognitive dysfunction, and more symptoms that have continued to today. I have tried numerous medicines, supplements, and even participated in a clinical trial, only to find limited relief from the persistent effects of this virus.

Such a stance overlooks the reality that millions more people could end up with long COVID if we fail to remain vigilant in our efforts to combat the virus. Long COVID is a devastating consequence of this virus, and we cannot rely solely on vaccinations to end the pandemic. Even with widespread vaccination, the risk of contracting long COVID remains high. A recent study funded by the NIH’s RECOVER initiative showed that 10 percent of adults infected with COVID still have symptoms six months later. Minimizing the significance of long COVID not only neglects the suffering of long-haulers but also risks undermining public health efforts to control the spread of the virus.

By raising awareness about the risk of long COVID, media outlets can play a pivotal role in educating the public and promoting continued vigilance. Responsible reporting on the enduring impact of long COVID can serve as a reminder that the pandemic is far from over and that we must remain committed to taking necessary precautions to protect ourselves and others. Highlighting the struggles of long COVID survivors and the lack of proven treatments can spur further research and medical advancements in addressing this condition. Empathy and support for those living with long COVID are essential in paving the way for better understanding, compassionate care, and better health outcomes for everyone as COVID rates increase again this summer.

Travis Hardy

Norwalk, Conn.

Link https://www.bostonglobe.com/2023/08/05/opinion/cant-ignore-long-covid-jha/

[gabrielsbubblegumbitch]

DROP YOUR DX FOR VOX !!!!! Please and thank you.

I would like to preface all my posts on headcanons related to psychology and mental illness with a disclaimer: diagnosing mental conditions, especially personality disorders, can be extremely challenging. It's a complicated process that relies heavily on a psychologist's interpretation of facts, making it susceptible to biases. Personality disorders cannot be diagnosed based on surface-level observations and are not just labels that we can assign to people like in the case of MBTI. Additionally, I am not a clinician with any expertise in diagnosing people. Therefore, the following post should not be taken as a reliable professional opinion. It's simply my interpretation of the internal mechanisms that may be responsible for the behavior of certain characters in my fan fiction. Furthermore, I want to make it clear that I have no intention of stigmatizing people with personality disorders by associating them with villains. A personality disorder does not determine someone's character or make them a bad person. Some characters may be evil because of the choices they make, not as a result of their mental conditions.

(I've already posted some stuff here so I'm not going to repeat myself.)

Okay, so, Vox has Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD). It's crucial to distinguish this from "common narcissism" (people often described as "narcissists" by others just because they are egotist assholes; kinda ableist, you shouldn't do it because it's extremely stigmatizing towards people suffering with actual NPD) . While those individuals typically function well, those with NPD exhibit all the traits – grandiosity, egocentrism, attention-seeking, intense power fantasies – but as it's a disorder, these traits lead to inflexible and maladaptive patterns of behavior and cognition.

NPD has its roots in intense feelings of shame, low self-compassion, and self-loathing. In my interpretation, Vox has always felt inadequate. His father inherited an enormous amount of money, establishing a media conglomerate in the 20's. Vox's mother, captivated by the world of movies, used them to escape her reality as a trophy wife. Despite her dreams of becoming an actress, Vox's father, possessive and protective, prevented her entry into the entertainment industry. As a compromise, he made their son a child actor, with the condition that it would be temporary. When Vox grew older, he was expected to transition to learning business and other skills, ultimately to take over the family's empire.

So, Vox was never enough for either of his parents. His father thought of him as annoying and unserious due to his talkativeness and exaggerated behaviors, attributing it to growing up surrounded by actors. As for his mother... Vox turned out to be a terrible actor, struggling to convey emotions that weren't bombastic and over-the-top. Being a teenager is humiliating enough, but imagine being a teenager bad at something and forced to do it for a worldwide audience, when the whole production crew is annoyed with you. Fortunately, he grew up to be devilishly handsome (not to be a simp, I just believe someone must be handsome to endure the ethereal punishment of having their face swapped for a TV screen) and entertaining, leading them to make him a TV host and media personality.

Anyway, NPD is all about creating a perfect self and projecting it to the world when you're deeply ashamed of your true self. It means that, no matter what you're doing, you're constantly concerned about how it looks to other people. You constantly play an exhausting game, trying to win gold stars of social admiration for every-fucking-thing, guided by superficial ideals of wealth, perfection, beauty, and, above all, power. One reason Alastor's existence bothers Vox so much is the fact that he cannot comprehend the idea of someone choosing radio over his "objectively better and correct" medium. Vox lacks the ability to understand nuanced sentiments, which ironically makes him thrive in Hell. In this anarchocapitalist, lawless society, survival of the fittest prevails, and this is a game he excels at playing.

Generally, the best approach for individuals with NPD is to pull them out of delusional thinking by confronting their beliefs about the world and themselves with reality (it should be performed by qualified therapist, especially when someone hasn't completed any kind of therapeutic process yet). However, in Hell, Vox's behavior was no longer in violation of social norms; on the contrary, it was highly rewarded. Consequently, he completely lost his shit, became unhinged, and began acting on all his previously suppressed urges. He finally fulfilled all narcissistic power fantasies and became (almost) untouchable. Now, he's ready to kill anyone who questions him, seeing it as threatening to his fragile image of the perfect self.

He exhibits strong bipolar tendencies. Most of the time, he's power-tripping in a semi-maniacal state. Periodically, he undergoes deep, depressive episodes, locking himself up in his apartment and avoiding interaction.

Constantly guarding this fragile image of the perfect self that he built is exhausting. The bigger this image gets, the more fragile it becomes, like a house of cards. And guarding it becomes more and more exhausting. But there's nothing scarier than the idea of the facade falling apart and people seeing him as he is: imperfect and vulnerable, damaged and ashamed, rotten and evil. Deep down, he knows he's unlovable, and it hurts. He knows that true love exists; he craves this ultimate form of admiration and devotion, but it requires vulnerability and honesty, which he's not capable of. He's only vulnerable with Valentino, and only occasionally when he's intoxicated or when Val fucks every last thought out of his body. He's very much a controlling top insecure about his masculinity, so the latter happens rarely.

Also, drugs. Oh, do this man enjoy some coke. Other drugs and booze, not so much; they make him feel less in control. But getting coked up, going out, causing a scene, killing some poor souls, and relishing this feeling of being completely untouchable? Feels so good.

When it comes to Alastor, he hates him because he's jealous. Despite all his efforts—building a perfect persona, a perfect company, perfect entertainment—this stinky, outdated, and boring radio demon gets so much attention and admiration that should be his. Moreover, he feels that Alastor can see right through his bullshit. He's so paranoid about it that he's almost certain Alastor knows about his childhood traumas, about his death, about all his truths, and could one day broadcast it for all people of Hell to hear. So, he needs him dead.

Note: these headcanons (especially Vox's past) are very important part of my fanfiction. Please feel free to use them in your fics but I'll appreciate if you tag me 🩷

Velvette hc | Valentino hc | Vees + Angel hc | VoxVal hc

[max1461]

Ok, I'm officially worried about AI safety. I'm not sure if I'm worried about imminent apocalypse, but like

Five years ago, I genuinely did not think I would see chatbots that can converse like real humans for a long time, like decades at least. Same with AI image generation. It really felt like these tasks were far beyond our current capabilities. Finding out I was wrong about that has been genuinely unsettling to me, it means I was wrong about the nature of cognition and intelligence in a pretty fundamental way. So I'm not sure what is reasonable to expect now.

We know you can build a computer at least as smart as a human, that runs on a relatively small energy budget and fits inside a human head. So the physical space/energy floor for intelligence is at least that low. Humans aren't really that big or energy intensive! It's not ridiculous to imagine that with the kind of computational resources humanity has already built, even a relatively "small" AI could be genuinely much more capable than any human.

I really think a genuinely dangerous AI is like a credible nearterm threat. I don't buy all Yudkowsky's claims about, you know, nanobots and whatnot, but there's more than one way a really powerful being you suddenly create can be dangerous! I'm actually sort of worried about this.

[rq-nursedolly]

hello, may i request a MUD for one of my sysmates? he does not feel anything unless he's interacting with some sort of media, usually music, but games and books are included too. it might come with dpdr symptoms, a general sense of apathy for real people and situations, low/no empathy for real people but hyperempathy for fictional people. not sure what else to add here to be perfectly honest.

-🦉🌙

MEDIA - DEPENDENT EMOTIONAL DYSREGULATION

— What is it ?

MDED is a condition where individuals feel emotionally numb in real life, relying on media — like music , games , and books — to elicit feelings. This leads to apathy toward genuine relationships while fostering heightened empathy for fictional characters, creating a dependency that hinders authentic emotional engagement.

— Symptom List :

Emotional Numbness : Difficulty feeling emotions in real - life situations . Media Dependency : Reliance on media to experience emotional responses . Hyper - empathy for Fiction : Intense emotional reactions to fictional characters or scenarios . Social Withdrawal : Preference for media interactions over face-to-face relationships . Reality Distortion : Trouble distinguishing between real and mediated emotional experiences , often causing dissociation .

— Treatment ?

This disorder can be regulated with the right support !

Treatment may involve therapy aimed at increasing emotional awareness and fostering real-life connections , such as cognitive-behavioral therapy or mindfulness practices ! Additionally , gradually reducing media consumption while engaging in real - world activities can help individuals reconnect with their emotions and improve interpersonal relationships !

@ credit to @armyflags for the flag <3

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

⚕️Psionic Emergency Pathways

Problems with psionic abilities can make Gallifreyans extremely distressed and disorientated. Here's a guide for managing problems in psionics, because you need to be PEP-ared!

BIGGER - Google Drive: PDF / Image JPG / Image PNG

This guide is for use on Gallifreyans and Time Lords only. Always seek your human advice from human health providers.

✨ What Are Psionic Emergencies?

Psionic emergencies disrupt the delicate psychic networks of Gallifreyans, resulting in a range of acute or chronic complications. These emergencies can impair telepathy, cognitive function, and emotional stability, with potentially severe consequences if not managed promptly.

📝 How to Use PEP

📊 Recognising Psionic Emergencies

Each type presents specific symptoms that caregivers must identify. List your symptoms according to each category, and take the pathways that has the most symptoms.

⚠️ USE CLINICAL JUDGEMENT: Psionic symptoms cannot always be neatly categorised, please use clinical judgement at all times to determine the most appropriate pathway.

1️⃣ Psionic Overload

Overloads are usually acute episodes, where short-term excessive psychic input causes intense distress or collapse.

👤 Causes: Short-term exposure to environments highly saturated with psionic energy.

⚕️Symptoms: Intense headaches, Telepathic noise (uncontrollable mental chatter), Hallucinations, Confusion, Fainting and/or collapse, Nosebleeds, Psychic 'leakage' (unintentional sharing of thoughts/emotions), Hyperarousal (heightened sensitivity to sensory stimuli)

📋Management:

Environment: Move the patient to a low-stimulation space with dim lighting and minimal noise. This would ideally be a Zero Room, but if unable to access one, the caregiver should establish a cool, quiet, dark room.

Grounding Techniques: - Get them to name 3 things they can see, 2 they can hear, 1 they can touch. - Encourage deep breathing: Inhale for 4 seconds, hold for 4, exhale for 6. - Have them focus on tactile objects like textured stones or fabric.

Isolation Fields: Use psionic isolation technology to block excessive input, if able.

Mental Shields: Guide the patient to visualise a protective psychic barrier, such as a dome or glowing wall.

Pain Relief: Administer analgesics for pain if required.

❗When to Escalate: Overloads can lead to seizures, vomiting, or uncontrollable haemorrhaging. If symptoms worsen or persist beyond the initial intervention, escalate immediately.

2️⃣ Psionic Deprivation

Deprivation arises from a prolonged lack of telepathic interaction, leading to cognitive and emotional decline.

👤 Causes: Lack of use of psionics over a long time.

⚕️ Symptoms: Depression, Anxiety, Cognitive decline, Weakened psionics, Fatigue and muscle aches, Increased irritability or frustration, Social withdrawal, Suppression or loss of symbiotic connection with a TARDIS

📋 Management:

Reconnection: Facilitate telepathic contact through psychic bridges or entrelacement, ideally with another trusted Gallifreyan.

Exercises: - Memory recall: Encourage revisiting positive memories to reawaken dormant psionic pathways. - Symbiotic resonance: Use a TARDIS to help stabilise their psionic baseline. - Introduce mind-stimulating puzzles or telepathic games.

Emotional Support: Address depression or anxiety through verbal reassurance and emotional presence.

Check-ins: Begin regular telepathic check-ins to track recovery progress.

❗ When to Escalate: Escalate if the patient becomes unresponsive to verbal contact or shows other signs of severe cognitive decline.

3️⃣ Disease/Injury

Illness or trauma affecting the brain or psychic systems, leading to acute symptoms.

👤 Causes: Telepathic infections/parasites, or head injuries.

⚕️ Symptoms: General signs of illness or injury (e.g., known infection, visible head trauma etc.), Cold-like symptoms (e.g., congestion, mild fever), Persistent migraines, Psionic distortions (e.g., difficulty sending or receiving telepathic signals), Hallucinations, Disorientation or dizziness, Localised pain around the epiphysis cerebri (pineal gland), TARDIS systems affected (if applicable)

📋 Management:

Isolation: If a disease is suspected, activate containment fields to prevent psychic transmission to other telepaths.

Treatment: - Stabilise their physical health using emergency medicines and GASS and ABCDE protocols. - Treat any visible head injury. - Administer antibiotics or antivirals for bacterial or viral infections. - Use psionic cleansing devices to remove psychic parasites (if able). - Apply neural therapy to repair damaged telepathic pathways, ideally through using a zero room.

Pain Relief: Administer analgesics for pain if required.

Monitoring: Watch for worsening symptoms like persistent fever, seizures, haemorrhaging or loss of consciousness.

❗ When to Escalate: Escalate if infections or injuries show no improvement, or if telepathic distortions worsen.

4️⃣ Degenerative Conditions

Chronic conditions impairing telepathy and cognition over time.

👤 Causes: Long-term or terminal diseases and conditions, such as psionic dementia.

⚕️ Symptoms: Impaired memory recall, Disorientation or inability to differentiate reality from dreams, Psychic 'leakage' (unintentional sharing of thoughts/emotions), Progressive loss of psionic abilities, Progressive loss of language, Emotional instability (e.g., mood swings, paranoia), Sensory hallucinations, Telepathic 'ghosts' (phantom presences or voices)

📋 Management:

Degenerative conditions can often be terminal, so for any degenerative psionic condition, a care plan should be made tailored to the individual Gallifreyan. These care plans should include...

Stabilisation: Establish a physical and cognitive baseline from which to measure all future interventions.

Therapeutic Interventions: - Engage neural therapy or consult psycho-healers if able. - Initiate regular telepathic and sensory exercises to maintain connections and slow progression of condition.

Medications: Consider long-term medications for physical, mental, and psionic discomfort, including pain.

Quality of Life: Assess continually to ensure the patient has the best quality of life possible at all times.

End of Life: Put in place support for regeneration or end-of-life care.

❗ When to Escalate: Escalate if the patient becomes a danger to themselves or others, or if their quality of life significantly declines.

📌 Key Points to Remember

Low-Stimulation Environments: Essential for managing overload or degeneration.

Prompt Treatment for Disease: Act quickly to contain and treat psychic infections.

Specialist Care for Chronic Issues: Degenerative conditions like psionic dementia need long-term professional support.

Medical Guides These are all practical guides to assessing and treating a Gallifreyan in an emergency or medical setting.

📓|⚕️💞 Gallifreyan CPR [Update due]

📓|⚕️💞 Gallifreyan Cardiovascular Emergencies (beyond CPR)

📓|⚕️👽 Gallifreyan Assessment Scoring System (GASS)

📓|⚕️👽 Gallifreyan ABCDE Assessment [Update due]

📓|⚕️⚠️ Gallifreyan Sepsis Emergency Response (SER) [Update due]

📓|⚕️⚠️ Gallifreyan Severe Trauma Protocol

📓|⚕️⚠️ Gallifreyan Organ Failure Pathways

📓|⚕️⚠️ Gallifreyan Stroke Response

📓|⚕️️⚠️ Gallifreyan Anaphylaxis

📓|⚕️️⚠️ Gallifreyan Physical Shock Protocol

📓|⚕️✨ Post-Regeneration Management

📓|⚕️🌡️ Gallifreyan Pyrexia [Update due]

📓|⚕️🌡️ Gallifreyan Hypothermia

📓|⚕️⚡ Artron Management

📓|⚕️🧠 Healing Coma Management

📓|⚕️🧠 Gallifreyan Coma Scale

📓|⚕️🧠 Gallifreyan Neurological Trauma

📓|⚕️🧬 Symbiosis Management

📓|⚕️️🦴 Gallifreyan Fractures and Bone Trauma

📓|⚕️️🫁 Gallifreyan Respiratory Management

📓|⚕️🔮 Psionic Emergency Pathways

📓|⚕️🍼 Gallifreyan Paediatric Care

📓|⚕️🔪 Gallifreyan Surgical Procedures

📓|⚕️🔪 Gallifreyan Organ Transplants

Plus:

📓|⚕️💧 Gallifreyan Urinalysis

📓|⚕️🩸 Gallifreyan Bloodwork

📓|⚕️💊 Gallifreyan Pharmacology

📓|⚕️📡 Gallifreyan Medical Imaging

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features:⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴