GUINEA PIG ───

jonathan crane ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I think we most fully understood each other when once I tried to kill him with a kitchen knife.” — ‘South and West’, Joan Didion

pairing. switch!jonathan crane x professor!reader

warnings. swearing, use of aphrodisiac & fear toxin, oral sex (m), unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, mention of death, murder, drugs, multiple orgasms, slight breeding kink, face fucking, dubcon(?) SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 6.1k

summary. you and your dear friend, jonathan crane, have an odd relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. one day, you experiment your aphrodisiac on him.

a/n. the enemies to friends to fucking pipeline is sooo real and i love it. BTW! this is really self indulgent and again, i’m a beginner to writing smut so pls don’t judge😭 the beginning is also oddly plotty, so i apologize for that.

You and your colleague, Jonathan Crane, have a harmonious, albeit slightly sick and twisted, relationship.

Your repertoires, opposite in every way, complete one another like you were made to match. You are messy, frenzied, intimate; he is neat, calculated, distant. He is impatient, histrionic, stubborn. You are tolerant, deadpan, submissive.

This is an odd, good-cop bad-cop dynamic you’ve built, but it works. Your traits uphold the order you’ve built around yourselves; you allow each other to function.

Who ever said something so codependent, so parasitic, would fall apart? That it was dangerous, destructive? Everyone, but in your case, it has been anything but.

These are the simple rules of your relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. This partnership came to bloom when, after years of competing to be the “better” psychology professor at Gotham University, he sent you a gift that sprayed with you with fear toxin, and you baked him a cake that knocked him out for 24 hours following, heart rate so low he could’ve been mistaken as dead.

“Fucking - hell,” You murmured under your breath, stumbling halfway across Gotham City to locate Crane’s absurdly lavish condo in the Diamond District, barely able to keep yourself upright.

You were being visually assaulted by dozens of images, all your phobias no matter big or small, dancing across your senses. Spiders crawled all over your body, you saw yourself about to step off a steep, snowy cliff, you felt yourself suffocate as you were buried to death in a casket. It was utter torture, and you would have to endure it until you found Crane.

You must’ve looked like one of those tweaking drug addicts from down in the Narrows, shivering, sweating, and rubbing all over your body to remove some of the “spiders” taking over your body. The terror was settling into you, into your spine like a terribly malignant disease.

At last, you found the apartment building, blearily snuck in behind a drunk couple, and scanned the mail boxes until you found J. CRANE: 525.

You headed up the elevator, grasping at the walls for dear life, feeling that growing, unmistakable sense of dread start to take over your mind. You felt like you were going mad, now, not just afflicted with something that made you look like it.

When you finally got to his door, it was left open a crack, and you welcomed the small mercy of Crane’s overarching narcissism: he didn’t lock his door, often, because most days he felt more invincible than fucking god.

“Crane!” You shouted, clutching at your head and staggering into his large apartment. “Crane!” you repeated, this time more desperate, more fearful than anything.

However, your deepest fear, at the moment, had come true. You stepped into his kitchen, and found the man laying on the floor unresponsive.

“Fuck me,” you cursed. You’d sent the man home with the cake twelve hours ago, when he took the half-day off from GothamU, and you came home from your after-class tutoring hours just moments ago.

You’d opened the mystery package on your front porch promptly, and you found yourself having been gassed with a compound that made you see every little thing you were afraid of. Immediately, you’d known it was Crane; the man’s pet specialty was fear.

As for you, you wanted your… gift, to serve a reminder to him that he should not overstep your boundaries, your territory, as the psychology professor who was there first. If knocking him out was a little bit mad, he was bordering insanity for the toxin he poisoned you with.

Even so, your threat was an empty one. You weren’t counting on the man to even eat the cake - hell, you’d never seen the man consume anything but straight black coffee.

You couldn’t judge a book by its cover, you know now, and laid there on the couch of his apartment, waiting for the twelve hours to be over. Waiting for Crane, the fucking madman, to wake the hell up, blaming him for the predicament despite your very obvious involvement in it.

You breathed in and out, harried and rapid fire as you tried to focus, tried to block out the horrific things you were seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting.

(Your eyes are swarmed, viscerally, by a grotesque hallucination of your family burning to death; you hear them cry out, voices interrupted when they’re fire gets to their lungs; you smell their death, the smell of flesh burning, how the smoke chokes you — you taste their blood on your tongue, how tender a raging fire makes charred flesh.

Tender, you think on your choice of words again, and almost throw up.

What have you done, you think, and what is going through that fucked up head of yours, Crane?)

You tried to ground yourself, tether your lost mind back to Earth. You’re sitting in a field in Northwestern Ireland, you said to yourself, inhaling. Up ahead is the beach; water is crashing on the rocks. You exhaled, the wind tastes like salt, and it is just you and I, here together. It is only I and you, here, together.

Like so, 12 hours passed. Not so much passed — that word gave the connotation the hours slipped past you, the way a peaceful stream of water does; no, more accurately, it dragged by, like when an arm slips out of the ambulance cot on its way to the emergency vehicle, and drags on the concrete. The EMT’s don’t notice what’s making their trip so hard, so slow, until the hand is rubbed raw and bloody.

You repeated that mantra so many times you were starting to get queasy when you thought the words “you’re sitting in a field..” but nonetheless, the string of words kept you sane.

Sane enough, at least - you weren’t sure you’d be the same blissful person you were yesterday. Sure, you were always a little bit… unorthodox? Petty? Competitive enough to bake so many drugs into a cake your opposing professor knocks out?

But, with this — this being drugged by Crane — made you feel a piece of yourself break away. There would be no more of your life lived without knowing how fearful, well, fear, is. It's like discovering the Boogeyman and never being able to stop checking under your bed; the paranoia moves into your head and never leaves.

Crane began stirring, and your eyes opened as soon as you heard the noise. Surprisingly enough, however, you were no longer being hammered with the hallucinations that had been distressing you just half a day ago.

Had it been the mantra? The near-prayer you now swore was etched on your heart?

“Fucking…” Crane said, getting up off the floor. He was clutching his head, eyes squinted, body hunched and tense. Looks like spending half a day on the floor wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but you didn’t give a fuck — atleast he was sleeping. If you had to be mentally destroyed by his toxin, you’d best believe you were taking the couch.

“Why - why are you here? What the hell did you do to me?” He said after noticing you, voice raspy. He hadn’t had anything to drink or eat in a while, after all.

“I could say the fucking same for you,” You muttered, giving him a pointed look. “You - what the fuck did you spray me with?”

Immediately, a twisted grin was bared on Crane’s lips, despite his fatigued demeanor. “Did you like it? My fear-toxin,” he preened, like the winning kid at a school science fair.

You rolled your eyes, and before you could control your tendencies, you’d swung back and then socked him straight in the face.

Crane double-backed, looking terribly affronted, as if he hadn’t sent you the gas knowing how it would affect you. “Ow,” is all he said, face contorting oddly around the pain.

“Yeah, “ow”. Fuck you, Crane.”

Crane raised a brow. “You’re acting like you didn’t feed me a poisoned cake!” He said incredulously.

“It wasn’t that poisoned,” you bit out, teeth gritted. “Not so poisoned I was hallucinating my family dying for twelve hours straight.”

“Ah, thanatophobia, not really one of my favourites—“ Crane started, like he was losing himself in a romantic daydream, before snapping back to reality. “Did you just say twelve hours?”

“Twelve hours for me. Twenty-four for you.” You said, reveling in how panicked he looked.

“I — that’s long enough for me to be killed a hundred times over,” he mumbled under his breath. “What the fuck did you put in that cake?”

“I never expected you to eat it, Crane. You’re fucking skin and bones, I thought you’d just throw it out.”

“What did you put in the cake?” he repeated.

“Ugh,” you sunk into the couch, “some amytal, zolpidem. Some melatonin. I didn’t measure, okay, and again, I wasn’t counting on you eating it.” You didn’t know why you had this urging feeling to respond to him, to humor his jabs, his dumb fucking theatrics, but you did anyway.

“Some amytal? Some zolpidem? Some melatonin? Jesus fucking christ - is that what you wanted? To kill me?” He was leaning down, face inches away from yours now.

You pushed him away, disgust on your features clear as day. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not some sociopathic fear-freak like you, Crane. I don’t mix compounds in my creepy little office with the thought of drugging out my fellow professor in mind. It was just an empty threat.”

He let out a disbelieving laugh, “Mixing barbiturates and medications into a cake sounds like an empty threat to you?”

“You know what?” You said brightly, getting up off the couch, “I don’t have to argue with you. I came to get my cure, woke up having cured myself.” Then, you burst out the door, fury rolling off you in waves, and you left.

There was something about the incident, however, that seemed to intrigue Crane to no end. Soon enough, he began entering your office during your breaks, asking to have a chat. Or, he’d walk in during your lessons, forcing you two in the hall alone. Sometimes, he’d even wait for you after school, dozing off in front of your classroom and waiting for you to exit your office.

You couldn’t tell what was making Crane so interested, but he was hanging off you and your every word like some lovesick puppy.

You, on the other hand, also couldn’t get Crane out of your head. Certainly not for some weird, fucked up reason like his, but because of what he had created. A lot of people doubted his intelligence, mostly because of his obsession on things nobody really cared about, but that obsession made way to the destructive fear-toxin you’d inhaled, and it was seriously unlike anything you’d ever experienced, hell, even read about. It was a brand new creation, and downright deadly.

Your interest in the man was more so on… keeping him in check. As rivals did. But his was on how you’d breezed past the effects of his toxin in just twelve hours. He’s expected you to go half mad, honestly. Your threat was empty… his was, decidedly, not.

By the end of the next week following the incident, you two began eating lunch together, asking for joint classes, and spending nights over at each other's places. Not in that way, of course — your way was like a group of scientists having a forever eureka, because your minds fit like perfect puzzle pieces.

Your intrigue had met his intrigue, and it felt natural, coming to a united front like that. You found you had more in common than you thought, something you should’ve found out about a long time ago, 3 ½ years kind of long time ago. Apart, you two were volatile; angry, spewing threats, attempting murder on the other. Together, however, you were absolute perfection: productive, well-mannered, motivated.

Now, fast-forward coming on two years since the incident. You and Crane - now, Jonathan, have been inseparable since that time. You two were close, closer than siblings or children and parents or couples; you felt like the same person that had been split into two. Being together was the only thing that felt right, being back at the origin, like being at home.

Fuck’s sakes, you did have the same home — you’d moved in together. Not to his, nor yours, but to a big house you bought on the outskirts of Gotham, with a big yard and an even bigger lab in the basement. It was like a scientist's amusement park.

Maybe it - this relationship of yours - was codependency. But maybe it was utter genius: your careers had both never seen so many accomplishments until you and Jonathan came together. Partly because you had a greater inspiration when coupled with the other, but, mostly because you had a body to test on during preliminary trials.

Creating things, like the fear-toxin, required human testing, and finding a way to get that done always slowed Jonathan down. Since finding you, however, it’d been a breeze.

You offered yourself up readily, given Jonathan would do the same. And, besides, Jonathan had never been worried about you and his toxin very much — after that first time you took the toxin, you could easily find yourself out of its effects. You were the only person he’d ever encountered who could do this, and it was downright fascinating. He wanted to keep you, see how that strong little mind of yours worked overtime to fight his toxin off.

You, on the other hand, rarely tested anything like that on Jonathan. Your interests lied elsewhere: what smells activate the human mind to recall memories, what are ways to accurately fight off drugs like GHB — all mental stimulation.

That, however, changed one evening, when you had been brewing up a serum for the past few weeks. You’d gotten to the point in creation where you needed to test on someone, and observe the effects.

“Jonathan,” you called out, looking down at your notes. The man in question was grading assignments for the psychology class you taught — now, in joint lessons more often than not — sitting at a desk a few metres away from you in the lab.

“Jonathan!” you repeated louder this time, looking up from your notes.

“What?” He shouted back, still hunched over on the ungodly amount of assignments he needed to mark.

“Come here. I need to test something on you.” You said, nonchalant.

That, however, piqued Jonathan’s interest to no end: you hadn’t tested anything on him in nearly a year. It hurt, a little, to test you endlessly and have nothing to give in return - so this, no matter what it was, Jonathan would take in stride.

Jonathan nodded vehemently, “Okay.” He then dropped all he’d been doing on the desk and made his way over, before sitting in the chair next to you. You made quick work, tying his arms and legs to the chair like he’d done to you so many times before. He watched you work, completely enraptured in how you looked while experimenting.

“So,” He said, tearing his sticky gaze off of you, “what’re you pumping me full of?”

You sat back in your desk chair and scratched your cheek, a little unsure how to say this. “Well, I created a serum that, once injected, would lower or lose all inhibitions of the victim. They’d be completely malleable, agreeable, if you just, um,” you fanned yourself, feeling a little too close to the man in front of you, room feeling incredibly warm.

“Just what?” He pried, leaning back in his chair.

You exhaled shakily, “if you just promise to - to provide relief to them. Sexual - relief.”

Jonathan let out an incredulous laugh. “You made a working aphrodisiac?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t exactly — I don’t even know if it works, for sure. If you don’t want to- take it, then you don’t have to.” You offered up weakly.

“How d’you get it out of the system?” He said instead, ignoring your words and picking up the needle you had ready for him on your worktable, which was filled with a thick, pink liquid.

You flushed. “You, um, help the victim relieve themselves, until the feeling is gone.”

Jonathan looked up at you, a sly smirk on his lips. “And you were going to give this to me?”

You turned away, face red, exasperated. “I told you, you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.”

“And let you pleasure some random guy you snatched off the street? No way,” he said, before you heard a familiar prick, small whine leaving Jonathan’s mouth.

You spun back around so fast you thought you got whiplash. “Jonathan, wait—“ you said, alarmed. You were really, seriously, considering not giving the aphrodisiac to him — it would disrupt the careful balance you and he had built over the past years.

You were afraid that if he took the serum, and let you, for lack of a better word, get him off, you wouldn’t be able to look at him without remembering him needy, hot and bothered, calling your name out like it was the only word he knew.

He’d done it anyway, though. And now, you both just had to get through this… experiment.

Quickly, you grabbed your pen and notebook, ready to approach this scenario as detached and clinically as possible, ignoring the pulsing need in your insides as you saw Jonathan’s face slowly contort into a warm, heavy-lidded lustful one.

“How do you feel, Jonathan?” You said, standing further away from him so he couldn’t so much as feel your body heat on him.

“I…” Jonathan blinked rapidly, licking his lips, looking you up and down. “Warm. I just feel… warm.” He readjusted in the seat, unable to sit still. “And - kind of, tingly? Like I - well, I don’t know…”

You noted his words, as well as some of your own observations: his pupils were dilated, so much so the crystalline blue of his eyes were merely slivers, his lips were pursed, plump, and he was pink all over; pink cheeks, pink ears, pink neck. He was talkative, loose-lipped and a little out of it.

You inhaled, then exhaled, before starting the next phase of the experiment. “Jonathan, how do you feel when I touch you here?” You said, raising the back of your hand to caress his cheek.

Jonathan was affected almost immediately, eyes shutting tight. “It feels,” he said breathily, leaning into your touch, “ah… nice. Good.”

You nodded, promptly pulling away as soon as he’d finished his sentence. Subject enjoys physical touch. Jonathan then peered up at you, looking slightly… disappointed?

You shook yourself, getting back on task. “How do you feel now?” You pried, noticing he looked far more affected than before.

Beads of sweat were dripping from his forehead, making his wavy brown hair stick to his skin. He was breathing heavily, and, when you had touched him, he was extremely warm, like he had a fever.

“I’m, I…” Jonathan trailed off, eyes shutting, shaking his head. “Mmm… my head feels — fuzzy,” he bit out raspily.

“Okay. Good. It's exactly as I thought,” you murmured, continuing to scratch down notes.

You ignored him for a few minutes, writing up a list of side effects and observed results of the aphrodisiac. Then, your gaze drew back to him, who had been focussing intently on you the whole time.

“Jonathan?” you called out quietly, seeing his dazed expression. “Talk to me.”

Jonathan shuddered, leaning forward in the chair, head hanging low, “My - my body’s, hnngh… it feels— feels weird.” He bit his lip, face screwed up and tense. “I’m warm all over…”

His shoulders were hunched in, and he was trembling. You lifted a hand up to his head, petting him softly, carding your fingers through his hair.

“Ah…” Jonathan squeaked out at your touch, face going slack, “I feel like I need you to - to…” he sighed exasperatedly, “I need you.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek conflictedly. On one hand, you needed to finish up a few more tests, meaning Jonathan would be teased - or tortured, depending on how fast the aphrodisiac was affecting him - a little longer. On the other hand, he was already a breathy mess, begging for your touch. For you.

“Fuck,” you murmured, turning away from the man who’s eyes were practically rolling into the back of his head at the way you tugged at his locks. “No, no,” you fought your internal struggle. You would not give in to his pleas - you would finish this experiment.

“Okay. Okay.” you said to no-one but yourself, extracting your hand from his velvet soft hair. “Let’s be professional about this. Jonathan, I’m going to take your clothes off, but you can’t move, and you can’t touch me, okay?”

Jonathan’s breathing became more labored as you spoke, and you swore you could see desperate tears filling his eyes. “I can’t- I can’t touch you? But… but why not?” He was practically whining for you.

“Because, Jonathan, it wouldn’t be beneficial to the experiment.” You didn’t look your partner in the eye, because his complete and total change in behavior had you feeling, quite frankly, as warm as him.

You continued by undoing the restraints on his arms and legs, and his sharp intakes of breath as your fingers brushed past his skin didn’t slip past you. Not at all.

Firstly, you undid the man’s white button-up shirt slipping it past his flushed torso. Jonathan’s skin was actually pink and warm all over, and he was breathing heavily now, gripping the chair so tight his knuckles were white.

“Are you okay, Jonathan?” you asked absently, as you began unbuckling his belt and slipping down his fly.

Jonathan’s breath hitched in his throat, and he didn’t answer you, biting down on his lower lip to stop any desperate moans from escaping him.

You finally finished undressing your partner, then redid his restraints, before you stepped back to see him fully. Jonathan was shivering, faint tear tracks on his pink cheeks, head cocked back.

“It’s just - one, or two more tests, Jonathan.” You murmured quietly, kneeling down in front of him.

Your hands pressed flat on his thighs, rubbing him up and down, grazing your fingers lightly on his feverish skin. You had to regularly ground yourself, stop yourself from inching up to the poor, untouched tent in his boxer shorts.

Above you, you could hear Jonathan let out a low groan, “Ah, hnng— please,” he called out to no-one in particular.

“Does that - feel good, Jonathan?” You ask, getting back up on your feet. His desperate groans were getting to you now, how needy his little keens were.

“So - good,” he panted. “Your— you, I want— need, I need…” he trailed off, babbling, lost to the pleasure of your touch.

“Jonathan, if I… touched you more, would you do anything for me?” You said finally. The invention of the aphrodisiac was intended to sway someone's motivations, make them bend to your will. Sure, there was that added sexual aspect, but it was created with less… pleasurable intentions.

“Anything, anything at all,” he said deliriously, rolling his head around. “Jus’… just need you to- touch me.”

“Would you give yourself fear-toxin, Jonathan?”

“Yes! Yes, just — please… please! Stop asking me— questions… I need you so fucking bad, ah…”

“Jesus,” you said. Your aphrodisiac was stronger than you thought. You were satisfied, however, with the results of it. The first trial was a success, and you saw how you could use this on anyone - even people in particular positions of power, and get them to do your bidding. Quite helpful, indeed.

Now, you needed to… get Jonathan out of this state. By, ah, relieving him.

You had decided to do this, to test him, so you had to be responsible and help ease him out of this experiment. Quickly, you stripped your own clothing, even your underwear, before undoing the restraints on his arms and legs.

Jonathan’s eyes widened as he watched you undress. “Are you - are you… gonna t—touch me? Now? Please?” He practically begged, almost drooling at the sight of your naked body.

“Mhm,” you said, a tremble in your voice. “Gon’ help you get out of this.”

Then, you climbed onto Jonathan’s lap, shutting your eyes as you felt his hard cock within his boxer shorts slide between your legs deliciously.

He let out a guttural groan as your weight pressed down on him, feeling your wetness soak his shorts. That measly piece of fabric was all that was keeping him from entering your plush, velvet folds, and he was going practically insane at the feeling.

“M’god,” Jonathan whined out, leaning his sweaty head on your shoulder. “Y’feel so, a—ah, good…”

You couldn’t help the breezy laugh that made its way out of you. “I haven’t even touched you yet, Jonathan, and you’re already so worked up,” you whispered in his ear, hot breath fanning on his warm skin.

“P-pleeeease,” He begged, slowly grinding into you. Jonathan was barely coherent, mind just focussed on chasing the release he so desperately needed.

You raised a brow, but complied, slipping your warm hands down his boxer shorts and pulling his thick length out. You pumped him lazy, feeling how he writhed under you, tasteful whimpers slipping out of his mouth.

After another second of you stroking him lightly, your thumb grazing past the tip and collected a decent amount of precum, he actually did come, wet hot load spurting upwards on his chest and your face. “Ah - hnngh, oh my — oh my god,” he drooled, jutting into your hand.

It dripped down from your cheek onto your lips, and Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut, losing himself in the pleasure. You swiped a handful of his cream off your face, before covering his still hard, curved cock with it.

“You’re not done, aren’t you?” You said to him quietly, his hips stuttering as you artfully smeared his come on himself. Jonathan was arching into your touch, completely putty in your hands.

“Nuh- no, m’still— still need you, need you so bad.” he whimpered shamefully, hands stuck to your waist.

“Look at you go,” you found yourself cooing, dragging a creamy hand down his equally as creamy chest, your fingernails grazing him. “Let me take care of you.”

Then, you lifted yourself up off his lap, and carefully situated your slit on the tip of his head. “Christ,” you called out as you slid down, “you’re fucking big,”

Inch by inch, you took him, and Jonathan’s eyes were rolling into the back of his head, a string of senseless groans and whines leaving his mouth. “Feels so warm, so so warm,” he choked out at last, looking at you adoringly.

You started to lift out of him, your cunt stinging slightly at the sheer size of his cock, when you felt a heated liquid shoot through you, Jonathan’s knees buckling under your ass.

He’d come, again, even before you could get started. You shook your head incredulously at the terribly horny man beneath you, eyes glazed over in the pure ecstasy he was feeling.

“Stop, fucking — coming,” you scolded, bottoming his cock into you once more, “you’re gonna get me so — ah— fucking - pregnant if you keep coming.”

“Sorry,” Jonathan said sheepishly, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “Can’t help it— you feel so — hnngh — feel so good.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, then focussed on getting a good pace of sliding in and out, your hips rolling deeper and deeper into his own. You were bouncing quickly on his cock, dick-riding him like you’d never done before.

With all other sexual partners you had, they wanted to be all vanilla, always just missionary, going slow until they were close, no sense of creativity or any other wishes that just feeling you. With Jonathan - especially in the state he was in now - you could do whatever you wanted, as long as his cock was in your cunt.

“Good — god,” you screamed out, when Jonathan suddenly gained control over himself and snapped into you, rough hands pinching the flesh of your hips. He rutted into you, hard and fast, for a moment like that continually, before his control melted once more into nothingness, and all he could do was let you take the reins.

“Please— how’re you so — ah, how does your pussy feel so good…” he murmured, trailing off into a high-pitched moan when you pulled out, then just as fast sunk down on him.

Jonathan’s fingers trailed up your body, rubbing at your soft flesh, before they found your breasts, kneading you tenderly. He chanced several licks on both your erect nipples, and you shuddered, tightening around him. Your cunt was sucking him in, devouring his length no matter how big he was, and he could feel how his length was stretching your walls wide open.

“So fucking big.” You panted, arms wrapping around his neck, “fat fucking cock all needy, just me.”

“Jus’… just for you! All - ah, all for you,” Jonathan repeated with a squeak, lips bitten delicately between his teeth.

Your hands trailed all over his body, and as the pleasure was getting to you, making your head dizzy and your thoughts foggy, you bounced down on him and your nails scratched up his back, surely leaving small wounds.

This miniscule amount of pain seemed to amplify Jonathan’s endless pleasure, and you could feel him pumping you full of his come once again, the tip of his dick pressed flush against your cervix. His come made you feel so full, fuller than you already did with his monstrous cock nestled into you, continually rubbing up on the toe-curlingly spongy spot in your cunt every time you pushed him back in.

“Mmf,” Jonathan groaned, pleasure muffling whatever he was was going to say, “m’gonna… gonna get you pregnant,”

“Yeah?” You breathed out, squeezing your eyes shut, “Is that what this needy cock wants? To get my wet cunt full and me pregnant?”

“Yes, yes, hnngh, please, wanna come - wanna come more,” Jonathan cried out.

“‘kay, okay,” you nodded vehemently, “then make this pussy feel good.”

Then, you slid out with a whimper, two loads worth of come spilling out of your worn-out cunt, turning around so your ass would face him, before you sunk back down on him. You were chasing your own pleasure now, the unmistakable feeling rumbling within your lower stomach.

Jonathan was completely fucked out, just a shaking, hot and bothered mess on the sticky wooden chair you’d both occupied, but he still welcomed your warm pussy back on him with open arms. Your folds beat any other cunt he’d ever been in, and he knew nothing, not even his own hand, could match up to how addicting you were, how delectably you took him.

The new angle had you reeling, your hands gripping Jonathan’s thighs for some much-needed support. You were buckling, getting weaker with every bounce, but were still desperate for release. It affected Jonathan too, and he was pressing his face up against your hair, biting down lightly on your shoulder to collect himself despite the earth-shattering pleasure you were inflicting on him.

Your fleshy cunt met his rock-solid cock every moment perfectly, and soon enough your back was arching, head leaning back on Jonathan’s shoulder. That knot in your stomach was tightening, a fire burning within you and begging you not to stop.

Jonathan’s needy hands were coursing all over your body, rubbing on you in all the right places, and when his calloused fingers began pinching and twisting at your sensitive nipples, you saw white. That burning feeling dragged across your entire body, your jaw tensing, and you felt positively fuzzy, pure pleasure destroying all coherent thoughts you’d been having, your mind now focussed on the insane way he made you orgasm.

There was nothing that could compare to how you felt now, this being the hardest you’d orgasmed in your entire life. There was just something about Jonathan — be it how unbelievably big he was, or perhaps the odd tension that surrounded you two for the past few years — that made this experience ten times, no, a hundred times, better.

It was like his dick had been artfully crafted to stretch you out and stuff you full; that thick cock, made just for you.

In place of your weakening strength, Jonathan kept his hand tweaking your breast, and his other hand gripped your hip tightly, helping you bounce up and down on his cock. Thus, the pleasure was maximized by his touch, and you rode out your high like that for a few more long moments.

You stayed there, on his lap panting and drooling, for a few more seconds, before you climbed off of him, grimacing at the loss of his sweet cock in you.

You stood shakily, feeling his come ooze out of your sticky hole, and you were surprised to see that Jonathan was still hard. He was panting, head leaning against the chair, hands and legs trembling, but his dick could probably still pump out another round of come.

You did always wondering how he’d taste, and after seeing how long and thick he was, you wanted to know if his dick could make you cry, too. So, you kneeled down on the cold floor, pulling him by the ankles a little further off the chair, so you could get better access to him, and buried your pretty little head between his shaking thighs.

“What’re you— doing?” Jonathan said blearily, but before he could continue, your soft lips wrapped around him, and your tongue began artfully swiveling his sensitive head.

The loudest moan you’d heard so far was drawn out of Jonathan, and more, similar noises came out of him. It was nonsensical, and unintelligible, but you could tell he was having the time of his life — as if he hadn’t just orgasmed three times prior.

You started slowly, mouth taking his cock until you felt like you couldn’t anymore, before forcing past that point and making yourself take him to the back of your throat. Tears lined the rims of your eyes, your head swimming from lack of oxygen, but you couldn’t help how badly you wanted to hear him whimper and whine out from how good you were servicing him, his pretty groans reaching your ears like music.

You pulled his cock out of your mouth when you felt like you were going to pass out, and then you began lapping up at his cock, sucking and curving your tongue around his long length. You sucked him hard and fast, and then, his hands grappled at your hair.

At this point, you believed the aphrodisiac was wearing off, and Jonathan, now a little more clearheaded, began face fucking you, filling your sweet mouth full with his filthy cock. He couldn’t resist doing so, especially with you looking up at him through your tear-stained lashes, hollowing out your cheeks and gripping his thighs like your life depended on it.

You gagged on him, several times, but he didn’t care, and with a jolted thrust past your swollen lips, he came, squirting all he had left down your throat. You sucked and swallowed every drop of him into your mouth, loving the taste of his salty liquid.

Now, you were both fucked out, beyond tired, the strain on your muscles settling in. Your core had been properly exercised, what with how many times you rutted into Jonathan, and he, similarly, had a strained back with how much he arched into your touch, his aphrodisiac-clouded mind wanting nothing more but to be touched by you.

“Good god, woman,” Jonathan said, collapsing into the wooden chair, which was sticky with sweat, come and your cunt’s soaking wetness. “You could’ve just said you wanted to fuck,”

You panted, dropping down onto the cold floor beneath you and wincing. “We’re — we were, just friends.”

He waved away your words, “We live together, darling. Not quite sure if that's “just” friends.”

You looked up at him, before laughing agreeably. “Felt good though, didn’t it?” A smug grin made its way on your lips, remembering how submissive Jonathan had been, how desperate he’d been just for the slightest bit of touch.

“Amazing,” he said exasperatedly. “But next time, you’re not topping.”

“Next time, huh?” You said brightly, shakily getting up. Jonathan helped you, both of you limping exhaustedly up the stairs to your actual house, where you really should’ve been fucking, instead of the clinical environment of your large basement lab.

Jonathan’s hands found your ass, pulling you flush against him and kneading the flesh roughly. “Why not? Don’t you wanna know how I fuck?” he whispered suggestively into your ear, nibbling at the lobe.

“I think, you’ve still got some aphrodisiac in you, Jon.” you said, laughing breezily.

A Sweet Boy Like Me

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: when Peter gets hit with a truth serum on a mission, he tells you more then he means to

Masterlist

GIF by imtoohot-hotbam-blog

“FRIDAY, what’s the status on the jet?” You asked out loud as you ate your cereal. A minor cold had benched you while the rest of the Avengers went on a mission in the Amazon. You’d been by yourself for nearly a week now and were needing some company.

“The jet should be touching down on the landing pad any minute.” FRIDAY answered you.

“Thank you.” You called back. You finished the rest of your breakfast and by the time you put your bowl in the sink with the rest of your dirty dishes, you heard footsteps in the main entrance. You tried to hide your excitement as you went out to greet the team. You saw all the Avengers standing in the middle of the room looking utterly exhausted except for Peter, who had a huge smile on his face.

“Hey guys. How was the mission?”

“Great rack. Truly immaculate rack.” Peter said and gave you a double thumbs up.

“Oh. What?” You smiled awkwardly and looked at Tony for an explanation. The team looked at each other, no one wanting to be the person that told you what happened. You frowned and folded your arms, looking at each of them until they caved.

“Okay, fine. I’ll tell her.” Tony sighed. “Long story short, Peter got drugged.”

“What?” You gasped and looked at Peter again.

“I have a stinky in my brown hole.” He told you.

“He’s got a what in his what?” You asked the team.

“He has to shit. It’s all he’s been talking about for the 4 hour plane ride back here.” Sam groaned and went to take a seat on the couch.

“Oh my god. Ew. Brown hole?” You looked at Peter in disgust.

“Yessir.” Peter smiled and gave you another double thumbs up.

“Why is it brown? And wait, hold on, why is he on drugs?” You asked again.

“He got hit with a tranquilizer. In the neck.” Steve told you.

“See?” Peter smiled proudly and turned his head to the side. On his neck, you could see a massive red bump that looked like it was about to explode.

“JESUS FUCKING-“ You screamed but everyone on the team quickly motioned for you to stop.

“I mean, it doesn’t look that bad.” You quickly lied.

“Thank you. That’s what I said.” Peter laughed and touched his neck bump. It jiggled under his finger and you turned to the side to gag a little.

“My neck grew a boob.” Peter laughed and poked it again. You covered your mouth with your hand and looked to Tony for answers.

“How did he get drugged exactly?” You asked.

“Well long story short-“

“No. Enough with the long story short. I need to know how this happened. Give me the long story long.”

“I’ll give you the long.” Peter said and looked directly at you. You gave him a strange look as he attempted to wink at you. He ended up using both eyes and just gave you a slow blink.

“Oh my God.” You grimaced and looked away from him.

“Yeah, about that. When he wasn’t talking about having to poop, he spent the last four hours telling me he wanted to put you in 70 positions for 7 minutes.” Shang Chi told you.

“What? Do you mean 7 positions for 70 minutes?” You laughed and eyed Peter curiously.

“No. 70 positions in 7 minutes.” Peter clarified.

“But that’s like…10 positions every minute. That’s not even possible.” You said to Peter.

“Everything is possible when you’re a sweet boy like me.” Peter smiled and did a little spin.

“I’m sorry, what?” You asked the team as you pointed to Peter.

“Friendly reminder that I still have to poop. Just hoping we can circle back to that soon.” Peter announced and moved his hand in a circular motion.

“Go poop. I need to talk to Mr. Stark.” You told him.

“Okay baby.” Peter smiled sweetly at you.

“Don’t call me baby.”

“Okay honey.”

“Don’t call me that either.”

“Okay princess butter buns.”

“Oh my God. That one was just…I don’t even know how to describe that one. Just stop talking and go poop.” You sighed and covered your face with your hands.

“Okay!” Peter clapped his hands before running to the bathroom.

“So what happened?” You asked the team once Peter was gone.

“Long story short-“ Tony began.

“Don’t.” You pointed at him.

“Right. Sorry. Basically, the mission was going super well and we were almost done but then Peter decided he needed to fart while we were in this metal kind of room and it smelled horrible so naturally we both start coughing and gagging, meanwhile the sound of the fart is still echoing off the walls of the metal room. They guards caught him and I about to pass out from his truly lethal fart so we started to run away but they shot him in the neck with a tranquilizer dart. Now he’s cracked out and probably leaving skid marks in one of my toilets.” Tony told you. You were stunned to silence as you mentally pictured everything Tony had just described. You looked behind you at the bathroom that Peter was in before looking back at the team.

“I kinda wish I just left it at the short version.” You admitted.

“As do I.” Tony sighed.

“So wait, what was he talking about on the jet? Other than having to shit, at least. He wants to do what with me?”

“Well it’s no secret that the boy wonder has romantical feelings for you. I think whatever was in the tranquilizer dart loosened him up and now he’s saying everything on his mind. No filter.” Tony explained.

“So basically…” You trailed off as you put it together.

“He wants to fuck.” Tony said, unamused. “I had to listen to him tell me he wanted to fuck you for four hours. In row. My only break from that being when he told me he was about to shit his pants.”

“This is my fault. I saw him drinking regular milk this morning and didn’t stop him. He said he’s be fine.” You chewed your bottom lip and looked at the bathroom that Peter was in.

“Clearly he wasn’t. Because whatever came out of his ass back there on that mission smelled like the inside of a mongoose.” Tony sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“That was a really specific animal to say.” You frowned.

“Mongoose are opportunistic feeders. They eat everything from plants to small birds. Therefore, I imagine their insides smell really bad.” Tony shrugged as he explained his choices.

“How do you know so much about mongooses?” You asked him. “I don’t even know what they look like.”

“That’s so true. What the fuck is a mongoose?” Sam asked the team.

“They’re in the weasel family.” Bruce explained.

“So is Bucky.” Sam snorted.

“Can anybody tell me what a mongoose actually is?” You groaned.

“It’s a goose that’s mon.” Shang chi shrugged.

“But what’s mon?” Natasha asked.

“It’s the abbreviation of Monday.” Bucky said and everyone nodded in agreement.

“So mongeese are just regular geese but on Mondays?” You asked and everyone stopped to think about this.

“Wait, is it mongooses or mongeese?” Natasha wondered.

“I thinks it’s mongooses’s.” Sam answered.

“No. That doesn’t sound right.” Steve shook his head. Everyone started to talk over each other as they debated the correct plural use of the word “mongoose” while others debated what kind of animal a mongoose even was.

“Oh my God. Does it fucking matter?” Tony asked loudly, making everyone go silent.

“Jesus Christ. That was the single most infuriating conversation I’ve ever been apart of. It can be mongooses or mongeese. But it doesn’t matter. Because none of you are ever gonna need to use the plural of mongoose in a sentence. So everybody just shut up!” Tony continued. Everyone looked down in shame and Tony let out a little groan.

“You guys drive me to drink.” He said and rubbed his face again.

“I’m done!” Peter called from the bathroom suddenly.

“Congratulations! Do you want someone to come in there and wipe your ass?” Sam shouted back to humor Peter.

“That would be nice!”

“Okay. Bucky will be right there.” Sam shouted again and pushed Bucky towards the bathroom.

“I’m gonna kill your parents.” Bucky wiped around and pointed a small knife at Sam’s throat.

“Damn.” Sam backed up. “Why does every reaction from you have to be so hostile? You did the same thing when I stepped on the back of your shoe the other day.”

“You gave me a flat tire. I had to stop walking and fix my shoe. I hate doing that!” Bucky said through gritted teeth.

“Y’all, who fed Bucky after midnight?” Sam asked in annoyance. “You know he gets crabby when his blood sugar is too high.”

“I swear if I spend one more second with you people, I’m gonna do a swan dive off the top of this tower.” Tony interrupted their conversation.

“You should do a flip.” Sam said seriously, making Tony stare at him for a long time.

“Or a backflip.” Bucky added after a beat of silence.

“Is anyone coming to help me?” Peter called from the bathroom before Tony could retaliate.

“Jesus Christ. I’m gonna go check on him.” You groaned and went over to the bathroom. You knocked on the door a few times and Peter opened it up, still wearing his suit.

“Hey pretty lady.” He said slyly and leaned against the doorframe.

“Hey. How’s it going in there?”

“Pretty good. Do you ever look at the shit you just took and think that that’s the biggest size dick you could take? Like, up your butt?” Peter asked you in a genuine manner. You shut your eyes and slowly sat down on the ground in complete silence. Peter watched you curiously as you buried your face in your hands.

“What’s wrong?” Peter wondered. You stayed silent and kept your head down in your hands, refusing to look at him.

“Was it something I said?” Peter asked again.

“Yes. It was. Never say anything that you just said again.”

“Okay.” Peter shrugged and sat down next to you. He looked at you for a minute before taking your face in his hands and pressing your foreheads together. He scrunched his nose while letting out a strained groan as if he was trying to push something out of his body.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to read your mind to see if you like me back.” Peter said and strained himself again.

“I really hope you washed your hands.” You grimaced but let him hold your face for another minute.

“I did. Wanna smell?” Peter didn’t wait for an answer and held his fingers up to your nose.

“Okay. Sea Island Cotten. At least they’re clean.”

“They don’t have to be.” Peter said and slowly winked at you.

“Don’t do that. Why did you wink like that? Don’t ever do that again.”

“Okay.” He said with an ever slower wink.

“Wait, did you put your suit back on after going to the bathroom? Why would you do that?” You asked when he noticed what he was wearing.

“Oh. I don’t know.” Peter shrugged and looked down at his suit. He stood up and pressed the button in the center of his suit, allowing it to slip off and look around his ankles. He stepped out of it and folded it, leaving him in just his boxers. You stared at him with a dropped jaw for a moment, always taken aback when you were reminded what kind of body Peter had under his clothes. Peter noticed you staring at him and looked down at his body.

"What’s wrong? Are you stunned to silence over my sexy body?” Peter asked with genuine concern.

“Honestly, yeah. That’s exactly what’s happening here.” You admitted.

“One time you twisted in your chair to crack your back and your shirt rode up a little and I said your bare right hip and the upper part of your side and I think about that all the time.” Peter told you.

“Oh?”

“Another time you were bent over and I didn’t see you and you stood up when I was right behind you and your butt touched my penial area and I had to go lay down.”

“Penial area?” You whispered to yourself.

“Sometimes I think that I’m in love with you.” Peter continued. Your eyes flew open and you couldn’t help the smile that broke out on your face. You quickly wiped the smile off and stood up.

“Okay. Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” You asked and started to bring Peter towards his bedroom.

“Can you lay with me?” Peter whined and buried his head in your neck.

“Yeah. Just for a little while. You need someone to take care of you.” You smiled shyly at his action.

“I do. I also need someone to hold my hand and kiss me and sleep in my bed and hold me and play with my hair-“

“Okay-“ You tried to interrupt.

“-and tell me when my breath smells and send me good mornings texts and tell me they love me and-“

“Okay. I get it. You want a girlfriend.” You finally cut him off.

“I do! You’re so smart. You should be my girlfriend.” Peter insisted as you went into his bedroom together. He took you by both of your hands and led you towards his bed.

“Do you know what you’re saying right now?” You asked through a nervous laugh. You wanted to believe he was beige serious, but you knew it was probably just the drugs talking.

“Of course I do. I’m saying that I have feelings for you and I want you to be my girlfriend.” Peter said as if it were the most simple thing in the world.

“Oh.” You gulped and felt your heart skip a beat. Peter went over to his pajama drawer and pulled on some flurry pink Hello Kitty okays but stayed shirtless.

“I’m also saying that I’m comfortable pining after you and continuing our friendship but if you ever wanted more then I want that too.” Peter told you as he stepped into his pants.

“I feel the same way.” You admitted before you realized what you were saying. You just got so excited that he had perfectly described your feelings that you didn’t think about the consequences.

“You do?” Peter asked hopefully.

“Yeah. I do.”

“Can you tell me that again when I’m not coked out on tranquilizer?” Peter asked as he climbed into his bed. You bent down beside his bed and brushed his hair off his forehead.

“I don’t know. Maybe. If I’m feeling brave.” You said as you continued you play with his hair in the way you knew he liked.

“I hope you feel brave.” Peter sighed happily and rested his head down on his pillow. You stroked his hair until his eyes slowly fluttered shut and his breathing slowed. Once you thought he was asleep, you stood up and went to leave. Peter sat up suddenly and caught your wrist.

“Please kiss me.” He said in the softest tone you’d ever heard from him. You smiled at the request but shook your head.

“I can’t. You’re high.”

“And you’re hello. Now kiss me.” He smiled and tugged you closer.

“That’s not what I meant.” You chuckled and knelt down beside him again.

“What did you mean?”

“I mean you don’t actually want me to kiss you. You’re just high and confused.” You reminded him.

“Yeah. But I’m high and confused and in need of a kiss from a pretty girl.” He pointed and cupped your chin between his fingers.

“You think I’m pretty?” You asked as a smile tugged at your lips.

“You don’t?” Peter scoffed, making your smile grow. When he saw that he was winning you over, he got the courage to go on. He sat up a little more in his bed and tilted your face towards his.

“I think I could stare at you for 7 minutes and find 70 things I love about your face.” He said softly as he stared at your lips.

“That’s like 10 things every minute.” You replied, eyes on his lips as well.

“Just 10? Then nah, I could find way more.” He insisted.

“Were you just surprised that 70 divided by 7 is 10?” You laughed softly.

“No but every time I remember 8 times 7 is 59 I get a stabbing pain in my side.” Peter replied seriously.

“8 times 7 is 56. Not 59.”

“Gross. That’s way worse.” Peter scrunched his nose. You laughed at him before looking at him skeptically.

“Do you actually like me or are you just on drugs?”

“I can be both on drugs and like you at the same time. The two can coexist.” Peter said simply.

“So how come you never told me before now?”

“Being in love with your best friend is not the easiest thing in the world to talk about.” Peter said a little sadly.

“Yeah. I know the feeling.” You smiled softly. Peter studied your face for a moment before pressing his forehead against yours again.

“You’re my best friend. You’re the number one person I want to talk to about having a crush. But you are my crush. So I kept it inside. Until some guys shot my neck with a tranquilizer dart and all my inside thoughts splooshed out.”

“Well I’m happy they splooshed out. I’m glad I know now.”

“You are?”

“I am. Because I like you too.”

“You do? Even with my fat neck?”

“Even with your fat neck.” You chuckled.

“So kiss me.” He whined.

“I can’t.” You whined back. “Not until you’re sober.”

“Why?” He groaned and flopped back down on his pillow.

“Because want to be sober enough to remember our first kiss, don’t you?”

“Yeah. You’re right. As always.” He sighed and pulled his covers up to his chin. You smiled softly before leaving down to kiss his forehead.

“Maybe tomorrow.” You whispered against his skin.

“Really? Tomorrow you think?” He asked in excitement.

“I said maybe.” You said pointedly. “Only if I’m feeling brave.”

“Okay. Then I hope you feel brave tomorrow.” Peter smiled in satisfaction and snuggled into his covers. You went to leave again but Peter took your hand.

“Stay with me?” He asked in a way that made it impossible to say no. You playfully rolled your eyes but got into the bed. Peter smiled in satisfaction and wrapped your arms around himself so that you were spooning him. You gave into his desire and held him tightly as you made sure to avoid the swollen lump on his neck.

You soon fell asleep and ending up sleeping through the night. When you woke up the next morning, you and Peter were still tangled together. You sat up and stretched, accidentally waking Peter up as well. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, his hair sticking up in every direction. You laughed a little at the sight of his bed head before noticing the swelling on his neck had gone down and all he had was a bruise.

“Hey, your neck is skinny again.” You said and gently touched his neck.

“Thank God.” He sighed.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I was inside a mongoose.” Peter groaned and rubbed his face.

“How does every body know what a fucking mongoose is- you know what? Never mind. I don’t care anymore. And I know the feeling. I feel that way every time I listen to Somebody Else by the 1975.”

“So true. Fuck that, get money.”

“Fuck that, get money.” You nodded in agreement. Peter remembered the conversation you had before he fell asleep and looked at you, wondering if you remembered it too.

“What about you? How do you feel?” Peter asked coyly. You looked into his eyes and knew exactly what he was thinking about.

“Brave.”

“Brave? What the hell does that mean?” Peter asked you. Peter watched your face fall and immediately felt bad for the joke.

“I’m totally kidding. I remember. Kiss me.” He laughed and slipped a hand behind your head to pull you into a kiss. You leaned in and kissed Peter back, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his messy bed hair. Peter pulled you into his lap so that he could deepen the kiss. You made out on his bed for a minute until you were interrupted by Tony opening the door.

“Hey guys, did you want -stop screaming it’s just me- did you want pancakes?”

Tony asked. “Because I made way too many again. The entire kitchen is covered in stacks. Literally every surface in the kitchen has a comically large stack of pancakes on it.”

“Ugh. Why do you keep doing that?” You asked him for the millionth time.

“Because it makes me feel like fancy little rich bitch to use an entire cartoon of eggs on a single making of pancakes, okay? Happy now?” Tony snapped back.

“Yes. We’ll be down in a minute.” You mumbled in embarrassment.

“Cool. Try not to swallow each other.” Tony snorted before closing the door. You and Peter sat in awkward silence for a minute before looking at each other. You broke the tension by holding out your hand for him to take. Peter smile and slipped his fingers between yours before kissing the back of your hand.

“What do you say? Do you want to go get some pancakes?” You asked him.

“Does a mongoose have an immunity to snake venom?” Peter asked like it was obvious.

“I have no fucking idea.”

Peter laughed and leaned in to kiss you one last time before getting off the bed.

“Yes, they do. Now come on. Let’s go get some pancakes.”

Tag List 🏷️

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4K notes View Post

slapmewithacroc

1 year ago

Only bars keep us apart - Chpt. 2

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x femReader

Word Count: 4280

Summary: Over the past few weeks you keep on catching yourself thinking of Crane more than you should. You two get to know each other better, and he knows exactly what impact he has on you. At least you're safe with him behind those bars...right?

Warnings/Tags: angst, teasing, protective!Crane, minor mention of blood

A/N: I am truly sorry that it took so long🥲but the second part is finally here! It's not yet the end of the story but I hope I'll finish the next part quicker than this one XD. Have fun reading😊💜! ~✨Star

PART ONE

You’ve been working at the Asylum for three months by now and you’d be lying claiming that you didn’t like the attention he gave you. How couldn’t you now that you saw him every day and were allowed to have longer talks with him? You’ve been interested in him from the start but over time just like the trees outside your interest in him blossomed into something beautiful. He was intimidating but somehow it gave you a sense of safety to have the bars between the two of you at all times. His smart ocean eyes that bored right into your soul read you like an open book. His smooth, deep voice sent shivers down your spine and made your heart flutter. You’ve never met someone like him before and still, there was something drawing you in.

You had gotten used to your daily schedule by now; Get to the asylum in the morning, check in with your boss before talking to a few of the more harmless inmates. Then you had lunch and finally, it was time for your daily conversation with him. The only thing that changed was that with every day that passed, you walked down the hallway of his cell a little slower when it wasn’t quite time to see him yet. You lived for these few more seconds you could feel his eyes on you. For these few more words that fell between the two of you. Your interactions were the only thing motivating you to go to the asylum.

At night you lay awake, unable to shake off the feeling of his eyes grazing your body up and down. Whenever you fell asleep eventually, your dreams revolved around him. Somehow deep down you seemed to wish for him to step through that door and overcome the barrier between the two of you. But every night, right before he did, you woke up. And you hated yourself for it every single morning. Why the hell would you want him to get out of the cell they put him in for good reasons? Why were you so intimidated but longed for him to be free in your dreams? How did that make any sense? Were you slowly going insane in there?

On your way to the Asylum, you thought back to one of your many talks a few weeks ago…

Crane casually leaned back in his chair and folded his chained hands on his lap. His eyes studied you intensely as you sat down and adjusted your blouse. Looking up you noticed his gaze and raised an eyebrow at him, which made him smirk. “Good morning, beautiful.”

“Don’t call me that,” you said firmly.

“Why not?” he asked calmly. “Is it that wrong to state a fact?”

“It’s rude, we barely know each other,” you told him and grabbed your pen, scribbling down the date on your paper.

Crane sighed and rolled his eyes. “I miss the time when you could compliment a woman without being called rude or a creep.”

“Oh, so it’s a compliment?” you asked defensively. You wouldn’t fall for his charms even more. You were here on a professional basis and not to flirt with the inmates.

“It was intended as one, yes,” he said calmly and raised his eyebrows at you. “Is that a problem?”

You met his eyes and swallowed hard. “I’m here to do my job, okay? You are part of my assignment, that’s why I’m here.”

“Purely that?” he asked curiously.

“Purely that,” you nodded firmly and brushed back a strand of your hair.

“So you drew the card no one else wanted,” he nodded more to himself and you frowned at him confused. “I’ve been there…but I found it quite interesting here.”

“I bet,” you commented dryly. “It must’ve felt like home,” you added and bit your tongue hard once you realized what you just said. Shit, you weren’t here to tease him and make fun of him.

“Does my suffering amuse you, L/N?” he asked, not looking offended one bit.

“Did the suffering you put others through amuse you, Dr. Crane?” you asked back, deciding not to let him win that one.

“Amusement is the wrong word here…It delighted me, actually,” he told you and studied your face observantly. He watched your expression change to a mask of horror before anger and disgust laced your features. “There we have it.”

“You’re sick,” you spat out and stared at him. Well, what did you expect? That he didn’t decide to send people into insanity with his fear toxin? That in fact he was just a misunderstood soul who longed for nothing more than to be loved by someone and not harm others?

Crane shook his head and made a disappointed noise. “What’s one of the first rules you learned talking to a patient or client?”

“Excuse me?” you asked.

“Let me help you out,” he smiled, almost gently. “Never, and I repeat, never, judge the person sitting opposite you and insult them. Always stay neutral while talking to your client, no matter how crazy they really are.” His blue eyes lit up for a second as the word crazy mockingly rolled off his tongue.

“That’s rich coming from you,” you spoke firmly.

“You think so? Allow me to elaborate on that,” he said and started talking. You didn’t really listen, trying to calm down and sort your thoughts. You had a job to do, for fucks sake. Before you realized it your eyes were wandering over his body. You took in his confident posture, the way his full lips moved as he rambled on, his ocean-blue orbs displaying a theatre of emotions. You-. “Why aren’t you taking any notes?”

“I’m not here to write your memoirs,” you snorted softly. “I’m here to analyze you and I have a good memory, thank you.”

“Analyze me…Are we talking about my psyche here? Because the travels of your eyes tell me there’s a different sort of analysis going on,” he said almost mockingly and smirked succeedingly as the blush rose to your cheeks.

“Shut up,” you pressed out.

“So you can write down that I seemed awfully quiet today as if I had something stupid in mind? I don’t think so,” he smiled politely.

“Can we focus on the task at hand?” you asked frustrated and scribbled down his name on the questionnaire.

“I can,” he nodded.

…

Your casual conversations had gotten interrupted several times by now. About two weeks ago, a soldier from the military had been appointed to keep Crane behind bars, since rumors of a planned breakout sent panic throughout the city. The soldier had laid eyes on you and he had not given you a minute to breathe ever since. Not once. Suddenly, making your way down that hallway wasn’t fun at all anymore.

It was rather irritating, as you were trying to enjoy Crane trying to indulge you in some small talk, slowly easing you into longer conversations, when said soldier kept on flirting with you. Persistently so.

You really didn't want to hear how hot you looked in your work clothes. And you definitely didn't want to hear how he praised himself to heaven and back, annoying you with what a good boyfriend he would be. It made you uncomfortable and not even Crane’s mindfuckery reached that level of discomfort.

Speaking of Crane, he obviously noticed your discomfort. He had not spoken up - not even once - which made it worse. No, he rather seemed to enjoy your aggressive talks with the said soldier. He seemed to like seeing you try to get out of the conversation, and how you tried to be polite and stand your ground at the same time. You hated him for the joy it seemed to bring him.

Three days ago the soldier really stepped over the line, smacking your bum as you walked past him. You had been too stunned to speak, trying to swallow down your fear, and quickly made your way back home…

You couldn’t sleep and tried to fight down your sickness as you walked back to Crane’s cell the next day. You sent the soldier away, as always during your sessions with Crane, and sat down heavily. Quietly, you wrote down the date and his name, not looking up at him once. “How are you feeling today?” you asked then, staring at your first question. Crane remained quiet and after a long moment of silence you sighed and looked up. He studied you intensely, tilting his head a little as you finally looked up. “What? You didn’t hear me?” you asked more aggressively than you had intended.

“I’m doing fine, thank you,” he said calmly before squinting his eyes at you. “I suppose it’s a bad moment to ask you the same?” You remained quiet, only confirming his thoughts. “You can’t even keep eye contact, that’s dangerous in here. There won’t always be a guard around to protect you.”

“The guards are even worse than some inmates,” you spat out, still not looking up at him.

“I could’ve told you that on day one,” he smiled as you glanced up at him suspiciously. “Will you really let him mess up this opportunity for you?”

“Excuse me?” you asked quietly, a shiver running down your spine. “Who are you talking about?”

“I thought someone as stunningly beautiful as you are would be familiar with men acting up around you?” he gave back and raised his eyebrows at you. “But as it seems him touching you has been a first.”

You shifted in your seat and swallowed hard. “Why would I be alright if it happened more often?”

“I didn’t say it would be alright…but you’d be less shocked,” he shrugged. “Are you afraid of him?”

“Why would I tell you that?” you asked sharply. “So you can analyze someone’s fear? It’s the other way around here, I’m the one in charge.”

He smirked and rolled his eyes. “My dear, the patient is always in control…So, are you afraid?”

You stared at him before grabbing your things and getting up. “I won’t deal with this. We either do this my way or I’m leaving.”

“Would you accept something like that from me? Or him?” he asked smirking.

Tears shot to your eyes and you firmly grabbed your notes. “Fine, I’ll leave.”

His smile faltered a little seeing the tears and he didn’t respond anymore, watching you leave.

…

Going back home that day made you question your planned career. Yes, the asylum was an extreme, especially here in Gotham, but were you really ready to deal with people like Crane on a daily basis? Were you ready to walk such corridors more often and encounter all types of screwed-up people?

You weren’t looking forward to coming back to work today, knowing Crane would find it amusing that you took a few days off. The soldier would still be where he had been when you left and he wouldn’t stop. You subconsciously pull your sweater even further down, hoping it would hide the parts of your body he loved staring at. You wondered about Crane noticing your discomfort the last time but still questioning it. Did he really not care at all?

The moment you stepped into the asylum you knew he did care. The director met you at the door and filled you in about the events of last night. Apparently, Crane had gotten into a fight with one of the soldiers and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was that soldier. If it had been you somehow felt no compassion for the soldier which scared you a little. Why did that thought give you some sense of safety? Were you even more insane than Crane himself?

Your hopes of avoiding Crane for another day vanished into thin air the moment you heard there was an issue with the electric safety system of his door at the isolation cells. Of course, typically for your luck in life, the assigned electrician was at home because of a heavy flu. You had watched him a few times working at the doors and you had some past knowledge of circuits yourself. Apparently, you had mentioned that in your application because now you were being escorted to Crane’s temporary new cell to fix his door. You felt like the asylum’s personal monkey; just good enough to do whatever others didn’t want to.

And that's how you ended up in this awkward situation of sitting on the floor in front of Crane's cell, trying to fix the door and him continuously watching you. He had a small cut on his cheek; clearly the result of his fight.

You decided you had had enough of the silence. "Why did you start a fight with a guard? I thought you enjoyed your cell outside the isolation corridor."

Crane was surprised about you initiating the conversation first this time. Positively though. He smiled and shrugged. "He was...annoying."

You huffed and rolled your eyes. Of course. "So if someone annoys you, you just punch them in the face?"

"He said some disrespectful things. That's all. I thought it was only appropriate to teach him some manners." Dr. Crane's mood had worsened within seconds. You wondered what the guard said for Crane to react like this. Sure, he had a threatening aura, but normally he was rather calm. Stiff, almost. Seeing him lash out into a physical fight was something new.

"Appropriate. Somehow you using this word in combination with a beating actually makes sense. It's you after all." You made a vague gesture with the screwdriver to emphasize your words.

Crane's face lightened up and he chuckled. "Oh? You know me that well? I had no idea you studied me this throughout." You looked up at him in annoyance. This guy really had no shame, now did he?

Deciding, it had been enough small talk, for now, you resumed your work. At least you attempted to. You really did. You tried to concentrate on the circuit, you really did but it was incredibly hard when you could practically feel his eyes burning into your skin. Were you simply another pretty thing for him? Or was he actually interested in you?

You put down the screwdriver, a bit too aggressively than necessary, catching yourself fantasizing once more. "Turn around."

"Excuse me?"

You immediately regretted saying that. How weird must that seem to him right now? "I feel watched. I can't work like this." You groaned in frustration as one of the cables once again slipped from your grip. Him laughing at your request just made it worse. "Prick", you muttered under your breath.

Crane actually heard that and started laughing even more. Something inside of you snapped and you grabbed the screwdriver and threw it through the bars, right at him. You only realized the impact of your action, when he easily caught it and his smirk grew. "What a nice gift from you."

Your throat went dry. Shit. This could easily be used as a weapon. "Give it back.", you demanded in an attempted authoritative tone, though it came out shaky. Fuck.

Crane spun the screwdriver between his fingers and watched you thoughtfully. "Alright." You were surprised but also relieved that he agreed so easily. "Just hold out your hand."

Your heart dropped. Of course, it wouldn't be this easy. As if he had read your mind, he answered by rattling the chain of his hand. You were a bit confused. If you remembered correctly there weren't any cells with non-extendible chains. Maybe it was an extra addition because it was him. "Safety measures since my little...confrontation. I can't get to the door. So you'll have to stretch your hand inside. I'll do the same." Dr. Crane could practically hear the fight you were having with yourself in your head. "Unless...you want me to keep it?"

No. That could end horribly. You took a deep breath and stepped closer to the bars. "Fine." Shaking all over, you reached through the bars.

Crane calmly stretched the screwdriver in your direction. It was right over your hand. Come on. Just give it to me!

You should have never trusted him. The chains had been extendible from out the wall after all. He had lied to you. He dropped the screwdriver and launched forward, grabbing your wrist, and pulling you in his direction. The pull caused your body to collide with the cell bars, at the same moment, the screwdriver dropped to the floor. Fear spread through you like a wildfire and you felt your heart starting to race.

Your breathing was speeding up as you stared into his unreadable eyes. To test the waters, you gave your hand a little pull but Crane didn't loosen his grip one bit. "Dr. Crane. Let me go,” you spoke as calmly as possible.

His gaze was calm but that made you feel all the more threatened. Where were the guards? How could it be that you two always ended up being alone? Maybe this was your karma. You had wished for some time alone with him - without the stupid, flirtatious guard around - after all.

Crane stood up and walked forwards until he was right before you. The metal of the bars dug into your rips. He was so close that his breath mingled with yours. Crane lifted his hand - you tightly closed your eyes. You expected a punch. A jab. Him forcing you to open the door. Anything. Anything but this.

He very gently wrapped a strand of your hair around his fingers. The air got stuck in your throat. Crane smiled at you with something in his eyes you couldn't quite explain. "I always wondered if it was as soft as it looked."

Something about his smile and his casual demeanor made you really...angry. Maybe because you had just been afraid of him killing you and he does something like this. You gritted your teeth, putting as much rage into your gaze as possible. "Let me go!"

Crane blinked, seemingly knowing exactly what was going on. Another trait that was so infuriating about him. He tilted his head to the side, deep in thought, and hummed. "Why would I hurt you? I told you I'd give you a reason for you to feel safe around me."

"Then how about you don't just grab me and slam me against the door after you told me you'd only give me the screwdriver? Or how about you don't lie? That would make you seem more believable." You practically spat out the last word, staring over at the extendable chain.

Crane followed your eyes and chuckled. "Fine. You caught me. But...the opportunity was just too tempting. If I would have asked you directly, you wouldn't have let me do it, right?"

"So you just force me into a situation where I can't run? Charming."

Dr. Crane's calm smile faltered when he realized how angry you were. He sighed, thinking about how to calm you down.

You decided to give him the answer by pulling at your hand again and glaring up at him. Crane huffed and rolled his eyes. It was the first time he was displeased in front of you. It made your blood run cold and you started shaking. Have you taken it too far? Would he hurt you now after all?

As always, the former psychiatrist noticed the change in your attitude and decided to gift you a calm smile. Which - in all honesty - just made him seem creepier.

Crane tilted your chin up with one finger, scanning your expression. "You are only angry… not scared at all. That's surprising. Or maybe you're just good at hiding it?"

You decided to use his own words against him. "Why would I be scared? After all...you won't hurt me." You said it with all the confidence you could muster but your voice shook a bit nevertheless. Crane smirked at that and nodded.

"You're right. I did say that." Your confidence faltered and you turned pale once more. What did that mean? That he was lying? You tensed when he got even closer, pulling you against the bars even more by grabbing your chin.

His eyes kept on flickering back and forth between the electric strike and you as if he was unsure whether it was worth forcing you to open the door after all. Unbeknownst to him you were contemplating too. In the end, you decided for it. Not the same thing he had thought about though. Instead of opening the door, you lowered your head quickly and straight up bit into the hand that had been grabbing your chin mere seconds ago.

The sheer surprise caused him to let go of your wrist. Without waiting for a moment more, you pushed yourself off of the bars, bringing several meters between you again. You only stopped when you collided with the bars of the opposite cell.

The look that Jonathan Crane was giving you was terrifying. In the next second, Crane's eyes flickered for a moment and then his threatening smirk dropped. "Y/N. You...should really step away from there."

"If you think I'd come even an inch closer to you, you are so wrong!" you hissed at him, unaware of the danger you were in.

Did he seem even more serious than usual and oddly...worried? No. That couldn't be. What would he be worried about? But he lifted both of his hands calmingly, the thumb of the hand you had bitten a bit bloody. You felt a bit of pride well up inside your chest. There. At least there were some consequences for his actions. He deserved it. It could barely be called a wound anyways.

"Y/N." Crane swallowed and let out a light chuckle but it seemed stressed. "You don't need to walk over to me. Just...step aside at least."

"I'm not doing what you're telling me to do! I've had quite enough of your stupid games! So stop it with your smooth words and your stup-." The words got caught in your throat, by a strong arm wrapping around your throat and slamming you back against the bars.

Oh. Of course. You had been so infuriated by Crane that you had forgotten about the fact that you should stay away from the other cells as well. This was the more isolated and safer corridor for a reason.

Your nail dug into the flesh of the arm, trashing and gagging. This wasn't good. How the hell was the person behind you so strong? To believe you had even the smallest chance was a joke in itself. Your shoe didn't fit through the bars so kicking the inmate wasn't an option either. All you could do was claw at his arm. He didn't budge. Calling out for help turned out to be impossible. You'd need air for that.

While you kept on searching for options and solutions, your sight got blurred and your throat dry as it tightened. Someone kept on calling your name frantically. Who was that? It was hard to focus on anything, with your lungs clenching painfully like this. They were aching for air, your whole being begging you to just breathe but you couldn't.

Your thought process slowed down. Of course. You could just-. But no. What that would mean for Gotham...how could you ever be so selfish?

The consequences would be enormous. You pressed your eyes closed, croaking out a weak sound. This could've been your last one. The thought itself was so scary that you changed your mind within seconds. Nevermind. You didn't want to die. You'd rather get locked away for this than die.

You took your last remaining strength and kicked in the direction of the opposite cell. If it was destiny or sheer luck, you didn't know, but the sole of your shoe collided with the electric strike.

The corridor had been overshadowed by your tears and black dots dancing in front of your eyes. In the background, you could hear the loud, aggressive tone of a door opening. A door? Which door again?

You got your answer surprisingly fast when someone screamed in your ear like his whole life had just been turned into a living hell and the arm that had been choking you, let go. Staggering forward, you braced yourself for the impact with the floor. Instead, you fell face-first into the chest of someone else, and strong warm wrapped around you.

You frowned. Who was screaming around like this? It only increased your headache. And what was that shrill sound? Was that the alarm?

Your head was spinning, barely able to comprehend what had happened. At least until you looked over your shoulder. Now, you were able to see the inmate that had attacked you as you slowly regained your senses. He was lying on the floor, nails dug into his head, screaming and crying with wide eyes. You scooted back - or tried to - remembering that someone had caught you. Remembering your kick and the sound of a door, caused goosebumps to spread over your arms. Your heart was pounding like crazy when you slowly lifted your head. Please not him. Please not him. Please not-.

You slowly turned your head and instantly met a wild blue ocean. It was him. For the first time since you knew him there was fear in his eyes that frantically searched your body. He grabbed your hand and pulled you up, starting to run whilst pulling you after him. There were no bars left between you two anymore.

PART ONE

MASTERLIST, PROMPT LIST, NEWS

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the list):

@angel-888x @alexxavicry @expensivechimmy @midgardianminx @washingmachineheart-13 @by7a @sirenshouts @unbeknownnst @kmctvsh

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slapmewithacroc

2 years ago

2K notes View Post

slapmewithacroc

1 year ago

Feyd Rautha would understand the gravity of impregnating a member of the Bene Gesserit. The promise of a powerful heir born with the voice and truthsaying abilities meant a stable driving force for House Harkonnen with ties to those closest to The Emperor. But when you grow a swollen stomach, round and full with his child, the political chess moves are far from his mind.

The Na-Baron is obsessed. At first you note his unwillingness to leave your side, refusing to take to the arena and slay Harkonnen prisoners while you are with child. His dual hunting blades gather dust, Feyd choosing instead to pose his aggression against any male Harkonnen that dares look your way.

Usually unaffectionate, Feyd lays claim to you by placing his hands on you often. His palm presses against the swell of your stomach, feeling the tiny kicks of the child inside. It almost makes him more protective, insisting he, alone, protect you.

Seperate from prying eyes, Feyd cannot keep his hands, his lips, off you.

“You witch,” he hisses between heavy kisses, his firm grip hoisting your thighs over his hips, “You have poisoned me— Bewitched me with your Gesserit powers.”

But when Feyd sinks his cock deep inside you, his palms splayed across your swollen stomach, he’s too busy growling out your name to accuse you of sorcery. In truth, Feyd Rautha would readily fill you with his seed again and again to watch you swell with more of his children.

dune masterlist

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slapmewithacroc

11 months ago

im very in love with book jamie at the moment…

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slapmewithacroc

2 years ago

do not disturb

pairing- jake 'hangman' seresin x female!reader (no use of y/n)

synopsis-

“It’s one hundred degrees in this room,” Hangman defends himself. “I can’t sleep in pants, I’ll die.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, considering just sleeping in the hallway yourself and ending this torture. “Is your penchant for drama genetic? Are your sisters like this too?”

warnings- 18+ only minors DNI, what's a plot never met her, explicit protected piv sex, lil corruption/innocence kink, choking (pls look up the correct way before doing it), hangman's dirty mouth, size kink (if jake doesn't have a big dick I'm staging a revolt), brat tamer hangman if you squint, inexperienced ish reader (tried but I'm a hoe so idk if I managed it), no kink negotiation here (talk to your partners first irl), safewords not explicitly stated but I promise this is consensual af, excessive pet names, exasperated sleepy friends to lovers

length- 4k this was supposed to be like 1k I don't know blame hangman

an- this is just smut w lil fluff sprinkles. i'm a hangman girl (read: I'm obsessed with glen powell) so I felt some type of way about being mean to him in tailspin & that's why this now exists. also idfk what this even is sorry! hope it's not terrible ok ily bye

GIF by when-in-doubt-eat-pizza

Technically, it’s the middle of the night.

That’s why you’re burying homicidal urges when you hear knocking on your hotel room door.

Urges that increase tenfold when you open it to see Jake Seresin, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly in an old Navy shirt that looks way too soft for your sleep addled brain to deal with right now.

“Hangman,” you greet drily. “Why the fuck.”

Rubbing sleep from your eyes, you’re not unhappy to see him, per se, but it’s well past acceptable social hours. He’ll have to forgive your less than enthusiastic welcome. Part of you thinks you might still be sleeping.

He at least has the decency to look sheepish for waking you up. Well, about as sheepish as Hangman is capable of looking. “Coyote said he was bringing someone back to our room. Can I crash with you tonight? Everyone else is either hooking up or dead asleep.”

Fucking weddings.

You narrow your eyes. “What if I have someone here?”

He smirks and you kind of want to slap him.

A testament to your willpower, you sigh instead, briefly wondering if it’s really that bad to force him to sleep in the hallway, before opening the door and stepping to the side.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he drawls, letting you feel the heat of his body as he passes by you, just a touch too close for comfort.

“Cool pjs.” He smirks again, raking his eyes up and down your colorful matching shorts and shirt set.

“Bite me.”

Hangman smiles good-naturedly causing you to idly wonder if anything has ever bothered him in his entire life.

“You’re real cute when you’re tired,” he says instead of being offended and now you’re debating if you actually should slap him, or maybe yourself for the way his compliment brings heat to your cheeks.

“Where’s Phoenix? Thought you were sharing a room with her this weekend.”

Your stomach drops as you consider that Phoenix might be why he came to crash in your room, and you try not to make a face at its betrayal.

“She’s probably in your room with Coyote,” you deadpan to cover up your discomfort, and then relish in the way his mouth drops open in surprise. “Christ, aren’t you supposed to be smart, Hangman? I’m kidding, she met someone at the reception.”

You know you’re being a little more abrasive with him than normal, but you can’t quite help the jabs that come out when you’re feeling uneasy.

And Hangman does nothing, if not make you very, very uneasy. Especially like this, with his blonde hair soft and flopping all over his forehead, that old t-shirt clearly having been shrunk in the wash over the years straining across his chest, riding up a little high above his sweatpants.

The gears are clearly turning in his head, no doubt forming something witty to gain back the slight upper hand you’ve gained in this verbal sparring.

You should be preparing yourself for whatever he’s about to say that’s sure to make you lose your footing. But he looks like a goddamn sleepwear model like this, mellow and soft and cuddly, eyes drooping a little from tiredness and the whiskey he was sipping on all night, clothes begging to have someone’s hands fisted in them and…okay. Stopping that train of thought right the fuck now.

Nothing but danger lies down that road with a girl like you and a guy like Hangman.

You’re contemplating if you could get away with taking a cold shower when he finally looks around your room, its distinct lack of two beds apparently killing whatever comeback he had on the tip of his tongue.

“I can sleep on the floor.” He’s rubbing the back of his neck again and his uncharacteristic awkwardness is starting to make your skin itch.

Message received, Hangman. We both know I’m not your type.

You’ve seen the girls he usually goes home with. Even if every single one of them wasn’t annoyingly beautiful, you already know where you stand with him. For all intents and purposes, you’re just another one of the guys. Sure, you don’t take a different conquest home every other night like the rest of them, but you banter and compete with them like buddies.

And since you and Hangman are just buddies, you roll your eyes for appearances. “Just get in the bed, Seresin. It’s huge, I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor.”

He shrugs, like he’s giving himself credit for his half-assed offer and goes to pull his sweatpants off. You give him a withering look of disbelief, studiously avoiding looking at the way his boxers stretch over his muscular thighs.

“It’s one hundred degrees in this room,” Hangman defends himself. “I can’t sleep in pants, I’ll die.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, considering just sleeping in the hallway yourself and ending this torture. “Is your penchant for drama genetic? Are your sisters like this too?”

He just gives you a dazzling smile in response, and you spin away from him before everything inside you melts.

Turning the thermostat down, you shoot an evident you’re welcome stare in his direction, but his sweatpants remain in their place on the floor. He’s laid out on the bed, all tanned skin and muscle, arms crossed behind his head in a way that’s surely meant to draw your attention straight to his biceps.

Deep breath, you tell yourself. You can do this, just lay down on the other side and don’t be weird.

You get in and pull the covers tight, hoping the shiver that runs through you as the air conditioning kicks on isn’t noticeable.

“And I’m dramatic,” Jake huffs, getting under the blanket and rolling closer to you. You tense, merely out of reflex and a frown creases his eyebrows almost imperceptibly before he gets comfortable on his side, pulls you into his arms. “Relax, sugar. Just trying to keep you warm, since you’re always so cold. Been told I’m like a furnace.”

By who? You want to snap at him, but instead you swallow the words and lean into his chest. He really is warm.

“Would never do anything you don’t want me to,” he mumbles, but there’s a trace of a chuckle in his voice that feels like he’s making fun of you.

Mocking aside, that's definitely true.

You'd never expect him to do any of the things you want him to, either. There's a reason your apprehension stems from you crossing some sort of invisible line with him in your bed and not vice versa.

"I know," you whisper, not trusting yourself to say much else without divulging all the thoughts about him you've buried deep under your comforter at home.

“How come you didn’t ask anyone else to come up and keep you warm?” Jake teases, after a few moments of silence where you were busy focusing on the whirr of the air conditioner and trying to ignore your pounding heart.

You squint, still kind of wondering if he can feel your pulse racing.

“The curly haired guy, from the wedding,” he supplies helpfully to answer your confused expression.

Oh. You’re surprised Jake noticed you talking to him at all. “It’s not like I wanted to sleep with him. We were just chatting.”

“Well, he definitely wanted to.” You’d love to imagine there’s a hint of bitterness in his tone, but you know that’s just wishful thinking.

“That’s not really my thing,” you say quietly, as if he doesn’t already know. He knew enough to know you wouldn’t have anyone up here with you, after all.

It’s so much easier, laying here in the dark, not having to meet his beautiful green eyes, to be honest. All your jabs having melted into smooth, silky edges at the warmth of his body.

There’s a playful lilt to Jake’s voice again. “Sex?”

You smack him lightly on the chest. “One-night stands. I can never get comfortable enough with a stranger to have a good time, things are just better for me when it’s more involved.”

When there’s feelings, you don’t say, because you’re pretty sure he can put two and two together without you having to spell it out.

You still kind of wish you hadn’t said anything, are kicking yourself for admitting that out loud when he cuts through the anxiety of your internal monologue.

“Nothing wrong with knowing what you want, darlin’.”

“It sucks sometimes,” you admit. “It can be a little lonely.”

“Better than being with the wrong person if it’s just going to make you feel bad.”

Part of you wants to roll your eyes and scoff at him, as if Casanova Jake Seresin has any idea what that feels like, but he’s rubbing small, comforting circles in between your shoulder blades and it’s short-circuiting your brain. You find yourself running your fingers up his spine instead, playing with the soft threads of his t-shirt like you’ve wanted to since the moment you saw him at your door tonight.

“Feels nice,” he comments, pulling you in closer.

Spurred on by his praise you keep going, wandering down his back to where his shirt rides up. You look down and see that little strip of blonde hair that disappears into the waistband of his boxers, slung low enough that you can see that stupid Adonis belt on his abs. Your hand moves to the front of him of its own accord, tracing the ridges there, brushing dangerously close to the strip of elastic at the top.

Jake’s arm pops up so he can support his head with his hand, looking down at you imploringly. “What’re you playing at, sugar?”

You take your hand back like it’s been burned, cheeks suddenly hot as you realize you’d gotten carried away. “I’m sorry, I just—I didn’t think about what I was doing. Got distracted.”

He’s definitely smirking, you can practically feel it in the air above you, but you’re sure as hell not going to look up and see that self-important grin for yourself.

He pulls your fingers back to his stomach, and you can’t help but immediately brush them over his happy trail. The dusting of blonde hair surprises you a little, having expected Hangman to be too vain to leave any hair around that might distract from his physique.

You’re silently wondering if he has any hair on his chest when he catches a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. You see his green eyes darkened, studying your face for something. You’re not entirely sure what.

Apparently finding what they’re looking for his expression softens, the hand supporting his head going to brush hair away from your face and you break eye contact, feeling small under his undivided attention. His fingers hover for a second, like he wants to do something more, but go to rest on your pillow instead.

“Thought that I had you pegged wrong all along for a second there, using lines to get in my pants. That’s not really my thing,” he mimics, smile twitching at the edges of his lips.

“Oh, I’m—Jake, I’m not—” you stutter, certain you must be bright red now. Your fingers are playing with the hem of his t-shirt, nervous and fidgety energy working to get released.

I’m not like this, you want to say. I’m not like you.

He exhales audibly, looking down at you, at the cherry blooming on your cheeks, at where your dainty fingers pluck at his shirt. His hand clenches once in the pillow above your head, knuckles practically white, before releasing.

“I know, sweets, was only joking. Fuck, I get that you’re a good girl,” he breathes, strained like he’s barely holding it together. “S’why I always want to ruin you.”

What.

Everything inside your mind shuts off.

All you can hear is the humming of the air conditioner, the slow intake of air into his lungs. Something inside you clenches.

You’re fairly certain a sound that closely resembles a whimper breaks from your throat, but you can’t know for sure, since all thoughts have been erased from your brain.

You hear him suck in a sharp breath, breathing in and out evenly for a couple seconds, regaining control, before he speaks again. “Sorry, sweetheart. Shouldn’t have said that. I won’t, told you I’d never do anything you don’t want.”

You already know that. That’s not the problem. The problem is how many nights you’ve already spent wishing his fingers were on you instead of your own. How many nights you've spent biting back his name, too embarrassed to let your lips form the syllables of someone who you were certain didn’t want you.

Now, though, those walls of certainty seem to be crumbling at every edge.

“What if I want you to?” You ask quietly, barely above a whisper. It almost gets stuck in your throat, but you force your lips to form those words and let them leave your lungs.

Jake’s entire body goes tense.

But then he rolls over, putting you on your back and caging you in with his arms.

“You mean that?” He’s looking at you intensely, so intensely you might be frightened if you weren’t distracted by the weight of him on top of you, by every single scorching point of contact between you.

All you can manage is a nod, eyes starting to glaze over as he fills every inch of your vision.

He chuckles. “Guess that’s a yes.”

Jake ducks his head to kiss you, it’s sweet, sweeter than you ever would’ve expected from him. Sweeter than you thought it would be when you were hiding beneath the sheets in your bed, with your fingers on your clit, choking back his name.

But then he slides his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss as he tangles a hand in your hair, tugging hard enough to make you moan straight into his mouth. His lips move down to ghost over your neck, across your jaw.

And suddenly his words are hot in your ear. “What do you want, sweetheart? Want me to ruin you? Tell you about all the times I’ve thought about taking you apart?”

Your thighs clench together, heat blooming in your stomach and you notice, all at once, how wet you really are, slick pooling between your thighs under the wispy material of your sleep shorts.

You open your mouth to say yes, desperately trying to find your voice, to find your familiar jabs so you can go toe to toe with him like normal, but all that comes out is a squeak.

His hand stops at your neck, just briefly, thumb rubbing on your pulse point. And it turns every last bit of you in you to sweet, sticky, melting caramel. Your breath hitches, you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, holding back a whimper.

He’s not even doing anything, not really, but your mind immediately latches onto what he could be.

Jake’s eyes go wide for just a second before something wicked glints in the thin ring of green left.

“Thought you were so fucking innocent,” he grunts, running his thumb from your pulse point to your jaw and back again. You bring your hands to his, pulling him closer, silently asking him to press down.

You open your mouth to respond, but you don’t know how to explain. You may not do this kind of thing a lot, but you know what you like. Your imagination has certainly run wild enough times.

But any words that might’ve been readying themselves to leave your lips wither into nothing the moment he squeezes your neck.

“Jake,” you gasp, words breathy underneath the fingers around your throat. “Jake, I…”

“Hmm, what’s that, sweetheart?” His hand relents a little so you can answer, but you immediately wish he’d tighten his hold again.

“Yes, Jake,” you whine. “I want you to ruin me.”

And you don’t know what’s come over you, if you were even an ounce more present in your own body you’d probably be embarrassed.

But Jake’s head drops next to his hand at the crook of your neck, and he makes a strangled noise, the moan reverberating through your skin.

“Jesus,” he mutters against you. “Trying to kill me, sugar?”

You don’t have an answer for that because you’re not trying to do anything, you just want more.

Your fingers are still grasping his hand, the one still around your neck, tightly, like you’re scared he’ll pull it away, leave you to drift without his grip to ground you, to remind you this moment is real. It’s actually happening.

He lifts his head up to latch his mouth onto yours again and it’s heavier, so much more desperate than before. You whine into him as he slides his hands down your body, pushing up your shirt and you want to laugh at the absurdity of it, that you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your entire life and you’re both still fully clothed.

He peels your shirt up and over your head, letting out another obscene groan at the sight of your bare chest.

“Fucking perfect,” he murmurs.

You fist your hands in his shirt in answer, tugging upwards, figuring fair is fair. You’re trying hard not to blush, not to show how his approval makes you light and fuzzy. He grins and sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt up and over his head, ruffling his floppy hair in the process.

Lips parting unconsciously, your tongue flicks out to wet them. You knew he was built, but it’s overwhelming, really, to have all that tan skin on display just inches from your face. You get to run your hands up the length of his entire chest now though, leaning up so your fingers can dance through the tuft of blonde hair near the top.

Jake pushes you down on your back, firm, into the pillows. Smiling deviously when you pout and immediately clench your fingers in the sheets beside you, when your thighs press together, seeking some sort of relief to the ache between them. The seam of your shorts presses just right against your center, and you let your head fall back with a soft moan.

Something akin to dangerous flashes in Jake’s eyes, as he hooks his fingers in your shorts, pulling down in one swift motion and tossing them off the bed before you can gain any more pleasure from the thin material. He pushes your legs apart and groans at the sight of you, glistening wet for him. “God, sweetheart, look at you.”

Just when you think you might die if he doesn’t put his hands on you, if he doesn’t touch you, if he just keeps looking at you like that, like he wants to devour you; he swipes a finger up your slit, tip pressing lightly, teasingly against your bundle of nerves. It’s too much, but not enough all at the same time. He slides a finger in, curling it exactly right on the first try and you can’t help but keen, throwing your head back into the pillows.

He sucks in a sharp breath at your reaction, eyelids going heavy as he presses rough figure eights on your clit. “Want to get my mouth on you, get my tongue inside that gorgeous pussy, but I can’t wait, darlin’, been thinking about this for too long.”

Warmth blooms in your chest at the realization he might’ve imagined this even half as much as you have. You’re sure you’re smiling like an idiot.

Reaching down to the pocket of his sweatpants, he pulls a condom out of his wallet, and you want to tease him, presumptuous much? But any semblance of thought goes out the window when he pulls his boxers down, hard cock slapping against his stomach. Your mouth is suddenly, immediately sandpaper dry.

Fuck.

Of course he’s huge. No one with an ego as colossal as his doesn’t have a reason, or several to back it up.

You don’t even hear yourself saying it out loud, don’t even realize the curses forming on your tongue, until he grins, eyebrow raised, chest puffed out in pride. “Think you can handle me, sweetheart?”

It takes you a few moments to answer, to figure out that you should answer, since you’re transfixed on him, on the strong fingers rolling the condom onto his length. If you had any sense of self-preservation at all you might be genuinely worried about his question, about not being able to walk tomorrow.

Hopefully you don’t sound as winded as you feel when you tell him to shut the fuck up.

Before you can bother with any stupid survival instincts, you’re pulling him down on top of you, wrapping your legs around his waist, savoring the grunt it draws from him as his tip reaches your folds.

“Love it when you’re mouthy, darlin’, nice little challenge for me,” he promises, before pushing himself inside of you.

He goes slow, tortuously slow, and you screw your eyes shut tight as your walls flutter trying to adjust to him. You don’t notice you’re on the verge of a sob until he brushes your hair back from your sweaty forehead. “Just a little more, sweetheart, you can take it.”

The stretch of him seems to go on forever, just on this side of agonizing, but way too good for you to care about the pain, too good to be real and you can barely focus on anything else. Can barely hear Jake’s molten honey voice repeating a slew of continuous praises in your ear, can barely register the weight of his body covering every inch of you.

Any moment now you’ll wake up in your bed at home, covered in sweat, grinding into your bed, achingly alone. You’re almost certain of it.

But then you feel his lips on yours again, hand holding your cheek, gentle, affectionate as he bottoms out. When he finally moves, the heavy, slick pull of him in and out of you reminds you that you’re here.

You don’t even recognize yourself, mewling, long string of unintelligible noises tumbling from your lips.

Jake practically preens. “Where’d my feisty little brat go? That all it takes to shut you up, sugar?”

You can only hope those were rhetorical questions because he’s hiking your legs over his shoulders, picking up the pace, new angle hitting that spot deep inside you again and again, and you can’t form a single thought, let alone words.

Jake’s fingers find your center again and press against your clit in heavy, decisive circles, winding that coil in you tighter and tighter.

“So close,” you whimper, fingers tearing at the bedsheets.

He smirks.

“Did I say you could come, sweetheart?”

Your jaw drops in surprise, eyes rolling back and ears ringing, mind engulfed in the heat burning in your belly.

He’s still grinning smugly as one of those large hands comes back to your neck.

You whine, high-pitched and breathless, eyes fluttering closed, gripping the hand around your neck as he applies pressure, desperate for something to hold onto, and you think you’re trying to form words, some of them may even be making it out of your mouth, something along the lines of please please please, let me come, Jake, I can’t, JakeJakeJakeJake…

“So pretty all fucked out like this, stretched around my cock.” His gaze is fixed on where he’s plunging in and out of you, tone almost reverent. “It’s okay, sweetheart, come for me, wanna feel you, want…”

You don’t hear the rest because you’re focused on where his fingers dig into the sides of your neck, tipping over the edge, string of lights inside of you tangled and blowing a fuse. Everything bursts all at once and you’re clutching Jake’s arms so hard you’re positive you’re leaving marks, but it doesn’t matter, you don’t care because you’re in a free fall, toes curling in bliss.

When you come to, you’re just barely aware of his pace growing erratic, hand on your throat loosening as it goes to brush your sweaty hair back from your forehead. His thrusts are getting shallower, mouth spewing a litany of jumbled praises so tight, so wet, so perfect baby, when suddenly he’s arching over you, hands tight on your hips as he empties into the condom.

You’re not sure you’re still functioning. You’re not sure you’ll ever move again. You’re pretty sure you’ll ever have a coherent thought again.

Distantly you can hear his heavy breathing, feel his weight on top of you but you don’t fully register it.

“Sweetheart?” He asks when you’ve been silent for minutes, or maybe hours, who knows.

You look up at him, blinking slowly, eyelids made of lead, vision unfocused.

Jake grins, and it's almost boyish. It's annoyingly cute. “That good?”

That cuts through the haze enough that you kind of want to slap him, for the arrogance littering those three little words. Or yourself, for helping his ego grow any bigger.

As it stands, you’re too dazed to actually do either. You nod, silently burrowing your face into his neck. He chuckles again, and you decide maybe you don’t hate that teasing sound that much, maybe you’ll spend your days trying to elicit it from him as often as possible. You’re still thinking about it when he peels himself off you to clean you both up.

When he settles back down, he pulls you in tight, curls around you in a way that should be uncomfortable, like he’d crawl inside your skin if he could.

Jake is still glued to you when you wake up in the morning, and your heart clenches too affectionately to be irritated by the fact that you can’t really move. Or breathe.

But you take one look at the smirk on his face, the mischievous glimmer that seems to linger even in his sleep and the butterflies in your stomach turn to stone.

You don’t think he’s that much of an asshole, you’re pretty sure the bravado is all a front. That he wouldn’t do something like this, knowing how you operate, without any intention of moving forward, but the anxiety still thrums incessantly beneath your ribcage.

You’re lost inside your own head, fighting the panic rising in your chest when he yawns, rubbing his eyes before tucking himself back into your side, impossibly closer.

“Guess that fifty bucks I gave Phoenix to find somewhere else to stay was a steal,” he mumbles, fingers dancing across your bare skin.

It’s his turn to pat himself on the back as your mouth drops open in shock.

Jake grins, eyes sparkling as he presses a kiss into your hair. “Good luck getting rid of me now.”

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slapmewithacroc

1 year ago

◇ 𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐞 ◇

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟒: 𝐄𝐝𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 18+ | 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

◦ 𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐦! 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Warning: edging, teasing, sex! toy (vibrator!), pussy eating, soft dom marc, overstimulation

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫-𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

You really wish you hadn’t tried getting back at Marc. Teasing him never went well for you, it always ended you up in the position you were in at the moment.

Your wrists were tied to the headboard with your legs spread, marc between your thighs with your legs above his shoulders. He wasn’t fucking you with his fingers or eating you out. He was holding a vibrator to your acing clit, circle it softly then pulling back as soon as he saw your legs shake.

“Told you honey, right before we walked out that door didn’t I?” Marc cooed. You whined in agony as your pussy pulsed and dripped in need. He’d been at it for who knows how long.

You went out with Marc tonight, the late night bar date was going well until you told him to look under the table. Marc’s body tensed as he saw you wearing no panties, just the thin fabric of the dress hiding what’s his from the world.

Now you were here, tied up and being edged for the past 30 minutes. “I- I’m sorry” you choked out as Marc ran the warm silicone up your sticky folds. The sound of the vibration and your slick making you even needier.

“No you aren’t and that’s ok, I don’t mind this” he mocked as he pressed the vibrator down onto your clit. Your hips bucked up in the air as you squeezed your eyes shut and focused on the pleasure.

You felt the knot getting tighter and tighter as he slowly circled the toy into your messy cunt. Marc smiled up at you, pulling the toy away the second he saw you too comfortable.

You let out a pitiful cry, tears streaming down your face as the edging was getting to much. “Ple- p- please Marc, please” you cried out.

“I know sweetheart, sucks doesn’t it?” He mocked. His lips pressed a soft kiss into your inner thigh, his hand moving the toy back up to your clit and dragging it through your folds.

“Think you’ve had enough punishment for today yeah?” He hummed. You nodded weakly with tears streaming down your face and body shaking. Marc turned the vibrator off, your soft smile turning into a frown as he threw the toy to the side.

Before you could get a word out his mouth was lapping at your pussy. His tongue working at your swollen clit that was covered in slick “mhm so fucking g- good” Marc groaned as he rolled his tongue around your clit.

A loud whine spilled out your lips as he bobbed his head and lapped as if his life depended on it. Your hands flew to his hair as you felt your orgasm wash over you.

The nerves in your body tingling as you finally got the release you’ve been dying for. Your breathy moans filled the room as he didn’t stop, causing your body to shiver and squirm under him.

Marc gave one last lick with a pop of his lips, his mouth covered in your wetness as he lifted two fingers onto his cheeks and collected your cum with his fingers, sucking them clean with a moan.

Both of you knew that this wouldn’t be the last time, and you were definitely not sorry.

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slapmewithacroc

2 years ago

three taps (kaz brekker x reader)

summary: kaz taps three times. it’s his way to say i love you, i care.

the three times it took jesper to realize that three taps were something more than a meaningless habit.

warnings: violence, blood, implied se*ual as*ault (not detailed at all and very brief)

a/n: did i write this in less than a day? yes. did the inspiration come to me at six am? also yes. what about your other 50 wip, anna? did you write anything for them? nope.

hope you enjoyed reading this one as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

i. tap, tap, tap

Jesper had seen him do it more times than he could count. It was Kaz’s thing. Three taps, index finger hitting a wooden table, thumb brushing against a map or cane harshly meeting the floor. Most times they were fast taps, like a subconscious action, coming and going before anyone could give it any mind. Other times, however, they were slower, more emphasized, as if trying to make a point. Jesper was used to the taps, as he imagined (Y/N) and Inej also were. The sound came prior to every heist, prior to pronouncing the words of luck (no mourners, no funerals).

It was Kaz’s habit, something he probably did without even realizing, and Jesper couldn’t help but find it oddly comforting, a routine that somehow eased his nerves. (The world could be going to war, Ketterdam could be crashing down in flames, and Kaz would still tap three times. There was a sense of safety in that.)

It wasn’t until Jesper had a closer look that he realized the action was perhaps not as meaningless as he believed.

ii. cane meets ground three times: come back to me, i’m here

(Y/N) had known Kaz the longest out of all of them. Jesper hadn’t known the Slat without her, he hadn’t known Kaz without her. She’d always been there, a person in which the Dregs often found solace and always obtained an ear to listen without judgment. (Y/N) was a walking contradiction, soft around the edges yet powerful enough to bring the toughest people to their knees. She was everything Kaz wasn’t, maybe that was the reason they complimented each other as well as they did.

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