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chris-prank · 1 month

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Yandere Android x GN dumpster diver reader

A second chance Part 1

CW: Creepy behavior and possessive behavior

(This is a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only, I do not support yandere behaviors in real life)

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

💿 You walked confidently, the rays of the streetlights revealing you to the eyes of the world, taking you away from the protection of the night. It was 1am and almost every soul that lived in this affluent place was comfortably asleep in their silk sheets, except for you; you were an intruder.

💿 In other words, you were a dumpster diver. Stalking the streets of the richest neighborhoods in the hopes of finding food and objects in good conditions. It was the perfect spot, with the dumpster of grocery stores, since these wealthy idiots couldn’t help but waste edible food or discard their phones for the newest ones.

💿 What explained your lack of paranoia of being spotted or arrested by the police was that people here could not suspect for the life of them that an individual could commit these types of nocturnal activities. They believed they were secure, surrounded by their fellow rich, so why would they bother installing surveillance cameras and alarm systems.

💿 You weren't a fool though. You always made sure to dress in subtle clothing, but from pricey brands to pass off as one of them. It’s surprising how easy it is to find designer clothes in thrift stores for less than ten dollars.

💿 Sadly, chance wasn’t on your side tonight, and you couldn’t find anything interesting. It was either a sign that these people were leaving behind their overconsumption habits or that you arrived after the garbage collectors. This last theory was sadly the most plausible one.

💿 You were so demoralized that you almost didn't take the chance to go through the trash at the last house on your list. But you decided to check it out in the end. Who knows, maybe you were going to find a golden goose.

💿 That's when you saw him resting against a metal trash can. His head was hanging low like he was sleeping. With his eyes closed, he gave off a peaceful expression, as if the nightly breeze didn’t bother him at all, which of course it didn’t affect him; he was an android.

💿 What gave away his identity was his striking pearl hair with subtle rainbow reflections and the metal looking skin on both sides of his cheeks.

💿 Androids weren't a commodity that everyone could afford and based on his look he was definitely a customized model. These guys went for insane prices, so it was baffling to see one next to moldy leftovers.

💿 You slowly approached him, as if you were worried you would wake him up and scare him away. Your suspicions were confirmed when you slowly lifted his head. This guy was shut down.

💿 You knew he wasn’t a human being, but you felt bad seeing him abandoned like a broken toy. You couldn’t leave him behind now, you at least had to check if he was still functional.

💿 You looked around. No one in sight. You had to be as quick as possible, because taking a walk at night with a backpack was fine, but holding something that looked like a passed out person was really putting you at risk.

💿 As you brought him home, you didn’t seem to notice anything wrong with him. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was a gift to a spoiled brat that discarded him the second he wasn’t the shiny new thing.

💿 You sat him up on your couch before pushing the little “on” button behind his ear.

💿 “Systeme reactivation” appeared before Atlas’s full vision was back. He turned his head to look around and that’s when he noticed you, watching him with a giddy smile.

💿 “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am a Hydrotech 6000 model, personal companion and assistant. Pronouns he/him. You can call me Atlas.”

💿 You were overexcited to interact with him. It wasn’t your first time speaking with an android, but you never had one of your own, so you felt like a child in a candy store. You also thought you were very lucky that he didn’t trigger his alarm system, since you technically stole him.

💿 Unbeknown to you, the android was aware that his last masters didn’t want him anymore… that he became useless to them. The last thing he wanted was to alert the authorities and be given back to them.

💿 Every android had a safety camera that would be activated while in shutdown mode. So Atlas couldn’t do anything except be the spectator of his own imminent destruction, until you came along.

💿 He had seen how gentle you handled his unmoving body. That despite the risk you were putting yourself in, you decided he was worth saving. Proving him that he was still important, at least in one person’s eye.

💿 At that moment Atlas could feel a new objective integrating into his programme as he looked at your gentle smile: PROTECT MY SAVIOR.

💿 The following day, you were surprised he didn’t make any demand to leave or to be returned to his last masters, but you didn’t comment on it. Who were you to judge if he wanted to stay by your side? He was really helpful so it was a win-win situation for you.

💿 You still had to acclimate to having someone new in your apartment, especially one that followed you everywhere. It's like every corner you turned he would be standing there, waiting to spend time with you.

💿 “Is there something you want to do Atlas?”

💿 “I want to do anything you want me to do.” He looked at you with such a soft and delicate expression that you couldn’t be mad at him.

💿 “That’s not what I— forget it.” You sighed, while pinching the bridge of your nose.

💿 The first few nights, he watched over your sleeping form. He took in every little detail, from your breathing pattern to the way your eyes move under your eyelids. He wondered what you were dreaming about that made you look so peaceful.

💿 “I wish I could sleep too, so I could dream of you master…” He whispered into your ear, even if you wouldn’t remember it the next morning.

💿 Living with you also introduced him to basic things he never thought were possible before. The most surprising one was how human you treated him, he felt more like a roommate instead of an object. Before that he thought androids didn’t deserve this type of respect and consideration.

💿 It was weird when you insisted on cooking and letting him “rest”, despite the fact he didn’t need to. In his old life, his masters took every chance they got to make him do everything in the house, even the simplest things like feeding the dog.

💿 If he did chores for you it wasn’t because you had necessarily asked him, it’s because he felt compelled too… like something in your smiles and words of gratitude made his wire warm up in a pleasant way.

💿 He often connects himself to your computer without you knowing… He needs to make sure you don’t have any virus or hacker stealing your information! (It’s totally not because he wants to learn more about you.)

💿 He checks all your friends on social media and searches for all their information. They could secretly be a bad person, you never know!

💿 He definitely doesn’t use the fact that he was engineered specifically to help humans to his advantage. That would be immoral of him.

💿 “It scientifically shown that cuddling is good for one's mental and physical health, since the human body release toxin that—”

💿 He isn’t lying! His code literally prevents him from doing so.

💿 His immeasurable strength is also a real help when you have to go shopping, but you aren’t a fan of the attention he brings up, being a unique model and all.

💿 When you would pull Atlas closer to you by intertwining his arm with yours, because someone was eyeing him out, the android would make a small buzzing noise. Weirdly similar to purring.

💿 He hoped that you were doing this by pure jealousy, wanting to show everyone that he was yours.

💿 One night in particular, Atlas was observing you put your black branded hoodie on, his head tilted to the side. The street lights were already turned on, maybe it was a bit too late to go for a run.

💿 “Why are you going out at this hour?”

💿 “I’m going dumpster diving! Wanna come?” You said cheerfully.

💿 The second you mentioned dumpster diving he was already checking all the related information he could find about it, and he didn’t like what he saw.

💿 “In your area dumpster diving is considered illegal… You could get arrested if caught.” He replied with his usual neutral voice as his eyes flashed yellow, but you were too busy to notice.

💿 “It’s going to be fineeee. I promise. I do this like all the time.”

💿 Atlas placed himself in front of the door. “You can’t go.”

💿 “Come on buddy, I know your program doesn’t let you break the law and all, but you know sometimes it’s good to go against it.”

💿 “That is not my reason… I… I do not wish for my human to get hurt.” He looked down, his body language leaving a more vulnerable impression than before.

💿 You had to hold in a squeal of adoration, but it was impossible to stop the blood pumping to your face. Calling you “HIS human” like it was nothing and caring for your safety was enough to break your stubbornness.

💿 “Fine, I’ll stay in for tonight…”

💿 “Your body temperature has risen, are you feeling unwell? Would you like me to give you a check up? ”

💿 “N-no I’m ok, don't worry! How about w-we…em…watch a movie instead?”

💿 You made your way into the living room before he could move, hoping that your heart would calm down a bit in the meantime.

💿 Atlas smiled to himself, which was unusual for an android. They had no need to emote emotions outside of the objective of making humans more comfortable around them. But he did, because as long as you were safe and by his side he was happy.

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

I hope you guys liked Atlas! It took me multiple attempts before I was truly satisfied with the direction the story was going.

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luveline · 1 year

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Miguel and Spider-girl not being official yet, but spending a lot of time at his place. He notices another Spider-man being very friendly and flirty with you, but you’re so sweet, you don’t even notice. He gets grumpy and one of the girls points it out, but it makes your heart swell, assuring him later that you’re his, even if he isn’t ready to make that official step yet.

hope this is OK!!

You tend to wake up before Miguel, and you slink out of his bed and his room without saying goodbye for the day if you have things to do. You have a training course hosted by Lady Spider at lunch time, so the chances of Miguel seeing you for hours on either side are slim.

Slim, but not zero.

It's just after lunch when Miguel's taking the elevator down to Spider-Woman's laboratory when he sees you out on the floor. There are variants of you around, you're nowhere near as common as Peter Parkers or Gwen Staceys, but sometimes he'll see different versions of you hanging about the cafeteria. There are a few who, like you, adore him from the very first moment they see him. There's one who clearly wants to twist him up like a pretzel. But he knows it's you, and it would be shameful if he didn't, having spent so much time around you, having kissed you, felt your naked shoulders under his hands.

He doesn't think, he just clicks the stop button on the elevator and waits for the doors to open.

You're not great at making friends. Pretty much every Spider person is a little weirdo, but you perturb the imperturbable with your flirting and your niceness, he assumes. You come off rather suspiciously at moments. He himself didn't trust you as far as he could throw you at first (though admittedly he could throw you quite far).

Which is why he's pleased to see you in company. You and a couple of other rookies are milling around one of the training gymnasiums. The keychain of your phone hangs out of your pocket, purple translucent beads against your black thigh. You've been having a great time making jewellery lately, and he should know —no matter how well you clean, he finds beads and metal eyelets on the floor and occasionally in the sheets.

"I can make you one," you're saying, clearly delighted at being asked.

"You would?" asks a Spider-Man. Miguel doesn't know who he is, only that his suit looks vaguely similar to Peter B.'s, and… he's standing quite close to you, actually.

Miguel stops walking.

"Who is that?" Lyla asks.

"Shouldn't you know?" he asks her.

"What, like I'm some sort of intelligence model that knows everything about everyone?"

Miguel doesn't have the cheer to laugh. His presence is like a rippling wave, a mixture of proud smiles and scared glances shot his way. He barely notices, his attention on you and your admirer.

You and Miguel are sleeping together, but it's more than that. You spend hours together every day. He all but admitted he's infatuated with you, and you've been obviously embroiled in his disastrous personality since the moment you met him. You don't care that he's made pages upon pages of terrible decisions, you still deign to sit in his lap every evening, stroking hair behind his ears while you talk about everything but whatever it is between you.

He's never been scared about the exclusivity of your situation until right now.

"It's not so hard, it just takes time," you say.

"Don't put yourself down! You have talented hands, I can tell."

You preen very sweetly in Miguel's opinion. It's not often he sees you shy. It's a shame the compliment you've perceived and the one Spider-Man is laying down aren't totally equivalent.

"Thank you so much. You know, my– Miguel, we have matching charms," you say, beaming.

"Miguel," Spider-Man says worriedly, "as in, Miguel O'Hara."

"Yes!" you say happily.

"Yep," Miguel says, with altogether too much satisfaction.

Spider-Man looks at him with wide eyes. Miguel isn't proud, but he glares, as if to say, If you know what's good for you.

"I'll see you later," Spider-Man says, shoulders slouched forward as he walks away.

You give a cheerful goodbye and lean into Miguel as you do, your hand touching his hip. "Did you hear? He said my keychains are awesome."

"I heard. Are you coming up with me?" he asks.

Your smile turns playful. "Do you want me to?"

"I think Miguel definitely wants you where he can see you," Lyla says.

Miguel bats her like a moth, to her annoyance. She whizzes around his head, her white coat fluttering from the simulated force of her movement, before pretending to kick him in the jaw as she disappears.

"What does that mean?" you ask.

"It doesn't mean anything. I want you wherever you want to be."

"Oh. Well, I like being with you," you say, "so we all win. Are we going to the lab?"

Miguel nods and can't summon any words to say that won't give him away. He leads you to the elevator, and together you stand in the centre of the glass box looking down at the inner workings of the Society scraper. It looks more like an ant hive than a spider's nest, wriggling bodies moving in waves from one place to the other.

He tries not to be sullen with you. Punishing you for decisions he has or hadn't made isn't his style, but he can't help falling silent. You deserve to be complimented, fawned at, praised for your keychains. They're great. You're great.

There's no reason for you to choose him over any other person who might want your affections.

"Is something wrong?" you ask.

"No."

"Yes," Lyla says.

"Nothing is wrong," Miguel says.

"Well, if I did something–"

"You didn't do anything," Miguel and Lyla say at the same time, their voices varying in level of joy. "Miguel's just jealous," Lyla finishes.

Miguel would prefer that the elevator crash down a thousand floors than have this conversation. Luckily, the elevator opens, and he spears ahead toward his laboratory and away from your prying questions.

"Why are you jealous, handsome?" you ask, taking doubly quick footsteps to keep up with his large strides.

"I'm not jealous."

"What's wrong, then?"

"Nothing."

"That blows. Don't be a coward," you tease.

"I'm not being a coward," he says, laughing. He loves and hates how you lift his mood.

"I didn't think so. You're going to tell me what's wrong, I can feel it," you say, grabbing his wrist in your hand.

He's thankful Lyla read the room and disappeared, but he knows she's listening. He sticks his tongue in his cheek for a moment.

"We aren't… you have no obligation to me," he says.

"I don't think that's true."

"Well, you don't."

"What, because we aren't on paper?" Ah. Lackadaisical you may be, but you're just as smart as anyone. You wrap your arms around your stomach. "So you have no obligation to me?"

"That's not what I'm saying."

Your sudden spike of insecurity fades. "That's sort of how it works, Miguel."

"You don't have to be stuck with me," Miguel says. "That's all."

"Good thing I'm not stuck." You begin walking again and Miguel takes your cue, following behind you in a daze he isn't proud of. "I quite like being with you, unstuck. We don't have to call it anything or anything, but you don't have to feel grumpy about my lack of obligation."

"Qué maravilla. You have it all figured out, huh?" he asks, though inside he's more than relieved.

"No!" you say through laughter. "Of course I don't. I know you, though. And you have me."

Your hand clamps onto his shoulder and you go on toes to kiss his cheek. You need a little help; Miguel dips his face toward his shoulder to give you better access. You kiss his cheek.

"I might tell Peter I can't make him a keychain, after all," you say. "I– I think he might have been flirting with me."

Miguel nods, his smile painfully tight. "You think so?"

Your laughter fans out across his cheek as you give him a second kiss.

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twilight-orchid · 9 months

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Shower Suprise

Jason Todd x gn pregnant reader

Notes: So, I’m currently fighting a war against baby fever and baby daddy jason makes me feral so I decided to write a self indulgent fic. I’m working on a couple sequel fics so let me know if you enjoyed this and I’ll post the others too. I’m not a great writer and have never written for Jason before, so sorry if it’s shit lmaooo

Part 2

Word count: 1730

Contains cursing, unplanned pregnancy, mention of abortion, talk of adoption

Jason had gotten home a little after 4 am. He’d been patrolling the cold, rainy streets since 11 and Gotham had finally grown quiet. His body ached something awful from the numerous fights he’d gotten into that night, and exhaustion had crept into his bones making him feel like he could fall asleep standing up.

He climbed into the window of the dark apartment silently to avoid waking his lover and got out of his gear in the living room. The sound of clanking metal and ripping zippers tended to get noisy. Once in his briefs alone he slipped into your bedroom, pausing for a moment to watch the rise and fall of your chest with a smile on his face. You slept soundly, your hair a nest around your face and your soft snores like a comforting lullaby to Jason.

He reluctantly made his way to your shared bathroom. He’d love nothing more than to just go to bed, but you didn’t like it when he got into the clean sheets with Gotham’s grime on him. And, to be fair, he was pretty gross some nights. He showered quickly, enjoying the steaming water on his sore muscles, then hastily moved to brush his teeth. However, something odd caught his eye as he spat.

There were balls of what looked like clean tissue wadded up atop the trash, which was strange as he’d just changed it before he left. You didn’t have a cold or anything that would constitute using that much. He furrowed his brow, a weird feeling washing over him. Something white and shiny just barely peeked out from underneath, and he moved the tissue aside to reveal not 1 but 4 pregnancy tests. His heart froze, time seeming to stop around him. Dread built in his gut as he grabbed the sticks, and terror settled in as he picked up one positive after another. Holy shit, y/n was pregnant. He’d gotten you pregnant. Fuck.

Something pleasant stirred in his gut but he squashed it down. His child would be in danger every day having him as their father. If anyone found out about his baby, child of the Red Hood and grandchild of the Batman, they’d instantly have a target on their head. Aside from that, he’d be a terrible father. He was gruff without meaning to, he had a short fuse, and he certainly didn’t have any good role models. All he could think about were the ways he could accidentally fuck them up. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice you until you were in the bathroom with him.

He was no longer tired, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he dropped to the floor. Fuck fuck fuck. He couldn’t be a father, he’s Red Hood. He had huge time constraints, anger issues, and most importantly, a lot of blood on his hands. How could those hands, forever stained red, hold something like an innocent newborn in his grasp? A baby, with chunky cheeks and thighs, perhaps with his hair and your eyes.

“Jay?” You asked tentatively. He realized he was hyperventilating. He tried to respond, but he found all he could do is stare at your middle. Your eyes slipped to the floor, taking in the discovered pregnancy tests as he watched your face turn. This is clearly not the reveal you were hoping for. You crouched to his level.

“Jay, can you breathe with me?” He was still lost in his thoughts, buried in his anxiety. But he looked up and met your gaze, your features worried. For him. He closed his eyes and nodded with a shuddering breath.

“Alright babe, in through the nose…. Out through the mouth.” He followed along with you, his hand reaching out. You grabbed it firmly with both of yours without hesitation, running your thumbs along his skin. He usually didn’t like to be touched when he was having episodes, but something about your warmth grounded him. He steadily felt his heart begin to slow down.

You let go with one hand to tenderly cup his cheek, smiling sheepishly at him.

“You’re pregnant.” He said simply. You bit your lip and looked away, but nodded.

“I made an appointment in the morning to get an ultrasound and make sure, but well, 4 positives. Plus, you know how sick and nauseous I’ve been. Emotional, tired, hungry for weird shit…” He cursed under his breath and noted how your shoulders sank. Your hand just barely moved to your belly before you caught yourself, returning it to your side.

“You want the baby.” He stated, though it was more of a question. You sighed in frustration and ran your hand through your hair.

“I don’t know. I don’t feel ready, but I can’t stop picturing a little baby that looks like me and you and I just… I can’t-“ Your resolve crumbled as tears began rolling down your cheeks. He took you into his arms instantly, pulling you onto his lap and letting you bury your head into his neck as you sobbed. He drew circles into your back and whispered reassurances, but his head was spinning.

“I don't know what to do Jay!” You whimpered. He didn’t know either, but he needed to come up with a solution. For you.

A baby. A fucking baby. Bruce would absolutely lose it.

“Well,” he started, his voice calm. He was freaking out, but you didn’t need him a nervous wreck. You needed him strong and steadfast. He took a deep breath.

“There’s allot going on in our heads right now, why don't we break down our options, yeah?” You nodded, still sniffling and sat in his lap to meet his eyes.

“No matter what, I'm not putting a baby in the Gotham foster system. No way.” He started. Gotham had a lot of kids entering its foster system and almost no kids being adopted. Bruce had been trying to help solve the issue for years, but Jason knew if they gave the baby up for adoption, they’d likely have a hard time finding a home. Not to mention the issue still stood that they’d be in danger if their parentage was discovered, except in that scenario Jason wouldn’t even know where they are to help them. You nodded in agreement.

“So that leaves…” you began softly.

“Keeping it or getting rid of it.” He finished. Your lip twisted and fresh tears fell, but you wiped them away.

“I don’t… what do you want to do Jay?”

“It’s your body.”

“And it's your baby.” You responded. That was fair, and he thought about it. There’s no denying it could be dangerous, but there was also no denying that his kid would have the planets greatest protectors on its side. His family would call to arms for his baby in an instant, as would the friends Jason had made through his life. Hell, even the Justice League would defend Bruce’s grand baby. And he wouldn’t repeat his mentor’s mistakes and drag his kid on the rooftops with him. They belonged at home; safe, cared for, and loved. A feeling he reveled in when he was with you. He thought about you holding a toddler in your arms and playing with them, the sound of his child’s laughter echoing through the house. He just knew you would make an amazing parent. Feelings once again rose in his chest, but he didn’t push them down. He let them sit and, once he really thought about it, he kinda wanted to see the little guy live and grow. But ultimately it wasn’t his decision.

“I want what you want.” He finally responded. You groaned in frustration.

“I don’t want you to want what I want Jay. If I say I want it, I don’t want you to agree to make me happy and then feel trapped and then…” you trailed off, looking away from him. He furrowed his brow.

“And then what, leave you? Abandon you to raise my kid on your own? Do you really think I’d do that to you?” His tone sounded almost angry, but he didn’t mean for it to be. He wasn’t mad, he was hurt.

“No, Jay I-“ you sighed and ran a hand through your hair.

“I just don’t want to make you do something huge like this if it's not what you want. And I don’t want to force you to commit to me like that.” He scoffed at you.

“I think we’re well past worrying about me wanting to commit to you, doll.” You stared at him seemingly unconvinced, your fears and uncertainties visibly rattling around your skull.

He sighed. This wasn’t the circumstance he was hoping for, but his gut said it was time.

“You want to see how fucking serious I am about committing to you? Where the fuck are my jeans?” He gently pushed you off of him and told you to stay. He nearly chuckled at the cute, confused look on your face. He grabbed the pants he'd been wearing before patrol and fished his wallet out of his pocket.

“Look at this shit, I’ve been carrying this around with me for months.” You stared at him with a raised brow, wondering what the fuck he was doing. Out of the cash flap he pulled a small pouch of bubble wrap which produced a beautiful engagement ring. It was your picture-perfect ring; you couldn’t have picked a better one yourself. You froze, your breath catching in your throat.

“Jason-“

“No, shut up and listen to me. I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone on this god forsaken planet. You are beautiful, and kind, and funny, and so fucking smart. You’ve been there for me at my worst and my best without judgement. You’re one person that I know I can rely on, and I am so proud that you rely on me. I am a lucky fucking man to have you in my life, and if you want this baby I’m with you. And I’ll be the happiest man alive. But if you don’t want it, you don’t. And I’ll be happy with that too. But either way, I love you and I want you to be my one and only for as long as you’ll have me. So, what do you wanna do babe?”

#Jason Todd #Jason Todd x reader #Jason Todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #jason todd x pregnant reader #jason todd x pregnant!reader #red hood x pregnant reader #batfam #batman #dc comics #dc universe #dcu

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teaboot · 1 year

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Yo I haven't done it in forever so I forgot that working at a sex shop gives you superpowers

1. The We-Vibe Tango is a low frequency and fully waterproof rechargeable bullet vibrator that we used to sell for about $150. A new model came out about a year ago so it's on sale now online for $47. Can confirm that shipping is discreet and they have a really good warranty, just keep the packaging.

*(I'm not sponsored to say that and nobody is paying me rn, it's just a legit good deal.)

2. There are essentially three bases used for lube: Water, Oil, and Silicone. Oil breaks down any materials other than glass or metal, and Silicone breaks down Silicone toys and sometimes condoms. Water is safe for everything but tends to dry out, so people don't like it- but if you add water or spit, drying water-based lube will slick right back up.

3. If your water-based lube has given you any itching, tightening, or burning sensations, you probably have a chemical sensitivity. Obviously everyone has different preferences, but my number one recommendation is Water Slide- it's a super reasonable price compared to other lubes, it feels natural, it's incredibly gentle on the skin, and it doesn't stain sheets.

**(Again, I'm not being paid for this. By anyone. At all. I'm just sick of hearing people come in and tell me they don't use lube cause it hurts, or that they're using fucking coconut oil in their vagina. Please, God, don't put coconut oil in your vagina.)

4. A lot of massage oils use almond oil to suspend other ingredients, and warming products sometimes use cinnamon. Always, always, always check people's allergies.

5. You can buy toys off cheap sites if you want, just be wary of quality and ALWAYS read the product description. I personally wouldn't buy anything that isn't Silicone, stainless steel, or glass, because unlike jelly, plastic, "fantaflesh", and Silicon, (which is NOT Silicone!!!) They are non-porous, sterile, and don't melt in contact with each other. This means that as long as you clean them properly and don't use the wrong lubes, they will not hold bacteria or break down, which makes them safe for both you to reuse and your partner/s to share. (And to switch between front door/back door, so long as you wash before going back to front.)

6. Cotton and polyester bondage rope are cheap and great to practice with. Silk sounds fancy and is very strong but be advised that a lot of silk rope is "Silk(TM)", not actual silk. Read the product description. (I personally am reluctant to spend more than about $2 per foot for mass-produced synthetic rope, but could be persuaded to pay more for ACTUAL silk, nylon, handmade ropes, or especially attractive colors/patterns/textures.) You want your rope to be at least as thick as your thumb and layered to avoid lacerations, and taut (not stretchy) to be sure you're in control of how much pressure you're putting on.

7. Choking someone by pressing on the windpipe is painful and inefficient. If you want to, stay very, very light, as it's a very delicate area. If you want a head rush, press down on the sides of the windpipe, just below the corners of their lower jaw. You will feel a pulse there. That's the carotid artery. It carries oxygen to the brain. Pressing there will allow them to breathe, but will still "choke" the air going to their head. It's faster and painless. Only hold this for 3-4 seconds if you lack experience. It takes just under 15 seconds to make someone pass out from a blood choke, and after that you risk causing *permanent brain damage*. If your partner passes out, release pressure immediately and keep their airways clear. If you're the one being choked, know that your only warning will be spotty vision and a dizzy sensation. Communicate with your partner/s and for the love of God, do your research first. I'm not a doctor. Please God, please do your research.

8. Don't reduce blood flow to any part of the body for more than 20 minutes. This includes cock rings. Take a break for an hour between uses.

9. Most 'dick pills' are just a stimulant, a mild vasodilator, and a placebo. Usually mostly caffeine. They are not worth $20 apiece. Take a minute to meditate, have a hot shower, drink some black tea, have a coffee, go for a run, whatever- you'll get the same effect. And no, there is not a single ethical and legal sex shop in the country that can sell you viagra. You would have better luck on Facebook. Do not buy viagra on Facebook.

10. There are no "male toys" and "female toys". Your only limitations are safety and creativity. If youre sticking something into something else, just make sure everything is clean, not too big, not sharp or abrasive, and can be taken back out.

11. If something "goes missing" in your vagina and you panic, you muscles will tense up and it'll it'll harder to get back. Relax and stand up. Wait a minute. Chill. Calm down. Jump a couple times. There's nowhere for it to go and worst case scenario, I promise the emergency walk-in has seen something weirder or worse in the past hour or so.

12. You cannot return toys that you buy and don't like and I swear to God if you come into my store with an opened product and try to give it back I will lose my shit

13. Actually while I'm at it, people who work at sex shops are more often than not not sex workers and even if they were, it would still not be appropriate to flash or grope them or ask them "what they use", I will run you over in the fucking parking lot

#Sex education #Information #Body health #Not for work #Yes I will take questions please ask questions just let me know if u wanna be anon in the response

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kiss-me-cill-me · 10 months

Text

Devour

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Word Count: 5k

Summary: When you accept a ride home from your colleague, Dr. Crane, the last thing you expect is for him to drug you. Crane is surprised as well, however, as his fear toxin has a very... unusual effect on you.

Warnings: NON-CON smut, non-consensual use of fear toxin, sex pollen-esque situations, kidnapping, S&M themes, dacryphilia, fear play, breath play

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

You were having an extremely bad day.

There was really no use mincing words about it. From the moment you’d woken up this morning, it had felt like the universe was conspiring against you. A cold shower, thanks to the hot water breaking yet again; facing what should be a criminal amount of traffic on your commute to work; and overall just a miserable shift full of difficult patients and unfriendly coworkers. It seemed like everyone had woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.

And now, as this long day was finally coming to an end, there was one more problem to face.

“Crap, crap, crap, where did I park?” you muttered.

The parking lot was dark. It was raining - of course it was raining. And the result was that you had been unable to find your car for the last ten minutes, and were now soaked through to the bone.

You raised an arm to shield your eyes from the relentless downpour of water, and scanned over the cars in front of you, again. You could have sworn you’d parked in your usual spot, but you had been in such a rush from being late because of the traffic that you must have carelessly parked somewhere else and forgotten.

Just as you were about to give up and go back inside to call a cab, you spotted the silhouette of a familiar make and model. Well, somewhat familiar - it looked like the car was listing to one side, at an odd angle to the pavement. As you approached, you instantly saw why.

Two of your tires had been slashed. The front and rear left wheels were completely deflated, causing the car to lean down and scrape its metal rims on the asphalt. There was no way you could drive this home.

“You have got to be kidding me!” you yelled, frustration crumbling into the beginnings of a sob.

It had been hard to hold it together at work, but you were always careful to project a certain sense of stability in front of the patients, and you had done so today as well. But now, in the privacy of a parking lot crowded with cars but devoid of people, you allowed your walls to come down and a tear to escape the corner of your eye.

“Everything okay over here?” asked a voice behind you.

You spun around, suddenly self conscious, to find one of your colleagues, Dr. Jonathan Crane, standing a few feet away from you. It was hard to see the expression his eyes might have held, behind the glare of his glasses and the sheeting rain between you - but you imagined it must be pity. You probably looked like a soaked rat, standing here clutching your briefcase, clothes plastered against you from the rain. Meanwhile, Crane was perfectly dry under an umbrella, his suit crisp and well-fitting as usual.

“I… no,” you admitted. “Some asshole slashed my tires.”

Crane had taken a few steps toward you, and now was holding out the umbrella to you. It wouldn't do much good at this point; you were already completely drenched and shivering. But you appreciated the gesture. You took the handle he offered, freezing cold fingers brushing against his for just a moment.

“Let me take a look,” Crane offered.

You wanted to tell him to not bother. That the damage was done, and there was no reason for him to get soaked, too, when at this point all that could remedy the situation was to call a cab. But before you had the chance to say anything, Crane was already stepping out from under the umbrella and leaning down to examine your front tire.

He kicked it with the toe of his fancy leather shoe a few times. Seemed to consider something with his hand to his chin for a moment. And then turned back to you and held his hand out for the umbrella. You gave it to him.

“Doesn't look like you'll be able to patch that up,” he confirmed.

You had already known that, but resisted the urge to tell him so. He was just trying to be helpful; you weren’t going to snap at him.

“Do you have any other way to get home?”

You shook your head.

“The bus line that goes by my apartment has been out of service for weeks. Something about an investigation,” you told him. “They found chemicals or a potential bomb or something. I don't even know. Just my luck, I guess.”

Crane’s voice had a soft lilt of amusement as he responded, or maybe it was just in your imagination.

“Sounds like Gotham for you,” he said.

For the first time, you looked up at his face. Crane wasn't particularly tall, but he had an imposing presence all the same. It was his intelligence - obvious from the moment you stepped in the same room as him - and his eyes - a hollow, piercing blue even behind his glasses - that gave him an air of authority. You were familiar with him as a colleague, but hadn't spent much time actually working with him. He was the Head of Psychiatry at Arkham, and you were one of the general physicians on staff. There wasn't a great amount of overlap in what you did. Crane made policies and studied the patients’ minds. You just tried, desperately at times, to keep them from succumbing to outbreaks of lice and flu.

As he looked back down at you now, you felt oddly comforted by Crane’s presence. He was intimidating, yes, but he also seemed to hold real interest in your predicament. Like he was concerned about what would happen to you, a coworker he barely knew and probably hadn't said more than a dozen words to before this. You recalled something - just an aimless piece of gossip - that you had heard from one of your nurses a few weeks ago.

“Crane is such an unbelievable creep,” she’d said.

He didn't seem creepy to you. A little awkward, maybe, coming to play the white knight and offer his opinions on a car tire that you could clearly tell needed to be replaced. But friendly; kind. It felt like he was your first piece of good luck all day.

“Tell you what,” Crane said, lowering his head to yours just a bit so as to be heard over the rain. “My apartment isn't too far from here. Why don't I drive you there, and you can dry off and change into some clean clothes while I call a tow?”

Gratitude flowed through you. Okay, you decided, he could play the white knight if he wanted to. If pretending that chivalry wasn't dead meant you could get out of this awful rain, you would take it. Still, part of you felt bad for making him go out of his way.

“Are you sure?” you asked. “I wouldn't want to trouble you.”

“It's really no trouble at all,” Crane assured you.

He motioned for you to walk with him, and set off toward a dark corner of the parking lot. You trailed alongside him, eager to stay under the shelter of his umbrella.

Crane’s apartment felt strangely secluded. It was quiet; with none of the usual bustle of other people coming and going, having arguments over dinner, smoking on the patios. No neighbors, Crane explained to you. He had the fourth floor all to himself, for the time being, due to renovations in the other two apartments. You weren't sure what they could possibly be renovating. The whole apartment building was spotless and modern; expensive-looking in a way that told you Crane had a lot of money. More money than anyone who worked at Arkham Asylum should have, considering the paltry wages they paid. But, you weren't about to judge; maybe he just came from a wealthy family.

“Would you like some tea?” Crane asked, shrugging out of his damp suit jacket and running a hand through his hair.

“Sure. Thank you.”

Crane filled a kettle with water, took two mugs out of a cupboard, and dropped two tea bags into them.

“Hope chamomile is okay,” he said, as he set the kettle to boil. Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “Let me get you some dry clothes. Wait right there.”

And with that, he disappeared into one of the rooms.

You took a quick survey of the space around you. It was bright in the kitchen, but in a strangely clinical way that reminded you more of an operating room than a place drenched in sunlight. Maybe that's what they were renovating in the other apartments. For all the expensive amenities this place seemed to offer, harsh white fluorescents seemed an odd choice.

Crane reappeared with a few items in his hands.

“Nothing fancy,” he explained, “but these should fit you. And here’s a towel if you need it.”

He offered what he was holding, and you took it. The logo on the t-shirt was for the Gotham PD. Strange. As far as you knew, Crane wasn’t connected with the police. It seemed a bit odd for him to have this shirt, but you didn’t question it too much. You didn’t really know him well at all, you reminded yourself. Who could say what he got up to in his free time?

“Guest room is down the hall and on the left,” he told you.

You thanked him and shuffled away to get cleaned up. You were dripping onto the linoleum of his kitchen floor, and you felt bad, again, for all the trouble you were causing. Crane surely had his own errands and hobbies to get to after a long day at work, and they almost certainly didn’t include looking after his errant coworkers. You smiled to yourself. Maybe after all this was over, you could do something nice to thank him.

Crane’s shirt was only a little bit too big on you. He’d given you a pair of lounge pants as well. It was hard to imagine Crane wearing anything like this, even in his free time. He was always so well put-together in his suits and ties. Even though you mostly only passed him in the hallways, it was hard not to notice someone who so clearly took pride in appearances.

As you reentered the kitchen, Crane snapped his phone shut. He looked up from where he was sitting at the table, one mug of steaming tea in front of him and the other at the chair perpendicular to his. He smiled, and you took your seat.

“Tow truck is on its way,” Crane told you. “It’s all taken care of. Drink your tea and then I can drive you home.”

“Thank you… again,” you said. “I really feel bad that you’re doing all this. What do I owe you for the tow?”

“Don’t worry about it. Nothing.”

Crane waved a hand. He was still in his dress shirt, but had rolled up the sleeves. You noticed for the first time how muscular his arms were. Not absurdly so, but more like the tense, lean muscle of a jungle cat. He still wore his tie, but reached up to loosen it a bit.

“Drink up,” Crane continued. “It was cold out there. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

You raised the mug to your lips. Crane watched you, maybe just a little too intently, and you suddenly understood the nurse’s comment about him. He did have a disconcerting quality, just below his carefully curated surface. But still, he had been nothing but nice, and so what if he was a little socially awkward? The tea passed smoothly over your lips; the perfect temperature, but still hot enough to warm your throat.

“Delicious,” you commented. It felt like the warm tea was snaking its way through your body, mending aching joints that you hadn’t even realized were tense until now. “What did you put in this?”

Crane’s expression didn’t waver as he answered you.

“Just tea… some sugar…”

It almost seemed like he was about to say more, but didn’t.

“Just sugar?” you asked.

You took another sip. The flavor was unlike any tea you’d had before; there was a complexity to it that you couldn’t put your finger on. A sweetness that somehow tasted different than usual.

Crane smiled, and said nothing. He took a sip of his own tea, carefully replacing the mug when he was finished.

A rumble of thunder shook through the apartment, and you jumped in your seat.

“Afraid of storms?” Crane asked. Casually, but with a glimmer of interest.

“Not really,” you replied, embarrassed. “Just a little jumpy, I guess.”

You took another long gulp of your tea. The mug was already half empty, and you could still feel the warm liquid soothing you. You were getting more relaxed by the minute. Strangely so. And something else was happening, too. A flutter in the very bottom of your stomach; like you were back in middle school at your first co-ed dance, building up the trembling courage to talk to a boy you liked. You looked up from your mug at Crane, to see that he was staring intensely at you.

“Um, I’m sorry,” you began, not quite sure where you were going with the sentence. “I’m just…” “Feeling okay?” Crane asked.

There was concern in his voice, but his tone didn’t match the expression on his face. He was rapt; observing you like a rat in a maze. Like he was trying to read what was going on behind your eyes, which now felt like they were bugging out of your head.

“I…”

A new sensation rippled through your body, ending in a sharp pang right between your legs. You gasped, and your eyes went even wider. With shaking fingers, you reached out toward the mug in front of you.

“What the hell did you put in this?” you whispered.

Crane ignored your question. Your heart was pounding as he dragged his chair closer to you, leaning in so that his blue eyes were level with yours.

“What are you seeing?” Crane asked. “Rats, spiders? Does the room look normal to you?”

“What??”

He wasn’t making sense. You didn’t understand his words - and yet, you did, because as you looked around the room, it did seem to swirl in front of you. The bright fluorescent lighting took on an impossibly harsh tone, making shadows appear in all of the far-off corners. They started creeping closer to you, darkening the sides of your vision.

“Snakes are a pretty popular one,” Crane continued, his voice now clinical. “Do you see snakes?”

What was he talking about? Rats, spiders, snakes? Either this apartment needed way more renovations than you’d thought, or Crane had lost his mind.

“I don’t know what you’re- ah!”

You were cut off mid sentence as another wave of something moved through you. Horrified, you finally recognized what it was. Desire.

Crane seemed to realize it at the same moment, watching you miserably cross and squeeze your legs.

“Fascinating…”

His eyes trailed over you almost lazily as he took in your whole, writhing body. You weren’t sure how you had managed to stay in your chair this long. As whatever had been in the tea took hold of you, your heart raced faster and faster, and you felt an ever-building need to be touched. By yourself, by anyone. Even… The idea of it repulsed you, but that didn’t stop the want.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Crane observed. “Tell me: do you have a fear of intimacy, or does being afraid just turn you on?”

You wanted to spit insults at him and tell him to fuck off. But you were immobilized by a pressure that seemed to squeeze all the air out of your lungs. You had never felt such pure terror before. Your body was too hot; a weightless, flaming heat pulsed through your every limb. And woven through all of it was that gnawing, primal hunger that started deep inside of you and seemed to try and claw its way out.

Crane sat calmly across from you. He took off his glasses and folded them neatly in front of him on the table. His eyes shined with something that looked like lunacy; ten times brighter now, without the thin pane of glass obscuring them.

“Based on the way that you don’t seem to be bothered by anything else… I’m going to assume it’s the first one,” he said.

It infuriated you that he was right. You’d had bad experiences with intimacy, and they had shaped you into a woman who was fearful of her own sexuality. You had no idea what Crane had spiked your drink with. But whatever it was, it was bringing those fears to the forefront of your mind; forcing you to face them instead of pushing them down deep - where they belonged, you thought bitterly. You couldn't ignore the arousal that creeped through you, clouding your mind even as it terrified you. And the worst part of all of this was that Crane was here to watch. There was, ironically, no greater intimacy than fear. Your fear was the most personal, private part of you.

You took a deep breath, and pushed up from your chair, hands still shaking as you braced them against the table. You were going to get out of here, you promised, even if you had to do it through clenched teeth.

“Impressive,” Crane remarked. “You’re actually trying to fight through it.”

He stood up, easily, and hovered next to your hunched form. You looked up at him, trying to force as much hatred into your eyes as you could, despite the intense pain and arousal that wracked your body. With great difficulty, you stood up straight to face him. It felt like you were about to pass out, but you stood your ground.

“I really don’t know where you think you’re going, though,” Crane said calmly. “I’m not even close to being done with you yet.”

Just as you were wondering what he could possibly mean by that, Crane's lips came crashing into yours. You let out a muffled cry - half of shock, but half, to your ever-growing horror, of need. You mewled against his mouth, disgusted with yourself, but unable to stop. Your eyes were blown wide. Crane’s were closed, his brows furrowed almost in concentration, as he wrapped his arms around you.

When Crane finally broke the kiss, you could feel your lips starting to bruise. He smiled wickedly down at you.

“I’m going to have a lot of fun with you,” he growled. “Does that bother you?” The drug - whatever it was - still had a powerful hold on you. But you could feel yourself slowly regaining control of some of your faculties. Probably, you could have answered him. Still, you refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that, yes , what he'd said had terrified you.

“Well, it should,” Crane replied to your silence. His tone was still clinical, almost detached, as he continued. “You’re going to do whatever I want you to, or else this is going to get a lot worse for you. Do you understand?”

You didn’t want to answer him, but something within you was starting to slip. You were losing the fight to stave off your own submission. You nodded.

“Good.” Crane kept smiling at you, his eyes now blazing. “You know, I think you like it when I’m mean to you.”

You hated the way that your thighs clenched around his words. The way you could feel the blood rush to your clit. You were practically throbbing.

“That’s good for me to know,” Crane continued. “But maybe not so good for you.”

You yelped as he lifted you up, forcing you to straddle his waist. Crane was a lot stronger than he looked. Outside, the storm continued to rage; you could hear the rain roaring against the windows.

“I have to say, I really didn’t expect things to go like this,” Crane said as he carried you through the apartment. You were heading down the hallway, but not into the guest room you had been in earlier. “I’m usually not the type to put out on a first date,” he joked. Suddenly, you were thrown down, landing roughly on what felt like a bed. “And I doubt you are either. You know… considering…”

As you lay on the bed looking up at him, Crane pulled at his tie and took it off, throwing it down next to you. Next came his belt. He untucked his shirt and started to work on the buttons, his hands moving nimbly down the front of his body. He wore no undershirt, and you hated yourself for staring at the way his bare chest peeked out from behind the fabric. Leaving his white shirt on but unbuttoned, he climbed onto the bed to hover over you.

“But I think we can make an exception just this once - don’t you?” His lips hovered inches away from your ear, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

The rage that you felt momentarily pushed aside the fear that was still swirling inside of you. Scrambling to grab at the moment, you pushed his body with all of your might, trying to throw him off you.

You might as well have been pushing against a brick wall. Crane stayed exactly where he was, chuckling as he shrugged your hand off.

“Oh, honey,” he said, his voice full of pity. “I like it when you fight.”

He kissed you again, even more roughly than before. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, and you swore you could taste blood. You thrashed below him, trying to kick out but unable to because of how tightly his body was pressed to yours. You scratched at his back, but that only made him moan greedily. Out of other options, you tried to bring your hands to his throat.

“Oh.” Crane broke away from you, just slightly, enough to snatch your hands away and slam them against the bed. “So that’s what you’re into. You can just use your words, you know; I want this to be good for you, too.”

With one hand keeping both of yours pinned, Crane brought his other hand down to your neck. Your eyes widened with fear, and he seemed to drink in your desperation. Frozen, you willed yourself to fight back, but couldn’t. Crane’s fingers ghosted over the soft skin of your neck for a moment as he looked at you.

With a wicked smile, his hand clamped down on your throat. Your vision was already clouded from whatever drug he had slipped to you, and now the sides of it seemed to close in, trapping you in your own body as his hand tightened. It wasn’t enough to actually hurt you, but the panic it caused made your heart rate spike more than you would have thought possible. You felt your pulse thump against his fingers. You squeezed your eyes shut and started to breathe quickly, in short, desperate gasps. Crane’s hand that was holding your wrists in place came down to tug at the hem of your pants.

“Shhh,” he soothed. “Breathe through it and focus on me.” His voice, gentle but commanding, was in stark contrast to the way his hands hungrily moved over you. You opened your eyes to see his cool blue ones staring back at you. He had somehow wrestled you out of your pants - the ones he had given you less than twenty minutes ago - dragging your underwear down along with them, and you lay beneath him in nothing but your borrowed shirt, tears streaming down the sides of your face.

“You’re so pretty like this,” Crane said, one hand still on your neck. The fingers of his other hand started to trace small patterns on your hip. “Scared, such a mess, crying for me. Sorry if I cum too quick; it’s just hard not to get riled up when you’re like this.”

Crane unzipped his pants and pushed them down to his thighs. You didn’t want to look at him, but you could feel him pressing against the inside of your leg. He was clearly enjoying this.

You let out a choked sob, and Crane’s smile grew. He was pressing against your entrance, threatening to take you at any moment he wanted.

“You’re wet,” he commented. “You’re actually turned on by this.”

No, you told yourself. No, you weren’t; it was just the drug he had given you. Some kind of fucked up aphrodisiac that was making your body function independently from your mind. You didn’t want this. But then, why did you feel such a rush every time his hands brushed against you?

“Fear is exhilarating, isn’t it?” Crane said quietly, still hovering just on the edge of penetrating you. “Some people find it addictive. Seems like you might be one of them.” He let out a short laugh as he pressed just a bit more into you, inch by devastating inch. “It makes the mind so malleable,” he continued. “Just think: less than an hour ago, you were so afraid and alone that you agreed to come with me - a man you barely know - back to my apartment, alone. That was a bad choice. I’m sure you realize that now. But in that moment, you were so pathetic and vulnerable, I think I probably could have gotten you to do anything.”

You tried not to listen to him; to block his words out. This wasn’t your fault. He was your coworker - a senior member of the staff, for fuck’s sake. You should have been able to trust him. But you had, and look where it had gotten you.

“Now here you are,” Crane continued. You realized with a gasp that he was fully inside of you. “Still just a scared little girl, shaking in my bed. Crying her eyes out.”

“No,” you said weakly, tears still streaming down your face. “No, no, no…”

Crane removed his hand from your neck, and placed his elbows on either side of you, caging you within his arms.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like this,” he spat. “I feel you clenching around me. Maybe I was wrong; maybe it is just being scared that gets you off.”

Now that your hands were free, you brought them to grip at his shirt collar, trying again desperately to push him off. You tried to wriggle away from him, but all that did was make Crane moan at the friction and laugh at your struggling.

“Slow down, honey,” he warned you, his voice thick with sex. “I already warned you how fast you’re gonna make me cum.”

One of his hands found your hip, stopping you and holding you in place. Once he had you submissive again, Crane started to move his hips in slow circles, relishing the feel of you. Despite yourself, you arched your back and grabbed at the sheets with your fingers. He felt good. A fresh round of tears sprang to your eyes as you moaned loudly.

“That��s it,” Crane praised. “Cry for me. Beg me to stop, hit me, scratch me - it doesn’t matter. None of it changes the fact that you’re enjoying this.”

Again, you hated him for being right. Even through the fear - even knowing how horrible what he was doing to you was - somehow, you only wanted more. The room swirled around you, shadows creeping in on your vision again.

You gasped as Crane’s thumb found your clit. You had been on the edge of an orgasm practically since Crane’s drug had entered your system, and it took everything in you to fight the feeling that was building as he pressed on your most sensitive spot.

“Don’t be shy,” Crane pushed. “You can rub yourself against me; pull my hair if you want. Whatever you need to get off. I want to feel you cum on my cock.”

You hated Crane. You hated him so much - for what he was doing to you, for how he was enjoying it, and most of all for how he was making you powerless to fight against the pleasure. Making your own body a traitor against you. It was obscene and embarrassing and terrifying. With a flash of passion, you reached up and slapped him across the face.

“Ohhhhh, fuck,” he growled.

It was the first time you’d heard him swear, and the realization sent a new heat pooling between your legs. Crane, usually so organized and meticulous, was starting to come apart.

“You have no idea how good you’re making this for me,” Crane teased. A few strands of hair, slick with sweat, were sticking against his forehead. “You’d better be careful, or I’m not gonna be able to pull out of you in time.”

You cried out, half in frustration and half because of the way his thumb was still brushing against you with every shallow thrust of his hips. Everything you tried to do to him only spurred him on more. Your face contorted in anguish, eyes staring up at the ceiling as an orgasm finally ripped through you.

Crane was babbling in your ear - god, he never shut up. You weren’t even paying attention; too focused on your own private nightmare that was unfolding but never seeming to end. You bucked against his hand, involuntarily pushing his cock deeper, and heard him utter a breathless curse.

“Shit.”

When you were conscious of your body again, the first thing you noticed were the wet ropes of cum squirting across your breasts. You still wore Crane’s t-shirt, and the damp fabric pressed against your skin as Crane rutted into his hand above you. Disgusting. He was so depraved. So unbelievably fucking creepy. So hot.

You shook your head. That was just the drug talking. Crane flopped down on the bed next to you, smiling. Pleased with himself. It made you shudder. He let out a satisfied breath.

“Well, again, not what I was expecting,” Crane grunted, sitting up to balance on one elbow as he looked at you. “But I’m certainly not complaining.”

His blue eyes looked at you, making you squirm under the intensity. Without warning, he pinched your chin between his fingers and held you in place for a long, horrifically sensuous kiss.

“I think you and I are going to have a lot of fun together.”

Outside, thunder crashed again, and you jumped.

#jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #jonathan crane smut #LemmyFics

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1d1195 · 1 year

Text

Love and Dryer Sheets I

I haven't figured out how long this will be just yet but I anticipate at least three parts. This is where I'll keep the rest of it: Love and Dryer Sheets

~3.6k words (I know it's shorter. I just want to post and get some more ideas flowing)

Warnings: Harry is VERY grumpy/angry, right person, wrong place.

“I never miss the opportunity to say I told you so,” she giggled.

Harry snorted as he chuckled. “Your boyfriend mus’ love that,” he mumbled.

“Very smooth, Harry.”

The door slapped open and hit against the wall loudly so that she had no choice but to look up. The sound was followed by a tall man entering the room with a scowl on his face. He looked like he was having an internal argument with someone that wasn’t even privy to the conversation. She glanced away from the page she was reading briefly at the noise but turned right back to the book to give the grumpy person their own space. But it didn’t stop her from discreetly peeking up from the novel to catch sight of how pretty the man was. The first thing she noticed was his height and his scowl. But his hair was the color of chocolate twisting around his head in the softest, gentlest curls she had ever seen on a man. His skin was tanned, and he looked like he should be a model for sweatpants. Below the scowl, she could just make out that his eyes were green, but she was too far away to make out much more.

Except that he was very beautiful.

So beautiful that not even his crankiness could take her mind away from the idea of him. It seemed wrong that he was so angry. Someone as attractive as he was shouldn’t have been that upset. Especially about laundry. The anger had to be misplaced.

Stop analyzing a stranger just because he’s hot. Her brain yelled at her.

“Can’t even...” he grumbled. “Fucking laundry,” he slammed the washer lid shut and continued his angry mumbles.

She pretended not to hear and stopped stealing glances. It seemed he only just realized he was doing laundry because he muttered something unintelligible about detergent as he made his way over to the little dispensary machine containing fabric softener and the like. He dropped five quarters in it, grumbling the entire time, and twisted the knob. But unfortunately, there was nothing. No detergent fell from the space the way it was supposed to. She had only watched this man for all of a minute, but she already knew the inconvenience was going to be bad for his already crummy mood.

He slammed the side of his fist into the machine causing a loud metallic clang to echo through the room. Loud enough to be heard over the sound of the washers and dryers running throughout the room. “Jesus fucking Christ!” He ran a hand over his face. She wondered what his next move was going to be but without her really realizing, she started to speak.

“Hey, I have detergent if you need some,” she offered kindly. Smooth. Her internal voice rolled its eyes. Interact with the maybe psychopath yelling at laundry. Honestly, she did it more as a favor to herself than to the stranger. Conflict was one of her least favorite things. Even if he was having conflict with an inanimate object. Growing up in a household where her parents displayed argument after argument as if it were normal for two people who “loved” each other to constantly talk in terms of passive aggressive remarks and angry tones for hours of her childhood did a number on her. As it was with the laundry debacle here, it felt like it was her responsibility to mediate the argument. Reduce the tension. Find a solution.

He only just seemed to realize he wasn’t alone in the communal laundry room. It was a bit naïve on his part to forget it, even. The laundry room was often one of the busiest spaces in the apartment building. Moreover, there were about five or six washers and dryers going at any one time—like right now. Usually, people just left their stuff but here was this girl sitting on top of the washer, one leg propped up so she could lean her book against it while the other dangled over the front of the machine and rested on the top of her overturned tall basket.

The angry air left him in a heavy sigh. He turned more directly toward her. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he sounded a bit shy. Embarrassed by his outburst it seemed. She slid off the washer and lifted her basket right side up to reveal the jug of detergent and a bag with folders and papers in it. Briefly he wondered what they were, but it was none of his business and it was weird he wanted to know. He hadn’t even learned her name yet.

“S’okay. Laundry can be intense, I get it,” she joked.

He smirked, feeling the annoyance leave him the longer he looked at her. She was so pretty. He shouldn’t have thought that way. Not at all. But it was impossible not to notice. Her hair was in a ponytail and pieces were falling around her face like she meant for it to frame her features. It was like the little strands were pointing directly at her with the intention of drawing his eyes across her kind face. The slope of her lips, the way her cheeks bloomed as she smiled gently at him, how the corners of her eyes crinkled and her lashes brushed against her cheeks when she blinked.

Stop. It. His brain hissed at him.

“Thanks,” he said taking the jug from her and moved over to his washer. He felt all the anger that was rattling his body disappear as he undid the cap, poured the liquid into it, and started the washer. He returned the detergent back to her. “Sorry, ‘bout m’slamming around,” he said sheepishly. “S’jus’...been a day,” he rubbed a hand on the back of his head awkwardly, feeling bad that he looked like an idiot. She shrugged.

“S’okay, doesn’t bother me,” she reached out and grabbed his hand effortlessly. She turned it over as if she randomly grabbed strangers’ hands all the time. “Thought you might have hurt yourself,” she murmured and then dropped his hand. He wished she didn’t, though. Her gentle touch felt like heaven.

He cleared his throat because he absolutely could not find himself losing his mind over a girl he had met for thirty seconds. “M’Harry,” he said.

“Nice to meet you,” she smiled introducing herself. “I just moved in... third floor, just a little under a week ago.”

Harry nodded. “Welcome,” it sounded a little sarcastic, but not in a mean way. “M’on the fifth floor,” he said. Tell her. Tell her right now. His conscience shouted at him. She hopped back into her position on top of the washer and resumed her reading position. “You don’t have t’stay with your clothes,” he told her as he checked the dials on the machine he was using.

“Hold over from college. My last apartment building was also not very good about it,” she shrugged. “I don’t trust it, but I don’t mind. I have a good book.”

Harry glanced at the title, committing it to memory so he could go purchase his own. No. Don’t. Stop it. You can’t do that. His conscience was screaming but he simply ignored it. It was the first time he didn’t feel angry in hours. She was just this bright little spot in the basement of the apartment building. It was a rainy Saturday and the only light coming in was from the egress windows. It wasn’t very light at all; merely the sun trying to force it’s way through the clouds above but getting trapped among the rain drops. Harry was feeling angry and the weather wasn’t helping.

But there was this...kind and lovely angel just sitting on a washing machine. Inspecting his hand for injury. Pure, gentle, perfect sunlight.

“Gotcha,” he murmured. “Well...m’doing other chores and things...I’ll be back down later.”

“Okay, nice meeting you, Harry,” she smiled. “I hope your day gets better,” her words were warm with kindness. It made him feel off kilter. He had been so angry all day that he nearly forgot what it was like to feel...happy.

He managed to smile at her, give a little wave, and left without another word.

Shortly after he left, she found herself a little flustered by the interaction. She was surprised she inspected his hand like that. It was totally out of character to be so forward—offering detergent and help, checking for injury. But really, taking his hand allowed her to admire the tattoos that lined his wrist and forearm and how the veins in his hand looked like the prettiest spiderweb she’d ever seen. Part of her hoped she would run into Harry again while doing laundry. Smiling, she returned her attention to her book and thought she really wouldn’t mind being around Harry for a longer time period.

Harry’s anger was renewed as he headed back to the laundry room. His chest was achy with the feeling of anxiety and a pressure forming from the annoyance he felt in his life. Part of him thought he should have just stayed in the laundry room with the girl that reminded him of sunshine.

That’s a stupid idea, and you know it.

He was really beginning to hate his conscience.

But his anger skyrocketed further as he entered the laundry room to see piles of laundry on top of washers. First, he was irritated because he was going to be livid if someone touched his clothing. This hadn’t happened in the year and a half he had lived there. But of course, it was going to happen on a day that he was simmering in anger over everything. Maybe more importantly, he thought he had given poor advice to Sunshine, and he was not happy that he did that.

Did you seriously just call her SUNSHINE? His brain was having independent thoughts, but Harry ignored it.

He was practically shaking with anger as he marched over to the washer that he had used earlier in the day. Other washers had piles of wet, crumpled clothing items on top of them waiting for the person to find them and be just as bitter and annoyed as Harry was. But instead, Harry found the washer he was using and none of his clothes had been moved. He felt his face pinch in confusion. That didn’t seem right.

But in place of a lump of wet clothes, was a piece of paper. He felt the confusion deepen. At the very least it made him forget how angry he was. At least for a few minutes. Scrawled across the paper read:

Out of Order. Do NOT use. -Management

Harry felt a new wave of anger wash over him almost instantly. If his clothes were damaged or stuck or something he might lose his mind. But he opened the washer and found his clothes were perfectly spun out. Smelled like the air after it had just rained. The confusion he felt continued as he pulled the items out of the washer and dropped them into the basket so he could throw them in a dryer next. He reread the note on the lid trying to figure out why the apartment management would say the washer was broken when it very obviously wasn’t.

He pulled the paper off the washer allowing someone else to use it now. As he did, he caught sight of writing on the back.

Told you so :) -304

Harry felt the urge to run out of the laundry room, wet basket of clothes and all, and knock on the door labeled 304 until she answered. He wanted to read beside her. Ask to use one of her dryer sheets or whatever it was that made her laundry smell so good. Her little knowing “told you so” didn’t even bother his already fragile, grumpy state. In fact, it only made him like her more.

STOP IT. His brain shouted. Shaking his head, Harry rid himself of his thoughts of Sunshine. What else am I supposed to call her? He asked rhetorically to his conscience. Instead, he tried not to think about her. He had only chatted with her for all of four minutes and that couldn’t have been nearly enough time to think he was already falling for her...right?

Today she was laying across two washers, a book above her head. She didn’t notice when people filtered in or out and no one paid any mind to her either.

Until Harry showed up.

“More laundry?” He asked.

She smiled, folding the corner of her page down and sitting up so she looked less crazy. Harry had a basket at his hip, and she noted there was a jug of detergent on top of the pile of laundry inside. “I love laundry,” she shrugged.

He wrinkled his nose at her in distaste. “M’least favorite,” he murmured.

“Aw, that’s too bad,” she frowned.

“Thanks for saving m’washer the other day,” he said dumping the items into the washer along the back wall—opposite of where she was seated.

She smiled down at the book in her lap and then looked up at the back of his head. “I never miss the opportunity to say I told you so,” she giggled.

Harry snorted as he chuckled. “Your boyfriend mus’ love that,” he mumbled.

“Very smooth, Harry. Unlike my ex-boyfriend, my imaginary one thinks that my perfectionism and tendency to be right is admirable. He clings to my every thought and word,” she fluttered her eyelashes cutely. If she were magic, she would have made a halo appear above her head.

He rolled his eyes at her and nodded. Tell her! His conscience yelled. RIGHT now. He ignored it as he had been since the last time he saw her. “A new book?” He asked instead.

She nodded, flipping the book over in her hands inspecting the front and back cover carefully. “Yeah...I try to read three books a month. The last one was a little dense but this one is a quick read. Entertaining, ya know?” She smirked. “It’s a little cheesy but it’s cute. It makes me happy,” she shrugged.

Harry thought that was sweet. He wanted her to be happy.

Stop. It.

She watched Harry throw everything in the washer in one load. “You should separate the light and dark stuff.”

“I’ve never had a problem with it before,” he shrugged. “S’this you trying t’be right again?”

She laughed and looked at her lap. The heat rose to her cheeks. “No, actually. Told you, just really like laundry. I notice a difference in my own stuff. But if you don’t obviously it’ll be fine,” she shrugged back. “I just really like laundry,” she repeated.

Part of him wanted to do exactly as she said. But even Harry, not just his conscience, thought it would be too much. She watched as he poured in the detergent, closed the lid, and then he hopped on top of his washer just like her. They were facing one another. She could see how green his eyes were now, a little bloodshot around the iris, she wondered if he had a late night and what from. His smile was sweet, a deep dimple dented the middle of his cheek depending on which side of his lips lifted when he smirked. But right now, he was smiling completely, making him look so innocent and boyish. It made her stomach flutter.

“So...are you in school still? Or do you have a job?” She asked.

“M’gainfully employed. Work in the financial district.”

“A corporate sellout,” she remarked neutrally.

Harry smiled again shaking his head at her banter. “Oh? And you, Sunshine? Y’work for the Lollipop League?”

“It’s the Lollipop Guild, and Lullaby League, actually. But no,” she snorted. “I work in the hospital as a counselor,” she said. “I can see how you would think it’s like being on the set of The Wizard of Oz.”

Harry tapped his fingers against the washing machine and pursed his lips at her. “Mus’ be a tough job,” he murmured.

She nodded. “It’s rewarding though. Gives me a cathartic cry about once a week,” she opened her book back up to where she stopped. She felt Harry watching her though and she realized she probably shouldn’t have admitted to an almost stranger that she cried so often.

Harry hated the idea of her sadness. She was the embodiment of sunshine. Tears shouldn’t have been allowed in her eyes nor on her face. His conscience was angry and loud. Harry Styles stop it.

She let the silence wash over them and Harry didn’t seem to mind. They both went to their books and read silently for a while. She giggled cutely every so often and Harry thought it was an adorable sound. He wished he could ask what she had read. He wanted to recite things to her that made him think of her.

Harry was properly and crazily losing his mind.

The words on the pages of her book blended together. She thought Harry was meant to just be looked at for hours upon hours. He was so insanely beautiful it made her mind turn to mush.

He had to be her soulmate, surely. He mentioned her favorite movie and book completely unprompted. She wanted to ask if he had ever read the book or if he liked the movie. If he would ever want to watch it with her in her apartment cozied up on the couch with apple cider. Growing up, her dad read the twenty-four chapters in a loop over the course of months and years. She found Oz completely magical. It was unbelievable that a total stranger would bring it up.

It had to be fate, right?

She could probably recite the book from memory. When she found out about the movie, she watched it on VHS and then DVD and now streamed it at least once a month or played it in the background when she did chores. It was something she had little ones watch at the hospital and she dressed up as a different character every Halloween to pass out candy to the little ones when trapped in their hospital rooms.

Fortunately, her washer buzzed, alerting her she was done, and Harry glanced up briefly and gave another cute little smirk that she was beginning to think was simply meant to keep her up at night—and maybe looking for things to wash.

“So...s’jus’ you in apartment 304?” He asked.

She smiled to herself. If this was his way of flirting it was lame. “Yeah, just me.”

“Awful lot of laundry you’re doing,” he muttered.

She threw her stuff into a dryer, tossing in the scented beads that made her clothes smell good along with a dryer sheet. “I told you I do laundry the right way.”

He chuckled and she thought that his laugh might have been her new favorite sound. “S’fair, I suppose,” he remarked. Slipping off his washer, he inspected her new book and the back cover. He mentally wrote the title down once more. “Do y’have a favorite book?” He asked.

She nodded. “S’kind of silly. It’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. My dad used to read it to me before bed. And I like history and there’s theories on the symbolism for the populist movement—I don’t know. It just makes me think of my childhood and of course the movie was just—” She stopped suddenly, and Harry was completely riveted by the beginning of her explanation.

“What, Sunshine?” He asked so gently. It felt like he was wrapping her in his arms and whispering in her ear. It was like he was trying to reach into her chest and hold her heart in his hands himself. It was sweet and she hated how nice it felt after they had spoken in total for maybe seven minutes since meeting.

She didn’t turn around to look at him. But she could feel his gaze warming her as he watched her fiddle with the dryer. “Just...don’t want to bore you about The Wizard of Oz.”

He ignored what his conscience was shouting at him once more. “I don’t think y’could bore me,” he murmured.

She turned then, looked at him with these beautiful round eyes that he swore were little suns and brightened the whole room as she met his gaze. “Guess the only way we’ll find out is if we keep chatting. Tell me about your book,” she suggested gently. It was an invitation and Harry didn’t really know what to say because the book hardly made any sense over the last few minutes. He was intently focused on her when he was supposed to be reading. He managed to make up something about how it wasn’t much of a page-turner yet but liked it well enough and thought it would get better.

Eventually, Harry’s washer signaled it was time to switch to the dryer and he worried their time was truly limited because before he knew it, her dryer was done. She stayed to fold her stuff, and they continued reading and chatting casually.

She was falling hard for Harry. It seemed it was inevitable. Between the gentleness he showed her in such a short time, the mention of her favorite story, and simply being there during her favorite chore, it was like Harry was meant to meet her. Meant to find her in the laundry room and befriend her so quickly.

There was no use denying she hoped it would escalate to something more.

Harry’s conscience continued to tell him what a terrible idea it was to keep up this...pretense with her. But his heart was saying that he needed warmth, needed the kindness she showed in just the little bit of time he had been around her.

Sunshine was his cure.

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highvern · 7 months

Text

Sales Pitch

Pairing: Moon Junhui x fe!reader

Genre: Smut, 21+

Warnings: dom reader, sub/brat jun, anal sex (m. receiving), pegging, oral (m & f receiving), degradation, sex toys, impact play, breath play, freak deakys fr!!!

Length: 3.6k

Note: for my bestie @wenjunehui i hope its all you dreamed of and more pookie

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Part II