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cillianmesoftlyyy · 5 months

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I Can Fix That... | Dr. Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

Summary| She's the detective assigned to investigate one of Gotham's top villains, Falcone, but as she follows her leads, she uncovers a new suspect: Dr. Jonathan Crane. His charisma and good looks won't stand in the way of justice, or at least that's what she thinks.

Warnings| Mentions of self-harm in the beginning in accordance to the movie (Batman Begins 2005). Not explicitly discussed but implied sexist and misogynistic work environment. Some archaic language when discussing psychiatric hospitals bc I tried to follow the language that the movie used. Violence with needles, drugging someone. Gun is mentioned but not used. Knife is mentioned a lot but never used to inflict pain. Smut, dubious consent, unprotected sex, restraints.

word count: 6757k (long-ass story bc I didn't want to make separate posts)

Song for a Guilty Sadist- Crywank 🎶

Butch 4 Butch- Rio Romeo 🎵

IFHY (feat. Pharrell)- Tyler, The Creator 🎶

Please read warnings before continuing, thanks <3

She had been following him for weeks, stealing into the shadows at every turn as Jonathan Crane walked through Gotham City’s Police Station. She’d been suspicious of him for months and with the men in the police force finally working up the nerve to investigate Gothem’s leading henchman, Falcone, she’d uncovered a theory that pointed simultaneously at the notorious psychiatrist. Of course, the men in her force had refused to believe her, reminding her of Crane’s long history with the department and work to establish Gothem’s Psychiatric Hospital for the Criminally Insane: Arkham Asylum. But the real reason why Crane had never been investigated was because of his status in the department of justice, and it didn’t hurt that the man was charismatic. He knew how to work the system to get what he wanted.

Jonathan Crane had a reputation of declaring criminals insane after mere minutes of deliberation, especially those who happened to work with or for Falcone. She’d been in charge of carrying out Falcone’s case and taking him to trial as a detective for the prosecution. After being put in jail, Falcone had managed to slash his wrists just enough to draw attention and a little bit of blood. He was immediately flagged for psychiatric evaluation, bringing Jonathan Crane once again into the basement interrogation rooms to administer an interview. When he clamored down the steps onto the basement floor, she was waiting for him by the door into Falcone’s interrogation room.

“Dr. Crane,” she greeted him with a smile, drawing every ounce of her long lost theater-kid days into play.

“Miss —,” he remembered her name and shook her hand with a serious glint in his blue eyes, covered by harsh rectangular glasses. His handshake was firm and strong, and he made eye contact that still shook her even after speaking with him so many times before. She didn’t let it show, however, and nodded towards the door.

“He cut his wrists last night during the changing of the guard but we don’t know how he even got access to the weapon that he used; and I’ve spoken with him numerous time since we processed him and he’s never given me any reason to suspect that he was mentally unstable, but of course, you are the professional. It’s better that he be evaluated anyway-”

“In case anything were to happen,” he finished for me and clenched his jaw. He gave a curt nod of his head and went inside, shutting the door behind him and drawing the blinds on the door closed. She scoffed quietly beneath her breath and clenched her fists. Don’t be fooled by his good looks or superior smile, she told herself, Jonathan Crane was capable of things that she didn’t know of yet. He was not someone to admire, he was someone to distrust.

After only ten minutes of quiet murmuring, she could hear clear and blood curdling screams through the door. She knocked on the door, “Dr. Crane?” She called through the door but it opened in her face before she could do anything. He stood in the doorway, his dark hair falling into his pale, angular face.

“He’s definitely what I would classify as mentally unstable,” he chuckled calmly as he side-stepped her and closed the door. He ran a hand through his hair and fixed the glasses perched on his nose. “I can’t treat him here, I’ll need to move him to Arkham.”

“Are you sure?” She asked, more surprised than anything. He had started to walk down the hallway to the stairs when he turned around, stopping right in front of her face, his breath fanned across her face.

“Are you questioning my diagnosis, detective?” He smirked, an underlying tone of warning below his wide-lipped smile. His blue eyes were unwavering as he studied her face, she swallowed to steady herself.

“No, sir. Of course not.” She apologized and crossed her arms across her chest, ducking her head nervously. When she looked back up, his eyebrow was cocked.

“Do I make you nervous, detective?” He smiled and she could tell he was setting a trap, attempting to make himself more likable, more trusting. As if he could be anything of the sort. She laughed lightly and met his eyes, holding his eye-contact defiantly.

“No, sir.” She answered and he nodded.

“Good day, Miss —.” He called with his back turned, walking to the stairs and climbing them quickly. She watched him leave and finally released a sigh of relief. There was something about him that unsettled her, but it was something that also attracted her with a devious strength, ripping factual and independent reasoning from her head.

She had started following him when one of Falcone’s men had been moved to Arkham two weeks before. She switched her assignment for the day to escort the man to Arkham, getting a chance to see the asylum for herself. It was a large gothic building with a modern facade in the center of Gotham. The attendants at the door led the prisoner (or patient now) through the heavily guarded door into the hospital’s main ward that was closed to visitors. Even police or other officials had to obtain a special license that granted them clearance into the institution. The second time she’d stepped inside, she was following a few yards behind Crane, studying how he actually entered the building. They had a separate entrance for the asylum’s psychiatrists at the side of the building by the alley. She waited a few minutes for Crane to enter the building before she approached the guard stationed at the door and flashed her badge. He’d allowed her in but warned that he’d lose his job if he did it again. The next time she followed him, she would need a new method of entering the building, one that didn’t alert Crane that she was in the building in case he got suspicious. When she entered it was easier to blend in so she followed the maze of hallways until she reached a small hub with arrows guiding attendants to the different wards of the hospital. Dr. Crane’s office was included in the psychiatrist ward (funny they had their own ward).

The psychiatrists each had their own labs, whether or not they used them was their own business, but she knew for sure that Crane used his but for what, she didn’t know. Walking down the hallway to his office, she peeked inside the wide panel of glass into his lab. He had one assistant who was copying his notes into a binder for Crane but quickly left when Crane shooed him away from the set of beakers and vials of powders he was working with. She flattened herself against the wall and pretended to answer a call on her phone as the assistant passed her in the hallway. She hurried to leave the institute, leaving through the same door she entered, thanking the security guard discreetly.

This time as she watched Crane climb the stairs, she pulled aside a police officer and explained Falcone’s transfer. The officer nodded and left to initiate the transfer to Arkham, Falcone’s hysterical screams still audible through the thick steel door. Crane tugged at the starched collar of his shirt as he crossed the lobby of the police station, sighing in relief. Falcone had tried to corner him. Him! Falcone may have been powerful but he was stupid and Crane didn’t have patience for stupidity especially from someone who was supposed to be a criminal mastermind. News flash: he wasn’t. Falcone was sloppy and arrogant, he didn’t take his own threats seriously. He’d threatened to tell the police about Crane’s experimental drug concoctions but in reality, he still didn’t know the full extent of what Crane was planning to do to Gotham.

“You don’t know anything,” Crane said pointedly, tired of Falcone’s attitude.

“I know that half of the drugs we moved belong to you and the police still don’t know what they are or what they can do.” Falcone scratched his greasy nose. Crane almost laughed. He removed his glasses and sighed, reaching into his open briefcase.

As soon as the words, “would you like to see my mask,” left his mouth, Falcone was done for. The only thing that had inspired a shred of panic for Crane was hearing the girl’s voice through the steel door, calling his name. He expected her to open the door and see his mask, and while he had an explanation that a normal officer would believe, he knew that she was different. He didn’t trust her but something about her made him laugh. She was good looking and smart but too invested in his work and he didn’t like that. He’d have to keep an eye on the young detective, Miss —. In fact, he’d like to strap her down… hide her away in his asylum and play with her head like he did with his other playthings - - - oops - - - patients. Same thing.

She pretended that her plan was straightforward, it was the only way that she could convince herself to go through with it. No one else in her department would have had the balls to sneak into the asylum where once you went in, you may not be able to leave, that is- if Dr. Crane diagnosed you accordingly. She left a note on her desk in her office, explaining where she was going and the evidence she had already collected. Photos, “destroyed” medical records, and recent missing shipments from cargo ships including one micro-wave machine meant for warfare. She made copies of everything and hid them away in a special box directed to the only person she really trusted in her department, Sgt. Gordon. Even if someone dumped the notes on her desk, Sgt. Gordon would find the box of evidence, she knew. Falcone had been transferred the day before and was nearing his second night in the institution, now was her time to investigate what he was planning to do to him and why.

She stashed a small knife at her thigh, having learned that a woman had to carry multiple weapons in this city if she wanted to protect herself, which unfortunately, happened often. She checked her weapon and put it in her holster at the small of her back. She was wearing a gray quarter length top tucked into a black skirt. She pulled on her straight black leather coat and closed the door to her office, locking the door. She knew that Crane would be in his office, he almost never went home, and with Falcone there and at risk to disclose sensitive information, he would be sure to stay close by.

The sun had already set hours before when she approached Arkham Asylum. Each window was bright with light but it didn’t make the building any more welcoming. She shivered as she approached the side door, seeing a different security guard at the door. He stood when she approached, not recognizing her.

“Stand down, officer. I’m detective — on police business,” she showed him her badge.

“You’ll have to check in at the front, detective.” The officer sat back down with a nod.

“My business here is strictly confidential; Dr. Crane said I could enter in this way.” She pointed at the side door and the officer looked nervously at her. He reached for his walkie-talkie.

“I’m here about Falcone. I am the detective assigned to his case, he was transferred here two days ago. I’m supposed to meet with Dr. Crane about some of the things Falcone has said during his initial treatment. Because of the sensitivity of Falcone’s case in the department, as I’m sure you know, the department has asked that we keep this confidential. No one inside can know that I was here to meet about Falcone. We haven’t told the public yet that he’s been transferred here. Your compliance is necessary for this.” She lied out of her ass but the officer nodded slowly when she finished, his eyes widening at the mention of Falcone’s name.

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry for delaying you. It’s just business.”

“I understand completely, thank you officer.” She smiled kindly as the officer scanned her in. Once she was inside she hid her police badge and followed the path she had scouted days before, following the black arrows to the psychiatrist ward (again, funny that they had their own ward- almost as if they were patients themselves). Her black mary janes squeaked quietly as she finally turned onto the hallway where Dr. Crane’s office was located. A row of fluorescent bulbs flickered ominously and she rolled her eyes, silently cursing the asylum for its additional eeriness. His lab was empty and dark and his office was empty though the lights were still on. An assistant passed her, coming from a different lab with a pile of boxes in her arms.

“Excuse me, do you know where Dr. Crane is right now?” She asked the assistant who shuffled the boxes in her arms to answer.

“I saw him in the ward with the new transfer patients just before I picked these up, so he’s probably about to start a sit-down with a patient. Do you have an appointment with him?” She asked curiously, knowing it was too late for a business meeting.

“No, I work in the office and I was going to request a few files to finish a transfer of a patient but it seems that he’s busy. I’ll try tomorrow morning. Thank you!” She smiled and the assistant nodded.

“Have a nice night,” the assistant hurried off down the corridor into the hub. She wasted no time in checking the door to Crane’s office which was miraculously unlocked. She hurried inside and closed the door, making sure that she left everything as she had found it. The door to the lab was located inside Crane’s office, so she entered the lab through the office. The blinds were closed to the outside so she opened the flashlight on her phone and scanned the dark lab tables for the powders she had seen before. The room smelled heavily of chemicals and cleaning solution and it was hard to breathe normally already because she was nervous. The first table was empty of anything but the second was set up for what looked to be his next round of testing. A box that looked like a closed mouse trap was set up on the table. There was a single switch on the top of the box which she knew better than to turn but she examined it nonetheless, hoping to see what it may contain. A tray of petri dishes full of powder sat beside it. Each was marked with a different series of numbers and letters, denoting their different status, she assumed. She recognized the series on one of the dishes: F7jw009. The number had appeared on the list of drugs recovered from Falcone’s drug transport. It was one that hadn’t yet been tested to see what it was composed of. She didn’t recognize the two other dishes but she assumed the powder and the mousetrap device were used for the same thing.

There was a small bookcase attached to the base of the lab table and she crouched, scanning the spines. The books on the top, free of dust, were on phobias. A bound scientific paper on the chemical structure of fear sat on top of the textbooks. She picked it up and flipped through the pages, noticing strokes of pen and notes on many of the pages. In the centerfold of the paper, she saw a picture of a cartoon scarecrow, one from a halloween decoration. It looked like it had been ripped from a kid’s storybook. She stared at the picture, struggling to place where she had heard about a scarecrow before in the precinct… she flipped farther through the pages and landed on a second photo shoved between the pages. It was a drawing of a mask made of burlap. The mask resembled a scarecrow’s face, she furrowed her eyebrows, more uneasy. Finally, she flipped to the very end where she found a clear note detailing what Crane thought the synopsis of the paper had been:

Fear can be constructed using a series of complex compounds and put into an admissible form. They have already invented serums that temporarily remove the presence of fear by blocking certain receptors in the brain that receive signals of distress or pain. By doing the very opposite, temporarily numbing the receptors that calm the nervous system when danger has been averted, fight or flight is heightened and the human mind is more susceptible to the suggestion of danger and terror. Fear merely needs to be suggested to elicit a response after the brain is prepped for the reaction. Fear can be weaponized. Building the compounds of fear into a powder, the drug can be administered immediately into the air and receive a simultaneous reaction. Pills? Water? How can we distribute this powder? What is the easiest way to administer fear to the entire population?

iii

The distinct click of a door opening and closing shocked her back to attention. She put the bound paper back onto the shelf and switched off the light on her phone. In the dark she scrambled into a hidden alcove inside the lab behind one of the hooded chemical boxes. She was pretty sure that the lab’s closet would be shared with the lab next door but she couldn’t remember which side of the room it was on. Dr. Crane had gone into his office and removed his suit jacket. He was too excited by Falcone’s reaction to his fear serum in powder form and he needed to get a handle on himself. It was nearly midnight when he checked his watch. Most of his colleagues would be gone by now, just the night staff remained to look after the patients. Night was the perfect time to work undisturbed in his lab, especially because his assistant couldn’t know the full extent of his research into the chemical compounds of human fear. He slipped his coat over the back of his desk chair and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows.

He exhaled slowly and removed a stack of papers from his desk, flipping through them as he opened the door into his lab and kicked the door closed with the heel of his shoe. His elbow flicked on the lightswitch and he spread out the papers on the first lab table, seemingly absorbed by the chemical structures his assistant had prepared for him to review. He scribbled a note in red pen on the corner of the document, berating his assistant for his obvious mistake with one of the compound structures. What was this? High school chemistry class? He licked his thumb and turned the page, writing another note in the margin.

“I know you’re here, Miss —.” He smiled, not looking up from his notes. He tossed the first set of pages further down the table and moved to the next one. “You and your perfume… I can always tell where you’ve been by your scent. I don’t think you’re naive enough to wear perfume in your field, especially when on your little jaunts into other people’s business. So, the lovely smell is from your shampoo, I venture. You use an expensive brand of shampoo because you think that your hair is your best attribute, and I agree, it's one of the best. Your job makes you feel dirty too, doesn’t it? This city makes you feel dirty and so you wash your hair every night with the same sulfate-free shampoo to get the smell of our city out of your system. Your shampoo smells like mint and you like it the best because it makes your head feel cleaner, tingly,” he laughed and moved to the next stack of stapled papers. “And that’s why you chose this job, a detective, because you feel like you’re cleaning up our streets; removing all of the bad blood of Gotham but it’s been a disappointment to say the least. The system is backwards, though you knew that from the beginning, you thought you could fix it. You want things to be right and I don’t blame you, so do I.”

Dr. Crane finished writing a note on the last paper and capped the pen. He circled the table once before moving to the second table.

“I’m cleaning the city in my own way, I guess you could say. This city needs a restart button, a way to begin everything again and start fresh. Fear can do that, fear can be controlled and it controls.”

She could barely breathe, her back was pressed against the wall of his lab. She was scared and she knew that he knew. Fear was his thing, his kink and she anticipated the absolute worst as she waited out her fate, wondering how long it would take for him to find her or if she could manage to escape.

“This machine can diffuse the compounded form of fear. I’ve used it on most of your suspects, all of them Faclone’s men. I even used it on Falcone himself. Oh, I wish you could have seen his face! The second the powder entered his system he abandoned the arrogant criminal persona, he reverted back to who he was at his very core. He was suddenly controllable and easy to manage. So you see how this could be used to clean up Gotham. It’s a way to seize back control of our city, take it away from the people who run it now; the sycophants and billionaires.”

Crane pulled a needle from the drawer at his hip and flicked the glass tube. Her chest rose and fell in a state of panic. Dr. Crane leaned against the counter calmly.

“That’s why you like me. I’m clean. I’m orderly and smart. I’m the opposite of the criminal justice system that reminds you of this dirty city. And, Y/N, that’s why I like you.”

She tensed at his use of her first name. She’d never heard him use it before and it sent a chill down her spine. She reached for her gun. Dr. Crane rounded the corner and stabbed the needle into her neck, pushing the tranquilizer into her bloodstream. She wobbled before slumping back against the wall. She managed to push past him and run for the office door but the drugs worked almost immediately and her legs began to go numb. She couldn’t feel anything below her waist and she worried that he would break her legs running without being able to feel which bones she was using to get away. She collapsed on the floor of the lab and looked up at Dr. Crane who smiled down at her, his hair disheveled.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he cooed and crouched at her feet, “I applaud you for your efforts. You may have succeeded had I not recognized the smell of your shampoo. I know you’ve been here before. You’re a smart girl but I won this game, and the victor gets the spoils. That’s how it works, Miss —.” He crawled over her and pulled the needle from her neck. She didn’t even feel it. Her hair that he loved so much was fanned out on the floor, falling in loose curls. He twirled a curl between his fingers and nodded approvingly.

“Don’t worry, I’ll treat you with the utmost respect. Afterall, you are my colleague, of sorts,” he shrugged and stood up, straddling her. “It’s a pity that you became a detective. You would have done well in this bloodthirsty field because,” he disappeared for a moment and returned with a set of keys which he slipped into his front pocket, “you’re like me.”

He pulled her up and put one of her arms around his shoulder, supporting the brunt of her weight that way. Though he was small and lanky, he was muscular and strong. He dragged her through the door in his lab that connected to a separate room that she hadn’t even noticed. He flipped the light switch with his elbow and sighed with pleasure when the room was lit up with light.

“Here it is. This is where the real fun happens, Y/N. This is where I test my new treatments on our most psychotic patients. Falcone will be here soon, perhaps tomorrow once you and I finish our discussion.” The room was smaller than the lab and housed what looked like a mortuary slab. She tried to scream but her mouth was numb. He dragged her to the table and lifted her onto the flat surface. The numerous straps he buckled around her waist, her wrists, and her feet. When she was secured onto his table, he pushed a peddle at his foot which titled the table forward, propping her more upright.

“Ah, and now I can finally see you,” Dr. Crane smiled and moved her hair so that it was caught behind her back. He straightened her hair against her chest, running his fingers through the strands. He moved a stool in front of the table and sat on it, his legs spread and his arms across against his chest. “Do I make you nervous now, detective?” He smirked and chuckled darkly when she couldn’t respond. “It will wear off soon. It’s one of those doses that act quickly but then wear off just as quickly. I wouldn’t do anything to you while you were in this state. What kind of man would I be if I did that?”

He watched her for a few minutes, his bright blue eyes trailing up and down her body. She knew what that look meant from men. Her gun was so close and yet she knew she wouldn't be able to reach it even when she regained control over her body. While he waited, he arranged numerous tools and vials around the room, humming softly to himself. She could feel herself starting to get feeling back in her stomach as the blood recirculated from her heart. Her hands and her feet took the longest to twitch awake. She dropped her head from left to right, groaning in the absence of words. Dr. Crane came back and checked her pulse, pinching her wrist and counting the seconds on his watch.

“Good girl, you’re coming back. Can you speak yet?” He supported her chin with his hand and when she didn’t answer he nodded. “That’s all right. You’re all right.” He soothed her and she couldn’t help but relax as his eyes checked over her. “Now, Miss —, where are your weapons?” He posed the question theoretically and touched her, she flinched beneath his hands. He felt around her waist and inside her jacket. “There aren’t many places to hide it.” He whispered and wrapped his hands around her waist, finding the gun at the small of her back. “Ah, here it is.” He smiled as he took the gun from its holster and tossed it onto a small lab table. “You have something else, don’t you. You’re smart so of course, you have a second weapon.” He licked his lips, thinking but it didn’t take him long to trail his hands up her thighs, glancing up into her eyes as he did. Her skirt rose as he felt below it and soon, his fingers were on top of the knife’s handle.

“What do we have here?” He lifted her skirt, showing the knife’s hiding place at the top of her thigh. “This is honestly almost funny so forgive me if I laugh.” He ripped the knife from the holster and she cried out as much as she could, terrified by his quick movement. He let her skirt fall back into place and twirled the knife in his hand, examining the small blade. “You’ve just made my night so much more interesting, Miss —.” He smirked darkly.

She finally regained her ability to speak though her words were jumbled and hard to get out around her tongue.

“Use your words, honey.” Dr. Crane frowned frustratedly.

“Please…” she managed, “don’t… hurt… me.” She pushed the words out and he listened carefully.

“Oh but it’s so hard to resist when you so willingly came here and with your own weapons. Can you see how this might be hard for me?” He furrowed his brow as he spoke and she couldn’t tell what was sarcasm and what was real.

“It was nothing personal… I had a job to do.” She whispered weakly and he cocked his head, his lips parted.

“You know it's funny because Falcone’s men all said the same thing. I know you didn’t work with them… but I can make it look like you did.” He whispered close to her face and her chest clenched with fear. “I can do whatever I want, do you understand? I have the power to say that you checked yourself in and I evaluated you. I found you on the verge of a psychotic breakdown because we all know you were already prone to hysterics. But your office shouldn’t worry because I’ll be your psychiatrist. And so what if you happen to disappear- go missing? No one comes in here, except for you, and that was stupid.”

“You might die tonight, detective. I’m sorry to say it because you are one of the most attractive women I have met in Gotham and I fear that you have ruined our chances of continuing this to a second date.” He studied the curvature of her clavicle as it dipped above her sternum. Not knowing what else to do, she kissed him. Dr. Crane stiffened as her lips met his. He pulled away, stopping short a few inches from her mouth.

“What are you doing?” He raised his eyebrow.

“If I’m going to die, I might as well make the most of it,” she shrugged and kissed him again, her head leaning as far forward as she could reach. She hoped that she sounded truthful enough. He pulled away again and stared at her, his forehead creased as he watched her. She panted softly, straining against her restraints. Her cheeks were flushed and her chest had broken out into hives from the stress. Fear made her even more beautiful. Going against his better judgment, he leaned forward into her and kissed her hesitantly. Slowly, he began to kiss her more aggressively, his tongue dragging against the roof of her mouth before he captured her top lip in a deep kiss. Her hands instinctively went to reach for his hair but they snapped back against the table. He broke away, panting, and took a few steps back, resting his back against the wall.

“I don’t trust you,” he put his hands on his hips, still holding the knife.

“What can I do, Jonathan?” She tried using his first name and he raised an eyebrow again, “I can’t move, no one can hear me scream, you’re going to kill me… what reason is there left to trust me? So, either kiss me or go ahead and kill me.” She nearly cried, overwhelmed and terrified. Her plan had been to seduce him, to use most men’s fatal flaw against him, but she worried that it wouldn’t work with Dr. Jonathan Crane. In a way, she had planned for this. The evidence was back in her office waiting to be discovered. She hadn’t gotten a chance to take pictures of the lab but maybe depending on how far he went with this, she could get away. But God, even though she was terrified and held on a slab against her will, he was beautiful. He was looking at her with his aquamarine eyes, his black hair gelled and falling around his face. Even his glasses looked perfect on his face.

“Jonathan…” she started with a shakily voice, “despite why I came today and what you’ve told me about what you want to do to Gotham, right now, more than anything, I want you to come here and kiss me because while I may hate you and you may be the cause of my death, I want you. Give me some comfort if you’re going to take everything away from me.”

“Freud would have some things to say about you, Y/N.” He pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose and studied the edge of the knife. “Your psychology is so interesting,” he flicked his eyes up to her’s and set the knife down on the table. “To study you…” he trailed off as he loosened his tie and ripped it from his neck. He approached her, standing far enough away that she couldn’t reach him with her mouth. She exhaled, waiting. “I almost studied anatomy,” he pushed a hand against her navel, holding her even more in place.

“Why didn’t you?” She whispered.

“I loved the human mind too much to abandon it,” he smiled and drew a hand up her thigh. Her muscles spasmed beneath his hand. He leaned in against her ear, “I know you’re scared of me,” he whispered calmly, “and isn’t that incredible? That you can be so afraid of something that you want so much?” His hand pulled down her underwear and it stretched between her open thighs, held apart by the restraints. His hand went further still, gently tracing the folds of her labia. She knew that she was wet and it embarrassed her, though she knew it helped confirm her story that she wanted him, he didn’t seem to care either way. His thumb rubbed her clit as he slowly inserted his middle finger into her, pushing past the initial resistance. She always hated fingering because it didn’t feel like how people pretended it did. That being said, she sighed as he gently inserted a second finger and pulled against the top of her cunt, fingering her slowly.

“The body holds fear because our bodies hold memories,” he explained as he pressed her clit harder. “I can find what really scares you and I can fix it.”

“I’m scared of you,” she whispered, her breath escaping in a sharp pant.

“I can fix that.”

He pulled his fingers out of her and held her neck still against the table as he kissed her. The sense of urgency to fight and escape melted into an afterthought when the back of his hand slid slowly down one side of her neck, making the tendons flex. He held her neck still as he kissed down to her collarbones, licking their shelves and tracing the bone with his tongue. His free hand groped her breast over her tight shirt and then surrounded her waist. She started shifting her hips back and forth, wishing that she had something between them to relieve the pressure she felt. He smiled against her skin and clicked his tongue, pulling away from her. He pressed the pedal again with his foot and the table reclined once again as it had been. He climbed onto the table and sat above her on his knees, looking down at her as she panted.

“Look at me,” he told her and made sure that her eyes met his. “I have no plans to kill you tonight and I know this act is solely for the benefit of your own survival. But knowing that I will not kill you, would you like to change your mind?” He put both hands around her waist, showing the pale flesh of his forearms. She tried to weigh her options, she tried to think clearly but it all felt like a dream. It didn’t feel real enough to have consequences, so she shook her head and licked her lips quickly.

“No, keep going.” She whispered, “please.” Dr. Crane chuckled lightly and trailed his fingers down to her ankles.

“In that case, would you like to see my mask?” He smiled darkly, teasing her.

“No, I want to see your face.” She answered calmly and he nodded.

“Fine.” He removed the restraints around her ankles. He took the knife from the table and cut away her underwear with one strong swipe of the blade. She gasped and he smirked, “I’m a doctor, remember? I know how to use a knife, detective.”

He put the knife aside and pulled her knees up, sitting between them. He unbuckled his pants and withdrew his erection, glistening with precum. He guided himself into her with his hand, his eyes never leaving her face. She gasped again as he entered her. He rocked his hips slowly back and forth and groaned, watching her mouth open in a silent moan. She raised her knees higher, closer to her chest, giving him a better angle at which to fuck her. His hands pressed against her stomach and his thrusts became faster as his body began to learn hers.

“You’re getting wetter,” he observed with a sly smile, “I must be doing something right.” He teased her as he started to rub her clit with his thumb, the rest of his hand pressed against her uterus. She couldn’t even speak. It had been months since she’d last had sex and even then, it wasn’t good sex. “I’m going to go harder but you can take it,” he told her matter of factly and placed either hand by her hips on the table. Leaning forward he shifted his hips slowly but harder, going deeper without much care for how her body adapted to the thrusts. “There you go,” he grunted as his hips bucked rhythmically into hers. She cried out, her body sliding up and down against the table, hot with her perspiration. Holding onto the top of the table, he moved farther up, pushing more inside of her, and started thrusting fast. He was suddenly in so deep and only backing away a few inches before snapping back in. Her hips bounced off of his and she gripped the excess material around her wrists to help her stay stationary.

“Slow… God, please! Slow down… its so much, fuck.” She whimpered and smiled down at her face, flushed and angry with red. He slowed his hips, squeezing his glutes together whenever he thrusted inside. He leaned down and kissed her slowly, still rocking in and out of her. Her body shuttered from the high and started to build a more even climax. She hummed against his lips, her voicing getting higher as she started to orgasm.

“And here comes the orgasm,” Jonathan smiled and sped up slightly, leaving hickies up and down her neck. She orgasmed with a shuttering cry that she couldn’t cover with her hand, but he didn’t let her finish there. “Fuck, you got so tight again.” He groaned as she panted, her system overwhelmed with waves of pleasure and exertion. She started to tighten further around him as her thighs squeezed his hips. Her breath left her lungs in short pants and she moaned beneath him like a pitiful creature. “Are you cumming again?” He laughed and stroked her cheek. She nodded weakly and he kissed her again briefly.

“Its so tight, fuck. I won’t last much longer like this.” He took her hips in his hands and started a steady rhythm, pulling her hips onto his cock and thrusting at the same time. She came around him and he groaned animalistically, his thrusts becoming more sporadic and needy. He watched her breasts bounce inside her shirt and how he slid in and out of her, her cum collecting at the base of his shaft. Finishing with fast, desperate movements, he moaned loudly. She felt him finish inside her and it felt almost better than if she had finished herself. He pulled down her bottom lip with his thumb and admired her fucked-out face. Her pupils were shot and she shook slightly from the high. Finally, he pulled out and stuffed himself back into his pants. He sighed as he straightened his clothes and ran a hand through his hair. He took the gun and the knife and stuffed them both into a drawer and locked it with a set of keys from his pocket. They stared at each other for a while until Jonathan broke the silence, clearing his throat.

“You’re coming home with me tonight, Miss —. We’ll decide what to do with you later.”

#cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #fanfiction #cillian fanfic #smut #peaky blinders #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane fanfic #hot scarecrow #young cillian murphy #dc scarecrow #jonathan crane

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prettyprettypaci2 · 2 months

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Drool - Part 6

💊 Part 1 💊 Part 2 💊 Part 3 💊 Part 4 💊 Part 5 💊

"Hello, best friend! I really missed you!"

Even though the pink unicorn plushie is being bounced up and down in front of you, the forced baritone voice is most certainly not coming from Honey Horn.

"Come on, cutie butt! Give me a biiiiiiiiiig hug!"

A thumb and forefinger spread the unicorn's front legs wide, inviting you to snatch it between the pink balled mittens that have replaced your hands since you first checked into this clinic. You suckle cautiously on the fat pacifier that is tightly secured to your mouth with the pink leather strap. Something in your muscle memory is prompting you to grab the toy and pull it close. It's not unlike the urge to tic that you've fought your whole life.

You raise your eyes up to the figure dangling Honey Horn before you like a marionette. Her straight, shoulder-length hair is the same brown color as the frames of her stylish glasses. She appears to be in her 30s, and a genuine smile radiates from her beautifully made-up face. This could only be Dr. Amelia.

You lift your arms partway, feeling a sheet of drool slide from the shield of your pacifier onto your white cloth bib, then spare a glance at the two young women who are playing on the floor of Dr. Amelia's office. Emma, with braces on her legs and shaggy dark hair that covers her eyes, is back to absent-mindedly knocking plastic cars around on the rug. Every time she bends forward or crawls, you hear the distinctive crinkle of a diaper under her denim dress. She's stopped paying attention to you completely, resigned to what she believes to be her permanent fate.

In contrast, her blonde companion Daisy seems very interested in you. She pulls at her braid and watches you intensely, suckling her own blue pacifier aggressively. You notice her puffy diaper growing yellow as her stunning eyes drill into your own from across the room. She seems to have lost all self-awareness as she waits for your reaction to Dr. Amelia's strange game.

"Awwww, pleeeeeeeeeease?" Dr. Amelia mimics a childish drawl and nuzzles Honey Horn's snout into your face. The soft material tickles your nose, and you stifle an unplanned giggle as you scrunch up your face and shake your head. "Don't be shy! I'm here to help the doctor make you allllllll better."

You close your eyes, hoping to ground yourself and make sense of everything that's happened to you. You shiver at the feeling of your own sodden diaper squished flat against the floor like a pancake. Your cloth bib, swapped out less than an hour ago for a fresh one, is already heavy with the fluid that drains pathetically from behind your bobbing pacifier. Emma's words dance through the folds of your mind in a childish sing-song, like that of the cartoons that play incessantly in your bedroom.

🎵 We're here forever. We're here forever. We're here forever. 🎵

Before the thought occurs to you to just stand up and leave -- to run out of the clinic and find help -- you realize you've already scooped Honey Horn into your arms. The spit on your bib soaks into the pink unicorn's stuffing, but your plushie feels warm and soft and safe. You glance over at Daisy, whose pacifier is now pumping so furiously in her mouth, you wonder if she could break her jaw.

"Good!" Dr. Amelia claps her hands together in triumph, dropping the fake masculine voice she had used to speak through Honey Horn. Satisfied at your passive acceptance of the toy, she rolls out an office chair from behind her desk and delicately folds one high-heeled leg over the other. The professionalism of the doctor's desk area stands in stark contrast to the bizarre daycare theme of the rest of her office.

"Now then," Dr. Amelia grins, taking inventory of her three pathetic patients sprawled on the floor in front of her. "I'd like to thank our newest patient for joining us. Tics -- especially destructive ones like biting and scratching -- are a challenging problem to treat. My sister Heather is a psychologist. She'd tell you the problem lives in your brain." Dr. Amelia points to her own head with a French-tipped nail, as though assuming you need help understanding where that is.

"I agree," she goes on. A sidelong glance tells you Emma isn't bothering to pay attention, while Daisy remains unshakably fixated on you. "But the brain isn't just living alone in a jar, handing out orders that your body follows. It's hungry for information! Gobble gobble gobble!" She reaches forward and pushes Honey Horn's snout into the crook of your neck, as though your plushie were munching on you. Despite yourself, you gurgle at the ticklish feeling, and let some fresh, sloppy drool bubble out from your pacifier.

"Your brain loves advice! It asks your body for help to make decisions all the time! Everything your brain knows about the world, it learns through your eyes, your ears -- and your head, shoulders, knees and toes!" Dr. Amelia squeezes the tip of your pink jelly sandal, playfully pinching the big toe. "So how do we stop the biting and scratching? We can't just tell Mr. Brain to cut it out! We need your body to help by sending it all the right signals!"

Dr. Amelia gestures around the room, filled with plastic cookware, giant foam blocks, strange books and bizarre toys. "Every object in this room is a medical device, designed to retrain your body on how to talk to your brain! By improving your motor skills, coordination, and muscle control, you'll find that your tics have less control over you! It may eventually help with your bladder failures as well."

Your bulging cheeks turn scarlet, and you shake your head back and forth furiously. You DON'T have bladder problems! You were FORCED into diapers after you checked in!

"Hmm? You don't think so?" Dr. Amelia coos, interpreting your swiveling head as a rejection of her methods. "I think you'll come around! We'll start with something simple..."

She reaches behind her desk and, with a jumbling clatter, presents a giant pink bulb of plastic on a thin handle that resembles a rattle.

"This device is designed to recalibrate your brain's input from vertical motion of the upper extremit -- I'm sorry, that's all doctor talk. The important thing is that you keep it moving so that you hear the noise. As much as you can, for as long as you can!"

Within five minutes, you're left sitting with your legs spread out on the floor, your swollen diaper bulging beneath your pink t-shirt. The handle of the rattle is cupped between the two fat balls of your fingerless mittens. After some coaxing and correction, you burn with humiliation as you pump your arms up and down, practically bouncing on the seat of your diaper as you try to keep the plastic beads in the rattle bouncing and singing.

Up! Down. Up! Down. Up! Down.

Once Dr. Amelia is satisfied that you intend to continue the exercises, she clicks over to the rug to have a private word with Emma. Daisy hasn't taken her eyes off you since Nurse Molly brought you to this room. You try to ignore her as you stupidly shake the rattle, but after a minute, the pretty blonde starts crawling over to you on all fours.

You're not sure what to say or how to greet her, since you both have pacifiers strapped to your lips. It doesn't seem like introductions are necessary as Daisy reaches out a hand and places it on the front of your soaked diaper. You try to squirm away from the uninvited contact, but Daisy only pushes harder. You feel her fingers probe the squishy padding, stimulating you in a strange and unexpected way. You're forced to drop the rattle as she continues moving in, pushing you onto your back and hovering above you on her hands and knees. A thick, creamy string of drool oozes from behind her pacifier, joining your own drool on the front of your bib. You're helpless as she continues to fondle your diaper, her eyelashes fluttering, her suckling growing fast and loud...

Something feels funny.

Something feels good.

"Not again! What are you doing with Daisy?"

😳

#diaper pee #ab dl lifestyle #diaper gal #diaper sissy #diaper training #diapered247 #ab dl diaper #ab dl mommy #diaper dependent #diaper bulge

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offside-the-lines · 4 months

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tell me who i run to (if not you) | anthony beauvillier

"The first sip is joy, the second is gladness, the third is serenity, the fourth is madness, the fifth is ecstasy." - Jack Kerouac

Summary In July of 2023, Evie looked at a list of cities in North America and rolled a die. Just like that, she packed up her life and moved to Chicago, a fresh start. The 2023-24 NHL season started well for Tito; he did not expect the call on November 28th telling him that he was being traded. To the worst team in the league. And just like that. 10 months after being ripped from his home, he had to pack up and move again. To an unfamiliar city, and to unfamiliar faces. Which is why, when Tito and Evie ran into each other, quite literally, on Christmas morning, they both latched on to a familiar face. Over the next few months, they became close friends. They didn’t talk about the nights shared in Chicago clubs. They didn’t need to. Because they're just friends. Right?

This is a completed fic split into episodes for easier reading. It was written for @bqstqnbruin as part of the Winter Fic Exchange 2k24 hosted by @wyattjohnston.

Episode 1. Blue Christmas (4.9k) Episode 2. I. Winter (4.4k) Episode 3. Pal-entine's Day (4.8k) Episode 4. Four-leaf Clover (5.5k) Episode 5. Evie's Birthday 🌶️ (5.6k) Episode 6. II. Spring (4.8k) Episode 7. Not Goodbye 🌶️🌶️ (5.4k) Episode 8. III. Summer (4.8k) Episode 9. Tito's Birthday (4.2k)

Read it in full (44.5k)

🎵 Series Playlist 🎶

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Under the cut: author's notes, tropes, warnings & disclaimer, fun tidbits, chapter summaries

Author's Notes: This fic was written for @bqstqnbruin as part of the Winter Fic Exchange 2k24 hosted by @wyattjohnston. It got so out of control long so quickly. I genuinely had so much fun writing this, it's basically my magnum opus; if you look closely, I think you can probably see my soul in there somewhere. I would like to thank @devilssacrament, @wyattjohnston, and @forgottenflowers for being my editors, holding my hand and keeping me sane in this. Also, thanks to @swissboyhisch, and @imperatorrrrr for being a sounding board for ideas . All of your help and support has meant so much to me. You are all just the fucking best, I am sorry this has been my entire personality for the past month, I will probably return to normal soon. Probably...

Tropes: a gut-wrenching mix of angst and fluff with a happy ending, slow burn friends to lover (tbh, idiots to lovers let's be real), alternating POVs

Warnings: alcohol (one instance of alcohol poisoning by side character), mature content bordering on smut (mostly occurring in clubs/public), references to a toxic past relationship. Disclaimer: This series is set in Chicago but does not mention the name of the team based there. Only other Chicago players mentioned by name are: Nick Foligno, Jason Dickinson and Connor Bedard. Other notes: NHL players featured Mat Barzal (a heavily featured supporting character/bestie) and brief mentions of Zach Hyman and Matt Martin. Assume that Tito and Evie are always speaking in French with each other.

Face claim for Evie (if you want one, but you can imagine whoever you like): Adeline Rudolph

Fun Tidbits: Original Character (she/her) called Genevieve Gignac or Evie (pronounced eh-vee) is the oldest sibling of Tito's juniors teammate and friend Brandon Gignac. Along with their other sibling Wiliam, they grew up in Montreal. Evie had been living in Toronto for six years, before moving to Chicago in the summer before the fic starts. I did way too much research so a lot of the little facts are true. Nicknames: (ma) chouette (shoo-wet): owl (mon) chou/chouchou (shoo): in practice, honey, sugar, baby, sweetheart // by definition, my cabbage or my profiterole/cream puff (depends who you ask) Solours (soul-oars): the Québécois name for the yellow Care Bear with the smiling sun on its belly Solou’ (soul-oo): a diminutive Evie decides to use

Cook, Cook, drink your tea, But save some in the pot for me. We'll watch the tea leaves in our cup When our drink is all sipped up. Happiness or fortune great, What will our future be? -- "Afternoon Tea at Pittock Mansion" by R.Z. Berry

Episode Synopses:

Blue Christmas Evie and Tito are both starting life anew in Chicago. It's an unfamiliar city with unfamiliar faces. They're both alone on Christmas. Maybe it's fate that brings them together. Jason and Alandra Dickinson are already smelling smoke from this fire.

I. Winter Tito injures his wrist in the first game of 2024, he’s out for 6-8 weeks and then his car breaks down. He thinks maybe he’s cursed. Evie becomes a shoulder to lean on. Barzy gets suspicious.

Pal-entine’s Day Tito returns her kindness by being a shoulder Evie can lean on when she is having a hard time after all-star break. She tells him it’s anxiety about work. He brings her a box of pastries and they cuddle on the couch all day; he doesn’t realize it’s Valentine’s Day. Later, a hook-up goes very wrong.

Four-leaf Clover Tito’s been playing again, and during his first stretch of away games begins to miss home. Well, Evie’s home anyway. When he sees her in the bar, he can’t help but show it. Barzy calls him out on his lies.

Evie’s Birthday Sometimes the music moves you. Sometimes the bass pounding in your chest makes you do things you wouldn’t do. Fuck it, it’s your birthday. That’s what Evie tells herself anyway. There are gifts given, but there are also secrets kept.

II. Spring Tito tries to tell her— he does— It’s just he needs to find the right time, and something keeps coming up. Evie’s honest with herself. But does that even matter? Mat decides maybe it is his time to intervene.

Not Goodbye Evie realizes that her time is running out. To do what? She doesn’t know. But she has one last night to find out. That is until— Well. It’s too late now. Tito flies home and wonders if that will be the worst mistake of his life.

III. Summer They try to get on with their summers as if nothing is wrong, convincing no one. How long will it take them to realize they can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine? And who will finally take the leap of faith?

Tito’s Birthday Tito receives the best birthday present he has ever gotten: the girl he loves standing at his parent’s front door. It was never destiny or fate; it can only be by choice. And they’ll choose each other every time. Eventually, anyway.

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sparkles-rule-4eva · 3 months

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🎵 Whoooo wants a nice little short 'n sweet post-Prime one shot with Sonic and Tails and some angst and also fluff and cuddles and nightmares and sadness and cuteness and the implementing of that one headcanon from the post I made about Sonic getting more cuddly and clingy when he's hurt or upset??? 🎵

Sonic Prime - Healing Hugs

Something had happened in the cave with Sonic. Tails was absolutely certain of it.

At first, it had just been pleasant changes, pleasant surprises. Sonic had suddenly switched to being a 100% team player, had started paying attention to each and every thing Tails instructed, and seemingly communicated with Shadow just as the Ultimate Lifeform arrived out of nowhere to Chaos Control the Paradox Prism to who-knows-where.

Then there had been the more weird changes.

Every time Tails opened his mouth, Sonic would drop everything to listen to every word with laser focus, even if it was about something as simple as what he was going to get for dinner or some cool comics he'd read. He was giving a lot more hugs, too, far more than usual. Sonic used to be a lot more selective about physical affection, but now, Tails couldn't seem to get through 30 minutes of a day without his older brother scooping him up in an embrace, however brief. Not that he was complaining, it was nice.

He kept catching the hedgehog lying around in the grass, fingering the green leaves with utter delight in his eyes. Once he found him on the beach, sitting in a palm tree and singing some kind of pirate-y sounding song. Another time he found him wandering slowly around the woods nearby, talking to the flickies about how pretty the trees were.

Something was off, but Tails couldn't put his finger on it. From his perspective, he hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary happen during the battle in the cave, but Sonic's change in behavior made it painfully obvious something had.

Especially when the more negative changes started manifesting.

Not negative in a sense that Sonic was doing anything wrong. But he seemed . . . a little rattled. Some of his hugs were far more than just quick side squeezes. Sometimes he'd stare at Tails with an oddly pensive, faraway look in his eyes.

In bed, one night about a week after the cave incident, Tails found himself tossing and turning. These thoughts were driving him up the wall with how often they'd been occupying his mind lately.

He wanted so badly to sit down with Sonic and ask him what happened. He knew something had happened. But whether Sonic was willing to talk about it was another question entirely. He knew something was different, but he also knew his brother. Sonic didn't like uncomfortable conversations. If he felt unsafe, he would run.

Tails knew better than to confront him with questions that Sonic would likely not want to answer. If he'd wanted to tell Tails what was going on, what was different, he probably would've told him already.

With an exhausted sigh, Tails gave up trying to sleep and sat up in bed, casting a quick glance at the digital clock on his nightstand.

3:47 a.m.

Great. Even when I'm not working on a project, I STILL end up sleep-deprived. He smirked. At least Sonic can't get ticked at me this time, it's not my fault.

Speaking of the Blue Devil, he was right down the hall. Conked out on the couch, where he often slept. In fact, he'd been sleeping there every night for the past week.

Since he couldn't sleep, anyway, Tails slipped out of bed and crept down the hall, having memorized which boards creaked and which ones didn't. He half-hoped Sonic was awake so he'd have someone to talk to, but as he emerged into the living room, he saw his brother sound asleep, half-curled on his side.

Tails blinked and looked closer.

Sonic was asleep, but . . . he was also clinging extra tightly to his pillow. And he looked . . . incredibly stressed.

Was he having a bad dream?

Tails took a couple steps towards the couch until he stood right beside it. In past experiences where he'd found his brother having a nightmare, talking it out rarely helped. Sometimes even waking him up didn't help, either. He usually just wound up disoriented and panicking, and sometimes even ran off to deal with his feelings alone out in the wilderness.

Tails really didn't want him to leave. He also didn't want him to be alone.

He reached out and ever so gently placed his hand over Sonic's clenched fist, both ungloved.

One thing he had discovered about his brother during hard times like this was that he became more clingy. On the rare occasion he was visibly upset, he'd sometimes come up and just hug Tails without a word. When he was sick or injured somehow (and actually allowing himself to be taken care of), he tended to snuggle more. If he was in enough pain, he'd hold onto Tails as tightly as he could. Sometimes he'd do the same with their other friends, but Tails was always his go-to.

Not that it happened very often. Tails only knew these things because he'd known Sonic for most of his life. Sonic had raised him. He'd seen more of Sonic than anyone else had.

Now, he rubbed a finger over his brother's fist for a moment, then very carefully tugged the pillow out of Sonic's unconscious grasp. He set it softly on the floor, then carefully clambered onto the couch next to him, lay down, and hugged him tightly.

Without waking up, Sonic wrapped his arms around him in return and held him close, burying his face between Tails's ears with a barely audible whimper.

Tails could feel his brother's heartbeat racing, so he snuggled in closer and softly began to purr.

And, with time, he felt Sonic start to calm down.

A couple minutes went by, and his heart rate slowed down just a bit. The tension coiled throughout his entire body started to unwind, and his spiked-up quills lowered slightly in a more relaxed position. His ears were still kinda droopy, but he seemed a lot more restful than he had a few minutes ago.

Tails smiled, still bundled up tightly against Sonic. And his smile only grew wider when he felt his brother start purring, too.

There was something infinitely comforting about being held, about snuggling with his brother, the person who loved him to the moon and back. The person he loved in exactly the same way. For those moments, the very problems that had been keeping Tails awake half an hour earlier seemed to fade. He was here, Sonic was here, no words were spoken or needed, and they would be okay.

Tails slept soundly for the rest of the night.

The sound of flickies singing from the treetops woke Sonic the next day. He blinked blearily as his eyes came into focus, and he realized that Tails had joined him sometime during the night.

Once upon a time, waking up to find him right there had made him jump. It didn't anymore.

He smiled, carefully adjusting one hand so he could stroke his little brother's bangs and give him a tiny scratch behind one ear. Tails mumbled something unintelligible in his sleep, and snuggled closer in Sonic's chest.

He grinned wider. Tails hadn't been snuggly to this level in a while. Granted, he'd always been the more snuggly one of the two of them, but still. It kind of reminded Sonic of the first couple years he'd been taking care of Tails, when the kit was between 3 and 4 years old.

His smile faded a little as he thought of Nine at that age, still alone, still being bullied and hurt, with no one to save him and show him the love and care he deserved.

He could only hope that the other Shatterverse variants were showing him such kindness now. The thought that he would never get to see him again made his heart ache in a way he couldn't quell.

Sonic studied Tails's sleeping face, noting the intense similarities and differences between him and Nine. He wondered whether Nine had always existed even before the Shatter event, as a part of his little brother that Tails would never bring to light. Was it the same with Mangey and Sails?

A tiny snort escaped him against his will as he thought about whether Mangey's existence was an implication that a part of Tails just wanted to go a little feral. Sometimes he couldn't blame him.

His suppressed laugh had Tails stirring, blinking open his big blue eyes. He looked back at Sonic, grinning sleepily. "G'morning."

Sonic ruffled his bangs again, smiling as Tails giggled. "G'morning, little buddy."

Stop calling me that!

He froze at the memory of Nine's angry shout, and Tails clearly saw it.

"Are you okay?" he asked with a gentle, inquiring frown, slowly sitting up.

Sonic sighed as he sat up as well, leaning back to stretch, then pulled his little brother close again. "I've got a story for you, bud," he admitted, deciding it was about time to open up about what had really happened in the cave.

Tails gazed up at him with surprise, but then smiled and nodded.

"I'm listening," he replied quietly.

AO3 version

Did I come up with this while hugging a giant pillow during my nap earlier today? Maybe :3

I also maybe just really wanted to implement that headcanon somewhere teehee

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