#anything is better than a fucking cop
Text
Coming back just to say that Steve Harrington would never be a fucking cop
AND writing him as a cop is super fucking lame
#i like hopper#but him being a cop is the least interesting and most disappointing part of his character#okay you want there to be some sort of familial or paternal bond between steve and hopper?#making him a cop is the most boring way to do that#steve can go to trade school for cosmetology and become a hairdresser#he can give college another go and become a school counselor or a teacher#anything is better than a fucking cop#i like to think he’s a better more sensitive person than that#hopper isn’t even a cop anymore because he’s legally dead so unless they just renew his spot no questions asked that idea is dead too#as it should be#anyway i just think it’s a huge disservice to steve’s character if he becomes a cop#it’s an incredibly one dimensional character choice and i like to think he has more depth than that#stranger things#steve harrington#fuck cops
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Jackie realizing she’s gonna have to take care of shauna and jeff’s ghost baby
#🐇#yellowjackets#truly it’s so interesting to me how much better this season is than the first that literally never happens for me#the current timeline is finally getting interesting. Jeff is still the best part#love how fast misty took to being a cult that is so her™️#Jackie liking poppies is interesting to me both in the Jackie is gay camp and also you know the whole thing with wizard oz and her death#the ending was so fucking depressing I need a nap now#like I’m so happy they didn’t eat the baby that would have been so incredibly cheap but glad to finally have answers#like do we think shauna was dreaming or had she temporarily crossed over because like where was Jackie and the French dude#I’d say it would make sense that Lottie could be there somehow#idk it reminded me a lot of Jackie’s death of course so I have many questions#I will say the cop story line is pretty stupid like no fucking way is any of this legal and also let’s kill that creep cop shauna#I will help you girl I will drive the get away car#I was also like wondering awhile ago if Lottie’a camp is near where the plane crash was#and my best friend and I were like no there’s no way and then they tell us it’s in New York so like possibly close to the boarder?#I tried looking up cherry hill but I couldn’t find anything idk it’s probably totally unlikely and they just also happen to be in the woods#I didn’t get a preview for next week is there a preview? idk#my complaint this week is where is Jackie lmfao where is her ghost why wasn’t she in sex ed give me something I’m not ready to move on!!!!
127 notes
·
View notes
Text
just saw someone i follow reblog a post that called bi lesbians/mspec lesbians bigots… checked the dni of the person who made the post and sure enough they’re an exclus. needless to say the exclus has been blocked and that person i was following has been unfollowed. kill the cop in your heads y’all, it doesn’t fucking matter what terms someone uses for their identity. and bi women were also considered lesbians before terfs kicked them out. so.
#em rambles#anti exclusionist#people are fucking stupid#the post in question was about how predstrogen- (the trans lady who was terminated off the platform for being trans)#-was supposedly a lesbophobe and continually slandered the person making the post for months last year#i don’t trust anything that person said though#calling mspec lesbians bigots HOW IS IT BIGOTED TO KILL THE COP IN YOUR HEAD THAT POLICES IDENTITY WORDS#THE WHOLE POINT OF BEING QUEER IS TO EXIST OUTSIDE THE BINARY.#IMPOSING NEW BINARIES AND STRICT DEFINITIONS OF WORDS MAKES US NO BETTER THAN THE CISHETERONORMATIVE SOCIETY WE LIVE IN.#so fucking stupid#look. in the eyes of some homophobe we are all the same no matter the terms we use to identify ourselves.#how are we supposed to stand up to the queerphobes who want to get rid of us when we can’t even agree on what someone’s called#let them use the terms they want. at the end of the day it doesn’t matter#solidarity is what’s important because what queerphobe cares if someone’s bi or a lesbian or a bi lesbian or whatever#we’re not each other’s opponents here. we’re supposed to support each other.#pro mspec lesbian#exclus dni#exclusionist dni#terf dni
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Returning to my roots (head and shoulders)
#Longhands art#Leon Kennedy#Resident Evil#he’s trans in my heart lol#this was mostly an excuse to fuck with brushes in procreate#that and he’s just. a gorgeous man#anyway this game has my whole ass despite not having anything that can run it lmao#he’s somehow babygirl boytoy and daddy all at once#+ he’s just like. a decent man. you can’t get any better than this#well okay except for the constant mortal danger he attracts#and the one day stint as a cop
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
soo many of u guys on this website are like. offputtingly angry and vicious and slavering at at the mouth to gloat at bad things happening to some nebulous incarnation of 'rich evil people'.
#like i just don't understand it..... i didn't get it when it was the boat thing i don't get it w the burning man thing...#i get the satisfaction of gloating at 'bad people who get whats coming to them!!!!!' but hows gloating over some undefined#vague type of Bad Person (because no one ever knows shit about the person who gets it until the bad thing happens)#making u actively happier or ur life actively nicer or better... u could be doing something constructive with#those emotions! instead of going HAHAHAHSHSHS KILL THE DISGUSTING RICH on a dead website...#anyway idk. my first thought with the burning man thing was 'oh man i know that's thr shitty techbro thing now but i bet#there's still just a lot of normal people without massive RVs who just enjoy coming there yearly... i hope they're ok!'#not EVERYONE WHO GOES THERE IS ONTOLOGICALLY EVIL AND OBVIOUSLY A SILICONE VALLEY SYNCOPHANT.#idk. obviously this isn't important im not a fucking cop. u can do whatever u want im not saying whatever is#Right or Wrong. it just is more important 2 me specifically 2 try and have my kneejerk reaction be compassion even#if its something that i personally think sucks. which maybe makes me a centerist to some people? who give a shit.#anyway. i used 2 be like this and then i realized that it wasn't making me happier or#my life any better and also anything that inconveniences someone who's truly obscenely wealthy will just hurt more normal people around the#than the person themself. hdktjfd#txt
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Me thinking about technology as a tool to help humanity and make things more accessible and convenient: ✨❤️ <333 peace and love on planet earth <3 :)
Me thinking about technology as a tool when used by corporations: I need to KILL something I need to skin a billionaire alive
#it is so fucking tempting to study something like engineering and robotics#or whatever it is#so i can make cool shit#with robots and stuff#but i probably wont because it seems incredibly confusing. and requires alot of math. something which i have never really grasped at all#and before some asshole comes here like 'oh maths is easy you just didnt get it explained to you right' i will kill you with my teeth#honestly being god awful at maths and having a very mathmatical brain is horrible wouldnt recommend#anyways back on topic#i want to go into google headquarters and start killing aimlessly#we couldve had such cool shit!!! but unfortunately some rich people decided selling our data back and forth was better#than making anything actually useful#everytime i see one of those robot cop dog things i get incredibly angry and theres always people#who are completely unaware#saying shit like ohhhhh what a cute puppy!! robot puppy! like girl NO that thing is going to kill you#I could write SO much about this#but my mom still refuses to get rid of her fucking google listening device#also i have something to say about my hatred of AI art#but i forgot what i was going to say
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
one thing I feel like people miss in the discussions around the ridiculously low pay rates allowed for certain groups of disabled individuals is that in order to effectively change that, we first need to tackle funding for programs that support the types of disabled individuals who receive these pays. while i'm speaking to my personal connections to this, those low pay rates typically are social programs. these programs create jobs that are applied for via social workers assigned to disabled individuals by the state, and not through job applications. they are notoriously underfunded, primarily run by companies or groups who want to be seen as progressive, and typically are shut down rather than given increased funding.
for example: a recent change in a local pay rate for disabled individuals made it so my downs syndrome brother got like... $7 every two weeks (low hours + low pay) instead of $3. cool! for people who need more hours and the money it gives them, that sounds great!
but the thing is, at least for all the programs I know of, these programs are typically designed with people like my brother as the primary goal: adult disabled indiviuals for whom the goal of work is not to have a job, not to make money, but to provide a consistent socialization system. my brother is financially supported by our family, and he's disabled in ways where financial wellbeing is beyond his cognitive abilities. almost no money is put into the programs beyond paying a program manager, and it's generally used as a public "look at us, being so nice to provide for disabled adults!" thing. when my brother's pay went up due to legal changes... the company decided to simply end the program rather than invest in paying more.
again, i'm fully for raising their wages. I think the absolutely pitiful amount of money they're paid for legitimate work is terrible, and i'm well aware that my brother works with others who need what finances they can get through these jobs. but there's more to this than just wages. there's campaigning for better social programs so that there's something for them to fall back on. there's looking into how your local programs for disabled individuals are run, and ensuring they have enough money and equipement to provide a safe working environment for their workers. there's understanding who is paying these wages, what their goals are, and holding them accountable to helping disabled people instead of using people like my brother on an endless stream of advertisements to show how socially progressive they are.
and i'm really not joking about those ads. god, I really, really wish I was. my brother is visibly disabled, adores public attention, and very friendly. he's in like... 3 programs and featured in newsletters or ads probably 3-5 times a year. those programs have also let him wander out the door and not noticed for over an hour, fired program managers for manufactured reasons after they request funding for small but meaningful changes, and... been the local police. guess which group is the only one that never shuts down from a lack of funding?
I honestly can't tell you how best to help disabled people in your area. my needs as a disabled person are vastly different than either of my brothers, and all of us have terrible problems with employment not providing for us in vastly different ways. but if you're just tacking on "disabled people deserve better wages" to a broader "people deserve a living wage" with no nuance, you have got to understand that you can be actively harming the very people you want to support.
#i don't know how best to phrase this all#but just. i'm upset for my brother because when this program shuts down he's losing access to his friends who live in group homes#and i'm upset for his friends who are in turn losing more of their already very limited access to places outside of their house#i'm frustrated in the so-called progressive groups that pushed for this and said nothing when it led to 3/5 of the major programs#for disabled adults in that area who cannot work 'standard' jobs to close#because there was no effort to hold the companies providing those programs accountable to not just... close. fire them. anything like that.#and god knows none of them and none of the families of this group of largely cognitively/physically disabled adults in our area#have any fucking money to hire lawyers to even see if there *is* a case that could be brought#and of course the remaining programs are a new one by a group that i don't trust at all with my brother's health and safety#and the even worse one: the fucking cops!#just... there's probably poorly phrased shit throughout this and i really hope people can provide some better ideas and shit#but this is a personal rant in response to seeing 'progressives' use disability as a cute platform and having a lack of detailed attention#to the ramifications of how they tried to 'help' them#i'm also struggling to try to define like... i'm disabled. i'm not who these conversations are about#these conversations are about a different group of disabled individuals than me#and in the area my brother lives in i'm passingly familiar with a lot of the group of disabled adults who utilize the social programs#these wage conversations typically refer to#and among them i don't think i know any who *can* self advocate about this#also the consistency with which this happens every like. 5 or so years is really terrible#in reference to calling these jobs programs: they are programs. we apply my brother to them via his state social worker
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
😓
#I hate having to go out to my car for a smoke#I usually start my morning with a little bowl#and now I’m debating if I should go out first thing and start my day like that#or should I clean the kitchen and get the crockpot ready and THEN go out as a lil celebratory hot#*hit#bah#also hate that there are cops EVERYWHERE#I’m literally minding my own business#smoking in my car#not hurting anyone#I swear if I get pulled over I’m gonna go fucking crazy on the dude#I’m sorry you don’t have anything better to do than bust a girl with a lil weed?#come the fuck on#ok maybe I should smoke first I’m irritated haha#shut up rosie
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sometimes it just feels like everyone cares more about how good it feels to be angry than actually making the world a better place
#specifically this is about me going home for the holidays and not being able to have a deep conversation with any member of my family#because they’re either drinking so much right wing conspiracy koolaid that it’s painful to talk to them#or they’re a self proclaimed liberal only in theory where they love to argue about how much better they are than the rest of the family#and then call the cops on the neighbors for fucking boomer reasons#like no one is actually DOING anything all they want to do is get themselves worked up over straw men they haven’t actually experienced#and getting really worked up over topics they don’t actually know anything about but they read a purposefully inflammatory headline#and then got upset.#idk I’m holiday venting#it’s just. idk how to describe it#it’s so strange this culture we have where people are more and more ‘passionate’ politically#and yet no one seems to care enough to follow through. it feels like it keeps ending after you feel you’ve gained the moral high ground#and no actual progress has been made#like the end goal is winning against the Other instead of actually like. making anything better
0 notes
Text
since my mom has some trauma from being ex-mormon and ex-nazarene and there have been a lot of issues between us both in some held-onto beliefs and triggers, i've not been wanting to tell her explicitly that i'm converting until i'm able to move out and have a bit of stability and a better sense of safety
i do still want to be at least slightly open about this and sort of sneakily educate may family for the better so i've been using the "my friend" rule to talk abt my studies and its working hilariously well lmao
#granted i have no idea if i'm just a better liar than i think i am or if she's just that oblivious#i mean i did this before i came out as trans and i got hit with “if you said anything earlier i would have believed you :/”#and then she straight up refused to believe me for 3 years. during which i was comlpetely out to her and the rest of the family lmaoo#so theres a lot of ways this could go#also it'll be easier to actually go about the conversion process if i have my own kitchen and am not stuck in a teensy 3person split level#idk#i would also be safer in general once i'm able to get out-of-state bc as ive mentioned a few times before my extended family fully believes#-theyre the hillbilly mafia#i am literally named after my gay uncle who they brutally murdered & got way with it bc we have relatives in the wisco courts and a few cop#it was ruled an accidental suicide by auto-erotic asphyxiation and my granma told everybody he was in a motorcycle accident#he was covered in bruises and broken bones! the end of the rope was outside the room!#sorry i know that's triggering im just really anxious abt the whole deal#esp since when i came out as trans to them i got very underhanded deah threats for like a year (i was 15)#so i really DO NOT feel safe#my mom isn't like that and she loved my uncle but she's a sucker for the family and very easily manipulated#so i cant be sure she wouldn't tell them without my knowledge just out of guilt and traumatised co-dependancy#also i have an aunt and and unle who're avid collectors of Some Not Great Shit#like indigenous stuff and ww2 memorabilia#fuck i should tag all this#antisemitism tw#abuse tw#religious abuse#murder tw#homophobia tw#sorry abt the overshare i just gotta get it outta my head#but yeah the lifestyle freedom id have as well is gonna be a bigger plus. my own kitchen and safety from having to explain the cultural dif#theyve not spoken to us in a few years so i think (?) its not too much to worry abt now at least#im just paranoid lmao#rn since i live like 2hrs away from the nearest synagogue im just stuck doing some self study anyways#i found a few union 2nd shift jobs for good money i can apply to soon so im good there. i just gotta get my car situation worked out first
0 notes
Text
it’s okay to cop out sometimes. sometimes eating right and going outside just isn’t gonna happen today, and instead of sitting in your bed and feeling guilty for not making a meal and going for a walk, you get an ice cream and a medium fries from mcdonald’s and eat it parked next to a playground with your car door open.
and is it perfect? no, of course not. i’m not even sitting outside i just have the door open and an ice cream and fries hardly counts as a meal. but it’s something, and that is always better than nothing :)
#tw food#yes i wrote a novel in the tags but this is my blog you’re just living in it now shut up and read my novel it’s called Eat My A(DHD)ss#el has a life#el has adhd#felt like i had to do better today#but i realised what the hell does doing better mean?? and why do i think it means be the best???#sure eating something good for me and getting some exercise outside is better for me than doing nothing#but so is half assing it#that’s half an ass right there that’s way more than no ass#so if ice cream and chips for breakfast in a playground parking lot is my bar for the day then so fucking be it#i’m doing my best#and that’s fucking good enough god damn it#ALWAYS REMEMBER. IF THERE IS ANYTHING YOU CAN DO AND IT WILL MAKE YOU FEEL EVEN A LITTLE BIT BETTER.#DO IT. IT DOESNT MATTER IF IT FEELS LAZY OR LIKE A COP OUT OR LIKE UR HALF ASSING IT#ITS SOMETHING!!! AND THAT WILL FEEL SO MUCH BETTER THAN NOTHING!!!!#sometimes nothing is all you can do and that’s okay#i know that very well. it happens and it sucks and it feels so bad and i understand#but if there is something. ANYTHING. that you can do that will make you feel a little bit better#don’t let the thought that it’s not the ‘best’ thing or the ‘right’ thing or so on stand in the way of you getting to feel a bit better#today i woke up and my brain was screaming MCFLURRY MCFLURRY MCFLURRY#and nothing else i could think of sounded at all appealing#i didn’t want a mcflurry for breakfast bc i thought i should do better#so i did#i got a mcflurry AND i managed to cram some fries in my mouth too how good is that!!!!#i did better than i thought i could#it wasn’t better than i thought i SHOULD but fuck you what i should do doesn’t matter if i can’t do it#what i CAN do is way more important no matter how small or half assed or not good enough those things might feel#executive dysfunction#actually autistic#living with adhd
1 note
·
View note
Text
Bakugou Katsuki
TW: NSFW, yandere
gn reader
You’re attracted to Bakugou for many reasons – he’s tall and ripped and handsome and a bit of an asshole – but really, what you like about him most is that he doesn't seem like he’d be too much trouble. And you mean that in many ways.
You’ve been in relationships before, and none of them have ended on good terms – always leading to deep upsets and disappointments. You’d come to the realization that boys, on any level that wasn’t purely sexual, were something you didn’t really need or want at the moment – which is why Bakugou, in all his disinterested glory, was just perfect for you.
He’d fold you in half in filthy places like the locker room or bathroom or in his smoke-steeped car – making your heart beat from the thrill without that nagging feeling of being underappreciated because, well, you didn’t really care. He wasn’t your boyfriend and you weren’t committed to each other in any serious way, so there really weren’t any grounds for standards or expectations – it was just sex – carnal ball-clapping sweaty sex – pure and simple and just what you needed. No more, no less.
You didn’t go on dates or meet each other's parents or give each other chocolate on Valentine's Day or any other presents on any other holiday – you didn’t even hang out aside from seeing each other at parties and sometimes in the school hallways. He’d cock his head with a grin, and you’d smile coyly up through your lashes, and you’d meet in the handicapped bathrooms between classes to get drilled over the sink with your face smudged against the cool mirror.
It's only when he starts knowing things about you that you grow a little stiff with your arrangement - things he couldn’t possibly know from you as you’d never cared to speak about your private life. And sure, some of those things he could have easily found out through your social media standing – which already makes you feel a little iffy – but there are other things he’ll slip out, specifics about your interests and classes and whereabouts and the stuff you do with your friends – stuff you’re positive you’ve not posted anywhere.
When you asked him about it, halfway jokingly with a somewhat nervous laugh, he’d only quirked a brow and brushed it off, insisting you’d been the one that told him. And you, despite being sure he’s lying, decide to believe it anyway. Because what the two of you have right now is still good – much better than any other fuck-friend you’d had before. Katsuki makes you so wet, and he's always so able to just pound your orgasm right out of you.
If payment is small talk, you can humor him.
But then the sex becomes a little dull. Instead of his fist wrapping tight around your throat, he’s now sucking gentle love bites into the skin. And he no longer has his hand in your hair, forcing your face down against a cold surface with nails digging into your scalp to keep you still while fucking you fast and selfishly from behind.
Both his hands are instead holding you around the waist, keeping your body skin-to-skin against his chest as he gently lolls you on his lap – so slow you can’t even feel your heart – so slow you’re still breathing through your nose. He hasn’t slapped your ass once, and it’s beginning to get a little sad.
You want to tell him that you want him to fuck you like he’s a dirty cop and you’re a criminal resisting arrest – and not this old married couple shit. But you also don’t want to be rude.
However, after all the one-sided heart-to-hearts he’d sat you through lately – spending more time chatting than making you cum – you were left feeling a little awkward, honestly. And between that and how he’d started texting you goodnights at eight-thirty – you were afraid he’d lost his original raw sex appeal.
He’s become so pedestrian in your eyes he might as well have been wearing glasses and a sweater vest.
You let him finish without saying anything – but you can't deny you’re happy when you feel him finally blow his load.
Dismounting him, you jump to your seat in the car and pull your underwear back up without a word.
It’s silent while he lights a smoke and rolls down his window – his hand coming to rest on your thigh after.
You look out your own window, your face in your palm while you think. And then talk. “I think… we need to stop.”
He's a little busy with his cigarette, but still, he answers, casually. “Stop what?” Smoke goes out his mouth and up his nostrils, then out again.
“This.” You answer. “Fucking.”
The hand on your thigh stirs and you catch him shifting his head to look at you, but you don’t return the gesture – keeping your eyes fixed on the puddle peppering with raindrops out on the empty parking lot the two of you’ve often spent time burning rubber drifting donuts before making the windows steamy.
“Why?” He eventually says. Flicking the spent filter out onto the wet pavement. Rolling the window back up and leaving the both of you in a way too tense silence of muted rain.
You sigh, leaning back against the headrest. “We’re not strangers anymore... It’s just getting a little boring.”
He taps another cigarette up from his box but doesn’t light it – just rolls it around in his fingers with his head bowed. “Boring, huh?” He repeats. And then there’s a pause.
A hefty pause. A silent one that lasts a little too long and makes you forget the subject in favor of thinking about other things – like, had your roommate done the dishes this time, or were they still on the counter?
“What if I lock the car and drive us off a cliff?” He breaks through your thoughts, and this time, it’s you who turns your head. Looking at him while he still fingers the same slim roll in his hands – mumbling to it, it would seem. “I’ll laugh, you’ll scream… and maybe I’ll light this cig’ while we’re in the air…”
He sighs – as though what he’d just said was not what he’d said – then copies your action, letting his head fall back to rest against the leather – his face blank and his breath steady.
“If you fuck someone else, I’ll break their face.”
This time you blink when staring at him – face riddled, doubting what you were hearing come out of his mouth. “You what?”
“If- you fuck- someone else…” He repeats slowly. “I- will break- their face.” He says it so calmly you’re still unsure whether you heard him right. “Understand?” He asks – chin cocked up while glancing at you from the corner of his red eyes. “I won't stop punching until their teeth are on the ground and their eyes are so bloated and bloody they can no longer see who it is that’s throwing the hits.”
You blink a few more times. Stunned into a stupor, picturing it with parted lips without any words escaping them.
He rolls down the window again and puts the smoke between his lips.
And while he lights it and blows the roof full of grey, you’re still hung up on the image…
Maybe Bakugou wasn’t as boring as you thought.
#yandere x reader#yandere#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere smut#yancore#yandere bakugo#yandere bakugou#yandere bnha#yandere bakugo katsuki#yandere boku no hero academia#yandere katsuki#yandere my hero academia#yandere bakugou katsuki#yandere bakugo x reader#yandere katsuki bakugou#yandere bakugou smut#bakugou smut#boku no hero academia smut#bakugou imagine#bakugou katsuki#mha bakugou#bakugou katuski x reader#bakugo katuski#katsuki bakugou#bakugou x y/n#bakugo katsuki#bnha bakugo katsuki#katsuki x y/n#katsuki x you
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
People will be like Kim and Harry is a bunk pairing because Kim deserves better than Harry.
Which like sure probably but Kim isn't gonna get better than Harry and you gotta take it from Kim's pov.
You're a 43 year old gay cop who's blind without his glasses, has back problems, wears historical cosplay to work, is a consummate professional who's married to his car and takes way too much pleasure in being a party pooper.
You're not exactly prime dating material and on top of that there's probably a lot of racist weirdos out there in the dating pool you're getting sick of bumping into.
But then up and saunters this sloppy ass bear, he's a weirdo and a fucking absolute mess who can't even remember what money is, but he's an incredibly intelligent and talented detective.
he's also weirdly kind if not incredibly creepy but he makes you laugh and gets you to enjoy yourself when you normally wouldn't and then all of a sudden he is absolutely enamoured with you, transfixed even, who thinks you're not only too good for him, but you're deserving of the best possible person and he recognizes this and he's desperately willing to do literally anything to be good enough for you. And you're over here thinking about how you've been settling for less than your worth and at least this wet dog of a man is not only recognizing your worth but seeing you as more valuable than you've ever dared to see yourself.
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
so like. fnaf movie. after night five, all outside observers know is "this 30yo guy with severe anger issues + his 10yo mentally ill sister just walked out of his collapsing workplace with an unconscious, stabbed police officer, saying that someone inside the building tried to kill them but we can't get into the building to check. we went to their house and the aunt who was fighting for custody of the child is dead on the floor. the guy's career counselor is missing, as is his babysitter and her family and apparently they're all dead in the building we can't get into." and like. that all looks suspicious as FUCK however we know that in the few-weeks timeskip both mike and abby seem happy and fine so it's not like mike was arrested or anything. he seems to be more adjusted and is happily talking with her teacher so i doubt he's under stress of interrogation or anything
there's a lot of implications there that mike mighta pulled something but it's all circumstantial evidence at best. i'm sure in jane's autopsy and crime scene evidence they couldn't find any evidence of mike being the one to attack her, esp since it was probably just golden freddy bopping her in the head so they dont even have the weapon, and if she was strangled they'd be able to tell it wasn't by bare hands and they couldnt get prints or anyth. especially if golden freddy is a FULL ghost and thus left no trail.
mike would be smart enough to only tell the cops what they need to know without mentioning ghosts to sound crazy. abby might be more honest with the cops just bc of #autism but they'd be more likely to consider her talking about ghosts and imaginary friends as a child's way of coping, and they cant get anything out of her that would incriminate mike. ADD TO THAT that mike has wounds that are clearly defensive and is SUPER banged up and his wounds would likely match his story way better than evidence of him attacking anyone, AND that there's likely footage and witnesses of him being in the pharmacy and then driving to work (and thus not in the area to attack jane), AND if/when nessie wakes up she'll probably vouch for mike as well, and the cops dont have anything on him
though i DO wonder if they would have records of vanessa patching him up in the police outpost. if they do, that would also back up mike's story as it's 1) far away from the aunt jane crime scene, 2) confirms that he and vanessa were working together, so either she's complicit in Crime™ or his story is accurate and she was helping him save his sister. him going to defend her instead of calling backup is also consistent with his personality of getting triggered and jumping into action around child abduction, esp w/ his sibling in danger
considering what abby would probably say, AND the history of freddy's, it's likely that they would come to the conclusion of is "someone [likely the og kidnapper from the 80s] found out that the guy working at freddy's had a sister, kidnapped abby from her house while her aunt was babysitting and tried to recreate the crimes, his story of him and vanessa defending her and escaping vaguely checks out." whether or not mike would incriminate vanessa by mentioning her dad was the killer is up in the air, and there's obviously some huge holes that are left from nobody believing that there are ghosts in the building but that would probably be the eventual conclusion
but throwing that all away, it would be really, REALLY funny if the rest of the town, being really fuckin nosy and getting into the juiciest gossip they've had in decades, took one look at michael "big teddy bear falling asleep on himself" schmidt and said "there's no way. there's no way this guy murdered his aunt, stabbed an officer and then destroyed his own workplace, especially when he really needed that job and was on sleeping medication," and then turned around to look at abby "neurodivergent in the early 2000s (ableist af time period)" "vocally hates her aunt" "doesn't talk to anyone and claims that she can see ghosts" "vaguely possessive of her brother" "claims that she found the guy who hurt her friends and got him jumped by a cupcake(?)" schmidt and said "oh my god. it was her."
and nobody's gonna directly say anything but they've got cautious eyes on the situation and someone quietly slips mike a copy of the bad seed to see if he has a realization but instead he's just like "hey this book kinda reminds of that golden freddy kid lmao. wonder how he's doin" and then we smashcut to golden freddy kid poking springtrap with a stick
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
playing dangerous.
c.w: gun play, peacekeeper coriolanus, fingering, rough sex, throatfucking, slapping, degrading, breeding, hate fucking, unproctected sex
based on this ask ! hope you like it anon, sorry if i got anything wrong. mwah
you could say a lot of things about coriolanus snow. you could say he was mentally unstable, that he was a whiny bitch who would throw a tantrum at any small thing that made him angry.
however, you couldn't say he was a bad fuck. not when he had your face pressed down and a gun pointed at your sopping cunt. you couldn't say he was ugly either, not with that white peacekeeper uniform hugging his body so well.
"don't worry," he whispered, biting your shoulder, "it only has one bullet." he smiled, chuckling at your clear despair, a total contrast to your soaked panties. "not as if you care, though"
"of course i do! fuck it, snow. you're the reason people call cops bastards!" you said, frowning at him as if your hips weren't bucking up on the gun. you didn't even knew if what he said was actually true.
"you should be grateful i'm not playing russian roulette on your pussy, darling." he said, thanking heaven's he handcuffed your hands before all that. "if you don't like it, i know just the right place to aim it. other than that perverted wet pussy of yours. are you a pervert? god, you're soaking wet" he said, grinding the gun in your cunt.
"aim it at your head, you sickfuck." you spat, not bothering looking at him.
"i don't know if you noticed but i have a gun pointed to your pussy, if you don't wanna get shot you should start being a good girl instead of a manic bitch." he said, slapping your ass and making your body jolt.
how the hell did it come to this?! you remembered that he had returned home after deployment and your parents made you go over to his house to give him some sweet dessert as a way to ❛thank him for his services.❜ fuck it. you hated him. if depended on you, he would have been killed by a rebel or something, but god, that's the best dick you've ever seen or felt, even if through grinding. you would never admit it to him though.
"on your knees, please." he said, a fake chivalry on his sadistic tone. and did you have any other options? of course not. so now you were on your knees, gulping down and watching him unbuckle his pants, his hand slapping your face lightly to make you wake up and stop looking so much at his eight inches shaft. "god, you're drooling so much just from looking. guess i won't have to aim a gun to your head for you to suck it." he said, and you stared at him with anger.
"you better kill me already cause i am not sucking that thing." you said.
well, all your defenses were throw away as he pointed the loaded gun to your head, smiling as you opened your mouth and engulfed him obediently, still looking at him with that angry stare in your eyes, that was soon replaced with tears as you took him. god, how could a dick taste so good?
"fuck, you're taking me so good, doll." he said, smiling as you drooled on his dick, getting it all wet from your saliva. "making such a mess, crying so much... you're so pretty when you're not running your mouth around so much." he said, grabbing your hair and making you curse mentally before he started to fuck your throat, his balls meeting your chin as you took him, giving in as you moaned against his cock.
too aggressive, you thought. but it was just as good as you imagined it to be. and he was getting just what he wanted to. he was fucking that attitude out of you, your throat taking him so well he only wondered how good it would feel to fuck your cunt. with that thought in mind, he pulled back of your mouth, and you thought you were really dumb from how you tried to get him to thrust into your mouth again. you wanted to taste him, and he couldn't help but chuckle at your despair.
"i didn't even had a proper taste of your cunt and you're already dumb? thought you were stronger." he said, getting you to stand up as you were still salivating. he cleaned your tear stained cheeks, the softest thing he would do to you today. so, ripping your panties and seeing your cunt, he thrusted two fingers in it, not mindinho if you were uncomfortable. your wetness made it very clear that you weren't anywhere close to discomfort or pain. and your moans did it too.
"fuck it, get away, coriolanus!" you pleaded, not wanting to be the one moaning his name that night. and he didn’t even bother listening to you, too occupied with thrusting his entire lenght inside of you. it felt horribly good, his hot cock sloppily fucking your pussy as he fucked you in missionary, holding your left thigh to hug his waist just so he could have a better access to you. so good. so hot. it felt perfect.
you felt dumb.
your eyes closed shut as you did your best to hold in your moans, letting out a few groans and grunts as he slapped your ass, getting a hold of your other thigh and fucking you with your back against the wall, your eyes looking into his. fuck. you prayed to god that he wouldn’t end up making you say something, but god didn't seem to want to help you.
"tell me, doll," he started, groaning against your lips. "who does this pussy belongs to?" he asked, and you did your best not to answer, but the way your hips were trying to buck against his seemed as an answer. "words, bunny. use your words."
"n-no. no- i won't- fuck!" you moaned, lips opened slightly as you couldn't help but let your moans out of your mouth. you just wanted to cum already. it was too brain-mushing for you to do something other than moan and squeeze his dick inside you.
"tell me, or i'm not gonna let you cum." he said, brushing the gun on your clit, the cold metal making you mewl and cry.
"i-it's yours, c-coryo. it's yours. i'm sorry! please let me cum!" you begged, crying. he smiled, kissing your cheek and tasting your salty tear drop.
"i don't recall letting you call me coryo, bunny." he said, his dick kissing your cervix as you felt it throbbing inside you.
"o-officer! fuck, i'm sorry!" you slurred, and finally he had what he wanted.
he finally fucked the attitude out of you. not only that but he also got his dick wet. it was perfect.
"good girl." and you came, shaking on his cock as he kept thrusting in you, running for his climax.
once he did came inside you, he didn’t allow you to clean yourself, made you walk and sleep with your pussy filled by his cum.
#coriolanus snow x reader#young coriolanus snow#young president snow#tbosas smut#the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes#coriolanus snow fanfiction#coriolanus snow imagine#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus x you#x reader#peacekeeper!coriolanus snow#📚 anon
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
GUINEA PIG ───
jonathan crane ✧𖦹
ೃ⁀➷ “I think we most fully understood each other when once I tried to kill him with a kitchen knife.” — ‘South and West’, Joan Didion
pairing. switch!jonathan crane x professor!reader
summary. you and your dear friend, jonathan crane, have an odd relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. one day, you experiment your aphrodisiac on him.
warnings. swearing, use of aphrodisiac & fear toxin, oral sex (m), unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, mention of death, murder, drugs, multiple orgasms, slight breeding kink, face fucking, dubcon(?) SMUT UNDER THE CUT!
word count. 6.1k
a/n. the enemies to friends to fucking pipeline is sooo real and i love it. BTW! this is really self indulgent and again, i’m a beginner to writing smut so pls don’t judge😭 the beginning is also oddly plotty, so i apologize for that.
You and your colleague, Jonathan Crane, have a harmonious, albeit slightly sick and twisted, relationship.
Your repertoires, opposite in every way, complete one another like you were made to match. You are messy, frenzied, intimate; he is neat, calculated, distant. He is impatient, histrionic, stubborn. You are tolerant, deadpan, submissive.
This is an odd, good-cop bad-cop dynamic you’ve built, but it works. Your traits uphold the order you’ve built around yourselves; you allow each other to function.
Who ever said something so codependent, so parasitic, would fall apart? That it was dangerous, destructive? Everyone, but in your case, it has been anything but.
These are the simple rules of your relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. This partnership came to bloom when, after years of competing to be the “better” psychology professor at Gotham University, he sent you a gift that sprayed with you with fear toxin, and you baked him a cake that knocked him out for 24 hours following, heart rate so low he could’ve been mistaken as dead.
“Fucking - hell,” You murmured under your breath, stumbling halfway across Gotham City to locate Crane’s absurdly lavish condo in the Diamond District, barely able to keep yourself upright.
You were being visually assaulted by dozens of images, all your phobias no matter big or small, dancing across your senses. Spiders crawled all over your body, you saw yourself about to step off a steep, snowy cliff, you felt yourself suffocate as you were buried to death in a casket. It was utter torture, and you would have to endure it until you found Crane.
You must’ve looked like one of those tweaking drug addicts from down in the Narrows, shivering, sweating, and rubbing all over your body to remove some of the “spiders” taking over your body. The terror was settling into you, into your spine like a terribly malignant disease.
At last, you found the apartment building, blearily snuck in behind a drunk couple, and scanned the mail boxes until you found J. CRANE: 525.
You headed up the elevator, grasping at the walls for dear life, feeling that growing, unmistakable sense of dread start to take over your mind. You felt like you were going mad, now, not just afflicted with something that made you look like it.
When you finally got to his door, it was left open a crack, and you welcomed the small mercy of Crane’s overarching narcissism: he didn’t lock his door, often, because most days he felt more invincible than fucking god.
“Crane!” You shouted, clutching at your head and staggering into his large apartment. “Crane!” you repeated, this time more desperate, more fearful than anything.
However, your deepest fear, at the moment, had come true. You stepped into his kitchen, and found the man laying on the floor unresponsive.
“Fuck me,” you cursed. You’d sent the man home with the cake twelve hours ago, when he took the half-day off from GSU, and you came home from your after-class tutoring hours just moments ago.
You’d opened the mystery package on your front porch promptly, and you found yourself having been gassed with a compound that made you see every little thing you were afraid of. Immediately, you’d known it was Crane; the man’s pet specialty was fear.
As for you, you wanted your… gift, to serve a reminder to him that he should not overstep your boundaries, your territory, as the psychology professor who was there first. If knocking him out was a little bit mad, he was bordering insanity for the toxin he poisoned you with.
Even so, your threat was an empty one. You weren’t counting on the man to even eat the cake - hell, you’d never seen the man consume anything but straight black coffee.
You couldn’t judge a book by its cover, you know now, and laid there on the couch of his apartment, waiting for the twelve hours to be over. Waiting for Crane, the fucking madman, to wake the hell up, blaming him for the predicament despite your very obvious involvement in it.
You breathed in and out, harried and rapid fire as you tried to focus, tried to block out the horrific things you were seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting.
(Your eyes are swarmed, viscerally, by a grotesque hallucination of your family burning to death; you hear them cry out, voices interrupted when they’re fire gets to their lungs; you smell their death, the smell of flesh burning, how the smoke chokes you — you taste their blood on your tongue, how tender a raging fire makes charred flesh.
Tender, you think on your choice of words again, and almost throw up.
What have you done, you think, and what is going through that fucked up head of yours, Crane?)
You tried to ground yourself, tether your lost mind back to Earth. You’re sitting in a field in Northwestern Ireland, you said to yourself, inhaling. Up ahead is the beach; water is crashing on the rocks. You exhaled, the wind tastes like salt, and it is just you and I, here together. It is only I and you, here, together.
Like so, 12 hours passed. Not so much passed — that word gave the connotation the hours slipped past you, the way a peaceful stream of water does; no, more accurately, it dragged by, like when an arm slips out of the ambulance cot on its way to the emergency vehicle, and drags on the concrete. The EMT’s don’t notice what’s making their trip so hard, so slow, until the hand is rubbed raw and bloody.
You repeated that mantra so many times you were starting to get queasy when you thought the words “you’re sitting in a field..” but nonetheless, the string of words kept you sane.
Sane enough, at least - you weren’t sure you’d be the same blissful person you were yesterday. Sure, you were always a little bit… unorthodox? Petty? Competitive enough to bake so many drugs into a cake your opposing professor knocks out?
But, with this — this being drugged by Crane — made you feel a piece of yourself break away. There would be no more of your life lived without knowing how fearful, well, fear, is. It's like discovering the Boogeyman and never being able to stop checking under your bed; the paranoia moves into your head and never leaves.
Crane began stirring, and your eyes opened as soon as you heard the noise. Surprisingly enough, however, you were no longer being hammered with the hallucinations that had been distressing you just half a day ago.
Had it been the mantra? The near-prayer you now swore was etched on your heart?
“Fucking…” Crane said, getting up off the floor. He was clutching his head, eyes squinted, body hunched and tense. Looks like spending half a day on the floor wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but you didn’t give a fuck — atleast he was sleeping. If you had to be mentally destroyed by his toxin, you’d best believe you were taking the couch.
“Why - why are you here? What the hell did you do to me?” He said after noticing you, voice raspy. He hadn’t had anything to drink or eat in a while, after all.
“I could say the fucking same for you,” You muttered, giving him a pointed look. “You - what the fuck did you spray me with?”
Immediately, a twisted grin was bared on Crane’s lips, despite his fatigued demeanor. “Did you like it? My fear-toxin,” he preened, like the winning kid at a school science fair.
You rolled your eyes, and before you could control your tendencies, you’d swung back and then socked him straight in the face.
Crane double-backed, looking terribly affronted, as if he hadn’t sent you the gas knowing how it would affect you. “Ow,” is all he said, face contorting oddly around the pain.
“Yeah, “ow”. Fuck you, Crane.”
Crane raised a brow. “You’re acting like you didn’t feed me a poisoned cake!” He said incredulously.
“It wasn’t that poisoned,” you bit out, teeth gritted. “Not so poisoned I was hallucinating my family dying for twelve hours straight.”
“Ah, thanatophobia, not really one of my favourites—“ Crane started, like he was losing himself in a romantic daydream, before snapping back to reality. “Did you just say twelve hours?”
“Twelve hours for me. Twenty-four for you.” You said, reveling in how panicked he looked.
“I — that’s long enough for me to be killed a hundred times over,” he mumbled under his breath. “What the fuck did you put in that cake?”
“I never expected you to eat it, Crane. You’re fucking skin and bones, I thought you’d just throw it out.”
“What did you put in the cake?” he repeated.
“Ugh,” you sunk into the couch, “some amytal, zolpidem. Some melatonin. I didn’t measure, okay, and again, I wasn’t counting on you eating it.” You didn’t know why you had this urging feeling to respond to him, to humor his jabs, his dumb fucking theatrics, but you did anyway.
“Some amytal? Some zolpidem? Some melatonin? Jesus fucking christ - is that what you wanted? To kill me?” He was leaning down, face inches away from yours now.
You pushed him away, disgust on your features clear as day. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not some sociopathic fear-freak like you, Crane. I don’t mix compounds in my creepy little office with the thought of drugging out my fellow professor in mind. It was just an empty threat.”
He let out a disbelieving laugh, “Mixing barbiturates and medications into a cake sounds like an empty threat to you?”
“You know what?” You said brightly, getting up off the couch, “I don’t have to argue with you. I came to get my cure, woke up having cured myself.” Then, you burst out the door, fury rolling off you in waves, and you left.
There was something about the incident, however, that seemed to intrigue Crane to no end. Soon enough, he began entering your office during your breaks, asking to have a chat. Or, he’d walk in during your lessons, forcing you two in the hall alone. Sometimes, he’d even wait for you after school, dozing off in front of your classroom and waiting for you to exit your office.
You couldn’t tell what was making Crane so interested, but he was hanging off you and your every word like some lovesick puppy.
You, on the other hand, also couldn’t get Crane out of your head. Certainly not for some weird, fucked up reason like his, but because of what he had created. A lot of people doubted his intelligence, mostly because of his obsession on things nobody really cared about, but that obsession made way to the destructive fear-toxin you’d inhaled, and it was seriously unlike anything you’d ever experienced, hell, even read about. It was a brand new creation, and downright deadly.
Your interest in the man was more so on… keeping him in check. As rivals did. But his was on how you’d breezed past the effects of his toxin in just twelve hours. He’s expected you to go half mad, honestly. Your threat was empty… his was, decidedly, not.
By the end of the next week following the incident, you two began eating lunch together, asking for joint classes, and spending nights over at each other's places. Not in that way, of course — your way was like a group of scientists having a forever eureka, because your minds fit like perfect puzzle pieces.
Your intrigue had met his intrigue, and it felt natural, coming to a united front like that. You found you had more in common than you thought, something you should’ve found out about a long time ago, 3 ½ years kind of long time ago. Apart, you two were volatile; angry, spewing threats, attempting murder on the other. Together, however, you were absolute perfection: productive, well-mannered, motivated.
Now, fast-forward coming on two years since the incident. You and Crane - now, Jonathan, have been inseparable since that time. You two were close, closer than siblings or children and parents or couples; you felt like the same person that had been split into two. Being together was the only thing that felt right, being back at the origin, like being at home.
Fuck’s sakes, you did have the same home — you’d moved in together. Not to his, nor yours, but to a big house you bought on the outskirts of Gotham, with a big yard and an even bigger lab in the basement. It was like a scientist's amusement park.
Maybe it - this relationship of yours - was codependency. But maybe it was utter genius: your careers had both never seen so many accomplishments until you and Jonathan came together. Partly because you had a greater inspiration when coupled with the other, but, mostly because you had a body to test on during preliminary trials.
Creating things, like the fear-toxin, required human testing, and finding a way to get that done always slowed Jonathan down. Since finding you, however, it’d been a breeze.
You offered yourself up readily, given Jonathan would do the same. And, besides, Jonathan had never been worried about you and his toxin very much — after that first time you took the toxin, you could easily find yourself out of its effects. You were the only person he’d ever encountered who could do this, and it was downright fascinating. He wanted to keep you, see how that strong little mind of yours worked overtime to fight his toxin off.
You, on the other hand, rarely tested anything like that on Jonathan. Your interests lied elsewhere: what smells activate the human mind to recall memories, what are ways to accurately fight off drugs like GHB — all mental stimulation.
That, however, changed one evening, when you had been brewing up a serum for the past few weeks. You’d gotten to the point in creation where you needed to test on someone, and observe the effects.
“Jonathan,” you called out, looking down at your notes. The man in question was grading assignments for the psychology class you taught — now, in joint lessons more often than not — sitting at a desk a few metres away from you in the lab.
“Jonathan!” you repeated louder this time, looking up from your notes.
“What?” He shouted back, still hunched over on the ungodly amount of assignments he needed to mark.
“Come here. I need to test something on you.” You said, nonchalant.
That, however, piqued Jonathan’s interest to no end: you hadn’t tested anything on him in nearly a year. It hurt, a little, to test you endlessly and have nothing to give in return - so this, no matter what it was, Jonathan would take in stride.
Jonathan nodded vehemently, “Okay.” He then dropped all he’d been doing on the desk and made his way over, before sitting in the chair next to you. You made quick work, tying his arms and legs to the chair like he’d done to you so many times before. He watched you work, completely enraptured in how you looked while experimenting.
“So,” He said, tearing his sticky gaze off of you, “what’re you pumping me full of?”
You sat back in your desk chair and scratched your cheek, a little unsure how to say this. “Well, I created a serum that, once injected, would lower or lose all inhibitions of the victim. They’d be completely malleable, agreeable, if you just, um,” you fanned yourself, feeling a little too close to the man in front of you, room feeling incredibly warm.
“Just what?” He pried, leaning back in his chair.
You exhaled shakily, “if you just promise to - to provide relief to them. Sexual - relief.”
Jonathan let out an incredulous laugh. “You made a working aphrodisiac?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t exactly — I don’t even know if it works, for sure. If you don’t want to- take it, then you don’t have to.” You offered up weakly.
“How d’you get it out of the system?” He said instead, ignoring your words and picking up the needle you had ready for him on your worktable, which was filled with a thick, pink liquid.
You flushed. “You, um, help the victim relieve themselves, until the feeling is gone.”
Jonathan looked up at you, a sly smirk on his lips. “And you were going to give this to me?”
You turned away, face red, exasperated. “I told you, you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.”
“And let you pleasure some random guy you snatched off the street? No way,” he said, before you heard a familiar prick, small whine leaving Jonathan’s mouth.
You spun back around so fast you thought you got whiplash. “Jonathan, wait—“ you said, alarmed. You were really, seriously, considering not giving the aphrodisiac to him — it would disrupt the careful balance you and he had built over the past years.
You were afraid that if he took the serum, and let you, for lack of a better word, get him off, you wouldn’t be able to look at him without remembering him needy, hot and bothered, calling your name out like it was the only word he knew.
He’d done it anyway, though. And now, you both just had to get through this… experiment.
Quickly, you grabbed your pen and notebook, ready to approach this scenario as detached and clinically as possible, ignoring the pulsing need in your insides as you saw Jonathan’s face slowly contort into a warm, heavy-lidded lustful one.
“How do you feel, Jonathan?” You said, standing further away from him so he couldn’t so much as feel your body heat on him.
“I…” Jonathan blinked rapidly, licking his lips, looking you up and down. “Warm. I just feel… warm.” He readjusted in the seat, unable to sit still. “And - kind of, tingly? Like I - well, I don’t know…”
You noted his words, as well as some of your own observations: his pupils were dilated, so much so the crystalline blue of his eyes were merely slivers, his lips were pursed, plump, and he was pink all over; pink cheeks, pink ears, pink neck. He was talkative, loose-lipped and a little out of it.
You inhaled, then exhaled, before starting the next phase of the experiment. “Jonathan, how do you feel when I touch you here?” You said, raising the back of your hand to caress his cheek.
Jonathan was affected almost immediately, eyes shutting tight. “It feels,” he said breathily, leaning into your touch, “ah… nice. Good.”
You nodded, promptly pulling away as soon as he’d finished his sentence. Subject enjoys physical touch. Jonathan then peered up at you, looking slightly… disappointed?
You shook yourself, getting back on task. “How do you feel now?” You pried, noticing he looked far more affected than before.
Beads of sweat were dripping from his forehead, making his wavy brown hair stick to his skin. He was breathing heavily, and, when you had touched him, he was extremely warm, like he had a fever.
“I’m, I…” Jonathan trailed off, eyes shutting, shaking his head. “Mmm… my head feels — fuzzy,” he bit out raspily.
“Okay. Good. It's exactly as I thought,” you murmured, continuing to scratch down notes.
You ignored him for a few minutes, writing up a list of side effects and observed results of the aphrodisiac. Then, your gaze drew back to him, who had been focussing intently on you the whole time.
“Jonathan?” you called out quietly, seeing his dazed expression. “Talk to me.”
Jonathan shuddered, leaning forward in the chair, head hanging low, “My - my body’s, hnngh… it feels— feels weird.” He bit his lip, face screwed up and tense. “I’m warm all over…”
His shoulders were hunched in, and he was trembling. You lifted a hand up to his head, petting him softly, carding your fingers through his hair.
“Ah…” Jonathan squeaked out at your touch, face going slack, “I feel like I need you to - to…” he sighed exasperatedly, “I need you.”
You chewed the inside of your cheek conflictedly. On one hand, you needed to finish up a few more tests, meaning Jonathan would be teased - or tortured, depending on how fast the aphrodisiac was affecting him - a little longer. On the other hand, he was already a breathy mess, begging for your touch. For you.
“Fuck,” you murmured, turning away from the man who’s eyes were practically rolling into the back of his head at the way you tugged at his locks. “No, no,” you fought your internal struggle. You would not give in to his pleas - you would finish this experiment.
“Okay. Okay.” you said to no-one but yourself, extracting your hand from his velvet soft hair. “Let’s be professional about this. Jonathan, I’m going to take your clothes off, but you can’t move, and you can’t touch me, okay?”
Jonathan’s breathing became more labored as you spoke, and you swore you could see desperate tears filling his eyes. “I can’t- I can’t touch you? But… but why not?” He was practically whining for you.
“Because, Jonathan, it wouldn’t be beneficial to the experiment.” You didn’t look your partner in the eye, because his complete and total change in behavior had you feeling, quite frankly, as warm as him.
You continued by undoing the restraints on his arms and legs, and his sharp intakes of breath as your fingers brushed past his skin didn’t slip past you. Not at all.
Firstly, you undid the man’s white button-up shirt slipping it past his flushed torso. Jonathan’s skin was actually pink and warm all over, and he was breathing heavily now, gripping the chair so tight his knuckles were white.
“Are you okay, Jonathan?” you asked absently, as you began unbuckling his belt and slipping down his fly.
Jonathan’s breath hitched in his throat, and he didn’t answer you, biting down on his lower lip to stop any desperate moans from escaping him.
You finally finished undressing your partner, then redid his restraints, before you stepped back to see him fully. Jonathan was shivering, faint tear tracks on his pink cheeks, head cocked back.
“It’s just - one, or two more tests, Jonathan.” You murmured quietly, kneeling down in front of him.
Your hands pressed flat on his thighs, rubbing him up and down, grazing your fingers lightly on his feverish skin. You had to regularly ground yourself, stop yourself from inching up to the poor, untouched tent in his boxer shorts.
Above you, you could hear Jonathan let out a low groan, “Ah, hnng— please,” he called out to no-one in particular.
“Does that - feel good, Jonathan?” You ask, getting back up on your feet. His desperate groans were getting to you now, how needy his little keens were.
“So - good,” he panted. “Your— you, I want— need, I need…” he trailed off, babbling, lost to the pleasure of your touch.
“Jonathan, if I… touched you more, would you do anything for me?” You said finally. The invention of the aphrodisiac was intended to sway someone's motivations, make them bend to your will. Sure, there was that added sexual aspect, but it was created with less… pleasurable intentions.
“Anything, anything at all,” he said deliriously, rolling his head around. “Jus’… just need you to- touch me.”
“Would you give yourself fear-toxin, Jonathan?”
“Yes! Yes, just — please… please! Stop asking me— questions… I need you so fucking bad, ah…”
“Jesus,” you said. Your aphrodisiac was stronger than you thought. You were satisfied, however, with the results of it. The first trial was a success, and you saw how you could use this on anyone - even people in particular positions of power, and get them to do your bidding. Quite helpful, indeed.
Now, you needed to… get Jonathan out of this state. By, ah, relieving him.
You had decided to do this, to test him, so you had to be responsible and help ease him out of this experiment. Quickly, you stripped your own clothing, even your underwear, before undoing the restraints on his arms and legs.
Jonathan’s eyes widened as he watched you undress. “Are you - are you… gonna t—touch me? Now? Please?” He practically begged, almost drooling at the sight of your naked body.
“Mhm,” you said, a tremble in your voice. “Gon’ help you get out of this.”
Then, you climbed onto Jonathan’s lap, shutting your eyes as you felt his hard cock within his boxer shorts slide between your legs deliciously.
He let out a guttural groan as your weight pressed down on him, feeling your wetness soak his shorts. That measly piece of fabric was all that was keeping him from entering your plush, velvet folds, and he was going practically insane at the feeling.
“M’god,” Jonathan whined out, leaning his sweaty head on your shoulder. “Y’feel so, a—ah, good…”
You couldn’t help the breezy laugh that made its way out of you. “I haven’t even touched you yet, Jonathan, and you’re already so worked up,” you whispered in his ear, hot breath fanning on his warm skin.
“P-pleeeease,” He begged, slowly grinding into you. Jonathan was barely coherent, mind just focussed on chasing the release he so desperately needed.
You raised a brow, but complied, slipping your warm hands down his boxer shorts and pulling his thick length out. You pumped him lazy, feeling how he writhed under you, tasteful whimpers slipping out of his mouth.
After another second of you stroking him lightly, your thumb grazing past the tip and collected a decent amount of precum, he actually did come, wet hot load spurting upwards on his chest and your face. “Ah - hnngh, oh my — oh my god,” he drooled, jutting into your hand.
It dripped down from your cheek onto your lips, and Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut, losing himself in the pleasure. You swiped a handful of his cream off your face, before covering his still hard, curved cock with it.
“You’re not done, aren’t you?” You said to him quietly, his hips stuttering as you artfully smeared his come on himself. Jonathan was arching into your touch, completely putty in your hands.
“Nuh- no, m’still— still need you, need you so bad.” he whimpered shamefully, hands stuck to your waist.
“Look at you go,” you found yourself cooing, dragging a creamy hand down his equally as creamy chest, your fingernails grazing him. “Let me take care of you.”
Then, you lifted yourself up off his lap, and carefully situated your slit on the tip of his head. “Christ,” you called out as you slid down, “you’re fucking big,”
Inch by inch, you took him, and Jonathan’s eyes were rolling into the back of his head, a string of senseless groans and whines leaving his mouth. “Feels so warm, so so warm,” he choked out at last, looking at you adoringly.
You started to lift out of him, your cunt stinging slightly at the sheer size of his cock, when you felt a heated liquid shoot through you, Jonathan’s knees buckling under your ass.
He’d come, again, even before you could get started. You shook your head incredulously at the terribly horny man beneath you, eyes glazed over in the pure ecstasy he was feeling.
“Stop, fucking — coming,” you scolded, bottoming his cock into you once more, “you’re gonna get me so — ah— fucking - pregnant if you keep coming.”
“Sorry,” Jonathan said sheepishly, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “Can’t help it— you feel so — hnngh — feel so good.”
You rolled your eyes at his words, then focussed on getting a good pace of sliding in and out, your hips rolling deeper and deeper into his own. You were bouncing quickly on his cock, dick-riding him like you’d never done before.
With all other sexual partners you had, they wanted to be all vanilla, always just missionary, going slow until they were close, no sense of creativity or any other wishes that just feeling you. With Jonathan - especially in the state he was in now - you could do whatever you wanted, as long as his cock was in your cunt.
“Good — god,” you screamed out, when Jonathan suddenly gained control over himself and snapped into you, rough hands pinching the flesh of your hips. He rutted into you, hard and fast, for a moment like that continually, before his control melted once more into nothingness, and all he could do was let you take the reins.
“Please— how’re you so — ah, how does your pussy feel so good…” he murmured, trailing off into a high-pitched moan when you pulled out, then just as fast sunk down on him.
Jonathan’s fingers trailed up your body, rubbing at your soft flesh, before they found your breasts, kneading you tenderly. He chanced several licks on both your erect nipples, and you shuddered, tightening around him. Your cunt was sucking him in, devouring his length no matter how big he was, and he could feel how his length was stretching your walls wide open.
“So fucking big.” You panted, arms wrapping around his neck, “fat fucking cock all needy, just me.”
“Jus’… just for you! All - ah, all for you,” Jonathan repeated with a squeak, lips bitten delicately between his teeth.
Your hands trailed all over his body, and as the pleasure was getting to you, making your head dizzy and your thoughts foggy, you bounced down on him and your nails scratched up his back, surely leaving small wounds.
This miniscule amount of pain seemed to amplify Jonathan’s endless pleasure, and you could feel him pumping you full of his come once again, the tip of his dick pressed flush against your cervix. His come made you feel so full, fuller than you already did with his monstrous cock nestled into you, continually rubbing up on the toe-curlingly spongy spot in your cunt every time you pushed him back in.
“Mmf,” Jonathan groaned, pleasure muffling whatever he was was going to say, “m’gonna… gonna get you pregnant,”
“Yeah?” You breathed out, squeezing your eyes shut, “Is that what this needy cock wants? To get my wet cunt full and me pregnant?”
“Yes, yes, hnngh, please, wanna come - wanna come more,” Jonathan cried out.
“‘kay, okay,” you nodded vehemently, “then make this pussy feel good.”
Then, you slid out with a whimper, two loads worth of come spilling out of your worn-out cunt, turning around so your ass would face him, before you sunk back down on him. You were chasing your own pleasure now, the unmistakable feeling rumbling within your lower stomach.
Jonathan was completely fucked out, just a shaking, hot and bothered mess on the sticky wooden chair you’d both occupied, but he still welcomed your warm pussy back on him with open arms. Your folds beat any other cunt he’d ever been in, and he knew nothing, not even his own hand, could match up to how addicting you were, how delectably you took him.
The new angle had you reeling, your hands gripping Jonathan’s thighs for some much-needed support. You were buckling, getting weaker with every bounce, but were still desperate for release. It affected Jonathan too, and he was pressing his face up against your hair, biting down lightly on your shoulder to collect himself despite the earth-shattering pleasure you were inflicting on him.
Your fleshy cunt met his rock-solid cock every moment perfectly, and soon enough your back was arching, head leaning back on Jonathan’s shoulder. That knot in your stomach was tightening, a fire burning within you and begging you not to stop.
Jonathan’s needy hands were coursing all over your body, rubbing on you in all the right places, and when his calloused fingers began pinching and twisting at your sensitive nipples, you saw white. That burning feeling dragged across your entire body, your jaw tensing, and you felt positively fuzzy, pure pleasure destroying all coherent thoughts you’d been having, your mind now focussed on the insane way he made you orgasm.
There was nothing that could compare to how you felt now, this being the hardest you’d orgasmed in your entire life. There was just something about Jonathan — be it how unbelievably big he was, or perhaps the odd tension that surrounded you two for the past few years — that made this experience ten times, no, a hundred times, better.
It was like his dick had been artfully crafted to stretch you out and stuff you full; that thick cock, made just for you.
In place of your weakening strength, Jonathan kept his hand tweaking your breast, and his other hand gripped your hip tightly, helping you bounce up and down on his cock. Thus, the pleasure was maximized by his touch, and you rode out your high like that for a few more long moments.
You stayed there, on his lap panting and drooling, for a few more seconds, before you climbed off of him, grimacing at the loss of his sweet cock in you.
You stood shakily, feeling his come ooze out of your sticky hole, and you were surprised to see that Jonathan was still hard. He was panting, head leaning against the chair, hands and legs trembling, but his dick could probably still pump out another round of come.
You did always wondering how he’d taste, and after seeing how long and thick he was, you wanted to know if his dick could make you cry, too. So, you kneeled down on the cold floor, pulling him by the ankles a little further off the chair, so you could get better access to him, and buried your pretty little head between his shaking thighs.
“What’re you— doing?” Jonathan said blearily, but before he could continue, your soft lips wrapped around him, and your tongue began artfully swiveling his sensitive head.
The loudest moan you’d heard so far was drawn out of Jonathan, and more, similar noises came out of him. It was nonsensical, and unintelligible, but you could tell he was having the time of his life — as if he hadn’t just orgasmed three times prior.
You started slowly, mouth taking his cock until you felt like you couldn’t anymore, before forcing past that point and making yourself take him to the back of your throat. Tears lined the rims of your eyes, your head swimming from lack of oxygen, but you couldn’t help how badly you wanted to hear him whimper and whine out from how good you were servicing him, his pretty groans reaching your ears like music.
You pulled his cock out of your mouth when you felt like you were going to pass out, and then you began lapping up at his cock, sucking and curving your tongue around his long length. You sucked him hard and fast, and then, his hands grappled at your hair.
At this point, you believed the aphrodisiac was wearing off, and Jonathan, now a little more clearheaded, began face fucking you, filling your sweet mouth full with his filthy cock. He couldn’t resist doing so, especially with you looking up at him through your tear-stained lashes, hollowing out your cheeks and gripping his thighs like your life depended on it.
You gagged on him, several times, but he didn’t care, and with a jolted thrust past your swollen lips, he came, squirting all he had left down your throat. You sucked and swallowed every drop of him into your mouth, loving the taste of his salty liquid.
Now, you were both fucked out, beyond tired, the strain on your muscles settling in. Your core had been properly exercised, what with how many times you rutted into Jonathan, and he, similarly, had a strained back with how much he arched into your touch, his aphrodisiac-clouded mind wanting nothing more but to be touched by you.
“Good god, woman,” Jonathan said, collapsing into the wooden chair, which was sticky with sweat, come and your cunt’s soaking wetness. “You could’ve just said you wanted to fuck,”
You panted, dropping down onto the cold floor beneath you and wincing. “We’re — we were, just friends.”
He waved away your words, “We live together, darling. Not quite sure if that's “just” friends.”
You looked up at him, before laughing agreeably. “Felt good though, didn’t it?” A smug grin made its way on your lips, remembering how submissive Jonathan had been, how desperate he’d been just for the slightest bit of touch.
“Amazing,” he said exasperatedly. “But next time, you’re not topping.”
“Next time, huh?” You said brightly, shakily getting up. Jonathan helped you, both of you limping exhaustedly up the stairs to your actual house, where you really should’ve been fucking, instead of the clinical environment of your large basement lab.
Jonathan’s hands found your ass, pulling you flush against him and kneading the flesh roughly. “Why not? Don’t you wanna know how I fuck?” he whispered suggestively into your ear, nibbling at the lobe.
“I think, you’ve still got some aphrodisiac in you, Jon.” you said, laughing breezily.
#jonathan crane x reader#jonathan crane smut#jonathan crane#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy#batman#sub!jonathan crane#sub!jonathan crane x reader
5K notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
cinema-corner
Cinema-Corner
yasmingroupmuntok-blog
Yasmin Group
sinvoiceviettel-blog
Hóa đơn điện tử Viettel
cinema-corner
Cinema-Corner
heyranting
r a n t i n g