#law being so patient

[baby-xemnas]

NURSE BEPO CHAN NURSE BEPO CHAN

[vixeneptune]

I just love how I always eventually end up manifesting my desires like it's guaranteed for me, I don't even care how long it takes bc I know I always end up getting what I want, like it's just a matter of time but I don't stress about timing, I just KNOW it'll come one way or another.

This makes manifesting so chill and natural for me like everything just falls into place at its own pace and comes to me at the right time

[vellichorom]

In Honor of Connor Thomas.

MY half of an art trade w/ @the-friendliest-freak !!!! depicting cogware games' own shipwreck of a victim;

[irregularbillcipher]

also found a doodle of kryptos’ “suspiciously unmarried uncle” who i mentioned in my post yesterday. dont think he’s ever gonna show up in my fic proper, but he has been mentioned twice so far, and a few times in future chapters— he’s the one who sends andy birthday money

[soleilnomoon]

heya bestie, guess who's back 💅✨

I love your writing and also I just love your blog, you're a delight 🥰💖💕 the last request was delicious!! I didn't expect a modern au, but it was so good!!! now to sending you 20 requests!! 1/20

I was wondering if I could get a cute milk chocolate pain au chocolat and dulce de leche roll with marshmallow whipped cream? for our husband Trafalgar Law, please?

hiiii angel 🥰️ty, ty! i didn't expect to write a modern au either lmaooo it just happened out of nowhere. but yes, i have finally done the first request and i promise law is mostly nice <3

1.1k words, gn reader (no pronouns), sfw, 18+, mdni; fluff and maybe a sliver of angst (im sry, im sry) but not rly. it's relatively tame if i'm honest! but as you know, i love law and i love putting him in difficult situations

amidst the dark sleepy waters, tucked far enough away to avoid detection from large sea creatures, the polar tang coasts quietly, cruising uninterrupted while en route to another island. it’s out of habit that you’re up late, reading by a dwindling light, fatigue prancing along your eyelids, making them unbearably heavy. a hand on your shoulder jolts you awake, back ramrod straight as you blink your sleepiness away. a yawn timidly drifts out of your mouth — soft and airy — cute, even, law wants to say, but pulls his hand back instead, hoping to shake off the impulse.

“you should sleep properly in a bed, y/n.” while his voice is low enough to not wake your crew mates, it’s still loud enough to jumpstart your heart — the beats heavy, relentless, nauseating — you shift on the desk chair in his office, looking over your shoulder at him, a sleepy smile climbing onto your lips.

“hello to you too, captain,” you give him a two-fingered salute and laugh — the sound surprisingly hypnotic, making him grab a nearby chair to sit on. maybe at this angle, he won’t be so captivated by you; it’s a stretch, but he’s willing to give anything a try.

“don’t deflect,” he chastises, leaning back in the chair as he watches you curiously, leg casually bumping against yours. “just go to sleep. you don’t have to stay up.” he’s not sure when you started, but for months you’ve been getting less sleep — and you refuse every remedy he’s given you. not wanting to intrude, but also finding it stifling to keep his inquisitive mind quiet whenever he sees you, he runs a hand through his hair and sighs at you.

“who will stay up with you, then?” you massage the back of your neck with your hand, lashes fluttering as another yawn floats away from you. frowning at your answer, he tilts his head, trying to figure out if there’s a deeper meaning to your words. you notice that he has that look on his face, the one where he’s lost in thought and piecing together obscure mysteries. this time, however, the mystery in question is you.

his curiosity, he reasons, must be the force driving him to stare at you for as long as he has. it must also be the fault of his curiosity for committing the shape of your lips and the angle of your jaw to memory. there’s no other justification, none that make sense to him right now; he closes his eyes and inhales deeply, when he opens his eyes again, you’re looking at him like he has all the answers in the world.

“i, uh…” he clears his throat and the top of his ears flush; he needs to get it together. “don’t need anyone to keep me company, really.” he’s a solitary creature by nature, but that’s not exactly why you insist on staying up with him.

“someone needs to make sure you don’t burn yourself out,” you say carefully, stretching your arms over your head a series of soft pops echoing around you. he’s right, you should consider sleeping in a bed; your back can only take so many hours in that position. “besides, everyone else is too afraid to volunteer because you’re grumpy when you’re tired.” the words pour out of you unfiltered, a consequence of your fatigue, you suppose, not bothering to recant even as he stares at you incredulously.

mumbling under his breath, words mostly incoherent, save for the several times he said cowards, law sighs again and runs a hand down his face.

your laughter at his distress only serves to fluster him even more. “oh, goodness, it’s really not a big deal, law.” you grin cheekily at him, thoroughly enjoying the way law tries to get a hold of his emotions. you decide to tease him a bit more. “want to play a game? it’s really ease, i promise.” your innocence is a farce and he knows that, but he can’t help but feel obliged to indulge you.

“go on,” he prompts, folding his arms against his chest, his hawkish gaze nearly incapacitating you, “what’s the game?”

rummaging through your bag, you pull out a deck of cards, neatly organized in its box. law narrows his eyes at that, internally debating over whether he should actually play with you or not. a newfound burst of energy seeps into your veins, makes you a bit more alert as you pull out the cards. “let me explain the rules…” you take a moment to give him a rundown of the game, even going so far as to having a trial match in order to make things fair.

although, he fusses and tells you repeatedly that he doesn’t need a demonstration. but, as always, you insist and instead of denying you, he gives in without hesitation. it’s pathetic of him, he knows, he knows, but he can’t help it. not when it comes to you. he tells you, quite seriously, that he has no intention of losing — especially after hearing what the penalty is — and you smiled impishly before shuffling the cards.

a few minutes later, law is still in disbelief. “there’s no way,” he says sharply, almost as if he’s blaming you for his loss, “you cheated.” somehow. he wasn’t sure just yet, but that must be the reason, right? it’s almost eerie how easy it is for you to tease law like this, so you stand firm on your position.

“nope. i won fairly, now time to pay up.”

after several minutes of setting up, music drifts around the room, a soft instrumental melody — one of your favorite songs — you hum along and reach a hand out for him to take it. he’s hesitant but takes your hand regardless, the warmth from your skin melting away his nerves. you like this side of him — the vulnerability that comes with his uncertainty — and even tell him as much when you spin around the room with him. your steps are practiced, somewhat graceful while his are honest but clumsy. so, when he stumbles for the fourth time, you can barely contain your laughter because he’s being impossibly him right now.

annoyance prickles along his skin and he pulls away from you, he’d rather not deal with anymore embarrassment for the night if he can help it. it dawns on you that there’s a possibility that he might think you’re really laughing at him, so you rush after him. “wait, wait,” you huff, colliding with his back but still managing to wrap your arms around him. “i’m not laughing at you, honestly.” your cheek rubs against the soft fabric of his shirt. “just…stop running. for once, please?” you feel him exhale deeply, but he doesn’t pull you off of him.

“okay, fine.” he’ll surely regret this in the morning. “but only one more time, after that you’re going to bed.”

[mamamittens]

Sick Leave (+18)

Commissioned by @cebwrites

Fandom: One Piece

Pairing: Trafalgar Law/Kirin(OC)/Reiji(OC)

Warnings: Light medical kink, sex while feverish/temperature play, doctor title kink, oral sex (male recieving), overstimulation, and unsafe sex.

Word Count: 2,781

It starts as most illnesses do.

The most fucking ridiculously loud sneeze Law had ever heard in their life. Smack dab in the middle of a somewhat teasing phone call that could turn into something more fun if Law felt like being nice. Kirin, mid-dirty joke about ‘checking out his package’, sneezed.

The kind that Law could easily imagine lifting the other man up onto his toes with a whole-body flinch. And needed a package of tissues for cleanup afterwards. Gross and horrifically loud.

Law blinked slowly as Kirin whined in complaint, followed rapidly by yet more sneezes.

“Awwww noooo—HYATCH-CHU!” Law yanked back the phone, nearly dropping it in shock as Kirin sniffled some more.

“Kiri-ya… are you coming down with something?” Law scowled, nose wrinkling in disgust. He may be a surgeon, but dealing with something a sharp knife can’t fix was not their idea of a fun time.

“Noooooooooo…” Kirin whined as Reiji laughed softly in the background.

“Yeah. He is.”

“Recchan! Trai—HYECH-CHU! Noo-ooooooo! I’m not sick! Take it back, you bastard!” Law huffed.

“Stay at least twelve feet away from me.” Law informed him before hanging up the phone, cutting off any form of protest that might arise at the cold statement. He was not taking any chances.

Of course, since when has Law ever really gotten what he wanted.

“No.”

“C’mon, someone has to make sure Kirin doesn’t drown in his soup,” Reiji said with a huff.

“Sure… and where will you be again?” Law asked sarcastically.

“The family vacation I told you about, Law. You know my father doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” Law supposed he could give him that one. Mihawk was… an interesting man. But not, however, one that is interested in excuses. Even reasonable ones such as their lover being dreadfully sick. “You won’t even have to do much—just make sure he’s still breathing every now and then while making him take his meds. And soup. Can’t forget the soup. He pines for it, Law. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so sad.”

That… did sound amusing. Not amusing enough to do it, but definitely enough that Law was cautiously intrigued by the idea.

“Chicken noodle soup?” Law couldn’t help but ask despite himself.

“Yeah, it’s good for the soul, apparently.” Reiji chuckled, likely referencing something that Kirin said while delusional as hell. “He may also be… a bit whiny for something else.”

Law raised a brow.

“Oh?”

“Don’t you ‘oh’ me. You know damn well what else he wants.”

“I am not going over there just to get sick myself. I don’t do colds, Rei.” Law reminded him firmly. Reiji heaved a sigh.

“Fine. I’m pulling out the big guns.” He huffed as Law’s phone dinged cheerfully.

It was a picture message.

Rightfully suspicious, Law opened it up expecting something lewd to tease him into a more charitable mood. Tasteful nudes perhaps.

Instead, he was treated to the sight of an early morning photo. Golden light spilling over white sheets that were crumpled around a fevered, splayed out Kirin. Corner of the sheet artfully covering his damp upper thighs as he dripped in sweat, clearly panting at the time of the photo. Hot face only served to contrast his eyes as he looked at the camera with a dopey, needy smile. He looked like he had slept for only an hour but that hour was the best sleep of his life.

Law growled, pissed that Reiji had accomplished his goal.

Kirin looked like he was either in the midst of a terrible fever or worn out from a marathon of sex. And the prospect of getting to see Kirin like that for themself with only a fraction of the effort was… enticing.

“Fine.” Law bit out with a sneer, growling in frustration when Reiji full out laughed at him.

“Eheheh—hsftph!” Reiji sneezed suddenly. “Ah, I need to dust in here—hfph!”

Law couldn’t help but raise his brow in suspicion with a grimace.

He’d need to bring extra cleaning supplies… and a few masks. Possibly bleach. Actually, it wasn’t too late to back out.

Kirin’s hazy eyes looked up at him from the photo.

Fuck… bleach it was.

Law felt a little better when Reiji met him at the front door looking as well as he ever did with a serene smile.

“Thought that would do the trick. I’m heading off now, try not to strangle him when he sneezes, alright?” Reiji smacked Law’s ass as he passed by.

“No promises!” Law barked spitefully, nearly throwing a bottle of Lysol at his head.

Armed and ready, Law braced himself before heading inside.

Despite his worst fears, it wasn’t… that bad. Kirin wasn’t throwing up at least. Mostly just laying in bed with a fever, half asleep for hours at a time. And as it turned out, Kirin was a total slut for chicken noodle soup. Law was horribly surprised and embarrassingly turned on by the moans that left Kirin anytime he was given another bowl of soup and crackers.

Law fucking swore Kirin sounded the same way getting his dick sucked.

But despite plying his weak, needy boyfriend with soup and cold medicine, Law maintained a healthy distance from him. Having no interest in catching his illness for themself. And usually it was easy. Kirin was hilariously easy to distract from cries for cuddles and affection. At one point, Law just pushed him down gently into the bed and Kirin passed out all on his own. No effort required.

This stage, however, did not last for long.

Law stretched out his legs on the couch, flipping between the tv channels for something interesting to watch before he needed to make yet more chicken noodle soup. The living room smelled strongly of disinfectant and soup. An odd combination for sure.

Kirin shuffled in, throw blanket draped over his shoulders as he wobbled closer to Law.

“Kiri-ya…” Law warned firmly, pointing back the way he came. “Bed. Now.” Kirin sniffled petulantly, sinking to the floor near Law’s legs. Leaning his head onto the couch like a dog being told not to climb the furniture, eyes gazing up at him longingly.

“But baaaabe,” Kirin nuzzled his thigh. “Can’t I lay down with you? It’s so cold in my bed.” Kirin whined, rubbing his overly warm face against Law’s jeans.

“It’d be warmer if you stayed put, Kirin.” Law informed him dryly, jolting when he felt a hot palm settle over their thigh. “You should be resting, Kir. Not trying to jump my dick.”

Kirin huffed, rubbing up higher until he cupped Law’s covered cock.

“Don’t wanna jump it… maybe give it a little kiss? Can’t taste anything right, right now, but I know you’ll still taste good.” Kirin mused, rubbing his cheek against Law’s thigh. “Can’t I see? Give it a try? It’ll be just like medicine—not a drop left behind~” Kirin cajoled Law with a hazy smile. Law hissed as his cock throbbed at the suggestion.

Sex was probably the last thing Kirin needed right now. His fever turning his hot body up to a blazing temperature he rarely was able to match otherwise.

Still maintaining eye contact, Kirin pressed a hot-open kiss to Law’s jean covered thigh. Tongue burning and wet as it drenched their skin quickly. Law hissed, reaching down to yank Kirin’s head back, tv forgotten.

“You’re so damn weak and needy.” Law growled, startled when Kirin smirked, tipping his head into Law’s palm and pressing a burning kiss to his wrist. Licking at his racing pulse.

“Yeah… I really am. C’mon Doctor Law… give me some ‘medicine’.” Kirin moaned, panting against Law’s open palm.

Law grit his teeth and hissed again.

“You’re already here—Get it yourself!” Law ordered without thought. Kirin’s face lighting up as Law neglected to correct themself.

Law watched with heated eyes as Kirin sat up and unbuckled their pants, tugging down the fabric to free their cock. Kirin moaned as it sprang up, thick and throbbing as Kirin clambered up onto the couch. Laying down on Law’s legs as he lapped over the base. Hot tongue swiping up Law’s cock, paying special attention to the barcode Law had tattooed on the underside, before flicking over the head.

Law groaned, throwing back his head and threading his fingers through Kirin’s sweaty hair, pressing down as heat engulfed him. Kirin’s mouth almost felt boiling hot as he swallowed hard, noisily sucking down their length as Law’s heart began to pound. Throbbing against a messy, plush tongue.

“Ffffuck, that’s right. Keep going. Doctor’s orders.” Law moaned, shuddering as Kirin moaned, slipping his sweaty hands under Law’s ass to force his nose into Law’s pelvic bone. Debauched and drooling onto their cock as Law’s abdomen tightened. Heat rivaling Kirin’s fever rushing through his veins as he was pulled closer. “G-Going to take every ounce—every last fucking inch won’t you? W-What a good patient—hhnnngh~!” Law gasped, spine arching as Kirin swallowed hard. Squeezing their cock as he came, pouring down Kirin’s greedy throat.

Law panted, furiously petting Kirin’s hair and face as he trembled. Cock hot and wet as it throbbed. Almost violently shooting out and narrowly making Kirin choke. Law hissed, looking down at Kirin. Face red with tears in his eyes and cum slipping from his lips, Kirin looked starstruck. Tongue running under Law’s cock as though to lap up the excess as it dripped to their balls.

Law pulled him off impatiently. Forcing Kirin back to lay on the opposite side of the couch.

He moaned, arms open as he reached out for a kiss.

Law instead latched onto his neck. Licking up the sweat with a groan, leaking cock grinding against Kirin’s naked thigh.

“Laaawww~ P-Please give it to me!” Kirin whined, weakly grabbing Law’s shoulders as he was ignored. “I’ve been so—gooood~!” Law nipped at his jawline to shut him up.

Law intended to only toy with him. Leave a few marks on his body and bully his clit until it swelled into something else. Maybe let him cum after begging for it a few times.

But the filthy sight of Kirin moaning, lips still slick with their cum set his blood on fire. Law licked up Kirin’s chin and lips, sealing the kiss with a debauched moan. Fingers slipping down Kirin’s body to between his thighs.

Immediately he was drenched right down to the knuckle, sliding in with suspicious ease. Thumb slipping over the piercing under his clit. Law pulled back, panting as Kirin almost wailed with pleasure at having his pussy teased.

“Have you been toying with yourself?” Law asked deceptively soft, pressing in three fingers to show off how easy the stretch was. Kirin moaned, panting and nodding as Law dragged his fingertips along the upper wall. Impossibly hot and wet, Law’s cock throbbed with anticipation. “Tch. Think you can self-medicate, darling? You should know better than that.”

Law lifted up Kirin’s thigh, high up their waist. Kirin eagerly hooking his ankle to lift his pussy up. Law only pulled his wet hand out long enough to slam into place. The easy slide ending with a lewd smack as their balls slapped against wet thighs.

Kirin writhed beneath Law, clutching his body weakly as he trembled.

“D-Doctor! Doctor! Yes! Oooh~ Doctor fuck, yes~!” Kirin whined, trying to pull Law’s face down for another kiss. Law indulged Kirin as he railed into him. Couch cushions squeaking in protest as Kirin drenched both of their thighs in arousal. Law reached down and pinched his clit, tugging the piercing along with it as Kirin moaned against their tongue.

Kirin trembled, whole body shuddering as he squirted and drenched Law’s thighs and cock. Pleased moans turning into whines as Law refused to let up, fucking him into the couch still with a smug grin.

“W-What’s wrong, darling? Treatment getting too intense for you?” Law clicked his tongue, laughing. “I thought you wanted to get better?” Law leaned down and nipped at Kirin’s chest as he tweaked his clit again. Kirin moaned loudly, bucking up into Law’s relentless thrusts.

“I doooo~! T-Too much! Ahn~ D…Doctor please~!” Kirin whined, clutching Law’s shoulders with shaking hands. “O-Oh! Fuck! Fuck! A-Aahhh—hyat-chu!”

Law slammed into the hilt and glared down at Kirin. Kirin gave him a teary-eyed look, sniffling as he tried to hold back a sneeze.

“Don’t you fucking dare—”

“HYACH-CHU!” Law flinched away from Kirin as he tried to muffle his sneeze into his arm. But the damage was done.

Law pulled out and flipped Kirin over, slapping his ass hard before shoving his chest over the armrest. Squeezing Kirin’s ass cheeks with a sneer before settling between his trembling thighs.

Law slipped back in with ease, hot pussy engulfing their cock as Law leaned over. Chuckling at Kirin’s pathetic state, face nearly brushing the floor as he tried to brace himself with trembling arms.

“Much better.” Law purred, admiring the sweaty, rippling expanse of Kirin’s back as he struggled to hold himself up. Law laughed when a single thrust took the tension out of his arms, Kirin whining and trying to look back up at Law as he continued his harsh pace. “Are you going to behave, pretty baby? Take your medicine like a good boy?” Law teased.

Kirin moaned, trembling arms braced against the floor as his hips bounced against the arm rest from Law’s thrusts.

“Y…You’re such a mean fucking doctor—” Kirin complained.

Law grinned, gripping Kirin’s waist to pin him in place better against their thrusts.

“Oh, I can be much worse~” Law threatened. Kirin whined, shaking his head as his long hair tossed about.

“Noooooo~ Oh! O-Ohhh~!” Kirin’s pussy quivered around his cock, almost scalding hot as he rapidly approached another orgasm.

“Then you’ll take your medicine right?” Law asked sadistically as he slammed into Kirin’s ass harder.

“YES! Doctor—ooohhh hahn~!” Kirin mewled, digging his nails into the carpet as he panted.

“That remains to be seen.” Law informed him coolly as he reached down under Kirin’s pinned thighs to tease the cute piercing again.

Kirin wailed, squirting against Law’s cock again so hard he almost couldn’t hilt. The couch protesting the heavy movement as Law slammed his hips against Kirin. Mixed cum dripping down their thighs as Law panted. Kirin’s thighs quivering against Law as he struggled to lift up his chest.

Sweaty and blushing heavily, Kirin looked more aware than before. Like the fever had finally broken just as Law made him cum again.

“Law…”

Law sighed, pulling out slowly to relish the soft heat on their cock. The thick head snagged on Kirin’s tight entrance.

They smirked.

“It’s Doctor Law, to you.” And slammed into the hilt with a rough laugh as Kirin fell back down against the floor with a trembling cry.

“FUCK!” Law yanked back Kirin’s hips until his chest was pinned to the armrest. Partially forced onto Law’s lap as Law rocked forward at a dizzying pace. Law’s arm pulling Kirin’s back to their chest as their free hand continued to bully his clit. Law nipped Kirin’s throat as he used the new position to their advantage. “D-Doctor! Doctor Law, please~!” Kirin wailed.

“Y-Yes, darlingi-ya~?” Law asked breathlessly as he kept up a relentless pace.

“E-Easy! G-Go easier on me—aaaahhn~ Oh yes! Yes~!” Kirin moaned as Law tweaked his nipple.

Law snorted at how easily Kirin changed his tune.

“Are you arguing with your doctor?” Law asked rhetorically as he felt Kirin’s pussy squeeze his cock hard again.

“N-Noooo~! Y-Yes~! Ah! Fuck, D-Doctor~!” Law clicked his tongue.

“Seems you’re still delirious.” Law mused playfully. “Another dose or three should fix that.” He decided, just to be mean.

“T-Three~!?” Kirin whined tearfully. “Mine or yours, D-Doctor? Laaaw~?!”

Law neglected to respond, deciding to tease Kirin’s chest again until he wailed loudly underneath him.

--*--

Law groaned, burying his face into the pillow as his head throbbed.

“Pst—babe, got your soup,” Kirin whispered, shaking Law’s shoulder lightly.

Law growled, burrowing under the blankets as a false chill swept over his body.

“Leave me to my fucking misery.”

“Naw. You took such good care of me, I just have to return the favor.” Kirin chirped in bemusement. “Tomorrow Recchan comes back and he’ll have to join you too, though. So you should enjoy the alone time while you can.”

Law paused, poking his head out in confusion despite the headache at the low light from the bedside lamp. Kirin laughed, looking anywhere but him.

“…Wha?”

“Yeeaaah… Seems Reiji caught a little ole bug too. Funny that.”

Law narrowed his eyes in realization and hissed.

“Weak!”

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

being on this website right now is just like im being so brave by blacklisting the tags for a new movie thats very popular right now and not responding to any of the gifsets i still see of it with what is rightful criticism of it for being tone-deaf

[skvaderarts]

Fuck you, West Virginia government.

Here is the direct link to the above article if you're looking for it. If there is something that can be done about this (like a petition or someone that can be called to help stop this or information on any protests), please alert me and I will update this post to contain that information! Please feel free to reblog this and add worthwhile information that might be helpful to those affected. Thank you.

[brokentoys]

remember when eddie was having a psychotic episode and freaking out and instead of being treated softly, and being reassured by caring people that he’s hallucinating, he was instead handled like an abused animal with aggression

remember in the ark games how the doctors would often yell at him or belittle him instead of explaining calmly about how what he’s saying is wrong.

[thefoulbeast]

Trying to start on my report. General structure was easiest to figure out. Then I spent half an hour fiddling with formatting styles. Then I was like "ok yknow what i wanna get zotero bc i dont wanna type all my bibliography by hand". Then i wrote a section. Now im stuck thinking what an intro should contain. Maybe I should try and outline the other sections instead?

[evankinard]

I've been having so much fun learning new languages over winter break and I'm so sad cause I know I'll probably stop keeping up with it once the new semester starts and I'm just too stressed/tired

[trickphotography2]

*

[sick-thing]

Terfs after they get butch women kicked out of womens bathrooms for looking too much like a man, call cis women men because they don't fit a white western beauty standard, say people who've had mastectomies (which are mostly cancer patients) are mutilated, reduce women down to their anatomy, act like trans men are clueless little girls who can't think for themselves, say women are naturally worse at sports and quiz shows and beauty pageants than men, flash a fake bush in parliament with children present, rile up so much bullshit about trans athletes that now there's laws being made where little girls have to have genital inspections, and throw intersex people under the bus at every opportunity

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt. 7

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6]

“I’m having a child.”

Danny stared at Batman.

“…Uh, congrats?”

Batman whips out a stack of paper and a pen. “It’s you. Sign here and initial the highlighted spots.”

Danny instinctively, from years of dealing with Vlad, whacked the stack right out of Batman’s hands and into the bay. He doesn’t even feel bad about littering this time because, “Begone, fruitloop!”

Wait, no, that’s not what he meant.

“I mean- I have parents!”

“Not for long.” Batman muttered and then did a double take. “You have parents? How?”

Danny gasped, placing a hand on his chest to clutch his metaphorical pearls. He ignored Batman’s mutters. Everyone knows the vigilante has an adoption problem. At least, everyone who lived in Gotham did, as everyone who didn’t was somehow convinced that he “worked alone” or some bullshit like that. “Are you naturally this insensitive or were you dropped on your head as a baby? Obviously I had to come from somewhere.”

“They’re still… alive?”

“And kicking,” Danny said, inching away from yet another rich weird guy trying to adopt him. “Mostly the kicking part, though.” He said, remembering the sparring sessions. His mom could kick his as six ways to Sunday with nothing but jiu-jitsu and still have time to work in the lab.

“I see.”

“I’m charging you extra for the emotional upheaval. I have trauma regarding rich people trying to adopt me.”

Batman sullenly handed over a thousand.

“Sweet. There’s a group of shades down here asking if you could find their murderer. Apparently the serial killer is still at large.” Danny pointed.

“Of course. Tell me everything.”

The adoption papers disappeared as Batman went into detective mode.

Danny shoved the cash into his glowing chest and breathed a sigh of relief. He needed to make rent this month so it was a windfall running into Batman.

——

“Hey, Tim?”

Tim woke up from his Power Nap. “Huh?”

“Phantom’s complaining that Batman kept trying to adopt him.”

Tim blinked. “Uh.. what does that have to do with me?”

Danny stared at him, a patiently amused smile on his face. “Just in case the rumor about the Wayne’s sugar-daddy-into the Bats was a thing. Other than that, we might have to confront Batman to get him off of Phantom’s back. ”

“You… want to confront Batman.”

“Hey, man, Phantom’s a friend and it’s ride or die.” Danny snickered. It was literally die, with his Phantom side of things. He held two fists up, and wound them, like Popeye right after eating spinach or something. “And if Batman bothers Phantom, we ride at dawn.”

“Batman doesn’t come out unless it’s dark, though? Or for the Justice League.” Tim grinned. He mentally classified Danny under his “to go to” list. That’s where Bart, Bernard, Cassie, Kon, and Garfield were. If he starts shit, he could count on them to have his back and cause even more shit. Danny, wanting to fistfight Bruce over the man making Phantom uncomfortable? He absolutely is making that list.

“Then we ride at, like, dusk. Or uh, like 10PM. I gotta get my beauty sleep.”

“You’ll definitely need it,” Tim inconspicuously texted the group chat, which quickly blew up.

“Shut up,” Danny playfully shoved Tim. “Wait, can Batman even legally adopt? Isn’t being a vigilante illegal? And how can he adopt someone dead?”

Tim dramatically flailed and splayed over Danny’s carpeted living room. “Dunno about his identity,” he lied to Danny, like a liar. “But Gotham has a bunch of laws for the undead/restored to life people so there’s probably enough gray space there.”

Danny spluttered. “You guys have undead friendly laws?”

“Yeah, geht do you think Grundy just chills out? Plus, we have like a minor resurrection event every few years. It usually doesn’t stick but sometimes it does. Bruce pushed for those laws when Jason came back to life, except he doesn’t actually want people to know he’s like, alive.”

“Jason died?” Danny blinked. Well, that would explain the vibes. “Huh. So what’s up with his rank vibes then?”

“Rank vibes?” Tim pressed record on his phone.

Danny nodded. “Yeah, you know how Phantom’s got like a really chill green vibe?” Inwardly, Danny snickered at his pun. Chill. Yeah, he meant that very literally. “Jason’s got kind of a rank green vibe. He’s kind of stinky? Definitely never introduce him to Phantom.” Danny’s senses got worse in his ghost form.

“Jason regularly showers, though?!”

“Not smell! Like, a spiritual smell?”

“You can smell souls?!” Tim sat up. “Bro, you’re a meta?!”

“Uh.” Danny hesitated. “Yeah. I can smell souls. It’s a thing. Everyone from my town can do it.”

“What?!” Tim paused. “Wait, can Phantom smell souls?”

“Yeah. We’re, uh, from the same town.”

“Danny, what the fuck?”

“Hey, don’t look at me like that, you’re the one with a soul-sick brother! Not to mention, you’re kinda stinky too!”

“Hey!”

“Soul-stinky nerd man!”

——

“I stink?!” Jason spluttered out, extremely offended.

“The Lazarus pits. He’s most likely smelling traces of Lazarus pit on you, you imbecile.”

“We need to speak to Phantom. This instant.”

“I dunno, B. Danny sounded like he was gonna break your face if you bothered Phantom anymore.” Dick snickered.

“Yeah,” Tim chimed in, from his seat in front of the Bat-computer. “He was pretty serious.”

“Are we just gonna glaze over the fact that they’re from the same town?!” Stephanie exclaimed, practicing her moves on a training dummy.

“How does that even work? What does that mean? I thought Phantom was an immortal?” Duke asked.

“We also can’t rule out time-travel.” Barbara slammed her baton into a training dummy, twisting her wheelchair in an agile maneuver that left the dummy on the floor.

“No bothering Phantom.” Cass proclaimed.

“That’s quite right. You all have a warm dinner sitting above your cave and should it remain uneaten, I assure you that sherbet Sunday and crêpe Tuesday shall be canceled.” Alfred stepped in. The Bats, threatened, scrambled to ditch their gear and go upstairs.

[beansnpeets]

The last couple weeks at work a lot of "my" mistakes have actually been my coworkers mistakes or they just forget that I don't know certain things yet, but I'm always getting the corrections and the blame keeps falling on me and I'm SO fucking pissed about it. I have to just eat these mistakes when they aren't even mine because I don't wanna fucking argue with my boss about it since she is so gentle with me when I do fuck up, but at the same time I don't want her to think I'm THIS incompetent because I really didn't fucking do anything wrong. Ugh.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 || dark!jonathan crane x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || since you're the only one of his coworkers at arkham who doesn't seem to be intimidated by his intelligence, jonathan decides it's time he finds out what does scare you... and how he can embody it. unfortunately for you, turning into your greatest nightmare doesn't prove very difficult for him.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 5.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || EXTREME AND EXPLICIT NONCON (18+ only and please proceed with caution), drugging and kidnapping, paralysis, traumatized reader, forced orgasms/overstimulation, degradation, humiliation, choking, slapping, unprotected sex/breeding, misogyny, jonathan is very much in character which means he is incredibly evil and has incel vibes (I know y'all are not about to get mad at me for writing a villain being a villain and not uwu babifying him...)

When you interrupted and corrected your colleague, Dr. Crane, about the correct combination of pharmaceuticals for a certain schizophrenic patient in the asylum who happened to have diabetes, you thought nothing of it.  After all, the whole point of staff meetings was to discuss and debate these things, and you weren’t about to let him damn-near poison a patient by giving him something that would interfere with his insulin.  You weren’t trying to be snarky about it, but you did sort of make a joke about how dangerous his suggestion was— and you didn’t notice the way Jonathan’s nostrils flared and jaw tightened when some others chuckled at what you said.

When you received an email from your therapist’s office informing you that there was evidence of a break-in in her building, but that the police were unable to officially determine if confidential client files were compromised, you thought nothing of it.  It was a big complex, these things happen, and you knew from being a clinician yourself how tricky the laws could be surrounding that stuff: she had to email you, legally, if there was any chance your file could’ve been accessed, and that didn’t mean you had any reason to fear your private therapy session notes had been read.  Besides, who would want to read about you and your boring life, diving into your mundane hopes and fears and daily stresses?

And when Crane came into the office with tea for you, you thought nothing of it.  Sure, you seemed surprised when he popped into your office with cups in hand— you asked him why he had two cups of tea, assuming they were both for himself, and he laughed.  Just that was out of character, he wasn’t much of a chucklehead or anything.  “Green tea, right?  With lime and honey?” he asked, setting one cup down for you.  You were still taken aback, but you had to admit defeat.

“Yeah,” you said, taking the cup as he sat down across the desk from you.  “Yeah, that’s my order— I didn’t know you drank tea.”

“Sometimes,” he informed you, hoping his poker face was holding up as he watched you take a sip.  He couldn’t help but stare at your lips wrapping around the little hole in the lid, the print of berry-red your lipstick left behind.  His heart was racing already, more than he expected.

When you finished the first sip, you smiled at him and let out a small, nervous laugh.  “Thank you,” you finally said.  So, yes, even though you clearly noticed this was slightly odd behavior, you thought nothing of drinking the tea.  That was one thing he hated about you: the thoughtlessness.  You didn’t seem to second-guess yourself much, if anything you were a little on the cocky side.  He found it so irritating— that confidence.  Sure, you were smart and you deserved to take yourself somewhat seriously, but the way you walked around this place— the way you ignored him so easily, or spoke over him if you wanted to, or ignored his suggestions when he gave them… you were a bitch, basically.  You clearly thought you were better than him— better than everybody else— for no reason at all.  Just because you were pretty and had a good job you thought you could get away with anything, surely; pretty girls always think that way.

He made casual conversation with you as you sipped the tea, asking questions he already knew the answer to, hoping to catch you in a lie.  For the most part, your stories matched up with what he’d learned from that file.  But, you left out the gory details— you left out the best parts, really.

You mentioned where you went to medical school and that you transferred mid-way through due to ‘stress’, but you didn’t elaborate on what really happened to you.  You mentioned having your own therapist— something you said passionately that every client-facing mental health professional should have— but left out what you were actually being treated for, not to mention the PTSD diagnosis.

He had to hide his smirk behind the paper cup every time you seemed to lose your train of thought— it wasn’t like you, so focused and determined all the time.  No, it was the drugs finally kicking in.  You went for bigger gulps of tea each time your eyes looked heavier, hoping the caffeine would work— but the trace caffeine in your green tea was nothing compared to what he’d added.

You tried to warn him that you were suddenly not feel up to par— that he needed to leave, and you might try to wake yourself up— but he just sat and waited.  He watched you try to get up, and lose your balance.  He watched you stumble, trip, and ultimately fall onto the floor limply.  He watched your eyes flutter shut and the final ounce of energy to fight it fade; he quietly took a final sip of his tea.

~

You woke up on the floor.  You could barely feel it beneath you, but you knew it was the floor— it was cold, and hard.  And you were looking up at the dark ceiling, at the fan spinning at the lowest speed; so you were definitely on the floor.

Jonathan was standing above you, not too far off, flipping through papers.  You couldn’t move— no matter how hard you fought to, you couldn’t.  You barely managed to turn your head, but it felt more like it rolled to the side on its own.  You tried to yell for Dr. Crane’s attention, for help, for him to explain what happened to you, but even your mouth couldn’t move.  The best you could do was breathe harder— actually, you were pretty sure your body was trying to hyperventilate, but you were too incapacitated to even have a proper panic attack.

He heard you, though; he looked away from the papers and grinned down at you.  “Comfortable down there?”

You started to put together a few things.  One, that the last thing you remembered was being in your office, and now you were in your apartment.  Two, that those papers were photoscans of chart notes— obviously you couldn’t make out the words from here, but the format gave away that it must have to do with a patient.

And three, that Crane was neither surprised that you were paralyzed on the floor, nor interested in helping you.

He half-rolled the papers in one hand and playfully hit the other hand’s palm with them.  “These have been quite interesting… revealing, to say the least,” he informed you, like it was a compliment— something you should be proud to hear.  “You’re quite the enigma, Doc!”

He sat down beside you on the floor, leaning on his hand first to find his balance with a little sigh; he seemed amused, actually, and your heart began to race.

As he started to read aloud from the page in front of him, you felt nauseous.  He was reading patient data, describing a client who was receiving individual counseling— or that’s what the CPT code indicated, at least.  As he listed the client’s demographic data— age, race, gender, height, weight— it became eerily obvious what he was doing.  You refused to believe it until he went on: “Client was recommended to Dr. Min Zhang for individual therapy concerning PTSD following sexual trauma.”

Your therapist.  This was a file he’d copied, which belonged to your therapist.  And it was obvious whose file it was.

As you tried with all your might to scream, Jonathan flipped a few pages ahead.

“Session fourteen, eleventh of June,” he continued.  “Client expressed frustration with an increased recurrence of nightmares and flashbacks to her assault.  Up until now, she has struggled to explain what triggers her anxiety without having to actually elaborate on the circumstances of the event.”

He stopped, but you weren’t exactly relieved.  In fact, you were horrified.  He had a little grin on his face when he looked at you, but you could finally see the rage in his eyes.  Suddenly, you realized how long it had been there.  You had sort of picked up on it before, the resentment he had towards you— and it didn’t take a Freudian expert to figure out that he was threatened by you, especially as a man.  He didn’t respond well to feeling upstaged and he clearly had an issue with women.  Maybe not that issue— he was good-looking and well-off, he didn’t need to have any issues with women if he didn’t want to— but an issue nonetheless.  

“Now,” he added, smiling wider than you’d ever seen him smile before, “client states she is ready to describe the incident in full detail.”

He set the papers aside for a second, leaning over you and almost looking… giddy, really.

“I won’t read you the rest, I’ve already pretty much memorized what goes on from there.  It was fascinating— seeing how what happened that night connected to the fears you still have today… the nightmares.  You said that you still feel sick at the smell of alcohol, you still don’t like to wear pinstripe skirts, and even just the wrong few words can make you feel like you’re right back there where it happened— on the floor of your apartment.”

All you could do was look up at him, and you felt your eyes get hot as they welled with tears.

“Not this apartment, obviously— the one by your old school,” Jonathan sighed, “but this will have to do.  And the smell of alcohol, well, I wouldn’t want to let anything cloud my experience— but I dabbed a little gin on my wrists, what do you think?”

He held his hand up by your face, caressing your cheek for a second, and you imagined yourself pulling away— turning your head and shrugging his touch off of you with a grimace.  But nothing happened, of course, and you were entirely helpless as the acidic stench of liquor became apparent.  You couldn’t give your typical outward reaction of a frown, but inside, you felt just the same as always: your stomach twisted, your heart pounded, your head swirled.

“Smell is such a… primal trigger of memory, isn’t it?” he mused, watching your face reverently.  “I can see it in your eyes, it’s affecting you even more than I expected.  You act so fearless at work— but I knew you must have been overcompensating.  God, you’re terrified— I would say you’re paralyzed, but, well… it would be too literal, I think.”

You knew that Crane studied fear and phobias, even trauma occasionally, as a personal interest within the field.  It was normal to have a favorite subtopic, and to conduct related research on it— but obviously, this was far from normal, this was absolutely deranged.  You knew that part of this was vengeance, in his own mind at least, but you didn't feel like you'd done anything actually wrong to him.  And the rest of it, well, it seemed like some twisted experiment, but if you were able to speak you would've tried to remind him that this 'research' wasn't going to get him published or advance his career— but of course, that wasn't what he wanted.  He just wanted to humiliate you.

“I was worried I didn’t have enough to work with, you know,” he added.  “I knew I couldn’t get you to where it happened, if I could even figure it out since you never filed that police report… and the skirt, well, I considered it.  It sounded pretty exciting to dress you up like the night it happened— what I would give to know everything you were wearing that night, but I don’t have a ton to work with.  Obviously, you don’t own any pinstripe skirts anymore, so I would’ve had to buy one… and I wasn’t quite ready for the looks I’d get shopping at Macy’s, so…”

Carefully, he reached up to take off his glasses, folding them and setting them down on your coffee table.

“You know how detail-oriented I am— I mean, I went to all this, didn’t I?” He continued, reaching down and brushing his fingers for a moment over your leg.  It was so instinctive to pull away that it took you a moment to realize you hadn’t… because of course, you couldn’t.  “But it’s impossible to recreate it all perfectly.  Clearly, I don’t need to— if only you could see it, Doc, you look… you look so weak.  Pathetic.”

Since the only thing you could do was look around, you tried to look away— to not give him the satisfaction of seeing the terror in your eyes.  He grabbed your face and turned it until you looked up at him.  

“Did you think you’d be able to face your greatest fear?  Perhaps with a bit more dignity?” he mused.  He looked different without the glasses on; and, ironically, you felt like he could see you even better now.

It was obvious that he enjoyed lording complete power over you, but a quick glance down to his suit trousers made it clear just how much he enjoyed it.  You quickly darted your gaze away, but it was too late; he started to climb on top of you, staring at your face uncomfortably close, and worked on opening his belt and fly.

“Fear rules us all, doesn’t it?  Everything you did, it was guided by your fear that it would— well, why paraphrase?  Let me find exactly how you put it…”

He picked up the papers again quickly, licking his thumb and flipping around until he found the right entry.

“Yes,” he said, “here it is: client states she lives in almost constant fear that it will happen again.”

So that's what this was: his disturbed take on exposure therapy.

As he tossed the copied charts away for the last time and reached up under your skirt, he leaned down and whispered in your ear— and you couldn’t even flinch from the harsh sounds of his words.  “It took you over fifty sessions to admit it,” he recalled, “to tell her the whole truth.  Not just what he did to you… what you did.”

With a small growl, he yanked your panties down your legs and rubbed your thighs with far too much aggression, such that you expected bruises from his hands— just like the ones you’d had before.

“You said he made you do it,” he continued, “you couldn’t help it, right?  But you said nothing’s ever felt like that— that you’d never had such a powerful orgasm.”

You would’ve vomited, except that that, too, requires your muscles to not be paralyzed.  Rolling your skirt up and spreading your legs, he positioned himself right between them, rubbing his cock's leaking head around your hole.

“Your greatest fear isn’t really that it’ll happen again, is it?” Jonathan taunted.  “You’re afraid someone’s going to find out how much you liked it.”

With that, he punched his hips forward and speared you on his cock.

It had been years since you'd had anything inside you, even your own fingers.  You couldn't even remember if being penetrated hurt like this during your assault, and you would've sworn before that you remembered every detail perfectly.  But this was so real, not a memory or a nightmare.  You couldn't cry out from the sting.

"God, it's tight," he groaned, "I bet you weren't this tight when it happened— you'd been whoring around, hadn't you?  Letting all kinds of guys use you… just ran into the wrong one and got your drink spiked.  But now…"

He hissed through his teeth, tightening his grip on your hip.  

"Now it's all mine, isn't it?"

Inside, you were screaming and kicking and pleading for mercy.  You imagined you would be angry and violent, beat him to death with your heel or something, but you wondered if you'd be forced to bargain with him— apologize for whatever you did to upset him, promise you wouldn't tell a soul about this as long as he left you alone.  But either way, it didn't matter… on the outside, you were useless, laying there and letting him use you.

"What made you come so much before?  Did he have a big cock, is that it?” he asked with a snarl.  “Did he know exactly how to touch you?  Or was it just that you’d been craving it, needed it really rough to get off properly?  Is that why you came while he raped you?”

It was a biological response, you told yourself like you had over and over, I couldn't help it, it wasn't my fault, it was a biological response— it wasn't my fault, I didn't like it, it was a biological response.

“I think I know what it is,” he mused, looking down at you with heavy eyes and almost purring as he watched your limp form bounce on the floor.  “I think you wanted to be put in your place.  You act so liberated, so empowered— but you’re a creature of instinct, like anything else.  You need someone to remind you how weak you are, I know, fuck, I know you do…”

He fucked you just a bit faster, grunting and tightening his fist on the floor by your head.

“You haven’t been able to have an orgasm at all, since then,” he stated— almost making it like a question, with the way he said it, but he obviously already knew it was true.  He sounded shockingly sympathetic— not even pitying, not condescending, for once.  “I’m sure for a while you didn’t even try, afraid it would remind you— but that’s the thing, you can’t finish unless you’re reminded.”

You almost surprised yourself when you heard a whine come from your throat; he smiled proudly.

"It's wearing off, I think," he noticed.  "I only gave you a small dose.  Can you move at all?  Can you beg me to stop?"

You opened your mouth to try to say everything you'd wanted to since you awoke, but all that came out was a moan.  You hated yourself for that, and he laughed happily.

"You don't want me to stop," he decided.  "Feels too good?"

I fucking hate you, you wanted to scream, you sick son of a bitch, I fucking hate you—

"You didn't say it outright, but he must have said something to you— during, maybe after," Jonathan theorized.  "You didn't say what it was, but you told your therapist about having a vivid flashback after being accosted by a delusional homeless man on the street.  He called you a bitch, seemingly for no reason… is that what your rapist said to you?  Did he say you were a stuck-up little bitch?"

As burning hot tears striped your temples, you curled your fingers over and over— maybe you could move your arms if you really tried…

"He was fucking right about you.  You think you're so much fucking better than everyone else," he growled.  "You think you're so fucking smart, and special.  But you're no fucking different, you're nothing—"

You whined and reached up, weakly trying to push him off of you, but all you could do was limply grasp at his shoulders.

"Nothing but a stupid—" he grunted the word as he slammed himself into you— "fucking—" he did it again— "bitch."

"No!" you finally heard yourself sob, clutching a weak fistful of his white shirt, but he grabbed your hands and shoved them back down to the floor.

“God,” he choked, holding your wrists tightly until you whined, “it’s so much better when you can fight— fuck, it’s so much better.  Keep struggling if you want, Doc, you’re still too weak for me…”

Your legs moved a little, but they felt heavy.  Sensation was only just beginning to return to them, like pins and needles, and it stung; you winced as you managed to squirm a bit beneath him.

"That's it," he praised, "this is probably just how you did it before.  Too drunk and too desperate for cock to really do much, but trying so hard to look like you hate it— I understand, you don't want anyone to know that you need this.  They'd never look at you the same again: the smart, accomplished psychiatrist who likes getting treated like fuckmeat.  What would they think of you if they knew?"

"No…" you said again, too weak and traumatized to say much else— but it wasn't what he said that made you say no, it was the pulse of pleasure inside your cunt.  He must have felt it, and if he didn't, he surely felt the next; yes, he did, because he smiled down at you excitedly.

"It's happening, isn't it?  You're gonna come."

He held on tight to one of your legs, gripping your thigh and staring uncomfortably into your eyes as he kept going— faster and rougher with each thrust.  You choked on your throat, trying to stop any part of this, but the pleasure was undeniable; it still hurt, yes, and you still felt so angry and sick and numb, but something familiar and desperate was tightening in your gut.  It’d been so long since anyone touched you… you’d forgotten how natural it could feel, even when it was so horrible.

"I read it in your file, but I still couldn't really believe it,” he laughed quietly, “I couldn't believe you came over and over while being raped— but here you are, wow, look at you… you’re so beautiful when you’re scared.”

A long, heavy sigh fell from your lips; your eyes got heavier, and your whole body seemed to relax— in a way totally different from the medication-induced paralysis.

He cooed at you, seeming oddly proud, and you were oddly compliant as he picked you up and pulled you into his lap.

Tears streamed across your cheeks as he held you close, one hand around your back while the other moved your hips against his.  “There you go— come for me, I wanna feel it— another one, baby, for me…”

It wasn’t much longer before another one came— from what you remembered, it was a lot like the first time, this terribly wonderful way your body protected itself from the trauma by immersing you in pleasure.  Of course, Jonathan helped you along by rubbing your clit with his thumb, excited to watch you surrender to ecstasy even when you begged him to just stop and leave you alone.

Of course, your protests were less and less believable as more of your strength and mobility returned— you could’ve tried harder to get away, but instead you found your hips rocking with his, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.  No, you didn’t want this— you never wanted this— but you found the way he spoke to you impossibly comforting even while it was still deeply upsetting.  “Tell me about the nightmares, darling,” he whispered— some impossible mix of pleading and ordering.

“A-almost every night,” you whimpered.  “I… I got used to it, but I used to… I used to wake up and think I was still…”

"They felt so real, hm?" he presumed, and you nodded.  “It’s real now… you don’t have to be afraid of the dreams anymore, it’s all real— I’m right here.”

You couldn’t tell if he was trying to scare or comfort you; he pet your hair, clinging to you tightly, kissing your face and neck along the lines of the tears soaking your skin.  

You felt his grin against your cheek when another wavering moan echoed in your chest, and he laid you back on the floor to hover over you again.  “Was that your third one, already?” he noticed.  “This is so much easier than I thought… you needed this so badly, you poor girl.”

A quick wave of panic settled over you when his hand wrapped around your neck.  “W-wait,” you pleaded instantly, as if you really feared he would just strangle you to death right then and there.  Your hands, still weak and tingly, reached up to his arm, and you felt his cock throb inside you— of course that was what he wanted, to see you react in fear again.  So many other emotions were at play right now, even some you didn’t know existed (like whatever the word would be for longing for the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, or feeling like the only person you can trust is the person hurting you the most), but fear was still going to rule it all as long as he had any say.

"How many times did you come before?" he demanded to know, nostrils flaring as he fucked you harder.  "Tell me how many times you came when he raped you."

"I— I don't—" you stammered.

"Say it," he ordered.

"I— I don't know!" you yelped, whimpers falling to silence as he tightened his grip on your neck. 

"You don't fucking know?" he snarled at you, watching you fight for air.  You clawed at his shirt, his wrist, tried to pry his fingers away, but he just sneered as he stared at your numbing face.  "You don't know how many times you creamed on your rapist's cock?  Bullshit."

"I—" you gasped when he let go of your throat, "I lost count…"

He went from livid to ecstatic in a second, laughing proudly and dipping down to kiss your neck passionately.  "Good girl," he mumbled against your skin, fucking you even faster.  "That's what you need to do for me now— come for me until you lose count."

“I— I can’t,” you choked, grabbing at his shoulders as he seemed to overwhelm you just by pressing his weight down on top of you.  “I’m sorry— you… you proved your point, I— I just need a break—”

Even though the drug he’d injected you with was wearing off, you realized you were just as limp and helpless as before… after all, some of the most powerful chemicals come inside the body.  You didn’t even fight it when he put his hand over your mouth, spitting out a quiet but hateful shut up and continuing with his quick and forceful thrusts into you.  

He kept you conscious and lucid by occasionally hitting or choking you, talking to you, once or twice even ordering you to kiss him.  Like you mean it, he’d said, slapping you as punishment for doing it wrong.  Truth be told, you hadn’t kissed anyone in so long that you’d really been trying your best the first time.  Sometimes he told you to beg him for more— or to beg him to get off of you— and yet he would usually punish you for speaking at all.  He was completely unpredictable, and you figured that was part of the plan: take away any shred of control you might try to get by making it impossible to follow his rules.  Keep you confused and crying, keep you fearful, keep you obedient.

But, he did seem to enjoy when you could only just choke out a broken please.  He laughed at you, pinching your sore clit in response until you sobbed and tried to jerk your hips away.  “‘Please’ what, honey?  You mean, ‘please keep fucking me, Doctor Crane, you’ll make me come again?’” he taunted.  “Something like that?”

“Please… please,” you swallowed around your whines, “please just… finish, and go…”

“Oh,” he purred, “you want me to come?”

You’d specifically not phrased it that way, but, yes, that was what you were asking for.  You weren’t sure what else he wanted from you now, it felt like he’d drained you of everything.

“You can just say that, baby— you wanna make me come?” he grinned, moving in closer for a kiss, but you turned your head away.  He grabbed your jaw again and stared at you with an angry glare.  “This isn’t about me.  This is what you wanted.  This is what you fucking wanted!”

As he screamed in your face, you sobbed and tried to look away again, but he hit you hard on the face and covered your mouth before the cry of agony could come out.  

“This is what you wanted, right?” he insisted again, forcing your head to nod with his clammy, iron-tight grip.  “Uh huh— and you wanna make me come, don’t you?  You understand now that’s all you’re good for.”

As sick as it was, you felt yourself fall into another orgasm when he said that; your eyes rolled back a bit, and for a moment you felt even hotter between your legs.

“I think, if you beg me to come, maybe I will,” he offered— bargaining with you, probably another way to trick you into clamoring for some control only to yank it away.  Unfortunately, you were in no position to turn down a deal.

“Please,” you blurted out the second he released your mouth from under his hand; when you blinked the tears from your eyes, you saw him clearly again and realized how completely different he looked from the arrogant-but-generally-unassuming man you knew from work.  His hair was fallen beside his face, and he was close enough that the ends were tickling your forehead.  His eyes were bloodshot, crazed, and dark.  His lips, always full and plush but usually in a tight frown or neutral look of condescending boredom, were curled around the teeth he bared at you.  He looked animalistic, for a man typically so measured.  Only he could do something so animalistic in a way that required such intellect, foresight, and contemplation— using his superhuman skills to treat you in a subhuman manner.  You realized that you were really seeing him for the first time— the person you’d known before was the mask.  This was something horribly freeing for him; and you were having a much easier time analyzing and thinking about him to distract from how sickly freeing this experience was becoming for you.  “Please, Jonathan—”

“Doctor Crane,” he corrected.  Apparently this wasn’t enough to put you on a first name basis…

“Doctor Crane,” you repeated, “please… come.  I want… I want you to come.”

“Hmm,” he considered, and you worried he’d decide he was unimpressed with your effort and hurt you again— but, he did maybe the only thing worse.  “Okay,” he agreed, “if it’s so important to you.”

Just when you shut your eyes tight and hoped you could just get through this— just hold on for a few more minutes at most and then this would be over and done with— he whispered in your ear that he needed you to keep your eyes open if he was going to finish.  

Though, when you obeyed, he purred at you and let his own eyes flutter shut for just a moment.  For once, he actually seemed affected by all this physically and not just psychosexually.  “I think I’ll come inside, like he did before,” Crane decided with a groan when he opened his eyes, biting his lip for a moment as he stared down at you.  “I didn’t see any birth control in your listed medications on chart… I guess we’ll find out if you have a fear of getting pregnant.”

"Jonathan— don't," you whimpered.  "Please, don't do that—"

"Shh," he soothed, petting the top of your head and laying his weight over you.  "Shh, it's alright.  I think you need to be filled with come… I think that might be the one thing that’ll get you to settle down, now just hold still.”

“I— please… please…” you began to beg again, but your words faded away as another wave of sensation washed over you— they started to blend together, like before, and you realized you were doing what he’d asked: you were losing count.

“Good girl,” he praised under his breath, “like that— fuck, I’m close.  Fuck!”

He held onto you tight— one hand on your thigh and the other on your neck as his thrusts sped to a desperately, impossibly fast pace.  You moaned— or cried, or yelled, or something— as he pushed just a little too deep and your toes curled in your heels.

“Uh huh,” he encouraged, “just one more while I come inside you— I think you can manage that, just one more good squeeze on my cock— oh, fuck, that’s it, yes, just like that…”

You stopped being able to understand what he was saying, but you heard the wavering groan that came a few moments later when his movements suddenly stopped.  He gasped and kept himself as far inside you as possible; you shuddered, blinking fresh tears out of your eyes, and felt paralyzed in an entirely new way as you laid under him, staring up at your ceiling, seeing how far the sun had set since it began— actually, it had started to rain, making it even more impossible to tell how much time had really passed.  Eventually, though, he took his head out from the crook of your neck and propped himself up enough to look down at you.  

Reaching to your coffee table, he fumbled his hand around until he found his glasses, and shakily put them back on.  “Well,” he grinned, still panting but seeming to be mostly back to himself (whoever that was).  “I never thought I’d meet someone who loves fear as much as I do.”