Shotgun
Hendrick Joliet Easterman x reader x Jonathan "Scarecrow" Crane
wc: 1,959
inspired by this post by @spankmehadr. listen i'm a sucker for a crossover
You hadn’t known what to expect when you’d been pulled from the Sleep Room, brusquely brushed off by one of the techs before being shoved into a room. It took you a moment to realize who the slender figure standing by the bookshelf was, heart racing as you gave your clothes a brief tug. The scores you’d managed to scrape by hadn’t been great, but there was definite improvement from when you’d first started.
Did you smile, or was that disrespectful? Assumptive? You could very well be in trouble, the fingers that had been tugging now worrying at fabric the longer his back faced you. If you could just see his face you might be able to figure out if he was pleased or pissed. If he was pissed you weren’t sure you’d be able to take that blow right now, the therapy was exhausting but you were trying. Your scores showed that!
“On the table.’
Nerves that had been jangling a moment ago suddenly soothed. He wasn’t upset, not if he sounded like that. You were disgustingly familiar with his disappointment, glancing in the direction of the table. There’d been whispers around the Sleep Room of special treatment should you do well in therapy, your chest warmed, feeling your lips curl into a smile as you carefully settled yourself comfortably.
Something cold was sat on your lap, and you caught it as it began to slide off your thighs. It looked like a saucer, thumb sliding along the rim, brow briefly furrowing as you tried to figure out what it was. An ashtray? Ash landing to break apart confirmed it, giving your head a brief shake trying to get rid of the last dregs of Pusher’s gas. Obviously it was an ashtray, though you were confused as to why you were holding it, and why you weren’t allowed to sit in a chair.
Fingers under your chin softened your spine, the soft crackle of paper burning as he sucked briefly on the cigarette before pulling it away. His thumb pressed under your lower lip to prompt you to open your mouth, flinching slightly when he blew the smoke in. There wasn’t much of a flavour, but it made the back of your throat tickle, easily able to suppress your cough as it wasn’t nearly as harsh as the fumigation you'd suffered so recently.
“Good.’ Eyes locked on his, you watched as he lifted the cigarette to take in another mouthful of smoke. “Again.’
He hadn’t needed to tell you that, the way his thumb stroked across your chin would have kept you locked in and focused, inhaling deeply as the cool wash of his breath and the smoke passed over your tongue. You missed the first knock, it was only when the second pulled his attention from you that it even filtered through. The slim form that stalked in the open door seemed familiar, though you couldn’t place him right away.
“Dr. Crane, kind of you to arrive.’
The hint of acid on his tongue made you wince, apparently the doctor was late, watching a bony shoulder lift and fall. It drew your attention to the film can under his arm, as he lifted an inquisitive eyebrow. Why were you even here? Not that you were complaining, mourning the loss of Easterman’s touch when he straightened, hand motioning towards the projector set up in the back of the room.
Tongue rubbing the roof of your mouth, you jolted when he plucked the ashtray from your cupped hands. The ash flicked to land on your palms surprised you, a sharp nip of pain as a spark landed on the lightly damp skin. Before you could do anything else, he was turning the table that you were sat on to face the screen. You were starting to get uncomfortable, there was no way you were meant to be privy to this.
“I do appreciate the documentation of the trials.’ Dr. Crane drawled, slender fingers carefully feeding the film into the appropriate places. “The patients in Arkham had similar reactions, but this new batch of toxin for your, I believe you’ve labeled it Pusher, are much more abrasive.’
“Good, good, sanding their hard edges has been growing increasingly difficult.’ Maybe you should focus on something in the room and try not to listen. “A few of them are growing resistant to the therapy, which has been frustrating to say the least.’
The low murmur of sound in response obviously rankled Dr. Easterman, and struggled against turning around. He’d made it very clear which way you were meant to face, shifting on the table. You could feel them looking at you, and the rustle of fabric, mind whirling through possibilities before hearing footsteps. The lights going off made you jump, fighting the urge to flick down your googles, hearing the film projector hum as it warmed up.
A soft cracking noise reached your ears, something sharp entering your nose and you fought sneezing. Once you’d gotten it suppressed, blinking your eyes to clear the fuzziness you realized Dr. Crane’s face was close to yours. He seemed to be looking for something, blinking again when the hazy outline of his face refused to sharpen.
“I don’t know why you insist on playin’ with your… patients, like this, Easterman.’ You could feel your pulse pounding, breath shallowing. “It can’t be helpin’ their therapy.’
The response was lost as your ears began to ring, shivering at the chill that ran down your spine. A sharp click helped you briefly, watching a flame dance inches from in front of your nose. With that to focus on, gaze locked on the light as if it were a lifeline just out of reach, you managed to swallow what you realized had been a scream in the back of your throat.
You could hear now, Dr. Crane’s voice though his lips weren’t moving, watching the cigarette he was lighting with the flame in front of you. Oh, right, the film. A ragged nail pressed under your chin, scraping before finding purchase and you followed the silent instruction to turn your head towards Dr. Crane opening your mouth. He seemed amused, exhaling the smoke that trickled out of his mouth, forcing you to lean closer to suck it into your mouth.
The smoke nipped at your tastebuds, unpleasant little shocks that confused you, watching Dr. Crane smile before dropping his hand and turning to watch the screen. Settling back on the table, you could feel muscles twitching, staring blindly at the screen. There was motion, and flashes of colour that softened into smears, unable to focus. A pinprick of pain against your palm, something warm against your wrist, turning your head lips parting as the cool tasteless smoke filled your mouth.
It was better than the other one, though Dr. Easterman’s settled at the back of your throat with an odd aftertaste you couldn’t place. Better than the harsh tingle that you could still feel nipping the roof of your mouth. A scream managed to filter through the hum of exposition, feeling heat against the meat of your palm. Which was briefly searing hot, looking down to see that Dr. Crane had rolled the ember of his cigarette gently over your hand to clear the ash.
“It was only after we adjusted the chemicals that blocked the serotonin production that we saw your requested results.’ Dr. Crane drawled, tucking his cigarette into the corner of his mouth before lifting the folder and thumbing it open. “This is the formula your techs are gonna want to start utilizin’. Though I wouldn’t waste what’s been made already.’
“Can we mix it?’
“I would.’
Crackling, a finger under your chin turning your head, the smoke bitter and popping on your tastebuds. That simmering unease roiling and stealing the breath you were trying to take, sinuses aching. Hard knuckle forcing your mouth shut, eyes watering as the smoke forced out your nose burned. What was he smoking? Feeling his thumb sweep across your cheek, you watched him examine the damp skin before tucking his thumb pad into his mouth.
“Which means we shouldn’t.’ Dr. Easerman sighed. “Very well, we’ll let the original formula run its course before implementing this new batch.’
“Could learn somethin’ worth knowin’ by mixing the two.’
You hand clenched at the sharp pain in the center of your left hand, though you couldn’t seem to bring yourself to turn your head. Took you a moment to realize it was because harsh fingers were holding you in place, Dr. Crane’s gaze lazily roving over your face watching your reaction to the pain. The cigarette that hovered within view released smoke lightly tinged with a bright yellow in place of the muted brown.
“Or it could ruin all the hard work we’ve been putting into place.’ The chair creaked behind you, feeling a warm pressure against the back of your head. “Some of them have been trying very hard to better themselves. Dragging themselves over the glass shards to shed the skin of inadequacy that’s held them back so long…’
“You do like your prose.’
The muttered comment didn’t seem to have been loud enough for the other to hear, watching the cigarette move closer to your face, trembling as you tried to get your body to move away from it. Except it didn’t make contact with your skin, only hovered close as Dr. Crane tucked the butt into his mouth and took a long drag that made it glow menacingly. Dr. Easterman was still speaking, and some part of your brain locked in.
But the majority of your focus was trying to figure out if Dr. Crane’s irises were actually glowing or if that was a trick of the light. The latter, surely, your throat raw from the shallow, ragged breathing the unease prompted as it threatened to shift into something more. Watched as he took another drag, rolling it in his mouth with his tongue before inhaling it and releasing you.
“It won’t ruin a thing, Easterman. I would because the mixing of the chemicals will boost certain properties and assist in the transition.’
The pressure cradling your skull slid down, fingers gripping your neck and pulling you back against Dr. Easterman’s hip. Hand sliding to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroked back and forth over your cheek, an absent gesture. But you thrilled beneath the contact, tilting your head back slowly to look up at him. And almost fell over after receiving a brief smile before he stepped away to follow Dr. Crane who had apparently stood and went to retrieve his film.
“Shifting them from one toxin to another like that could do far more damage, send the mind, or body, into shock.’
“Fine.’
A tech tugged you off the table as another wiped at your hands, making you jerk at the reminder of the burn on your palm. The movement almost sending you and the tech who’d been supporting you to the ground prompted a low curse, a sharp yank to right you. Which did nothing, your legs collapsing under you as you tried to be less of a burden. A chuckle reached your ears, somehow slick and sharp in equal measure, the discomfort finally giving you the edge needed to stand mostly on your own.
“It’s your trial, don’t let my expertise mess with your plans.’
“No, no, you’re right. I asked your opinion, I’ll take it with a grain of salt.’
The crinkle of cellophane caught your ear, the tech supporting you giving a light tug when you stopped moving. Stumbling, you focused on one foot in front of the other.
“Out? Want one of mine?’
“Not for all the government funding in the world…’
tips are appreciated as i'm currently out of work, feel free to use the links below!
kofi / patreon || cashapp || paypal
Shotgun
Hendrick Joliet Easterman x reader x Jonathan "Scarecrow" Crane
wc: 1,959
inspired by this post by @spankmehadr. listen i'm a sucker for a crossover
You hadn’t known what to expect when you’d been pulled from the Sleep Room, brusquely brushed off by one of the techs before being shoved into a room. It took you a moment to realize who the slender figure standing by the bookshelf was, heart racing as you gave your clothes a brief tug. The scores you’d managed to scrape by hadn’t been great, but there was definite improvement from when you’d first started.
Did you smile, or was that disrespectful? Assumptive? You could very well be in trouble, the fingers that had been tugging now worrying at fabric the longer his back faced you. If you could just see his face you might be able to figure out if he was pleased or pissed. If he was pissed you weren’t sure you’d be able to take that blow right now, the therapy was exhausting but you were trying. Your scores showed that!
“On the table.’
Nerves that had been jangling a moment ago suddenly soothed. He wasn’t upset, not if he sounded like that. You were disgustingly familiar with his disappointment, glancing in the direction of the table. There’d been whispers around the Sleep Room of special treatment should you do well in therapy, your chest warmed, feeling your lips curl into a smile as you carefully settled yourself comfortably.
Something cold was sat on your lap, and you caught it as it began to slide off your thighs. It looked like a saucer, thumb sliding along the rim, brow briefly furrowing as you tried to figure out what it was. An ashtray? Ash landing to break apart confirmed it, giving your head a brief shake trying to get rid of the last dregs of Pusher’s gas. Obviously it was an ashtray, though you were confused as to why you were holding it, and why you weren’t allowed to sit in a chair.
Fingers under your chin softened your spine, the soft crackle of paper burning as he sucked briefly on the cigarette before pulling it away. His thumb pressed under your lower lip to prompt you to open your mouth, flinching slightly when he blew the smoke in. There wasn’t much of a flavour, but it made the back of your throat tickle, easily able to suppress your cough as it wasn’t nearly as harsh as the fumigation you'd suffered so recently.
“Good.’ Eyes locked on his, you watched as he lifted the cigarette to take in another mouthful of smoke. “Again.’
He hadn’t needed to tell you that, the way his thumb stroked across your chin would have kept you locked in and focused, inhaling deeply as the cool wash of his breath and the smoke passed over your tongue. You missed the first knock, it was only when the second pulled his attention from you that it even filtered through. The slim form that stalked in the open door seemed familiar, though you couldn’t place him right away.
“Dr. Crane, kind of you to arrive.’
The hint of acid on his tongue made you wince, apparently the doctor was late, watching a bony shoulder lift and fall. It drew your attention to the film can under his arm, as he lifted an inquisitive eyebrow. Why were you even here? Not that you were complaining, mourning the loss of Easterman’s touch when he straightened, hand motioning towards the projector set up in the back of the room.
Tongue rubbing the roof of your mouth, you jolted when he plucked the ashtray from your cupped hands. The ash flicked to land on your palms surprised you, a sharp nip of pain as a spark landed on the lightly damp skin. Before you could do anything else, he was turning the table that you were sat on to face the screen. You were starting to get uncomfortable, there was no way you were meant to be privy to this.
“I do appreciate the documentation of the trials.’ Dr. Crane drawled, slender fingers carefully feeding the film into the appropriate places. “The patients in Arkham had similar reactions, but this new batch of toxin for your, I believe you’ve labeled it Pusher, are much more abrasive.’
“Good, good, sanding their hard edges has been growing increasingly difficult.’ Maybe you should focus on something in the room and try not to listen. “A few of them are growing resistant to the therapy, which has been frustrating to say the least.’
The low murmur of sound in response obviously rankled Dr. Easterman, and struggled against turning around. He’d made it very clear which way you were meant to face, shifting on the table. You could feel them looking at you, and the rustle of fabric, mind whirling through possibilities before hearing footsteps. The lights going off made you jump, fighting the urge to flick down your googles, hearing the film projector hum as it warmed up.
A soft cracking noise reached your ears, something sharp entering your nose and you fought sneezing. Once you’d gotten it suppressed, blinking your eyes to clear the fuzziness you realized Dr. Crane’s face was close to yours. He seemed to be looking for something, blinking again when the hazy outline of his face refused to sharpen.
“I don’t know why you insist on playin’ with your… patients, like this, Easterman.’ You could feel your pulse pounding, breath shallowing. “It can’t be helpin’ their therapy.’
The response was lost as your ears began to ring, shivering at the chill that ran down your spine. A sharp click helped you briefly, watching a flame dance inches from in front of your nose. With that to focus on, gaze locked on the light as if it were a lifeline just out of reach, you managed to swallow what you realized had been a scream in the back of your throat.
You could hear now, Dr. Crane’s voice though his lips weren’t moving, watching the cigarette he was lighting with the flame in front of you. Oh, right, the film. A ragged nail pressed under your chin, scraping before finding purchase and you followed the silent instruction to turn your head towards Dr. Crane opening your mouth. He seemed amused, exhaling the smoke that trickled out of his mouth, forcing you to lean closer to suck it into your mouth.
The smoke nipped at your tastebuds, unpleasant little shocks that confused you, watching Dr. Crane smile before dropping his hand and turning to watch the screen. Settling back on the table, you could feel muscles twitching, staring blindly at the screen. There was motion, and flashes of colour that softened into smears, unable to focus. A pinprick of pain against your palm, something warm against your wrist, turning your head lips parting as the cool tasteless smoke filled your mouth.
It was better than the other one, though Dr. Easterman’s settled at the back of your throat with an odd aftertaste you couldn’t place. Better than the harsh tingle that you could still feel nipping the roof of your mouth. A scream managed to filter through the hum of exposition, feeling heat against the meat of your palm. Which was briefly searing hot, looking down to see that Dr. Crane had rolled the ember of his cigarette gently over your hand to clear the ash.
“It was only after we adjusted the chemicals that blocked the serotonin production that we saw your requested results.’ Dr. Crane drawled, tucking his cigarette into the corner of his mouth before lifting the folder and thumbing it open. “This is the formula your techs are gonna want to start utilizin’. Though I wouldn’t waste what’s been made already.’
“Can we mix it?’
“I would.’
Crackling, a finger under your chin turning your head, the smoke bitter and popping on your tastebuds. That simmering unease roiling and stealing the breath you were trying to take, sinuses aching. Hard knuckle forcing your mouth shut, eyes watering as the smoke forced out your nose burned. What was he smoking? Feeling his thumb sweep across your cheek, you watched him examine the damp skin before tucking his thumb pad into his mouth.
“Which means we shouldn’t.’ Dr. Easerman sighed. “Very well, we’ll let the original formula run its course before implementing this new batch.’
“Could learn somethin’ worth knowin’ by mixing the two.’
You hand clenched at the sharp pain in the center of your left hand, though you couldn’t seem to bring yourself to turn your head. Took you a moment to realize it was because harsh fingers were holding you in place, Dr. Crane’s gaze lazily roving over your face watching your reaction to the pain. The cigarette that hovered within view released smoke lightly tinged with a bright yellow in place of the muted brown.
“Or it could ruin all the hard work we’ve been putting into place.’ The chair creaked behind you, feeling a warm pressure against the back of your head. “Some of them have been trying very hard to better themselves. Dragging themselves over the glass shards to shed the skin of inadequacy that’s held them back so long…’
“You do like your prose.’
The muttered comment didn’t seem to have been loud enough for the other to hear, watching the cigarette move closer to your face, trembling as you tried to get your body to move away from it. Except it didn’t make contact with your skin, only hovered close as Dr. Crane tucked the butt into his mouth and took a long drag that made it glow menacingly. Dr. Easterman was still speaking, and some part of your brain locked in.
But the majority of your focus was trying to figure out if Dr. Crane’s irises were actually glowing or if that was a trick of the light. The latter, surely, your throat raw from the shallow, ragged breathing the unease prompted as it threatened to shift into something more. Watched as he took another drag, rolling it in his mouth with his tongue before inhaling it and releasing you.
“It won’t ruin a thing, Easterman. I would because the mixing of the chemicals will boost certain properties and assist in the transition.’
The pressure cradling your skull slid down, fingers gripping your neck and pulling you back against Dr. Easterman’s hip. Hand sliding to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroked back and forth over your cheek, an absent gesture. But you thrilled beneath the contact, tilting your head back slowly to look up at him. And almost fell over after receiving a brief smile before he stepped away to follow Dr. Crane who had apparently stood and went to retrieve his film.
“Shifting them from one toxin to another like that could do far more damage, send the mind, or body, into shock.’
“Fine.’
A tech tugged you off the table as another wiped at your hands, making you jerk at the reminder of the burn on your palm. The movement almost sending you and the tech who’d been supporting you to the ground prompted a low curse, a sharp yank to right you. Which did nothing, your legs collapsing under you as you tried to be less of a burden. A chuckle reached your ears, somehow slick and sharp in equal measure, the discomfort finally giving you the edge needed to stand mostly on your own.
“It’s your trial, don’t let my expertise mess with your plans.’
“No, no, you’re right. I asked your opinion, I’ll take it with a grain of salt.’
The crinkle of cellophane caught your ear, the tech supporting you giving a light tug when you stopped moving. Stumbling, you focused on one foot in front of the other.
“Out? Want one of mine?’
“Not for all the government funding in the world…’
tips are appreciated as i'm currently out of work, feel free to use the links below!
kofi / patreon || cashapp || paypal
Sometimes within being bisexual I forget you date men and women differently. When men have boobs I’m over here gently gripping and massaging them, with woman that’s expected I’d say, with men they often don’t like the boob treatment 😔
do you have any advice for romancing and getting to fuck old men
Honestly I fear a lot of it is luck. My current partner is in his 50’s and I’d met him on a dating site. If you’re looking in person it may be harder depending on where you live, I live somewhere quite populated with older people so there’s more chance to meet them.
I also volunteer at a small shop in my village, so get to meet a lot of older people as it’s a public role and that’s my area’s demographic.
I will say sometimes you should be cautious of older men, as there are definitely some who will look at you as a younger person and try to take advantage. Usually I find good indicators are;
• Dating history, if you want a long relationship I think it’s best to go for someone who isn’t fixated on young people. When men date a range of ages that’s a good sign to me they actually want a relationship. Someone who only dates young people often does not hold good relationships and will only be fixated on you for your age.
• Intelligence. I preference men who are educated, and value intelligence, this doesn’t just go for old men It’s a good indicator of emotional intelligence, maturity and knowledge which I find engaging and really helps a relationship when we are able to engage in interesting conversation. Men with higher EQ are better mannered and good communicators which is important in any relationship.
• Life style. I find it doesn’t matter if they have a busy or a slow life currently. The man I’m seeing has rather unstructured work, and may need to travel at the drop of a hat, but what matters is if they’ve lived a fuller life prior. Men who don’t feel satisfied in life usually want to explore and find new things (sleep around). However, a man who maybe has an older kid, has done a range of work, doesn’t really drink these days, a little more tired that’s a man who’s done with kids and just wants a partner to spend his affections on. I do particularly like when they are a father, because they are usually more patient and have a better temper.
• Mannerisms. You don’t want a drinker, perhaps a glass of wine on the occasion, but typically people calm down on the drinking as they age so if he’s in his 50’s and drinking like he’s 20 that’s a concern. I also wouldn’t go for a man that’s too flashy, if you want to be a sugar baby that’s fine but you’re not going to have a stable relationship while also being a sugar baby. If he’d fixated on material things he’s probably going to view you as some kind of property. Best to go for a man that’s affectionate whether rich or not, he will be much more likely to spoil you out of care as opposed to possession.
•Mindset. I like the old fashioned gentleman approach, however men who describe themselves as old fashioned may actually be backwards in their thinking. Again education can be a good indicator, but really you want a more progressive thinker. My partner was an activist, he’s conscious about the environment, he’s conscious of consumer behaviour and will prefer to check the ethics of products as well as support small/local businesses. He’s political and vocal on issues, thinks critically about what media he watches and of course as a queer man is open minded about queer identities whether he understands them or not.
•Past relationships. I think it’s important to discuss and ask about what has and hasn’t worked in past relationships. If you’re dating an older man who’s never been married or is single dating younger people…why? If you’re dating someone divorced, why? Being divorced or never married isn’t a bad thing but it’s important to understand why past relationships haven’t worked and if there will be problems that may impact your current relationship. Being able to talk and communicate about these things is an attractive quality on both sides.
I also partake in BDSM, however can’t tell you what to look for there as I simply just attract people interested in Kink. If you’re not interested in kink this may not be useful, but I find people who are experienced or kink friendly tend to be more open minded. If you’re looking for a sexual relationship with older men that’s a lot more simple as it’s definitely easier to hook up as opposed to create a stable relationship, many men are sexually interest in younger people more so then romantically attracted to them.
I think it’s good to be upfront about what exactly you’re wanting and expecting, as well as your own past relationships, I think older men definitely appreciate partners who are commutative as that goes both ways.
I am very lucky to have found my current partner, it was my first time on a dating app and I feel it was just the right person at the right time. I do wish you luck in your pursuits, as it can be quite hard out here.
Every man I date accuses me of being cat like…ok?…and? Let a man be a cat boy in peace…even the old men can instinctively tell I’m a cat boy, this might be my calling.
romaincrisis
areudirty
ellievsbear
dailybridgerton
