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darkcranefiction · 8 months

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Injected Nightmares

FOR: JONATHAN CRANE X RAEDER INSERT

PART: ONE

WARNING: MENTAL DISORDERS, NON-CONSENTIAL SMUT, TWISTED STUFF, MEDICAL PLAY

NOTE: DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T READ IT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

The journey to Akram Asylum felt like a descent into darkness, as if the heavy clouds above threatened to envelop you entirely. In the dimming light, the trees surrounding the asylum loomed menacingly, their branches twisting together like the tendrils of some ancient creature. Your car slowly navigated the narrow road, its wheels crunching over the gravel that lined the way.

As you approached the asylum, the oppressive atmosphere seemed to become even more palpable.

The large iron gates creaked open before you, revealing the stark, ominous facade of the building itself. The windows were barred, the bricks were discolored and weathered, as though they had witnessed countless horrors over the years. The cold, unforgiving wind gusted through the courtyard, carrying with it the faint cries of the patients trapped within the walls.

The sound of your knock on the door reverberated through the silent hallways, leaving you feeling uneasy.

Dr. Jonathan Crane emerged from the shadows, his gaze assessing you up and down, seemingly taking note of every small detail about you. With a firm nod, he led you towards the dimly lit room where your intake examination would take place. You followed him hesitantly, wondering what secrets lay hidden behind his piercing eyes.

Inside the room, you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. The only source of light came from a single lamp near the examination table, casting eerie shadows across the chamber.

The room smelled musty, as though dampness had permeated the very fabric of the space. As Dr. Crane began his examination, he instructed you to undress completely, a chill running down your spine at the thought of revealing yourself in such a dark and dismal setting.

With trembling hands, you removed your clothes, stepping onto the cold metal surface of the examination table. His eyes roamed over your body, and a sinister smile formed on his lips.

He first began to talk about your thoughts, your dreams and everything surrounding your mental state which, to you, seemed odd, considering that you were naked.

His eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief as he asked questions that made you feel both exposed and vulnerable.

"What do you think of when you close your eyes at night?" he asked, leaning closer to you.

Your heart raced, and your cheeks burned with embarrassment. "I... I don't know," you stammered, looking away. "Please, Doctor, just get on with the examination."

He merely chuckled, a low rumble in his throat that sent shivers down your spine.

"Isn't it strange how our minds can wander so far when we're left alone with our thoughts? It's fascinating, really."

You shifted uncomfortably on the table, unable to find a response. It was almost as if his eyes could see right through you, as if he knew exactly what thoughts lurked beneath the surface.

"Any thoughts of self-harm?" he probed further, his tone almost conspiratorial. "And please, be honest now. It's safe here."

You shook your head, your heart racing in your chest.

"No, nothing like that." He nodded, scribbling something down on his clipboard.

"Any thoughts of harming others?" Dr. Crane continued, his question causing your brow to furrow.

"No, not intentionally," you replied, attempting to maintain eye contact. "But why do you ask?"

He smiled cryptically, reaching for a fresh sheet of paper. "It's standard procedure, my dear. We must understand all aspects of your mind before we can help you fully."

You swallowed hard, still unsure of whether to trust him or not. "So, no harmful thoughts or urges to hurt anyone else?" he pressed, his voice lowering slightly.

"It's crucial for us to explore these aspects, especially in a facility like this one."

You shifted nervously on the table, your heart pounding against your ribcage. "I guess..."

"Don't worry, my dear," he reassured you with a warm, comforting smile. "It's just a part of the process."

The room fell silent once again, the only sounds being the ticking of the clock on the wall and the soft rustling of papers as Dr. Crane jotted down notes on his clipboard.

"We will have to explore this further, to ensure your safety and the safety of others here. But fear not, my dear, it's simply for understanding your psyche better."

A knot formed in your stomach, but you couldn't bring yourself to argue with him. Instead, you took a deep breath and tried to remain composed, listening intently as he continued speaking.

"Now, let's move on to the physical examination."

Dr. Crane's voice broke the silence, drawing your attention back to him. His eyes held a predatory gleam, and his lips curved into a wicked grin.

"Any pains anywhere?" he then asked as he began to turn your neck, left to right, while you responded with an anxious "no".

"Good, now open your mouth for me. Open wide" he instructed and, after you complied with his request, he inspected your teeth, your tongue, and your ears, observing everything with an intensity that seemed almost predatory.

He then moved on to your breasts, placing a cold stethoscope against your chest to listen to your heartbeat before removing it again and taking some notes.

"I will examine your breasts next," he announced, his voice resonating with authority.

You couldn't help but shiver slightly, your eyes growing wide as you looked at him.

"There's no need to be frightened, my dear," he assured you kindly. "This is just another part of the examination process."

Swallowing hard, you nodded slowly, forcing yourself to relax as he proceeded with the examination.

The cool fingers of Dr. Crane caressed your skin, moving delicately over your body. As he reached your breasts, his touch became more deliberate and forceful.

"This hurts, doctor." You cried out, feeling a sudden surge of pain as his fingertips dug deeper into your flesh.

"Just bear with it," he replied, his voice cold and distant. "I need to examine you thoroughly."

You bit your lip, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as he expertly maneuvered his fingers around your most sensitive areas. It felt like he was searching for something hidden beneath your skin, and you had no choice but to endure the pain.

His relentless exploration left you trembling with anxiety, and you found yourself yearning for the moment when he would finally release you from his grasp.

"All seems well" he eventually acknowledged before retrieving some rubber gloves from the box next to the examination table. His movements were calculated, precise, each action serving a purpose.

"So lets carry on, shall we?" he then said before walking over to the drawer beside the examination table, rummaging through it until he found what he was searching for. Pulling out a jar of lubricant, he carefully placed it on the table in front of you.

You swallowed, feeling a mixture of confusion and dread as you glanced between him and the jar.

"Dr. Crane, may I ask what this is for?" Your voice wavered, betraying your unease.

He smiled slyly, his eyes alight with mischief. "Oh, my dear, don't worry. It's merely to facilitate a thorough examination." He proceeded to open the jar, revealing a silky gel inside. "This will make things much more comfortable for you during your vaginal and rectal examinations," he explained, his eyes holding a mischievous glint.

"Please place your feet on the footrests now and allow your knees to fall open," he instructed.

Your heart thumped erratically in your chest as you complied, feeling vulnerable and exposed under his watchful gaze.

As you obeyed his orders, he positioned himself between your legs and used a lamp to shine some light towards your intimate region.

He then proceeded to coat his latex covered fingers generously with the slippery gel. The cool substance slid effortlessly over his fingers, giving them a wet, shiny sheen.

"Relax, my dear," he cooed, leaning in closer, his breath brushing against your ear. "This will only take a moment."

Despite his words, you felt anything but relaxed. In fact, your muscles tensed involuntarily, as if anticipating the worst.

As his fingers dipped inside you, penetrating your virgin core, your face contorted in pain. "That hurts, doctor!" you gasped, struggling to contain your tears.

Dr. Crane continued his inspection, his expression unchanged, his voice cold and detached. "I assure you, it's perfectly normal. Many women experience discomfort during their first pelvic examination," Dr. Crane reassured you, his voice calm and steady. "It's only natural, considering the sensitivity of the area."

You forced yourself to breathe deeply, attempting to control the tears streaming down your cheeks. "Doctor, please, it hurts so much," you whimpered, your voice breaking with emotion.

Dr. Crane continued to work diligently, unphased by your pleas. "Just try to relax, my dear. It'll go quicker if you don't fight it," Dr. Crane coaxed, his fingers expertly exploring your inner depths.

You bit your lip, trying desperately to follow his advice despite the intense pain and humiliation. Your eyes filled with tears, but you remained steadfast, determined not to give in to your agony.

As he finally withdrew his finger from you, you noticed some blood on its tip.

"Have you ever had intercourse?" he then asked as he cleaned his hands, seemingly unaffected by the discomfort he had caused you.

"No," you replied, your voice strained from the pain. "I haven't had sex with anyone."

Dr. Crane regarded you with a keen interest, his eyes assessing you like a prize specimen. "Very well, I will not use a speculum in your vagina then. Your hymen still appears to be intact, hence the bleeding," he observed before, without warning, he pulled off his gloves and reached for a new set. As he donned them, you found yourself growing increasingly anxious, fearing what was to come next.

Without hesitation, he picked up a rectal speculum from the nearby tray and prepared it for use. "Please lie down on your side now, facing away from me," he instructed, his voice devoid of empathy.

You did as he said, your legs bent at the knees and your bottom raised toward the sky. Your heart raced as you awaited his next move, terrified of what might come next.

"Please, Dr. Crane, don't do this to me," you pleaded, your voice laced with desperation.

Dr. Crane regarded you with a smirk, his eyes full of amusement. "Don't worry, my dear," he reassured you. "It will only hurt momentarily," he told you before reaching for the cold jelly again.

This time, however, instead of applying it to his own gloved fingers, he carefully massaged it onto your anus.

You felt your body tensing up even more, instinctively fighting against the invasion of his fingers. The unfamiliar sensation was excruciating, yet you remained stoic, refusing to cry out or show weakness.

"Relax, my dear," he repeated, his voice remaining as unemotional as ever. "I assure you, this won't last long."

Despite his attempts to soothe you, you could feel your insides clenching tightly as he placed the speculum at the entrance to your rectum.

Tears welled up in your eyes once more, threatening to spill over as he carefully inserted the device into your tight anus. You closed your eyes, gritting your teeth, willing yourself to maintain composure. With a firm push, the metal device disappeared inside you.

"I will now adjust the width of the speculum so that I can examine your rectum," Dr. Crane informed you coolly.

Gripping the handles, he started to widen the device, his movements smooth and precise.

A wave of panic coursed through you as you struggled to remain composed. This was nothing short of torture, and you prayed that it would soon be over.

Sweat formed on your brow, beading and dripping down your temple.

Your heart raced as you felt the invasive device stretching your rectum, the unbearable pressure making you want to scream out in pain.

Dr Crane then used his finger to glide inside your anus, testing its reaction to his touch.

As he continued his examination, the burning sensation intensified, leaving you feeling utterly violated and helpless.

Every fiber of your being ached, begging for relief, but you maintained your composure, unwilling to let him see how deeply his actions affected you.

Finally, Dr. Crane removed the speculum, leaving you feeling utterly exposed and defeated.

Your eyes darted towards him, searching for any hint of remorse or regret on his face.

"All done, my dear," Dr. Crane finally announced, pulling off his gloves and tossing them into the trash bin. "Thank you for your cooperation."

You rose slowly from the examination table, feeling exhausted and drained. Your face flushed with shame and embarrassment; you could barely muster enough strength to leave the room.

Dr. Crane followed closely behind, leading you to the exit. "Please return tomorrow morning for further tests," he commanded, his tone implying that you had no choice in the matter.

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lost-in-sokovia · 2 years

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𝒿𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒸𝓇𝒶𝓃𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

꙳= indicates a drabble

> Surprise, Baby

#jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane imagine #jonathan crane fanfic #jonathan crane scarecrow #jonathan crane #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow fanfiction #scarecrow #batman begins

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feninina · 8 months

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𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐞 ༉‧₊˚.⁀➷

therapist! jonathan crane x female reader.

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: when your father decided that you needed therapy, taking you to his dear friend dr. crane to treat and help you, you thought it wouldn't work at all, but it turned out to be everything you needed.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: SMUT(minors dni!!), noncon/dubcon, depression, cursing, crane is a mysoginistic prick, using therapy for unhinged reasons, smut, hair pulling, jonathan just being an creep, choking AND strangulation, dacryphilia, hitting, unprotected sex (safe sex its great sex!!), breeding kink, forced breeding, power dynamics, i think crane should be a warning himself, reader being borderline stupid and naive. also this has a lot of backstory i’m so sorry i got carried away lol.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 7.1K

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: omg my first fic on here!! this is also my first work on english and my first smut ever so i apologise in advance for any mistake!! i hope y'all enjoy it anyways ahahahaha live laugh love jonathan crane👏🏻 feedback its very appreciated so i can improve and continue to publish better works, anyways enjoyyyy 💓

𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘁

It was awkward, to say the least.

You were sitting across from Doctor Crane in the couch at your dad's house, legs crossed as you watched him write on his clipboard, something about it making you feel anxious, a little nauseous, even.

This wasn't your first session, you started doing this four months ago, not long after your divorce that caused you to fall into a spiral of sadness and misery. Your failed— and short marriage was the main reason you started taking therapy with your dad's friend, the chief of Arkham, Jonathan Crane, and still, you couldn't bring yourself to talk about it.

He was patient, you told him several times that he was a saint. Regardless, before you started with the sessions, he explained to your dad that he didn't really do this; therapy really wasn't his strong suit, but for a friend, a desperate one, he would gladly do it.

Your dad came to him, offering a big stack of money if he would talk to his little girl, make her recover her once joyful personality, like you had one to begin with. Jonathan really couldn't say no, and not really because of the money, he had other reasons in mind, unethical reasons.

And there you were now. You were quick to open up to him, eager to talk, to be listened and he, on the other hand, was ready to listen, to give you advice, console you and help you get through the sorrow that was following you since you were young, playing the role of your knight in shinning armor.

"I can't believe you don't actually do this" you said once, sniffling your nose with a handkerchief he gave you as he examined you with a warm gaze, an empathetic grin on his face. "You're really helping me"

Jonathan was quick to wave his hand and tell you that it wasn't a big deal, that he was just doing his job, and if you weren't so innocent, so stupid, you would have noticed the mischievous sparkle that flickered in his eyes for a split second.

You were landing right in the palm of his hand.

Not even thirty minutes into the first session you told him everything about your past; every little thing you thought he needed to know to treat you. And you were slightly right; he did need to know those things, but not to treat you, just to manipulate you and mold your little brain into what he was envisioning for you and your future together.

Truth was, you hated everything about your life, regardless of the fact that you had everything. That's what you've been told since you were a child; a big house, a lot of money, maids taking care of you so you wouldn't have to move a finger and just sit pretty and relax inside the walls of the huge mansion that confined you since you could recall.

You have everything. That was bullshit.

Sometimes, you couldn't help but think that people told you that out of pity, like they knew how miserable you felt, but not daring to say a word about it. Your dad was a powerful man, and you were aware of that, ever since you were born, he had bussines with Falcone and you knew that people feared him, he practically ruled Gotham, that lifeless and dangerous city that you had to live in.

You have everything. You were tired of that sentence. You didn't care at all about these nice things surrounding you, those dresses in your closet, those diamonds in your jeweler, that fancy car you owned since your eighteenth birthday, no, that was useless in your eyes, because all you really wanted, was love.

It was a lonely life; you learned how to do everything by yourself, how to comb your hair, how to deal with your period when it first came, how to dress up properly and do your makeup. You didn't even had to learn about boy problems because there weren't any boys in your life, you were homeschooled. So you were quiet, not really having to talk at all, there was nobody to talk to.

And since Jonathan was the only person you were talking to at the moment, you started to feel like you loved him, the idea sitting right with you without you even knowing it, thinking that this was how therapy normally went.

Loneliness striked your life at a young age; your mother died from a strange disease when you were eight, leaving you with a shattered heart thad bled everytime you walked past her bedroom, or saw a picture of her. You practically watched her die, a witness of how she lost her strength, how her once beautiful skin turned pale and yellow, and lost every little spark within herself, and the worst part was that all the money you had, couldn't even help her.

It was a deep wound that you carried with yourself, with nobody to talk about it.

Your father spent his days locked up in his office, and when he wasn't there, he was out in the city doing unthinkable things that you didn't even wanted to know about, leaving you on your own, having to fill all of those silent and empty rooms by yourself, with nobody to laugh with, nobody to hold you and see you grow. He wasn't really around, working all the time, too busy to know that his daughter didn't seem to care about all the expensive stuff he bought for her, not even taking the time to have dinner with you or hold a simple conversation. He loved you, you knew that, he just wasn't the type to show his affection with words or actions, but with gifts. And you hated everything about it.

But now, Jonathan was there, making you feel listened, finally saving you from falling into loneliness again. Your whole life, you thought you had a horrible sickness, that you were doomed to this awful destiny of sorrow and silence, but now, with his sweet words and good company, you couldn't be more than relieved.

You wished sometimes that you met him earlier, that this whole therapy stuff started before, and you even confessed it to him. And it irked him a little, that you didn't even remember how you two really met each other, hiding his annoyance with a warm smile.

Some months ago, your father started to brought you to parties he attended, parties were all the corrupts scumbags from Gotham reunited and celebrated how they were dragging the city to the gates of hell on their benefit, and you couldn't be more happy to attend them. You knew he was bringing you because he recently broke up with the young girl he carried with him— that was most likely your age, and needed a pretty thing to hang of his arm and take care of the people he didn't feel like talking to.

So you accepted this new life, eating up this role of socialite like it was made for you.

It was a chance to know people, to speak and make new friends, but you learned quickly that those people weren't there for that, and picked up on how mostly of the people who talked to you just wanted to climb up the social ladder and gain some extra points from your father.

He, even, introduced you to a couple of people that seemed close to your age, and you chatted with them, feeling extremely anxious because you weren't used to this, so it was weird to them seeing such a pretty woman, with your status and fortune, acting so shy and quiet in a place that your dad practically owned.

After a couple of hours, you learned the agenda. All you had to do was put on a fake smile, get them off your father's shoulders and pretend you were very interested in what they had to say, hiding your uncomfortable expression behind your glass of champagne, promising them that you would arrange a reunion with your father someday.

One of those nights, your father introduced you to someone, someone who you didn't pay much attention because he seemed to be uninterested too, only being there for the sake of his job.

"Pretty girl, come here" your father said, a cheerful tone of voice as grabbed you by the shoulder to get your attention, snapping you out of your train of thoughts. "I want you to meet my friend, Doctor Crane"

You looked at the man in front of your dad, his pale blue eyes already sizing you up discretely, looking at you up and down in a way that didn't go unnoticed by you, a shiver running down your spine as his eyes finally locked with yours.

You couldn't help but feel small under his gaze, your glass now forgotten in your left hand, the right one extended to take his and stretch it for a quick second, returning to your first position, his expression remaining serious.

"Nice to meet you" he spoke, his voice sounding like velvet in your eyes, not quite sensing the undertone behind it. "Your father told me wonders about you"

You grin, the irony of that sentence making you laugh a little, what wonders could your father know about you? But you kept your composure, the conversation not going any further, and you forgot about him fast enough, when in another of those annoying parties you met the love of your life — or so you thought.

That same night, when you went back home, you were thinking about spending the rest of your life with some guy that flirted with you at the bar, and Jonathan, prayed to whatever thing listening to him up there, that crossed your path with his again.

He practically obsessed with you, because it felt right. You were young, beautiful, wealthy and had a last name that could open even more doors for him, getting tired of saving Falcone's man of going to jail; you were an opportunity, tied to a nice pair of legs.

After a few weeks of stalking, it kinda broke his heart that naive as he expected you, you got married to the guy from the party; he told you then his name was Lewis, and now you doubted it that was even true.

You were finally going to get what you always wished for, a family, love. And it was perfect. Everything was perfect.

It was a dream that you were living in. A dream that shattered in front of you no longer than three months after.

After you contracted married with this man, you took care of the house, now learning all of these housewife duties that you didn't know anything about, but making your best effort to please him, to be the perfect woman ever created, departing from your old life and habits and adjusting them to his own.

You couldn't be more happy, regardless of your bad cooking, the bad-swiped floor and the half-done bed that welcomed you both every night, you finally had love.

It lasted three months. Your wholesome real life fantasy of a marriage destroyed when you found out, accidentally, that this man was just an employee of your dad, willing to get a promotion if he married you. At that moment, you didn't know who you hated more, if the bastard, or your dad who was literally bribing the bastard to love you.

But your dad only wanted to make you happy, tho.

You were embarrassed, not quite sure of how to tell this to Jonathan, because after all, he was there for you, just for the money your dad was paying him. Your cursed the day your dad became rich, because all of it was making you miserable and it felt like it wasn't going to stop.

At this point, a feeling of despite against you was growing within Jonathan, after a few weeks treating you, he quickly remembered why he didn’t chose this path of career, but remembering that he was there because of a major reason; a reason more important than your helpless cries for attention.

He was sick of you, all you ever did was complain in the commodity of your million dollar house, unaware that there were more important problems in the world. It isn’t completely your fault, Jonathan thought one day, you were just an ungrateful brat, and his work was to tame you, and he planned to do just that today.

"So," he startled you, narrowing his eyebrows, an expression in his face that you could only understand as concern. "remember, if you don't speak, I can't help you".

You chuckle and shift your weight in the chair, immediately feeling your eyes fill up with tears as you confronted the fact that you had to speak about it, right now. He was quick to offer you his handkerchief, as he always did and with shaky hands you took it, sniffling onto it, closing your eyes as you felt your whole body shake with each one of your cries.

You felt Jonathan put his hand on your knee, softy caressing the skin that his thumb could reach, opening your eyes and looking at his, Jonathan welcoming you with a pitying look. You put the tissue aside, both him being so close and his scent impregnated on the piece of fabric making you feel a little giddy, a little confused.

Why was your heart racing so much? He was your therapist, here to talk about your former husband.

Jonathan couldn't help but grin a little, knowing he was maybe breaking a rule here, touching you like this, being so close. He couldn't care less, after all, he wasn't here listening to you cry and bitch about your whole life for the sake of your well-being. He was here because he wanted you to break and get on your knees to him. Figuratively and literally.

"It's so embarrassing" you struggled to spit out "He didn't even love me, Doctor"

He hummed, dragging his chair so he was a little closer to you, you looked at him through your teary lashes and tried to keep it together, this wasn't the first time you cried in front of him, but the reason itself was enough to make you feel full of shame.

He didn't say anything, this being a motivation for you to continue.

"My dad was paying him" you murmured, cleaning the mascara off your cheeks. "It was all a lie"

The whole situation was absurd, what happened to you still felt like a sick joke they were playing on you, your dad and Lewis, probably waiting for the perfect moment to tell you the truth.

But that wasn't going to happen, right now the only thing that felt true to you was Jonathan. He set you up to that, and you blindly fell on his silly trap.

"Poor thing" he cooed you, moving his hand a little further up your thigh, noticing the goosebumps on your skin. A mastermind, that's how he felt. "How could they?"

That was all the mendacity he fed you with since you started seeing him, making you believe he was actually empathizing with you, full of loathe against everyone who hurt you, who dared to leave you alone, but now he was there, his task being to pretend to care.

"It's pathetic" you blurted out, leaning into his touch when his prying hand went up to your cheek. You really couldn't say anything more, crying against his hand like it was something you did every monday morning. "I'm so sad. I don't know what to do"

He shook his face, your eyes meeting his with a confused expression, black stained tears dropping on your lap and wetting his hand before he returned it and looked over his clipboard, pretending to think.

You were so vulnerable, ready for him to destroy. He finally got you where he wanted. He then explained you that you were so sad that it made you unaware of a lot of things, blinded by your own pity against yourself that every door that opened, you closed. It all came down to a thing; you needed a diagnosis.

He gave you a moment to process the information, ready to continue with his plan.

"Actually," he started, his tone now more firm, more strict, the one he used when you were approaching the end of the session. On the last one, he recommended you to touch yourself, to liberate oxytocin on your brain or something you really didn't understood.

It was almost evil from his side, he knew that your only thought while doing it would he him ordering you to do so.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of such awful news, Y/N" he stated, making your heart skip a beat. "But I think you're sick"

You nearly gasped, the air got stuck in your throat, more tears gathering in your eyes. You lifted one of your hands to your chest, a million thoughts crossing your head as Jonathan's clever eyes examined your expression.

Bingo.

"Sick" you repeated after a moment, almost like you were making peace with the revelation. "How sick?"

It was an innocent question, your tone of voice shaking as your inferior lip trembled, holding it with your teeth in an attempt to not burst into tears again, your whole body feeling like it was going to break into a million peaces by how much you were shaking in the couch.

Jonathan was quick, standing from the chair he was on and taking a seat by your side, his hand swiftly placing in your knee. You looked at him confused, he never got this close, maybe your sickness was serious.

"What am I, Doctor?" you whispered, your eyes showing him a hint of fear that made him finally lose all his faked professionalism. "Depressed? Crazy?"

Both of you were dying of anticipation now; meanwhile you feared that you were going to get admitted to Arkham, Jonathan was seeing the golden ticket to the best future he could ever achieve, and all thanks to you.

"Oh, no, no" he purred, his hand making its way up to your thigh. "You're sick, not crazy"

You parted your lips as his hand moved more further, not really sure of what was happening, not daring to stop him, too scared of your mental health to think about anything else, not helping the way your legs started to part too.

A sudden gasp left your lips as his hand squeezed your tight, a smile you never saw on him appearing on his face. The crying stopped a moment ago, the surprise of having him so close making you go a little numb.

"I know what a girl like you needs" he said, almost sternly, like his hand wasn't centimeters away from your panties.

Was in that moment, that you knew this wasn’t about therapy anymore.

"You think so?" you whispered, your voice still shaky, but now for a whole different reason. "And what is it, Doctor?"

"To be fucked stupid"

It almost shocked you how he said that as it was a normal diagnosis, like he gave you a name of a medicine you could go and buy at any drugstore in town. You gulped and didn't move when his grip tightened on your leg, your face growing red.

A loud gasp escaped your lips when at your lack of response, Jonathan grabbed you hard by the jaw and forced you to look at him. Your eyes glistened with nothing but fear, your brows narrowing as you mumbled something that he really couldn't understand, and it wasn't like he wanted to.

"You're sick, Y/N" he repeated, more harshly this time, his hand moving your head as he spoke. "And I'm going to cure you"

He let go of your face to clasp his lips against yours, a kiss very far away from sweet, his mouth moving roughly against yours. You never had been kissed like this, so you tried to play it along, trying to show him some of the love you felt for him, that you thought you owed him.

But he didn't care if you felt loved during the kiss, trying to assert the dominance he held upon you, his hand now holding firmly the back of you neck to prevent you from pulling away.

It was a mess; your teeth clashed, drool was dripping from your chin as his tongue explored every space of your mouth, not leaving anywhere of it untouched. Your movements were a little stiff, unsure of what to do, trying to provide the sweetness that he lacked.

His hand moved to your the front of your neck and squeezed it a little, making you yelp in surprise, the sound muffled by his mouth. You tried to get away from the kiss, confused about his rough actions against you, a little scared of him even, almost like you didn’t trust him every little part of your brain in this same couch for the last couple of months.

But then it clicked on your foggy brain, he knew you, perfectly— you only knew his name, you didn’t know what this man was capable of.

You could only move a few centimeters away from his hungry mouth, your lips parted as tears welled in your eyes from the pressure he was applying to your neck.

“Stop” you managed to stutter, your breath mixing with his. “I can’t- breathe”

You doubted that he listened to you, your voice not coming out of your throat at all and getting stuck in your larynx, your voice-box completely muffled by his strong grip.

“Shut up, brat” he spitted, his tone sounding full of abhor, your eyes wide open as you felt the air leaving your body and your lungs starting to burn. “Always getting what you want”

You weakly placed one of your hands around his wrist, another attempt of gasp elicited from your agape mouth as he lifted his other hand and choked you with both, something in your dizzy mind telling you that he was possessed.

“Crying all the time- complaining” he continued, not caring if you were listening, the suffocation being to much to bare now. “So selfish”

And maybe he was.

Your brain was filled with fear, wondering how it all went from a kiss to this— almost getting killed by your therapist in your couch. You opened your eyes to meet his, feeling like your chest was on fire as there wasn’t any air flowing in, seeing how the blue of Jonathan’s eyes has darkened and his lips were parted as well, the muscles of his jaw twitching as he choked you to death.

Your eyebrows narrowed together in terror as you noticed that familiar tingly sensation in your lower belly and your thighs clenching together. Maybe it was something about him exercising this power over you, how you felt so feeble under his touch, that was probably leaving bruises on your neck for you to carry and show around what he was making you do it.

You didn’t have enough time to think about it, you were practically dying.

“And you are enjoying this?” he said with an amused tone, probably noticing how your thighs fragily contracted against one another.

You felt yourself slowly lose your consciousness when finally the relief came and the air started to flow again to your desperate lungs, taking long and loud puffs of air when his hand let go of your neck. Your erratic breath was interrupted by a loud moan that escaped you when Crane yanked you by your hair and shoved you to the floor.

He was quick yo position you between his legs, looking at you through his unfixed glasses, giving you a twisted smile that made you quiver in fear, that growing wet patch on your panties making you feel like a really sick girl.

“Doctor-” you mumbled, closing your eyes as he pulled your hair, withdrawing a mewl off your mouth. “Hurts”

“You talk when I tell you to talk” he snickered, adjusting the way his fingers gripped your hair. You thought that he might just pull out the strand he was tugging. “I’m sick of your whining”

You felt more tears well up in your eyes; not sure if it was from the pain in your head or how his words felt like a knife that landed right on your heart. You were confused, sad, angry— a little hot, too.

“I pay you yo listen to me” you said, your voice so shaky you were lucky he could understand you. You wished he didn’t understand you.

Another sort of moan left your lips as a hard slap made a landing in your cheek, your face turned to the side because of the impact. You closed your eyes in disbelief, a cry coming out as you felt helpless, wondering if this was some exposure therapy he was experimenting on you.

He repeated himself, instructing you to talk only when you were told so, nodding in defeat as you accepted whatever this was and continued to play along with Jonathan’s sick fantasy of controlling you, without even knowing it.

You looked at him with nothing but inquietude, the look in his eyes giving you the foreboding that nothing good was about to happen now, frightened of what we would do to you.

He didn’t show any hints of letting go of your hair anytime soon, just holding it firmly to keep you looking at him through your heavy lashes, a wicked grin on his smug face.

“Let’s give that whining mouth of yours a good use” he said, and you gulped, understanding what he wanted and quivering in fear, not really understanding why the sticky sensation between your legs grew.

“Undo my pants” he commanded, and you stayed still, your eyes not leaving his even when another slap landed on your tear-wet face. “Do as you’re told, brat. This might be your only cure”

You couldn’t help but sob a little, his tone sounding so definitive, so professional. Your trembling hands reached his belt and unbuckling it ungracefully, taking longer than he expected, you heard him chuckle as you unbuttoned his pants afterwards, then putting your hands back in front of your lap.

“C’mon” he pulled your hair again, causing you to moan in pain. “Don’t make me tell you what to do”

You looked at him again in nothing but shame, trying to resist to this humiliating request of his, but complying it anyways. He said he was going to cure you, but now you doubted it, right now, you only wanted this to be over.

With a last look at his eyes you returned your attention to the growing bulge in his slacks, the shame in your brain being present at all times, not quite helping the way your eyes were fixated on his clothed member. You were quick to free him out after your staring earned you a other harsh pull of hair, your lips turned into a line when his cock slapped his abdomen, causing his dress shirt to wrinkle a little.

“Go on, Y/N” he encouraged you, as you looked at him with pleading eyes, silently begging him for mercy, knowing that even if you screamed it at him, he just wouldn’t listen. “This isn’t about what you want, anymore. Is about what you need”

A tear slid from your eyes and disappeared down your cheek when his free hand placed the tip of his hard cock on your parted lips, gesturing you to take it and not waste more of his time— more than you already did.

“Open up, whore” he said under his breath, using your hair as a device to move your head and help you shove his length down your throat. You complied, the tears in your eyes now soaking in you cheeks by the effort that you were making trying to welcome his thick shaft down your mouth.

You were sure you scratched him with your teeth a few times as he bobbed your head up and down with his strong hand, manhandling you without care for his own pleasure. You placed your hands on his knees, trying not to gag, but when his tip touched the bottom of your throat, you couldn’t help it.

You cried as you felt suffocated again, now for a whole different reason, a more humiliating one, and you almost wished he killed you then. His hips buckled everytime your lips reached the base of his cock, the room filled with the sounds of your mouth and saliva coating his shaft and the soft moans that came out of his poisoned lips.

“Take it, whore” he said, his voice now husky and distorted by the pleasure, the pain that your teeth accidentally inflicted on him turning him even more. “God- you are horrible at this”

He chuckled between heavy breaths, pulling you by the hair and releasing his cock from your mouth, a vulgar pop filling both of your ears at the sudden separation of your lips and his member. Your eyes looked at the floor, feeling such a shame that the mere thought of meeting his face with your fearful face made you cringe, the pulsating pain on the back of your head making you dizzy.

“You can’t suck dick properly” he said, his tone sounding like he was making fun of you. “No wonder why your husband left you. You’re just pathetic”

You finally rose up your face to look at that insufferable smile of his, ignoring the way his cock was still hanging there in front of you, almost brushing your nose. His fingers finally untangled from your hair and giving you some sort of solace, the consolation that this traumatic session was over.

Maybe the remedy was worse than the sickness itself.

“Jonathan, stop it, plea-”

Your imploration was completely ignored, followed by another slap on your wet cheek that made you cry even more, not understanding how this man could’ve been the same one who made you felt loved and finally listened. You fell for a lie once again.

“Get on the couch” he simply said, his words were like a bucket of cold water fell on you. “Stop the bitching, don’t want to hear it”

“And I’m your doctor. Not Jonathan” he reminded you, making you feel even more ashamed.

You did as he told, again, half-standing from the floor and sitting next to him, trying to take as much space from him as you could before he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer, your face growing red as his face was now centimeters away from yours.

“You look so beautiful when you cry” he whispered, caressing your face but trying to nor wipe the tears away, almost like he was admiring you. It made you melt into his touch, glad that his kind demeanor was there again. Even if his words made you cringe— and the fact that his cock was still out, you felt your heart grew warmer by the way he tenderly touched you.

It didn’t last much longer, when his lips twitched into a malicious smile and went down to nibble your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses around the bruised skin and bitting where his fingers hurt you previously, making your fingers wrap on his hair and cry for mercy, trying for him to stop hurting you this much.

“Shut up, stupid brat” he repeated that same insult, making you swallow your cries, closing your eyes in disbelief as he continued to injure your already suffering skin.

You arched your back in surprise when all of the sudden his hands reached for your breasts, groping your tits like his life depending on it, stimulating you through the fabric of your shirt, but all you felt was fear and anger, impotence flowing through your veins because you just couldn’t scream and push him away, fear was freezing you on the spot.

The worst part? You maybe didn’t wanted to push him away. Because maybe if he gets what he wants now you would be cured and he’ll be back to normal, returning you the sweet Doctor Crane that you met once, not this monster that was groping you like a piece of meat.

He clicked his tongue and dropped both of his hands to spread your legs open, forcing your back to drop onto the hand rester of the couch. You looked at him with big eyes, your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest and scream to Jonathan that enough was enough, you just couldn’t take any of this anymore.

But your heart stayed there, between your lungs that seemed incapable to hold any air, making your breathing erratic. So nobody screamed Jonathan to stop, and he continued with his profanation against your persona— your dignity.

He bit his lip at the sight of your fucked-up face, your legs open as it showed him the dark patch on your baby blue panties, darting his eyes from your half-exposed crotch to your teary eyes.

“God, keep crying and I might come now” he growled, lowering his face to meet your pussy, kissing it through your underwear, making you mewl, closing your eyes at the sudden attention your core was getting.

You felt embarrassed at how much you enjoyed when he moved the fabric to the side and started making out with your cunt, swallowing your fluids like a starved man.

“So wet” he mumbled against your labia, the vibration making your eyes roll back, bitting your lip to prevent any moan to come out; he was raping you, why did he make you enjoy it? “I bet you like this, to be treated like a whore”

You shook your head, more tears falling out of your eyes as you felt nothing else but humiliation, pleasure washing over your body everytime his tongue brushed your clit, your back arched against nothing.

“You like it?” he said, finally pulling out and pushing his body up so his face was in front of yours, his cock grazing against your now stimulated pussy, a gasp leaving your lips, a gasp that quickly turned into a hurting moan when his hand slapped you again, this time in your throbbing cunt. “Answer me”

“I- I do” you whispered, gripping his shoulders when you felt him align the head of his member with your whole, scared of how it was going to fit. You had trouble taking it when he face-fucked you, how the fuck it was going to fit down there?

“I’m going to fuck you so good” he whispered between pants, jerking himself off before entering you. “You’re going to forget that pathetic husband of yours”

You couldn’t help but cry, trying to push him off by the shoulders, a terrified look on your face. “It won’t fit, Doctor” you pleaded, a crooked grin on his face as you keep on calling him that. “I beg you, don’t-”

“Yes, beg me” he said, starting to push his member inside you with a slow but relentlessly pace, not giving you enough time to adjust, just to scream and hit him weakly on the chest, face and shoulders before ge grabbed your hands and pinned them down, on the sides of your body. “I’m going to cure you- do you so good”

His voice was low, as he barely could speak when he felt just how tight you were, your walls hugging his cock just the right way, his pulsating head making your mind dizzy, the stinging pain starting to be forgotten.

But when he slid out and entered back it, the hardness of his movement made your insides burn with pain, a loud cry echoing in the walls of the living room as he started to trust into your pussy with a fast pace, not caring at all if you felt good.

He snapped his hips against yours with an animalistic force, growls escaped from his mouth every time his cock was welcomed by the warmth of your stretch whole, the sensation making him go even more feral, making you cry more.

He let go of one of your hands and grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at his eyes as he fucked you vigorously, the blue on his iris not existent anymore, only his widely dilated pupils meeting yours, your blurred vision distinguishing the depraved expression in his face.

“You- so tight” he snarled, his voice barely audible, covered by the sound of skin slapping and your loud cries. “I bet your stupid husband didn’t fuck you like this”

You felt nothing but shame as you felt his cock now sliding in and out more easily, the wetness of your cunt growing as he spoke to you like that, that familiar heat flourishing in your lower belly as his words degraded you, your cries quickly becoming moans.

“This was all you needed- fuck” he said, his spit splashing your face as he talked, his words full of disdain. “A good dick, that’s all it takes to keep bitches like you quiet” You nodded, thinking that if you agreed he would stop. How wrong you were.

In a quick movement Jonathan took his cock out and spun you around, not giving you time to get on your ass up by laying your chest down before he stabbed your hole again, pushing your skirt all the way up to see how his pelvis came into collision with your ass.

You were moaning like a bitch in heat now, sure that the maids were listening, not really caring about it anymore. Jonathan was fucking you nice and hard, your mouth wide open as his tip brushed your cervix, screaming to him to keep it right there.

“I’m close” he said, pulling your hair back to press his chest to your back, his other hand going down to play with your swollen clit, wanting your to come around his cock like the slut he knew you were. “Come with me, you whore”

“Yes” you moaned, your tongue out as his cock hit the right spots, making your hips to move against his, grinding against his hand and dick, feeling your wetness drip down to your thighs. “Yes, yes, I want to”

He laughed, approaching your ear with his tongue to bite it, leaving a long and wet kiss underneath it that made you grow hotter, your eyes closed as you let him use you; the only thought in your mind being him and his wonder-working cock.

Truth was, he was fucking you stiffly, every slam of his hips stronger than the last one, but you were so deprived of touch, so dick-starved, that even if Jonathan was fucking you like a lifeless doll, only for the sake of his pleasure, you loved it, even when it hurt you.

“I’m going to fill you up” he said against your ear, his hand leaving your clit unattended as he grabbed your hip to increase the velocity of his thrusts, ramming your hole like a demented man, making your head drop against his shoulder and scream at the ceiling, now knowing what he meant by curing you.

“Going to get you pregnant” he said, more to himself than anything “so you don’t have to bitch about being alone anymore”

You opened your eyes with terror, you didn’t want children, you were so young. The idea made you frightened, the moaning now sounding like little nos and pull outs, but Jonathan didn’t listen.

“Doctor please, please, pull out” you pleaded, reaching for his hips and trying to push him away, one of his hands slapping your ass and pulling you down by your shoulder blade so you wouldn’t fight anymore. “Doctor Crane please”

“I will fucking fill you up, Y/N” he chanted, laughing at the idea of your round belly and your swollen tits, carrying his baby all day and feeling all worked up and needy all day, only waiting for him to fuck you all day. “You won’t be alone again. You won’t be sad again”

Then you realized it.

When he came, your hot walls creamed every single drop of his cum, making his thrusts sloppy and slow, his moans filling your ears as you sobbed under his touch, feeling his seed paint your walls and load your insides with his sperm.

That was your cure.

His hot release that now flooded inside your leaking cunt, that was your so-promised antidote. He took away your solitude by giving you his and yours firstborn, a bastard baby that would give you the company that you lacked.

You felt him chuckle as he rode out his high, the chase of his own climax made you forget yours, so now there you were, your swollen cunt looking for its release while his rested among your insides calmly, like it was meant to be.

He didn’t pull out immediately, taking his time to appreciate the sight of your skirt resting in your hips all rolled up, your bruised neck and messy hair, the way your ass was exposed to him by the way he had you arching your back. All for him— for him to wreck.

He pulled out and rolled his eyes when you started crying, now being annoying instead of hot. You sat on the couch and saw him button his pants and fix his hair, hissing when you felt nothing but pain growing in your worn-out pussy. You explained through your weak voice how he ruined your life, that he was the worst person you’ve ever met and that now you had to carry the product of his sick and twisted rapist-fantasy, even tried to hit him, but your pathetic tantrum only gained you another slap in the face, and a stern look.

When he tried to stand up and leave, you grabbed him by the wrist and begged him not to, he couldn’t just leave you, not now, not ever.

“Don’t be so ungrateful” he said, a smile that made you feel nothing but trepidation in his face. “You’ll never be alone again”

You couldn’t help but feel scared. Scared of him, of what just happened, of what’s going to happen next, scared for your future son with this evil specie of a man.

When you continued to cry, and he pulled you for a hug as he assured you that he would never leave you; and how could he? He had a long life of success waiting for him now, giving a girl of your status his last name, his children. Oh, it’s going to be wonderful, he just needed to tame you and make you the perfect slave for him, and that wasn’t going to be hard.

You were sure that you’ll never be loved, but at least now Jonathan was going to be with you. You’ll never be alone again.

thanks for reading. w/love, fenina;)

taglist: @lovesickxcherries @genini @ilunapb @ostricx @devotedlyshadowytheorist

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#cillian x fem!reader #jonathan crane x reader #cillian murphy x oc #cillian murphy x reader #cillian smut #cillian x reader #cillian x y/n #jonathan crane fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #jonathan crane x you #cillian one shot #cillian fic #peaky blinder imagine #batman fanfiction #scarecrow x reader

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weirdworldofwinnie · 6 months

Text

Happy Halloween!🎃Here's a treat for all you Jonathan Crane lovers out there:

Face Me...

Dr. Jonathan Crane aka Scarecrow x Female Reader (NSFW 18+ only smut)

Summary: You work at Arkham Asylum in Gotham and Dr. Crane has been stalking you for a while, but you are leery of him and have been avoiding him outside of professionalism at all costs. One night though as you are leaving work, he tracks you down at your car to see just what you're so afraid of.

Word Count: ~4,426

Warnings: Semi-rough car sex, non-con elements, forced oral (male receiving), dirty talk/language, slight degradation, hair pulling, slapping, stalker behavior, talk of virginity loss, birth control, Dr. Crane being kind of a creep in general

Note: Reader does not know he is actually Scarecrow! And images above are sourced from Pinterest. This story is based only on Cillian Murphy's version in the Batman films and is my interpretation of the character; I don't own him or any part of the franchise, this is just for fun.

Tonight was swathed in misty sheets of rain in the gritty darkness lightly tainted by the glow of streetlights as your car, parked a few blocks from Arkham Asylum, beeped to unlock and you slung your purse over your shoulder, sighing after a long day and wanting to get home to a hot bath and a drink or two. But a strange feeling in the pit of your stomach at a shadow from your peripheral vision made you hesitate and you squinted through the hazy shower that was tapering off to a light drizzle, dampening your hair.

A suited man, height on the shorter side, was stopped no more than twenty feet away and a jarring jolt rushed to your bones when you saw the street light glint off his narrow framed glasses and you paused, hand on the car door. He was utterly silent and you were unnerved by his stiff posture and oddly clenched fists, half thinking to jump in your four-door-sedan and peel out of his presence, but he then walked forward causally, those hands relaxing and slipping into the pockets of his black slacks.

"Good evening," he called out, stepping into view under a streetlight with a smirk and you clenched your jaw, crossing your arms defensively as he slowly approached, that sick smile never sliding off his features that were - you'd have to admit - frankly handsome... No, beautiful was a better term.

"Why are you stalking me, Dr. Crane?" you asked with edginess to your tired voice. It was late and you didn't even live in Gotham City, you just commuted here for work.

"Stalking? Oh no, I am simply observing," he replied smoothy, but it came off as more snappy and insincere.

"Right... Don't you have somewhere to go?"

"Do you?"

"Yeah, home to my apartment miles away. It's been an exhausting day and too late to be out on the town, so if you're proposing anything, I can't take it tonight."

"It's always a long, late night in Gotham."

He moved within a few feet of you and you swallowed nervously, but remembered a man like him could smell fear, so you put up a brave front.

"So when do you finally fuck off and leave me alone? It's unprofessional to follow someone without their permission, you know. Keep this up and I'll need a restraining order."

"But you always avoid me during work and now you reject my offer for simple company?"

"Company late at night at my car in the rain? And aren't you technically my boss? We aren't friends and I don't know why you're so interested in me, but I don't think you should be. I'm not looking for a man like you. Right now I'm just looking for a nice glass of red wine honestly."

"Really...?" he drew the word out to almost a parodying tone and you pursed your lips.

"Yes, really. Now I bid you goodnight, Dr. Crane." You opened the car door fully, ducking and stepping a foot in when the door caught and you looked up to see him holding it in a firm grip. He was stronger than you expected.

"Stop denying it, I see the way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention. Stop hiding and face me once and for all," he insisted darkly.

You took a breath, desperately trying to calm your beating heart and yet the horrible feeling that this evening wasn't going to end on a dull note persisted.

"Don't hurt me, I'll-" you started to warn and his eyebrows shot up with a shake of his head.

"Call the police?" It sounded like mockery from his mouth and you scowled as he continued, his pale hand sprinkled with rainwater sliding up and down the car door frame.

"Hurt you, hm? Well, only if you want me to." He chuckled and you stared at his slightly floppy dewey dark hair and raised eyebrows.

"Why the hell would I want you to hurt me?"

"You tell me. I do know you secretly want something else, don't you? Something more... erotic?"

You scoffed angrily, hating how he was worming his way past your exterior and into attraction, but you couldn't let it happen.

"Take a raincheck. I'm going home." You tried to shut the door but he was still holding it in a death grip, knuckles white and veins bursting out the back of his hand.

"Stop fucking around, I don't have time for this sh-" you cut off your sentence with a yelp as Dr. Crane shoved you inside the backseat of your own car and you landed flat on your back as he came inside to hover over your vulnerable body, wetting his pink lips.

"Please! Don't do this!" you cried out of panic and he leaned back, breathing heavily.

"Don't go anywhere," he warned and you struggled to sit up, throwing your purse up front and he slammed the side door shut, getting more comfortable in the backseat, which you were not pleased about.

"This is MY car, get out," you commanded, but he was as cool as a cucumber as he cleaned his glasses with a cloth from his suit jacket.

"I just want to talk one on one, which we never do outside of the usual board meetings and it can be so boring, always about psychiatry and stats and police reports and this patient and these crazies and-"

"Oh sure you just want to talk. I'm not some kind of naive idiot to the desires of the opposite sex," you rolled your eyes and he scoffed, settling back on the seat with a cross of his legs and looking up to the car ceiling.

"It's so cold and wet tonight, shame we aren't someplace more cozy," he muttered and you awkwardly crawled into the driver's seat with your keys and fumbled to insert them in, starting the ignition.

"What are you doing there?" he asked mildly and even that sounded passive aggressive. God, he sure was insufferable.

"Turning the heat on because you're whining about it. I just wish you'd get out of here, completely violating my privacy."

"This is a public street you're parked on, isn't it? And is this how you treat all passengers?"

"I never have any passengers," you remarked bitterly and Crane leaned forward, putting his hands on the back of the seat and peering around to you as you glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

"Indeed. I know you're mostly a loner with almost no friends and orphaned from family or maybe you've lied and they aren't dead and are only estranged... Either way, no one cares and no one understands how you spend office hours in a facility full of the most criminally insane but you do it for the money and to quench your curiosity because deep down, you know - you know you're a freak too who sees no normal in what you have deemed a, oh say... corrupt kind of world."

You swallowed at his assertions and unfortunately fairly accurate reading.

"I don't need sympathy from you of all people," you snapped, putting the heat to full blast. It was freezing tonight and the defrost was battling the condensation filling up the windshield.

"I'm only trying to understand you myself, it's my job to psychoanalyze."

"I'm not one of your patients or experiments," you told him in disgust.

"Every human being is an experiment in the eyes of their creator, which is me for you because I happen to be the one who hired you in the first place. Without me, you would not have a job and therefore I created you in that respect," he replied in absurd smugness.

"Then what am I? Frankenstein's monster?"

His eyes flashed and he adjusted his glasses reflexively.

"I wish. No, you're my first prototype I have yet to diagnose."

You shut the heat off once the internal temperature was fairly toasty and cracked a window down a fraction for circulation. A beat of silence befell until he suddenly climbed into the front, dropping into the passenger seat confidently, and you realized how lithe he was, how easily he fit into spaces not designed for someone with such an overshadowing, all-encompassing ego.

"Now what are you doing?" you asked exasperatedly. He didn't answer and you hated the way looking at him was making your heart flutter despite your anger and the alarm bells ringing in your brain. Something about him was always... very off and you never could quite place your finger on it, he was a blind spot, but it was undeniable. Which was telling considering the people you were exposed to every day.

Crane reached up and removed his glasses entirely with a swipe to set them on the dash and your breath caught with that simple action. You admitted how he was very visually pleasing without those lens obstructing his intense blue colored orbs were. You glanced down and fiddled with the keys when he suddenly snatched them up out of your lap and pocketed them into his own pants with a manic expression.

"Hey, give those back!" you yelled and began to wrestle with him, arms flailing as he held his own above his head, palms up and empty.

"You want those? You have to do something for me first."

"I-Okay, what is it?" You dropped your arms and glared at him suspiciously. He smirked once, speaking with a tremor of excitement.

"If I was civilized, which I'm admittedly not, I'd ask you out on an old fashioned dinner date and then walk you to your door, give you a nice polite kiss and send flowers to your desk on Monday. But I can't wait anymore for that saccharine romantic scenario, so we'll get straight down to business. I want to fuck your brains out, right here in the car."

You blinked, rather stunned.

"I... I-I no, I can't, I mean that's-"

And here was where your confidence utterly failed as he suddenly lunged and grabbed you to pin you down inbetween the passenger and driver seats, head flung upside down almost to the backseat floor and legs helplessly kicking towards the windshield.

"Please, don't do this!" you yelped anxiously.

"Don't tell me you're a virgin who has never had a dick in you before," he whispered, misreading your fearful hesitant expression. Actually, you'd had sex once with a lame boyfriend back in college and since then, avoided the dating and hookup scene, content just to masturbate when you could.

"Oh, fuck, I should've guessed. What a shocking discovery," he wrongly concluded rather sarcastically and you cringed, twisting your head away from his warm breath and ridiculously good looks.

"This makes it all the more interesting, then," he murmured with a feathery caress to your cheek and you flinched, giving him a kick and successfully wriggling out of his grasp to curl up against the door in the backseat.

"I've been waiting a long time for our encounter," he mused, utterly unfazed at the negative reaction.

You immediately went to open the door, ready to run for your life if he became overly threatening, but he hit the button that locked all the doors. You manually unlocked your one door - thank God for that safety feature - but his deadly voice made you freeze.

"Are you quite sure you want to do that?"

"T-This is my ensured vehicle and y-you are violating every right of mine by t-taking over like this," you stated, but your voice was shaking like a leaf through the words.

"That's it, you are afraid of me..." he whispered slowly and the pure delight with pride in his voice was unmistakable. You turned to look at him directly, unable to hide and deny anything any longer.

"I think you are being very inappropriate right now," you admitted nervously.

Crane moved to join you in the backseat, but you felt stuck even though you could technically open the door and make an escape. There was no way he could really stop you, was there? He didn't have a weapon on him, did he?

"If you were really frightened, you would have bolted by now," he said as though reading your thoughts and you gulped, realizing he was right.

"Dr. Crane, I-" you were broken off by him abruptly grabbing your face and kissing you, his tongue sloppily forcing its way into your mouth and you naturally reciprocated while inhaling his sharp stinging scent of expensive cologne. He pulled back with a gasp and a mischievous spark in his eyes that made something awaken deep inside.

"You kissed me," you said in a stunned voice.

"That's precisely what I did, Y/N," he answered with another touch of smugness and you closed your eyes, knowing you were in too deep now. He was going to take this all the way and you felt helpless to stop it. Did you even want to stop him?

"I knew if I exposed myself enough to you, you'd finally stop being immune," Crane told you with a sort of self-righteousness as he ran his hands down your back and shrugged your coat off before moving to your front to remove your blouse carefully, button by button.

"I hate to see such pretty tits contained and so oppressed... Let's free them, shall we?"

He unclasped your bra and removed it, tossing it to the floor and you shivered, goosebumps peppering your bare arms and neck.

"Aww, is it too cold?" He made a pout and privately you wanted to smack those stupid lips right off his condescending face but it was if you were under a spell of a sudden, entranced by his actions and his hypnotic eyes. He trailed his fingers down from your throat to your nipples and you hardened at the stimulation, closing your eyes in regret. Dr. Crane was turning you on, dammit.

"Better than I could imagine..." he breathed, taking in your appearance for a minute while groping your breasts, squeezing, and you gritted your teeth as he teasingly tickled you under your arms, making your breath hitch and a stupid giggle slipped out.

"Sensitive, are we? I promise I won't hurt you."

You leaned back, casting a fretful look out the windows in case of onlookers, but the street was empty and the glass was streaky with rain, creating a thickly translucent rippled covering not unlike a shower curtain.

"No one knows," Crane stated flatly in response to your paranoia while untying his dress shoes and pushing them under the seats. You just nodded, taking off your own and then unzipping your pants the same time he undid his own. His tight dark grey briefs were bulging with his cock and you hesitated, absolutely unsure of what to do when he completely stripped and out popped out his erect glistening-at-the-tip penis in full view.

"Take it in your mouth," Crane ordered abruptly, pushing you down beneath him.

"Um, no I think that's disgus-" Your voice was cut off as you nearly choked; he roughly shoved his cock so fast into your parted mouth. The silky end of his tie tickled your nose as he inched closer, and clearly this was much more enjoyable for him than it was for you as he groaned in building ecstasy and you kept your mouth closed around it, afraid that if you moved, you'd gag or get hurt. He forced your head up a little and bobbed, but you could feel a dribble of precum seeping down your throat and now you reflexed, yanking yourself from him with a loud noise and banging the car door open to cough and spit violently out onto the pavement below.

"Get back in, do you want someone to see us?!" Crane hissed and you felt a sharp tug on your hair as he pulled you back. You shrieked and self defensively twisted to slap him straight in the face. He gasped from the unexpected blow, falling back and banging his head on the opposite window as you spat, wiping your lips of his mess.

"Can't take it like a common whore, can you? Feel like being a goddamn difficult bitch, don't you? Think you're better than me, do you?" he seethed, rubbing his cranium and you huffed.

"I thought you'd just put your dick in me, not that bullshit."

"It's called oral and many women in fact enjoy it."

"How do you know, you've done that before?"

He had a strange expression when he replied briskly.

"I've read up on the concept, you know."

"You've studied about women and sex. Amazing. Is that what you do on your lunch break or...?" you almost laughed, but the way he was staring at you wasn't in a joking manner. He had the look of an inmate one straw away from a full psychotic behavior break down. Basing from your training, you decided to distract his frustrating anger and talk nonchalantly to calm him down.

"Okay, I'm kidding around, I get it, and I don't mean to hate or spite you. Remember when I was initially employed at Arkham, fresh out of college, and I met you for the first time? I personally thought you were extremely cocky and looked waaay too young to be a top psychiatrist in such a grand high security institution. Now I can say with certainty that while you are, um, creative in your methods with the inmates and I do admit I find you very terribly attractive, I have to say Dr. Crane... I still think you're an arrogant son of a bitch."

"Call me Jonathan," he replied, unimpressed by the insult and wrestling off his tie.

"Well, Dr. Jonathan, you sure are a pretty piece of work," you replied with ample attitude and he was fed up, dumping his jacket and shirt from his body and twisting the tie in his fingers. He held it up and a muscle spasmed in face, jaw clenching and enunciating his cheekbones.

"You want me to choke you with this?"

"I'd really prefer you didn't and it would be very nice if you weren't such a dick forcing your sex on me," you answered matter-of-factly.

"Lie down or I'll fucking fire you from your position, understand?" he snapped loudly and was extremely serious as you glared, but then reluctantly laid back obediently on the seats just to avoid complications and he came down swiftly, carefully aligning to position his penis at your entrance. He cautiously touched the moist head to your vaginal lips when you held up a hand onto his chest, stopping him.

"Now hang on doctor, don't you want to warm up first?"

"I'm obviously already warmed up, Miss Y/LN."

"But I don't have lubricant on me, so you're going to have to get me naturally very wet for penetration because right now I'm dry as a bone," you warned for your own protection, but hardly expected him to listen.

"Don't tell me how to do it," he replied, snippy.

"I'm serious, you can't just stick it in there; it will be just as hard for you as it'll be for me and I don't want to end up seeing a gynecologist."

"So you aren't a virgin after all?"

"I had my hymen broken with a loser in the past," you told him and he raised one brown eyebrow, creasing his forehead with a few fine lines.

"Then how should I start, Miss doctor?"

You wordlessly took a hold of his index finger and guided it to your opening and he pressed lightly, feeling pooling liquid.

"You little liar, you're already discharging," he whispered disapprovingly and he massaged your clit in slow jerky rhythm. You nodded in approval, losing your control as he slipped a finger in and moved around enough to make you clench a bit, trapping his digit.

"How does that feel?" he asked almost clinically and you closed your eyes, urging him to put in another finger. He did and you almost orgasmed when he extracted much too soon, sighing.

"This isn't much fun for me," he whined and you made a face, shifting position to spread your legs wider, putting your arms up and accidentally smearing the fogged window with your fingertips. You looked utterly submissive, practically begging to be fucked, to get it over with (so you convinced yourself).

But for all his aggression to trap you in your own car for penetrative sex, Jonathan was now becoming oddly timid as he hesitantly closed the gap between you, realigning his bare body to yours.

"Wait, have you done this before?" you asked suspiciously and he was sheepish in answering.

"I told you, you are my first prototype."

"Shit, you're the virgin here?!" You laughed as though this made this experience any less stressful or partially contrived.

"Do you masturbate?" you then asked and he rolled his eyes.

"What kind of man of do you think I am?"

"Is that yes or no?"

"Doesn't matter, Y/N. Now, let me ask you a more important question: are you on birth control of any type?"

"I..." you hesitated to answer because if you told him 'no' would he go any further? You had pills at home as a precaution, but neglected to ever take them, assuming you'd be remaining single. But you had no intention of getting into a full relationship and certainly not being impregnated by this man.

"I left them at home," you finally answered truthfully.

"I have something for that then," he assured and you stared as he leaned back and rummaged in the pockets of his clothes on the floor. He produced a tiny pill container and dropped a pill into your open palm. You didn't ask why he was carrying around birth control pills, but assumed he had indeed been planning this for a while.

"Don't want any unnecessary side effects of something that I'll have to end up terminating anyway," he muttered bitterly as you popped it in and climbed into the driver's seat to swig some water from your plastic bottle in the cupholder, feeling grateful that at least he didn't administer that Fear Toxin he was always messing around with in the asylum.

"Now can we get started?" Jonathan asked impatiently and you took a breath, easing the front seat down so you were lying parallel to him. Jonathan clamored on top of your naked flesh and straddled you, his cock rubbing up against your thighs, then vaginal area and you squirmed, clutching onto his back. He pushed in gradually, but densely, and you whimpered at the stinging pain and then the growing pleasure bubbling around his cock within your walls and you clenched hard, much harder than you had with his fingers.

"Oh... Fuck, Jonathan..." you groaned and he bounced up and down lightly, thrusting with slaps of skin and you felt your bottom sticking with sweat to the leather seat as he kept at it for several minutes, gripping your hips and nearly plowing you apart. It hurt, no getting around it, and he wasn't privy to what you were feeling as he seemed entirely in his own zone, racing for his pleasure until you moaned loud enough to cause him glance down, realizing you were getting close to free falling off the edge.

"C'mon, you're so close with that pretty little pussy of yours, almost..." Jonathan breathed in your ear and as he hit the spot, finally the climaxing orgasm came with a bang and it was so intense, probably fueled by adrenaline and stress more than actual love, that you emitted a high pitched shrieking whine which trailed into a low moan of relief while it tapered off and he grunted, somehow thrusting even further. Yes, you had minimal experience, but had never ever been penetrated this far before and you dreaded how much longer he could rail you, but thankfully his own orgasm came with a grunting groan as he spilled into you and you held on, digging nails into his shoulder blades and nearly biting his neck. He panted heavily in your ear and his tickle of breath made your stomach flip.

He laid still on top of you for awhile, cock twitching and warming your insides. The windows were fogged up completely and the cold was now non-existent with the heat you and him were creating out of friction alone.

"You enjoy yourself?" you whispered hoarsely to Jonathan as his breathing slowed sluggishly and he looked like he was falling asleep, so you shoved him off your aching body and he blinked, rubbing his forehead.

"Yeah, that was satisfactory. Maybe I should bump up your paycheck."

"I'm not a prostitute, but thank you."

He smiled lazily, eyes rather unfocused, and you pulled your seat up with the lever, reaching for his glasses on the dash and handing them back to him. He, in turn, retrieved the car keys from his pants and tossed them back to you with a clanging jingle.

Casting a look around your car, there were streaky handprints on the fogged glass, thin swipes of fingers and imprinted palms decorating the back windows and you reached over to one and drew a heart outline in a patch of blank space. Jonathan's own finger speared through it, making a arrow.

"Very romantic," you commented sarcastically and moved to join him in the backseat as he started to draw a creepy face reminiscent of a familiar spooky icon (a clown? Maybe a scarecrow?) when he stopped and checked his watch.

"I need to go," Jonathan coldly stated out of the blue and began to hastily gather up his clothing, awkwardly dressing before he stepped outside and zipped up his pants, and inhaled the late October city air, somewhat out of breath. The rain had stopped and the skies were clearing, the full pearly white moon slicing through the curtain of storm clouds, and you drew your blouse around yourself with a shiver before sliding into underwear, realizing you'd never look at Dr. Crane the same since this intimately raw experience.

"So I'll be seeing you around tomorrow...?" you wondered aloud and although you meant for that to be purely work related, he clearly took it the other direction.

"Oh, I'll be seeing you." He smirked knowingly and then slammed the car door closed in your face, leaving you sore and to reel from whatever the hell this twisted specimen of a man just put you through. Did you like it?

Maybe.

Thanks for reading 🖤 First time writing for Jonathan Crane, so I hope this was halfway decent!

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lis-likes-fics · 4 months

Text

Lab Rats

Pairings: professor!Jonathan Crane x student!Reader Word Count: 8.2k words Prompt: Sex Pollen Warnings: NSFW, smut, dubcon, professor/student relationship, sex pollen, oral (m!receving), fingering, edging, multiple orgasms, dumbification, name calling, degradation, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie... A/N: This is a day late, but I got it done! I hope you enjoy this filthy piece. Dr. Crane is so much fun to write for!

The call of your name stalled you from packing the rest of your items, your fingers tingling and your ears burning at the sound of your name breaching his lips.

“Could you stay after class, please?” Professor Crane asked, looking upon you with a set smile.

You remained calm. He would read any unnecessary excitement in the way you breathed.

You nodded, trying to sink back into the rest of the class, packing their bags to leave. You pulled the zipper of your bag closed. When enough people left the room, you made your way to the front with your bag on your person.

You had taken a certain fascination with Dr. Jonathan Crane the first moment you stepped into his class. He was handsome and charming, he knew how to teach and he always managed to pull you in.

He wasn't soft on anyone, even his favorite student usually didn't receive much special treatment. On the first day of classes, he told everyone that 50% of the class would be walking out of the door by the end of the week, and he was right. Better for you, that just meant less people to steal his attention away, less competition when it came to acing his tests and projects.

You loved his class, not just for the topic—obviously. Over the past couple of weeks, you felt his shift. His usual objectivity had switched and he seemed to point you out a little more. He praised your work, he accepted all of your input in class, he would even email you personally (sometimes talk to you after class) on your work to tell you how well you were doing.

You knew your attraction toward him would never amount to anything, it would never work out. But your fantasy was enough to quench your hunger for his attention and affection.

“Yes, sir?” you asked as you walked up to him.

Crane smiled at you. “I have a few matters I would like to speak with you privately… Could you spare the time?”

The strength of your heartbeat was extra hard for a few moments as you took in his words. You nod, “Of course, professor.”

“Step into my office?” he asked, gesturing toward the door with his name on it.

You took the first step, walking toward the door as he followed behind. You were suddenly very self-conscious of the way that you walked as you opened the door.

He moved around you when you were both inside, allowing you to shut the door as he took his spot in front of his desk. He leaned back on it, crossing his legs at the ankles and putting his hands in his pockets.

You knew this one. He was presenting his body language to seem more relaxed in order to ease you from your guard so he could properly manipulate you into agreeing with whatever he said.

He sighed, taking a moment to look upon you. “I would like you to know that I admire you and your work greatly,” he began, “and this is what allows me to ask this of you so freely.”

You blinked, anticipating his offer. “Yes, professor?”

He smiled, almost slyly. “I am conducting an experiment of sorts, a scientific breakthrough that I would like you to be the face of.”

You stared at him, your eyes wider than you meant for them to be as you slowly recovered. “I… Me?”

He nodded. “As part of a selection of students.”

Your heart sunk slightly at that. One of a group, but his first choice, at least…

“Oh,” you nodded. “Alright, uhm… Why—What, uh…” You reprimanded yourself for your lack of eloquence. “What is the experiment? What kind is it?”

“Unfortunately,” he breathed in deep, letting out a long sigh, “that must be kept a secret until I come to a close. It's not quite done—a few last minute tweaks need to be made…” He looked off slightly, thinking to himself for a split second. His attention turned back to you, looking at you a little closer, bringing you in.

He spoke slowly, leaning off the desk to stand. He moved a little closer, and you felt his hand brush your elbow. “But I would like to know that you would be willing to drop everything at a moment’s notice when I do contact you for it.”

He took another step forward, closer now to you. You knew this one, too. He was making it personal, making you compliant. You knew this trick, it was Psychology 101.

But it worked anyway.

“Oh,” you licked your bottom lip: your own trick. “Okay.”

He smiled, raising his brows, “Yes?” he nodded.

You returned the nod. “Yes, sir,” you smiled. “I…would be honored to.”

He held your eye contact, not letting go as he nodded. “Excellent!” he exclaimed gently. He leaned in a little, close to your face, too close for a professor talking to his student. “You really are my greatest student.”

You smiled, perhaps too much. You feel too giggly. “I'm…so glad.”

He moved his hand from your elbow to raise a finger, shaking it gently at you. “Remember,” he teased, “at a moment’s notice.”

You nodded definitely. “Of course.”

He offered you a charming smile before stepping out of your space, breaking the spell. He tilted his head toward you. “You may go.” Just as you were lifting your foot, he held out a hand toward you. “And thank you very much.”

With one last nod, you stepped back. “Not a problem, sir.”

You stepped out of his office, closing the door gently behind you. Gently biting your lip, you unsilenced your phone as you left his classroom.

The shrill ring of your phone cut through the late night and woke you brutally from your slumber. You gasped as you reluctantly blinked through the dark to direct your eyes to the abusive light emanating from the phone. The clock next to it on the nightstand read far past midnight. You moaned deeply, speaking but only forming actual words toward the middle of your complaint.

“...’f i’s ‘nother sp’m…” You wiped your face and covered your eyes as you answered the phone, not quite awake but too tired to deal with waking up.

“Hullo?”

The voice on the other end woke you up just a little more, not quite clearing the fog in your brain but allowing you to put more effort into sounding a little more awake.

“It's time.”

Time for wh—Oh.

You suddenly remembered Dr. Crane's experiment, the one he wanted to test with you. Your gut clenched and your heart picked up and startled you awake. It was time.

“Oh.”

You pressed your finger into the doorbell, checking the address of Dr. Crane's house out of nerves a fifth time and the time for the twentieth. You wrapped your coat tighter around you, the chilly breeze persuaded by the winter air of Gotham so close to Christmas time. They would be letting you out for the break soon…

The door opened, a little crack and a creak to allow you entry.

“Just go along with whatever happens.”

You thought back to his instructions on the phone, vague instructions you briefly considered not trusting. But he was your professor. He had your best interests at heart, surely.

You reached your hand toward the knob, timidly reaching. He wasn't at the door. Should you actually go in?

“Don't waste time asking questions. Everything will be explained when you get there.”

You pushed the door open and walked inside, shucking your coat off as you nervously looked around the house. You shut the door behind you, hanging your coat on the rack by the entrance and leaving your shoes next to the ones by the door.

You swallowed thickly as you looked around, stepping further inside. “Uhm…” you cleared your throat. “Dr. Crane? Are you still home?”

You were met with silence as you continued to quietly step through the living room, the air so still that you could feel your heart beating heavily in your chest. You were so nervous, your blood was pumping and you were bordering on scared as you tried to keep your breath level. Your flesh raised with goosebumps. It was too quiet.

You almost didn't want to speak again, afraid to break the silence and disturb something unknown lurking around the corner.

“Dr. Crane?” you called again, suddenly feeling very warm and very frightened. Where was he? “Professor?”

“In here.”

The voice was distant when he spoke, giving you some reprieve from the silence but feeding your anxiety, fueling your fight-or-flight.

“Where?” you wondered aloud, stepping past the archway that led into the hall.

“Just a few steps more…”

Could he see you? Was he taunting you on purpose? Perhaps part of the experiment?

The anxiety curled in your stomach, kept your footsteps slow and your breath shallow and a scream ready in your throat in case you needed it.

You were reluctant to speak. “Sir?” You pressed your palm along the wall of the hall and began to peer around the corner, into a room on the left. Maybe Dr. Crane was waiting there…

A strange, strong mist invaded your senses as you turned the corner. Raring up the scream, you gasped and your eyes stung, resulting in a heavy cough that took a moment to die down. You braced yourself on the wall, holding yourself up as you tried to clear your eyes, clouded by tears from both the coughing and the mist burning your eyes. You watched the mist clear, breathing in desperately for air.

“Shh, shh, shh, shh,” Dr. Crane's voice came, then his hands on your shoulders as he pulled you in and guided you into the room. “That's good,” he bid.

He held you steady as you blinked rapidly and steadied your breath. “I took the liberty of testing my hypothesis that it would work faster if the patient is already running on adrenaline.”

You wiped the tears roughly from your eyes. “Professor, what–?”

“Hush,” he cut you off, bringing you to the bed. “Sit here,” he said, lowering you down.

He pulled up a chair, sitting across from you before handing you a handkerchief. You took it greedily and began wiping your face. You sighed deeply into the fabric, holding your head in your hands as you adjusted.

“Okay,” he said, smiling. “Now that's done…the substance you've just inhaled is an aphrodisiac of my own design.”

You stilled entirely, looking up at him tentatively as your eyes widened. You blinked, shaking your head as you tried to organize your thoughts. It was an… an—“Aphrodisiac…” you muttered.

“Yes,” he nodded. “Aphrodisiac.”

You were suddenly dizzy, processing his words too slowly as you put together what this meant. An experiment with an aphrodisiac… and you were the “face” of it all?

“The word itself comes from the Greek name ‘Aphrodite’, which—I'm sure you know—is the Greek goddess of Sex.” You looked up at him as he began explaining, rolling up the sleeves of his white button down and dusting off his black slacks. Adjusting his glasses on his nose, he continued, “As far as the function of the substance is concerned, it affects hormone levels and accelerates blood flood, increasing chemicals in your brain like—dopamine, glutamic acid, nitric oxide, oxytocin to enhance sexual arousal.” He sounded like he was reading straight out of a book as he spoke with his hands, illustrating the drug to you to paint pretty pictures for you to apply to what was happening to you, in your own body.

It was getting warm, the physical exertion from the adrenaline, likely. The suspense and anxiety from before, along with the shock of Dr. Crane's mist had thrust you into an adrenaline rush. That was surely all it was.

“It relaxes smooth muscles,” he continued. “Stimulates erections, increases arousal.”

You fought the urge to clench your thighs at the idea of it. He was your psych professor and you were his student, and he was testing aphrodisiacs on you and telling you how it made boners and stiff nipples and fucking arousal.

“Professor,” you muttered.

He stopped you, raising a finger. “Please hold. I'm not finished.” He cleared his throat and thought for a moment. “Where was I? Aphrodisiacs are commonly found in natural foods or herbs, though the change in sexual desire is usually unnoticed when these substances—like chocolates, most commonly, or oysters and figs and strawberries—are consumed.”

You clenched the handkerchief in your hand, rubbing your palms against your thighs roughly. “Professor Crane.” You felt like your head was beginning to spin.

He sighed at you, seemingly disappointed. “I hope you're interrupting me for a good reason.”

You stared at him straight on, nearly glaring as a thin layer of sweat began to form over your skin. “It's hot,” you huffed.

“Well, that's to be expected,” he shrugged. He looked you up and down, smiling with a gentle chuckle. “How rude of me. How are you feeling?”

You brought the handkerchief to your forehead, breathing uneasily. “Hot.”

“As you've already stated.” He waved his hand dismissively. “What else?”

You didn't want to say: considering the heat was spreading through your body and scouring your nerves with a flush of lust. The last thing you wanted to do was explain that you were horny to your professor.

He tilted his head at your hesitation, noticing the way you turned away, closed yourself off. He raised a brow. “Come on,” he bid. He didn't sound like he was encouraging you, he sounded like he was taunting you. “Don't leave any details. This is an experiment, might I remind you. If you leave anything out, it could hinder the research.”

“Um,” you struggled, your voice trembling a little. You felt like your whole body would soon follow suit. You felt shaky, like you’d fall if you tried to stand. “Uh.” You couldn’t figure out what to say—it was humiliating to say the least, looking at your professor and forcing your eyes to stay on his face, because fuck…you wanted him so bad.

He raised a brow, waiting expectantly, “Well?”

You couldn’t. “I don’t know,” you muttered. “It’s just hot.”

He reached his hand out and pressed the back of his palm to your forehead. The coolness of his skin against the heat of your face was like a salve to a cruel burn. You leaned into him, stifling your moan as best you could as your eyes fluttered at the contact. It felt so good.

“Mm,” he hummed, pretending not to notice your weakness as he shifted his hand to your temple. “You’re burning up.” You knew he was taunting you when his hand slipped down to your neck, pressing against your scorching skin and sending goosebumps through your body. Your heart felt like it would leap out of your chest any time soon.

When he pulled his hand away, you felt like you could die on the spot as the fever-like heat came back immediately after. You tried to remain impartial, shaking your head to gather your thoughts enough to speak.

“Why couldn’t you have just performed the experiment on your own?” you questioned, wiping your forehead roughly to be rid of the light sheen of sweat coating your skin. “I don’t see how an external test subject was necessary.” Remaining as professional as possible seemed like your best course of action. Insanity or not, this was still a test—you were sure of it—and there was no way you would fail a personal test with Professor Crane and risk falling from such high esteem with him.

He reached behind him where his suit jacket lay neatly on the back of his seat. He removed a second handkerchief from an inside pocket with a dramatic whip, taking his glasses off to clean them as he shook his head. “No, no, no,” he said. “If my theory is correct, the test must be performed with another person present. The substance works by increasing adrenaline. It’s quite similar to my fear toxin.”

You shook your head, “Fear toxin–”

“The adrenaline builds and builds,” he continued, cutting you off with little regard for you, as he glanced through the lenses, “increases the heart rate so much that—if left unresolved—the subject would experience a heart rate so high…” He finished polishing them off before replacing his glasses on the bridge of his nose and directing his analytical gaze toward you once more. With a lurking smile full of sadistic amusement, he spoke in a low voice, “...your little heart would burst in your chest.”

The anxiety curled in your chest until it began its fast evolution to fear. All these emotions mixing within you wasn’t good for your health—and, apparently, neither was this toxin he had infected you with. “...What?” you said. It was the only thing you could manage to say.

He shrugged, tilting his head with a slight roll of his eyes. “Well,” he began to correct himself, “not literally, of course. It’s highly improbable. But your heart would just…stop.” His eyes seemed to darken as he explained it to you, staring too deeply into your own anxious gaze as he seemed to enjoy every minute of this. With a breath, he began again. “And while my toxin has an antidote, there is only one way to reverse the effects of this aphrodisiac.”

You swallowed thickly. “Which is?”

He smirked, though he tried to hide it. “Sexual gratification.”

If you weren’t burning up, your blood would run cold…and then you’d run just as hot as you were running now. Your head was definitely spinning now, images of forbidden desires—which you had pushed down, down to the depths of your mind—flooding to the surface. So many fantasies, so many urges, being unlocked once more as you thought about…reversing the effects.

But, for the millionth time, he was your professor. It didn’t matter how many times you’d fantasized about him having you on your knees, his hands in your hair, his lips all over your body…it couldn’t happen. It shouldn’t happen.

You tried not to clear your throat. It would make you more guilty than you already were. “W-well–” Damn it, you cringed. “–even if that’s true…gratification can be…achieved through…”

He raised a brow, happy to mock you. “Through?”

You took in a steadying breath, looking down at your legs to avoid looking up at him. Your skin was burning, your nerves were tingling with an increasing desire “Through self-pleasure. Masturbation. Couldn’t it?” You were already this far, there was no use in being shy.

But even then…

He tilted his head, sighing. “Unfortunately, no,” he said. “You see, once it has been ingested in any form, only another person's hormones can slow the process—which is why you’re still so in control right now–” you didn’t feel in control, “–but even that isn’t enough. In males, sexual gratification can only be achieved by the release of semen when mixed with a woman’s arousal. Likewise, for a female subject, gratification can only be met through insemination.”

He said it so quickly, so nonchalantly. You had no time to process as you blinked rapidly. “Insem–”

“Therefore, a partner is necessary for the experiment, and only a partner of the opposite sex is truly effective, so…I suppose that’s a loss for the homosexuals, hm?” He shrugged, amused by his own joke.

Pain spasmed in your stomach, a sharp stab in your gut and a stinging sensitivity to everything your skin came in contact with. “Fuck,” you sighed, folding over slightly just as a growing migraine became present enough to matter.

He sighed. “Language, please.”

You rubbed your palms harshly against your eyes, forcing your fingertips against your temple in a useless attempt to ease the pain roaring in your head, sacrificing the stabbing in your gut. “It hurts.” It took everything not to sob.

He turned his head. “What kind of pain?”

“All of the above,” you said impatiently, your voice breaking. “It hurts.”

He hummed and leaned forward. “And where does it hurt the most?” He gestured to your general body. “Or is it just about the same everywhere?”

“It's…” you hesitated, “everywhere.”

Crane tilted his head, looking at you with a glow of disappointment. He removed his glasses with a sigh, setting them to the side and directing his attention entirely on you.

“Now, my dear,” you shuddered at the name, “This doesn't work if you aren't being completely and entirely honest with me. I am quite content to sit here and watch you succumb to my little toxin.” A wash of shock overtook you, your palpitating conflicted between beating too fast and stopping all together.

He continued, a taunting grin curving his lips as he gave you his cold stare. “Without me to help you,” he shrugged, “you have no way of reversing the effects. I'll say you came down with a sudden fever, one you just couldn't fight.”

The hair along your arms stood tall. He couldn't be serious, it was a joke… But when have you known Jonathan Crane to joke?

“But…” you fumbled, trying to decide what to say, “But I've been perfectly healthy. Why would people believe you?”

He tilted his head, looking at you like you were just the cutest, dumbest little thing. “This is Gotham, sweetheart.” He shrugged dismissively. “People die every day, and no one fucking cares.”

Breathing heavily, you put a hand over your stomach and let out a pained moan. You thought to yourself, over his words. You shook your head, not meeting his eyes.

“Cramps.”

He raised a brow questioningly. “Hm?”

“The pain,” you stated. “Stomach cramps, tender nipples and…and clitoris. Even the fabric of my clothes is too much. It hurts.” You ignored the heat in your face. It didn't matter now—the insecurity, the awkwardness. It was strictly scientific. Of course, it was.

“Very good,” he grinned, leaning back and crossing his legs. “Tell me more.”

“Tunnel vision, dizziness, migraine, short breath. It's like… it's almost like a panic attack.”

“Is that all?”

“It's really hot,” you huffed, another pained moan escaping through your unsteady breaths. “I'm really hot.” It didn't matter. “Fuck, professor, I need you.”

“What's that?” The fucker was getting off on teasing you like this, mocking you like it was his only pleasure in life.

“I need you,” you urged, trying not to sound as whiny as you feel.

“Is that so?” he raised a brow, smirking. “Have you told me everything then?”

“Yes, everything. Please.”

“Are you certain?” he pushed.

You felt the wet on your cheek and realized your need and the pain had reached your eyes, the tears welling along your waterline and dropping down in one streak down your face. “Please, I'll do anything!”

He paused slightly. “What's that?”

You reached out and grabbed his hands, pulling them into your lap. There was only one way to ease the pain, the heat, the desire. And you were set on it.

“I'll do anything! Just please, fuck me. Please,” you gasped, pushing through the pounding in your head and the fire in your core.

“Well,” he sighed, pulling his hand from your grasp to check his watch. He tsked to himself, thinking before he hummed. “I suppose I can do that.”

You could have cried—you were crying. “Thank you,” you sighed. “Thank you.”

“But,” he pointed a finger at your face, as though you were a dog being disciplined, “you must do as I say.”

You nodded urgently. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” You shuddered at his words, the praise washing over you like a wave swallowing you whole as you lay on the sandy shore of a beach.

He snapped at you, indefinitely grabbing your attention as he pointed to the space in front of him. You stood from the bed in a moment, your weak legs barely holding you up.

His hands landed on your waist, and you nearly melted at the contact. He turned you around in his hands, looking you up and down with an appreciative moan. “Let's see what we're working with,” he said. “Strip.” The order was plain and simple.

You did as you were told, trying not to be shy about it. He didn't care about shyness, and it didn't matter anyway.

You began peeling your clothes off, moving faster with each inch of skin revealed. Once you were bare in front of him, you fought the overwhelming urge to cover yourself. He wanted to see you, to see what you had to offer.

He hummed to himself, snapping again. “On your knees.” Again, you did as you were told.

Moving to your knees, he took your face in his large hands. You melted against him, your eyes fluttering shut as a deep moan escaped you. His hands felt so cool in comparison to your burning skin. If you weren't so desperate for more of what he had to offer, you would be perfectly content with sitting here and having him hold you like this.

When his hands lightly smacked your cheeks, your eyes snapped open as you brought yourself out of the sticky feeling of the subtle pleasure. “Keep your eyes open. And open your mouth.”

You parted your lips, and he slipped his thumb between them and pried your mouth open wide. He set his thumb on your tongue, pulling it over your bottom set of teeth and pushing his thumb farther into your mouth. Your breaths blew over his skin as he felt the softness of your cheeks, your tongue.

He surprised you when his hand was suddenly between your thighs, his fingers stroking through your folds as you gasped. “Jesus, you're fucking dripping.” He ran his fingers along your lower lips and the insides of your thighs where the arousal was smothered halfway down your thighs.

You whimpered and whined when he shoved his middle and ring fingers inside of you without warning, delving them into your hot, dripping, tight pussy. You tried not to squirm at the way his fingers wiggled inside you.

“Yes,” he sighed. “This'll do nicely.”

He pulled them out of you, shoving those same fingers between your lips to make you taste your arousal. “Suck,” he commanded. You obeyed.

You suckled around his fingers and felt another rush of molten arousal wash through you at the way he stares at you, his eyes dark and primal. You needed him.

“Strip me,” he said, pulling his hand away. From your knees, you unbuttoned his shirt and removed it, letting your hands press against the expanse of his chest and soothe you the slightest bit. You unbuckled his best and shoved his pants down his legs, removed it from his body like undoing ropes tying him to a chair.

You stared at his briefs, his half-hard erection tenting them as he enjoyed the sight of your mindless struggling. He placed a hand in your hair, gripping a fistful and holding you securely. “Now be a good girl and suck my cock.”

You pulled his boxers down without hesitation and only faltered as you saw him for the first time. This was absurd. You never thought you'd find yourself in this situation—staring at your professor’s erection, long and hard and flushed with his own lust for your body, about to wrap your lips around it.

You gripped him in your hand and he stifled a grunt at the feeling of your insistence. You stroked him a few times before sticking your tongue out and licking a long strip up the underside of his cock, tasting his precum beading at the tip and immediately becoming addicted to the taste. Whether it was him or just his toxin, the taste of him was mesmerizing, and you would do anything for more.

You wrapped your lips around him, suckling around the tip and taking him deeper. He let his head fall back just a bit, still watching you as his thighs clenched and his hair gripped your hair tighter. He did not guide you or push you down, he didn't think he needed to. You surprised him as you bobbed your head up and down his cock, taking him farther and farther down with each trip back and forth until he was filling your throat with his length and making you gag.

He grunted as you suckled some more. Your cunt clenched around nothing, aching for any kind of pressure as your clit pulsed and your walls fluttered. You ran a hand down your body, dipping between your thighs to try and ease some of the tension. You pressed down hard on your clit one time, a moan coming from your throat and shivering through his spine.

He pulled you by your hair off of his cock. “Did I say you could touch yourself, sweetheart?” You shook your head pathetically. “Then why are you doing it?”

You couldn't win this, you knew that. Using your desperation as regret, you frowned and whispered, “Sorry, sir.”

He loosened his grip enough to let you get back to work, still holding onto you as he leaned back again. Your lips found his cock once more, addicted and able to ignore the burn for now, a short escape from the pain.

You swirled your tongue around him, suckling as you went along. Crane stared at you with a dark gaze as you sucked him off. You flattened your tongue against him, going farther down his length with each swallow around his tip. Sticky white precum continued to seep from his slit and onto your tongue. You were drunk on the taste of him, taking him as best you could.

Crane looked like a dream, his head tilted back and his lips parted as you brought him closer and closer to a great release. Both his hands were tangled in your hair by now, holding on to you and his remaining control.

He was right about the hormones. Being this close to him, inhaling the scent of his cologne, the scent of his skin swirling around your head, was easing the searing desperation.

You felt him twitching on your tongue and suckled around him a little more. He was close, you could feel it. You didn't know if it was his toxin or not, but the idea of him spilling all over your tongue drove you crazy with lust.

He began to tense and groaned. “And that's enough of that,” he huffed, pulling you off of him by your hair and keeping you back, even through your attempts at licking the precum spilling from his tip.

“My, my,” he breathed. “Such a desperate little thing.”

You caught your breath as you spoke, your lips swollen and your eyes hooded as you did. “I need you,” you begged, gripping his thighs tight.

“Well,” he stood, snapping and gesturing for you to stand as well—you obeyed. “You'll have to be patient, sweetheart. I'm not through with my tests yet.” You whined. “Lay down.”

You did as told once again. He looked over your body, running a finger down the center of you, from your collarbone to your pelvis. You shuddered and whimpered but said nothing.

“I don't have any cuffs in here, so a tie will have to work.” He found his jacket draped along the back of his chair and pulled the tie neatly tucked inside of it out.

You held your breath as he reached for your hands, grabbing your wrists and holding them above your head. He put them around the bars of the headboard and, with more skill than you expected, tied them together to keep you bound there.

He gave a content sigh at the sight of you, smiling to himself. His eyes found yours as his fingertips grazed your side “Now, you can be as loud as you want. No need to hold back. We're all alone in here.”

He stood over you as his palm smoothed along your skin, reaching further down until he found your mound, slick and hot and waiting for something to slip inside it.

Your breath quickened in anticipation, waiting for him to make his move as his fingers played with your skin. Holding eye contact, he slipped his finger inside of you, parting your folds and burying itself in deep.

Your head lolled back as you moaned, the sound sticky with lust. He sank in deep, inch by torturous inch. You held your breath in your, feeling each little bit disappear, knuckle by knuckle, inside.

A second finger joined the first, spreading you open for him. They thrust and curled inside you. You moaned and found yourself grinding your hips into his palm. You needed more, more of him, the bliss of his fingers spread through your body to ease the fire and feed it all at the same time.

“Professor,” you whimpered. “More, please.”

“Hm?” he taunted. “That's not enough for you? You need more?”

“Yes, please,” you gasped.

You clenched around his fingers, feeling him pumping his fingers in and out of you. He curled them against a sweet spot deep within your dripping cunt, exploring your body and becoming familiar with each little nook and cranny. Your back arched and your moans were loud in the space of the bedroom. You had never felt so good before, just by his hands alone.

When his speed increased, you thought you would cry. The dizziness was eased by his pleasure, the headache had waned enough for you to see, and the pain in your stomach had simmered to a dull ache. But his fingers stuffed inside only seemed to heighten the heavy pulse in her veins.

You pulled at the tie wrapped around your wrists as you whined. “Professor, please,” you huffed. “I can't take it. I—fuck—needa cum.”

Letting out what seemed to be a disinterested sigh, he shrugged. “Since you want it so bad…” His thumb pressed against your clit and your back arched slightly at the contact.

You cursed breathily, seeing stars as the pleasure grew and grew and grew at the expertise of his hand. You thought you were going to explode, reaching your peak far too quickly as a knot began to build in your stomach. You tensed, clenching around his fingers as he spread them and curled them and pumped them in and out of you.

“Fuck, can I cum?” you moaned. “Please, professor, I need it so bad.”

He didn’t answer you, rubbing your clit in tight, fast circles as he felt you flutter around his fingers, he listened to your unsteady breath and felt your trembling thighs. You could feel yourself reaching that point, on the verge of finding that bliss…

You whimpered meekly when he suddenly stopped. Watching you with a dark smile, he chuckled as you squirmed and tried to move your hips against his hand. A tear slipped down the side of your face as the pain returned, sharper this time and spreading through your body like you’d been shocked.

“Dr. Crane, please,” you cried, squirming like a worm on a hook.

He laughed at you, looking your body up and down as he disregarded your need and spoke. “How do you feel?” he asked.

Another tear joined the first. “Please, I can’t.”

He tutted, shaking his head. “Ah-ah. Answer my question or I’ll stop completely.”

“No!” you exclaimed. “Please, it hurts. So bad, everything hurts.”

He nodded, “Good girl.” He rewarded you with the movement of his hand once more, filling you back up with his fingers and thrusting them into you.

You were blinded by the pleasure and continued to ride it out, unknowingly that he was beginning a cycle. He would have you crying, breaking down in tears and so desperate to cum all over his hand, only to rob you of such pleasure every time you got close to tasting it. And it hurt. All of it hurt, like you were being burned alive. The imaginary flames licked at your flesh and threatened to sear it off your bones.

You didn’t know how many times he’d done this cruel act upon you, how long you’d been laying there with your legs spread open wide and his fingers shoved inside of you, too caught up in the pain and the ecstasy of it all. “C-Crane,” you muttered, your lips and your tongue lazy with dissatisfaction. “Please.”

You could tell how fun this experiment was for him, and not even in just the sadistic way. He watched you closely, his eyes hooded and dark and his cheeks pink. His cock was still hard, maybe harder still in a painful way that your useless sounds helped him to ignore.

He hummed deeply, considering another dance with desperation. But he let out a deep sigh and shrugged. “I suppose,” he said, his thumb, which had been lazily rubbing too-slow circles on your clit, picking up once again.

And you were so scared it was a trick, that he would pull away and leave you to sob again at the loss of stimulation. The knot built, the dam overflowed, and as you reached your breaking point, you gasped when it all came loose. Your back arched, and you went blind as the pleasure crashed down on you like nothing you’d ever felt.

You cried out his name—or some garbled version of his name that came with not being in touch with your own body. You moaned, breathing too fast and dizzying yourself with your harsh breaths as you did. Crane smiled as he watched you, coaxing you through it as he noted just how good this orgasm must have felt for you.

“Look at you go,” he smiled, still rubbing your clit as he watched the last spasms of pleasure shoot through you. You were so pretty like this, writhing in bed as you came on his hand for the first time, whimpering and whining like a dog.

He pulled his hand from you, darting his tongue to lick the bottom lip of his wolfish grin.

As you began to settle, you let in a deep breath to fill your lungs, laying back lazily as you were offered a moment of stillness. All the pain from before was gone, the thumping in your heart calmed to a slightly quickened ut otherwise rhythmic beat. You could breathe.

Crane was staring at his watch, looking between you and it as he seemed to time something. You paid him little mind, soaking up the calm for as long as you had it.

It was all too soon that the pain began to slip back in, first as a distant sting in your head, then as the dull ache in your stomach. As your breath sped again at the slowly increasing ache, so too did your heart once more. Then the sensitivity of your skin, the burn of your goosebumps rubbing against the sheets or clashing cruelty with the air.

Unable to take so much, you began to cry. “Professor,” you spoke shakily. “Fuck, it hurts. It fucking hurts so bad. I can't—I can't, I can't.”

“Two minutes and seventeen seconds,” he stamped. “It took two minutes for the aphrodisiac to kick in again after the first orgasm has been reached.”

He stared at you, rubbing his bottom lip and sighing with a distant smile. “Oh, the things I want to do to you,” he mumbled. “To make you cum over and over and over again until you're,” he sighed longingly, his eyes fluttering and his jaw clenching with an urge he tried to conceal, “sobbing, trembling in my hands, begging me to stop.”

You shuddered, wanting it so badly but also dreading the opposite of this torture, where you would never stop shaking, never be able to calm as he pulled an orgasm after you one right after the other.

He shook himself out of his daydream. “But, I'm not sure how long you've got. That's an experiment for another day.”

You wanted to say something, but you were at your point in desperation where words were harder and harder to form unless the adrenaline really kicked in.

He positioned himself on the bed, his hand smoothing over your sides. “I bet you need me now, don't you?” Whining pathetically and not caring anymore about sounding decent, you nodded. “Yes, you do. You need me to fuck you, hhh? Take you nice and rough from behind. You need me to fuck you nice and deep, little slut?”

You nodded again, crying, “Please.”

He stood on his knees in front of you, taking your body in his hands and flipping you around, not caring for a moment that you were still tied to the bed frame with your arms now crossed.

He pulled you up on your knees and put your ass on display for him. His hands slapped down on your ass, rubbing harshly on the skin as you whined.

“Be a good girl and beg me to fuck you, sweetheart,” he breathed.

Had you not begged enough? You couldn't count the amount of times you'd told him “Please, professor, please,” and been denied for the sake of his sadism?

Still, you were desperate and you could care less at the moment about his urge to humiliate you. So you did beg, your pounding heart squeezing tears out of your eyes.

“Please, Crane,” you sobbed. “Please, I need you so fucking bad. It hurts, please.”

You were about to continue pouring your heart out when he cut you off. “Okay, okay,” he chuckled. “Calm down. It's not that serious.”

He took his cock in his hand, stroking himself a couple times as he spread your folds for him. In one push, he buried himself to the hilt inside of your tight pussy. He groaned roughly as you clenched around his cock and moaned.

“So fucking tight,” he sighed. “You've been needing this, haven't you?”

You moaned deep in your throat, melting at the feeling of him buried so deep. He chuckled, high off the sight of you so weak. He pulled out of you, an agonizingly slow drag that burned at your nerves until he suddenly thrust back in with a harsh thrust. You lost your breath, your lungs squeezed tight at the pleasure.

He grunted, doing it again and again and again as he just kept holding you tighter, pulling you back to meet each thrust. The smack of his hips against your ass was loud and followed in quick succession as he gave you no time between each thrust to recover.

You felt like your brain had melted, reduced to. a pile of mush in your head as you let yourself be devoured by the pure ecstasy of each thrust staving off the pain of the toxin burning you out.

You gripped the sheets, clenching and unclenching and trying so hard to keep it together as he split you open on his cock.

Crane was hardly keeping it together himself, gripping your waist as he fucked into you from behind. His hair had fallen over his eyes, which were dark and crazed. He had you in his clutches—you, his prey and he, your predator, his teeth and claws in your flesh and bone.

“Is this everything you imagined?” he huffed, bringing a hand to wrap around your throat and pull you up.

You clenched tighter around him and felt your limbs going weak—if he hadn't been holding you up, you would have fallen against the bed again.

“W-What?” you gasped, small and pathetic.

He laughed darkly. “You think I didn't know? What, you thought I couldn't see the way you stared at me during my lectures? You thought I didn't see your glances at my crotch, wondering how big my cock was? Huh? How good it would feel if I fucked you?”

You just kept moaning, unable to hold in your pleasures sobs. He fucked you a little harder, pulling more and more out of you as he did. “Why do you think I chose you, huh?” he taunted, laughing again. “You were perfect for the role. My cock hungry student who would do anything to impress me. Fuck, you were practically begging to be the subject of this experiment.”

It was hard to listen to him when you could barely focus on your own pleasure. Your arousal was dripping down your thighs, coating you in slick. He just kept fucking you, drunk on the pleasure.

“N-Need,” you stuttered, trying to form the words as your tongue was not your own. “Mm-fuck, needa cum.”

He didn't say anything this time as he pressed his finger to your clit. You went limb, letting yourself fall onto the bed as you whined pathetically.

“Look at you,” he smiled, his head tilted back as he relished in the squeeze of your cunt. “My little fucking whore. Does it feel good?” He laughed again, rubbing your clit a little faster. “Are you gonna cum on my cock like a pathetic slut? Hm?”

To answer his question, you did. You let out a choked cry when you came, your eyes rolling back as you went blind with the pleasure that crashed down on you. Your whole body shattered, and your thighs shook at the pleasure.

“Oh, fuck,” he huffed as you began tighter, your pussy fluttering around him and only bringing him closer to his own longed-for release. “That's a good fucking girl.”

Your head was filled with white-noise as you floated in that space between orgasms, where your whole body was numb to everything else going on. As he kept fucking you, it didn't last long. You came to and found yourself thrown into another dance of lust.

You chased the pleasure, pleading for it to swallow you whole as you took all that he gave to you. “You like that? You like being ruined by me? Hm?” he breathed, still rubbing your clit, even as you squirm.

You didn't respond, overcome by whining moans. But that was more amusing. “I know you do,” he said. “You liked being fucked dumb, don't you?”

His hips continued to snap into yours, shoving deeper and rougher. His finger on your clit continued to build you up, higher and higher.

“Are you gonna cum again?” he asked, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he kept fucking into you. “Yeah? You're squeezing my cock like you are.”

You managed to nod your head and nothing more, the knot building again in your stomach getting so tight, so close to another blinding release. You braced for it as it grew closer.

“Fuck, I'm gonna cum, too,” he breathed. “Gonna cum—so deep inside you. You'll be dripping with me, sweetheart.”

You mewled, closer and closer to–

A loud cry tore from your throat as you came again, blinded and devoured and reduced to nothing but a sobbing mess as the pleasure shook through your body like a rattle.

Unable to hold himself in anymore, he moaned roughly as he spilled so deep inside of you. He gripped you roughly, pulling you back against his cock as he buried himself deep, grinding into you as he fucked his cum inside so you were stuffed with it.

“Fuck, I love this tight little cunt,” he huffed. “Perfect for me.” Your pussy fluttered around him, squeezing him tight as you squelched and gushed around him.

You lay limp against the sheets as the blood roared in your ears. After a moment, when he'd caught his breath and came down from his high, he pulled out of you and let you fall against the bed.

He breathed, letting out a deep sigh. He looked down at you, your spent body still shaking with the aftershocks of pleasure. He picked up your leg, pulling it apart to see your pussy, stuffed and leaking his cum.

He could have cum again at the mere sight of you, your messiness, your exhaustion. He dropped your leg and sat next to your limp body.

“Now,” he said, another breath leaving his lungs. “How do you feel?”

You just lay there, letting out a tiny moan after a while as your only response as you tried to recover. All the pain had disappeared, and all that was left was the heaviness in your limbs and the sore muscles to come.

He hummed a laugh. “I bet.” He reached for his glasses, putting them on the bridge of his nose once more and adjusting them.

He stood, walking somewhere in the room as your eyes followed him. When he picked up a camera hidden in the corner capturing everything that just happened, you couldn't do anything but think about how you wanted to watch it back and see just how much he'd wrecked your body.

He stopped the recording, setting the camera down with a smile. He looked at you again, kneeling in front of the bed as he rested his chin on his hands. “So many things for us to do, so many experiments to run. And now I've got you,” he chuckled, “my own personal lab rat.”

You watched him lazily, the exhaustion pulling at your system. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. You sighed into the kiss, moving as much as you could as your lips melded together. It breathed life into you, more life than it should have.

He pulled away all too soon, standing up and turning away from you as he left the room. You laid there a moment longer, thinking back over the events of the night. His own personal lab rat.

You smiled.

Cillian Murphy taglist: @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time @goblinjnr @kmc1989 @shelbyism @weepingwitchofthewest @cl-0-vr @thoticious @sinarainbows @the-nerdy-goddess @urmomsgirlfriend1 @bernelflo @dragonslayersupremacy @alurafairy @pietroxreader @darkcastle167 @neonpurplestars89-blog Tag yourself here...

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lovelybucky1 · 7 months

Text

Better Than Revenge

Kinktober Day 7- Fear Play

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT- noncon, kidnapping, violence, drugging, mentions of sexual assault, revenge porn, non-consensual picture taking, stalking, forced breeding, blackmail, AFAB!reader, bondage, humiliation, pain play, degradation, vaginal fingering, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, 18+ minors DNI

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You enjoyed your time at college. You made many new friends, partied, joined clubs, and learned a little along the way. It was fun for a freshly eighteen-year-old, but by the time the end of your senior year came, you were ready to move on to adult life. Since then, you don’t think about college much in your daily life. Your college friends are now just your friends, and your better days are still to come, not behind you.

That’s not to say you never think fondly back on a memory or two here and there, but you’re so busy with your job at the DA’s office that you don’t have time to be hung up on the past. Others, you’ve found, do still live in the past.

Dr. Jonathan Crane, the chief psychiatrist at Arkham took notice of you when you first started working for the DA. Crane was not well-liked by your boss, seeing as he always managed a way to get the criminals you were trying to put behind bars an insanity plea. While he was a frustrating legal enemy, you never had anything to do with the man outside of the courtroom, or so you thought.

After a long day of court and debating with Crane, you were walking home from the office late when a metal pipe cracked over your head and you fell to the wet pavement, out cold. When you woke, you found yourself in a damp, cold warehouse with Dr. Crane looking on from a chair, dressed in a lab coat. Fear spikes in your stomach when you see the man in front of you. Being in your position, there’s only one explanation for why he would be here as well, though you can’t imagine why.

You are bound and gagged; your arms are wrenched in an uncomfortable position above your head and your wrists are tied to a chain from the ceiling. Your mouth is covered with duct tape, effectively suppressing any screams. Your toes just barely touch the floor, which puts a horrible strain on your arms, but there is no use fighting against the bonds.

When Crane notices you regain consciousness, he stands from his chair and approaches you. He gets close to your face and looks into your slightly hazy and unfocused eyes, his own piercing ones making you tremble under his gaze.

“Don’t struggle, you’ll hurt yourself,” he says, voice eerily soothing for a kidnapper. “You know, it’s dangerous for a girl like you to walk alone at night. This city’s a dangerous place, you never know what kind of creeps could be lurking in the shadows.”

He grins a sick, vile grin that makes your skin crawl. Crane reaches out and tips your chin up with his cold pointer finger. He moves your face from side to side, examining you, checking for any damage he might have done. His thumb traces the duct tape over your mouth, finding the seam of your lips and touching you like a doll.

“I’m surprised you’ve kept your looks with how you used to party,” he says casually. You furrow your brows in confusion but you’re unable to question him. “Though I’m sure your liver isn’t what it used to be.”

Before you can ponder his words, Crane walks behind you and you can hear the sound of metal tools clattering together. When he reappears, he is holding a pair of sheers and wears a sadistic smirk. He roughly grabs the hem of your blouse and cuts it up the middle, exposing your bra. He then cuts the fabric of the sleeves so the garment falls to the floor, leaving you topless.

You want to fight back to get this sick creep off of you, but you figure it’s best not to provoke the man with scissors against your skin. Instead, you’re subjected to his eyes ogling you.

“What a thing to wear to work,” he says, amused. “I’m sure this can’t be comfortable. Were you wearing it for an occasion?” he asks, fingers tracing the delicate lace of the band. “Surely not a date. I know you don’t have a boyfriend, and I don’t think you’re the type of girl to put out on the first date.”

You wonder how he could know you don’t have a boyfriend when the realization hits you. He knew what path you took on your way home, he knew what time you’d be leaving the office, and he knew details of your private life that you haven’t shared with anyone but your friends. He’s been stalking you.

“Maybe you had other plans for lunch with your boss this afternoon. Dent is quite the looker, and I’ve seen the way he looks at you. What his poor wife doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” he asks with a smirk. “You really haven't changed.” You’re not sure what he means by that, but you’re not sure what any of this means.

Crane then moves the sheers to the hem of your skirt and makes a small cut. Instead of cutting all the way up like he did with your blouse, he drops the scissors, grasps the skirt, and starts to slowly tear it. The sound of the fabric ripping is deafening in the near-silent warehouse, and fear threatens to rise in your throat as he creeps up your thigh. His eyes watch the exposed skin intently as he undresses you, clearly gaining some kind of pleasure from this. When he reaches the top, he lets the skirt fall at your feet and now has an unobstructed view of your matching underwear set.

“Oh,” he chuckles, “what a surprise. I guess you did have big plans.”

He slips his finger underneath the elastic band of your panties and snaps them back against your hip, making you jump. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps from the cold air and you squirm as you try in vain to hide yourself.

“You don’t mind if I look under these, do you?” he asks, tugging on your panties again.

Up to this point, you haven’t protested, figuring it was better to cooperate, but you can’t let him violate you like this. You let out a muffled “no” and violently shake your head as you try to move away from his touch. Crane only laughs and moves closer to you. You kick him in the knee and he curses, but it doesn’t do much to deter him.

“You can’t fight me off. All you’re doing is making this worse for yourself,” he hisses. You try to scream, but with the duct tape sealing your lips, it’s no use. “Do you have something to say?”

You plead with your eyes and he reaches up to grasp the edge of the duct tape, but he takes it as an opportunity to be more cruel. He rips the tape from your lips, surely taking skin with it.

“Help!” you scream, “Somebody help me!”

Instead of ordering you to be quiet or suppressing your screams, Crane just laughs.

“Scream all you want, no one’s going to hear you. Not like anyone would care if the world was down one useless bimbo anyway.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you doing this to me?” you shout, your throat feeling raw from the strain.

Anger flashes in Crane’s eyes and his jaw clenches. You continue to thrash and scream, and despite what he said about no one caring, he tightly grabs your waist and steps on your foot to keep you from moving. His face is now only inches from yours and you get the idea to spit into his face. It won’t do much, but it’s the only thing you can do to deter him.

Crane hisses and lets go of your waist to wipe the spit out of his eyes, and when he looks back at you, his eyes are glassy and his dark eyelashes are clumped together.

“You fucking bitch,” he bites. “You’re lucky I haven’t hurt you yet.”

The vague threat does frighten you, but you have many questions that you demand answers to.

“Why the fuck are you doing this to me, Crane?” you ask again.

He laughs bitterly. “Of course you don’t know. You probably have no clue what you’ve done to me. The hell you put me through.”

He leans his weight on the foot crushing yours and when you wince, he grabs your jaw tightly, squishing your cheeks together and forcing your mouth open.

“I don’t know,” you say as best you can.

“You don’t remember college?” he asks. “Your sorority sisters and their fucking jock boyfriends tormenting me. How for years you made my life a living hell just for existing outside of your perfect little bubble.”

His face is twisted into a snarl now as he recounts the memories that drove him to his actions tonight. “I thought the bullying would be over when I got to college but it was so much worse. My door would get vandalized every fucking day with insults and crude images. You and your group of whores spread all kinds of rumors that I was crazy. You said I was a psychopath, a pervert, a sadistic killer who got off on seeing women in fear. Everyone believed it. Everyone.”

As he explained his story, your memory was jogged. You remember a short, skinny guy from college who wore thick-framed glasses and carried a satchel to class. He was awkward, made uncomfortable eye contact, and often made himself the target of ridicule. He had a vast knowledge of science and medicine and was very interested in the mind’s reaction to fear. You never knew his name, only ever referring to him as “Peeping Tom”, which was kind in comparison to some of your friends’ nicknames for him.

“I was an outcast for four fucking years. I couldn’t transfer, I couldn’t afford any other school. Not like you could ever understand that. I accepted that I was a social pariah, but then you went and ruined my fucking life even more,” he hisses.

You didn’t notice the knife in his hand until the point was against your chest, too lost in his rage-filled eyes. You now remember more of what he’s saying and you want to apologize and assure him that you’ve changed, but he seems past the point of reason.

“October 2nd, 1997. I was in my room studying for an exam when you showed up at my door. You were clearly drunk and you came onto me. You promised me all kinds of things and pushed me onto my bed and sat on my lap. You kissed me and took off my shirt, then put your hand down my pants and took my dick out. That’s when your hoard of sluts and every guy you’ve ever fucked barged into my room and took pictures. They spread them to everyone, and it was all because of you.” he hissed. “I was labeled the creep, the predator, the pathetic virgin who thought he could make it with a sorority girl and it was all your fault.”

The man in front of you was shaking with anger, his voice trembling slightly as he recounted the memory. The blade trembled in his hand and dug slightly into your skin, but the pain from the knife was overpowered by the icy feeling of fear.

“Jonathan,” you say meekly, “That was almost a decade ago. I-I’m so sorry I did that to you, I don’t even remember it. I promise I’ve changed.”

“You don’t remember it, that’s exactly why I have to do this. You’re never going to forget again.”

You whimper in fear as he brings the knife up to your neck. The blade bites at your skin, catching when you take a breath.

“Please don’t kill me,” you whisper with your eyes squeezed shut.

“Oh, I’m not going to kill you. That’d be such a waste of a warm hole.”

His words are disgusting and degrading. They make you want to shiver out of your own skin and run as far away from him as possible. Luckily, he removes the knife from your neck and takes a small step back.

Crane reaches into his pants pocket and takes out a small digital camera. Your eyes widen when you see it, immediately catching on to what he plans to do to you. He powers the camera on and points it at you, smiling when he sees your pixilated form on the display. He clicks the shutter and a light flashes.

He lowers the camera from his face to reveal a wicked smirk. "It doesn't feel too good, does it?" he asks. "Well it's about to get a lot worse for you."

He kicks your bare ankle with his foot, making you wince as your legs spread. He laughs cruelly and does the same to the other foot. Your legs are open uncomfortably, giving him easy access to what you're desperate to hide from him.

His fingers, long and cold, push through your folds and into your cunt without warning or preparation. He fingers you despite being dry to start, but you slowly get wetter in response to the intrusion.

"Still such a slut even after all this time," he says. "I'm not surprised you're so loose."

He fingers you roughly, seemingly unsure of how to do it, or maybe he just cares that little for your comfort. His nails catch on the ridges inside of you and the poking of his fingers scissoring make you wince. Thankfully he got his fill of that quickly, and pulled out his wet fingers.

He brings them to his nose to sniff, then wipes your wetness off on his pants. "Smells like whore," he says.

Without any further words, Crane reaches down and grabs you by your ankle and pulls it off the floor. You yelp as you lose your balance and your bonds tug on your shoulders. Crane then hooks your foot on a strap that also comes from the ceiling. He then does the same to your other leg.

Now you're suspended in the air, cunt on display for him and helpless. Crane takes out the camera again and takes more pictures of you spread out.

"I have waited so long for this."

Crane wears a sick, wicked grin that does not falter as stands between your spread legs. His hands work his fly open and quickly he frees his cock. It's already hard and the flushed tip is leaking, just from the torture he's inflicting onto you.

"I knew after that night that you would be my first," he says as he rubs his head through your folds. "Weather you wanted to be or not."

Your breath catches in your throat when he pushes into you bare. He goes slow, likely for his own sake so he doesn’t cum too soon, but whatever mercy he shows you doesn’t provide any comfort.

Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he begins to rut. Erratic, inexperienced thrusts to chase his own pleasure inside of being conscientious of yours. His eyes are half lidded and laser-focused on your breasts.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

With each thrust, the makeshift sex swing he has you in rocks, making the chains that hold you creak. You worry that you’re going to fall, but you suppose that would be better than a knife in your gut.

Crane’s cock bumps against your cervix which makes you whimper from the discomfort, but he thinks it’s out of pleasure.

“You like that? You like taking my cock like a fucking fleshlight? Didn’t think you’d be so easy, but I guess all it took back then was a spot on the football team to get into your pants.”

Crane is indeed using you like a fleshlight. He alternates between thrusting into you and holding onto the chains to move you over his cock. It’s humiliating, painful, awful, but he’s no longer threatening you with a knife.

He pulls out the camera again and points the lens at your pussy where it’s stretched around him. Then he backs up the camera a bit to capture your full form, contorted by the chains.

“W-what are you gonna do with those?” you ask with your broken voice.

“Exactly what you did to me,” he growls.

“No! No, please, you can’t do that.”

He grabs the chains and slams you down onto him, sending him impossibly deeper.

“You ruined my life. Now it’s your turn.”

“My career will be over! Please, I’ll do anything, just don’t send those to anyone!”

You’re begging shamelessly, sobbing and snotty, but none of this seems to turn him off. In fact, he seems to enjoy it more.

“I’m sure Dent would be interested to see what you get up to after hours. Of course, your reputation would be ruined once the rest of the city sees your messy cunt.”

All you can do is cry and shake your head.

“I know you’re good friends with Bruce Wayne. Maybe I’ll tell everyone that he did this to you and ruin you both. Wouldn’t that be sweet,” he says.

His voice is raspy and low; he’s clearly very affected by the pleasure of using you and you doubt he can hold on for much longer.

“I-I’ll do anything, Dr. Crane. Please,” you say between sobs.

“Hmm,” he hums.

Crane grabs your breast roughly and squeezes, digging his nails into your soft skin. You hiss and your face screws up with pain. He then slaps it repeatedly until you show signs of more discomfort.

“Please,” you beg again.

“It might be nice to have a friend at the DA’s office,” he says with a smirk. “Especially one that would bid in my favor, lest some dirty pictures get out.”

Blackmail? Jesus, he’s fucking sick. Though you suppose the threat of releasing them is better than him actually doing it.

“Yes, yes, I’ll do it. I’ll help you out, just please don’t send them,” you say frantically.

He fucks you even more erratically now, like he can’t decide if he should edge or finish himself off.

“Are you scared?” he asks, voice frighteningly low. You nod in response. “You’re scared of me, the loser you tormented in college? Don’t you regret that?”

He’s speaking so quiet and slowly like he’s trying to hypnotize you. You nod along with what he’s saying, figuring it’s better just to agree.

“You’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Every time you look at our bastard child, you’ll see my face and regret what you did to me.”

That catches your attention. Our child?

“W-what?”

“You thought I kidnapped you just to cum in my hand? I’m gonna fill you up until you’re leaking with my fucking cum. Oh, and you know that little pill you take every day? I switched that out weeks ago. This little womb is as fertile as ever, and you’re going to give me a baby.”

Your stomach flips and you immediately feel nauseous. He tampered with your birth control? That means he was in your house. He could have put cameras up, bugged the place. You have no idea what he’s truly capable of.

Tears being to stream down your cheeks again. You feel so violated, so helpless. He doesn’t wipe away your tears or even tell you to stop crying. He just watches as he fucks you.

“I’m gonna cum,” he growls. “And you’re gonna take it all.”

He leans forward to press his forehead to yours, forcing you to look deep into his eyes as he fills you with his cum. The wet, hot feeling of it flooding your insides makes you feel sick, and he continues to fuck himself through his orgasm which makes the cum froth and leak down your holes.

He stays seated inside you, keeping you plugged so the sperm has time to take. Crane is breathing heavily but he doesn’t once look away from you.

"Good girl," he mutters. "Good pussy."

You sag in relief when he finally pulls out. Your cunt aches from his rough treatment, and not in the fun way. Your arms and legs hurt from the bonds, but that appears to be a pain you won't soon be free from.

Crane walks back over to the chair he was sitting in when you first woke up and takes a seat. "I'll keep you here for a couple days so you can't go off and take one of those pesky morning after pills," he says casually.

"Y-you can't. They'll notice when I don't show up for work," you try to reason with him.

"Oh, don't worry about that. I called on your behalf and told them you had a family emergency. Something about grandma and her heart," he says. "I've taken care of everything."

You don't doubt that he has, and that scares you. He rests his ankle on the opposite knee and looks at the pictures he took on the camera.

"Now all you have to do is stay out of my way in court, and no one will ever see these," he grins, letting the camera dangle from his wrist by the strap.

You nod in understanding. "Good girl."

#jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow #dc scarecrow #nolanverse #jonathan crane headcanon #jonathan crane fanfic #jonathan crane fanfiction #jonathan crane smut #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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feasibilities · 27 days

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"Perhaps you should have some, clear your head."

Investigative Reports | Jonathan Crane x Journalist!Reader

Warnings: Non-Con, Drugging, Kidnapping, Dumbification, Bondage, Corruption, Pet Names, Hallucinations, Cockwarming, etc. Author's Note: I finally got around to writing this! This insane post got a lot of hilarious/supportive reactions, so thank you. I hope it really is The Most Disgraceful Fanfiction Ever Made.

“Would you like to see our treatment facility?” Jonathan inquired, smiling faintly.

“Of course. Where is it located?” You said, looking around curiously.

“The elevator will take us there.” Jonathan replied, guiding you inside. You wondered why he was so eager to show you this “facility”, but it would be good for your article on Arkham Asylum. You also noticed that his hand lingered on your lower back. You made a mental note of the floor being accessible by key only. The door opened to a poorly lit corridor with double doors at the toward the back. A sinking feeling in crept into your gut but you followed behind him anyway. He opened the doors to an underground sweatshop. You saw the faces of some of the criminals who mysteriously avoided being prosecuted.

“This is where we make the medicine.” Jonathan said. You quickly realized this was a trap. Why would he be willing to show you this if he would let you leave? A feeling of panic clawed at your internal organs but you stayed perfectly still.

“Perhaps you should have some, clear your head...” He said in a restrained tone, swallowing harshly. His icy disposition transformed into that of a monster. You ran for the elevator and frantically pressed the buttons. The doors never closed. You scurried out and ran down the hallway. You ducked into one of the empty holding cells. You saw a white bed with restraints. You hid in the corner behind it and held your breath. Tears rolled down your face as you blamed yourself for taking on this story.

“Ready or not, here I come.” A ragged, disorienting voice spoke. Your heart dropped as the voice was a complete contrast from the composed one you heard minutes ago. You covered your mouth to muffle any sobs. You heard his footsteps click down the corridor before they stopped in front of the cell you were in. You crouched to make yourself as small as possible. You saw a figure with a burlap mask over his head.

“Hmm, I wonder where she could’ve run off to.” Jonathan said sarcastically, knowing exactly where you were. Walking to your hiding spot, he stood over you.

“There you are, princess.” He cooed. He kneeled down and wiped your tears with his thumb. You cringed at his touch and tried to scoot away. He pulled you back and put a white cloth over your mouth and nose. Your struggling was useless. Blackness crept into your vision as you lost consciousness.

——

You woke up to an unfamiliar bedroom and a throbbing headache. This room was quite different from the dilapidated cell you fell asleep in. You didn’t recognize the pink silk nightie you had on. You were tucked in perfectly as well. You had little to no memory of the night before. Jonathan came in and shut the door behind him. Checking his watch, he smiled to himself.

“Just in time.” He said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“What happened? My head is killing me.” You inquired, sitting up slightly.

“You had a fall and hit your head. I know how to make you feel better.” He said softly, pulling the comforter from your body. His smooth hands ran up your thighs.

“I-I don’t think this will help.” You hesitated.

“Of course it will.” Jonathan replied. You pushed his hands away and tried to cover yourself once more.

“I guess I’ll have to tie you up, darling.” He relented, retrieving rope from the nightstand. He removed your nightie and folded it neatly. He tied you in the Shibari style of the Star Harness with your arms bound. He covered your mouth with duct tape. He pulled you to the edge of the bed and bent you over. You cried desperately in hopes that he would stop.

“Shh. The more you struggle, the longer it lasts.” He hushed you, kissing the back of your head. He took in the sweet smell of your hair. You felt him slide into you slowly, whimpering at his size. His thrusts were slow but deep to the point of causing pain. Your knees buckled with each thrust.

“Already falling apart, hmm? Isn’t that sweet...” Jonathan purred, speeding up. You looked back at him with teary eyes. Jonathan kissed you over the duct tape on your mouth. Sounds of skin hitting skin filled the room. You clenched around him frenetically, earning cruel spanks from him. His glacial blue eyes bore into yours. A searing pain managed to reach your cervix as his movements grew careless. The rope he adorned you in began to scrape painfully against your skin.

“Want me to stop?” He teased. You nodded frantically. He pulled the tape off your mouth painfully.

“Please, sir.” You begged innocently, beginning to cry once more.

“Of course, my love.” He whispered, pulling out. He groaned at the sight of your arousal dripping down your legs. He took out a polaroid camera and snapped some pictures of you from behind. You turned away until he violently flipped you over. He put his middle & index fingers in your mouth.

“Smile, sweet pea.” He mocked, snapping one final picture. Setting the camera aside, he stared down at you with an esurient gaze. You shifted uncomfortably as you were still tied up. His fingertips grazed the tender burgeon of your nipple. Enjoying the sensation, you pushed your chest up into his hand. You mewled sweetly and batted your eyes.

“Don’t do that…” Jonathan said, barely holding it together.

“I can’t help it.” You whined, oblivious to his impending breakdown. He was fuming at the effect you had on him.

“Right.” Jonathan said, standing up and opening a drawer nearby. He grabbed a burlap mask and held it up for you to see.

“Remember this, hun?” He inquired, taking off his glasses.

“No, what is it?” You replied, furrowing your eyebrows.

Sliding it over his head, you froze in fear. You realized he was the man of your never-ending nightmares. You suddenly saw hallucinations of maggots and spiders crawling from the eye & mouth holes of his mask. The world around you started to spin nauseatingly. You closed your eyes tightly hoping it would all end quickly.

“I knew you would remember me, angel.” He said, speaking in the same ragged voice. He walked to you and untied the rope around your body. He began spreading your legs once more. You scratched, punched, and bit him to no avail. In actuality, your resistance was much weaker than you thought. The sedative he gave you drained you of any kind of physical strength.

“Help!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, hoping anyone could hear. Jonathan put a firm hand over your mouth and entered you once more. This time, his pace was sadistic and blistering. The headboard banged against the wall. You felt your bones shake with every motion. You screamed behind his hand until you had no voice to scream with. That familiar band of pleasure in your lower half finally broke. Your body convulsed wildly. He enjoyed seeing you unravel.

“Almost done, stay still.” He sneered, continuing his assault. Your mind was nearly blank from everything that was happening. Jonathan moved his hand from your mouth to your throat as he was getting close. Your fucked-out expression made his heart flutter. Suddenly, hot spurts of seed shot into you. His groans echoed through the bedroom. You felt some relief that it was over. Instead, he laid next to you and slid back in hastily. He wrapped his arms around you to keep you still. Your shaky hand clawed at them. A doused white cloth smothered you once more as you lost consciousness.

“Sweet dreams.” He whispered, holding you close.

#don't look!#my writing #cillian murphy #jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x you #dc scarecrow #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fanfiction #batman begins

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theghostinyourwalls · 28 days

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Me and my slasher boyfriends

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mindstriker · 3 months

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i really wish more people would get into Scarecrow as a character outside of the "hot" iteration of him cillian murphy played in Batman Begins because honestly he's such a nothing character there. he's really just Ra'as' 5-minute-screentime-having lackey, but he's magnetic because come on. it's cillian murphy.

i just want to grab people by the hand and gently guide them over to all the other delightful interpretations of him. look, guys. he's from georgia. he has religious trauma of the evangelical-adjacent variety so heinous it would make catholic guilt look like the greener grass on the other side of the fence. he once drugged batman just to follow him around on patrol while he hallucinated all night to psychoanalyze him and attempt to convince him to retire. he also once made him chamomile tea. he may or may not have changed his own last name to crane in reference to the fact that he was bullied in school by being compared to ichabod crane. because he was built like a skellington. sometimes he just has a gun and uses this in place of his typical fear toxin gimmick. in one iteration he gets fired from being a university professor for firing a gun in the classroom to prove a point. he generally tends to condescend towards everyone, but seems to get along with fucking harley quinn of all people specifically despite the fact that you'd think her positive attitude would give him a hernia. he's an absolutely batshit individual. he's shockingly self-aware and chooses to be terrible despite being aware of how terrible he is. he thinks he's batman's therapist. please i am begg in g y ou i know his glittery blue eyes and submissive attitude in batman begins are appealing but please there's so much to love here i beg of you look at him

#is this me being needlessly bitchy about the fandom tag for jonathan crane being 99% nolanverse? mayhaps.#nonetheless: i stand by my statement. the scrunglier versions of him deserve love #am i going insane over this because i'm currently writing fanfiction? yes #blame it on the 3k words of my batman au #this is me yelling #batman rogues #jonathan crane #scarecrow dc

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myveryownfanfiction · 6 months

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18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @eclecticwildflowers, @onedirectionlovers2014

warnings: swearing, mention of cranes fear gas

Putting the finishing touches on the decorations, I stood back to take a look at my handiwork. There were home made decorations mixed in among the store bought ones. Johnathan and I had gone shopping several times, each time harder than the last to walk out under budget.

“Johnathan!” I called as I started to clean up all the packaging, separating it between what we needed to keep and the garbage can. “Come look! See if I missed anything!”

“just a minute!” Johnathan called back. I sighed as I ventured towards the office in the back of the apartment. “I’m working on something!”

“Whatcha working on?” I asked, leaning in the doorway. Johnathan looked up at me with a smile, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

“a fog machine.” He responded. There was a mischievous glint in his eye.

“a fog machine.” I repeated. Johnathan nodded. I held his gaze for a minute before scrunching up my nose. “Please tell me you aren’t thinking of using what I think you are.” Johnathan chuckled and shrugged. “Johnathan…” I whined.

“(Y/N)…” he tried to explain but I held up a finger.

“it’s one thing to test it on the inmates at arkham. It’s another to use it in the narrows and on Batman. But to use it on trick or treaters. On kids Johnathan!” I exclaimed. Johnathan frowned and looked at the machine in his hands.

“I didn’t think of it that way.” He murmured. “So…” he moved the machine to the other side of his work space and picked up a small decoration I had given him when we first started dating. “The good old fashioned way it is. Death then?” I nodded with a laugh.

“death.” I agreed. “Come see what I’ve done to the rest of the place.” I held my hand out for Johnathan and he took it with a smile. He abandoned his glasses on the desk and let me gently tug him off of the office and down the hall.

“what horrors have you concocted my dear?” He asked as we entered the living room. Wrapping his arms around my waist, Johnathan propped his chin on my shoulder and nodded. “Looks good. Just missing the pumpkins. How many are we getting this year?”

“not sure yet. What do you think we have enough space for?” I asked, turning my head slightly to look at him. Johnathan locked eyes with me and smiled.

“how many do you want?” He chuckled. I smiled brightly at him.

“you’ve learned well Dr. Crane.” I teased with a laugh. Johnathan chuckled as he pulled me tighter against his chest. He kissed my cheek and leaned his head against my temple. “I think four should be enough this year.”

“then four we shall have.” He agreed. “I’ll go get the biggest ones they have next week. I’m sure falcone can spare someone to help me carry them.” I laughed and patted his cheek.

“I’m sure he can. Or maybe Ra’s could.” Johnathan laughed.

“I’d pay good money to see him do that.” I chuckled as Johnathan kissed me deeply.

#johnathan crane #johnathan crane imagine #johnathan crane x reader #johnathan crane fanfic #johnathan crane fanfiction #scarecrow #scarecrow fanfiction #scarecrow fanfic #scarecrow imagine #scarecrow x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x reader

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pinguwrites · 7 months

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You Set My Soul Alight | Jonathan Crane

Pairing -> sub!jonathan crane x villain!reader

Summary -> You and Jonathan Crane have always been at odds. He's an arrogant asshole and you're a sarcastic shit, and no matter what you always find a way to bump heads. The worst part about it is that deep down you find him brilliant and attractive and utterly intoxicating. One day, Crane comes to you with a plea to enticing to resist, and you find this the perfect opportunity to put him in his place.

Warnings -> smut (minors dni), enemies with feelings, sub!Jon acting like a brat, swearing, dom!reader, degradation kink, ma'am kink, unprotected sex, edging, hair pulling, ball slapping, slapping in general, if you squint real hard Jonathan's lowkey a little sexist, bruce wayne is a playboy, reader's kinda a simp

Word count: 5k

Disclaimer: The Dark Knight trilogy/DC characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

Jonathan Crane glared at you, his piercing blue eyes filled with a layer of contempt and almost embarrassment like he was regretting this entire endeavor. It was delightful, seeing him in this state, and you made sure to enjoy every second of it — the way his cheeks were tinting a light pink, his muscles tensed up and his tone coming out a desperate yet still arrogant plea. Moments like these were rare, and you were ready to savor and drag them out every chance you got.

“I need your help,” he repeated, his tone distasteful like he was swallowing a bitter pill. “I told you, I need more money for my experiments, but I can’t do it without any funding. Wayne Enterprises is hosting a gala next week. All the richest of the city will be there and all of them are looking to donate. Charity, science, whatever will make them look good. I know you’re going, so I’m asking — as polite as I can be — please, get me an invite.”

You tilted your head to the side, eyes trailing off to look at some random painting on the wall. You briefly wondered how he got past your home security, but after a few seconds, you focused your attention back on him. “Sorry, what did you say? Can you repeat that?” you said with a slight grin.

Jonathan pursed his lips. “Don’t be clever with me.” But then he shakes his head and lets his serious facade go. “We both know you have the connections to score another invite . . . Please, my darling.”

Your heart fluttered at the nickname, the way it always did when he called you that. You wondered if he knew just how much you enjoyed it.

“I like it when you beg, it’s always been a good look on you.”

Jonathan smiles. A mock smile.

“Well, it’s true. No point in getting all upset.” You shrug, heading over to your kitchen to get some iced coffee for the both of you. “Tell me, why should I help you? Why should I help the man who has made it his mission to offend me every time we speak?”

You may have been a little unfair in saying that. Sure, he was a brat, but so were you. In fact, ever since you two met you had always been at each other’s throats, demeaning one another, insulting everything from intellect to personality to looks. You doubt your paths would have ever crossed had it not been for your good friend Harley, who introduced you both one fateful summer evening.

You don’t know what went wrong that day. Maybe it was the weather, the exceptionally hot wind that only frequented Gotham once every couple of years, the ones that made the city cranky and sweaty, or perhaps it was simply a bad first impression, the ones that just happened every once in a while. It had happened far too long ago to remember what it was that made you dislike Jonathan so much in the first place, and you were sure it didn’t matter. According to everyone who knew him, he had always been an ass, but he was good company once you got to know him.

Maybe he was. You wanted to figure that out, to peel away the layers of armor. You could be friends, lovers even. He could be yours. Yours to do whatever you wanted with. Yours to put in place, because god knows he needed it.

You weren’t sure when you started to think like this. To grow an obsession, but you did, and you couldn’t stop your feelings now. You didn’t want to stop. Loving Jonathan was too addictive, no matter how much he pretended to hate you — because you knew he didn’t actually hate you. Otherwise, he wouldn’t stop in once every while, under the pretense of snarky put-downs or brags. He wouldn’t graze his fingers with yours when walking by, and he wouldn’t ask your friends (namely Harley) what you did, what you liked, and what you talked about.

“Because deep down,” Jonathan answered, following you into the kitchen, “you know I’m brilliant, and you know I deserve your help.” He accepted the coffee, taking a small sip before continuing, “But you’re too prideful to admit it.”

“Maybe I am, but that’s not a good reason. Deserve isn’t enough, Crane. At least not for me. I know you can do better than this, convince me. That mouth must be good for something.”

Jonathan paused, his tongue briefly sweeping over his lower lip, making it glisten in the light of the lamp. You weren’t sure if the brief silence was because he got flustered, or he was just thinking. “Then do it because you want to,” he finally said. “Because you know my research is important and you care for it, enough to do me this one simple favor.”

“I don’t know . . .” you trailed off in a teasing tone.

It seemed like Jonathan was getting annoyed again. “My dear, won’t you help me?”

“I’m still thinking.”

He groaned. “Pretty please?”

You let out a little sigh, barely audible. “I will. For you.”

That last part had intended to come off as flirtatious and pretentious, but instead, it was soft and delicate, so vulnerable it took you off guard.

“Thank you,” he said, setting his glass down. He had finished all of the coffee, quickly enough so that there were still ice cubes lying on the bottom of the glass. “I’ll pick you up, around four. Who knows, maybe we’ll even have some fun.”

And that was it. He left through your front door without saying anything else, leaving you with thoughts of the gala and what dress you were going to wear.

That next week you had settled on one and bought yourself a burgundy dress, a beautiful shade of red, one like expensive wine or fresh blood, a color that you knew looked good on you. It was a deep cut that went through the valley of your breasts, but if you pressed your arms inwards just slightly, which you fully intended to do, they would push up. It was a look classy enough for a gala, but still seductive enough to garner attention.

Originally, you weren’t going to attend the function at all. This kind of stuff had always been boring for you, even as a child who was forced to go, but if Jonathan was going on your behalf then you sorta had to and definitely wanted to.

A ring sounded through your house. He was here.

You opened the door and took a deep breath once you saw Jonathan. He was dressed in a neat suit, but not like the suit he was wearing when you last saw him. This one was charcoal black, silky, and smooth, with a white handkerchief in his outer breast pocket. His shoes were the same color and looked like they had just been shined, and in his hand was a bouquet of red roses.

“For you,” he said, placing them in your hands. His eyes swept over your figure, and his mouth parted for a moment. “It matches.” You huffed, secretly flattered. “But it’s such a shame.” You furrowed your eyebrows, confused. “Such a pretty little dress wasted on such an ugly little thing.”

You blinked, and then tossed the flowers to the side, letting them fall into a patch of dirt (you were definitely going to pick them up later). “Like you’re such a piece of work.”

“I am,” he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Men and women love me.”

Despite how attractive you found him, you really didn’t believe that. You were sure his attitude warded most people off, and besides, he was an introvert and a criminal. Dating wasn’t just something people like him did often.

“We’ll see. This gala will be filled with attractive young bachelors. Get one interested in you and I’ll admit you're handsome,” you challenged.

“Admit?” He laughed, a beautiful laugh. “Admit implies that you already find me handsome, you just don’t want to confess so.”

This man needed to be slapped. He needed to be given a good, hard hit across the face.

“You know what? I feel like being alone tonight. I think I’ll just go to the gala without you.”

You were about to close the door, intending to head to your garage, but Jonathan grabbed your wrist and pulled you outside, shutting the door behind you.

“No takebacks. You promised. Where’s your honor?”

“Honor?” You scoffed. “I’m a killer, what did you expect?”

Jonathan must have really thought that you were going to leave because he gripped your wrist tighter. “I’m sorry,” he quickly said. “I’ll be good tonight.” He placed his index finger to his thumb with his free hand and made a zipping motion across his lips. “See?”

“You better be. I’m doing you a favor here. Now, come inside, we’ll take my car—”

“I have a car,” Jonathan said. “I even got us a driver.”

You took a peek over his shoulders. Sure enough, there was a fancy car waiting in the driveway, engine still on. It was difficult to see through the windows but you could make out the faint outline of a man in the driver’s seat.

“If you insist.”

He held out his arm for you to take, and while you did want to, you instead shoved it away. For a moment, you swore a flicker of hurt crossed his face, but it was gone too fast for you to be sure it was even there at all.

“Where’s my invite?” he asked.

“You don’t have one. You’re going as my plus one.”

“As your date?”

“It’s not a date. I thought you said you were going to be a good boy. What’s with all this complaining?”

“I’m not complaining, I was expressing my feelings. You should work on that. As a psychiatrist, I recommend—”

“—I recommend you shut the fuck up.”

Jonathan put his hands up, surrendering, but he did so beaming.

It hadn’t taken too long to get to the party. Traffic was high as always, but time seemed to be flowing faster than ever, despite you and Jonathan staying silent.

When you arrived there was a line of cars. Wayne Manor, a building you had only been to twice before, was still as impressive as you remember. It was a collection of elegant architecture and stonework, with a large wooden entrance that opened up to a main hall. The size of the driveway and front lawn was a bit unnecessary, at least to you, but what else could you expect from old money?

After getting out of the car you were greeted by cameras and reporters, lights flashing in your eyes, but you didn’t bother with them.

Jonathan reached out his hand, and this time you did take it — but only because everyone was watching, and if you pushed him away it would have caused an unnecessary scene. Jonathan’s driver drove the car away for parking and you both walked inside.

The inside was spacious, with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and people dressed classy, with gloves and diamond earrings, all mingling and chatting with each other about the stock market or their annoying ex-spouse or how it was such a bother when their vacation to Switzerland had to be canceled because of work. There was a tray of snacks and waiters walking around with luxurious drinks, something you immediately took advantage of.

“Thank you, sir,” you said politely, taking a glass of champagne, but before you could take a sip someone called out your name.

You turned around to see Bruce Wayne himself waving over to you, a boyish charm about him. He had two women on his arms, models or prostitutes, or both, you couldn’t tell, but they were drop-dead gorgeous.

Your parents did business with him, and as a result, you met him at a young age. You were never really buddy best friends, but you went to the same school and that was enough for him to invite you to all his parties and greet you as though you were a family friend.

“You know Bruce Wayne?” Jonathan whispered, but before you could answer Bruce approached you both.

“I haven’t seen you around in a while,” he said. “This is Mila and Stephanie. Say hi ladies.” They giggled and waved as he gave the back of your hand a little kiss. “Gorgeous girl. You should wear these outfits more often, you truly look stunning.”

You let him put his arm around your waist, enjoying the compliment.

“Oh, no,” you said modestly. “It’s just a dress.”

Jonathan chuckles. “Ah, don’t be like that, my darling. You look exquisite.”

You all but glared at him. Now he said you looked nice.

“What’s your name? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” Bruce removed his arm from around your waist and held it out to shake Jonathan’s hand.

“Dr. Jonathan Crane,” he responded, a little tense. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wayne.”

“Jonathan’s actually doing some research into brain chemistry,” you said.

“Really? Tell me about it, Dr. Crane,” Bruce said, flashing a charming smile.

“I would,” Jonathan responded, turning to you, “but I don’t wanna bore my girl.”

“Your girl?” Bruce repeated, eyes glancing at you. “ You’re a lucky guy. Tell me how scored such a beauty like her?”

“Oh, it wasn’t that hard.” Jonathan reached around and put his hand on your shoulder. “She was practically falling all over me.”

That was true, but your jaw still clenched. “He likes to exaggerate,” you told Bruce with a little laugh.

“Well, if you ever want to change things up a little, I’m right here.” Bruce winked comically, leaving with his girls.

You could tell Bruce wasn’t joking. It sounded like a serious offer, only told in a joking format so as to not rile Jonathan up, as he was under the impression Jonathan was your actual boyfriend.

“You’re a jealous mongrel,” you told Jonathan once Bruce was out of sight. You both walked over to a more secluded corner. “Can’t imagine the idea of having to share, huh? Had to go and make up stories?”

Jonathan scowled. “He was shameless around you. Be grateful I warded him off,” he said arrogantly. “And it’s not like you guys would have worked out. With what your hobby and all.”

You didn’t say anything. Jonathan was jealous, huh? You know felt a sudden urge to go after Bruce, get a little drunk, and follow him back to his room. It’s not like he wasn’t handsome, he was the most eligible bachelor in the city. And you did like him. He was funny and nice. Plus, you two had known each other for a long while. What a fun trope, especially if it was making Jonathan mad.

“A good fuck needs to work out only for the night.” You shrugged.

“You—you can’t,” Jonathan sputtered out. “You’re here with me, not him.”

“I don’t see the problem. I got you in the door and now you don’t need me anymore. What’s wrong if I have some fun?”

“You can’t.”

You waved him off, though you were enjoying the way he was pouting.

“Brat,” you muttered under your breath.

“I’m not a brat.” He gave a dry chuckle. “Excuse me for wanting to spend the night with you.”

“Then why don’t you act like it?” You grinned devilishly. “Act like you want nothing more than to be here.”

Jonathan’s breathing hitched. Yours did too.

“You want it?”

“Don’t be scared.”

After you said that he didn’t hesitate to lean forward to give you a hard kiss, bringing his hand around the back of your head to push you both even closer together. He pulled away, his face still close to yours.

“Like that?”

“Yeah, like that,” you breathed out.

“I can give you more,” he whispered in your ear, his breath almost ticklish. “I know you want it. Been fantasizing about me all this time, hmm?”

You smiled coyly.

“For me to bend you over like the whore you are—”

“—Careful, Crane. I might just have to slap you.”

“Say it. Say you want me to fuck you. Fucking say it—”

You took a quick glance around the room to see if anyone was looking, which they thankfully weren’t, and then gave Jonathan a quick, harsh slap to the face.

The force of it made his neck turn, and his cheeks immediately turned red. He stayed silent for a moment, looking up at you through thick eyelashes, eyes narrowed in lust. It was all the conformation you needed to grab his chin, lift his face up, and give him another slap.

Before you could say anything else he pressed his lips up against you again, pressing you up against the wall passionately.

You backed away, and he furrowed his eyebrows, but all you did was grab his hand, feeling a frenzy of desire take over you. “Let’s go.”

You dragged him through the sea of people and out a backdoor. There were a couple of people walking around in the garden, but you managed to find a place secluded enough for you and Jonathan. The ground was grassy and soft, and no one was walking by. Even if they did, they’d have to be purposefully looking for you two to see you both behind the trees and flowers.

“Lay down,” you ordered.

He grinned but did as you asked. “Here? Outside? You’re such a naughty girl.”

“Do you wanna wait until we get home?”

“No,” he said, a little too eagerly. “I want it now.” He sat up and tugged on your dress, running his hand up your leg. “You’re so soft,” he murmured, planting a few wet kisses on your thigh.

You sighed contently, enjoying the affection he was giving you. This moment felt like a haze, like the world was just slipping by and you were stuck in time, a feeling that made you wonder if this was a dream or not. The evening sunset and dark sky weren’t helping either. It all felt perfect, too perfect.

“Mmm.” Jonathan reached up and hooked his fingers into your underwear. You snapped out of your trance and swatted his hand away.

“Getting a little touchy there, aren’t you?”

He smirked, looking up at you through thick eyelashes. “Just tryna please you, darling.”

You thought for a moment, then decided that you would let him eat you out.

“Alright then. Please me, Dr. Crane.”

Jonathan’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment at the name, savoring the way it rolled so delicately off your tongue. He lifted up your dress and pulled down your panties. You kicked them off to the side and rested your dominant leg on his shoulder.

He pushed his finger against your folds, making a humming sound. “You’re so wet, darling.”

He leaned forward to suck on your clit roughly.

You lightly gasped at the pleasant sensation, bucking your hips into his face accidentally. You had meant to show more control, but how could you when Jonathan was so hungrily lapping? burying his face into your pussy like he was starved, passionately alternating between licking and sucking.

“Oh, Jonathan.”

His fingers, which had been gripping your hips, moved upward. As he continued to press his tongue against your clit his finger gently prodded your entrance, making sure that you were ready. He pushed his finger, curling it slightly.

You stifled your moans, not wanting a passerby to catch you two in the act, but you were finding it difficult. He kept thrusting his finger in and out of you, adding another one just a minute later.

You threw your head back, eyes shut. You held his head for balance and relaxed, letting yourself go into a peaceful bliss. But then you felt Jonathan’s teeth nip your bud, biting into it deliberately, and you yelped.

Gripping his hair, you forced him to look at you. His mouth and nose were covered in your wetness, and his lips were curving up into a delightful smile.

“What was that for?”

He shrugged. “Mmm, I couldn’t help it, Ma’am.”

Instead of reprimanding him, you took the selfish route and pushed his face in between your legs, grinding onto his lips until you felt that familiar sense of elated happiness. You came all over him, your brain shutting off, or rather, getting overloaded at that euphoric, all-consuming release.

You let go of Jonathan’s hair, but he didn’t pull away. He licked up your cum, making your nerves feel overstimulated, but after he was satisfied, he stopped.

“You like that?” he asked.

“F-fuck, yeah.”

You grabbed your panties and put them back on, much to Jonathan’s dismay.

“Where are you going?” He got up, using his sleeve to wipe off the remaining juices on his face. You could see a tent, his cock poking out from under his pants.

“Home, of course. And you’re coming with me.”

He shook his head vehemently, wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing his hard cock against your body. “Let’s finish this here. I can’t wait any longer. Don’t make me wait.”

“If you’re a good boy, you’ll wait.”

“I can’t,” he bitched desperately, hurriedly pulling down his pants. “I won’t. I’ve waited too fucking long.”

You grabbed his cock through the fabric, squeezing it tight in his hands.

His face contorted to one of pleasure and pain. “Huh!”

“You think you can just get what you want? After you’ve such a dick? Oh, ‘she was practically falling all over me’. ‘Such a pretty little dress wasted on such an ugly little thing.’”

“C’mon, I didn’t mean it! You looked so beautiful, I was just trying to make you mad. Be nice . . . Pleaseee?”

You gripped it tighter and he whimpered. “See how pathetic you get the moment I show an ounce of authority? How you start to beg? If I say something you do it. Do you understand?” He didn’t say anything, his lips still parted in pain. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes!” he choked out.

You let go. “Good boy. Now go call your driver and ask him to pick us up ‘round back. Unless you want everyone to see your erection?”

You gestured to the front of the manor, where through the bushes you could still see people enjoying the party.

“No, no.” He called his driver, trying his best to cover his erection by interlocking his hands in front of his waist. “You’re a cruel goddess.”

While you two waited for the driver, you peppered sweet kisses along Jonathan’s neck, but when he arrived, you stopped, making him groan at the loss.

Throughout the drive back to your place, you ghosted your fingers over Jonathan’s lap, occasionally resting your hand on his length. Once the driver dropped you both off, you wasted no time in pushing him to your room.

He took off his clothes as did you, his white cock springing up furiously. It was just the right size, bigger and longer than average, almost so that you worried about having to fit it inside you.

His figure was lanky, but still muscled, just the way you thought it would be. You placed your fingers on his chest, twisting his nipples. He shuddered and took off his glasses, placing them on the nightstand. You shoved him down on your bed and he immediately spread his legs, giving you perfect access.

“Want me to suck you off, Jon?”

“Yes!” he said impatiently. “Just do it.”

You spanked his balls with your hand, carefully watching the way they bounced ever so slightly.

“Nghh! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Do it whenever you feel like.”

Despite his words, you could see him waiting anxiously for you to touch him.

You did so, kissing the tip of his head and running your tongue through the slit, tasting the salty precum he was leaking. He hissed when you took his entire length. “Ah.”

You gripped your thumb so you wouldn’t gag and took him in all the way, hollowing out your cheeks. He thrusted up, deepthroating you for a hot second before he placed his hips firmly against the bed, not wanting to do anything that would upset you.

“So—so warm,” he stuttered out. “Can’t wait to feel your cunt, if your mouth is this fucking good.”

You would have said something, but your mouth was filled, busy bobbing up and down. He squirmed and moaned, shamelessly being as loud as he could. You could feel yourself getting wet again, but you controlled your urges for the sake of Jonathan.

He brushed your hair out of the way, scrunching up his face. “M’gonna — hnghhh — m’gonna come!”

That was when you pulled off of him.

It took a moment for him to realize what you were doing, but when he did, he wasted no time in complaining.

“No,” he mewled, tearing up. “I’ve been such a good boy. Such a good boy.”

“Have you?” You giggled.

“I need you, I need this,” he moaned. “I’ve wanted you so bad — that’s why I came to you, that’s why I came to you and no one else. I didn’t even need the sponsors that bad, I just wanted to see you. I . . . I’m in agony,” he continued dramatically.

“That’s sad.”

More tears ran down his cheek at your nonchalant words. He sniffled. “Please, stop that and just make me come!”

“Okay. I think you deserve it.”

But instead of putting your mouth back on him, you sunk onto his cock, slowly at first, so your pussy could get used to the size.

“Oh, fuck,” Jonathan cursed, placing one of his hands on your waist, his fingers digging into your skin. His other hand went up to play with your breasts, cupping and kneading them like they were pieces of dough.

You started bouncing, a string of incoherent words and moans leaving your mouth. Jonathan sat up and wrapped you in his arms, kissing down your neck as you moved.

“You feel so good,” you murmured, clenching around his cock. “I s-should have done this sooner.”

“Should’ve,” Jonathan agreed. “But — ah — we can always do this more often, yeah?”

Too blissed out to respond with words, you just nodded your head, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

It didn’t take long for both of you to come after that. His hot load spurted inside of you and you came again, but this time on his cock.

He collapsed, exhausted from the sensations.

You slowly got up, letting out a little wince as you felt his length leave you. You cuddled up beside him, caressing his cheek, wrapping you both in the blanket. He looked a little tired, and you didn’t blame him. So were you.

“You set my soul alight,” he said softly. “You always have.”

You wanted to ask him how deep his feelings ran, if this was just sex, or if it was something more, but when he fell asleep on your breast, you dropped the idea. He trusted you enough to let his guard down around you, and for now, that was more than enough.

The rest of the night was spent holding each other in your arms as you slept. When you woke up in the morning, he was still there, snoring softly like he was a peaceful angel.

You pulled him closer to you. “I’m never letting you go,” you murmured darkly. “Never.”

#Jonathan Crane #Jonathan Crane x reader #Jonathan Crane x y/n #Jonathan Crane x you #the dark knight trilogy #fanfiction #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow x y/n #scarecrow x you #cillian murphy #pinguwrites

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