#jonathan crane fanfiction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lis-likes-fics · 4 months

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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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fuckmycrane · 2 months

Text

18+, smut, dead dove do not eat, stepcest, noncon, drug use, hints of sexism/misogyny.

Oh Crane... the man you are 🤍.

Stepbrother!Crane who thinks he is better than you because he is studying psychology. He belittles your career choice, and if you chose the same as him, Jonathan will constantly compare your progress to his.

Stepbrother!Crane who uses you as a lab rat, always asking you questions and "psychoanalyzing" you. He is always ready to comment on your behavior, your responses and your actions.

"You don't have to be so aggressive, darlin'. I know, I know— you hate it when I call you that, but you know that irrational anger is part of a pattern that..."

Stepbrother!Crane who constantly is mansplaining you. It's annoying to the point that you simply stand up and lock in your bedroom, screaming against the pillow from pure frustration. He just stays in the living room, smirking pleased with himself.

Stepbrother!Crane who used you as the lab rat for his first fear toxin prototypes. Before it even was meant to create hallucinations, he just intended to cut every brain signal, sending it to a deep slumber— or momentarily induced coma— and he did it every Friday night before bed.

Stepbrother!Crane who after the third time experimenting with you couldn't help himself and undressed you, watching your seemingly dead body and constantly checking your pulse— what if he accidentally overdosed you?

Stepbrother!Crane who not only writes his progress with the toxin, but also fucks you every Friday night. He enjoys how responsive your body is despite being shut down, he likes how you don't fight back. Crane leaves bruises and marks that you can't simply explain the next morning... accompanied with a sticky mess in between your thighs.

#— ✏️ anya writes!#jonathan crane x reader smut #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane x y/n #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane fanfiction #johnathan crane x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader

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floralcyanidee · 8 months

Text

ɴsғᴡ ᴀʟᴘʜᴀʙᴇᴛ - ᴊᴏɴᴀᴛʜᴀɴ ᴄʀᴀɴᴇ

Jonathan Crane x AFAB!reader

Behold the NSFW alphabet for Jonathan Crane.

warnings: smut, mentions of kinks, descriptions of kinks/sex

author’s note: I've seen people do these for a lot of characters/ people I have loved over the years, so I decided it was time I did my own. Obviously, none of this is canon, it's just my imagination lol. I'm still shadowbanned on my main tumblr, so I guess I'll be hanging out here for a while. But I'm still on that tumblr daily! Thanks for all your support (':

main masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist | add yourself to the taglist here

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

Despite his desire to be rough or detached during sex, Jonathan always ensures you’re cared for and comforted afterward. This includes a warm bath if needed, some cuddling (if he really cares for you), and helping you clean up. If Jonathan has an attachment to you, he’ll spend the rest of the session just hugging up to you and telling you how good you did.

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

Jonathan loves your legs- from your ankles to the apex of your thighs. He can't get enough of them, whether they’re wrapped around his waist, on either side of his head, or on his shoulders. Jonathan will bite and squeeze your thighs, often leaving marks and bruises. He’ll kiss up your calves and knees during missionary (which is rare unless he has taken a liking to you). On his own body, he guesses his torso or arms. They’re not too lanky or too buff, they’re a nice in-between. Jonathan’s body is lean and fit; he thinks it’s ideal enough. He’d rather focus on your body in general.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

Jonathan is such a cum slut. He’ll make sure to take all of you when he eats you out, licking and lapping at you until every drop is accounted for. Sometimes, if he’s feeling kinky enough, he’ll spit it into your mouth and let you spit it back into his. Jonathan also loves watching you swallow his cum or watch you take his load on your face. It causes him to get worked up all over again, no matter how spent he is. He enjoys cumming inside you, too. It’s one of his favorite things, especially when hitting it raw.

D= Dirty secret (Pretty self-explanatory)

Jonathan has a panty kink. He will steal your underwear any chance he can get, which is often. You pretend you don’t notice your favorite pairs going missing after visiting him, and you eventually feed into his addiction. He just loves your scent and the feel of the lace or cotton of your underwear between his fingers. Many would find this gross, but Jonathan finds it hot.

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

Jonathan definitely knows what he’s doing, even if he acts oblivious to most things. He lost his virginity at a reasonable age and has had many partners who have taught him just about everything he knows. Some stuff he’s learned on his own, though. Jonathan takes good care of you in the bedroom, making sure you’re just as pleased as him every time.

F= Favorite position

This man loves doggy through and through. Sure, missionary (if he likes you) and laying on your side feel good, but slamming his cock into you as deep as he can go from behind? Doggy is chef's kiss, in Jonathan’s opinion. He could ram into you forever, feeling you clench around him as his tip hits your cervix dead on. It never gets old.

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

Jonathan isn’t really a goofy person anyway, so he isn’t goofy during sex, either. Sure, if a mishap occurs, he may crack a smile, but other than that, he’s composed.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

He keeps himself pretty neat hair-wise. He’s trimmed but not clean-shaven- he thinks it’s a tad too much work. Besides, a little hair isn’t going to hurt anyone.

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

Jonathan likes it hot and dirty most of the time. He’ll get rough and grab you by the throat or grip your body with a vice, making sure you can’t move. Jonathan will take you against a wall, in the bed until the headboard breaks, and in the office bathroom if a quickie is needed. Every time is rough enough for you to be sore the following day. As I’ve mentioned a few times, if Jonathan has feelings for you, he doesn’t mind a little romance. He’ll be gentle and look you in the eye as he fucks you, his eyes full of wonder and endearment.

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

Jonathan used to rely on getting himself off just about every day until you stumbled into his life. Now, he doesn’t really think much of it unless you ask him to do it in front of you. Other than that, he has you to let out his sexual frustration.

K= Kink (kinks what they like, possibly unusual)

Boy, oh boy. Spitting, choking, blood, knife/gun, light bondage (sometimes actual bondage if Jonathan’s in a mood), spanking, slapping, hair-pulling, biting, fear (of course), cum-swapping/eating, degrading, the list goes on. I feel like Jonathan would enjoy exploring things with you.

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

Jonathan loves having sex with you quite literally anywhere he can. Preferably the bed where it’s comfortable, but if you’re in public or at work, he’ll take you to the bathroom. If he needs you immediately while at home, he’ll pin you against the wall or fuck you on the couch. Sometimes, the counter as well if it’s the spur of the moment.

M= Motivation (things that make them tick/turn-ons)

Seeing your legs, any time you’re confident in yourself, pulling his hair, biting his ear, you being afraid/ terrified, when you’re walking around the house naked (even if for a moment, he spares you nothing), seeing you happy or angry.

N= No (turn offs or absolutely won’t do)

Any body fluids other than spit, blood, or cum, torture to the full extent isn’t his thing (he doesn’t want to actually hurt you), full-on public play isn’t something he’s into either, but semi-public play is something he’s cool with.

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

Jonathan is magical with his mouth, so you’re always up for oral. He can work his tongue like none other and give the right amount of attention everywhere. He also loves it when you’re taking him with your mouth, gagging and crying around his length. Jonathan could thrust into your throat forever and be content. Jonathan, overall, enjoys both giving and receiving.

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

He is pretty quick in his movements, especially when he’s feeling unhinged. Jonathan will not be merciful when he’s feeling this way either, he will grab you somewhere on your body and use you like a toy and fuck you senseless. He can go numerous rounds, so he can last hours sometimes. This is a blessing and curse, depending on your libido.

Q= Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

Jonathan (as I’ve said) will totally fuck you while you’re both at work in the bathroom or sometimes in a closet at a friend’s house if you attend dinner together. Even at home, if you’re both in the mood for something quick, the kitchen counter is notorious for your quickie rendezvous. Jonathan always goes fast and hard with your quickies. There’s nothing slow or romantic about them.

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

Between the two of you, there’s always something new going on in the bedroom. Sometimes, you’ll stumble upon something that interests you, and it’s the same for Jonathan. Most of the things he’s into, he knows he’s into them because he’s tried them with you. You’re constantly challenging him to try new things in the spur of the moment, too. One time, you asked Jonathan to tie up your hands with his tie because you thought he looked really good in it that day. Now you’ve graduated to handcuffs. It took some convincing and trust-checking for you to finally let him try to fear toxin on you, and even though it was terrifying, it was the best sex you’ve ever had.

S= Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

God, this man can go several rounds and can go for hours like the Energizer Bunny. Every round differs in duration depending on how quickly you cum and how quickly he does as well. It also depends on how worked up you both get with every round.

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

Oh boy. Jonathan loves using different toys on you, especially the Hitachi. He will make you spread your legs on the bed and put it against your clit as he sits and watches from across the room. Sometimes, he’ll use a bunny to spice things up, pushing in and out of you at a snail’s pace, much to your disliking. He is hesitant to let you use toys on him, but you’ve brought up the idea of a vibrating cock ring, to which he said he’d think about it.

U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves?)

As I mentioned, Jonathan has tortured you (not literally) with toys, teasing, and new kinks. His favorite thing is teasing you until you’re overly wet and turned on, squirming for his touch. Jonathan also loves being teased, but only sometimes. He has to be in the mood for it, or else he’ll just get pissy.

V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

Jonathan gets loud when the sex is really feral, which is most of the time. He’ll grunt in your ear and speak dirty words into it as he stutters and moans from how tight you are around him. He’ll praise you over and over and say your name like a mantra when he’s coming down from his high. There’s nothing Jonathan loves more than speaking your name as you milk him dry.

W= Wild card (random sin cannon of any sort)

Strip poker. Or stripping while playing any game, really. As odd as it sounds, Jonathan likes to play this, especially with chess. You aren’t too good at it, but you’re learning. So, of course, you’re the one to strip most of the time. Sometimes, the two of you will play actual poker, and you usually beat him, making him grumble as he takes off an article of clothing. Usually, this is your kinkiest kind of sex because of the slow build.

X= X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

Jonathan is fairly average while soft, but when he’s hard, he’s pretty big. Not big enough to hurt, but big enough to make you full and miss that fullness when he pulls out of you. He knows how to use his cock properly in a way that it won’t bruise you unless he’s feeling violent or you want him to hurt you. Then he’s like an animal with what’s in his pants.

Y= Yearning (sex drive level)

Jonathan yearned for you for so long before you finally had interaction, both platonic and sexual. He would touch himself to the thought of you until he had the real thing. So, for the first few months of your relationship (or whatever this is), he was borderline addicted to exploring you and your body. His sex drive level was insane and still is sometimes. Like I’ve said, man could go for hours, especially if it’s with you.

Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after? if so, how quickly after)

For Jonathan, sex either energizes him or knocks him the fuck out, all depending on how wild you get. Suppose it’s a rough session. In that case, he’ll curl up with you to his chest and fall asleep almost immediately following your aftercare. It’s cute. Sometimes, you’ll watch him sleep and realize that maybe you love him, and maybe he loves you too.

taglist:

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prettypeppermint · 8 months

Text

jonathan.

for dr. j. crane.

You looked like a fairy cuddled up in a perfectly curved, perfectly velvety petal as your naked peaks and valleys cradled into his strong figure. You felt safe in his firmness. He felt like home.

His hand tapped at your thigh, matching the rhythm of his heart, as his other hand gripped an open book by the spine. Your knees were tucked; cheek and palm on the ebb and flow of his lungs; breaths steady and deep. You could lay here for hours: naked and languid and melting into his stalwart huskiness.

You looked up at him--at the slight crescents between his brows and the piercing focus of his irises as they glided across the page. Something in his jaw would twitch every now and then, and his Adam's apple would bob as he swallowed a stoic thought. He felt your head move and peered down, and all he saw were your eyes--that ravishingly, undeniably feminine gaze.

Your love would've been a dangerous game with anyone else. But with him, you felt like nothing could ever hurt you. You felt invincible. Because he was the one who held you at night--who you would cry on and nestle up to when you had a nightmare.

"What's on your mind, pretty girl? Hm?" He brought his arm up to your small head and petted your hair, his long eyelashes dampening his gaze as it melted into yours.

The way he looked at you; it was as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

Oh, and his voice--rugged with fatigue and slick from hours of silence. You loved hearing your name slip from his throat and jump off his tongue as if it belonged somewhere deep in his core.

You felt your eyelids grow heavy as his palm continually smoothed your hair down in gentle herculean motions. Protection and safeness radiated from his every fiber. You never felt so treasured.

"Nothing," you sighed, breaking eye contact as you rested your cheek on his chest once more. His lips made their way to the top of your head as he gave you a soft peck before continuing to glide his palm down your shiny hair. After a moment of silence which swelled with the intermingling of your peaceful breaths, you added, "I want to stay like this forever. With you." It came out groggy as you drifted off in his arms.

A quiet smile tugged at his lip. "I'll make sure of it. Just for you."

It was the last thing you heard before waking up to cold sheets and an empty bed. You knew he had to flee in the middle of the night. You knew it was to keep you safe. You sat on your knees with your calves splayed out, your wispy locks of hair tickling your bare shoulders. On the pink, satin pillow next to you was a note:

My girl,

I'm sorry for yet another late-night disappearance. Trouble in paradise, it seems.

I've left you a gift underneath your pillow. Use it when you need me and I'm not there.

I love you always, Jonathan.

Your fingers slipped under the mound of satin and prodded at something cold and metal, but not foreign in your grasp. Pulling it out from underneath the pillow, your slender fingers wrapped around the barrel of a Weble-Fosbery automatic revolver.

A single pink ribbon had been neatly wrapped around the grip, adorning it with a small, powder pink bow. As you brought the firearm closer to your face, you noticed your initials carved into the frame in pretty, cursive letters.

Just for you.

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lucyswinter · 2 months

Note

i’d loveeee some jonathan crane x reader headcanons where he’s jealous because his gf is a baddie 🫣🫣🫣

pairing: jonathan crane x fem!reader

genre: fluff (with a hint of smut)

warnings: mentions of SEX!!!! (😧😏)

(a/n): hey guys!! sorry for ditching y’all for like a month but I’m back!! I’ve just been busy with school and work but I have a lot of recs to fill so I’ll be posting some this week! recs are still open btw for anyone interested! also shoutout to aki for explaining to me what a baddie is😭

♡ ♡ ♡

-when jon gets jealous, he gets protective, and having a hot and confident girlfriend who other guys like to stare at can get him very jealous

-he looooves treating you when you go shopping. oh you want that lipgloss? done. that dress? it’s yours. the prada bag? pulling out his credit card as you speak

-he’ll even invest in those ridiculously scandalous outfits you love so much. even though he doesn’t particularly enjoy it when you wear the skin-tight dresses or the see-through tank tops around anyone besides him, he enjoys seeing you happy, and he enjoys eventually tearing them off of you every night

-despite spoiling you so much, he tries to be controlling sometimes, but you could not care less because you think it’s cute when he gets jealous

-“you can’t possibly believe that im going to let you out in public wearing…that…” “well i do, because what are you gonna do about it?”

-whenever you go out, he secretly death stares every guy that sneaks a peek at your ass or your tits when you aren’t paying attention

-he’s gotten into multiple violent altercations at bars because guys have hit on you while he was in the bathroom or buying you a drink.

-“baby, that creep was flirting with you! i was simply standing my ground. that poor excuse of a dress wasn’t helping much though…” “sorry, what was that last part?” “nothing…”

-to remind people that you’re his, he likes to have his hands on you in some way. around your waist, holding your hand, fingers gripping your ass, whatever it was to assert dominance on anyone he thought was competition

-in private though, this man is the king of body worship. like he makes sure you know that every part of you is perfect, even though obviously you need no reminder

-even during sex, when he’s always the one in control, you still like finding little ways to tick him off

-“remember, you’re mine” “sure sure…”

♡ ♡ ♡

(a/n): thanks for reading! likes and reblogs are appreciated <3 next up is a neil lewis blurb, and then a hotch blurb! stay tuned for those!! I promise i won’t go mia b4 posting those lol

#jonathan crane x y/n #jonathan crane fanfic #jonathan crane x reader #Jonathan crane x fem!reader #Jonathan crane x you #Jonathan crane #Jonathan crane fanfiction #cillian murphy x f!reader #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #lucywrites<3

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floralcyanide · 7 months

Note

Congrats on being unbanned! Now you can indulge the real main-vs.-uncut-channel-action 😎

hc prompt: Crane x reader fluff (turned smut? 🤔) where reader can't stop staring at him because he got new clothes or sth.? :3

Jonathan Crane Headcanons

Jonathan Crane x Reader

masterlist

to say you wanted to pounce on your boyfriend is an understatement. he had to get a new suit for the hearing he had to participate in, and today was the first day of him taking the stand. so, when you get up that morning, you see him getting dressed in it. he also looks absolutely adorable in it, his new tie he had set out looks like it go well with the color of the suit.

you circle Jonathan like prey, studying his movements as he gets dressed. a part of you wants to rip him apart, but another part of you is insanely proud of Jonathan and how he gets to help people in his career. Jonathan goes to button up his shirt, and you bat his hands away and do it yourself. "you look absolutely handsome, Dr. Crane." Jonathan sighs at you, "thank you my darling."

you watch as he wraps the tie around his collar, and you immediately step in to expertly tie his tie for him. Jonathan looks at you tiredly, but a smile twitches on his lips. "I can dress myself," Jonathan says, tucking hair behind your ear. "I know. I don't care, I want to help you. especially since this case is a little stressful." Jonathan nods and allows you to help him shrug on his blazer.

as Jonathan stands in the mirror to check his outfit, you look him up and down, a part of you wanting to discard his suit completely and have your way with him under your covers. but, you can't. not now, anyway. so you busy yourself all day with cleaning the house, heat still pooled in your stomach. you try to distract yourself with TV, and it works until Jonathan gets home.

when he walks through the door, you immediately drag him to the bedroom, and he has just a few seconds to toss his briefcase on the couch. Jonathan is laughing at you as you hurriedly rip off the suit, unbuttoning his white shirt in a frenzy. "I'm guessing you've had a long day of waiting?" he jokes. "yes. now get your shoes off. you're going to tell me about your day and I'm going to fuck you."

Jonathan struggles to explain the details of the case that he's allowed to discuss with the way you're on top of him, riding his cock like your life depends on it. at this point, it did, as you've been holding in your arousal all day, nearly ready to explode. you're so pent up that it doesn't take you long to cum, but you still rock your hips on Jonathan's length until you have a second and even third orgasm.

when Jonathan finally releases, you cum a fourth time, unable to keep yourself upright. "too bad we didn't keep the suit on. that would've been hot," you giggle. "you and this suit," Jonathan tuts, "if I would've known it'd get you this way I would've gotten it sooner."

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darkcranefiction · 8 months

Text

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.

#dr crane #jonathan crane #dr jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #dc scarecrow #scarecrow #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow x you #jonathan crane x you #dr crane x you #dr crane x reader #scarecrow smut #cillian murphy smut #jonathan crane smut #dr crane smut #jonathan crane fanfiction #scarecrow fanfiction

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memphisnovels · 2 years

Text

Mem’s masterlist

Welcome friend, come on in, take a load off and hang out with me!

Thanks for your support

AO3

Matt Murdock (On hiatus)

Fade into you: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Allison Blake and Matthew Murdock started on a tenuous foot, well rather, they started on a hate-filled, bitter, incredibly petty foot. Academic rivals in college turned unlikely friends, turned far more. Allison worked her ass off to become assistant district attorney of the Manhattan DA's office, she has a seemingly perfect life, everything she's ever wanted, until an old unfairly attractive foe, walks back into her life and breaks her heart all over again. Matt and Allison navigate a messy tangled web of lies and undeclared love with witty repartee and never-ending rivalry.

Pietro Maximoff

Evermore: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27

Nadia was raised in the Red Room, raised to be a weapon; a killer. From five years old this is all she knew, until a near-death experience and a chance meeting turned her world upside down. Hardened by her troubling past, can she learn to trust the foes turned friends or will she always keep her distance? What is the root of the strange visions that have plagued her for as long as she can remember?

Nathan Drake (On hiatus)

Small beginnings: 1, 2, 3

Xanthe Hayes has been stealing for as long as she can remember. The daughter of exceptionally wealthy archeologists who've never been particularly doting, she found herself ousted into the world as a young girl, forced to find her own way and come to her own conclusions about the world. As a result, Xanthe became closed off and distrustful of those who she meets, a deep-cutting betrayal and a string of precarious alliances only worsen Xanthe's deep-seated cynicism and push her further into her instinctual lone wolf lifestyle. Determined to discover what the specific allure of treasure hunting is for her parents, a young Xanthe entered the world of artifact hunting, inevitably falling so ardently in love with the history and the art she encounters, that nothing could get in her way.

Jonathan Crane

A night without stars: 1, 2

Eve Gordon: doctor, niece of the renowned GCPD officer Jim Gordon, best friend of playboy, billionaire Bruce Wayne and fierce ADA Rachel Dawes, the perfect girl with the perfect life; from the outside.

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ivorydragoness44 · 7 months

Text

Dr. Jonathan Crane x Reader: Toxin

Word Count: 432 Warnings/Notes: Scarecrow fear toxin leak, Reader tries to brave through it but the screaming and yelling outside of their office is not making it any easier. Hurt/comfort when Jonathan arrives. Summary: The Reader works for Jonathan Crane, but when the fear toxin seeps into their office, can Jonathan make it to their office in time?

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Gotham, home to the rich, the restless, and the rogue. It was not the most ideal place in comparison to others, but it was bearable. It was all about perspective. However, the perspective you currently had was that of the piles of papers on your desk and the door into your office. Paperwork could not file itself, and that was where you came into the picture. Deep into the lair of the infamously intellectual Doctor Jonathan Crane was not for everyone. Luckily, it suited you just fine. Socialites were absent, foot traffic was bare, hardly there came a time when it was reminiscent of a usual day job set far from your current location. Tapping a small pile of papers onto your desk, you attempted to coax them into a neatly organized stack, per usual. The unusual came in the form of a faint smell. You did not think much of it in the moment until there was a more obvious change. Screams and yelling echoed out through the hall outside. Your head flicked up. A light smoke streamed into the room. Realization donned on you just as a whoosiness crept over your body. Quickly, you pulled your scarf up to cover your mouth and nose. Anything to try to filter out the air before it reached your lungs. But it was a little too late for that. You had already been breathing in the fear toxin. It was the only thing that it could be, other such products were not being manufactured there. The Scarecrow was not running a cologne business.

With your vision beginning to sway, you cried out. “Jonathan!” You did not particularly like how your vision was reacting to the toxin, so you squeezed your eyes shut. To the best of your ability, you tried to ignore and block out all of the sounds outside of your office. But the unmistakable sound of the door swinging open caught your attention. That, and the hurried footsteps that followed. Laced into a fear induced scratchy voice, your name was spoken. The voice calling in an attempt of reassurance. Hands came to your shoulders before arms cradled you through the swimy illusion. “Do not open your eyes yet,” he said and added something about ‘air’, ‘filters’, and ‘soon’. The fear toxin clouded to much for your liking. You could not wait until the ‘soon’. Especially if it meant an end to all of the screaming and yelling. As long as Jonathan stayed to help you through it. An unexpected practice to become immune was not a part of your schedule today.

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Thank you for reading! Be sure to check out my Masterlist for more fanfictions :)

#dr jonathan crane #scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane #dc scarecrow #jonathan crane x you #scarecrow x you #jonathan crane insert reader #jonathan crane fanfiction #jonathan crane fanfic #halloween fanfiction #halloween fanfic

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huntingingoodwill · 1 year

Note

Imagine Jonathan Crane slowly corrupting a hero! or civilian! Reader into becoming a villain

i love jc i look at him and im gigglin having a cheeky giggle

him becoming obsessed with the hero that has beat him up a few times and foiled his little evil plans (let’s be real he’s so touch starved he was probably like omg she’s touching me 🥰 while being tackled to the floor)

after a while he purposely sends her leads that amount to nothing just so he can stand in the shadows and watch her or have a meaningless little fight (this is his idea of courtship)

slowly random files and envelopes show up at her house (yes he knows her address bc let’s say it all together now. hes CREEPY!) and it’s all evidence of how her fellow heroes have been backstabbing her… yeah it’s a little fabricated a little twisted to fit jon’s truth but anyway! it’s enough to make her doubt her “friends” and jon probably uses a bit of his chemical help to help manipulate you…

he confesses his love to you and at first you’re a bit like. uhhhhh but you’re manipulated into being over reliant on him soon enough </3

you break him out of jail eventually 🥰 it’s like your first date! and it’s proof you love him so he’ll cling onto you forever >:)

#asks #jonathan crane fanfiction #jonathan crane x y/n #jonathan crane blurb #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane imagine #jonathan crane headcanons #jonathan crane fic

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lis-likes-fics · 7 months

Text

Let Me Show You the Light

Pairings: Jonathan Crane x Reader Word Count: 10k words (i don't know either) Kink: Mirror Sex Warnings: NSFW, noncon (honestly, this kinda ended being dub at the end? dunno how that happened... warning still applies), dark content loss of virginity, humiliation, multiple orgasms, creampie, dumbification, depictions of horror, use of fear toxin, insanity, mention of murder/death... A/N: Okay, I enjoyed writing this way too much. This was like...filthy. But you know what, we ball. Enjoy, I wrote this in two days! Also A/N: PS, I made a few changes to the taglist, so please send me a message or go to the taglist doc to make any necessary changes (or just to add yourself!) Link in my bio and at the bottom of this post!

Someone's watching you.

You can feel the heat on the back of your head. It's a warmth that gathers there and makes you look over your shoulder in search of that phantom you could never seem to catch.

And it's not just out in the open either. It's a constant hair-stands-on-end. It's on your way to work, to the coffee shop, to the store, back home. It's in your kitchen, in your living room, in your bedroom, in your bathroom.

You feel…unclean. Everything you do in the comfort and privacy of your own home is being watched by this strange ghost haunting your every move. And you stop as you look behind yourself again because you feel it.

Someone's watching you.

You startle as the crowd of the Gotham city streets scurries around you and eventually delivers you a victim to run into. "I'm so sorry!" you say quickly as you are shoved back slightly, steadying yourself as you reach bend down to pick up the briefcase that had been knocked from the man's hand.

"It's quite alright. It seems I wasn't paying attention," he offers, bending down to pick it up instead.

Your hands touch as you both grab the handle at the same time. You quickly pull it away. You look up for the first time at the person you'd run into and recognize him almost immediately. You've never really met him in person, but you've learned a lot about him through the happenings at the precinct.

"Dr. Crane," you say as you pick up the suitcase and straighten your posture. You quickly hand it over to him.

"That's me," he says, nodding. He looks over you for just a split second, as if he's admiring you as he takes you. There's something cold about his gaze that makes you want to shudder, but you refrain. "May I ask your name?"

You give it, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. He holds his hand out and you hesitantly take it. He shakes it, holding your hand a moment too long and making your skin crawl as he tilts his chin to the side. "Very nice to meet you," he smiles. "May I ask where you're headed? I would love to walk with you if you wouldn't mind."

You clear your throat, "Actually, I think we were headed opposite ways. I'm headed to the precinct for work."

"Ah. A secretary? Assistant?" he wonders.

You shake your head, fighting the urge to check the time. You really shouldn't be seen talking to someone like Jonathan Crane, not with the rumors and bad dealings floating about his name. This city was bent enough, you couldn't be lost to something like this. But showing disrespect to a potential threat wouldn't be a grand idea either…

"Um, no," you smile tightly. "I'm a crime analyst."

His brows raise as he nods, though the new information doesn't reach his eyes. "Well, then. Until we meet again. Safe travels."

You nod shortly and he brushes past you on his way. You look over your shoulder as he disappears into the crowd.

As you turn and begin your walk again, the feeling sticks to your skin like a cold sweat on a winter's day. Someone's watching you.

You meet Jonathan Crane for the second time at a bookshop.

With the lingering feeling looming over you like a shadow, things are beginning to feel like they're getting out of hand. You search the aisles slowly, almost absently, as your finger grazes the spines of different published authors in the nonfiction section. You pick a book from its place on the shelf and flinch when you turn and find someone standing behind you.

You clutch your hand to your chest as you steady your beating heart. "You scared me," you chuckle nervously.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

You look up and nearly freeze at the sight of a smiling Jonathan Crane standing before you once more, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as he looks at you almost apologetically.

You swallow thickly, taking a tiny step back. "Dr. Crane."

He seems to recognize you then as he nods gently. "We meet again." You hum. "What brings you to this side of the bookshop? I didn't take you for a nonfiction kind of girl."

You tilt your head. "No? What did you take me for?"

He shrugs, "Paranormal? A little bit of romance here and there?"

You maintain your tight smile, shifting between your feet as you nod gently. He's not right, but he's not wrong. However, the most unsettling thing about it isn't even that he's a little right… it is the fact that you've met this one time and it was a conversation that lasted less than a minute. Either he took one hell of a guess or there was something going on there that wouldn't be very pleasant for you. Given the heat burning on your skin from your constant paranoid surveillance, you'd guess the latter.

"Good guess," is all you say.

He glances down at the book tucked underneath your arm and hums. "What's that you've got?"

You look down at it and take it into your hands again. You look over the cover and hand it over. He takes it, and his fingers brush over yours. You shudder uncomfortably, pulling your hand away and hoping he doesn't notice the way you rub your hand on your side. He does, but you don't know that as he spends too much time reading the title.

"The Art of Intuition," he reads. "Sounds like an interesting read."

You nod, "I'm hoping. It's for…work, so…"

He furrows his brows, "You said you worked as an intelligence analyst?"

You nod again, more firmly this time as you take the book back. "Yes… Well, intuition is important for everything, isn't it?"

He nods along and hums. "That, it is."

You clear your throat, "What about you? What are you reading?"

He looks at his own book, as though he'd just realized it was there. He passes it on to you as you had done.

The Power of Fear and How to Conquer It

You stare at the title a moment longer than you should, feeling clammy and warm and very unsafe as you hand the book back. "Sounds like it'll keep you busy."

He nods. "It will."

The way he says it washes you in a cold feeling. The hairs along your arms stand on end and you nearly shudder. You should leave.

You smile as kindly as you can manage, taking a step away from him and nodding. "I should probably get going."

You turn to leave. He grabs your arm. Though he wasn't harsh, you still turn quickly with an almost startled look to you as you wonder what he'll do. You're safe, right? In the middle of this store? You look around you, but there is nothing around but books that would become the readers to the story unfolding before them.

"Wait," he laughs gently.

You speak almost immediately, the words blurting out of your mouth. "Please let go of me."

He does, much to your relief, as he fixes his glasses. "Forgive me." You hum and look away from his face. "I've actually been thinking about you."

You don't like the way it sounds when he says it. It gives a foreboding feeling that just makes you squirm. "I wanted to say this before but I didn't want to be…strange."

Too late.

"You told me your name. I couldn't help but recognize it." Oh, no. "Your father is Boucher, isn't he?"

How did he know that?

"How do you know that?" you ask, taking another step back. "I changed my last name so no one would know that."

"Well," he begins, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "That shows up on file, and he's one of my patients, so I've seen your name in said files before. Both of them."

You clasp your hands together in front of you as you bow your head, not looking up at him and hating the way he feels so intimidating as he watches you. "Yes," you clear your throat. He notices the way your voice drops, the disdain almost betrayed in your tone. "My father is Boucher. My birth name is Boucher."

He smiles. "Interesting."

You look up, snappy. "Why?"

"I work in psychology. It's my job to find everything interesting," he says lightly, noticing your defense and seeming…amused by it.

You don't like it.

"Yeah, well, that bastard killed my mother, and I am no longer associated with him. So, if you don't mind, I'm not Boucher and I would like to be going now. Thank you." You turn to leave, and he grabs your arm again. You spin around, and you snap again.

"Stop touching me," you blurt. Your skin crawls with the feeling, like bugs on your skin where his hand touches your arm. When he still doesn't let go of you, you look at him again and yank your arm away to no avail. Suddenly, you startle as you look him straight in the eye and almost shrink. He can see the switch, the way your anger dissolves into that of apprehension, almost fear. You can see the switch in his eyes, too. His amusement has worsened.

Your heart drops to your gut and pounds in your throat. "Please stop touching me." You've gotten almost desperate in the past second and Crane's cold eyes watch every little emotion pass through you like he's watching you under a microscope.

After a moment, he lets go of you. For a second, you think he looks pleased. Like he was conducting an experiment, and he proved his theory true. You put distance between the both of you as soon as you're able and grab your arm. He didn't hurt you, but you've officially been spooked. You don't meet his gaze.

"Forgive me again," he says. You don't feel like he's genuine, but you could be biased. "I seem to have offended you. That wasn't my intention." Was he lying? You feel like he's lying, but you refuse to look at him as he watches you. "Do you live far? How about I take you home?"

You do live a little far from here. You took a cab to get to the bookshop, but you don't feel comfortable getting in a car with him.

"Please," he says, putting more effort into removing the lack of emotion from his voice as he steps closer. You take a step back but catch the way he places his hands behind his back. No touching. An olive branch. He watches as you visibly relax a little. "Let me make it up to you."

You finally look up at his face again. There's a little bit of warmth in his eyes, and you can't tell if it's real or not. Still, he doesn't try to touch you again and he's offering you a smile. Part of you feels like you're being tricked, the book still tucked under your arm burning a hole there. But the other part of you feels like it's just your trust issues getting the better of you—as they often do. You take a moment to think.

And then you sigh as you let go of your arm and speak again. "One condition."

"Of course," he nods.

"Please don't touch me again."

His arms flex at his sides like he's re-establishing his hands being behind his back. "As you wish."

You sigh again and nod. "Okay."

He smiles, and you have to look away before you give into your trust issues again and forfeit his offer. His smile isn't pleased in the way it's meant to be. It feels like he's caught a fish on his hook, and he's reeling it in for dinner. You check out your books.

Dr. Crane leads you to his car, a black Buick LeSabre that looks like it has seen a couple of years, a couple dents here and scratches there giving character to the otherwise sleek thing.

He opens the passenger's door and lets you in. It's your last chance to say no but you get in anyway. You're in too deep, you already accepted.

He smiles, pleased. He takes his seat and starts driving. For the first few minutes, it's deadly quiet. Neither of you say anything—you're still pissy from before. Crane glances at you and decides to break the silence.

"Are you still upset?" he wonders unintelligently.

You glare at him out of the corner of your eye and then look away. Choosing to be a little kinder than you feel, you contain the sarcasm you can feel biting at your teeth. "Yes."

He sighs. "I apologize for my behavior. I didn't mean to frighten you."

You scoff, shaking your head as you look out of the window to see the world of Gotham pass by you. "Yes, you did."

He hums. "How do you know?"

I could see it in your eyes. It feels offensive to say, like you are accusing him of being insane. As you glance at him, you decide to reword your sentence.

"Just felt like it," you dismiss. You rub a hand along your arm, uncomfortable at the idea of being so vulnerable as to displaying fear to this man, this man who seemed to inspire so much distrust and unsafety in you. "And, anyway, I wasn't scared."

You miss the way his hands clench around the steering wheel. "No?"

"No," you shake your head. "Just…disturbed. You were being strange."

He clears his throat. "Like I said, it wasn't my intention." His voice has shifted, but you feel like he's finally telling you the truth. Disturbing you wasn't his intention.

You hum, and that's the last thing said between the two of you for the remaining few minutes of the car ride.

Your home comes into view and you sigh. This whole ordeal would be over in just a few seconds. He drives up to your house, and you make quick work of removing your seat belt and reaching for the door.

But the door is locked.

You look at him tentatively, trying not to let on how desperate you've become to leave his presence as quickly as possible. "Could you unlock the door?" you ask, your voice surprisingly level.

He turns to you to look at you. His smile comes after. "Of course."

The lock clicks, and you open the door immediately. You get out and stand at the door, relief floods you to be safely out of reach. "Thanks for the ride," you mutter half-heartedly.

"Of course," he repeats. "Until we meet again." He speaks your name, and you hate the way it makes you feel. Unclean. Impure.

You close the door.

As you watch his car disappear down the street, your blood runs cold with the icy burn of horror and you feel sick to your stomach.

You never gave him your address.

Someone's watching you.

All day, even within the safety of the precinct, you felt someone's eyes on you at every moment. You were constantly looking over your shoulder, constantly searching for a spector you could not find. But no one was looking at you. No one's eyes met yours unless you were in the middle of an interaction with another person.

You weren't safe. Something was going to happen. You could feel it–

You return to the present at the sight of another human being in front of you. You give a tight smile to the person perched at the edge of your desk and nod. "Gordon."

He greets you the same, glancing over your desk to see what you're working on. He has files in his hands, and you watch him set them on your desk in a place vacant of work.

"I need you to analyze these for me," he says.

You nod, "That's my job."

"Yeah," he says, looking you up and down and noticing the way you glance around a little. "You okay? You look a little jumpy."

You look at him quickly and nod, another tight smile covering your lips. "Oh, yeah. Felt a little off today, but I'm okay."

"Anything I need to help with?" he tries.

You shake your head. "No," you say. "No, I'm okay. Thanks."

He hums before he just nods along with you. "Okay. Be careful out there, Bou–"

You look at him, and he looks away.

"Sorry." He quickly corrects himself and walks away.

Gordon means well. Your father was arrested when he was first starting out, so he was here when it was still a huge deal. He knew all about you and the case. Everyone did.

Your name change came as soon as you started your job at the precinct. Everyone was so used to calling you Boucher's kid, some—like Gordon—are still adjusting.

But it doesn't matter. It's passing, and the whole ordeal will be behind you soon. Buried in the past forever.

You stay at the precinct for a while. It isn't safe anywhere, but at least you were surrounded by people who knew how to operate a gun better than you.

When those people finally begin going home, so do you. You pack your things and take a breath as you clock out and leave.

It's late as you're headed home, and you suddenly regret deciding to stay so long. It's dark out, and the only lights are the ugly orange street lamps shining on the damp ground and the blaring ones from a few passing cars. You clutch your purse and walk faster.

The feeling gets worse the longer it takes to get home. It's hot on the back of your head, it's cold along your arms, it has your heart dropping to your stomach and burning there as it pounds. Somebody's watching you. Somebody's watching you. Somebody is watching you.

You finally make it home. Fishing your keys from your purse, you manage to unlock the door without fumbling with them and dropping them to the ground like you see in those stupid horror movies that make your paranoia worse.

You unlock your door and step inside.

You're forced into a coughing fit as a heavy smoke envelopes you. You hold your arm up to your face as you swipe at the air in an attempt to clear it.

Your eyes and lungs burn as you fight to breathe, trying to see through the haze as your heart races in your chest so hard, you feel like it'll tear its way through your ribcage and fall to the ground with a sickening splat.

You close your door after stumbling fully inside, turning around to lock it and struggling to do even that. You turn and catch yourself on the stand next to the door, overestimating the reach and knocking the glass bowl that held your keys to the ground. It shatters, and you nearly scream at the startling sound.

You look up into your dark home and see a million eyes staring back at you. Shadows leap out at you from the corners, light from outside glints off huge, sharp butcher knives flying toward you. Sickly crows sprout from pictures in the walls and scream, a cacophony of "Boucher" and "butcher" filling the room with the shrill shrieks of a dying woman.

It takes a long time to separate from the front door. You stand on shaking legs, carrying yourself through the house and falling to the floor on more than one occasion, startling each time as you find yourself covered in more and more blood, the color so dark it appears black in your vision.

You don't know if you're crying when you feel the hot tears streaming down your cheeks or if you've managed to get blood on your face as well. You smear it over your cheeks just to see. With red already covering your hands, you're still not sure.

You get to your bedroom and flip on the light, but the bright flash blinds you as you shield your eyes and turn it off again. Eyes ooze out of the walls like millions of ogres watching you hold your weak body up against the wall.

"We meet again."

A dark, distorted voice echoes off the walls and fills your soul like a demon from hell possessing your body.

Your first instinct is the beg. For safety, for relief, for help, anything. You just want it to stop.

"Please," you cry. "Please, please, please."

You look up at the figure watching you, dressed in a slightly damaged suit and his face…his face is covered with a burlap sack remnant of that of a scarecrow. He tilts his head as he stands and makes his way toward you with a taunting pace.

"Am I scaring you now?"

"Please, please," is all you could muster as you look away from him.

"Look at me!" he roars.

You slowly bring your gaze back up as his shoes come into view. You look up at the man before you, one you are beginning to suspect is very real and the source of your fear as you stare at the sack over his face. Black ooze comes pouring from the tears that make up his mouth and fifty eyes are blinking back at you like a heavily rooted potato.

A hand finds the top of your head and you wince at the heavy, clammy feeling of it as you find your voice and beg a little louder. "Please! Please, no, please."

"Aww…you don't like when I touch you?" His hand smooths down your cheek and you try to swat it away from no avail. His sing-songy voice continues to echo in your ears with the groaning sound of a broken down animatronic. "What did Daddy do to you?"

You try to catch your breath as you lean down, pressing your forehead to the floor to try and ground yourself.

He raises a finger. “I can answer that question. Would you like me to?” You shake your head meekly. He ignores you.

You watch hazily as he backs away from you, finally taking his hand off your cheek and giving you air, even if you are still heaving for breath. He turns his back on you to stand by your bedside table, picking a file up from it and turning back to you. The burlap sack continues to blink at you as he speaks, and you feel sick to your stomach just looking at it.

The ground is sinking away, and the walls are breathing. You’re sitting on a stretch of darkness and void, and you’re going to start falling at any second.

“Please,” you whisper uselessly again. “He…lp. Please hel…help.”

“Hush,” he whispers, not in an upset way. It’s almost sassy. Then he lets out a dramatic sigh as he tilts his sacked head. “You know what? I’m going to have to take this off. It’s quite hard to read in this mask.”

He pulls the mask over his head and takes in a breath, looking back down at you with a face that runs your blood cold and stops your heart in your chest. “Much better,” he says, the distortion gone but the horror still present.

Jonathan Crane looks down at you, watching you struggle to clear your mind of the terrifying images flashing behind your eyes like a million million nightmares plaguing your thoughts. “I can see you better now. Isn’t that just perfect?”

He picks his glasses from the table beside him and readjusts the files in his hands after putting them on. “Let’s see,” he says, licking the tip of his finger to open the manilla folder and reveal its mysterious contents. “Yada, yada, yada…and bingo.”

He points to something on the papers in the folder and looks at you, his lips spreading in a grin that doesn’t stop widening, like his mouth is going to slip off his face. You blink away from him. He starts reading something off—a name, a patient number, and a date… Your therapist’s name, your patient number, and one of the date’s marked from a past appointment…

“‘Ms. Boucher’—this was before the name change, I suppose—‘finally chooses to open up about aversion to physical touch. She references instances from childhood memories with her father, times of hardship or general dismay when he provided her comfort. All comfort is described as physical, rather than verbal—holding a hand, sharing a hug, rubbing a back. Mr. Boucher never did well with verbal communication.’”

Crane glances at you, curled up on the ground as your head spins still, reeling with the revelation of everything you’re hearing as personal information that was never meant to get out. “Interesting stuff.” He keeps reading.

“Ms. Boucher recounts the night of her mother’s incident and the aftermath when her father came to her. Once again gives vague memories of a hug and a rubbed back, but no further detail was given due to distorted memories of the incident. Patient’s aversion is likely associated with distrust and suspicion because of the father’s behavior with physical affection. Patient experiences physical contact as a trick of virtue.”

He looks at you and smiles with teeth, rows and rows of sharp teeth that gleam in the light. He snaps his jaw at you in a teasing bite but you’re not sure if you imagined it or not.

“Aw,” he fawns mockingly. “Are you traumatized, sweetheart? Did watching your father slaughter your mother with a butcher knife fuck up that little brain of yours?” He looks at the file again and scans it, muttering to himself as he goes along. “Other symptoms include irritability, trust issues, PTSD—obviously—sensitivity to sound, blah, blah, blah.”

You hadn’t realized you were crying. The sound only reaches your ears now, out of place with the rest of the sounds around you—the droning, the taunting, the screaming, the blinking of a million eyes in the walls, the brandishing of a million knives in the kitchen.

Again, you beg him. You don’t know what you’re begging for anymore.

“What?” Crane asks, looking down at you and raising a brow. “Was I just getting to the good part? Was that a please…keep reading?” When you gave no response, other than a startle flinch and cry at a deformed crow flapping around your head and disappearing.

“I’ll keep going then,” he nods, pleased. He keeps glancing back and forth between you and the file and he seems almost giddy. “Oh, I’m so excited now. I haven’t read this far yet, I wanted to do it with you.” He flips the page and hums. “Hm…let’s see…”

He scans the pages uninterestedly, gliding his finger along it and flicking the pages as he wanders back and forth between one end of the room and the other. “Oh, here’s a good part,” he says, sinking on the floor next to you as you clutch your head. He taps the top of your head to grab your attention, making you look up so he can see your exhausted face still stricken with copious amounts of fear, “Hey, pay attention. I don't want to repeat myself.”

He opens the file wide and begins reading. “Patient admits to having issues with intimacy. Her aversion to physical touch conflicting with her desperate need for it creates complications within both her romantic and sexual lives. She explains the issue is so ‘pathetic’, she remains…” He stops reading and looks at you again, his lips parted and his eyes wide with shock and interest. “...’she remains a virgin to this day’.”

In all honesty…you are not paying much attention to him. You’re staring wide-eyed at the floor, which has become a black void that stresses on for miles and miles. You swear you can see the eyes and teeth of angry leviathans glinting up from the bottom, ready to swallow you whole at a moment’s notice.

He takes your chin in the palm of his hand and tilts your head up to look at him. The sound that comes out of you out of the pure horror of it makes you sound like you’ve just been gutted. “Oh, sweetheart… If you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask.”

He takes hold of you and lifts you to your feet. He has to hoist you, as your whole body feels limp, and you don’t know how to make it move without fully believing you’ll fall into the abyss below you. You gasp and stare wide eyed at Crane as one of his hands wraps around your throat and under your chin and the other holds the top of your head. You grab at his wrist and claw at his hand, trying desperately to remove his touch from you and failing horribly. He isn’t hurting you, but fuck if it doesn’t feel like it.

“I wonder how I didn’t pick up on it sooner…” he hums. “I’ve been watching you for months, and not once did you ever meet with a potential date of any kind. I kind of just assumed you weren’t looking for a relationship.”

Your heart leaps out of your mouth. You swear, you saw it fall to the ground like you’d thought before when whatever mist had begun all of this first started. Your blood freezes in your veins. You could swear your skin has turned blue.

He’s been watching you for months. His were the eyes that watched your every move, that followed you to work, to your bedroom, to your shower. His were the eyes that kept you company in the early of the morning and the late of the night. His were the eyes that haunted your waking hours, inspiring each glance over your shoulder, each extra click of your locks. He’s been watching you.

“Y-you,” you whimper. “You…you’re…you’re the one. You…”

“Shh,” he says, silencing you as you tremble in his hands. “I thought it was cute when you bought that book. The Art of Intuition… You could feel me, couldn’t you? You could feel my eyes on you at every moment of the day… Well, not every moment. I’ve got cameras in your house, I was able to hack into the ones at the precinct. I had to keep up with my little Boucher. I wanted to see if she could turn into her father, if she needed a little nudge like he did to go over the edge… I thought my fear toxin might do that but…no… I got something much more enticing.”

He brings you close to his face, his glasses melding with his skin as his eyes stare back at you like black pits surrounded by pure white. He’s staring at your face, so drenched with pure terror that you can’t do anything but stare. He smiles wide, his expression crazed.

“Look at you,” he says, nearly moaning out the words as he shakes his head. “You look so gorgeous like this. You’re so…delicious.” He nearly growls when he says that, actually leaning closer to your face and taking your lip between his teeth gingerly. You cry out, though he doesn’t actually bite you. “I could just eat you up. Oh, you should see yourself.”

You’re crying without tears now, though your face is soaked with them. You haven’t blinked in hours (it’s been a couple minutes), and the sounds are leaving your throat like a rough sob. His eyes have disappeared and his glasses are only giving aid to pits of skin where his eyes should be. His mouth is sewn shut with ugly, black cross-stitchings, and his nose is gone, giving him a dip in his face like a skeleton.

He begins walking you toward the mirror that you definitely had not placed there. He must have taken it from inside your closet and hung it up prior to your arrival. You take a good, long look at yourself, and you’ve never felt like you’ve wanted to sink into the pit so strongly before.

You’ve never seen this woman before in your entire life. Her face is monstrous, though you don’t know why. She was an echo of you, except she looks nothing like you and she’s covered in blood. You know nothing and everything about her, and you just know she knows everything about you. You’re so terrified of this strange woman, the knives still brandishing themselves with their shrill shrieks in the kitchen are sounding quite useful now as the sudden urge to defend yourself fills you.

You feel the need to scream rise in your throat, and this is an urge you can’t contain as a sharp cry leaves your throat at the sight of this person being held by Crane in the mirror. She screams back at you, blood gushing from her mouth like a river of tar. He laughs as he covers your mouth with his hand, silencing you with such amusement. “Oh, my! I should not have given you such a high dosage. You must be going out of your little mind right now…”

He lets go of your mouth and you can see him rustle around in his suit, but you’re still staring at the woman, unable to look away. It takes everything you have not to scream at her again. He pulls a vial out of a pocket on the inside of his suit and pulls the cork from it. He encourages your lips around it, making you take half the vial into your mouth and forcing you to swallow it down.

The antidote works quickly, but it doesn’t solve the issue in its entirety. You watch as the woman in the mirror slowly becomes more and more familiar until you can look at her and see that it’s just a reflection of you. You sigh heavily, your chest heaving as you feel your heart back in its proper place behind your ribcage. The brandishing has disappeared, the birds have flown away, the shrieking and screaming and sinking and blinking are gone.

But your heart is still very much pounding and you still very much cannot catch your breath to calm yourself. The terror is still there as you stare upon Jonathan Crane’s face and feel the first bursts of necessary fear.

You are in danger. Real danger. Crane is in your house, he has your medical files, and he seems to think you want him in your bed.

“Please,” you whisper once you can find your voice, hoarse with all the crying. At least the blood is gone. “Please, let me go. Don’t hurt me…”

“Oh…” he says. “I know…it’s just your ‘aversion of physical contact’. It’s too much for you right? Well, lucky for you, I dabble in exposure therapy myself. We should be able to solve your issue right here, right now.”

New tears find your eyes, and you shake your head. He’s still holding you, and your skin is crawling. You feel sick. “Don’t… Please don’t. I can’t—I don’t—please.”

He shushes you as he drags you to the bed. You have little to no strength to fight him. You’d exerted yourself so much when that toxin had poisoned your brain. It’s still poisoning your brain now as the situation Jonathan was putting you through paralyzed you with fear. You couldn’t think, you could hardly form a full sentence. His hands are still on you, and it burns your skin. You can’t breathe.

He places you on the bed, positioning you how he wants you so you stand on your knees and face him. He takes a step back and looks at you, takes in the sight of you thoughtfully as he brushes his bottom lip with his thumb. “Look at you,” he mutters. “I liked you more with more of my fear toxin in your system, but we can bring out more fear in you without. We don’t want your little heart exploding in the middle of our session, now do we?”

If you were still so heavily infected with his toxin, you would have seen the splatters of blood and meat and matter bursting and covering you and the walls after seeing your own beating heart fall out of your mouth. But you aren’t as heavily infected, so you only imagined it vividly and shuddered.

Jonathan steps forward and takes your neck in his hand again. You squeeze your eyes shut and huff, “Please, stop. Stop, stop touching me, please. Please.”

He doesn’t listen. He’s too giddy at the way you beg him, the way your hands shake at your sides. You could try to fight him. You could swing your arms and hit and kick and scream but you just…won’t. You can’t. You’re too scared. The toxin affects you so much you can do nothing but sit there. You’re otherwise paralyzed.

So, no, he doesn’t let go of you. He holds your neck and brings you in close, his other hands smooths along your waist as you just shudder as a terrible sob leaves your chest once more. “I’m going to eat you up,” he emphasizes each word. “You and I are gonna work together. We’re going to work you through your little aversion, your fears. You and I…” He brings his hand up and brushes his knuckles over your clothed nipple.

You shake with fear and disgust. “No, please…”

He takes off his glasses, his hand continuing to graze your chest as you sit there, staying as still as you can as his hand threatens to tighten around your throat if you move too much when he doesn’t want you to.

"...are going to make art." You stare at him with your watery eyes, whimpering lightly as he just shushes you again.

His lips crash down upon yours and your seal them shut as you feel his tongue licking insistently at the seam of your mouth. His teeth clash against yours, making the kiss rough and cutting and you think you'll die.

All too quickly, you can't breathe. Your lungs are closing in, and the world is spinning. His hand finds your hair, carding through it and tugging harshly to expose your throat. He attacks you, lips and teeth and tongue devouring your throat like a starving beast.

You're burning. There are so many hands on you, so much touch all over your body driving you insane with sensitivity. You feel like someone has coated you in molten lava and condemned you to death.

You sigh shakily. "Jon—Jonathan. Please… stop."

"Shhh," he drags out the sound as he places a finger over his lips. He leans in close to your face as he speaks. "Please…the doctor is in."

He kisses you again and you gasp when he grabs your throat once more, baring his teeth and staring down at you shaking with fear. His voice is low and fast as he speaks to you, crazed and craven. "I am going to rip you apart. I'll make you scream until mine is the only name you know–"

He raises his hand to touch your face. A sudden burst of adrenaline courses through your veins, and you reach out to shove it away. You grab his hand by the wrist in a vice grip, but you hadn't realized there was something hiding beneath the cuff of his sleeve.

The mist from before—his toxin—sprays through the air and right into Jonathan's face as he inhales it with a terrible gasp. His mouth falls open, his eyes roll back. His grip on you loosens, and you stumble to your feet to get away from him.

You get to the door before he grabs you from behind and growls in your ear, his voice straining. "You didn't think you'd get away that easily, did you?" He's breathing loudly, roughly, his vision plagued by nightmares and horrible images haunting his mind.

He lets out a monstrous breath, picking you up and dragging you right back to the bed as you kick and scream and cry. He set you on the bed, still holding you, back-to-chest. "You're an angel," he grunts. "You're glowing, sweetheart."

Based on your experience with the toxin, he could be being literal. Either way, he isn't letting you go. You're trapped as his wandering hands pull at your clothes and rip your shirt from your body. He lets the rags fall around you, breathing in deeply and letting out a sound akin to a moan as the hallucinations get the better of him.

He just starts tearing, stripping you clothing by clothing. He yanks your slacks from your legs, but you don't let him do it easily as you continue to kick your feet out and cry.

After a while, your fight begins to wane at his nerves as he wraps his arms around you and holds you still. "There's plenty of toxin left if you want me to dose you again."

You still, holding your breath and feeling the anxiety and dread rise within you with each passing second. "I didn't think so," he whispers. His hands grab at your waist, pulling and palming at your sides like you've still got clothes he needs to remove. But you're completely bare, carved open for the world to see.

"Fuck," he curses, blinking quickly as he stares at you. "You have no idea how much I need you. This perfect body and these…beautiful nightmares make for the perfect combination." It sounds like it takes his whole body to breathe in. He sighs heavily, "I guess I should thank you, hm? For giving me this."

His hand grasps your inner thigh and his nails dig into the flesh. A shout forces its way out of your throat at the feeling of his claw-like fingers scratching all of your terribly exposed skin. He moans loudly at the sound of it, his other hand joining to paint you in red. Jonathan pushes your naked body down on the bed, and you shout when his hand cracks down on your ass in a loud smack. His—still fully clothed—body is pressed against yours once again in no time. He reaches a hand up and cards it through your hair, gripping it to pull you back up with a harsh tug.

"Look at yourself, sweetheart," he breathes. When you don't listen, he becomes angry and erratic. "Look! Look at it!"

You jump at his outburst, turning your shaky head to look at your reflection in the mirror. He'd placed it so specifically. He was always going to make you watch…

He pulls your hair tighter and smiles evilly. "Look at you," he sighs. Looking in the mirror and watching him, you have no idea what he's seeing in that fucked up mind of his, but you know it would break you.

You feel him grind his hips into you and close your eyes, opening them quickly again as not to irritate him further. "Do you feel how hard I am for you? Oh, baby, I'm going to split you in half."

"Please, doctor," you beg again.

His evil grin becomes all the worse, and you hear the sound of his belt clinking. "No, no, no, no, no," you mutter under your breath, shaking your head as you bury your face in the sheets of your bed, soaking it with your tears.

"Beg me to fuck you, sweetheart. Beg me to ruin you," he groans. You continue shaking your head and muttering your protests under your breath. "Do it."

You feel like your heart is going to explode in your chest. You can't breathe. You can't see. You just want an end to the madness, to the torture.

"Please," you sob. "Please, please, please, please, please, please."

It doesn't sound like a word anymore. It sounds like gibberish in your brain as he smiles and sighs, so pleased and so happy with you. The insanity clouds your head.

"Music to my ears," he hums. "Well…since you asked so nicely."

He reaches down and you shake when his middle finger presses against your folds, slick with arousal that had begun wetting your panties since the toxin first sent you into your craze.

"Oh, you're so desperate for me, aren't you?" He shakes his head and chuckles. "Must be why you begged me so much."

You don't have the will to fight his claim. You feel dirty at the making of it anyway.

Jonathan takes his cock into his hand and strokes himself twice. You feel the head of his cock poke at your pussy, working its way between your folds until he's perfectly positioned. He pushes his hips into yours slowly, and you want to sob, but there's so few tears left in you to make more than the sound as he does, in fact, split you open on his cock.

He's so big, so thick as he thrusts inside of you and fills you to the brim. You cry out at the feeling, the pressure so great it's painful, the intrusion much bigger than what your fingers have to offer.

"Ah," you keen. "D-Doctor, please."

He moans roughly as he bottoms out inside of you, his mouth hanging ajar as his hips jerk slightly at the way you tighten around him. "Yeah, does that feel good? You want more? Want me to fuck you?"

You bury your face in the sheets. "H-Hurts. Please, stop, it hurts."

His cock twitches inside you, and you think you'll die. "I love it when you beg me to fuck you, sweetheart. You look so pathetic under me like this. Just see for yourself…"

He yanks your hair back again to make you look. He doesn't let you go either, his hand stays firmly in your hair as he holds you up to keep looking, to keep watching, to keep your eyes on your bodies as he slowly begins to fuck you. He gives you no preparation, he gives you no time to adjust. Once he's fully inside of your tight cunt and you've started tightening around the thickness he fills you with, he just starts rutting into you.

His hips snap into yours, dragging harshly inside of you as you scream and shout and squirm. He's tearing you apart, piece by piece. And he keeps fucking you as more and more slick begins to ease the cruelty.

You don't know how long you're there gripping the sheets and whining and clenching your eyes shut before the pain begins to twist and turn in your belly into an uncomfortable and unwelcome kind of pleasure.

And when Jonathan hears the telltale sign of your cries turning into moans, he completely loses his mind.

If he hadn't been fucking you hard before, he certainly is now. He wraps his arms around your body and pulls you to stand on your knees as he straightens your backs and begins to thrust up into you while he makes you watch. He spreads your legs wide and plays with your nipples, pulling your body down to meet each thrust of his hips as he completely wrecks you. All the sounds mixing in the air—the moans, the grunts, the slick skin, the heavy breathing, the sobbing—it's a filthy symphony of terror in your ears and beauty in his.

One of his hands, trying to find purchase on something, finds your hair and just starts petting you, carding his fingers through it and occasionally deciding to yank your head back in the process. "Listen to you," he huffs. "You're loving it. I can tell."

All you can do in response is cry and hope it doesn't come out as a moan (it does).

"Doesn't it feel so good? Feeling me touch you, feeling me hold you, feeling me fuck you hard and raw?"

His hand finds your clit and he starts rubbing it, his pace rough and fast and much too hard for you to think it would work. But it does, because you immediately shudder as he begins his brutal work. His finger flicks it so fast, your whole body is already shaking as he builds you up until you're crashing down.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck," he groans as you flutter around him. You gasp, going blind as your orgasm crashes down on you like nothing you've ever felt. He grabs your throat and turns your head to face the mirror so you continue watching as he fucks you through it, both your mouths open and gasping for air as your pleasure consumes you, devours you, swallow you whole.

You won't say you did it on purpose. If you could go back and change it, you should…but you could not promise you would as you take hold of Jonathan's wrist and release his toxin in your own face once more.

You gasp and you roll your eyes back and you find your body numb for a moment as all the nightmares from before come back. Your little heart can't take it as the walls start literally jumping out at you like the corpses of a million souls long past. Bats and birds and bugs fly around the room. Hands are reaching up from the sheets in the bed and grasping your arms and legs and holding you down.

Jonathan's faltering thrusts remind you he's there as you find the mirror and his monstrous form watches you. He looks impressed, even through the hundred fangs and black eyes. "Poor girl's so fucked out, she wants more," he coos, his voice returning back to the demonic groaning you'd been met with when you first stumbled into your room to find him there. "Do you like it? Do you like my nightmare? Are you in love with the horrors in your mind?"

You've stopped crying. Your face is open and wide as you stare out, silent terror gluing your frantic gaze to the mirror. He groans at the sight of you, clamping his teeth down on your shoulder before pushing you forward to stand on your hands and knees as he takes your hips and starts slamming his own into you.

All you can do is moan as you watch him fuck you, taking you from behind with an animalistic kind of frenzy. Your mouth hangs open, you look drunk as he plows you from the back. You grip the sheets, but you watch as a pair of hands sprouting from the bed reach up and hold your own to keep you planted there.

A rough thrust drags through your pussy and makes you moan, a rough and deep thing that scratches your throat as you clench the hands. Your cunt tightens around him, sucking him into you with each shove of his cock inside of you.

"Fuck," he huffs. "This little cunt is so tight. You've been needing me, haven't you?" His hips snap harshly into you suddenly. "I'm gonna watch this over and over again."

You forgot about that, his confession to setting up cameras all over your house. You wonder briefly where the one in your room is stored, at which angle he's going to watch himself fuck you into the bed over and over again. You wonder how many times he's watched you touch yourself in this bed over and over again. Because he's been watching you.

You gasp and moan and shake and let him use you like a doll. You watch yourself in the mirror as your face melts off. You watch Jonathan as his long talons dig into your hips like blades. You hold onto the hands still gripping yours and hang your head as he fucks you. You groan, letting yourself feel the pleasure and hating yourself for it.

You're so conflicted. Your heart is pounding and your body is shaking and you feel like you're going to die, but the pleasure clinging to your body like blood to cotton is so mind-numbing that you've become one with the corpses in the walls.

"It's like this little cunt was made for me," he huffs. "I think I'll keep you. Your mind is broken enough." You whimper. "I'll have you thrown in Arkham with your father, and I'll fuck your brains out so you never get too lonely. How does that sound?"

When you don't reply, he pulls on your hair again and brings his lips to whisper beside your ear. "Do you want that? Hm?"

You make a ramble of incoherent sounds, murmuring something entirely unintelligible as you whimper and mewl.

"Yeah," he sighs. "I know… That would make your little heart soar, wouldn't it? You can tell me."

You give the same response.

He rewards you with a smile with a rough thrust that has the bats on the ceiling fluttering back down to you. They swarm your heart and Jonathan watches you look at every single one of them as they fly past.

"Fuck, I'm keeping you."

You're going to cum again, you can feel it. You're on the verge as his fast, rough thrusts drag inside of you with the squelching of your cunt. But it seems you're not the only one as you feel Jonathan's hands tighten around your hips as his pace stutters.

His grunts and groans are becoming more desperate, melting into moans as his plump lips hang open. He laughs at something, something jumping out at him in his own mind as you stare at the wall, each inch covered in butcher knives hanging on hooks. They glint and gleam in the moonlight and you can hear them rattling, ready to fly off the walls and impale themselves in you.

Your voice is small and pitchy and weak as you mumble. "B-Bu… Butch… B—ch… Ahh…"

"What?" he hums. "What's got you so distracted?"

You continue to stare at the wall, trying and failing to speak properly as blood seeps out of the metal and stains the hundred blades. "Bu…"

For once, you think he can see what you're seeing as he looks up at the wall you're staring at. His face lights up and he stares in awe, his lips parting as he does. "Your butcher." He whispers in your ear. "Isn't it beautiful?"

You continue to stare, even after Jonathan lets out a growl and pushes you forward again as he shoves your face into the covers. The hands let go of yours to grab your face, wrapping around your head and holding you down as a clammy palm covers your mouth. You stare at the knives, staining your floors with crimson red.

Your words and your whimpers are muffled by the hand as he thrusts harshly into you. Jonathan stares, wildly fascinated by the way your hallucinations control you on such a physical level. He can see that you're being muffled but he finds no hand. He can see that your body is being pinned down to the bed, but he sees no fingers wrapping around your arms and legs and keeping you there.

He takes hold of your hands, placing them over your head and holding them down as he fucks into you with a new angle. His cock fucks into your tight cunt in shorter, faster, rougher thrusts that has the birds swarming around you again.

You can't think straight, and you're sure your heart has stopped. You've been through so much in the past…you don't know how long. You came home to be poisoned by his fear toxin, assaulted by living nightmares, given half an antidote to the toxin, fucked by your stalker, poisoned again, and now you're still being fucked dumb with promises doing it again.

And you're going to cum. You hadn't realized he began rubbing your clit again, all the pleasure has run together into one big conglomeration of filthy ecstasy. His cock is pounding into a specific part of you that's making you sob again and you think for a moment you might be drooling, but you're too far away from your body to know for sure until he says: "Look at you, sweetheart. So fucking dumb, you're drooling all over the sheets. Am I making you feel that good?"

You mutter incoherently again, and he just laughs at you. The sound melts into a rough groan on a deep thrust. "Fuck, you keep sucking my cock in. I'm gonna cum in this perfect little cunt, and I'm going to keep you forever… I'm never fucking letting go of you, little Boucher."

Boucher. Boucher. Boucher. Boucher. You're surrounded by Boucher. The knives on the wall, the hands holding you down, this man abusing your cunt and calling you that cursed name. Driving you insane. Making you crazy. Just like him.

How easy it would be to lose yourself in it, in the insanity. How easy it would be to give in. To become Boucher… To succumb to the madness…

You squeeze him as he fucks you as hard as he can, and you feel his cock swell inside of you as he grinds his hips roughly into you.

"Oh, fuck!" he gasps, moaning as he snaps. His release hits him like a freight train, the world closing in on him as he loses all grip on reality and fucks his cum into you like a crazed beast. The feeling of it makes you gasp, the hot lava filling the pit of your belly and warming you up.

He keeps grinding into you as he flicks his wrist and rubs wildly at your clit. You burst. Your heart in your chest, your brain in your head, the knot in your belly—it all snaps at once and you cry out against the hand over your mouth. Your mind is gone and your body is shaking, accepting the madness and the pleasure and the filth and becoming one with it like you should have from the start.

The nightmares devour you, the horror sinks into your skin. You shake and cry and moan. He grabs you by the base of your skull, weaves his fingers through your hair, and pulls as he rides out the rest of his release and he swears he hears a muffled laugh bubble out of you from under your breath.

He watches as your body trembles, your moans continuing on even longer than he thought they would as the aftershocks of your release rise within you. You're still fluttering around him as you lie on the bed and mumble under your breath.

When Jonathan's pleasure has waned enough to think, he lets out a deep sigh and pulls out of you with a regretful one. You whine, laying there heavily. He scoops you up with his arms wrapped around your body and speaks into your ear.

"What's on your mind, Boucher?"

His breath is steady in your ear, providing a solid ground for you to stand on as he pulls you away from the hands reaching up to embrace you once more. You watch the knives shine on the wall and blink lazily at them as the smallest ghost of a smile graces your lips.

"Bou…" the word falls short, and he just watches in awe.

"What?" he whispers. "What is it?"

You grab one of his hands and pull it around your body, leaning into his.

"Beautiful."

Bright, sterile surfaces are all you see as you stare at the room around you. You lean your head against a white, padded wall as the jacket tying your arms to your body keeps you safe and warm. It's so monotonous, so quiet and droning as you glare at the blank walls around you with a frustrated sigh. It’s just all too mindless.

You tilt your head toward the door when you hear the locks click heavily. When Jonathan steps inside with a pleased grin and a briefcase held tight in one hand, you can't help the smile that begins to spread over your lips.

"Hello, Ms. Boucher," he greets you warmly. "Are you ready for our appointment?"

He opens his case, and his burlap mask falls out.

You look down at it, your expression almost giddy as your eyes—which have been open wide since the moment his fear toxins had first blessed your senses—gaze back at him. "Dr. Crane…" you lift your head. "I've been waiting."

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lovelybucky1 · 7 months

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Crane Motel

Kinktober Day 12- Somnophilia

warnings: DARK FIC, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT: AFAB!reader, Psycho AU, non-con, somnophilia, struggle fuck, groping, incel!jonathan, oral sex (f!receiving), vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, 18+ Minors DNI

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The sky is pitch black and the heavy rain makes it difficult to see even ten feet in front of your car. You can't continue driving in these conditions, so you take the nearest exit in hopes of finding a place to spend the night or at least a place to pull over.

You drove about five minutes into the town off the highway until you came across a building. Crane Motel the neon sign read. Vacancies. It doesn’t have to be nice, it just has to be dry.

You pull into the lot, gravel crunching under your tires. It’s hard to see the parking spots, but no one else is here and you doubt they’ll come at this hour. You collect your items and make a dash for the porch of the office, locking your car with the remote once you’re away from the rain.

You open the door to the office and you’re met with the warm light from a lamp and an empty desk.

“Hello?” you say. No answer. “Hello?” Still no answer. You notice a bell on the desk so you try your luck and hit the bell. The metallic ring fills the office and from the closed door behind the desk, you hear a thump.

The door swings open and a young man in a light blue button down shirt that hangs off him and khakis appears.

“Hi,” he smiles. “Welcome to the Crane Motel.”

“Hello,” you smile politely. “I’d like a room please.”

“Of course,” he says, taking out the guest book and opening it to today’s date. As he flips through the pages you take note that most of them are blank, and the ones that are written on only have one or two names. “We don’t get many visitors up here,” he says with a small chuckle.

“Well, I’m only here for the night. The weather’s too bad out there to keep driving.”

The man nods in understanding. “I’m Jonathan, by the way,” he says, extending his hand to you.

You shake his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jonathan.”

“Likewise. I run this motel. My mother owns it, but she’s too sick to take care of things around here so I’m in charge of it.”

You nod along as you sign your name in the guest book. “Is it just the two of you?”

“Has been all my life. My dad died before I was born so it’s just been her and I.”

You find it a bit odd that he’s sharing so much of his life with a stranger, but you figure he doesn’t have anyone to talk to up here.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“Don’t be. Can’t lose what you’ve never had,” he says with a smile.

Jonathan tilts his head to look down at the guest book and reads off your name. “That’s pretty.”

“Thank you,” you smile.

“How are you gonna be paying?” he asks.

“Cash,” you say, taking out your wallet.

He furrows his brows. “Cash? You’re not on the run, are you?” You look up at him with a confused expression, but when his face splits into a smile you catch on that he’s joking. “I’m kidding. People usually use cash if they’re on the run or having an affair, but you’re here alone, right?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Alright, no reason to be suspicious of you then. That’ll be $30.”

“Only 30?”

“We’re not in demand enough to charge anymore that,” he chuckles. “Besides, you seem nice and you’re just looking for a place to stay.”

“Well, thank you, Jonathan.”

He takes your cash and counts it out, confirming you gave him the right amount. He then unlocks the cash drawer and puts the bills in their appropriate slots.

“Alright, I’m gonna put you in Cabin 1. It’s closest to the office in case you need anything tonight,” he says as he takes the key labeled 1 off of the hook screwed into the wall.

He hands you the key but before you could turn to leave, he catches your elbow.

“I was making dinner for my mother and I but I accidentally made too much. Would you like to join us?” he offers.

“Oh, thank you for the offer but I’m super exhausted from driving all this way. I’m just going to head to bed,” you say.

“Okay,” he says, letting you go of your arm. “You never said where you’re from.”

“Um, about a two hours south from here.”

Jonathan raises his eyebrows. “What are you doing all the way up here?”

You sigh quietly, growing tired of his questions. “I’m going on a trip with some friends.”

“Sounds fun,” he says.

You nod with a close lipped smile. “Well, have a good night.”

“You too,” he says.

You turn and exit the office, shutting the door behind you. You run to your car and grab your bags as quickly as you can to avoid getting soaked, then take cover again under the roof. You walk across the wooden porch to the door labeled 1 that is connected to the office. You unlock the door and walk into the room, taking in the surroundings.

The room is small but it has a bed and a bathroom, so it will suffice. You drop your bags at the end of the bed and open your suitcase, digging through it for pajamas and toiletries.

You change into your t-shirt and shorts, then disappear into the bathroom to wash up. Unbeknownst to you, the kind man you met at the desk is not what he seems.

He put you in the first cabin not so it would be easier to attend to your needs, but because behind a picture frame in the office is a hole that he can look through to see the bed.

Jonathan was infatuated with you the moment he laid eyes on you. He doesn't interact with many people other than his mother, especially not someone so beautiful and interesting as you. He knew he couldn't let this opportunity slip away. He had to have you before you left in the morning.

He waited for you to return from the bathroom and when he heard a thumb through the thin walls, he peered back through the hole. Seeing you undress was exhilarating. Your body is gorgeous, exactly what he likes. It's almost like the universe sent you to him for a reason.

As kind as you are, Jonathan knows you would never agree to a night with him if he were to ask. That's why he's going to wait until you're asleep to make a move.

Apparently you're less exhausted than you let on, because instead of going right to sleep like you said you would, you stay up for another hour watching TV.

Once you finally turned off the TV and lights, Jonathan waited fifteen minutes for you to fall asleep before sneaking into your room. He unlocks the door quietly and turns the handle before opening it so the knob doesn't click.

He's used to seeing in the dark, so he has no trouble making his way over to the bed. The faint light from the neon sign outside illuminates your face, making you look angelic.

Jonathan gently untucks the covers from your arm and pulls them down, revealing your body. He sighs in delight as he trails his fingertips gently down your arm, relishing in the feeling of your soft skin.

Luckily you're laying on your back so he has easy access to everything he wants to see. He pushes your shirt up over your breasts, revealing even more soft skin and peaked nipples that catch the light from the window. Jonathan brushes the pad of his thumb over them gently, curious as to what they feel like.

Getting braver, he palms your breasts and squeezes them. He's seen plenty of breasts before online, but he's never even been this close to a pair in real life. He is mesmerized by how the flesh jiggles.

He has been hard in his slacks sine you first came to the desk, but now that he is touching you, he is growing increasingly needy. He undoes the fly of his pants and lets his cock hang out from the zipper. Even having it out in your presence made him ache with pleasure.

Jonathan then turned his attention to your bottoms. He slips his fingers under the waist band and gently pushes them down as best he can. They get caught under your as, but he can pull them down enough to get a glimpse of your pussy.

His hands shake as he gently caresses your mound, surprised that you're even softer here. He lets his finger dip between your folds, feeling your wetness. Jonathan then pulls his hand back and holds it up to his face to take a deep breath of your scent. It's delicious, and he can't help but taste it off his finger.

He reaches under your shorts again, exploring your pussy and teasing your entrance while his other hand jerks his cock. He gets a bit too carried away, because his unpracticed hands must have poked you the wrong way and you stir.

Jonathan yanks his hand back and waits to see if you'll wake up. You remain asleep, but you roll onto your side, turning your back to him. He is a bit disappointed at first, but then he gets another idea. He pulls your shorts the rest of the way down and lets them bunch at your knees.

He gently spreads your ass cheeks to look at your holes. He has to stifle a groan when he sees the glistening of your pussy. Jonathan leans down to lick you from behind. At this angle, only the tip of his tongue makes contact with your folds, but it's enough to get a taste right from the source.

He moves his tongue back and forth as much as he can, imagining that he's doing this for your pleasure and not his own perverted desires. Between his legs, his cock his painfully hard and leaking onto the shitty carpet.

Feeling bold since he's done all of this to you and you haven't woken up yet, he decides to go a little further. He eases you onto your stomach and gently lifts your legs so he can slot himself between them. He slowly eases onto the mattress and spreads your folds so he can find your entrance.

He lines his cock up and begins to push in. It's a little difficult when the only experience he's ever had has been with his hand. He manages to get the tip in when he feels your body jolt. You make something of a whine and Jonathan's heart begins racing.

You try to adjust your position, still mostly asleep, but when you find yourself being restrained, you start to thrash. You kick your legs and claw at the sheets, all while yelling out.

"Get the fuck off me!" you cry, shaking your body like you're a mechanical bull trying to throw him off.

Jonathan doesn't want to stop. He's made it this far already. He presses down on your shoulder blades to keep you from squirming and your arms are pinned under your chest so you can't try to hit him.

You're still screaming, but now it's broken up by heavy sobs and pleas. You can scream as loud as you want but the only person around to hear you is the one making you scream.

Jonathan continues to push his cock into you, though he faces more resistance now that you're awake. You're so much tighter when you're scared, he notes.

"Don't hurt me, please. I-I have a family, please stop," you beg.

Jonathan frowns. "I'm not hurting you," he says.

How could he be hurting you? Sex feels good, and women love to have sex. That's what he's seen in all those videos. They love it so much they'll even beg for it.

Jonathan ruts into you and after a while, you lose the will to scream for help. All you can do is lay there and sob while he violates you. Jonathan, however, is enjoying himself very much. The tight, wet heat of your pussy around him is like nothing else he's ever experienced. It's addictive, and though he feels himself getting close, he doesn't want this to end.

Jonathan tries to stave off his orgasm but he's too worked up. He bucks his hips quickly, jackhammering you until he cums. He's fucking you like a fleshlight, using you as a place to stick his dick weather you're willing or not.

He buries himself deep inside you when he cums, emptying his overfilled balls into you. Jonathan is moaning and whimpering above you, completely overwhelmed by pleasure. He lays himself over your back and tucks his chin over your shoulder.

His face is far too close to yours and you scream again, hoping it will make him leave you alone. With a satisfied sigh, he pulls out and tucks himself back into his pants. He bends down to look at his cum leaking out of your pussy, just like he sees in all the videos he watches.

He grabs your covers and pulls them back up over you, tucking you in. You lay facing away from him, body shaking with silent sobs.

"I'll see you in the morning for breakfast," Jonathan says before exiting your room and heading back to the office.

Tonight he'll sleep on the sofa in the parlor in case you need anything. And he'll wake up extra early to watch you get dressed in the morning.

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