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marsxcutie · 1 month ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 || dark!jonathan crane x reader

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

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 5.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I— I don't—" you stammered.

"Say it," he ordered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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marsxcutie · 5 months ago

Note

Jonathan Crane with a cam corder… 📸

mind games - jonathan crane x reader

hello anon! you asked and you shall receive. please enjoy xoxo. this gave me a fucked up idea about the whole camcorder thing...oops. i am SORRY.

summary: as fate would have it, you meet handsome stranger who you learn is named jonathan, and the two of you hit it off well - so well, that he invites you back to his place after a romantic date. what you didn't realize was that this wasn't the doing of fate at all, it was a plan jonathan had in the works for a long, long time.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: NON-CON, jonathan is in his joe goldberg era (he's stalking), manipulation, voyeurism (no like, really), non-consensual filming/recording, obsessive behaviour, p in v, guys this is just super fucked up i have...no explantion

you didn't see it coming. you wouldn't have gone running into his arms if you did. jonathan was the loner type - never opening his heart to anyone.

that was until he saw you - he was taken with you from the moment he laid eyes on you. you had to be his; he wouldn't have it any other way. he was set on having you succumb to him.

this man had an immense amount of self control. he had prowled, waited, stalked and targeted you for months and you didn't have a clue. he first saw you on the street by his apartment at 9:48 pm exactly on a fateful friday night - you stole his tainted heart.

on that particular night, you were heading to your favourite bar with your friends, and he watched you as you stepped out of your uber. his eyes lingered for much too long, and before he knew it; he was plotting.

he lurked in the shadows of the night to see when you would leave, and he got his answer - 12:58 am. that was the time when he saw you leave the bar, waving goodbye to your friends as you waited outside momentarily for an uber to pick you up.

he noticed everything about you down to a t. the way you parted your hair, the colour of your nails, the way you did your makeup, what kind of clothes you wore - everything.

while you waited for your uber, your intuition kicked in - was someone watching you?

but you tried to shake the feeling - it was probably just paranoia, it was late, after all. he watched as you stood there waiting, and knew he had to make a move then and there.

"excuse me, miss!" you hear a mans voice say from behind you, causing you to startle slightly, and he noticed. "i apologize, i didn't mean to startle you. i just came over to say that perhaps you should wait inside the bar rather than outside on the street. this part of gotham isn't exactly known for it's...friendly townspeople."

the way he spoke calmed you down - he had a gentle, caring aura and you took a good look at him as well. he was handsome - my god was he handsome. he was perfect; every detail about him was almost godlike. the first thing you noticed about him were his striking, blue eyes. you didn't know someone could have such beautiful eyes.

"oh," you managed to softly say after an awkward moment of checking out the handsome stranger in front of you, "thank you for letting me know, but it's okay. my uber should be here in a minute." you thank the seemingly kind stranger, and he nods.

"right, well - be safe. have a good night." he says softly, and you almost got lost in his eyes again.

"thank you, you as well." you reply, a small smile on your lips.

and with that, he was gone - walked right back into his apartment building without another word. well, that's what it looked like, anyways. however, that was far from the truth.

your uber arrived within mere seconds, and you got in. jonathan watched from the shadows of an alleyway behind you, and as you and your uber set off, he hailed down the nearest cab he could find.

"just follow that white car over there." he tells the cab driver, and the guy doesn't question it. this was gotham after all, nobody ever questioned anything - nobody had any morals.

you were too focused on texting your friends, still a little tipsy, in the uber to notice that a cab had been tailing you for the last fifteen minutes.

whoops.

as the uber driver pulled up to the curb of your house, you get out and thank him tiredly. you grab your keys out of your purse, and unlock the front door of your house. closing the door (and thankfully, locking it) behind you, you switch on the lights of your home.

you threw your jacket on the couch and slipped off your high heels with a sigh. unbeknownst to you, someone was watching your every move through your curtains - which you habitually left open a little too often. jonathan let his sinister thoughts run wild as he watched you from the street in front of your home, standing just far enough so that he wasn't noticeable.

he watched you like a lion stalking it's prey - silently and from a distance, undetected.

suddenly, his eyes widened as he saw you start to undress in your bedroom upstairs, too focused on his lewd thoughts about you to notice that you had even gone upstairs.

foolish girl, he thought to himself as he creeped on you. slowly, you slipped your dress off, and to his surprise - you weren't wearing any panties under your dress.

where you an exhibitionist? a thrill-seeker? a huge freak? just mental? maybe you were just slutty, who knows. but as he was trying to collect his thoughts, he frowned.

you threw on some baggy pyjamas - disappointing. he wanted to see more. but what came next perhaps shocked him more than the whole no panties thing; you got into your bed, and held up what appeared to be pictures of some sort in your hands.

and you started crying.

you were actually crying, and that caught jonathan off guard.

why were you crying? did someone hurt you? did someone break your heart? shatter it in two? ruin you?

the questions ran through his mind endlessly, and he felt himself wanting to know. so, he decided to document this moment so that he could get to know you better.

jonathan liked to document things. that was a habit of his that he couldn't quite seem to kick.

unbeknownst to jonathan, you were crying over old photos of you and your ex-boyfriend. he wasn't a good person by any means, quite the opposite - but that didn't mean you weren't going to mourn the relationship. it had barely been a month since the two of you split; and you were so vulnerable right now.

at that very moment, you wished someone else could be there for you. that you could run into someone else's arms and they would save you - because you craved it. you needed it. and jonathan seemed to sense that without you even having to say a single word to him.

he could save you, he thought. he could be the one to show you what real love looked like.

taking the little, handheld camcorder out of his suit pocket, he started to record you from afar; recording you crying. it was rather innocent, really. at least, it started out that way anyway.

god, some sick, twisted, creepy individual could be watching you - you should really close your curtains, jonathan thought to himself as he watched you, smirking coyly at the irony of it all.

after filming you for a few more minutes, he slipped the camcorder away, and hailed a cab down the street from yours back to his apartment.

the sun was shining beautifully, the birds were chirping, and the weather was divine on this pleasant summer day. you were loving this summer weather, and you were currently standing in line at your favourite coffee shop, waiting to order an iced latte.

but jonathan already knew that.

he watched you get ready to go out as he stood on the street in broad daylight staring at you through the windows, since apparently you didn't know how to close your fucking curtains.

he got some good footage that day on his camcorder.

as of now, jonathan was stood behind you in the coffee shop, acting like he hadn't just filmed you like a sick freak for the last few hours. as you went up to the barista to order, you reached into your purse to pay - only to realize you had forgotten your wallet at home.

but again, jonathan was aware of this because technically, he was there in spirit when it happened.

so, what did he do? he offered to pay, of course. because he's just that kind.

"here, i got it-" he said from behind you, pulling his card out to tap on the machine. you looked behind you in surprise - but you recognized those striking eyes immediately.

it was the kind stranger from the other night! he really was a sweetheart, wasn't he?

"oh, gosh, thank you." you say, flustered at the interaction and slightly embarrassed. "it's no problem-" but he pauses, smiling at you for a moment, "hey, you're the girl i saw the other night. i'm glad you made it home safely."

you smile back at the stranger, yet to put a name to his gorgeous face. "yeah, yeah that was me." you say, the two of you stepping aside so that other people could order. "thank you again - i'm so embarrassed." you laugh softly.

"don't be," he says gently, "i'm jonathan, by the way."

he finally introduced himself - but he already knew you quite well. a little too well. you gave him your name, briefly introducing yourself, and he looks at you through his glasses.

"well, it's lovely to, er- meet you again?" he laughs softly, and you giggle - your voice giving him butterflies. "right, nice to re-meet you." you tease, making him smile again.

"are you doing anything today? hopefully not getting too tipsy, i hope - kidding." he says to you with a friendly tone, and you shake your head laughing. "that wasn't on the agenda today, no."

he knew that it wasn't. he knew that today you had nothing planned. you just wanted to enjoy the pretty weather, maybe go for a walk or something with your iced latte. and how did he know this, you ask? well, that's simple.

he stood by your window last night, camcorder in hand, and recorded you talking to your friend about it on the phone in bed - in just your bra and panties.

"i'm taking the day off today." your voice brought him back to reality. "i think i'm just going to enjoy the beautiful weather today. i love the sun, it makes me feel so energized - i dunno."

"i agree with you there." he says, nodding as if he was hearing about this for the first time. but your next question actually caught him off guard. "d'wanna join me?"

he looks at you for a moment, and you start to get flustered again. "sorry- i'm sure you have a girlfriend or something-"

"hey, hey-" he says soothingly, "first of all, i do not have a girlfriend. and secondly, i would love to. it's my day off as well, actually."

you beam at him, and he finds your smile so cute. god, he just wanted to fucking choke you right then and there - but of course, he had some self control.

the two of you spent the day together, enjoying the gorgeous summer day, and you hit it off instantly. you learned that his full name was jonathan crane, and that he was a doctor at arkham asylum. you told him about what you did for a living, and he told you he found it "fascinating."

before you said goodbye, he asked for your number which you willingly gave over. the rush of being able to actually talk to you was almost too much for him, and his brain was short-circuiting at the mere thought of it.

that night, the two of you parted ways - but you both ended up back at your place; you just weren't aware that you had company.

this time, taking your photos and filming you from afar wasn't satisfying the urges in him anymore. he needed more. as the sun set, you finished doing the dishes and cleaned up after cooking dinner. you made your way to your living room, switching off your lights - except a slim lamp that stood beside your couch.

getting cozy and comfortable in your house wear, you put on your favourite show to watch, and sat back blissfully on your couch - while someone else was watching you in the dark.

he had managed to make his way in through the huge window - which you stupidly left unlocked - by your living room hours earlier while you were preoccupied upstairs getting changed.

he did a pretty good job at hiding out of sight from you - and he internally applauded himself for that.

suddenly, you got up from the couch, startling him, and he hid closer to the shadows - lurking in the darkness of what you called home.

he watched you finally close those fucking curtains, then returning to the couch you previously sat at. he wondered why now of all times you decided to close your curtains-

oh.

that's when he heard it.

soft, little moans were being drawn out of your pretty lips as your fingers ghosted over your clit. he could feel himself getting painfuly hard at just your sounds - because remember, he couldn't see all of you from where he was hiding.

so, you were indulging in a little self pleasure - was that so wrong? to be fair, you thought you were all alone. your moans got breathier, louder as you slowly slipped two fingers into your aching hole.

jonathan - being the sick psychopath he was - snuck his way around the darkness of your downstairs floor, trying to be as stealthy and quiet as possible. finally, he saw what he was so desperately trying to see.

you with your baggy shirt, which had ridden up, exposing your pretty tits and your fingers in your pretty pussy, panties thrown on your living room floor.

he watched, and he had to physically hold himself back from taking you right then and there - trying his hardest not to moan at the sight of you fucking yourself with your fingers.

slowly, he slipped his hand into his pocket - and pulled out his camcorder. pressing record, he started to film you from where he was. he was definitely going to jerk off to this later. he filmed all of it - you fingering yourself, your pretty moans, and of course, when you came all over your own fingers.

after you came down from your high, you laid breathless on your couch for a good while. jonathan took this opportunity to sneak out of your house - undetected.

that night, he watched that video of you on repeat, over and over, cumming all over his fist as he breathlessly moaned your name.

you shook your head as you laughed in the dimly lit restaurant, "it was the worst date i'd ever been on."

jonathan looked at you, smiling and laughing along with you. "that sounds...brutal, if i'm being honest."

the two of you were on your first official date - which you had been discussing over text and on the phone, and now it was finally happening. jonathans obsessive little heart was overflowing with joy.

the two of you were currently drinking expensive champagne and sharing "worst first date" stories - and you really thought this man, this stranger who fate brought into your life, could be the one.

he was so funny, so kind, so charming - it was like you knew him for ages.

as the date came to an end, he took your hand, holding onto it softly after paying the bill (because he's still a classy guy, after all), and spoke to you in a saccharine voice.

"would it be so terrible if i asked if you'd like to come back to my place?"

you blushed and bit your lip, shaking your head. "not terrible at all - count me in."

and that may have quite literally been the biggest mistake of your life, maybe even bigger than the mistake of not closing your curtains.

as he parked his car in the parking garage of the apartment complex, he helped you out of his car and held your hand as he took you into the elevator and then to his apartment.

unit #303 - you'd come to never forget it.

as the two of you got inside his place, you took a moment to admire the classiness of his apartment. it was clean, minimalistic and dark, and just like him, it appeared to be a perfectly normal from the surface.

"you truly are stunning." he said lowly, pulling you close by your waist, making you blush.

"i really like you, jonathan." you tell him softly, and he gives you a gentle kiss. willingly, you kiss back - unaware of what was to come next.

"i knew i had to make you mine the night i first saw you." he says, looking at you with a soft smile. you didn't think about what he really meant here - you weren't even aware of what he really meant. "that's so sweet." you whisper, and his grip on your waist tightened suddenly.

"no, really." he says, tone growing slightly impatient, "i couldn't stop myself."

your breath hitches in your throat as you aren't too sure what he means by this - but you try and give him the benefit of the doubt. "uh," you laugh nervously, "t-thank you, i guess?"

then he went quiet.

"would you like to see my mask?" he asks, after a moment of silence - and you look at him confused and slightly scared. "your...mask?"

suddenly, he's guiding you into the bedroom, and you're feeling both confused and very anxious - but your anxiety skyrockets as you take a look at what was in his bedroom.

photos of you covered the wall - pictures of you that you weren't aware had even been taken. there was photos of you talking on the phone to your friends, cooking, watching shows - and then there were the not-so-innocent photos.

pictures of you with your fingers buried into your cunt, pictures of you walking around naked, and pictures of you posing in your lingerie on the bed; taking pictures of yourself in the mirror to send to someone else.

your body went into flight or fight - and you tried to make a run for it but a cloudy gas filled your senses, causing you to scream erratically. what appeared in front of you was horrendous - your worst fears brought to life, clouding your vision.

and there stood jonathan in the midst of all the chaos - in what appeared to be some sort of burlap mask. staring at you with those deadly yet beautiful blue eyes through the small holes in his mask. as his toxin started to creep into your system, you noticed he was holding something in his hand.

a camcorder.

judging by all the pictures of you on the wall, you knew where this was going and it made you fucking nauseous.

"n-no.." you whimpered, shaking as he took hold of you and threw you onto the bed. he propped his camcorder up onto the bedside table, the red light flashing; indicating that he was indeed filming this.

he ripped your clothes right off you, and at this point, you were a sobbing mess. "please don't do this - you don't have to do this, jonathan."

you begged, you screamed, and you cried; but to no avail, he kept going. kept undressing you and forcing you down onto his bed - scarecrow mask still covering his face.

"keep screaming like that and i'll cum." he says, pinning you down on the bed with such force you didn't even know if it was humanely possible. the hallucinations of the toxin had you thrashing and screaming, and while you were busy fearing for your life - he was busy undoing his pants and belt buckle.

"no, no, please no-" you pleaded with him, but he didn't give in - he was never going to set you free. "shh, let me see your fears consume you, my love." he whispered, picking up the camcorder again.

you were drugged up out of your mind at this point, the toxin taking it's full effects on you. just as your high was reaching it's deadly peak, you felt the tip of his cock poke at your cunt.

you sobbed at the feeling of it - just by the tip you could feel how thick he was - how big he was. he was going to rip you open; you could just feel it.

"say hi to the camera, my love." he tells you, while spitting onto his cock to try and fit it in with a little more ease. as you sobbed with the camcorder in your face, he pushed himself into you with a staggered thrust.

the feeling of him forcing his cock in was brutal.

"i-i can't take it!" you thrashed and screamed, but he kept your wrists pinned down with one hand and the camcorder in the other. "too big?" he cooed, "fuck baby, you can take it. and if you can't - i'll force you to."

he fucked you roughly, your tight cunt squeezing him in all the disgustingly right ways. you weren't trying to get wet - it was just your body's natural response. at this point, you had stopped crying from either pure shock or from the drugs - probably both.

"jon-"

"fuck, that's right baby. say my name." he groans, panning the camcorder down to film your abused little cunt taking his huge cock - pounding into you mercilessly.

"should i cum inside?" he grunted, fat cock pushing into your cervix - undoubtably bruising your insides. "yeah, i think i will. you'd look so pretty with my cum dripping out of you."

you shook your head no, pleading with him to pull out since you weren't on any contraceptives at the moment - but it dawned on you that he probably knew that.

"please no, pull o-out, ah- jon, pull out!" you wriggled around in his grasp, begging and pleading with the psychopath who was balls deep in your cunt right now.

"no." he spat, and continued his assault on you. "you can fucking take it." you tried your hardest to push away from him, scratch him, bite him - anything to try and get away but it was no use. his grip was unwavering.

after a few more excruciatingly painful thrusts into your abused cunt, he painted your walls white with his sticky cum, filling you up to the brim.

"god, i love you." he whispered as he spilled his seed into you, and you sobbed at his words in pure disgust. as the toxin slowly wore off, you laid there lifelessly, the light inside you draining minute by minute. your eyes darted around the bedroom, taking in all the eerie pictures of you scattered all over the walls.

your mind flashed back to the fateful night you first met him; your intuition was right - it never lies.

someone was watching you.

a/n: i will be writing a bunch of soft, fluffy crane fics and drabbles to recover from THIS. ok bye

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