#Scarecrow imagine

[finniestoncrane]

Out of curiosity.. what do you think the various scarecrows you write for 🍆's sizes are? Just curious.

Scarecrow Headcanons anon... thank you for this blessed opportunity to talk out of my ass about these lanky noodledicks for an entire post 🎃🧡 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: so much dick, references to sex, handjobs, blowjobs, choking, saliva, blood, period sex

arkham

i think auld hessian sack heid is packing HEAT

i'm being generous, so generous, because he just has that vibe of the skinny tall boy with an impressive shlong

thick, long, powerful, dangerous

8" inches give or take a little, big slapping balls, head on it that could stretch you wide open

it's pale, like the rest of him, and there's distinct scarring

there's tissue damage, so it's not as sensitive as it once was

a positive for you though, because that texture is strangely delightful

it's difficult to coax an orgasm out of him through fucking alone given the fact that there's nerve damage

so he prefers to see you choke on his incredible gift, struggling against it, trying to manage him

btaa

petite and pretty and don't tell me i'm wrong

please don't ask me for evidence, i just feel this in my bones, but that man is circumcised

he's got a glimmering little pink head always on show

and he is SO excitedto show it off

he can get hard just staring at his own cock before he's even touched it

he's working with a slightly below average length between 3-4"

but good god in heaven does he know what the fuck to do with it

his technique is unmatched, his energy, passion, moves

it's very nice looking too, kind of dick you get distracted by when you're sucking it

and he keeps his greying pubes very trim and tidy too, just enough of them to rub your nose or your fingers against

absolute fiend for period sex, something about the visceral deep red of your blood covering his cock just gets him

golden age

average, much to his disappointment

like, at least if you're huge you've got the bragging rights in the horrid world of machismo and size mattering

and at least if it's tiny then it's something different, and there are a lot of people *cough me cough* who adore small dicks

but average, to him, is nothing special

nothing different, nothing unique

just another in a long line of forgettable aspects of him

it's not necessarily pretty either, it really is just a cock

5-6", average veins, colour matched to his skin tone, pale and only flushes a little when he's aroused

unruly pubes too, insane bush!!

he's very keen on getting your drool all over his cock and balls, having is shining and wet is a huge turn on for him

[hllywdwhre]

Hoax

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

Summary: You debate leaving your identity as Batgirl behind for a certain villain that has caught your eye.

Warnings: None; let me know if I missed any

Word Count: 641

Notes: Credit to @slut4thebroken for the ‘baby bat’ nickname 🫶🏻 it’s now a favorite trope of mine with Crane

Based on the song ‘hoax’ by Taylor Swift.

My only one

My kingdom come undone

My broken drum

You have beaten my heart

Morals. You couldn’t let yours lapse. Your morals are what caused you to start working with Bruce in the first place, yet every time he called you “Baby Bat”, you felt your heart flutter in a way you knew you shouldn’t.

He was terrorizing the city with a plan to unleash a deadly amount of fear into the streets. It would cause Gotham to fall into something beyond anarchy and the cure would never be ready in enough time for you to stop it. It was terrorism, there was nothing else to describe it.

Yet, here you sat, with him standing in front of you, a look that was equal parts teasing and knowing on his face.

“You can’t ask me to stop being Batgirl, I can’t do it.” Your voice shook as you sat on his bed next to him.

“So your morals stop you from giving up Batgirl, but not from fucking and falling for the Scarecrow?” He asked, the familiar taunting emphasis on his alter ego’s name. The look on his face matched the taunting tone.

“There has to be a middle ground somewhere…” you began, voice desperate, “I won’t help Br- Batman when it comes to Scarecrow’s plots, but I won’t help you with them, either. I stay on the sidelines and only aid him in taking down others,” you offered, trying to come up with something that allowed you to keep Batgirl and Jonathan.

“You know that can’t be done. I work with others and they’re going to work with me,” he pointed out.

You let silence fill the air for your response, and for once, he didn’t fill the air with a know-it-all or sarcastic reply. He allowed your silence to sit.

Weeks later and you were sitting by someone’s side, watching as the city went into chaos.

“And your kingdom crumbles…” Jonathan said in a low voice that was distorted by the mask he wore.

The words sent a pang through your heart, but you ignored it.

“It was going to crumble anyways,” you replied with an equally distorted voice.

“Let’s move,” he told you, grabbing your hand and standing.

You stood up and followed him through one of the many tall buildings that filled Gotham, finding your horses in the lobby of the building, and moving to guide them outside before a third party made their presence known to the two of you.

“I thought it was you… I didn’t want to believe it,” Bruce said, causing you and Jonathan to whip around and look at where he was perched on one of the desks.

“Don’t,” Jonathan warned, his voice even more menacing while it was distorted.

As much as he had mocked you for the way your morals had caused such a…tumultuous beginning to your relationship, he didn’t allow for others to do the same.

“You traded one set of wings for another, and in doing so helped bring the downfall of Gotham,” Bruce said, his eyes behind the Batman mask being trained on you. “From Batgirl to the Sparrow…” he trailed off.

“You always underestimated her,” Jonathan said, stepping slightly in front of you, as if trying to protect you. “Do you understand why it’s now Sparrow?”

Bruce shook his head.

“Because Sparrows are often seen as harmless birds,” Jonathan answered, allowing your hand to rest on his arm as he continued on, “but in many cultures they represent death. That’s what you saw her as when she joined your side. A helper. Not a fighter that could bring more to you. You were afraid to weaponize her, but I saw the other side of her. The one that could be dangerous.”

He saw the side of you Bruce was afraid to weaponize, but he didn’t view it as a weapon. He saw all of you and viewed it as you.

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

GN! TA Reader x Professor Jonathan Crane Headcanons: 

Characters: Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow); Gender Neutral! Reader 

Universe: Nolanverse (Batman Film Trilogy) 

Pairing(s): The beginning of a one-sided Jonathan Crane/Reader, if you squint 

Word Count: 1.6k 

A/N: It’s that time of year when I rewatch the Nolanverse Batman films and obsess over every frame that Cillian Murphy is on screen. (Okay, but he absolutely killed it, and what I wouldn't give to see him counter Robert Pattinson’s Batman.) This combined with reading some other Scarecrow/Reader fics has accumulated into this little plot bunny of my own. And yes, while I say these are headcanons, it’s more like extended fic. I truly tried to keep it short but, much like Dickens and Hemingway cannot seem to help myself when it comes to writing extended sentences. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

ALSO— in answer to the question you’re no doubt wondering—Yes! Answers to submitted asks will return after this deviation. I’ve just had this character circling in my head the past few days and I couldn’t get him out. 

TW!: Slight Manipulative/Yandere (by Crane, but nothing explicit); Also, please beware the formatting gets more unhinged/distracting as you read on, so if you have tracking issues or sensitive eyes, please be wary

Catching Professor Crane’s Attention Would Look Like: 

You were a great student, (obviously!), one the brightest and most dedicated in his class for you to be his TA. 

At first, Professor Crane found your enthusiasm and attentiveness annoying. He pegged you for yet another professional student brownnoser failing to get on his good side. 

Most of his TA’s enthusiasm eventually fizzled out once they realized flattery would get them no further in his gradebook. That, and his more advanced courses were incredibly demanding— they took a decent chunk of any student’s time and energy. 

Much to his surprise, not only did your cheery demeanor fail to vanish, but you somehow stayed on top of every bit of work he assigned. On top of which, you excelled in your role as Teacher’s Assistant, practically teaching half of the lessons when he was too busy with his, let’s just say, other proclivities, to make it to lecture on time.  

Jonathan was impressed when he learned you’ve spent nearly every spare moment you had in his official lab’s research library, reading through all of his previous labs’ notes and official documentation. He didn’t allow students, not even students of the Psychology Department, to make Xerox copies or check out his work— it was only available for temporary reading and viewing within the confines of his dedicated lab space.

He caught a glimpse of your notebook one day, having actually made it on time to be able to teach his lecture, seeing how meticulously you’ve copied down his experiments’ notes. In the past, only his most advanced students bothered to take notes on his previous work, and at best, they’d simply record the abstracts from his many published theses. 

He should have found it alarming, as opposed to intriguing. If one was to truly study his notes, they’d find vague little inconsistencies across his verbiage from where he was forced to omit information to cover his tracks. A smart enough person might be able to piece together that something else had been his true point of study in his experiments, and that meant having to dazzle the university board with bullshit and bribery once again. He had to take care of you and neutralize the threat before that happened. 

He should have felt resigned, indifferent to the unavoidable fate you’d just sealed for yourself. Instead, he wanted you to continue; he wanted to poke and prod you as you tried to figure it out. Observing you had turned into an utterly fascinating pastime to him.

He spoke to you after class one evening and enquired as to why you felt compelled to copy his exact notes down. Did you perhaps intend to parrot his findings as your own? Was this an ill-advised attempt at plagiarism? He comes off as cross, perhaps harsh, in his line of questioning, but he desperately needed to know how you’d respond to such an interrogative line of questioning. 

The question of ‘Why?’ had been gnawing at his psyche for days, even during his newfound dealings with Falcone and his thugs, and that simply would not do. He could not get distracted by some suck-up student. His work on secretly developing the most stable version of his toxic compound all while flying under the radar of his nosy, stupid University higher-ups was much more important than the mental inner workings of some lowly college student. His intrigue slowly turned to anger.

After you tell him you’re more fascinated by “the why of the why”— all his ruminations stop cold. You weren’t flustered, weren’t defensive, weren’t sniveling and begging for his forgiveness like the ones who have come before you, oh no. Instead, you met his gaze directly and answered his question with what sounded like a riddle. Your evasive answer officially moved the dial and Crane’s intrigue became replaced with disdain. 

How dare you?! Do you think your measly intellect could ever stump him? It would be almost laughable if it didn’t make his jaw clench and his nostrils flare. But Crane is nothing if not a control freak. So he did what any wise control freak would do, and decided to change the setting of the fight back to his familiar home turf. 

“I see.” Professor Dr. Crane kept his answers curt and restrained as per his usual. “I must admit you’d be the first student applying such a subjective angle to your thesis all while using a rather definitive lens. We should discuss your topic in depth before you waste any more time writing potentially unobjective garbage. Office Hours are posted on my door. I expect to see you before our lecture next week.” 

You were in your last year of University, with a declared double major in Psychology and Biochemistry, with a minor in Creative Writing of all things. By this time, you had undoubtedly outlined the controls for your upcoming psychological lab requirement for your Advanced Independent Study next semester. Of course, an Advanced Independent Study requirement for a Psychology Major was nothing compared to those seeking a Doctorate or Ph.D. However, it still involved a substantial amount of clinical time spent organizing and studying volunteers from your academic peers. 

If his work on fear and fear stimulation hormones was a similar area of interest, it could prove bothersome. If your… experiment was similar enough in nature, and it failed to yield similar results, it might encourage the University Board to take a closer look at his synthesized “fear hormone”. The morons on the board had accepted his previous explanation of whatever pharmaceutical mumbo-jumbo he’d thrown at them. A little cortisol here, a little adrenaline there… And those fools had bought it hook line and sinker! 

You arrived at his office the next morning, your usual bright and shiny self. Of course, you had signed up for the first available slot the following day, and of course, you showed up with even more coffee and donuts in hand. 

If you were anyone else, Dr. Crane would feel insulted that you thought you could quite literally sugar him up. But judging from the sincere look on your face to the way your own eyes lit up when he accepted the coffee, made him think bribery was the last thing on your agenda. It unnerved him how he failed to find an ulterior, more insidious motive within you. 

You explained that in your class lectures, you recalled Dr. Professor Crane had spoken about the major causes of fear, as well as its evolutionary purpose. You couldn't help but wonder, in the modern day and age, when humans were no longer nomads, no longer living in pre-industrial conditions, if that evolutionary aspect of fear hurt more than it helped. 

Your lab proposal went as followed: You wished to pool a large group of students, determine what their primary and secondary greatest fears were, and then, through a series of pre-set further questions, see if you could catalog how many such fears either 1) helped the individual’s behavior, or 2) merely hindered it. 

Jonathan found it a modest proposal, for your grade level anyway. And it would serve as a good taste of what working in either a clinical or research setting would look like after furthering your education and licensing accreditation. 

Unable to stop ruminating over the personal reasons as to why you found this fascinating, his obsessive nature prevented him from striking your proposal down. ‘What could be the harm?’ He asked himself after giving your study outline his official approval. You were nowhere near his intelligence level. Even with all your scribbling and copying of his notes, it was unlikely you’d ever uncover his plot. Besides, should push come to shove, all he’d need to do was ask Falcone for a favor, have you bumped off before things started to get too involved, too messy… 

But a little mess? A little chaos? The idea sent a chill down Crane’s spine. It was the thrill of the chase, the inevitable mouse and cat, predator and prey dynamics that drove him to master the power of fear for himself. It was that addictive rush of adrenaline— the way it stroked his well-deserving ego— the way his victims screamed and cried and begged for mercy before him. 

Crane wasn’t oblivious as to why he relished such power. He was a psychologist after all. The doctor was well aware that childhood trauma was a powerful thing, an unstoppable perimeter in what made people tick. Professor Doctor Crane knew that he was rotten, yes— vile, at his core. It was that exact rot that enabled him not to care. 

Fear was the ultimate equalizer, it was the ultimate revenge. No one, not even himself could ever truly escape it, not entirely anyway. No amount of toxin tolerance or cognitive behavioral therapy, medication, or meditation could stop the chokehold fear had on all human beings. 

It seemed you knew that too… Why else would you have as much of a fascination with it? Why else would you scour his notes so intently? It was rather ironic, Jonathan thought to himself, one night, hidden deep in his basement Arkham Asylum Lab: it seemed fear ruled you just as much as it ruled him. 

Perhaps, with the right persuasion, and the right exposure, you would be open to exploring greater boundaries and experimenting with fear. 

Not once prior had Jonathan ever considered acquiring an assistant— someone to work on his toxin with. It was far too risky to have such little benefit. Everyone was far too stupid, too simple to realize the true greatness of what he was working on, the true greatness that Ra's al Ghul would help him release upon Gotham, and soon, the world. But you…. hmm. 

You— he would have to keep a closer eye on. 

A/N 2.0: Whoo! There you have it! My first official DC fandom post!

And if you enjoyed it, *Sabrina Carpenter voice* please, please, please REBLOG! Likes are great but Reblogs spread my writing much further.

Consider Tipping Me Via Kofi <3

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

warnings: swearing, mention of scarecrows fear serum

tags: @illiana-mystery, @eclecticwildflowers

Knocking on the apartment door, I hugged my jacket tighter. The small box at my feet reminded me of why I was here. The door opened after the series of locks were undone.

“(Y/N)?” His voice was soothing, even when curiosity got the better of him.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” I said with a shrug. Johnathan looked down where I kicked the box. “Got fired today.” I gave him a weak smile as he bent over to grab the box. His piercing blue eyes met mine and I swore they hardened.

“well that’s shit.” He mumbled as he ushered me into the apartment. “What are you going to do?” Johnathan put the box on his end table and sat down across from me on the coffee table.

“I don’t know.” I admitted. I had told everyone at the office that I was going to be alright. I had everything planned out. But it was a lie. “Thought I’d come here. Only place I felt safe going. Only place I didn’t feel like a failure at.” Johnathan sighed before moving to sit next to me on the couch. He wrapped his arm around me, pulling me into him and kissing my head.

“you’re not a failure.” Johnathan assured me. “If I didn’t know any better, you went out with a fight. Kicking and screaming.” I nodded against him. “Then you have nothing to feel like a failure for. It’s their own fault. People were leaving like fucking rats on a sinking ship.” Sighing, I curled further into him.

“that’s definitely an accurate depiction.” I agreed. Johnathan nodded before kissing my head again.

“least you were smart. Now someone owes you money.” He said with a smile. I nodded mournfully. “You wanna stay here?” Johnathan asked after a minute.

“if it’s alright with you.” I whispered. Johnathan tilted my head up and kissed me.

“of course it’s alright with me.” He assured me. “Just don’t go into the office. Have a little excitement going on in there.” His eyes flashed and I nodded. “I think I found my next test subject.”

“Johnathan…” I warned. He shot me a small smile.

“What? I never said who.” His smile grew a little and I rolled my eyes, draping my arm across his stomach.

“just be careful.” I whispered. He kissed my head again.

“always am.” Johnathan said, eyes flicking to the case by the door that held his mask. “Always am.”

[vaporwavebeach-writes]

Kinktober Day 5 (Collaring)

BTAA Scarecrow x Reader (NSFW)

(1,522 Words)

Summary: There’s a kill collar around your neck

Warnings/Tags: 18+, gender neutral reader, tied to a chair, collaring, fear play, a little bit of psychoanalysis, light knife play, dom/sub dynamic

Notes: Ok, now this one was just TOO FUN to write LMAO, u can read this as a continuation to this or as a stand alone, either way, enjoy the fic!!!

-

An abrupt chill dances up your neck, waking you to your surroundings. Eyes opening groggily, you awaken to thick, rough twine digging into your wrists and ankles, keeping you tied to the arms and legs of a wooden chair.

You try to look around, but you feel something heavy and metal around your neck. It’s when you hear the beeping of a heart monitor when you realize exactly what it is.

“Good morning, sunshine.” You look up in front of you to see the Scarecrow, leaning his hands back on the table behind him, standing with his leg crossed casually. His voice is his usual brand of eerily cheerful. Amusing, but terrifying to be on the other end of, as you have seen by working for him for a while, but unfortunately, you weren’t so lucky this time.

The collar begins to beep slightly faster, hardly noticeable, but your boss, Scarecrow- Dr. Jonathan Crane, he seems to pick up on your nerves easily. Behind his raggedy, burlap mask, you can see the stirrings of morbid excitement as he cocks his head playfully.

“No need to be nervous,” He says nonchalantly. He leans back further, sitting on the table. “You know the drill by now.”

You begin to wonder what you could���ve possibly done to end up to be the next victim of one of the Scarecrow’s infamous kill collars. “I’m going to die, aren’t I?” You ask bluntly.

“Oh! Right to the point,” he chuckles. “Well,” he clears his throat, “It all depends on you- Don’t get scared, and you get to keep your head.”

You roll your eyes, hearing his spiel dozens of times already. “Yeah, yeah- Got it, like you said, I know the drill.”

The Scarecrow gets up, stalking ever so close to you. You feel his cold hand find its way under your chin, tilting up your head to look deep into his gaze. You’ve seen him do this several times, you know this is just an intimidation tactic to toy with his victims.

“So what did it?” You begin, unfazed by his potent glare. “Was it the fact that I knew too much about what was really going on here? Or was it when I reduced you to nothing but a quivering mess when I caught you fucking yourself to the thought of me?”

He lets out a low chuckle, placing a hand on your shoulder, circling around you menacingly. “You could say that.”

“To which one?”

“Oh, I don’t think it really matters too much,” he stops behind you, “…What matters…” You feel your feet come off the floor as he tilts back the chair, “…Is that we need to make an example out of you,” he darkly murmurs in your ear. You let out an involuntary yelp as the chair is suddenly pushed forward.

The kill collar starts to beep slightly quicker now, but it was getting harder to tell if your heart was picking up due to fear, or arousal. Either way, you refuse to let whatever emotions you’re currently feeling be the death of you. Taking a deep breath, you attempt to stabilize your breathing, which the Scarecrow notes aloud.

“Breathing techniques, huh? You must’ve been paying attention to all those times you’ve seen me collar someone. Why? Did you see yourself ending up in a situation like this? Did you try to prepare just in case you did?”

“I learned from the best,” you sigh sarcastically.

“Aw,” he chuckles, “You know, complimenting me won’t get you out of this…” Crane fishes around the inner pocket of his jacket. He makes his way around you once again as the glint of his switchblade is caught in your peripheral vision. “Now answer the question,” The blade is held directly to your chest. “Please.”

“Alright,” You gulp, the beeping of the collar stays consistent. “Yeah, I did think this is how things would end, but you know what?”

“What is it, little lamb?”

“The fact that you have me here, like this, means that I’ve gotten close.”

Crane leans over the back of the chair, cocking his head to meet your eyes. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“I learned some real nasty secrets about your experiments with using JoyCure, an unauthorized drug, on your patients,” you explain, “and, I had you completely spineless for me, the fact that you have me collared here, means you’re afraid. You’re afraid that I know too much about you, criminally and personally, so you have me here to not only kill me, but to kill the fear of knowing about the leverage I have on you.”

You look him dead in the eyes as you make your case, showing him that you are not afraid and refuse to be afraid, no matter how much he tries to make you believe it. You almost forget he still has the blade to your chest until you feel the cold metal trail down and eventually off your flesh.

A low, bubbling, snicker sounds in the warehouse. “My, my,” whispers Crane, awestruck. He toys with the switchblade, fiddling with it in his hands. “Now look who’s playing psychiatrist.” His low snicker erupts into an uproarious laugh, like a hyena. “Oh wow, that is an interesting theory to say the least, and you do make a very promising point,” his voice is directly behind you now. “I can see how you’re trying to flip the dynamic here, thinking you have some control, but unfortunately…” his hands find their way to your shoulders, pinning you to the back of the chair. You hear a sadistic hiss in your ear. “…You’re wrong.”

The air of his breath tickles the side of your neck. Hearing the flick of the switchblade snapping open, the knife is held to your chest once again. However, the knife continues to slide down your uniform- a simple jumpsuit to protect yourself from any chemicals from his fear toxin that may be lingering around the warehouse. The fabric tears and you are left vulnerable, opened up with your underwear exposed. You don’t say a word, but the collar’s heart monitor audibly speeds up.

“There it is…” he whirls around, admiring your exposed flesh- your exposed emotions. “There’s that fear I’ve been so longing to see.” Behind his mask, you could tell he was grinning sadistically. Attempting to keep standing your ground, you keep your head held high as the Scarecrow prowls over to you. “Or, wait a second… maybe, it’s not fear.”

Oh shit.

“Hmmm,” he ponders aloud, “it’s very hard to tell with you.” He claps his hands, throwing his head back. “Well!” his head comes back, the eyes behind his mask eye you up carnally. “There’s always solutions that we can test to distinguish which response is which.” At this point, he’s doing it just to mess with you. Prowling behind the chair, he leans forward, directly to your ear. “…I am a man of science, you know.”

His cold hand drops to your chest. He feels up every inch of your exposed body. Shuddering, his fingers find their way to your undershirt, sliding between the fabric and teasing your nipples. A restrained moan exits your mouth as lightly pinches them.

“Interesting response,” he purrs “someone who is feeling fear wouldn’t have that reaction, so obviously, you’re feeling frustrated…” He lets go of your nipples, flicking his thumb over them. “…Sexually.” You hardly notice that the collar’s beeping sounds faster this time.

“It’s fascinating,” he continues “how fear and arousal are so similar.” His hands finally make their way to your inner thighs, caressing them, teasing. “Heavy breathing…” He drags his hand across your underwear. “Adrenaline, pumping…” His hand finally slips into your underwear, you jump when he finally glides his fingers over your sex, “…Heart, racing.” The beeping of the kill collar continues to ring out.

Gathering the arousal that drips out of your aching sex, Crane applies more pressure and friction against the spot that makes you squirm. He fucks you with his skilled fingers. You breathe out amorously, not giving a shit about the kill collar, which rapidly increases in its beeping, sealing your fate as you come violently.

When you come down from your euphoric high, you realize your head is still on your body. You’re alive. Breathing heavily, you turn your head as best you can, confused, facing the deranged psychiatrist, who lets out an amused chuckle.

“Oh yeah, forgot to mention,” Crane makes his way over back to the table, leaning back casually, soaking in your disheveled state. “That kill collar? It’s a fake.”

Flicking open the switchblade, Jonathan makes his way over to you, using it to unscrew the heavy, metal collar which unclamps from your neck immediately. You feel the sweet relief of being able to move your neck once again, only for the Scarecrow to take your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him.

His eyes bore into yours deeply. “I needed you to know how easily I can make you squirm.” His voice drips with sadistic venom. “This was just to show you who really has control here.”

[look-at-the-soul]

The man behind the mask

Jonathan Crane x reader (Cillian Murphy as Scarecrow)

Requested by: @kpopgirlbtssvt Thank you so so much for sending this idea! I’m sorry it took me so long to write it, but I wanted it to be perfect… I hope you like this 🥰

A/N: I’m finally going through some requests I had saved in my drafts. And I knew the only way to get through this story was sharing something a little bit personal…

❗️When you go out (club, restaurant, pub, whatever) don’t leave your drink unattended, not for a single minute, I mean it, the only time I agree to go a club - I was never the big party girl- there was a group of 8-10 big men in red t-shirts, they stood out because they weren’t locals. One of them spiked my drink, I saw the bubbles like those alka-seltzer things, (I didn’t drink it), but then I made the mistake of going to the bathroom with my friend and when we came out, a group of four of them were walking towards us. Luckily our other friends intercepted us midway out of nowhere and we got out of the club through the emergency door, it was a miracle it was open, and I know for local news that’s a group that uses woman as human/organ trafficking, again, be careful when you go out 🙏🏻

Jonathan raised his eyebrows at the stupidity in legs sitting in front of him at the bar.

Four men rushed past them, talking in English with a foreign accent about a girl who was drinking the special cocktail.

“You know the consequences if you don’t get him first.” He warned standing up. “I don’t think you want to see my mask, again.”

He came all this way for nothing, that useless man only had excuse after excuse for not making a simple job.

When it came to his time, he was really jealous of it, he wanted things done efficiently. That’s why he decided to leave before he lost the little patience he was given. Taking the stairs to the first floor, he made a face when he found the place crowded, but the frown increased when someone accidentally bumped into him.

“‘m sorry, I don’t feel really well.” The girl apologized before passing out right in front of him, he barely had time enough to catch her in his arms.

“No, no, no. Ughhh.” He groaned.

The group of foreigners started walking towards him.

“Move over scrawny.” Said one of them.

The rest of them laughed, bringing back all the horrible memories of his childhood when his classmates bullied him for being short and skinny.

Closing his eyes, Jonathan swallowed hard, placing the girl carefully on the floor. “Take that back.” He warned.

They all looked like gigantic monsters with big and strong bodies.

The group erupted in laughter.

It was a natural thing to take the scarecrow mask from the inside pocket of his suit and putting on while taking the small gas device in his hand.

Pressing the button, the gas came out of the mask without a warning and they started screaming uncontrollably, as they watched their worsts nightmares come to life.

Still wearing the mask but not using the gas, Jonathan looked at the girl, who briefly opened her eyes. “Help m-”

Was all she could mumble before passing out again.

Shit. Jonathan thought, he wasn’t a hero, he wasn’t a savior, but he couldn’t leave this girl just like that.

So against his will, he took her in his arms.

***

Lighting the fireplace he cursed himself for giving in and bringing her to his house, but as he saw her features he confirmed he couldn’t leave her at the club.

He knew she had been drugged, Jonathan knew the modus operandi of the club; every night they picked a couple of girls, spike their drinks and take them for human or organs trafficking.

It was a terrible escenario, yes, but it was a reality. Something he didn’t have any business in.

Although he was involved now, because of the girl sleeping in his couch. Walking around, he grabbed a needle, electrolytes, and some vitamins, to try to contrarrest the effects of the drugs.

He was surprised by his own kindness towards this stranger, but as he watched her frown soften, he wondered if he wasn’t as terrible as he thought of himself.

Your head felt as if it was smashed against a wall several times, you felt dizzy, the whole room spinning around, your entire body hurt making you wonder if a train hit you and you didn’t know.

Then you saw it, something connected to the inside of your arm.

As you tried to take the tape off, a soft hand came to stop your movement.

“It’s alright, you’re safe now.”

The sharp move made your whole body ache, as you tried to move away.

“Where’s the man with the mask?” You asked feeling groggy.

“Everything is fine. Drink this.” Taking the tablets and water, you thanked him in a whisper.

Your eyes dancing across the room, you could see it was still dark outside. And with that you drifted back to sleep again.

Not noticing when Jonathan checked your vitals three times during your sleep.

When you finally woke up, it was a whole new day, the day was sunny and a soft melody could be heard in the background.

Your mouth felt dry, and your vision was a bit blurry.

“You will feel better tomorrow, just need to have some rest.” The deep voice startled you from behind.

Looking down your body, you were covered by a light blanket from your waist down, the upper part of your body had a hoodie on, you felt your strapless dress disheveled, thankfully it was covered.

“W-who are you?” What the hell happened last night?

“Dr. Crane.” He answered looking at her through his glasses.

But by the scared look that crossed your features, he sighed annoyed by this soft side of him.

“Jonathan.”

He was always Dr. Crane, or the Scarecrow, he was never Jonathan. Not in public at least.

And he felt awfully naked showing someone that part of him.

“Y/N Y/LN.” You stated still unsure. “I-I need to use the bathroom.”

He was still a stranger but he seemed like a good person too.

“Take the hall, to your right.”

With a small nod, you followed his instructions, but before disappearing in the hall, you turned to face him.

“You were the man wearing the mask, weren’t you?” You remembered it too vividly; his voice, his eyes, the way he protected you.

Surprised by your words and your memories, he nodded.

But he was even more surprised when you rushed towards him to give him an unexpected hug.

“Thank you… for saving me.”

He couldn’t remember the last time someone thanked him for something, or the last time he got a hug like that.

But it definitely meant more than he could explain.

As you were in the bathroom, Jonathan kept his eyes closed, still too engrossed in your perfume and the way your arms wrapped around him.

Why did it burn? And why did he wanted more?

Those were questions he didn’t have answers to, but he was soon pulled out from his thoughts as he heard a loud noise in the bathroom.

Opening the door, Jonathan found you unconscious on the floor.

“Y/N!” Jonathan tried shaking your arms slightly. But there was no response, the drugs you consumed at the club affected your system, even though he knew the possible side effects, he got scared. He couldn’t take you to a hospital, he couldn’t explain someone had spiked your drink and he tried to help you.

With a groan he lifted your motionless body from the floor, walking back to the big couch and one more time, providing you with another dose of the cocktail he used earlier. Thankfully he had everything you needed right there at home, he had a couple of medicines he considered to be necessary in his emergency kit.

Moving away the hair from your face, he found himself smiling for no reason, or at least he wasn’t capable of finding the right words.

Checking your pulse, he finally took a deep breath as he saw the numbers coming down to a normal rate. Unsure if you were allergic to anything, he kept the doses to the minimum, and added something else to help you get rid of the drugs in your system faster.

Emptying the contents of your stomach wasn’t something nice, you felt more embarrassed than ever, but after you regained consciousness, Jonathan assured you it was the only way.

You didn’t know this man, but he saved your life, not only at the club, but by taking care of you the way he was doing it. He gently explained you the side effects these drugs could do, he made sure you stayed hydrated and was constantly checking if you needed anything.

“I’m sorry your free night from the hospital shift ended up like this, taking care of a groggy.” You admitted embarrassed, hiding your blush in the glass of water he offered you. “First time I go to a club for a birthday, I was never the big party girl-type and I pass out… how did I end up here?” You asked embarrassed.

Jonathan’s features changed, he looked serious and concerned. “They drugged you, Y/N.”

It took you several minutes to process his statement, your hands started shaking as Jonathan adjusted his glasses on his nose.

“Shouldn’t have say that, sorry.” He offered you a half smile, he was nervous.

“How do you know that?”

“There’s a lot of people behind them, you were lucky they couldn’t take you.”

“I was lucky because you saved me.” But as you saw him shaking his head, you repeated it. “You did.”

“No, it was Scarecrow.” He mumbled.

Frowning you asked him what he meant, but he shook his head again and stood up.

“You need some food.” You saw him shifting his weight from one foot to another. “What would you like?”

“Indian?” You asked with a smile and he knew he was in trouble.

Big troubles.

Some time later, you were sitting with him in his immaculate kitchen telling him that you were a teacher of seventh graders, but at the moment you were enjoying the school break. Without really noticing, you shared a big part of your personal dreams with him, for some reason he had this mysterious energy around him, but you could also see he was humble.

But also extremely shy and quiet.

Leaning back in your chair, you asked: “What’s your specialization?”

Jonathan was about to take a sip of his drink, when your question took him by surprise.

“Let me guess.” You wondered. “Pediatrician?”

What was he supposed to say? Oh, and by the way… I make sane people go crazy and then keep them locked in an asylum?

“Cardiologist?” But as you saw the doubts in his eyes, you pursed your lips in a tight line. “Sorry, don’t want to bother you, I can get all detective sometimes.”

“No, is it that… I’ve a place for people who can’t be on their own,” he took a deep breath and looked down at his plate.

“See?! I knew you have a big heart.” You stated in a cheerful mode, feeling better.

He felt terrible for lying, but he didn’t have another choice.

“Listen…” He tried to explain but you cut him off.

“Don’t be so modest Doctor… sometimes you have to admit you’re a hero and you also need to learn to take compliments.” Picking up the things you used, you turned around to throw it in the trash. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart for what you did, I feel much better now.”

Against his will, you called a taxi to go back home, not without thanking him once more for what he did.

But your gratitude wasn’t enough for him.

There was something else growing in him, something stronger, something he wasn’t capable of naming yet. Something he had never felt before.Jonathan felt an uncontrollable need to be around you.

He had never cared about anyone else apart of himself. But after taking care of you, he genuinely felt like he could be a better person, after getting to know you a little he knew he needed your cheerful personality around.

And as the days passed by, he wasn’t able to let go of your memory.

But little did he knew that every night after he saved you, you would dream of that night at the club, the way his blue eyes stared at you as he carried you in his arms.

You were only able to remember small glimpses of him, everything was so blurry unfortunately, but deep down in your memory, images of him looking down at you through that mask showed up constantly in your dreams.

It wasn’t the fascinating color of his eyes, no, it was something else. You were grateful that he saved you, yes, but it was more than that.

Realizing that he was afraid to give the first step, you decided to show up in his front door the next Thursday at midday.

A maid welcomed you and asked you to wait for Dr. Crane inside, she would announce you shortly.

“This better be important Dolores, I don’t like to be interrupted when I’m doing my experiments.” You heard him say as he took the stairs from the basement.

You saw the shocked expression in his face as he found you in front of him. Maybe it was absurd to think that he would welcome you with open arms, he was probably busy.

“Sorry if I interrupted you, Jonathan… I just wanted to give you this back.” You showed him the hoodie he used to cover you.

When he looked down, your nerves increased. Did you made a mistake thinking you could take the initiative?

Embarrassed for your actions, you left the bag of food you also brought. Turning around, you wished the taxi was still outside.

“You have no idea how many times I wished I could see you again.” He finally stated as you reached the front door.

“What did you say?” Your heart started beating at a crazy speed.

“Sorry if I was rude, I wasn’t expecting to actually see you again.”

You smiled and relaxed a little. “Well you didn’t ask me for my phone last week.”

Frowning, he answered: “big mistake.”

A nervous chuckle left your mouth.

“Honestly, I didn’t think you would like to see me again.”

Now it was your turn to frown. “What makes you say that? You’re a good man, I will be forever grateful with you.”

There were things that would probably make you think he was a monster.

Jonathan walked away from you, turning his back at you, hands in his pockets.

“The mask is supposed to have the opposite effect, Y/N.”

Taking in his words, you could see the battle he was fighting inside.

“Show me… Show me the mask.” You pleaded.

“No.” He immediately interjected.

“I already saw the mask, Jonathan and what I saw is that the man wearing it, saved my life.”

Seeing your smile made him forget about everything. He was convinced he would only see you in his dreams, but you made him question himself so many things he thought were figured out by now.

Staring at the mask in his eyes images of all the people he had tortured flashed before him, and the last thing he wanted to cause you was that, he was terrified to show you who he really was. The more he thought about it, the more he confirmed he shouldn’t really be walking back from the basement with the mask on.

You didn’t know you were holding your breath until you were close enough to see his blue eyes through the mask. The memories of that night playing in the back of your mind, you suddenly remembered listening someone screaming, you could only see Jonathan’s back, everything around you was moving, blurry, as if you were underwater.

Your hand moved up to touch gently the seams over the closed mouth. Had he been silenced in the past? Had someone forced him to see the world from behind the mask? Was he trying to protect himself from someone?

“There was something else…” You could see through the holes that his eyes were closed. “A gas.” You remembered.

“Y/N…”

He didn’t want you to see that side of him, he didn’t want you to see Scarecrow.

“What are you afraid of?”

“That it will push you away.” He whispered.

But you encouraged him to show you the gas as well.

Jonathan swallowed hard, afraid to scare you, he was ready to see the horror in your face. But his breath got stuck in his throat as you didn’t even flinch, when the gas dissipated and you were still there, he couldn’t believe it.

Confused, he blinked. “Y-You didn’t see it?”

“See what?” You frowned. “I only see your mask.”

There wasn’t something that scared you?

Hesitating, you bit you lower lip a little while your hands touched the hem of the mask covering his face.

Maybe you had to be drugged in order to meet him.

In a very intimate and delicate motion, you pulled it from his head. Holding the mask in one hand, you ran your free hand through his disheveled hair to smooth it, loving the way it fell against his forehead.

His fingers felt cold against your cheek, but his lips were the perfect fit for yours when he titled his head to kiss you. Tentative at first, to then move at a slow rhythm.

Accidentally, Jonathan pressed the gas button as his hands circled your waist, taking you both by surprise. Looking into each other’s eyes, you both chuckled at it, only to start kissing again.

And for the first time, he knew that he could show someone the real him, the man behind the mask.

***

Tag list: @lyarr24 @datewithgianni @cloudofdisney @gretelshelby @lespendy @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @onlydeadcells @esposadomd @stevie75 @strayrockette @the-forest-witchh @forgottenpeakywriter @elenavampire21 @peakyscillian @babaohhhriley @ange-thoughts @shelbydelrey @shaddixlife @sloanexx @kpopgirlbtssvt

Master list

[huntingingoodwill]

you’re! ruining! date! night! (j.c.)

masterlist

send requests for my 1.3k sleepover!

requested by: anon

prompt: "i've waited so long for this."

a/n: main atrocity in this is the reader using a fork to eat korean fried chicken instead of a gloved hand. i stand by the hc that jonathan is vegetarian all week except for fridays where he gets a free pass. please enjoy.

“I’ve waited so long for this.” Jon’s breath was warm against your shoulder as he sighed into it. He pressed his nose into the crook of your neck, his dark, dishevelled hair brushing against your jaw. 

Your nose scrunched at the ticklish sensation, laughter bubbling in your throat as you leaned away. His arms locked themselves around your waist, circling you in even as you tried to squirm out his grasp. 

“Maybe,” You began, adding oil to the saucepan, tilting it and watching as the liquid lazily circled around its surface, “You wouldn’t have to wait so long for date night if you didn’t insist on spending every night working late at Arkham.” 

“Don’t get smart with me.” He deadpanned, chest rumbling against your back as he grumbled. 

“Oh,” You sighed, overly saccharine in your sarcasm. “No one could ever be smarter than you, darling.” 

You felt him tense behind you, arms growing still around your waist. 

“Oh Jon, I was just teasing! I hope you aren’t gonna get into one of your moods again-” You sighed, trying to placate him when he cut you off, clapping his hand over your mouth. 

He lifted his finger to his lips, bright blue eyes alert as they darted around the room.

“He’s here.” He whispered, eyes turning toward the front door of his apartment. 

Slowly, he raised his arm, fingers feeling across the wall until he found the light switch. Click. The apartment plunged into darkness. You glanced at Jon, watching as he clenched his jaw, steeling himself as the pale, cold moonlight streaming in through the window casted him in its glow. 

He lifted his hand from your lips, pushing down on your shoulder. You followed his prompt, crouching down, shrouded by darkness in a shadowy corner of his kitchen. 

His gaze never leaving the front door, he smoothed a reassuring hand over your hair as you, tucked your legs into your chest, trying to make yourself as small as possible. 

He crept toward the door, feeling for his briefcase as he stepped through the living room. He took his time, opening the black, leather case open at a painstakingly slow speed. The click of its closures cut through the silence, the air thick with tension. He felt for a vial of his toxin, feeling its cool glass in his clammy hand. He reached for his mask, slipping it over his head. 

He reached out for the door knob. You watched, silencing yourself, hand held over your mouth. You could feel your laboured breath against your palm. 

His fingers barely grazed the door knob before it burst open, Batman’s silhouette illuminated in the light of the dingy hall. You rolled your eyes. This guy again. 

“Looks like I found you, Dr. Crane.” He growled, swinging at Jon. 

Jon managed to dodge the first one, but the next one caught him in the jaw, and you winced as you watched him bob backward, almost stumbling to the floor as he blinked away the pain. 

Bruce used that moment of vulnerability, shoving him against the wall with such force the window rattled in its pane. 

“You’re going away for a long, long ti-!” Bruce’s raspy voice trailed off into a squeak as you crept up behind him from the kitchen, bashing him on the head with your saucepan. 

“You’re!” Smack. “Ruining!” Bang. “Date!” Whack. “Night!” You screamed, using all your might to hit him on the head, over and over. 

He became very still, blinking, and you worried for a moment that you’d get out of this in cuffs, and he’d only sustain a couple of light bruises. 

Then, dazed, he fell to the floor. 

You huffed, wicking sweat away from your brow as his heavy body laid sprawled out on the floor. Your chest heaved from exertion, and, suddenly exhausted, you allowed the pan to slip out your hand, clattering to the floor. 

You fell into Jon’s arms as he wrapped his arms around you, smoothing down your hair. 

“I’m too tired to cook.” You grumbled into his shoulder. “I think I can’t, anyway. The pan’s dented. My poor pan.”  

“I’ll get you a new one.” Jon cooed, gently rocking back and forth as the two of you stood, wilting into each other’s arms, ignoring the unconscious body on the floor. 

You sighed, cheek pressing into the sharp bone of Jon’s shoulder as you nodded down at Bruce. 

“What do we do? Date night’s ruined. And there’s the matter of him, of course.” 

“No,” Jon said, putting his hands on your shoulders. “It’s not ruined yet. I know what to do.” 

“Hm..?” Bruce grumbled, the fog that clouded his eyes, making the world around him a blur, slowly lifting as he blinked away sleep. “Huh…what…? Where- Crane!”  He yelled, registering where he was. 

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” You smiled, your voice so bright it cut through the throbbing pain blooming all across Bruce’s head. You sauntered over from the front door, kicking it shut with your heel as two bags of takeaway hung off your hands, swinging with every step you took. 

You set down the boxes on the dining table, three places already set: you, Jon, and a last minute setting for Bruce, tied up to the dining room chair. 

His arms strained against the rope, and he struggled, only succeeding in rocking the wooden chair back and forth, its legs squeaking across the floor. 

Jon came over, two beer bottles in hand. He held one up to his mouth, pulling the cap off with his teeth, the sound of the fizzy drink sizzling from the bottle. 

“Cool, huh?” You gushed to Bruce, keeping your hands busy as you opened up the takeaway boxes. The greasy, fragrant smell of Korean fried chicken filled the air. “It’s one of his most redeemable qualities.” You cooed, laughing as Jon rolled his eyes. 

“Hush.” He mumbled, bringing the other bottle to his lips. 

“That, and I broke the bottle opener.” You whispered. 

You skewered a piece of the tender chicken with a fork, wagging it in front of Bruce. 

“Here comes the choo choo train! No?” You frowned as Bruce glared at you, gaze dripping with derision. 

“C’mon, I promise it’s good! Say ahhhhh!” You exclaimed. 

Bruce inhaled, taking a deep sigh, wishing he had chosen a different career path. 

“Ahhh.” He grumbled, opening his mouth and allowing you to feed him a piece of chicken, chewing irritatedly. 

“Good job.” You smiled. 

You turned to Jon, catching his eye as he raised an eyebrow at you. 

“Don’t be jealous.” You quipped, a cheeky smile growing on your face. You stabbed another piece of chicken onto the fork, making your way over to Jon. 

You slid into his lap, feeding him a piece before throwing your arms around his neck, planting a kiss on his stubbled cheek as he hummed gratefully. 

“Ew.” You heard a voice grumble behind you, turning to see a disgusted Bruce, all but forced to watch your displays of affection. 

“You’re the one who interrupted our date night!” You laughed, Jon’s hands wrapping around your waist. 

“Get a room.” He huffed. 

“You’re in our apartment!”

[robinofgothamcity]

♡ character: jonathan crane x reader

♡ pronouns used: she / her

♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes / can we talk about the chokehold cillian murphy has on us bc of oppenheimer? legit busting out this fanfic of scarecrow bc cillian played him. might be ooc but who cares? cillian murphy scarecrow will always be superior

"i think gotham university is actually the worst but it's cheap and gives me the degree without having too many student loans," you said as you stirred your iced coffee. being a senior in college, all the consumed your life was finishing off your last year strong and trying to pay off your debts as soon as you could, "so does that mean you won't be coming to the party?"

you gave your friend an eyeroll, "my love, what kind of 24 year old rolls up to a frat party? no less on a Tuesday night? some of the boys there will probably try to get laid just so they can say they had a night with a cougar," you and your friend instantly started laughing, "but i am willing to go to that bar this weekend!"

just as you started getting up get to refill your coffee, you noticed a man standing in front of you. you knew he was a professor here but you didn't know for which department. you gave him a small smile as a hello and deciding just to pour your coffee without saying much.

you were pouring your ice into your cup and minding your business when you noticed that Dr.Crane dropped his own coffee on the bar. you quickly took out a stack of napkins, instantly helping him clean up. the coffee was searing hot which made you realize that you were burning your hand in the process.

"fuck, that hurts!" you whispered. Dr.Crane immediately pulled your hand back, "here, let me see," he said as he analyzed your now red hand. it was burning and your hand started to bubble up from the heat, "we're going to have ointment on that as soon as possible. you're going to need to come with me."

you were a bit thrown off by how blunt he was being however you knew Dr.Crane was known for being a bit stand offish. he wasn't the kind of professor that everyone got along with or even went to his office to talk too.

he dragged you off to his office, immediately pulling out his emergency aid kit and started the healing process. you sat back, texting your friend to pack your things off and leaving it in front of his office. you didn't say a word as he was murmuring to himself, "this might sting so brace yourself," he whispered.

you instantly shot up in pain, trying not to yell but the pain of the ointment made you grab his arm and squeeze it. he chuckled as you were trying to show that you weren't in pain however it was very evident that your pain tolerance was not that high.

"you did well for someone that just had rubbing alcohol rubbed into an open wound," you gave him a weary smile before he started placing a bandage wrap on your hand, "so, what's your major?" he asked jumping into a completely different conversation.

"early education! I want to be a preschool teacher!" he hummed in interest, "love children?" you shook your head in agreement, "i love teaching them however to have some of my own is not really my gist," he nodded, "that should do it. keep the bandage on until Saturday and after that, you should place some more healing ointment on it but let the wound breathe. you don't need it to get infected."

"thank you so much Dr.Crane," he brushed you off, "it's not your fault. I was the one who dropped coffee on the bar." he helped you up from the chair and opened the door, "what is your name?"

you gave him your name as you shook his hand with your bandaged one, "you're welcomed into my office at any time." that was all he said before walking away into the next hallway. you didn't know what he meant by that but you didn't think too much into it. you grabbed your things and rubbed your bandages as you started to walk away from his office.

+

Saturday night came around as you were getting dressed for the night. you were meeting your friends at a bar not too far from your apartment. you were wearing a tennis skirt and a tank top to battle the heat that was still lingering in Gotham. you knew that you were bound to regret it since the bar all of you wanted to go to was a bit more on the expensive side and probably had the air conditioning cranked all the way up.

you pulled on your shoes and went to meet your friends in front of the bar. as you were waiting for them to arrive, you noticed a couple of men entering. you could have sworn one of them looked like Dr.Drane but you figured that couldn't be Dr.Crane. he didn't seem like the bar attending type.

"hey, isn't that Dr.Crane from the psychology department?" one of you friends said later into the night. you turned around and true to her word, Dr.Crane and two other men were sitting down at the bar, sipping on what looked like whiskey. you could have sworn that he was staring at you but you shook that feeling away, "I think it is. I could've sworn I saw him earlier but didn't think that was actually him."

you wanted to get another drink but suddenly, you felt a bit nervous approaching the bar. you could sense Dr.Cranes very blue eyes now starting to look at you but the urge to get another beer was calling your name.

one of your friends noticed how you were drinking a bit more but as soon as she saw the professor staring at you, it all connected.

"oh, you're scoring high, aren't you?" she asked laughing. you shook your head no, "that's a professor at the university I attend. I might a bit desperate but not that desperate."

"what are the chances that Crane has the hots for you,-" "very likely as he is coming over here with two glasses of wine in his hand."

your eyes widened, not knowing what to do. you admittedly tried to fix your hair as he approached your table, "I figured it'd be polite to bring you a glass of wine before I whisked you away from your friends," he said handing it over to you, "I just wanted to ask how your hand healed."

your friends instantly moved away from the table, "if I remember telling you correctly, you could have removed the bandage today," he stated. you chuckled awkwardly, "uh, I got scared and figured I'd have a friend help me in case I needed it rebandaged. he's a pre-med student so I knew I could trust him."

"scared? of a little burn? come on, let me help you."

you didn't say a thing and let him take the lead. he grabbed your hand and unwrapped it, sensing that your hand was shaking a bit. he examined the now healed wound. a burn mark that he was sure was going to scar but other than that, nothing to be concerned of.

"ah, as I suspected. not much besides scarring. once you get home, apply more healing ointment," you nodded in agreement, "thank you Dr.Crane," he chuckled lowly, "i'm not at work, please call me Jonathan."

"thank you a lot Jonathan-," "come sit with my friends and I."

you wanted to protest but you didn't see your friends in the same spot anymore. they had all wandered off with men they saw to hang out with for the night. you swore to yourself that you'd end up punching them for leaving you alone with Jonathan for the night.

"oh, of course. I hope I'm not intruding," you whispered. Jonathan shook his head, "not at all." you walked up to his friends who seemed to be whispering to each other until you walked up.

"this is my lovely companion ( your name). ( your name ), these are my partners who work alongside me at Arkham. Jervis Tetch and Edward Nashton."

you gave them a smile and shook their hands, "it's a pleasure," you said. Jervis placed a kiss on the back of your hand, "no, pleasure is all mine," he said.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow as his friend indicating to back off. you sat next to Jonathan as the three talked about various different things. you didn't care to speak up as the wine you were drinking was enough enjoyment.

"so, you attend Gotham University? what is your degree in?" Edward suddenly asked you. you perked up a bit, "oh! early childhood education. intending to be a preschool teacher!"

"interesting, developing the minds of young children, how sweet," he replied. you nodded as you didn't catch the wink that Edward sent Jonathan's way, "yeah! it's fun being around all of them and being able to teach them the fundamentals of life!"

you got up, excusing yourself to get another glass of wine as the three men all watched you leave.

"I understand why she became of interest. pretty little thing, isn't she?" Jervis asked. Jonathan agreed, "with a little help from Jervis, I'm sure she'll be a great help with all of our plans."

Jonathan needed a partner. not so much of romance, although he didn't mind if that's how it worked out with you, but with someone who could help him get Gotham under his ruling. there were certain characteristics that intrigued him about you and after doing extensive research on you, he knew you'd be the perfect one.

you were dancing to the music that was playing in the bar as you awaited your wine. he went up to you as the lights dimmed down and the music got louder.

"no one is here to watch us dance with the lights now being lowered. mind?" now with the buzz of the alcohol in your system, you agreed and followed him to the floor. you were dancing against him as he remained as stiff as a board.

you didn't seem to care as he knew that him acting out a bit ridiculously was only temporary. through his research, he knew you were a party girl in your early 20s. your social medias didn't hide it and the photos you were tagged in seemed like you had a bit of a promiscuous side to you as well.

"you're a gorgeous girl, how come your out here without a partner," you shrugged in response, "romance never seemed to find me." he chuckled as bent down to your ear, "even though it is against policy that professors have any kind relationship with a pupil, I did see that you are in your last year."

you nodded in agreement as he noticed that your eyes had gotten lowered due to the alcohol, "so does that mean you want to see me after this?" he hummed in agreement, "way more than you realize." you giggled cutely as you turned around and faced him.

his glasses were fogged due to how warm the bar was.

"well I can't say that I'm opposed to that idea," you whispered. he smirked as he realized Jervis' power must've been working, "I love that you're on board with the idea." his hands found your thighs as he rubbed them.

you giggled once again as you smashed your lips against his. you didn't care if this landed back in your car or your place but the higher his hands went, the warmer your face got. your tongue was fighting against his as your breath quickened up.

"how about we take this back to my house?" you nodded excitedly as Jervis and Edward noticed that Jonathan's plan went onto succeed, "I guess we're no longer needed?" Jervis asked Edward. he nodded as he chuckled, "ever the ladies man, isn't he?" Edward responded.

the two friends shook their heads in disbelief as they noticed you hanging off of Jonathan's side, placing kisses on his next as his hand remained rubbing against your thigh.

[dragoneye01]

Under My Skin (Jonathan Crane x Reader)

Word Count: 1,222

Summary: Everyone gets under Jonathan Crane's skin, even the one he likes the most. But you're different.

It was easy to get under Jonathan Crane’s skin. Most people were annoying, picky, and irked him. They got under his skin, but you.  .  . you were different. Oh yes, you did get under his skin. You asked a lot of questions, too many questions. You talked too much about too many things. If he didn’t know you to be an English Literature teacher, he would’ve taken you for a scientist or a philosopher. Your knowledge of the natural world was astounding, along with your takes on the human psyche. It was like a special interest to you, especially the effects of certain fungi on the brain. You were fascinated by the mushroom that controlled creatures, the fungus that moved creatures to its own will. 

Jonathan Crane, for the longest time, thought that you knew about his secret identity, especially after he was let go from Gotham University over shooting a gun off in class. 

“That was you? I thought it had been an overactive student.” You commented when the two of you had met for coffee after the incident. He had just taken up his mantle as The Scarecrow and was on edge, wondering if you KNEW. 

“I’m afraid the students did not appreciate my demonstration and thus I was fired. No one appreciates a good lecture anymore.” Jonathan huffed. 

“No, students are changing. Entitled little brats.” You scoffed. “Did I tell you about the class discussion where I couldn’t dock a student points for being a bigot because of the school’s policy? I wanted to expel this student from my class, but the dean insisted it’d be discriminatory against their beliefs, even though said beliefs were bigoted! Can you believe it? I should just quit school and create a life of crime.” You laughed. 

Jonathan laughed nervously. 

“Yes, a life of crime. And what would you do?” He asked, carefully. 

“Hmm.  .  . maybe I’d perfect an experiment on fungi that can take control of their host, controlling others into doing my bidding. I could release a toxin or cultivate it in a public space so that I could use others to steal money for me. Collecting books is an expensive hobby.” A smile broke out on your face. At that Jonathan could agree. 

And that’s where he found himself now. Using his fear toxin he broke into the Gotham University Library, into the old and interesting section. There were many books there of interest, but he only had eyes for one. It was a story collection from the mid-nineteenth century that centered on gothic fairy tales. Haunting and eerie tales that were beloved to many. You had a soft spot for this collection, so much so that he made sure to wear gloves when handling it. Stealing it was easy. Why keep this book hidden away in a library full of ungrateful people? That was his reasoning. You would love and cherish this book. Display it, keep it out of direct sunlight, find pride in it. 

Jonathan had invited you over to his apartment to share a cup of tea or coffee when he showed you the book. He handed you a pair of soft, cloth gloves and then bestowed the book to you. This was the moment of truth. Would you know who he was? The theft wasn’t in the news. Who would report on one stolen library book? But would you understand how he got it? Would you see his well-kept secret? Would you accept him for who he had become? 

You held the book reverently, easily identifying it as the one from the Gotham University Library. Softly, you whispered, “Jonathan, how did you get this?” 

Jonathan had left the room for a moment to get your cups after the tea had finished steeping. “Oh, don’t you know? I’ve begun a life of crime now and stealing books is my goal.” He said as sarcastically as possible. 

“You’re not lying.” You spoke. Jonathan stared at you, heart skipping a bit. “You have a tell when you’re lying. It’s like you slip, from the years of academia, and you get a twang to your voice. You’re not lying this time. You really did it, didn’t you? I heard rumors at the University about you, ya know? That you had.  .  .”

“That I had what?” He asked quietly, holding the cups of tea. You sat on his sofa with the book held to your chest, eyes open so wide. 

“They call you the Scarecrow now, don’t they?” It was barely above a whisper. 

“That they do, my dear.” Jonathan stared at you intently. 

“And you stole a book for me?” 

“It would appear so.” 

“A favorite of mine. What did you do to get it?” You asked curiously. Jonathan still held the cups, standing in the doorway. 

“I have created a fear toxin and I used it to scare the security guards senseless, letting me sneak in to take the book. It was such a small theft that it wasn’t reported. Can you imagine? That University admitting that someone so easily came in and took what they wanted? They’d never admit to it.” He noticed a look on your face, a look of curiosity. A look of interest. 

“Is it bad that I’m not scared?” 

“Did you know beforehand?” He asked. 

“I guessed.  .  . you know, with how you managed to still live decently after being let go. You seemed to be enraptured in something, but I never could guess what it was. But now.  .  . this is everything. You’re the Scarecrow! The King of Fear!” You laughed loudly, setting the book on the coffee table. Standing up, you walked over to the doorway and took your cup of tea. Jonathan watched your every move. 

“Are you scared?” 

“Should I be?” You asked, breathlessly. 

“Only if you want to be.” You both stood so closely together, taking up space in the doorway. He took a chance. Jonathan reached out a hand and cupped your face, running his thumb over your cheekbone. He leaned in for a chaste kiss, honestly surprised when you didn’t pull away. You pressed your lips to his and then pulled away before he could ask for more. 

“The tea will get cold.” You smiled. 

“That’s true.” He nodded. 

“Would you read to me?” 

“Read to you?” 

“Yes, out of the book. I’d like it if you read one of the stories to me.” You walked over to the sofa again. Jonathan sat with you, knees touching. With gloves on, he picked the book up, flipping it open to a random story. You leaned into his shoulder, listening to the drawl of his words. As he read, his southern accent came out, making the words drip like honey. Jonathan’s eyes scanned the pages, occasionally glancing at you. He never wanted this moment to end. But every story had to have an ending. 

“I almost wish the tale didn’t have to end.” He commented when you finished the gothic retelling of Red Riding Hood. 

“You could always steal me another book and we could keep doing this.” He liked that little smirk that came on your face. “We could have our own personal library. You read me a story. I read you a story. It doesn’t have to end with this.” 

“Oh, my dear, it’s just beginning.” Jonathan smiled, carefully shutting the book.

[scorpiussage]

NSFW Alphabet - Johnathan Crane (Scarecrow) 

- I’m not much of a DC fan so this is entirely based off the Nolan movies and what we see of Cillian Murphy’s Scarecrow 

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Not an aftercare man at all. For real, you’d be lucky if he stayed in bed next to you after he’s done fucking you - he’s busy and got things to do and places to be. 

But, I think that if you caught him at a vulnerable moment (Scarecrow giving him extra grief or him struggling with the Batman) he might indulge in some cuddling but it would be very short lived and he’d expect you to never bring it up again.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Loves someone with a brilliant mind, body doesn’t matter to him at all. He just wants someone who’s crazy matches his crazy. 

He’s literally so vain though, like he will not leave the house unless he looks perfect and put together. 

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He doesn’t really have much of a preference to where he cums, just that he does. Most of the time it’ll be in you but he has been known to like to finish on your face from time to time. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Scarecrow is obv his big secret, but I think that if he took the time to pursue a relationship with you, it would be because both him and Scarecrow are attracted to you. So that might be a dirty secret of his, that he likes to let the other guy take control some times so that he can get his quality time in with you too.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Not very experienced, he’s always been a huge dork and also very career driven so he’s never put any time into having sex. That said, he’s incredibly knowledgeable about the human body so even though he’s not very experienced, he knows all the best places to touch you.

F = Favourite Position (idk the names of any sex positions so Im just going try and describe them)

Johnathan is a massive control freak and so his favorite positions are all ones that put him in control of you. You on your knees with your face pressed into the mattress and your hands tied behind your back is a particular favorite of his. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He is literally not capable of being goofy and silly. It’s just not who he is. So sex will always be incredibly intense and serious.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Not very intimate nor romantic (though he could be if he wanted to, he just doesn’t want to) 

Don’t get it twisted though, he’s possessive and even though he may not show his affections like other people, you belong to him and he’ll remind you of it regularly. 

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Doesn’t masturbate beyond getting excess energy out. He’s not got the time for that.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He’s got a huge doctor/patient kink to the point he’d convince you to get admitted to Arkham so that he could be your doctor and “give you treatments” 😉 

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

His office at Arkham or whatever seedy warehouse he’s using that week, he’s not picky.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Control and fear are pretty obvious motivators for him. 

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything church or religion related is a big yikes to him. 

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He will only give you head if it means a new way to dominate and control you into doing something he wants. That’s just sort of his personality. 

He’s personally pretty eh about receiving. It feels good and makes him cum, but he could also get that from fucking you so it’s not a necessity.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Not slow or fast so much as brutal and intense. Getting fucked by Johnathan is absolutely world ending and also too much. You’ll only be able to handle one round at a time from him. 

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He’s not one for quickies usually just because he’s very work focused and you absolutely will not tear him away from whatever new thing he’s doing. He has allotted time set aside to fuck you and he will not do it outside of that time.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He loves taking risks, it’s sort of his whole thing because there’s a tie in to fear. You have to be someone who will go along with whatever he wants because if you don’t, he’ll get bored with you very fast.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Average stamina. He could probably do sexathons but he doesn’t have the time for that, his experiments take priority. 

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t own toys personally but if you own them, he’ll for sure use them on you regularly. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Nothing would turn him on more than teasing you to the point of tears. He’s an absolute sadist about that and he’s unapologetic about it too. 

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Not loud, actually very quiet but when Scarecrow is in the drivers seat, he does a lot of dirty talk. 

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He’s the kind of man who loves one and only one. So if you start a relationship with him, there’s no ending that relationship, you’re his forever. 

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Long and average width. Cock size doesn’t matter with a guy like this, he’ll make you cum regardless. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Pretty low sex drive, he’s not really someone who spends a lot of time thinking about sex. 

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn’t sleep until he’s certain he’s in a safe location. So unless you do it at his place, he’s not one to fuck and then immediately fall asleep. 

[madame-fear]

HIII

HELLO, I love your blog, your stories make me smile. um um feel free to ignore but i wanted to ask gotham! jonathan and DK! Jonathan, cheering on his partner on his birthday POSTSCRIPT: Yesterday was my birthday XD, another thing, English is not my native language, SO I'M SORRY FOR THE SPELLING MISTAKES

— a/n : hello love !! Happy late Birthday darling!! 🥳❤ AHJDJDK no worries for English cause it's not my native tongue as well! hope u enjoy this ♡

�� Gotham! Jonathan : ♡

• Our boy will literally immerse you with love. His arms would be tightly wrapped around your waist, and would kiss you happily all over your face.

• The second you wake up on your birthday, he will already be leaving you breathless as he tightly hugs you, and showers you in love; plus, gives you tons of jolly birthday wishes.

• Will literally bring breakfast to bed and will also show up with a bouquet of roses he had brought for you the day before and kept hidden so you wouldn't spoil one of his surprises!

• Probably will let the J Squad and/or the Legion know about your birthday so they can celebrate it with you, if you wish. Or simply, give you gifts... or even help him with gifting ideas. Honestly it's probably that he would call the J Squad + the Legion only so they can give him ideas for your birthday. 🥲

• Will literally take you ANYWHERE you wish. Out for a walk in the park, out for a coffee birthday date, to the shopping mall, etc. And also, will spoil you to no end by buying you whatever thing he sees fit for you, and thinks you'll like! No 'buts' allowed.

“babe, what do you think about this? Do you like it?” “yeah, it seems pretty ni–” “SAY NO MORE. I'll buy it for you!”

• After you come home from nearly being all day out exploring the city for your birthday, he will run a warm, bubbly bath while he sets everything up for a perfect birthday night.

• Jonathan will even prepare your favourite food for you! Which is unusual, since he prefers having you cooking – but oh well, it's your special day.

• ^ Also, he'd prepare your favourite dessert, and will prepare some comfy clothing on top of your bed so you can change into that. Plus, he will prepare some good movie nights for both of you!

• After dinner and shortly before dessert, he will take out every hidden gift he had for you! Each one has a special little note for you, and he will be clinging by your side with a glint of excitement to see how you'll react to it.

• Pretty much will have you spoiled all day long, and will treat you like an absolute ✨ Queen ✨

♡ DK! Jonathan : ♡

• Unlike Gotham! Crane, he's not as expressive or clingy with his love. But, of course, that doesn't mean he doesn't have his ways of showing his beloved that he loves you!

• Even if he's a busy man, he will have someone replace him on his work only to spend more time with you. Literally.

• The first thing you'll see, is a little note with a bunch of hearts surrounding it, greeting you a good morning and a joyful birthday, and that he's on the kitchen preparing breakfast for both of you.

• When you go downstairs to the kitchen, you'll find the whole house set up for your birthday; with balloons of your favourite colours, a bouquet of flowers, general birthday decorations, and all the gifts on top of the living table.

“happy birthday, my love. i hope all your wishes come true, and that you have a joyful birthday, sweet darling.”

• DK! Crane will make you open all the gifts he proudly chose for you all for himself, based on all the knowledge he has on your likings. And, even if he won't show it... he lives for your happiness and the way you praise him when he does/gives you something you absolutely ADORE.

• It may be books, dresses, jewellery... whatever you most desire, he got it! And you're satisfied! (and so he is at your overjoyed reaction).

• Our man will also make you use your best clothing, as he reserved a special spot on your favourite place as to take you out for your birthday, and spend the evening there, together.

• And after you go back home, he will proudly keep spoiling by making a hot chocolate for you, plus he would bring you a small birthday cake of your favourite flavour while he sings "Happy Birthday".

• CUDDLING NIGHT WITH HIM WHILE YOU SHARE CAKE AND HOT CHOCOLATES!!!

• Our Jonathan will make sure he gives you the most special day ever, pampered, and happy. ♡

[finniestoncrane]

BTAA!Scarecrow x GN!Reader, word count: 2k commission: jonathan experiences the joys of getting to be the victim for a change, and you are more than happy to oblige if it means getting to test out your theory that nothing can actually scare him 🎃🧡 commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: roleplay, bondage, sensation play, impact play

It was a willing ‘kidnapping’. For all that Jonathan had studied film and screen, scrutinised and admired the various acting techniques of the horror star he loved so dearly, his acting skills were below par. But it hadn’t stopped him from insisting that there had to be a theme, a plot, to your change in the scheduled programming.

If he was going to relinquish his position as the father of fear, it was still going to be under his terms.

“You know, I always found myself tutting at those scream queens. Who falls over that often? Let alone when you’re being chased by a nightmare beyond your imagination…”

Jonathan’s eyes flitted to you quickly. Even now, there was still a predatory glare in them. That natural inclination towards control and dominance still lingering a little, despite the situation he, very willingly, found himself in. 

“... Now I understand. They wanted to be caught. To be the victim. It’s quite delicious, actually.”

His gaze fell to his wrists, bound to the chair he sat on, the soft, specialty rope equally tight around his ankles. He looked the perfect victim. Dishevelled, sweating, shirt on but unbuttoned exposing his soft stomach and chest, lightly peppered with greying hairs. Only his underwear covered the bottom half, giving you a glimpse of the obvious bulge at the front where his semi-erect cock stole the stage, twitching each time you came closer to him, fear and excitement ruling his reactions. 

“Or maybe that’s just me. Maybe it gets boring being the big, bad, villain. And maybe I needed a little subversion of expectations. Either way, this is a very interesting twist.”

The quieter you were, the more he spoke, filling in the silence with his rambling, a nervous trait, or perhaps just one that signified how impatient he was, how badly he wanted the real fun to begin. 

“I’m so used to every convention, every trope. But this? This is something new. This is how I felt when Pamela Voorhees was revealed to us. When we saw Norman in his mother’s dress and that terrible wig. When Kramer stood up from that bloody puddle in the middle of the bathroom floor. This is a genre defining moment.”

You lifted the satin scarf from the table where you had laid out your instruments slowly and carefully, allowing Jonathan a glimpse at what was to come, setting the scene, allowing the tension to build. His heartbeat was almost audible from where you stood in front of him, the steady thuds louder as you leaned in to him, tying the scarf around his head and adjusting it over his eyes until his vision was completely blacked out. 

“Ah, heightened senses? Or intentionally taking away an important one that allows for security in unfamiliar environments? Either way, I’ve got goosebumps!”

He was giddy, an almost childlike glee lilting in his words as he wiggled excitedly in the chair. Of course, the aim of the session was to please him, but you wanted to scare him too, and that still seemed like an impossible feat. 

Despite that, however, he still seemed enthusiastic about his lower position on the food chain. The moment his vision was rendered useless, his skin began to prickle with a warmth that started deep in his core, the slight twitch of his cock as he listened carefully for your movements was a dead giveaway of his obvious excitement.

“You know, this is often why horror movies are so dark, at least modern examples. Darkness is terrifying, what’s hidden there is left to our imagination. It’s a cheap and easy way to conjure terror without doing much.”

With your fingers hovering over them, dancing with delight, you tried to decide which of your tools to use first, eventually settling on the pinwheel. Something sour to begin, you could always soothe him afterwards if need be.

“Not that I think you’re looking for the easy way out, it’s more of an observation, a chance to educate you on- ooooh!”

Jonathan’s lecture was cut short, mostly of his own accord, as he felt the sharp points of the pinwheel begin to cross over his bare thighs in light tracks. You were careful to keep the pressure light as you pressed it towards the inner, softer areas, and back out again. 

“Actually, you could be a little rougher with the- ah, ah, ah…”

“Jonathan.”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Be quiet. I’m not asking you. I am telling you. Keep your mouth closed from here on out…”

You lifted your free hand to his cheek, a smile curling up on the corner of your mouth as he flinched at first then settled into the caress.

“... or you’ll really suffer, ok?”

“Y-...”

He silenced himself, immediately obeying your instructions, and nodded his head, hair falling loose from the tidy parting and falling in front of the silk scarf. 

Pleased with his ability to take an order, you increased the pressure of the pinwheel as a treat, finding yourself far more excited than you imagined by the small dots it left in Jonathan’s skin. He hissed a little, but never uttered any of the safe words you had agreed on, and each time you ramped up the pain, testing his limit, reaching his threshold, his smile only grew wider in response. 

When you finally stopped, deciding to move on to the next implement of torture, as Jonathan had called them, you could feel him arching his back in an attempt to keep you near him, his wrists straining against the ropes until he sat back down in the seat and made an effort to be patient. 

As far as his preferences went, it was becoming clear that Jonathan wasn’t a soft person, and his lack of pain threshold had begun to intrigue you. So the next item you picked up was the riding crop. You’d felt the pleasure of it before on your own flesh, Jonathan’s fist clenched tight around the end as he brought it down against your rear. He’d smiled as you yelped, a cruel satisfaction in coaxing any kind of animalistic sound from you. You wondered if he’d like to know what sounds he might make.

With the end of the crop hovering just over his bare thigh, you swatted down quickly, not touching his skin, but letting the woosh of the cool air give him a hint at what was to come. And, as predicted, as hoped, Jonathan’s body twitched and he let out a quiet exclamation. 

“Oh… are you tricking your audience into believing that this is a thriller? Offering up suspense before the true horror follows? Is that the twist?”

Despite the smug tone he was trying to convey in his words, you could hear his voice trembling ever so slightly. There was worry behind it. Excited worry, but worry all the same. You wondered how soon you might be able to get terror out of him, if at all. 

It was all well and good keeping up the slow build. Easing him into what was to come for him. That was what he wanted, after all. You’d seen his eyes widen when the third act of a film opened up, the tense but manageable pace of the first hour giving way to a thundering and panic-inducing climax. That’s what he wanted for his body. To be ravaged, hunted, terrorised. You could see it now in the way his fingers scratched at the arms of the chair, how his stomach tensed as he let his imagination run wild. Anticipation built, and it would hopefully give way to the delicious adrenaline rush of fear. You wanted to give him that, a good scare. 

With a quick movement, snapping through the air, you brought the crop back down again, pulling it back with a creeping grin as you watched the red welts form almost immediately on his legs, almost magical in the way they were created from nothing but the impact. Knowing it would smart, you sat down on his lap, watching him wince as you put pressure on his newly bruised flesh. 

Closing in on him, listening to his breath hitch and quicken as you dove into his neck. With your tongue pressed out, you let it drag up the front of his throat, watching the veins and tendons pop as he tensed against the surprisingly gentle touch. It was what he needed, but not what he wanted. The contrast was sweet, but only for a moment. And then you were both back to needing the blood lust.

Your teeth sank into him, sharp and tight, a force he hadn’t expected, and his wince, the sharp mewl that followed it, only made you bite down harder. And as that surprise fell away, you offered him another, raising your hand and placing your fingertips to his throat, increasing the pressure little by little, watching his gasps become shallower, more strained. The more he choked, the more he struggled, the harder he seemed to get.

Below the blindfold his eyes were widening, pupils dark and sparkling with excitement. His mouth hung open in abject terror as what was left of the air in his lungs finally expired, and his life flashed before his eyes as he tried to refill them. You eased up, watching him take a deep, panicked breath, enough for him to be able to answer you, then you closed your fingers again, speaking quietly, so soft in comparison to how you were treating him. 

“Tell me you want me to hurt you, Jonathan.”

His choked response was filled with enthusiasm. 

“I do, I really do.”

You leaned in further, lips touching, teasing, the shell of his ear.

“Are you scared?”

There was a pause, long enough that you realised he was purposefully avoiding the question. You tensed your fingers against his throat once more, watching his fingers scratch against the chair. He might not actually be all that scared, but he knew what you wanted to hear. And with a conniving little smile at the corner of his mouth, he answered.

“Oh, I’m just absolutely terrified.”

It was dripping in sarcasm, the kind of disingenuous statement you’d heard him make to his victims when they pleaded for mercy and he was stringing them along. Infuriating, almost. Of course, you’d set out with the main goal of pleasing him, and you’d succeeded. But you both knew that what you really wanted, almost equally desiring it, was to have his heart racing, chest pounding, as he let fear find him. 

Beneath you, you could feel his cock throbbing, desperate for a release, the tension ramping up. Incomplete. No grand finale. No closing scene, not even a cliffhanger. 

The monster was always scarier when left to your own imagination. When nothing was given away.

Without a word, you stood up and away from him, listening to his whimpers as he gathered his breath. He waited, breath hitching, for the next act. But it wasn’t coming. Even as he spoke your name, a quiver on the third or fourth time he asked for you, you refused to let him know where you were. You’d kept your footsteps imperceptible as you made your way to the corner by the door, content to find a good spot to watch him lose his mind in sensory deprivation. 

There he was, tied in place, blind to the room and so blind to where you were hiding from him. He called your name once more. Never the safe word, he wasn’t about to admit defeat. But you could hear the desperation in his words. 

You were going to let him worry. He knew that, deep down, even despite his pleading. 

It wasn’t fair, to resort to jumpscares, to torment him. But it was the only thing that seemed to work. Deny him the pleasure, deny him the happy ending he wanted. 

And it was working. He could feel himself edging closer to the end, core tightening as he wondered when you would jump out at him from the darkness, like the monster he hoped you were.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

SCARECROW | JONATHAN CRANE (general canon)

—

“Freakum Dress” (Scarecrow | Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader)

| Tasked with going to a gala with your miserable boyfriend things are not looking up, then one of the Rogues makes a special appearance. Whether that’s a good thing or not is…yet to be decided.

| SFW, showing off a new outfit, (TW: murder, mild gore), reader has a good for nothing boyfriend -chubby!reader

| Pic source: Batman - The Long Halloween

| 1k+ words

“Are you sure this will fit the theme?” You question through the bathroom door.

Your partner sighs so loud it passes straight through the reinforced wood to reach your ears.

“How many times are you gonna ask me that question? Either come out or don’t, but I’m leaving. You’ve been in there for like an hour.”

He walks off then and in a fit you finish fixing your hair and then throw your spray bottle on the counter. An hour. He was acting a fool over you taking an hour, as opposed to his measly ass twenty minutes, to get ready.

You pull open the door and yell: “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He yells back at you from the living room.

“Hell yeah! You’ve got 10 minutes before I go without you!”

Your nose scrunches and you glare at the closed bedroom door before sucking your teeth.

Fine. This was just going to have to be the outfit you settled on. The man had given you barely a day to get your shit together for his gala, spouting about wanting to show you off, only to throw a fit when you started asking what he deemed to be too many questions.

You brush your hands down the sides of your dress. Personally you didn’t think asking what the theme was once could be classified as ‘too many questions’, but whatever. You already know he’s moody as hell. One of the many things you’ve been putting up with since agreeing to date him almost two years ago now.

You size yourself up in the mirror. At least you looked good. Your boyfriend might have been in a mood but you’d been cooped up in the house for too long. It’d do you some good to go out.

“Yes ma’am!” you spin a little to look at the back of the dress before wiping away a smudge of your lipstick from your chin. You smile then lock off the light and leave the bathroom.

“I think I’m ready,” you tell your boyfriend from where he’s sitting at the dining table. Then it’s your turn to get spontaneously annoyed as he looks you up and down.

He licks his lips. “Oh, you're in theme alright.”

You scoff, giving him a tight lipped smile as you grab your purse.

“Good to know,” you open the front door and toss him his keys as he follows you. “Now let’s go.”

•••

You can tell as soon as you enter the gala, clutching your boyfriend’s arm while he holds you close by the waist, that you weren't quite in theme.

It’s a Halloween party, so you know you’re not completely off, but while you’re dressed in a backless sparkly orange floor length cocktail dress, the other women around you are definitely not so chaste.

While you’d thought you’d go with something more classic that showed off your figure (fupa and all), everyone else, who clearly were allowed time to put their outfits together and told the actual theme, was dressed in giant ball gowns and elegant bouta and colombina masks.

You narrow your eyes and blow off air as you’re dragged around like a prized pony. Your boyfriend mostly takes to showing you off to every manner of his twitchy eyed business associates. You swear you break out in hives just being in their vicinity.

When he’s introducing you to the CFO of his company the man is simularily twitchy, problem is this time his eyes aren’t the only thing with no manners. You have to knock his hand off thrice and endure a chocolate innuendo and some real shitty flirting attempts all while your impotent excuse for a partner just cracks jokes and kisses ass.

It’s when the old man utters: “You got yourself a real good woman, Mr. Daniels, but I’d never let mine go out dressed so inappropriately.” that you really lose it.

There’s a split second where you just have to take in that those words actually just came out of his mouth before you gut react.

You cock your head, “Excuse me-?”

Stefan grabs you by the arm and jerks you back from where you’ve taken a step towards his superior.

“Excuse us! We're just going to get some air, Sir!”

Then you're gone, being dragged off to an empty balcony by your boyfriend and his tacky as hell penny loafers.

“You’re a fucking punk, you know that?”

“Don’t do this shit right now, Y/n.”

“I’ma do whatever the hell I please after you just stood there like a dummy and let your boss harass me.”

He shakes his head with a scoff and deposits you in a low lit corner of the balcony. He stands in front of you, blocking you from the rest of the attendees in the main room as you take a moment to catch yourself.

The long suffering way he rolls his eyes is oddly hurtful.

“And so what?”

“So what?” Your eyes widen and you stare at him in bewilderment.

“Yeah,” he stresses. “You know how hard I’ve been working to get this promotion and he says a few words and you lose your shit! Can’t you just support me for on—!”

“—Ohhh, don’t you just hate it when couples fight?”

The both of you freeze.

Stefan doesn’t even turn but you can’t help the way your eyes track to find the source of the voice. At the corner of the small three person balcony, just out of your line of sight, a figure sits crouched on the stone railing. Glowing red eyes stare back at you where the person’s balancing effortlessly and you fight the urge to let out some unholy mix of a choked back whimper and a noise of pure frustration.

Of course one of Gotham’s Rogues was what your night needed.

You’re still staring at him when Stefan finally unglues himself and turns to stare too, and the longer you look - the longer anyone takes to speak - the more the darkness seems to aid in distorting the image of Scarecrow taking stock like he’s high above the fields.

Honestly, the fear he elicits isn’t unfounded. A far cry from the Dr. Crane you once learned under and TA’d for, this version of the man barely registered as human.

Spindly arms and legs make up his majority, the features of an otherwise completely normal man but the way he wears them makes your skin crawl. As far as you can tell there’s been no sightly gas permeating in the air that wasn’t Gotham’s usual smog, but a steady tremur is settling under your flesh anyway.

“U-um,” Stef clears his throat, taking a shaky step even closer to the man on the other side of the balcony. He holds his hands up and they shake down to their very marrow. You feel him. “Listen,” he’s saying, and that’s his negotiation voice.

“I don’t want any problems, alright? Just- look,” he indicts you over his shoulder and instantly your heart seizes with betrayal.

“Stef-!”

You try to grab him, get him to stop. To think. Two years worth of a relationship down the drain for this? Sefan isn’t having it though and shrugs your hand off before taking yet another step towards the man of nightmares.

Your arms fall to your sides in defeat as he starts trying to make a deal, throwing you under the bus in any way he can possibly think to.

“I’m not worth it, alright, Man? Her though? She’s got enough trauma for the both of us. Just let me go and- and I won’t call the cops or anything. I’ll just leave, yeah?”

At Scarecrow's continued silence you watch detached as Stefan gets even closer, hands clasped together with a big wobbly smile on his face.

“C’mon man, right? You can’t tell me you don’t want a piece of that. She’s so fucked up it’s a miracle she’s not been committed yet…”

Your absolutely gutless waste of an ex keeps going on but you stop listening to him the second Scarecrow starts physically responding to his words.

Still performing his balancing act, like a great perching crow the man leans forward slightly. Though he’s clearly gearing up to address Stefan it seems - to your great horror - that he’s looking at you instead.

The salt from your tears burns your eyes, and similarly your heart turns to cinder in your chest as the villain contemplates you.

You glare at Stefan’s back.

Fucking Stefan.

Scarecrow cuts the man’s treacherous word vomit off not a fiery blink later.

“Alright now,” he says, tone nearly placating. That grand scythe the villain fancies so much makes its first appearance, swinging around to threaten at Stefan’s space without falter, “that’ll do, Pig,” Scarecrow rasps, and Stefan perks up, hopeful.

You have a split second to wonder what the fuck that means before the scythe retreats then comes swinging back around towards an unsuspecting Stefan.

All it takes is one fluid blur of movement and then in a slow slide you watch, breathe lodged uncomfortably in your throat, as his head separates from his body with a slick sound.

His head falls to the ground with a wet thud and you blink wildly down at it. So wildly in fact that when his body follows - knees first as if in prayer and then sprawled unceremoniously to the ground - you barely react.

A shift, boots scratching against stone, and your eyes snap back upwards.

The long pointy tipped hat he’s wearing falls languidly from the left to the right in his exertion before his dark gaze is panning back to meet your own.

A beckoning hand is held out to you, signs of a human hand inviting you closer. For a brief wandering second your eyes slide to the glass doors, to the party beyond, and you imagine.

Would you even make it past the first step? Jumping over your former partner’s fallen body would slow you down, and despite his skinny frame everyone in Gotham’s seen Scarecrow go toe to toe with the Dark Knight. Could you stand up against that?

The crudely stitched together burlap sack seems itself to breathe as the Scarecrow inhales to speak.

“Tick…tock,” he chimes and your fantasies fall to impossible pieces at your feet.

Blearily you blink over at him, eyes thankfully dry again.

“Breath,” he instructs a moment later, and despite your fear - or maybe because of it - you do as you’re told.

That first gasp of chilly air cuts its way down your dry throat so horribly you feel it the whole way down.

It’s enough of a shock to your system that you finally push through the trudge of your own terror to accept his invitation. Like this you only have to step over Stefan’s feet to cross the balcony and lay your hand in his.

Long pointed nails prick, light but incessant, into the skin of your palms as he appears to closely inspect your plump figure.

He’s bringing your hand up so he can spin you when he pauses, head tilting to the side. You swallow nervously and your hand starts shaking even more in his grip as he silently regards you.

“Ms. L/n?”

Shit.

“Who?” Your choked out words snap everything back in motion.

The cloth around the masked figure's mouth seems to stretch taunt, giving the nearest hint of a smile.

“Oh darling,” he croons. “You have just made the night so much more interesting.”

Up close like this he recognizes the face of his most engaging student from back in the day and you … ? Well, your stomach drops as you’re faced with the full attention of a madman.

Unbeknownst to you as your conversation was transpiring, mini squadrons of henchmen had infiltrated and were terrorizing the elites schmoozing on the inside. Clouds of sickly looking gas floating into the air.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

Jonathan: *gives you a rebreather* "I expect a summary of tonight's events and an analysis of at least three different people's reactions by the time we leave.

You: *startled blinking & blindly taking whatever he hands you*

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it! this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

[paradiseprincesss]

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 𝑻𝒐 𝑩𝒆 𝑬𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝑨𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 | Jonathan Crane

NOTES -> Hello hello! im gonna be in uni full time again starting first week of september so uploads will be much slowerrrr im sorry. I’ll try to write as much as i can for u my little loves!

REQUEST -> Based off the prompt 15 from this list here

SUMMARY -> Your boss, Jonathan Crane, plans on isolating you away from your old life, consuming you whole until you become nothing but devoted to him...and you're too naive to see the mind games that the expert psychiatrist is playing.

WORD COUNT -> 3.3k

WARNINGS -> Smut, p in v, soft!dark Jonathan, doctor/nurse relationship, boss/employee relationship, creampie

MASTERLIST

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jonathan felt his chest tighten as he narrowed his blue eyes behind his glasses. His focus was locked on you and only you, along with the orderly speaking to you for the last few minutes.

You were a nurse at Arkham, young and bright-eyed, so full of energy — and that caught Jonathan’s attention. Your unusually cheerful demeanour and sweet aura drew him in, whether he liked it or not. Maybe it was how you’d always give him a cute little wave every time he’d pass by you, or maybe it was how you’d smile at him when everyone else seemed to cower away from the stoic doctor. 

Or maybe it was because once he saw you leaving work in your everyday clothes instead of your usual scrubs, and when you seemingly bent over to pick up your keys which you dropped on the ground, he could see the lace of your pink panties poking out of your low-rise sweatpants — but I guess we’ll never know. 

See, that was the problem. You were so sweet, but you were like that with everyone you worked with; which made Jonathan feel inferior in many ways, but he promised himself that he’d have you eventually.

He didn’t want to hurt you by any means — oh god, no. He’d rather torture himself than watch you suffer through any anguish. However, he did want everyone around you to fall victim to a rather sinister fate if it meant they stayed away from you. 

Jonathan didn’t really consider himself a sadist, but watching those around you seemingly go missing and suddenly quit their jobs at Arkham (unwillingly, of course), derived an innate sense of pleasure within him. 

That was one of the perks of being the chief psychiatrist — he had all the power in the world to do whatever he pleased within the walls of Arkham, no matter who he hurt in the process. Jonathan would quietly fire many employees who he felt were “too friendly” with you, but he’d always tell you that they’d mysteriously quit or that they had changed jobs. 

“Perhaps they just didn’t have it in them to help the…unique patients we house here,” he’d say to you. “Not everyone is as dedicated and as kind as you are, you know?” 

Foolishly, you let his flattery get into your head; you let yourself fall for him without even realizing it.

You believed that the universe divinely guided you to him. You were sure of it — he was just so kind and understanding. You couldn’t believe the other staff of Arkham didn’t see him the way you did! How could they dislike him? Fear him? 

To Jonathan, you were like an angel that fell from above, capturing his cold, dead heart within your warm, beating, and very alive one. You were so kind to the patients, so gentle with them — and your patients only ever had good things to say about you. 

As you spoke to the orderly in front of you about what you did over the weekend, you noticed your boss looking rather tense from the corner of your eye. His jaw was clenched slightly, and his expression unforgiving. He exhaled sharply before ushering you over toward him, causing you to excuse yourself from your current conversation. 

“Doctor Crane,” you greeted sweetly, “how are you?”

“I’m rather stressed today,” he answered softly, taking on that same gentle tone that he always seemed to take with you. 

“Is everything okay?” 

“Everything is fine, but I'm worried about you.”

“What do you mean?” you asked innocently, cocking your head to the side slightly as if to emphasize your confusion. 

“I think perhaps we should speak in my office about this,” he offered. “Come with me, please.” 

Your smile suddenly faltered slightly as anxiety and paranoia ran rampant through your veins.

Your paranoid thoughts had to be put on the back burner as you took a seat across from him in his office, watching him as he sat down at his desk. His suit was pristine as always — and today, he opted for a brown sweater vest underneath it.

You’d count every thread and stitch on his suit for him if he asked you to. 

“Doctor Crane—”

“Just Jonathan is fine,” he interrupted before clearing his throat. “I wanted to speak to you in private about a certain concern of mine.” 

“What is it?”

He sighed before he took off his glasses and meticulously placed them on his desk. He leaned forward slightly, and you stayed quiet as he hesitated for a moment before his smooth voice finally cut through the silence in his office between the two of you. 

“I’m worried that you may be overworking yourself,” he explained, looking at you with his tantalizing eyes. “I notice you pick up shifts and work overtime frequently, and I worry that you may be taking on more than you can handle. As your boss, I just want to make sure that you’re not burning yourself out as that can’t be good for you, and I believe in a healthy work-life balance.”

You made an ‘o’ shape with your mouth, unsure as to what you could say to him — that wasn’t what you were expecting him to say to you. Perhaps you had been overworking yourself, but that was just a part of you. Having a strong work ethic was something you strongly believed in, but maybe he was right. You couldn’t care for your patients if you were too exhausted to, right? 

Now that he mentioned it, you were quite tired today. You started to think about it — as of recently, you’d been slamming coffees left right and center to stay awake at work, hadn’t you? You just wanted to help out since you were fairly new around here, but maybe it was doing you more damage than good.

Jonathan saw your usually cheerful demeanour deflate in his office, and he looked at you sympathetically, “I know this is not something you’d want to hear, especially from your boss of all people — but I just want to ensure that all my staff are doing well, you know?”

You bit your lip for a mere second, hesitating to speak before you let the words fall from your lips, “You know, Jonathan, sometimes I feel like you’re the only person here who actually…cares about me.” 

He internally applauded himself — in a moment of vulnerability, you sought out comfort in him. Just like he had planned. Just like he wanted.

“I think you’re an exceptional nurse,” he mused, “and truthfully, I do enjoy working alongside you. So yes, of course, I care about you. I remember when I first started working after finishing my residency, I would exhaust myself constantly. I’ve learned through many years that it’s just not good for you.” 

Jonathan’s plan was being executed perfectly — he wanted to isolate you. He wanted you to come running into his arms, far away from everyone else around you. He was on his worst behaviour today, but he believed you brought out the best in him. 

You weren’t overworking yourself, but with Jonathan’s quick wit, years of training in psychology, and exceptional gaslighting skills, you thought perhaps he was right. Maybe you should take some time off of work, you thought.

“Tell you what,” he said softly, “how about you and I have drinks tonight instead? Forget about work and such. I think you need it.”

His words caused your cheeks to heat up. He was your boss, and this was way out of line for a boss to ask an employee. However, it didn’t help that you were very attracted to him.

“Drinks?”

“My place at eight. I have a bottle of cabernet I think you’d enjoy — If I remember correctly, you said it was your favourite?” 

“Y-yeah,” you stammered. “It is.” 

“So I'll see you tonight at eight, then,” he smiled softly, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. “I’ll text you my address.” 

You nodded, slightly starstruck. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Once you’d parked your car on the side of the neighbourhood street, you stepped out into the chilly night, your high heels clicking against the pavement of the ground loudly as you made your way onto his porch.

You gave three soft raps to his front door before you heard shuffling coming from inside the house. After a few moments, the front door swung open gently, and Jonathan stood there with a small smile on his face.

“Come inside,” he ushered you, “make yourself at home, darling.”

And so you did. 

You two talked over a few glasses of cabernet, bringing up the topic of work a few times here and there, but he mostly attempted to get to know the real you. What you did in your spare time, what your hobbies were, if you were seeing anyone…

“Out of curiosity, are you seeing anyone?” Jonathan asked you casually, but his voice dropped an octave as he looked directly at you, resting his hand on your thigh rather boldly. “I’m asking because I've seen the way you look at me…” 

“I-I’m sorry?” you stammered, your cheeks feeling warmer and warmer by the second with the way his hand was now resting on your leg. You couldn’t deny it now. “I didn’t mean…um, I just — you’re always so kind to me…and I–”

He shushed you softly, creeping his hand up a little further. “I’m quite flattered, darling. Not to worry,” he purred. “I figured it wouldn’t be very appropriate of me to tell you how hard it is for me to not look at you when you’re at work, but after today, I just don’t think I can help myself anymore…” 

Suddenly, his lips brushed up against yours, and as if it was instinct, your hands came to wrap around his shoulders. He let you pull him in even closer, his hands now coming to rest on your hips as you two kissed feverishly on his couch.

You and him were like a chemical reaction — explosive, unpredictable, and potentially fatal.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered against your lips in between kisses. 

A shiver ran down your spine as his hold on your hips tightened slightly, his words causing your brain to short-circuit for a moment before you could think clearly again. 

“Jonathan, I–”

“Don’t speak, just give into it, my darling.”

You let yourself get lost in the constellation that was Jonathan Crane, letting him run his hands all over your body and kiss you with an insatiable hunger. Soft moans left your mouth as he peppered kisses down your jawline and neck, nipping at the delicate skin gently. 

You would’ve been worried about him leaving marks because you wouldn’t want your boss to see the next day at work — but you had to remind yourself that he was your boss. 

But none of that mattered when it felt so right; when his lips felt so good against your skin.

“Can I take this off?” he rasped, toying with the strap of your dress. 

“Mhm,” you hummed. “Please, Jonathan…”

Slowly, he took the dress off of your body, gently tossing the garment to the side as he looked at you in absolute awe. It was like looking at a priceless piece of art in a museum exhibit to him — nothing could compare. Even a picture wouldn’t do the sight in front of him justice. 

“Should we go upstairs?” you suddenly asked. 

Maybe it was the handful of wine you’d shared that evening, or maybe it was just sheer arousal; you weren’t sure which one, but all you knew was that you needed him to have his way with you. 

“Yeah, of course,” he agreed, taking your hand in his. “Just up the stairs to the left — I think I'll let you lead the way, darling…”

The two of you got up from the couch, hand in hand, and Jonathan’s eyes roamed your body from behind as you made your way up the stairs together. 

Of course, you came prepared — you know, just in case things were to happen. Before you left, you threw on your sexiest, laciest, lingerie underneath your dress, and it was a good thing you did because that investment certainly paid off.

He watched your hips sway in your lingerie, along with the heels you were still wearing (because we simply can’t forget about those), and he could feel his cock straining against his pants. “Pretty girl,” he mumbled from behind you. “Your body is heavenly.” 

“Shush,” you giggled, grabbing him by his tie and pulling him close once you reached the bedroom. 

He looked down at you in the dim lighting of his bedroom, noticing the way your skin was glowing under it. Your hair was slightly messy from making out on the couch earlier, and you had a small smile tugging at your lips — you were perfection if he’d ever seen it. 

Jonathan kissed you rougher this time, his hands finding their way into your hair, tugging ever so gently against your scalp. He backed you up onto the bed, pushing you down onto it as he undid his tie, looming over your delicate body which was sprawled out on his king-sized bed. 

After taking his tie off, he threw off his suit jacket and started to unbutton his shirt. You hummed softly, running your heel against his leg as he rushed to get himself out of his clothes. The tent in his pants made it all the more obvious how desperate he truly was for you, but you stayed patient. 

Once he was on the bed with you, he helped you out of your bra and panties, causing your cheeks to heat up from how exposed you felt. “You’re cute when you blush,” he commented when he noticed your blush, making you all the more flustered while he undid his belt. 

After freeing himself, his thick, veiny cock caught your attention, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. He was big — you weren’t sure how that was supposed to fit, but right now you were so wet, you were almost certain your walls would stretch out around him with ease. 

He lined himself up with your dripping entrance, giving himself a few strokes before looking at you with his lip caught between his teeth. “Are you sure?” he whispered, and you nodded feverishly. 

“Please,” you whimpered.

Your back was arched and you let out a filthy moan as he slid himself into your warm, sticky cunt with little resistance. The sheer size of him alone had you feeling so full, and he stilled as he bottomed out in you so that you could adjust to him. “Tell me when,” he said softly, his hand coming to brush up against your hips softly. 

“You can move now,” you breathlessly said, giving him the green light. Your breath got caught in your throat as he started to set a gentle but deep pace, the tip of his cock brushing against that spongy spot inside of you with every thrust. 

“O-oh–” you moaned.

His hands found purchase on your hips, and his eyes trailed over your face as he fucked you sensually, but slowly, eventually going harder and faster as you got accumulated to him. “So fucking tight, Jesus—” he choked out. You’d never heard him curse before, and his smooth voice had you clenching around him, to which he let out another moan. “Fuck, darling — you feel so good.” 

“Mm-hmm!” you squeaked, taking his cock deeper and deeper into your soaked cunt with every stroke. “Jonathan, fuck—!”

“Right there, darling?” he cooed softly, slamming his cock into your hole much rougher now, causing you to see stars as he stretched you open on his thickness. “Feels good, baby?” 

“Yes, yes, yes — oh my god!” you chanted, grabbing onto his biceps as you felt his fat cock drilling you. You were letting out feverish moans, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you became increasingly more cock-drunk by the minute. 

Your moans were like music to Jonathan. Like the sound he would hear being played once he died and went to heaven — because to him, this was heaven. You’d come running into the arms of the man who was slowly isolating you, breaking you; cornering you into his heart. 

But there’s always something so right about something so inherently wrong, isn’t there? 

“I can feel you squeezing me,” he groaned, watching you with furrowed brows as he concentrated on your pleasure. “Are you close, darling? Fuck, you are, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you whimpered breathlessly, moans being forced out of you with every delicious thrust he gave your cunt. “Gonna– oh, I’m gonna cum!” 

Jonathan watched in a mixture of pure bliss, awe, and satisfaction as you fell apart in his very hands. Yes — this is where he wanted you. He just wanted to love you, to show you how perfect he was for you, to take care of you and make you see that everyone else around you was just a waste of time. 

No more talking to orderlies who’d flirt with you, no more going out for after-work drinks with the other nurses. No, none of that. He was going to make sure that you’d work under him only, figuratively and literally.

“Gon’ cum,” he groaned, feeling his cock spurting ropes of cum into your warm, tight hole as he gave you a few more lazy thrusts, not bothering to pull out. Your mind went blank as he filled you up wholly, stuffing you with his sticky, warm seed as you lay there fucked out from what just happened moments prior. “Why don’t you stay over tonight?”

You looked up at him groggily, mind still foggy from your orgasm. “What? I work tomorrow–”

“Take a paid day off,” he shrugged, pulling his softening cock out from your worn-out hole. “Use as many as you’d like darling, I won’t tell.” 

His teasing words caused you to throw your head back into the pillows blissfully with a sigh, genuinely believing that he only had your best interest at heart — he just didn’t want you to overwork yourself. It’s not like he was planning on totally locking you away from every living being in Gotham besides him or anything…

“I feel bad though,” you murmured sleepily. “I feel like I’m – I dunno – abusing my privileges.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, pretty girl,” Jonathan assured you softly, turning off the lights so that only the moonlight was dimly shining into his bedroom. He placed a soft kiss on the top of your head as he pulled the covers over you both, cradling you in his arms like you were made of fine china. “You know I only want what’s best for you.”

“You’re so lovely, Jon. You truly have such a kind soul.” 

“Surely nothing compared to yours, my darling,” he whispered against your hair as you closed your eyes. “Now, get some rest. We can talk about moving your things in here in the morning…”

Unfortunately, you had already dozed off in his embrace; too busy being washed away by sleep to hear his words. Jonathan smiled to himself — he’d never let you go now. You’d lost all control the moment you stepped into his house, unknowingly making yourself a hostage of some sort.  

In the end, as you clung to him, believing he was the saviour from your exhaustion, you failed to see that it was his “love” that had slowly consumed you whole, leaving you nothing but a hollow shell, devoured by the very hands that promised refuge.

Sometimes, the most dangerous traps are the ones we walk into willingly, thinking they’re the key to our freedom, as they say. But the cruel irony of it all is that we think we’re being saved from the jaws of this terrible world, only to be eaten alive by those who we call our saviours. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Taglist -> @girlinterrupted505 @ciriceimpera @jordyn-yeager @thevelvetvampyre @galactict3a

@xanaxiii @nocturnest @psylrd @bloodandglitter207 @humbuginmybones 

@oceanstem @futurefamousdeadmusician @jonathancraneslittlepet @esotericdoe

@kpopgirlbtssvt 

@ll4n4 @ilovetoxicfictionalmen @the-buddy-things @ellebellebarnes @wiseyouthinfluencer 

@abprill @minedofmoria @strangeobsessed @5tud10-54r4h @franzine-xii 

@stsrfujid @psylrd @eyraaaaaae @nyxxie-pooh @momoewn

@fauxcongenialite @ceruleanrainblues @o0laura @fiona-my-love @cranecat

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

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

warnings: swearing, mention of cranes fear gas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[vaporwavebeach-writes]

Kinktober Day 12 (Medical Play)

BTAA Scarecrow x Reader (NSFW)

(1,223 Words)

Summary: you have a debilitating phobia of needles and Dr. Crane has the solution to overcoming those fears

Warnings/Tags: 18+, gender neutral reader, reader has MAJOR trypanophobia (fear of needles), panic attacks, exposure therapy, medical kink (duh), crane feeding off the reader’s fear, crane being unprofessional, doctor/patient dynamic, fingering

Notes: sorry this one’s a little late LMAO but literally? as someone who had SEVERE trypanophobia, this was kinda empowering to write, enjoy the fic!!!

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There was always a sense of unease whenever you found yourself at the doctors office. Maybe it was the awkward silence of sitting in the waiting room, anticipating what’s to come. Maybe it was the little intrusions that came with a basic physical check-up. Maybe it was unsettling scent of sterilized chemicals, sanitizing the room. Maybe it was those beige colored walls, glaring at you for the duration of your visit. Maybe it was the fact that you were about to be subjected to one of your worst fears. Or maybe, it was the fact that your physician is incredibly attractive.

Yeah, that too.

You find yourself, laying on his exam table, staring up at the ceiling. His voice, playful, as he explains the clinical the proceedings of this visit, reverberates off the walls.

“I’m really glad to see you taking the initiative to face your fears, exposure therapy isn’t for the faint of heart, you know.”

Your heart flutters at his words. As someone who suffered from a fear of needles since childhood, you figured that now, well into your adulthood, it was finally time to overcome that fear.

Doctors appointments for important vaccinations or even just the seasonal flu shot was always enough to spiral you into a panic. Nightmares leading up to it, hyperventilating, and giving yourself panic attacks to the point of nausea or fainting were feelings you had become all too familiar with. Feeling the prying gazes of other people in the waiting room or judgmental nurses always caused your embarrassment to spike at what you thought, was your own childish anxieties.

Seeing Dr. Jonathan Crane changed all that. When you scheduled your first session with him, his office felt comfortable. Adorned with classic horror movie posters and little mementos about his interests gave the impression that you wouldn’t be just some patient to him, but someone who he would genuinely try to help with your issues. When time came to actually talk about your fear, he wasn’t mean, or judgmental, or condescending, but he was understanding. He was someone who took a deep interest in whatever you had to say, as a patient and as a person. When he suggested the idea of exposure therapy, you were hesitant, but he had helped you come to realize that you had to start somewhere, which lead you to the clinic.

“Thanks, doctor,” you smile nervously, “gotta start somewhere, right?”

“Too true,” he says, turning to you as he walks over to the counter. “I appreciate that you put your trust in me to help you with such a… Debilitating, vulnerability.”

You hear the metallic rustling from within the cabinets. You stare back up at the ceiling, yet your curiosity gets the better of you. Glancing back over to him, you spy him preparing the needles, sending a wave of trepidation through your body.

“The syringes will be filled with a simple saline solution, it’s not harmful, but the solution is not what you’re afraid of, is it?” Maybe it’s just your anxiety, but you could swear there’s a hint of eeriness within his voice.

“Hey, uh, Doctor?”

“What is it, sweet pea?” He asks jokingly.

“I um, I just wanna apologize in advance in case I freak out at the needle.” You muster out with as much courage as you can. “Like, I-I might cry actually.” You chuckle nervously. You actually do feel the urge to cry as uneasiness fills the pit in your stomach.

“Aw now,“ There’s a playfulness to his voice. You’ve heard it many times in sessions, but it feels a little unsettling to hear it now. “Don’t psych yourself up too much, remember your breathing techniques.”

You can’t regulate your breathing at a time like this. As he makes his way over to you with a little alcohol wipe, you feel yourself beginning to hyperventilate. You feel the sweat trickling down your forehead as your throat begins to go dry. You feel faint; clammy. That alcohol wipe was the calm before the storm. You were fine when it was swabbed across your skin, but it always signaled what’s to come.

“Dr. Crane, I don’t know if I-”

“The feelings you have right now are completely expected,” he hushes you. “It’s all anticipatory, you fear the dread of it more than the actual stick itself, and I think I have found a sufficient way to combat that,” his explanation is stern, but comforting. He takes his gloved hands in yours, feeling his warmth through the latex. “Do you trust me?”

You’re hesitant. Your eyes threaten to spill tears out of the sheer distress you feel at the moment, yet Crane stares at you confidently, as if he knows you will make the right decision. You let out a shaky sigh, “Yes.”

“Good,” he grins at you. His hand makes its way to cup your cheek, gently thumbing over you. It moves up and around, to the nape of your neck and through your scalp, playing with your hair. You practically melt into his touch, fear beginning to dissipate from within you. And it’s at that moment, he gives it a tug, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. “A good method to combating fear, is to add an equally positive stimulus.” He lets out a low chuckle in response, which you feel go straight to your groin.

“I think I catch your drift.”

“Trust me,” he whirls you around on the table, spreading your legs. You can feel the heat pooling in your sex. “By the time I’m done with you, your phobia of needles will be the last thing on your mind.” He eyes you up, feeling his predatory gaze all around you like you wish his body was.

“I don’t want to be afraid anymore,” you whisper desperately.

“Then let’s not waste any time.”

You two work together to undo your pants. Your sex drips with arousal as Dr. Crane’s hand makes its way past your underwear. Your legs shake as he grazes over a particularly sensitive spot. He adds more pressure stroking you steadily as you all but grind yourself on his hand.

“God, you are such a good patient,” he groans. “Your determination to cure yourself of this fear, by any means necessary, is remarkable.”

You let out a breathy moan at the praise. You feel his fingers enter inside you, curling up and fucking away any fear you had before.

“Dr. Crane,” you gasp. “I think, I-I’m-”

“Getting close?”

“Mhm.” You groan.

You feel yourself quickly reaching your peak, eyes slamming shut. As you feel Crane’s fingers speeding up, there’s a sharp, painful sensation in your arm, making you cry out in a pained whine. With the pain, soon follows your orgasm, which tears through you frantically.

Breathing heavily, you come down from your euphoric high, to find Dr. Crane removing his gloves, smiling over at you proudly.

“Congratulations,” he smirks. “We’ve made excellent progress in overcoming your phobia, I think we’ve made a break through.” Washing his hands in the sink, he takes a seat on the table beside you, that playful tone once again adorning his voice. “However, I think we may need to have a few more sessions, fears aren’t cured overnight you know.”

You giggle, looking at him feeling giddy. You couldn’t wait for your next appointment.