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acapelladitty · 7 months ago

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Whole Day Off: The Meal

Pairing: Jonathan Crane/Female Reader

Summary: After being invited out to attend a romantic dinner with the infamous Scarecrow, you find that his intentions are as complicated as ever as he enjoys your company. (6.3k words)

(tw for: outdoor sex, fingering, dirty talk, orgasm, mild voyeurism, cum marking, unprotected sex, mild sub/dom dynamic, possessive behaviour etc)

Whole Day Off Masterlist

Link to AO3 Series

Enjoying a dreamless sleep as your body recovers from your play, it’s no less shocking when Crane’s hands wrap around your upper arms and shake you awake with clear urgency pinching at his tone.

“Up now, little mouse. You need to get ready and move.”

“Wh-hello?” Groggily sitting up, you adjust to his presence before you with bleary features – eyes narrowed and mouth feeling dry as hell as you stretch your arms overhead. The residual aches from your earlier fuck are quick to make themselves known as you wince in discomfort.

“In a few moments, Waylon Jones, better known to most people as Killer Croc, will be visiting to drop-off some necessary equipment for my experiments. I have no time to hide you so you must play your part again as a victim and play it well.” His words are even despite the hurried tone and Crane’s hands clasp over your own as he pulls you to your feet.

Still disorientated from your broken sleep, it takes you a moment to follow his gaze but doing so forces your eyes to the dental chair and your throat tightens as you realise what he’s asking. You may have forgiven him for the mess with Sionis but you had not forgotten and the discomfort which roiled in your chest every time the dental chair caught your eye was undeniable.

At your feet, your clothes lie in a messy pile and you bend in place to snatch them up. Pulling on your long-abandoned shirt with trembling hands, you focus on Crane’s words as he explains the situation with his typical, reserved attitude.

“Jones works for me from time to time doing grunt work. He will be dropping off some electronics I require so I will ask that you remain in the chair until he has left. Your presence will not seem off if you perform accordingly.” Pausing as though considering something, he is nevertheless quick to carry on. “I understand that you have no desire to find yourself back in the chair so soon but I can promise you that this situation will be nothing like the previous.”

Padding across the floor, tracing the familiar walk to the dental chair with a zombie-like gait, you sit down on it gingerly – every nerve in your body tensed and desperate to bolt as Crane follows your footsteps to stand before you.

"Waylon Jones is not a creature built on cruelty, nothing like Sionis. More a victim of his circumstances than anything. He will pay you no mind."

Struggling to articulate the whirlwind of anxieties and questions which are fluttering through your mind, Crane seizes the opportunity to speak again.

"Do you trust me?"

The question of the hour.

Nodding even though the agreement doesn't fully ring true within your heart, you allow him to secure you into the chair. Watching him with a trembling mouth, you notice how loose the restraints around your limbs sit and the dread within your chest lightens slightly as you take the merciful act as a small, unspoken apology of the previous mistreatment.

Quick to fix you in place and beat a hasty retreat, you startle as Crane's fingers brush along your jaw - an odd look playing on his features for only a moment before he schools it away and walks back to his workbench.

Unsure what to make of that, you banish the thoughts to focus on the task at hand.

Heavy footsteps approach within minutes and the stairs seem to tremble under the weight as Waylon Jones descends into the basement.

Trapped, you can't help but feel an awe-filled fear as you watch the hulking man struggle to fit down the somewhat narrow staircase. At seven feet, he towered over Crane, a fact made worse by the sheer bulk of him as green muscle filled the space. His reptilian skin looked tough and pitted, chest and upper legs covered by clothing which was slightly torn and frayed around the edges.

Across his back lay a large sack and Waylon carefully deposited it to the ground. It was massive and you could tell that it was heavy from the quiet thud of contact it made with the hard flooring.

"Good evening, Waylon." Crane greeted coolly. "How was the acquisition?"

Opening his mouth to reply, sharp rows of stained teeth shone from Waylon's inhumane maw. "Easy. There was no one in the building so I just grabbed it and went." He growled, his voice vibrating across the room as you kept up a showman struggle against the dental chair.

"Even stole a few extra bits, just in case."

"Excellent. Your payment is in the usual place." Audibly pleased, Crane clapped his hands together as he surveyed the collection. "Your work is an impeccable as always, Mr. Jones."

As Crane speaks, something seems to catch Waylon off-guard and he goes still. His body tenses and his head almost seemed to swim in the air for a moment as he scents something out with long inhales. After a moment, his head snaps in your direction and a visceral thrill of pure fear shoots up your spine.

Padded feet move a few feet in your direction and you freeze in position, pressing your back against the dental chair as Waylon comes to a stop a few feet away. Whatever faux fear you had feigned is now fully replaced by a very real horror as you realise that Crane would be unable to do anything should this monster decide to take a piece from you.

But nothing of the sort happened.

Something almost like regret washes through Waylon’s face as he stares at you, his nose continuing to flare as he sniffs out the fear which is no doubt pouring from you in waves as phantom memories of Sionis and how much more terrible this could be nips at your anxieties.

Waylon's snout twitches again, this time with confusion in his features, and he leans in closer to give you a more definite sniff. This close, you can see much more of his animalistic qualities; the reptilian eyes a subtle yellow as they sit neatly atop his slight snout.

"Waylon," Crane's voice rings out, firm and full of harsh warning, "away from her. Now. My work is no concern of yours."

Waylon ignores him and his snout twitches as he picks up on whatever he had been suspicious of. With the confirmation comes a sudden burst of anger as his reptilian eyes narrow and his features darken as he whirls on Crane.

"And they call me the monster." Waylon snarls lowly. "You're fucking them too? Using them like that?"

Truly furious, it was a frightening sight as Waylon stands to his full height and raises a threatening hand - the claws gleaming in the dim light - to Crane's chest. Shocked by the turn of events, any words you have die in your chest as you watch Crane refuse to back down.

"Waylon-"

"Don't ask me to work for you no more. No more favours, no more help. We're done."

Moving quicker than a seven-foot reptile should be capable of, Waylon pushes at Crane's chest with enough force to knock him clean onto his ass as a mixed expression of fury and confusion flashed across his features. It’s violent and shocking, a show of aggression which only amplifies the fear in your heart as sweat breaks out along your panicking limbs.

Still moving, Waylon was quick to return to you - his hands pulling free the restraints quickly as your struggle became real, not wanting this hulking beast to grab at you.

Mistaking your panic, Waylon wraps his arm around your body and picks you up easily as though you were a bag of sugar. Your breath catches in your lungs as he places you gently over his shoulder and you can feel one massive hand pinning itself to your lower back to secure you in place.

"I'll take you outta here, Miss. You can go to the Thompson clinic and tell Leslie you need help. She's good people. She'll help."

Through the shock and panic, something finally clicks in your mind and you burst into action, a surge of strength pulsing through your veins.

"I'm OKAY!" You yell, beating your fists on Waylon's scaled back as you watch Crane righting himself to his feet - his own breath clearly knocked from his lungs. "I’m okay! P-put me down, please!"

Waylon seems hesitant, pausing at the foot of the stairs, but follows your demand as he is unable to ignore your outburst and carefully plucks you from his shoulder to place you on your feet.

He says nothing, nostrils flaring as he watches you fix your outfit with trembling hands.

"I'm okay." You repeat. "He's not like th-he didn't rape me." You add explicitly, heading off the misunderstanding at its core.

"You sure?" Waylon asks, his back relaxing slightly as he settled onto his heels. "You don't gotta be frightened, his gas don't work on me."

Interesting to know.

"I'm sure. I come here because we're," you pause - unsure how to explain the mess that was your fraught relationship as you catch eyes with Crane for a moment, "seeing each other." You finish lamely.

Moving to stand behind you, the agitation which rolls off Crane makes the hair on the back of your neck stand to attention and you can feel how unhappy he is with this turn of events.

"Waylon, people can't know about her." Crane's low voice brushes past your ear and you lean back into him in a show of solidarity. "Sionis had a similar run-in and he has already come too close. You know what kind of man he is and if he knew the truth then…"

It's a subtle manipulation but one you play into as you allow fear to swallow your features. Waylon nods quickly, understanding alighting in his expression as he glances between the two of you.

"Secrets safe with me, Doc.” Waylon straightened his back to his full height, his head almost brushing the ceiling as he assumes a more relaxed stance. “And you seem nice.” His reptilian head tilting in your direction, Waylon continues as his gaze flicks to Crane. “She's pretty and seems nice. Too nice for-"

Waylon cuts himself off, a guilty look blossoming on his features as he realises the insult that he almost gave without thought.

Crane finishes it for him.

"Too nice for me. You're not wrong, Mr. Jones."

x-x-x-x-x

With Waylon gone, Crane’s agitation seemed to ebb and flow as he paced the basement with a firm determination.

“Waylon is dependable and discrete. His knowledge won’t impact anything.”

Unsure if the statements were directed at you or more of an external monologue, you answer regardless as you finish slipping your feet into your shoes.

“He seems fine enough. The papers and news are always very cruel about him and the things he’s been accused of.” And it was true. A Killer Croc appearance on the news was irregular and often accompanied by alleged sightings which contained footage that put the Bigfoot evidence to shame in terms of how shoddy it was; anything to bolster the reports of cannibalism and cruelty. “He also knows how to treat a woman.”

Responding to the tease with a thoroughly sour look, Crane stops his movements long enough to pin you with a scowl.

“Am I to take that as a criticism?”

“Take it as you like.” You answer evenly.

“In that case, I will discard the invitation to dinner which was simmering within my thoughts.”

Now wait a minute. “Dinner?”

“Yes.” Crane nodded. “Did we not discuss sharing a meal? I know your apartment was suggested and offered; however, I do realise that such short notice wouldn’t be considered polite or feasible.”

Your underfed stomach making itself known at the very prospect of a decent meal, the subtle rumble perks your attention up as you pretend to consider the offer – a recollection of actually offering your own apartment lacking in your memory.

“It would be rude of me to decline such a generous offer, Dr. Crane.”

“A dinner then. Meet me at this address at 7pm and I will reserve the space.” Scrawling the information on a slip of paper that he snatched up from his work desk, Crane thrust it within your hands. “Get a cab. I’ll also arrange the return trip.”

Not feeling like you had much of a choice in the matter as you look at the address - the restaurant not too far away based on its postcode. Excited by the prospect, you give an eager nod as a girlish flutter afflicts your stomach; your mind already vaguely scoping out your wardrobe for something nice to wear.

“Sure.”

x-x-x-x-x

Nervously tugging at the edge of the tablecloth as your fingers dance along the tacky red and white plaid, the passing waiters occasionally flick their eyes towards your table as they hold off on making any approach until your other guest has seated himself. Having elected to throw on a simple black dress paired with some low heels, you had even made enough of an effort to put on a little makeup – your eyes enhanced by a smudge of eyeliner while a neutral red colour tinges your lips.

Catching a cab had been easy enough and you were five minutes early, a fact you had made the host aware of as you walked in and requested the table for Gruidae, following Crane’s earlier instructions to use the false name. He had made the booking, and the spot you were reserved was far from the bright lights which flooded the centre of the restaurant. It was a nice, intimate booth with comfortable room for two while allowing for a little privacy.

Speak of the devil.

A dark shape covered the table for only a moment as Crane walks past your elbow, stopping at the side of the booth as he pauses to take in your appearance – a choice while allows you do to the exact same as something fond curls in your chest at the sight of him.

Surprisingly, Crane also seems to have made an effort.

More used to seeing him in his lab coat and simple shirts, the deep brown suit which hangs off his body is quite stunning, if a little outdated. A grey shirt, one you don’t recognise, sits below the suit jacket and the ensemble fills him out nicely as it takes the edges away from his gaunt frame.

“Hi.”

“Good evening.” Crane replies evenly, seating himself across from you as he unbuttons his jacket. “That’s quite the dress, little mouse.”

Pressing your elbows together to enhance the low dip of your cleavage, you don’t miss the way his eyes drop to enjoy the view before darting back up to your face.

“This old thing?” You smile, careful not to catch the edge of the brand-new dress on the wooden leg of the table. “I wasn’t sure how intense the dress code was. Your suit is lovely, by the way, makes you look very handsome.”

He shrugs the compliment off with ease, a disbelieving casualness that speaks to how rarely anyone much say something positive about him.

“It’s cold out there and I doubt my typical attire would be appreciated.”

“The lab coat?”

“I was thinking more about my costume and mask, witty girl. A touch too recognisable to allow for a nice meal.”

Feeling slightly embarrassed but enjoying the teasing quality of the simple conversation, you let it slide as your waiter appears by the side of the table.

“Some drinks for the table?”

“Large glass of house red.” Crane answers without missing a beat, his gaze settling on you as he continues. “And?”

“Vodka and lemonade, with a splash of blackcurrant.”

“Excellent. I’ll get those through for you.”

As the waiter departs, his polished back shoes tapping along the tiled flooring, you notice Crane watching you with a question lurking in his gaze.

“Yeah?”

“I just wasn’t expecting you to order a hard spirit.” He confesses with a deadpan tone. “I was expecting something more muted. Or sensible.”

“I like vodka.” Feeling defensive, you drop your elbows from the table. “Mixes with anything and doesn’t cloud my judgement as much as wine.”

A fact which makes the slightest smirk touch at his lips. “Why the need for a clear head? Are you nervous, little mouse?”

“No.” You lie, butterflies fluttering within your chest. “I’m just not much of a risk taker.”

At that, he can’t hide his disbelief as a scoff quickly fizzles into a doubtful stare. “Is that so? And what would you call agreeing to attend a dinner with a wanted madman? A person who has mistreated and abused your lovely body in the most carnal of ways?”

Smiling politely at the waiter, his sudden reappearance causing Crane to drop his point as he accepted his glass of wine without thanks, you take a short sip of your drink as you fix Crane with a teasing look.

“I call that a free dinner.”

“And what gave you the impression I was paying for this outing?”

“I seem to recall you coming into a substantial amount of money recently from a mutual friend of ours. I assumed that some of that money would benefit me in some way. Since, well, you know…”

Trailing off, you offer him a sweet smile and Crane is unable to hide the amusement which floods his features as he finds himself manipulated into agreeing.

“In that case,” he sipped from his wine, “I suppose that it would be the polite thing to do.”

x-x-x-x-x

After another two rounds of drinks and a dinner which was admittedly quite delicious, your decision to wash away the creamy carbonara which now sat warmly in your stomach with a lemon and raspberry cheesecake – the tartness of the dessert cutting across your tongue beautifully – was one which you couldn’t hide your pleasure at.

Humming away contentedly as you cut another small piece with your fork, you allowed Crane to continue with his discussion. Maybe it was the wine or maybe it was the comfort of such a tasty meal, but the reserved nature which Crane always revelled in had mellowed and with it came a great opportunity to ask questions which you had always been too nervous to.

“And which of the other costumed villains do you have the least amount of time for?”

It also turned out that Crane was quite the opinionated man when it came to his thoughts on others. A trait which you would have easily describes as ‘bitchy’ had it been applied to any other person.

“Joker is the least dependable to associate with but a necessity if one wishes to remain aware of the more dangerous plots occurring across the city.” Crane scowled, his spindly finger tapping his glass as a subtle flush sat high on his cheeks. “Dent fears me in a primal way and his fear manifests as aggression which makes any interaction a risk as he is very vocal in his desire to blow a hole in my chest with his magnum. Recent events have also placed Sionis low on my list.”

Pleased with that, you tilt your head and give him a small smile, ignoring the little voice in your head that was determined to remind you of his guilt in that manner. The restaurant around you was quiet with only a few other tables filled with various pairs and one small family tucked away in one of the corner booths. All people with their own lives and absolutely no awareness of the monster who sat amongst them nor the woman who he held within his grip.

“If you are finished, I will settle the bill and meet you by the front doors.”

Glancing down at the almost empty plate, you can’t face the last few bites and so you give him a quick nod, standing from your chair as you drain the last of your drink – the ice clinking against your teeth.

Moving to walk past him, you pause long enough to run your hand across his shoulder as your head drops to his cheek.

“Thank you for dinner.” You mutter, pressing a soft kiss against his jaw, the stubble there grating against your lips.

His response is a non-committal grunt and you fight the urge to roll your eyes as you pull your jacket on and head towards the front door of the restaurant. Stepping out into the cold night, you shudder at the sudden chill as your eyes take in the surroundings.

Above you, the moon hangs against the blackened sky in a lovely crescent shape. The streets are dead, only a few shambling bodies of finished workers and drunks from the bar two blocks over stumbling their ways home. Feeling pleasantly warmed due to the vodka stirring your insides, it still isn’t enough to combat the cold air and you cross your arms to your chest since you are unable to do much about the chill accosting your bare legs.

Crane joins you quickly enough, the scent of red wine on his breath as he passes you closely. Curious as to how he plans to get you home, you voice your concerns.

“Are we getting a cab?”

Standing to his full height, Crane tilts his head down at you and his features are as stoic as ever but a slight playfulness seems to be touching at his eyes.

“On such a night? No. I think we can manage the short walk to the warehouse. It should take around ten minutes.”

Taking his arm within your own, a bold movement which causes him to cock a brow, you allow him to lead you on the correct path as you mutter beneath your breath.

“What was that, little mouse?”

Crane’s elbow digs into your side as he awaits an answer and you glance to the side as you meet his gaze head-on.

“Cheapskate.”

His response is a measured huff, somewhere between annoyance and amusement, but he doesn’t deny the claim as his long legs march across the sidewalk forcing you to keep pace.

It really is a beautiful night and your thoughts are jumbled as you walk in a companionable silence. Dinner had been lovely, not just the food, but to get to watch the infamous Scarecrow in a much more relaxed and intimate setting was interesting. He was as brash as ever, his twisted morality making his answers to questions honest and refreshing as much as they were, at times, concerning.

Even his body language was more relaxed as he wined and dined.

The tension which littered his every word and action appeared lessened, his lips quicker to quirk into genuine amusement as he enjoyed your discussions. Your life, much less interesting than his, had taken up less of your shared time as a wicked curiosity controlled your own tongue – forcing you to ask questions about a world you had no interest in visiting.

So lost in your own thoughts, when Crane eventually tugs at your arm to grab your attention it comes as a genuine shock and you gasp in surprise.

“I have been considering your denial that you engage in risk taking behaviours.” He says, his head twisting to either side as he examins the empty street around you both. “It interests me.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Curious to why he had stopped, you follow his gaze to see the same emptiness filling the space. Apartments surround you, some with lights on and most without, and to your right is an alleyway which leads to the emergency fire exits of two separate apartment blocks.

“I think it’s a claim we need to further examine.” Thin hands shift to drop to your waist, snaking their way within your jacket to grip at your dress where it covers your hips. It’s a rough touch, one which makes your cheeks flush as you feel the air between you thicken as he stands before you, blocking out anything which isn’t him.

“You say that like I’m not walking back to your basement with you.” You counter, your own hands coming to a rest atop his forearms, fingers stroking along the thick material of his suit. “A place where i’ve been tied up and abused more times that I’d like to count.”

“I wasn’t thinking of waiting that long.”

In a flash of movement, his hands grow even tighter around your hips as he pulls you into the darkened alleyway to your right – the only illumination coming from the crescent moon which hangs in the sky and the neon flashing of a nearby pharmacy sign. So caught off guard by the sudden change of position, you issue a short yelp as his hands push you roughly against the wall, the harsh brick pressing against your back as his much larger body caged your own.

Anxiety clawing at your chest as your eyes struggle to accustom themselves to the darkness, Crane’s enveloping presence also sparks heat in your groin; your cunt clenching pitifully as warmth floods your lower stomach. His touch is always electric and here, in this filthy alleyway where anyone could be watching, it feels even more alive.

Bearing down against you, the scent of his cologne is strong and his leg moves to fill the space between your thighs. His groin hot against your hip, you can feel the growing hardness there as he assails you. Sighing as his hand rides up your dress, you spread your legs apart to allow him easier access as his fingers ghost across your thigh.

“Dr. Crane?” You interrupt, tone forcing itself to be as empty as his own, if a little strained as your heart flutters.

“Yes?”

“Your hand is up my dress.”

“And how does that make you feel, little mouse.” Playing the game, Crane’s piercing eyes pin you into place in a way his hands never could.

“It’s hot.” You groan, shifting your weight so that his hand is forced to move across your panties; the fabric there already feeling wet as he thumbs it lightly. “It makes me feel wanted, but I’m scared that we’ll get caught and someone will see us.”

“Scared, witty girl? Oh, I doubt that.” Crane chuckles, his voice low and dangerous. “We haven’t played with your true fears in too long. This here, what you are experiencing, is a mild anxiety nothing more, but I may have a cure.”

“A cure? What- oh.” Your question is killed off by the sudden pressure of his fingers as he slips them past your panties to sink two digits into your cunt, the flush of pleasure making your grip of his arms tighten as you press down on his hand.

“Responsive as ever.” He mutters, fingers gently curling within you as he pumps them slowly, taking his time to feel out every slight flutter and clench of your walls as he teases you. “I think that fucking a known supervillain in a filthy alleyway is a perfect method of exposure therapy to overcome that pesky anxiety.”

Shuddering into his chest as you press your head forward, your right hand trembles as it fumbles messily with his fly – desperate to please him as his fingers slipped free of your cunt to stroke smoothly along your slit.

It takes only a moment for you to free him, snaking his cock through the opened fly as it juts free proudly, the length twitching in your grasp as you match your movements to his own – the alcohol in your veins making you bold while your head spins.

He doesn’t make a sound but his lips part slightly as you stroke your hand across his length, its weight familiar and heavy in your palm as the velvety skin responds to your attention by growing stiffer with every passing moment. You both continue like this for a few minutes, the silence only punctuated by deep breaths and restrained grunts, your own control much less practised than Crane’s as you use his chest for support.

“The Scarecrow demands payment, witty girl. He had fed you, watered you, and allows you to walk safely through these evening shadows safely.” Growling the demand into your ear, his lips tickle your skin and you can’t help but give a childish giggle in response before gathering yourself as you tighten your grip on his cock.

“And what does he want from me?” You moan as Crane’s middle finger rubs delicately across the hood of your clit, gently stimulating the nub below. “I don’t have any money to offer him and I’m too weak and helpless to survive any of his wicked experiments.”

“Lies.” Crane accuses, breaking character for only a moment before regaining his composure. “But the Scarecrow has a different fate in store for you. You who spreads your legs so easily for a monster that you would let him fuck you in this decrepit alleyway if he asked.”

“God, yes, I would. Please-please ask him to fuck me.” You stutter out, rolling your thumb across the sensitive line between his cockhead and shaft – a motion which you know drives him wild.

It gets the desire result and your breath catches in your lungs as his hand pulls free of your panties to instead grip your shoulders, forcing you to turn around as face the wall as he maintains a rough presence against your back.

Flipped in position, the cool brick of the wall is rough against your face and you bring your forearm up to act as a barrier as you feel his hands pulling up the hem of your jacket and dress, exposing your underwear and ass to the night breeze.

“I’m going to fuck you right here and now, little mouse.” Fingers squeezing your ass roughly, Crane grinds the tip of his cock against your cunt as he croons the words into your ears. “And if anyone sees us then all they will see is the great Scarecrow and his willing mistress, a foolish little mouse who lets a monster use her for his own pleasure.”

His words going straight to your cunt, your thighs rub together for only a moment before being forced apart by his hand as he guides his cock to your aching hole.

His mistress.

His dear one.

Sentimental musings quickly put to bed as he wraps his arm around your waist, thin fingers delving within your cleavage to grope roughly at your left tit as he sinks his cock within you in one sharp thrust; your cunt so wet and willing that he meets almost no resistance as he buries himself fully.

Body aching with need, you meet his savage thrusts with enthusiasm, pushing your ass against him as he ruts within you – his thin body pressing against your back and making you feel every inch of his presence as he consumes you, inside and out. Groaning and mewling, the noises reverberate in the alleyway until Crane’s fingers press into your mouth, two digits pressing down on your tongue to mute you as much as possible.

His free hand also snakes its way around your body as his long limbs allow him to access the front of your sex, a cruel finger quickly resuming his torment of your clit as you buck and writhe against him.

Of the things that you liked about him, his quick study and commitment to retaining your every reaction is certainly up there and your legs feel unstable as he manipulates the sensitive hood and skin surrounding your clit without touching the nub itself.

Unable to speak due to the fingers in your mouth, you bite down on the digits roughly and bask in the pained growl which issues into your ear as he retracts them. He responds in kind though, his breath hot on your neck for a moment before blunted teeth sink into your skin in a rough bite, his tongue massaging the mark as you arch your back into him.

“Dr. Crane!” You moan, the words punctuated by a shuddering breath as his cock continues to glance off your cervix in a deliciously uncomfortable way. “Jonathan, please, I-”

“I think I like it when you say my first name, witty girl.” His groin flush against your ass as he remains buried to the hilt within you, Crane’s breathing was stilted and punctuated by soft pants of exertion. “I should hear you beg with it more often.”

A statement which makes your cunt spasm as the heat and merciless pressure of his cock finally snaps the tight band of arousal which had been steadily building within your groin, your release hitting with a guttural groan as you bury your mouth within your forearm to mask the sound. Pleasure cascades through you as your cunt is filled and pulses around him.

Determined to reach his own end, Crane revels in the way which your cunt wraps around his cock, every spasm and clench of your orgasm pulling him deeper as it milks him for what it’s worth. His hand, mercifully, drops from your clit and instead returns to your chest, his fingers pinching viciously at your nipple as he uses your body for leverage.

You recognise the tell-tale warnings of his release before it hits. His breathing grows even more erratic as his thrusts grow sloppier, hands increasing their grip as if to pin you in place and leave you unable to escape while he marks you as his own. With an animalistic grunt that almost matches your own, his mouth presses against your neck as he buries his cock as deeply as possible within you.

Heat floods your cunt as you realise that, in the whirlwind of the moment, neither of you had bothered with any protection and the realisation makes you groan as you feel the fullness of his release coating your walls. Your birth control would take care of any peskiness but the sensation of him filling you in such a primal way makes your cunt spasm anew as you grind against him.

It’s not until he pulls out a few moments later that you relax your body, almost falling backwards into him as you feel him tucking his softening cock away. Your jacket and dress are still ruched up around your waist but you’re content to remain like this as you feel him shift your panties back into position. His fingers brush your sensitive hole and you shudder in place as you feel the wet discomfort of your mixed release as it leaks free of you to quickly stain the fabric – your thighs feeling just as damp due to his earlier teasing.

Your head feels light as Crane spins you in place, twisting you so that your back is now pressing against the cool brick of the wall. His face is flushed, the sharp features mellowed by his satisfaction but his eyes remain as piercing as ever, the irises appearing darker due to the dilation of his pupils.

“You’re going to walk home like this.” Crane purrs, his hand cupping your sex through the panties, smearing the mess there further with his fingers. “As a reminder of who you belong to and just how far the Scarecrow will go to teach his little mouse how to overcome her petty anxieties.”

The sticky mess between your legs is uncomfortable but hot as hell and you nod dumbly in agreement, the inhibition of the vodka mixing with the recently-fucked bliss to make you painfully compliant as you keep a soft hold of his shoulders for balance.

His hand pulls free from under your dress and he quickly fixes the rest of the material for you, tugging at the base to even out the hemline before adjusting the neckline to ensure that your chest was covered. Letting him do as he wished, you instead focus your attention on his expression, drinking in the familiar haze which settles across his features when he’s also freshly fucked and clearly pleased.

“Thank you for dinner.” You hum out once again, voice sated and almost drowsy as you allow him to take the lead and link his arm within your own – his auburn hair in a state of disarray due to the breeze and the sweat which sits on his hairline. “It was nice.”

His head turns to you as he fixes you with an unreadable expression.

“Think nothing of it. I feel it was somewhat overdue and owed.” He comments, eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the shiver which consumes your upper body at the chilly evening. With a smooth movement, his hands slip within his pockets to pull free a pair of thin, dark gloves; his fingers quick to pass them to you silently as he presses you to place them on.

Thankful for the small gesture, you smile up at him as your thighs stick together uncomfortably with every small step. You pull the gloves on, the material clearly too big for you but effective nonetheless as it kept the cold from your fingers.

In the frigid night, the moon hanging high against the bleak sky, you tuck your body as closely to Crane’s as you reasonably can as you seek out something unspoken which you doubt he is capable of giving. He allows it though, his arm linked within your own acting as an anchor more than anything but his thoughts are his own as he mindlessly leads the way back to his warehouse hideout.

Bringing your free hand to your chin, you inhale deeply and find satisfaction in the fact that the thin leather of the gloves holds a muskiness which you recognise as something uniquely him and you allow that small comfort to warm your thoughts as you ignore the pleasant ache and fatigue which makes your body feel heavier than it should.

Still, not the worst dinner you had ever sat through.

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cillianhead · 1 year ago

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Hey hey, I just found your blog and I really like your writing - especially Sitting Pretty since I'm a sucker for those Crane fics. :3

Would you maybe be up for some kind of comfort/fluff fic with Crane?

I am always up for some comfort/fluff when it comes to Dr Jonathan Crane. He's so babygirl <3

Anyway, I hope you enjoy.... thank you so much for your request!

Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby || Jonathan Crane x Reader

warnings: none really, some brief mentions of violence, crying, angsty but also fluffy and comforting at the end, not really anything that bad to be honest, sort of non-canonical to anything that actually happened in the films.

It had been around a week since you had seen your boyfriend of three years. This was the longest you had gone without seeing Jonathan, without even hearing a peep from him. You even went to his work, he hadn't been there either. You knew what sort of dangerous work he did outside of Arkham and also within it, you knew the dangers and the risks he faced every time he left your apartment. You were still hopelessly devoted to him, despite the bad things that he has done and continues to do. You knew he would never hurt you. Him being gone felt like someone had ripped your heart out... like your soul was slowly being eaten away. Where was he? Was he even still alive? No. You mustn't think like that.

It was only a week, maybe he just needed some time away. Though he would've at least taken time off work, surely? His work told you he hadn't called in sick but he was supposed to be there. But he wasn't.

You hadn't cried. You found yourself growing more and more numb to the absence of Jonathan. It was like your body trying to reject a foreign object, trying to spit him out of your heart. It was painful and agonizingly slow, you knew you could never get over him, especially if you never got to say goodbye. His things lying around your apartment were a painful reminder of the fact he was gone. And he probably was never coming back.

You hadn't slept, at least not very well, in four days. You'd barely been eating either, maybe a stale cracker or two every now and then but you couldn't bring yourself to eat any proper meals. The best you could do was stare at the tiled wall as you stood in the scalding hot shower, trying to burn away the grief.

With the growing hunger and the fact you barely slept, paranoia was also sprouting within you, like some sort of sickly weed. You were worried that if Jonathan had been captured, whatever got him, was coming for you next. Every tiny little noise, every rumble, or car horn outside sent you running to the comfort of your shared bed. The one that smelt like him. You really couldn't sleep. Every shadow looked like some sort of evil horned figure ready to devour you whole, your eyes wide and frozen, helplessly full of fear. You thought about how Jonathan would assess this situation, how nerdy he got when you were afraid, in its own way you found it comforting the way he explained the body's reaction to fear and the way he explained the mind's power over the body.

The sleep you did get would be full of nightmares or vividly heartbreaking dreams. There was one you couldn't get over, a dream so sweet, more like a memory than anything else. Jonathan coming home from work, taking off his clothes and crawling into bed with you. His hands caressed your back softly, arms cradling you like you could shatter at any moment if he held you too tight. It felt so painfully real, that even when you began to wake up you could still feel him there. Still feeling his arms around you.

"Jonathan..." You whispered a sigh of relief, his arms pulled away from you as your heart raced with joy. Sitting up and looking around to find yourself just as alone as you had been for the past week. That's when you began to cry. "Jonathan..." You sobbed into your hands, you couldn't fall asleep after that. It was four in the morning, and the room was pretty much pitch black as you cried to yourself like a baby needing its mother.

Even more time passed. You were hysterical, you didn't pick up your phone when your friends called, you didn't leave the house, you didn't eat, and you most definitely didn't sleep. You were in bad shape, to say the least. It was that time of the year when the rain began to pour, your glass walls showed the bruised sky and the lightning it unleashed upon Gotham. You didn't work, Jonathan insisted on you staying at home, for him to provide for you. You were pretty happy staying at home and doing as you pleased. But now... it felt so different, there was no one to come home to you. You were pretty certain that the love of your life had died and you were going to spend the rest of your time alone. You knew you could never love again.

As if the sky knew how you felt, it only rained harder, it rained for days and it never stopped. You sat on the couch with a blanket draped over you as you lifelessly stared out at the dark sky. It was the middle of the night, and you thought about sweet nothings you and Jonathan shared. You thought about how lucky you were to see that side of him, so lucky you weren't on the other end, seeing the scarecrow, full of fear toxin. You thought about Jonathan humming while he made you pancakes, thought about the way he wrote you love letters almost every morning before he left for work, thought about the way you both were ready to get married soon. You remembered him holding your stomach while you brushed your teeth before bed and saying in that beautiful voice of his; "One day, you and I, are gonna have a bunch of beautiful babies and we'll live far far away from here. Everything will be perfect."

You sobbed and nothing brought you out of it. The pain in your chest was unbearable, no stupid fucking sad song or badly written poem could ever express it. There was no comprehensible word in any language that could truly explain away the agony you were in. You were no longer paranoid that something was going to come and hurt you, in fact, if there was someone or something out there coming to get you, you'd happily let it come in and put you out of your goddamn misery.

It was two soft raps on your bedroom window from the fire escape that caught your attention. You froze and stopped your crying, listening for it again, wondering if maybe you were just hearing things.

It's when you hear them again that you manage to stand up on shaky legs and wander into your bedroom that you see a shadow, leaning its weight against the window tiredly. It was him. With all the energy you could muster up, you ran to the window and slid it open before grabbing ahold of him and pulling him into your bedroom. You felt like you were going to have a heart attack.

"Y/N," Jonathan whispered. You didn't say a word, just turned on the lamp to light up the room. If this was a dream, you were going to try and enjoy every second of it. If this was the only way you could see your Jonny then you would take in every moment. "I... I missed you." And when you turned around, ready to scold him, ready to scream your lungs out at him for being gone, your heart broke all over again. His clothes were torn and covered in dried-up blood. Jonathan's neck was covered in bruises in the shape of handprints and his eyes were tired and void of any life. "Jonathan..." You whimpered, approaching him, he winced a bit as you placed your hands softly on his face. "Where have you been? What happened to you?" You were going to be angry at him before but now you understood... it wasn't his fault. He was soaking wet and you could see he had been crying too.

"I... I can't... really remember... I was drugged..." He mumbled, Jonathan's fingers curled around your waist and pulled you into a bone-crunching hug. He breathed you in, embracing you again was the only medicine he needed. Holding you was the only thing that could tell him was truly okay. "The Batman got me... I don't know how I managed to escape... just ended up here... I've been walking for days."

"Jonny..." You were crying as you sat him gently down on the bed. "I thought you..." You whispered. The strength was not in you to say it. "I thought you were..."

"Dead?" Jonathan croaked out, his voice was hoarse in a way that told you he had spent days on end screaming, from the torture he had been put through. "Yeah, me too." He said dryly.

You helped him undress. The clothes were pretty much useless so you tossed them on the floor in a pile to throw away later. "Let me clean you up..."

"No." He said. "Not right now..." Jonathan shook his head as he grabbed you and pulled you into his chest as you laid down in the bed with him again. "I just need to feel you..." His voice broke and in the process, your heart broke too. You could hear how defeated he was. "Need to feel you there." You understood, not saying another word as you clung to him. You listened to the sound of his heart, ear pressed right against his bare and bruised chest. You heard him sniffle, immediately causing you to pull away. "Oh, baby..." You cooed sadly, brushing a tear off his wounded cheek. The dam gates were open now as he began to cry, wincing at the salty tears mixing in with his busted face. "I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry that happened to you... I was so worried... you're here now... you're here with me... my baby."

"I thought about you every second," He sobbed. Jonathan looked like a helpless little child at that moment, his blue eyes were pitiful. "I thought I was going to die... thought I was never gonna get the chance to say goodbye to you..."

Together you sat crying, both with relief and sorrow as the rain poured outside, the heaven's crying with you. Everything felt okay again, for the both of you, now that you were with one another. "It's okay, Jonny." You tried to console him. Things had happened to him before, he'd been beaten up or caught in dangerous situations but he usually came home shrugging it off, this time you could tell he was severely traumatized, you could tell this was going to take a while for him to get over. Jonathan had that thousand-yard stare, that mischievous fire that usually lit up his eyes had been extinguished and now reflected the dreary weather outside. "I love you, baby, it's okay... nothing's ever going to hurt you again." You whispered, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips. You kissed him as gently as you could, knowing his lip was swollen and split open, you could taste the metallic blood from his mouth and the saltiness of his tears.

"Y/N..." Jonathan wept, his face now buried in between your neck and your jaw. "It hurts." The tone of his voice was the most heart-shattering thing you'd ever heard.

"I know, my baby," You hushed as you laid back down again, caressing his hair that was still wet from the rain. "Nothing will ever hurt you again." You reassured once again. "Nothing's going to take you from my side."

You cried your own tears of sadness, relieved he was back in your arms, relieved that you were there to take care of him and nurse him back to health. The morning sun had begun to rise by the time you two had properly nestled into your bed, skin pressed together, legs intertwined. Jonathan slept in your arms, you held him like a baby, you couldn't sleep, too happy to have him in your arms again.

"As long as you're with me, you'll be just fine..." You whispered softly into his hair.

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