#nolanverse jonathan crane x reader

[divaofmads]

Thanatos | Dr. Crane

Pairing Jonathan Crane x Female Reader

Gif by @breakfastonuranus

Summary: A psychopath who wants to control fears — and a woman willing to become his plaything. On a journey filled with desire and fear, control and pleasure begin to blur into one.

⚠️ Warnings: +18, MDNI, NSFW, Smut, Fingering, Domination, Vaginal Sex, Rape/non-con/underage content is not present or condoned, The content explores consensual dark erotica and kink with clear agency, Age Gap (F! 20 -M! 30), Heavy sexual tension, Dark themes, Psychological manipulation, Obsession, Gaslighting, Dark!JonathanCrane, Fear Kink, Toxic relationship dynamics, Fear Serum Mentions, Experimental drug use (fictional substance, psychological context), Power imbalance (mentor x intern dynamic), Do not romanticize manipulation in real life, English is not my first language so excuse my mistakes. I write purely as a hobby, not as a professional.

Word Count: +10k

Dividers by @arcielee

📌A/N: While writing this story, I drew inspiration from Freud’s concept of the death drive (Thanatos), the life/sexual drive (Eros), and the dark line where these two opposing forces intertwine. What is told here is not just a fantasy; it's also about how people approach their desires with fear, and how they transform fear into desire. My story is both a warning and a surrender. Like a life lived under the shadow of death. Or like the sudden sense of absence that appears at the very depth of pleasure.

You began to tidy up the scattered documents on your desk. Files, pens, your glasses case. You slowly zipped up your bag and stood. Adjusted your shoulders. Noticed the bottom button of your shirt had ridden up and hastily tucked it back in. Your reflection in the mirror showed a tired but content expression, the day was over, or so you thought. Your palms were still clammy, because working in Dr. Crane’s office wasn’t merely an academic duty; it was a kind of survival art. Even his silence was a threat, and you had no choice but to obey it.

The wall clock had just passed six, its ticking sound slicing through the silence like a blade. In your mind still lingered the notes you’d taken throughout the day, the patients you observed, and Dr. Crane’s meticulous gaze. That gaze had followed you like a shadow through Arkham’s dimly lit corridors all day. Even though barely two sentences had escaped his lips, Jonathan Crane seemed to read you with a chilling precision. It was as if he knew what you were thinking, what you were feeling, what you were suppressing, better than you did. And the most terrifying part? He seemed to enjoy it.

Just as you turned toward the door… the handle clicked. And like a cold gust of wind, he entered.

He stepped in holding his notebook, and the air in the room shifted. The temperature seemed to drop by a few degrees. The dirty yellow light highlighted the pale sharpness of his features. His eyes looked at you like a hunter sizing up prey, just before striking.

“I don’t recall granting you permission to leave.”

His tone was low, measured, and deep. But the undertone was ice-cold. It wasn’t merely a sentence, it was a decision, a judgment, a command. Your heart skipped. Your hand remained on your bag strap; you couldn’t move forward or backward.

You opened your mouth, but the words stalled on your tongue. Because you knew there was no point in arguing. Jonathan Crane wasn’t just a strict professor; he was like a surgeon dissecting you. He had placed your soul on the table, opened your veins, and watched you from the inside. Not just as a student, but as a subject.

“It’s past six... I just…” you said softly, like a child retreating to defense. “I was just packing up, doctor.”

His expression didn’t change. His eyes stayed locked on your face. Then, he stepped closer. The door didn’t shut, through the crack, a line of sterile white light cut into the dark office like a blade.

“So you were preparing to escape before I dismissed you?”

His voice didn’t rise, but the subtle sarcasm scraped at your insides. Your gaze dropped to the floor, your head bowed slightly. Your shoulders sagged. You knew everything, this damned internship, hung between his lips. He had told you on the first day: “If you want to stay here, you’ll follow my rules. My rules are... changeable. Like your courage.”

“No... no, I just misunderstood, I think…” you said, but before you could finish, the strap of your bag slipped from your fingers. A small thud. And then silence. And his footsteps, ah, those slow, deliberate steps began echoing across the hard floor, sending a shiver through you.

Jonathan stood in front of you. He didn’t tilt his head or raise your chin when he spoke. The space between you was barely a breath. You smelled him; a metallic medicinal scent, a hint of sweat, and the dusty aroma of old book covers. His face was expressionless, but his eyes… they watched you break.

“This internship… requires diligence. Small details often determine fate. For instance, do you know who decides when you’re allowed to leave this office?”

You slowly shook your head. Your lips parted, but you gave no answer.

“I do,” he said, voice nearly a whisper. “Not you. Not the bell. Don’t think you’re ‘free’ just because the sun has set. I control this institution’s rhythm, Y/N. And your little sense of time can’t disrupt my system.”

He reached out. His fingers moved toward the button on your collar but didn’t unfasten it. He only touched it. With cold and steady pressure. It felt like he was pressing not on the fabric, but on your throat. A tremble rose beneath your heart. A shiver coursed down your spine. You weren’t afraid… at least, not just afraid. There was something in that touch a submissive surrender mingled with fear.

“If you want to leave…” he said, and with his thumb under your button, he lifted your chin, “...you’ll ask for permission. While looking me in the eyes.”

You stood there, head bowed. Your body motionless, but inside, storms were brewing. Jonathan Crane’s eyes were on you. He had your strings in his hand, unraveling you. He didn’t even need to raise a hand. That eye contact was pushing you back, further and further from yourself. You swallowed against the heat swelling in your throat.

“Please… may I leave, Dr. Crane?”

Your voice was soft, barely a whisper. But in the silence, it was a confession, an audible expression of your submission to his authority. You didn’t want to please him as much as you feared angering him. Because his wrath wouldn’t be verbal, it would come through action. And while you didn’t yet know what he was capable of… your imagination was more than active.

His eyes lingered on you for a few seconds. Then, his eyelids drooped slightly, and he tilted his head ever so slightly. He examined you. Smelled your helplessness.

“No,” he said flatly. The word echoed like a bullet hitting the wall. “We’re not finished yet.”

Your heart paused. What could you say? To object… would be suicide. Your shoulders dropped. You dared to meet his eyes.

“But…” you said, swallowing hard, “…it’s past working hours. For today…”

“Be quiet,” he cut you off. His voice didn’t rise. But the tone, was like a slap that shattered any thought of defiance. “If you work with me, time does not belong to you. Understand? Time is mine.”

He took another step. The sound of his shoes still echoed coldly on the floor, but now he was just inches from you. Your eyes drifted to his chest, just below the collar. You couldn’t see his heartbeat, but it was there. Close. Dangerous. Yet… alluring. With the back of his hand, he lifted your chin this time. His palm was warm, but the skin he touched went numb. When your eyes met his… your balance shifted.

“You’ll go down to the archive room,” he said softly. His fingers remained at your chin, pressure slightly increasing. “Retrieve file A-38. The one with the red label. When you bring it back, we’ll… examine it together.”

You hesitated. It wasn’t about going to the archive. You didn’t care about the contents of the file. What mattered, was his tone. His request, so unnecessary and arbitrary… was a test. A rehearsal for control. A reminder of your place, your time of surrender.

“I suggest you move quickly,” he added. He removed his hand from your face but immediately reached again for the button on your collar. “And if you try to leave again without permission… next time, we’ll speak differently.”

He didn’t press the button. He just paused there. But for a moment, you felt your whole body lock beneath the tip of his finger.

He held your gaze for a moment longer. Then turned and walked toward the bookshelf. All that remained was silence, your shallow breath, and the fragile desire trembling in the cold room.

Your fingers trembled. You tried to suppress the storm inside as you took a deep breath. You knew… when you returned with that file, what awaited you wouldn’t be limited to the pages.

And the next time you stepped into that office…

you wouldn’t leave as yourself.

As you stepped into the corridor, even your own footsteps sounded too loud in your ears. It felt as if each step echoed off the walls, amplifying the noise inside your head. Your fingers were still trembling slightly, but you weren’t sure if it was from fear… or the lingering phantom warmth of where he had touched you. Your heart fluttered inside your chest like a restless creature clawing to escape. Your body moved forward, but your mind was still in his office. That tone of voice, the breath that brushed your neck, that single word: “No.”

No.

He had said no. And for the first time in your life, after someone told you “no,” instead of stepping back, you had chosen to move forward.

That was what shamed you the most. That fluid guilt flowing through your veins. Yes, you had to obey his command. This internship was a necessity for you. But deep down, you knew, it was no longer just about obedience. There was a need rising from within, something you couldn’t name. When you looked into his eyes, there was something stirring in you, something that made you feel… tainted. Desire and hatred should never be so tightly woven together. It shouldn’t be like this. Why did the dark feel so… alluring?

Why did his humiliation burn just like his touch?

Your underwear had grown damp. Even that detail embarrassed you. If he had realized what state you were in around him… he’d tear you apart. And even as you imagined that moment of unraveling, you felt shame.

You took a deep breath. Tried to collect yourself. The archive room was at the end of the corridor. “I’m just getting a file,” you told yourself. “A piece of paper. That’s all. Calm down.”

But your steps began to shorten. Because as you neared the door, all you could see was a slit of dim light. Most of the ceiling lamps were broken. The archive room was one of the least used, most forgotten spaces in Arkham. When you pushed the door open, the metal hinges groaned with rust. The creaking sound slithered across your skin like a chill.

Inside… was a dark labyrinth.

Only one fluorescent light flickered weakly on the left. It gave off more of a tremble than brightness. The rest was in total darkness. The shelves, if you could even call them that, were chaotic. Stacks of files, labels scattered across the floor, toppled folders. The place looked like it had been abandoned after a war. Which section was A, which was B? Where were the red-labeled files? Nothing was clear.

There were narrow paths. Just barely enough space between the shelves to squeeze through. Turning, bending, even taking a deep breath felt difficult. You felt like even a moment’s distraction, as small as a loose screw, could bring the whole structure crashing down on you. The air was stale. The familiar scent of dust filled your nose. You tried not to cough. In this silence, even the slightest sound from your throat felt too much.

A-38.

With a red label.

Your mind repeated the instruction over and over. Your feet moved cautiously between the shelves. But with each step, you felt more and more lost. Not physically… mentally. This place felt like Crane’s mind: cluttered, chaotic, narrow, out of control, yet woven with a strange, magnetic logic that kept pulling you in.

You lifted a few folders. A-14, A-22… C-03… B-67… All jumbled. Some labels were torn, others faded. As your hand brushed over the folder covers, the moist, dusty cardboard tickled your skin. Your eyes were adjusting to the dark, but your body remained on high alert. You kept feeling like if you turned around, someone would be standing there. Or… maybe you wanted to feel that.

Because his voice was still in your head. “If you try to leave again without permission…”

It echoed in your mind like an unfinished threat.

And you… you were beginning to hope for more than just threats.

You didn’t know how long you’d been struggling among the files. Time seemed warped in here. Your fingers were dark with dust, your elbows scratched from the sharp cardboard edges. Your back ached from twisting and bending in this oppressive space. But above all, you felt a weight. Something non-physical… an instinctual pressure. Your heart was slowly speeding up. Your ears buzzed. And strangest of all, at the tip of your nose, you smelled him. That same metallic, medicinal tone mixed with a dark cologne… or was it just your imagination?

Just as you were sifting through the lower section of the B shelf, a shadow suddenly passed to your right and struck the floor. You hadn’t heard any footsteps. As someone appeared behind you, your body instinctively tensed, but then you heard his voice. That cold, sleek blade of a voice, full of restrained authority, familiar and terrifying.

“Truly… that a task this simple challenges you so deeply is… disappointing.”

His voice was too close. And as soon as you heard it, your heart clenched and the tension radiated through every inch of your body. Your hand still rested on the files, but your focus shattered. The space behind you… wasn’t empty anymore. Just like the silence in your mind. He was here. Quietly. Watching. Patiently. And now… he had arrived.

You swallowed, feeling your throat muscles scrape against each other. Your eyes scanned the shelf in front of you, but the letters made no sense anymore.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, barely audible. “It’s… quite disorganized. The labels are missing.”

It was an explanation, but also a defense. Because the thought of disappointing him had carved itself deeper into you than fear. It felt cruel, yes, but also… like a fragile form of attachment.

His presence shifted behind you. No sound. But your body could feel every subtle movement he made. The distance between you was shrinking. This shelf row was barely wide enough for two people to stand side by side. And he wasn’t moving past you. He was behind you. Very close.

You couldn’t move. His breath grazed the exposed part of your neck and you instinctively held your breath. Nothing touched your back, but where was he? He was close. You felt it in your bones.

“This file,” he said, his voice landing near your right ear, “is a kind of… case study we’ll be working on. If you want to learn, and you must, for this internship, you must understand what and why you’re looking for. Otherwise, you’ll wander in the dark like a blind subject.”

One more step. This time, you couldn’t suppress your breath. Because something lightly touched your back. Not harsh, not aggressive… but definite. His body, maybe his jacket… or simply his nearness was enough to make you feel it. You realized someone had bent near your waist. Then, something brushed the inside of your arm. A fine fabric. His hand. Moving discreetly at your elbow. Your eyes widened, but you didn’t turn your head. Your face was blank. But inside… chaos exploded.

And he continued speaking as if nothing had happened.

“Perhaps someone like you struggles to find what they’re looking for… because they don’t quite know what it is they’re seeking.”

The end of his sentence was dangerously close to your ear. But the real realization was that your body had forgotten how to move. You stayed as you were, hands resting on the files. Because if you moved, the contact might become more obvious. Or… it might change. It might go further.

And maybe… you wanted it to.

And the most terrifying, most shameful thought was this:

You wanted to stay like this.

As your fingers kept gliding over the folders, Crane’s presence was no longer debatable, it wrapped around you like a second skin. You stood caught between the shelf and his body, positioned so that even the lack of space itself felt intoxicating. The tightness of the archive room pressed him closer, yet he moved as if it were nothing but necessity. But nothing about this was natural. Every move was calculated, every breath rehearsed.

Suddenly, his right arm reached over you to grab one of the folders above. As the inside of his arm passed just behind your shoulder, you felt his hips brush against you, for the first time, there was no ambiguity in the contact. You held your breath, but he kept moving as if nothing had happened. His fingertips hovered over the labels, yet he didn’t move his body an inch away. On the contrary… he leaned in, just slightly.

The side of your neck was bare. Strands of your hair were messily falling. That’s when you heard his voice again. This time, lower. More personal. His vocal cords nearly touched your skin.

"Why are your hands shaking?"

It wasn’t a question. Not even an observation. It was a kind of threat, silent, implied. Not physical. Psychological. His voice seeped under your skin. The heat of his breath vibrated at your neck. Your shoulder now felt like it was pinned to his chest. There was no room to retreat. The shelf in front, his body behind. Your breath shortened. You thought of saying “stop”… but your tongue didn’t move. Because you didn’t want him to. But you couldn’t ask him to start, either. You were circling inside a moral void. And yes, you were scared it might cost you your internship.

He raised his hand again, reaching for another folder. This time, the motion was slower. As his fingers passed just in front of your arm, his palm lightly brushed your wrist. And stayed. He didn’t pull back. Not until he had the folder. The weight of his hand pressed against your skin, unmoving. You closed your eyes, tried to hold your breath—but your chest started rising and falling too fast.

And he noticed. Of course, he did. For Jonathan Crane, your body's responses were data. He didn’t need your words to understand. Your pulse, your breathing, the trembling at your fingertips... they were maps to him. And reading those maps gave him pleasure.

He leaned in a little closer. You felt him move through your hair. His lips were nearly at your exposed neck. It made your skin shiver. Your eyes locked on the labels along the far wall, but none of the letters made sense anymore.

You were scared. Every brush of his skin had carved itself into yours. But what followed shattered you even more. His other hand touched your outer thigh, just above the hem of your skirt. A warm touch. Maybe even a caress. But done in a way that suggested accident, like it was just part of the motion.

You swallowed hard. The knot in your throat wouldn’t loosen. You couldn’t speak. Your back was being pressed further into his torso. You were locked in place. And yet, his hands remained—on the surface—innocent. He was just browsing folders. Just… helping.

But his touch lingered longer each time. Each folder he reached for, he seemed to do so with unnecessary tenderness. Like he wasn’t touching paper, but skin. When he pulled one out, his hand grazed your hip. “Accidentally.” But it was too specific to be dismissed. And when your knees trembled, his breathing deepened. His chest rose beneath his jacket. He was watching you. Drinking in your reactions.

“You’re feeling too much. That pleases me. It means... there’s still something left in you to break.”

That’s when it hit you. This wasn’t just about finding a folder. This was a session. A covert experiment. You were his subject. The narrow archive aisle was the lab, and your helpless responses were the data. Every small shiver echoed inside him.

For a moment, you imagined yourself through his eyes. Someone who couldn’t move, couldn’t flee, and yet… wouldn’t say “no.” Your chest tightened. But within that tightness, something darker bloomed. A pleasure you couldn’t explain pulled you deeper.

And Jonathan Crane… he wasn’t rushing to drag you there. He was guiding you slowly. Without force. Without resistance.

Because you were already breaking.

The folder with the red label trembled between your fingers, shining like salvation. It had been wedged deep behind the shelf, covered in dust, nearly invisible. The rustling sound it made as you pulled it free shattered the icy shell inside you. Your heart began to race, but this time, it felt like breathing again.

“Ah... this is it,” you said, your voice trembling with a fragile kind of joy. “We’re saved.”

That word slipped out before you realized: saved.

Your own tongue had chosen it, as if aware of the weight of the moment. The presence of the man behind you still burned on your skin. But the file… was just an excuse.

You reached back with a gentle but decisive touch, placing your hand against Crane’s chest. It wasn’t gratitude, it was an attempt to escape. And the moment your fingertips met his warmth, it hit you like a blow. But when you pushed, he didn’t resist at all.

It was as if he’d only been there to observe you.

As if he wasn’t trying to trap you, but provoke a response. And he got it.

Once you stepped out of the narrow aisle in the archive room, you inhaled deeply. As the door creaked shut behind you, you realized something inside you hadn’t followed. It lingered on your skin. On your hip, your wrist, your neck... everywhere he had touched, a trace remained. A shadow.

You clutched the folder to your chest and started walking. Your steps became mechanical. Your left arm supported the file tightly, your other hand opened and closed in the empty air. Your eyes looked ahead, but your thoughts clung to words for distraction. You tried to smile. Maybe if you laughed, it would pass. Maybe if you spoke, everything that had just happened would disappear.

“Finally,” you said with a light smile. “Those shelves were like a battlefield. I think A-38 might be this building’s best-kept secret.”

Your voice tried to sound natural, but it felt foreign even to your own ears. Something inside you was still trembling. It hadn’t stayed behind. It was walking with you. His hands, his breath, his voice were now buried in silence, yet you could still feel him.

Dr. Crane was watching you. His eyes were on your face.

Through Arkham’s long corridors, the echoes of your footsteps over cracked ceramic tiles accompanied his silence. He didn’t say a word. Nothing. That made you feel even more on edge. His silence wasn’t a punishment, it was a clue. He knew he had read you. And now, he was enjoying the sight of you trying to wear your armor again.

You felt his gaze. Heavy. Sharp. Like fingers pressing into your back. It wasn’t the kind of desire that chased, it engulfed. A shadow wrapping around you from the inside. Picking through your mind. Memorizing your skin. The desire of a man who devoured you not with his hands, but with his eyes.

And no matter how much you clung to words, that silence… said more than any sentence could.

When you entered his office, the space transformed again into Crane’s domain. Unlike the cramped archive, it was wider, but somehow more intimate. The light was muted. The amber glow of the lamps leaned across the desk, casting soft halos on the papers, forming shadows. But here, shadows weren’t just from objects, they were intentions.

As you opened the folder, he sat down in his chair, one leg crossed over the other. His fingertips touched one another, the familiar position of the observer. His eyes weren’t on your face. They hovered just below your neck, on the fabric of your shirt. But he wasn’t looking. He was scanning.

As you pulled the files from the folder, you noticed he hadn’t moved closer. Not yet. But his breath arrived before any motion did.

On the top right corner of the first page, there was a date: 03.08.22

Below it, a name: Leonid F. Klein.

And beneath that, a note scribbled in handwriting: “The perfect lie. Even to himself.”

“Klein,” Crane said, not taking his eyes off your hands, “a case of obsessive-compulsive behavior coupled with advanced mythomania. Which means he wasn’t just a pathological liar. His sense of reality was fractured. Lying wasn’t a defense, it was structure. Pleasure.”

His voice was low, but every emphasis carefully chosen. Just like the words. You rotated the file slightly toward him so both of you could read at once. That motion brought your shoulder close enough to touch his. Your knees nearly brushed. But neither of you pulled away.

“In cases like this,” he continued, fingers tapping the desk’s edge, “we don’t just look at the lie itself. We look at what need shaped it. Sometimes, the individual... requires a process even to confess the lie they wish were true.”

He placed his hand near the page. Close, but not quite touching yours. Yet you could feel the heat of his skin. The deliberate proximity.

“For instance,” he said, lowering his voice further, “imagine someone’s made to do something they didn’t want. They may say they didn’t want it. But the body... might tell another story.”

“Klein was the same. He always said, ‘I didn’t do it on purpose.’ But his pupils would dilate. His voice would soften. His pulse would spike. The body doesn’t make alliances with lies.”

A pause followed. Not from lack of information, but to listen to your reaction.

Your breathing had changed. He noticed.

Your hand trembled. He saw that too.

His eyes slid from your face to your chest, then to your neck, and finally... to the edge of your lips.

He didn’t say a word. But somehow... he said it all.

“People often want what they claim they don’t. But knowing that, hurts. You have the intellect to understand that.”

These words weren’t direct. But their weight was unmistakable.

You felt exposed. You stared at the table.

He touched your shoulder with the outside of his hand. This time, deliberately. Gauging your response. Then he leaned in. As he turned the next page, he spoke beside your ear.

“Do you know what a liar truly seeks, more than anything?”

“To be believed?”

“No. To be caught.”

You swallowed. Hard. Your eyes drifted toward the corner of the room. But your body, as if trying to escape, shifted slightly away from the desk. Your hip slid to the side, putting space between your leg and his. The distance still looked professionally acceptable. But what you felt… had already passed those boundaries.

He brushed your fingertips with his. Brief. Soft. But calculated.

“One doesn’t only defend themselves from others… but from their own impulses. And impulses... love resistance. Resistant minds are their favorite playground.”

With those words, he finally looked into your eyes. Fully.

And brought you to the edge.

Jonathan Crane’s touch on your hand ended in a thin line. The closeness he had maintained up until that moment had been sharp and patient; but now he pulled back. He leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes for a few seconds. He left between you not a tense silence, but a calculating space. Then, when his eyelids slowly opened, it was as if he had become a completely different man, but he was still the same Crane. Only he had moved into the next phase.

He tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. Rhythmic, thoughtful. Then he tilted his head slightly to the side, his eyes returning to the pages. But there was a sentence on his lips that would pierce your mind:

“Do you remember… that new prototype I mentioned last term? A beta-typogenic class combination… a type of fluid. A formula that facilitates the confessional reflex. It is being developed to overcome behavioral blockages.”

His tone was neutral, as if you were in a classroom. But that was only the first layer. His words were presented to you as a technical reminder; but what was seeping beneath the tone… was something else entirely.

His jawline was harder. The inside of his eyes was measuring.

He was measuring whether he remembered or not, not just on the level of knowledge, but on another level as well.

“It’s a very interesting thing, chemically,” he continued. “There’s a very fine line between the neurological structures needed to tell a lie and the structures needed to repress it. If you can blur that line… everything that’s repressed comes to the fore. It spills out into words. Inevitably.”

You held your breath. Your hand was still on the corner of the file, but you weren’t looking at the pages anymore. As he spoke to you, he stood up abruptly. The slight creak of his chair echoed through the room like a small tremor. He turned his back to you and headed for a closet in the back corner of the office. His movements were not quick; each step was measured and heavy. As he opened the closet door, the fluorescent light reflecting off the metal shelves inside dazzled him.

He reached out and pulled out a small glass tube. Inside was a liquid as dark as night and quivering with a golden hue. The liquid moved slowly inside the glass, rippling as if it were breathing.

Jonathan turned to you, twirling the tube between his thumb and forefinger. His face was still expressionless. But his eyes… bore the impatience of a God about to begin an experiment.

“I’m glad you remembered,” he said. “But the question is… whether you have the confidence to put this theoretical knowledge into practice.”

He moved closer. He stood across the table, holding the tube in his palm. From where you were looking, the liquid was clearer now. The glass had been warmed by his body heat. He didn’t hand it to you. Not yet.

“The effect of the drug is temporary,” he said. “It doesn’t cause unconsciousness. It doesn’t involve external intervention. It just… brings out what’s inside. It doesn’t numb. It cleanses. It erases obstructions.”

Then he stepped forward. He came around the corner of the table and approached you. The tube was still steady in his hand. His stance was under control, but your breath was close enough to brush his chest. He lowered his voice another notch. He whispered, as if only you could hear: “Do you trust me?”

The words were easy. But their content was poisonous. And then came another sentence; that fragile persuasion that trapped you, leaving no way out: “Or… is there something you’re afraid to confess?”

Your whole body tensed. Because at this point, the choice was no longer whether to accept the drug or not.

The choice was whether to accept and accept how much you obeyed him. Whether to learn who you were in his hands or not. And he was offering you this drug as a personal tool, not just an experimental one. Would you choose to deny yourself?

Or, looking into his eyes… surrender?

Jonathan finally placed the tube on the table. He rolled it slowly to a stop. He locked his eyes with yours. There was a threatening expectation in his eyes. A cold, scientific, frightening curiosity-infused expectation. A decision that seems like "it's your decision", but in fact it has already been made for you.

The glass of the tube stopped spinning on the table. The movement had stopped, but the liquid inside seemed to still stir. It vibrated with uncertainty, fear, but also with an uncontrollable curiosity, just like the restlessness inside you.

You smiled. Forced it. Your facial muscles relaxed for a moment, your voice tried to sound natural.

“We can’t do this… I mean, it was an experiment. A prototype. I don’t know if testing it on yourself… is reasonable or ethical. It might even be… illegal.”

The rise in the voice at the end was tried to sound like a joke. But even you didn’t believe it. Your eyes still avoided his. Because there… there was a darkness reading you. A clinical coldness that analyzed not only your behavior but also your desires.

Jonathan Crane was silent for a moment. His head tilted slightly to the side. The line between his eyebrows wasn’t just a superficial sign of thought. He was watching you. He was listening to all the “no’s” you had hidden under that sentence. And then he spoke. Slow, sharp, as if every word had been chosen to tear you apart from the inside.

“I don’t meet students like you every semester. Do you know what’s interesting? They’re all brilliant at first. They’re all praised with grades. But then… they’re not tested. And no success that isn’t tested is real.”

He took a step toward you. His hands were tied behind his back. He was taller than you; his position was that of a judge rather than a teacher. He was cold. But that coldness… seemed like it would be warmed by a punishment.

“You think you’re ‘the best,’ don’t you? The most careful, the most patient, the most meticulous… even the most courageous. But none of these… should apply only to the classroom. There’s no room for these fairy tales in your professional life.”

The words seeped in. To be the best. That was the command you wrote inside yourself. You wanted to be ‘the first’ in his eyes. To be distinguished, to be seen as different. Because this internship… was the most fragile bridge of your career. And Crane had caught you on that bridge.

“Do you remember the students before you?” he asked. “Not one of them has been in this room with me where you are now. None of them have come this close. None of them… had this much potential.”

Your breath caught between your lips. Your chest heaved rapidly, but that breath was not a victory… it was a loss. He had set you apart. He had offered you the title of first place, but that title came with a price.

And Crane, as the one who held the prize, reminded you of that price:

“People like you can’t afford to be weak. They’re not afraid to make a decision. They think you won’t hesitate.”

“But now… you’re running away. You’re afraid. Because this is the first time you’ve been put to the test.”

His eyes locked on yours. Not to convince, but to leave no room for escape. Then he turned his head slowly. He opened the drawer on the desk. He pulled out a sterile syringe with a black frame.

It was the same temperature as the glass tube, but much more menacing. And he began to prepare this threat, as if it were a ceremony, calmly and methodically.

“It doesn’t change you. It just… opens you up to you.”

“Without any external interference, it just lets you face your truth. That’s what all ‘successful’ people avoid. Learning… who you really are.”

A note of tone appeared in his voice as his fingers tested the steel of the needle:

“If this is too much for you… maybe you’re not as brave as I thought.”

There it was. It was chosen to sink in. If you’re afraid, it’s because you’re weak. If you don’t accept, it’s because you’re not ready. And you… had to be ready. Because in his eyes, you were ‘the best.’

And in his eyes, being ‘the best’ was tantamount to obedience.

The hissing sound as the syringe began to draw the liquid echoed through the room. The golden liquid, flowing from the glass into the metal, was now only a few centimeters away from you. And Jonathan Crane watched you with no expression of triumph on his face.

Because he had already won.

The hissing sound as the liquid in the glass syringe vibrated into the metal needle was like a warning bell for you. It didn’t echo throughout the room, but it became an internal whisper that buzzed in your ears. This was no longer part of a laboratory experiment, but a chemical revelation ceremony played with your body. And you… You were standing there, facing Crane. Your wrist was exposed. The sleeve of your shirt was slowly rolled up. Your veins were highlighted by the effect of fear. The blue under your skin was now a direct target.

The hard rubber sound of Crane’s hands as he put on his gloves seemed to polish the seriousness of the moment. And then, the brief but infinite second of injection that would prepare you to see from within, not from the surface, would begin.

“Stay calm,” he said in a low voice. “This will only disable the voice that silences you. Everything else… already exists inside you.”

You felt the moment when the metal of the syringe needle touched your skin before it went deeper. First, the coldness. The sudden tightening of nerve endings that knew something was coming. Then a little pressure.

And then…

Introduction.

The moment the needle punctured your vein, your brain registered the moment. The puncture wasn’t sharp, but the wave that followed was…a fire that burned inside you but couldn’t seep out.

Crane slowly pushed the plunger. The fluid in the glass tube was now moving through your veins.

Your vagus system was activated. Your heartbeat slowed for a moment, then sped up. Your breathing became irregular. The fluid was directly touching the communication between your amygdala and your prefrontal cortex. The frontal lobes of your brain, which “censored reality,” began to fail like a membrane that was slowly evaporating. In its place, a more primitive layer was preparing to speak.

The drug’s intravenous spread reached your brain’s limbic system in about 8.3 seconds. And that’s when you realized that your body was no longer yours.

A vibration rose. First in your neck. Then in your shoulder blades. Finally… in the center of your chest.

The bottom of your chest tightened as if someone was pressing from inside. There was not enough air. You didn’t want to breathe because even the air you took in at that moment seemed to be under Crane’s control.

Your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. Your sweat glands activated. Your subcutaneous temperature rose rapidly, while your body warmed up by 0.5 degrees.

But the most dramatic change happened inside. Your mind’s voice fell silent.

Instead, whatever was repressed began to climb upwards with the chemical drive of the liquid. Just as nausea comes not from a thought, but from a physiological drive…

For a moment, an image of the past flashed before your eyes. A failure. A race. A class. Eyes looking at you. That minus sign you received after the exam. That moment when you were told “insufficient”. It opened up in your mind like an unhealed wound. And then, the voice inside you asked: “Does Crane look at me like that?”

No thought was safe for you anymore.

It was all getting ready to come out. And he… was watching you.

When Crane withdrew the syringe, a small drop of blood rose to the surface after the metal had been removed from his skin. He pressed it gently with his fingers, but for the first time the contact was truly personal. Because this time, it wasn’t just the medicine that had seeped into his skin… but also his gaze.

“This is… the first stage,” he said. “Now, not your words… but your instincts will speak.”

Your pupils were dilated, your forehead moist. The insides of your knees were tingling, your body was losing control, but you weren’t falling yet.

Because you were still resisting. But the resistance was no longer just suppressing the medicine, it was suppressing yourself.

The silence of the room had changed to something else now. There was a chemical vibrating in the air; an aura that was invisible but coursing through your veins, an effect that took your thoughts from your hands and delivered them to his fingers.

You sat in your chair, your eyes wide, your lips parted. Your breathing wasn’t smooth, but rather undulating like waves crashing against the shore. Your chest, your shoulders… all seemed to carry a weight that was loaded onto your body. Everything you had suppressed inside you wanted to come out in the uncontrolled movements of your body, but you… were still trying to resist. Confessing… meant everything.

Jonathan Crane was still standing. After dropping the syringe into a medical waste container, he slowly guided his steps towards you. His stance was calm, but this calmness was only apparent from the outside; underneath it was strategy, appetite, lustful attention. His eyes lingered on you; he seemed to take note of your every reaction. But he didn’t want to tear you apart… he wanted to have you by making you unravel yourself.

“How are you feeling?” he finally asked, his voice low but direct. “Not much. Just honestly. Are you afraid?”

Even the question was a trap. Because if you said “no,” you would be lying. And you couldn’t lie. If you said “yes,” you would be accepting the fact that he was controlling you. But you… you were torn. After a few seconds of silence, without lifting your eyes from the table, you whispered:

“A little.”

He smiled. But it wasn’t warm. It was patient, mixed with pleasure. He was starting to figure you out. And now, he had decided to dig deeper.

He moved closer to you. He took a step toward the back of the chair. You couldn’t see his face, but you could tell he was getting closer to you from the thickening air between you. There was a deep silence. Then his voice rose again, from somewhere near the back of your neck. You shivered, your muscles tightening. “So what makes it hard for you to be honest with me? Fear? Morality? Or… something else?”

Your body quivered reflexively at that moment. Because the question wasn’t direct, but the implication was very strong. The words caught in your throat. The word “morality” felt like a needle when it came out of his voice. Was it what had happened between you and him that you were questioning… or was it that you wanted those things?

You swallowed.

“It’s just… weird,” you said with difficulty. “This isn’t normal.”

Jonathan tilted his head a little to the side at that answer. Like a doctor watching a subject’s first reaction. Yet he wasn’t impatient. Because he knew that the magic of confession… lay in its delay. Then, without forcing you at all, he began to speak slowly, in a way that would mentally grip you:

“People worship mediocrity to escape normality. They force themselves into ‘reasonable’ patterns. But inside them… there is a darker, more honest self. Those like you know this very well. Because you… don’t just want to be successful. You want to be distinguished. To be noticed. To know that something that is thought to be untouchable… has been opened up specifically for you. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you don’t stay silent.”

His words were filling the voids inside you. You were trying to resist, but your lips were moist, your fingers were tightly gripping the edge of the table. That liquid running through your veins was now loosening not only the urges, but also the shame.

Then he asked the question. Slowly. Almost in a whisper. “Have you ever thought about me?”

The blood rushed to your face. You felt like even hearing that sentence was tearing you apart. Your shoulders started to sag, as if someone had reached out from inside your heart and pulled away all the walls you had stepped on.

For a moment you couldn’t answer. But then… the word came. Like a rotten whisper.

“Yes…”

Jonathan’s eyes lit up. He didn’t smile. Because this moment wasn’t something to laugh at. This was the moment when the armor that made you who you were cracked for the first time.

And then he took another step. This time he was right next to you. He didn’t put his hand on your shoulder, he didn’t touch your hair. But you could feel his presence… under your skin now.

“When?” he asked. “What moment? What thought?”

You closed your eyes. You wanted to run away. But the words… came.

���The first day of the internship… when you didn’t look into my eyes. You weren’t talking to the other students like you did. I thought about it then. But I didn’t want to. But I thought about it anyway.”

Crane lowered his gaze to you. Just like a patient is put under observation at the first moment of crisis… only this time his interest wasn’t just clinical. He wasn’t solving you anymore.

He was solving you in order to take care of you.

Jonathan Crane accepted your confession with silence. He neither mocked nor showed any surprise. He simply remained silent. But this silence was not an ordinary “I heard”. This was the first time a lock was turned. And he… had now stepped into the room behind that lock.

He took another step. His fingers were slightly tense, but he did not touch. He would not touch yet. Because you had to want him to come closer. Your mind was just getting used to this confusion, and he was slowly untangling you with his patience.

He pulled a chair from the table and sat down next to you. There was a short distance between you, but that distance was now lost in his eyes. His pupils were constricted, scanning you. But this scanning was no longer clinical. It was a preparation for possession.

“You said what you thought of me,” he said softly, “but that is only the beginning. Thoughts… can escape intention. But desires are more honest.”

He was silent for a moment. You heard his breathing. The uncomfortable warmth that his arm leaning on the table had awakened in you was seeping up from under your body. Like a fire that could not reach its depth but made you feel it was approaching.

“When I enter the same room with you… what do you feel? Really. When you see me… how does your body react?”

The question was direct and chilling. This was no longer a ‘test’. This was a transition to another layer of confession. And under the effect of the drug, the filters on your honesty were now dissolving. But this honesty was chaining you instead of freeing you. Because everything you said would mean surrendering to him a little more.

You swallowed. Only one word came out of your lips first: “Restlessness… I feel like there is no limit to what you can do.”

But he waited. He looked at you without blinking. That answer was not enough. Because when you pulled away from his gaze, he could see your heart speed up. Your eyes wandered around the room, as the words were preparing to fall from your chest, the urges that you had not even confessed to your own inner voice began to rise.

“But… also… curiosity. I want to see your limitlessness. I want to stay even when I should be leaving. And that endless unknown makes me feel attracted to you. It’s… disturbing but… addiction, Dr. Crane.”

Crane slowly lowered his head. Like a hunter watching you over his shoulder. Not your words, not your fragile tone… nothing was foreign to him. He didn’t respond as if he already knew you. He watched you patiently, as if he were shaping you right now. And then he asked something even more specific. It was proof that he was moving toward becoming not just a counselor but an object of obsession:

“So… what would you like me to know about you? When you think of me… how would you like to be seen, Y/N?”

The question was like a knife. The answer was something you were waiting for, just to see in his eyes. Maybe “to be noticed.” Maybe “to be liked.” But in that moment, a more primal urge emerged:

“I want you to see my weaknesses… especially my fears,” you said. “But without belittling me. The thought of you not pitying me triggers me…The fantasy of controlling me stimulates my groin.”

Your words caught in your throat. Because this wasn’t just a confession; this was a declaration of your voluntary inclusion in the entire system he had created.

Jonathan was silent for a moment. Then, he leaned in. Very lightly, very slowly. You felt his breath near your cheek. But still, he didn’t kiss. Because the biggest touch between them… was still your voice.

“For you, boundaries are just the outer shell,” he whispered. “I’m not helping you break yourself. You’re already broken. I… am just holding up a mirror to you.”

And what you saw in the mirror… wasn’t just you. It was how he saw you now. And it was something you had never seen before.

Crane’s words didn’t hang in the air. They had descended over you like a heavy veil, slowly descending. You were breathing under that veil now, hazy, uncomfortable, but familiar. Because the deep, clinical softness in his voice… wasn’t a cure, it was a promise of resolution.

Your shoulders had slumped, your jaw had trembled slightly. Your body didn’t feel like your own. It was a place where only his words echoed. And Jonathan Crane was the architect of this place.

Nothing was rushed as he approached you. He slowly raised his hand from the edge of the table, and with a slight bend in his thumb, he reached just below your cheek. His touch was so gentle that at first you weren’t sure if he actually made contact. But then the veins beneath your skin began to pulse at the gentle pressure.

“Has anyone ever looked at you this closely?” he said.

“With all your masks off. Without running away. Without judging. Just… watching you.”

Your eyes turned to him, but you couldn’t look. Because this wasn’t just a look, it was the first step of surrender.

He didn’t take his eyes off you. As if he was memorizing all the subconscious folds inside you by watching your every breath.

His fingertips moved from the edge of your chin to your lips. He didn’t turn your face. He just touched your lower lip with his thumb. But this contact wasn’t affection; it was a form of dominance. Not to caress you, but to see where you were trembling. And you shivered.

A muscle twitched involuntarily on the side of your neck.

Because in his palm was not only the pulse of deep desires but also of repressed desires.

Crane moved his head a little closer to you. When his breath touched your skin this time, your body moved with an internal reflex, but you couldn’t move.

This was the disintegration of a body torn between running away and staying. And he saw it.

He could now read you without the need for medication.

“What do you imagine when you think of me?” he asked, his voice low but poisonously calm. “What do you want me to do with my hands? What did you imagine me doing, Y/N?”

It wasn’t a question, it was a confession. But it had to come from you. It had to be your choice to say it. And so your last remaining boundary would collapse with your hand.

Your throat went dry. Your eyes darkened. But the answer came. In a whisper. The words seemed to come from inside you, not from your lips.

“When I think of you, we’re always in the same place: in a dark room, with only your voice. ‘Be patient,’ you say. There are handcuffs on my wrists… But not just physically… You’ve captured me. You bite me because I want to be yours. With every painful touch, I become more dependent.”

Crane’s face didn’t come closer. He just listened to you.

Because that was the moment you opened up to yourself.

And that surrender… was the greatest victory for him.

“Good,” he finally said. “Because you have now surrendered yourself to me. Not your body, but your mind. Your most fragile part.”

He moved closer to you. His hands were now on either side of your neck, but he was not squeezing you. He was just pressing you with his presence. And you… even as you breathed, you were now following his rhythm.

He looked you straight in the eye with those cold eyes. “Get up,” Jonathan said, his voice echoing through the room. His tone was commanding, yet it also carried a dark allure. You did as he said, obediently. Jonathan stood before you, but it was impossible to understand what he was thinking or doing. And that uncertainty aroused you.

His frequent tapping of the glass syringe on the table against the floor gave him away. He was a control freak, and you wanted to be under his control.

Crane’s gaze changed. The dull calm of his eyes gave way to a sharper determination. He was no longer trying to untie you, but to possess you. For once, the contact was unwavering.

His fingers reached under your chin, tilting your head up slightly. You let out an involuntary sigh as you turned to him, an echo struggling with both uneasiness and surrender.

And then… his thumb pressed the edge of your lower lip. This time harder, like a beckoning gesture.

“I’m here,” he said. “And you’re mine now.”

“You want more, don’t you, Y/N,” he said, his voice as soft as ice. “Because you… you’ve already prepared yourself for this moment.”

He increased the pressure on the corner of his mouth a little more.

The thought that your desire wasn’t yours, but his… made you shiver and pull at the same time. You parted your pale lips slightly, the suppressed fear you carried inside you like a mysterious invitation in the curve of his lips. Jonathan, at that moment, mixed with your breath, as if he were looking for a spiritual contact, not just physical. But he didn’t kiss you. No. He had to drive you crazy first. He leaned down to the side of your neck. His lips didn’t touch your skin. But his breath was directed right at that point that coincided with your pulse. Your whole body was stuck for a moment. You didn’t move. You couldn’t. Because movement could be the end of something. But you didn’t want it to end. He first touched your neck with his lips. Where your pulse beat. Your body trembled as if you’d been electrocuted. “Are you scared?” Jonathan asked, his breath touching yours. You nodded slowly. “Yes,” you answered, your voice trembling. Jonathan’s smile widened even more.

He ran his tongue first. It left a chilling dampness on your skin. Then a bite, just like in your dreams. Not enough to hurt you, but arrogant enough to claim it. “Perfect,” he said. “Fear is the strongest emotion. And you will share it with me.” As he felt the speed of your pulse, its irregularity, the pull mixed with fear, he felt like he owned you from the inside. It was as if he had completely taken over your body, like a parasite.

While you continued to feel his tongue, his lips, he moved along your neck. He brushed his lips all the way to your jawbone. From there, he reached your cheeks. But he never fully touched you. He did not let your tongues burn with each other’s wetness. His breath was now touching the spot between your cheek and ear. His fingers started from the tip of your shoulder; He moved down to your breasts, which filled the palm of your hand, over the thin fabric. Then he slowly slid and glided. First, he traced the outline of your waist, the hollow of your spine. Your body was so tense that each touch was not an observation but part of an experiment.

He bent his head ever so slightly. When the tip of his nose touched yours, your body shook. This was not a kiss. This was the first threat of contact. When your lips finally met; this kiss was a trembling and contradictory touch, dancing on the thin line of passion and death. His cold and controlled demeanor frightened you. He had the careful manner of a doctor measuring your body temperature. He measured how your lips were reacting. He pressed lightly, pulled back. He came closer again. This was not pleasure, but the application of the first dose that would create addiction.

His fingers slid to the back of your neck. Your skin shivered. And then the kiss deepened. But you were still not directing him. He lightly ran his tongue between your lips, drawing you in. But the movement of his tongue is deliberate: each curve slowly, almost calculating. Jonathan is not kissing you… he is silencing you. He is stopping all the “Is this true?” echoing in your mind by pressing it against his lip.

His eyes weren’t closed. They were open. He wanted to watch your reactions. There was power and analysis in his eyes, not affection.

When he slid his tongue into your lips, the rough, wet surface of the papillae tickled. The deepening rhythm as your tongues intertwined, as if synchronizing your heartbeats. There was no limit, but the tempo was his.

Even when he pulled away from your lips, the kiss wasn’t over. His gaze flickered to your mouth, then to your eyes. The pressure of his hand on the back of your neck continued.

“Do you realize how easily you give in?” he whispered, his fingers landing on your collarbones. “The serum I made won’t break your resistance. It will only disrupt your lying mechanism, and that comes with fear.”

And before you could respond, he pulled you closer. Slowly, but firmly. Your body touched his chest. His arms didn’t wrap around your back. He just stopped. Crane wasn’t holding you. He was locking you up.

“The void I’ve created inside you,” he said at ear level,

“Only I can fill it. And you belong to me now… in another form.”

Your body took an involuntary breath. As if your tongue had not yet reached the thoughts that were passing through it. But his fingers were now roaming the lower edge of your abdomen, carefully but insistently pushing you toward your limits. As if he were making decisions every millimeter, measuring when the touch would turn into desire, when it would turn into surrender.

One of his hands was now pressing gently on the back of your waist. He had paused there before pulling you closer. You were on the edge. And Crane knew it.

His gaze, as it slid down from top to bottom, showed neither hunger nor complete aloofness. Like a psychological prey, he watched you for when you would give in. His lips moved, but almost whispered:

“I want to see you… not what the world sees when you hide under cotton and fear.” His fingers touched the first button on your shirt. He wanted you to do it. He wanted you to watch him, but he made it clear to you before he did. He unbuttoned the button with a single movement. When he stretched the edges of the fabric to the sides, the curved lines of her breasts were visible.

There was nothing moving in the room at that moment. Only your heart. It was beating so hard that you were sure even Jonathan Crane could hear it. Your eyes were locked on his; but his was fixed, yours was searching. Perhaps you were instinctively looking for an exit. But this was Crane’s mental labyrinth. And now you had reached the last room from which there was no exit.

With trembling hands, you took off your vest and left it on the chair. Jonathan’s gaze roamed over your body, watching your every move. “Now your shirt,” he said, his voice becoming even more authoritative.

You unbuttoned his shirt clumsily. Your fingers were shaking more than usual. You felt the coolness of his skin against your underwear. You caught your breath at first. Then your rhythm quickened. This, the symptoms, occur for two reasons. Either intense desire or… fear.

Jonathan’s eyes rested on your breasts, but his expression remained blank. “Go on,” he said, as if this was just an experiment.

You prayed that your knees wouldn’t betray you as he took off your skirt. That shiver was always running up your spine. But also in your groin.

You were left in nothing but your underwear. The texture of the lace against your skin was almost whisper-light; delicate shades of purple and gray quivered like diamonds against your skin. The bra that hugged your breasts was more than just a piece of fabric, it was an intention. A clever trap between covering and exposing. The lace patterns traced thin paths across your skin, each one as clear as a line your fingers would want to cross, yet still forbidden.

Your panties were seductive with a simplicity that words failed to describe; the almost invisible thin bands dug into the bony line of your hips, the front generous enough to cover only the most intimate secrets. It was like a sensual oath, inviting you to imagine before touching.

Jonathan’s gaze traveled down your body, taking in every detail. “Very beautiful,” he said, but his voice was devoid of praise. “But tonight, your beauty does not concern me. Only your obedience.”

But you could no longer make eye contact with him. Your breathing quickens, but you can’t get enough air into your lungs. There’s a tension in the center of your chest, like your heart is stuck and hasn’t yet convinced itself to beat. Like when you’re scared.

“Look at me,” he says. His voice is controlled and measured. But you can’t look at him. When he does, eye contact is like a slap.

“You’re resisting eye contact… classic displacement behavior under chemically induced anxiety. That means it’s working.”

The serum.

Yes, the fluid Jonathan had injected into your vein for a special “test.” He hadn’t told you about his fear symptoms.

You heard his footsteps. He was approaching. You had pressed yourself against the window sill as if you could run away, but you didn’t realize it. The room wasn’t big. And you had nowhere to run now.

Jonathan stopped right in front of you. You were still looking away.

“Look at me,” he says again. There’s no anger in his voice. But there’s something there that defies argument. Like a scientist trying to keep a subject in line when they’re running away from him. With your eyes still on the floor, he took another step.

“Oh yes, you feel it, don’t you?”

The serum’s effects increased. The hormones of fear—adrenaline, norepinephrine, cortisol—danced through your blood. His hands were shaking, his knees felt weak. But he knew it, he was watching it, and he was aroused by it.

Jonathan held your chin in his fingers as you continued to look away. Not forcibly, but with an obsessive patience. He turned your face toward his.

His lips almost touched yours again. “No. You can’t look away. Not from me.”

“Fascinating,” he said when your eyes finally met his. His thumb slid to the corner of your mouth, barely touching your skin. You wanted to run away, and at the same time, you wanted to sink to your knees.

Jonathan Crane looked at you like someone analyzing you. “You’re shaking… but you’re not trying to.”

“Do you know what that means?”

You couldn’t answer. But what was going through you was neither fear nor desire. You were on a sharp, slippery line drawn between the two.

Your chin was still in his fingers. Even if you turned your head to the side, he wouldn’t let you. The pressure he applied was light but absolute.

When you tried to escape with your eyes, his gaze would bore into yours again. Looking at you was like penetrating you. And it was exactly what he wanted you to not be able to escape.

“That’s it… breathe. Let it take you.”

Let “it” take you. What? The serum? Fear? Or… it?

Crane leaned his head down a little more. His forehead was so close to yours.

"Your pupils dilated... your skin flushed... your hands trembled. Fear reached its peak. Now let's see what happens next."

He moved a little closer to you. His breath was just above your lips. But he didn't kiss you this time.

His hand slowly moved down from your chin to your neck. He stopped there. He felt your pulse with his fingertips. Much more noticeable now.

You were still shivering. But... But that touch wasn't just fear anymore. It was warmth. A desire. A mixed, dirty pulling feeling.

When he kissed your lips again, this time he was harder. He wanted fear to cascade, to merge with lust. When he pulled his lips back and looked into your eyes, he saw your pupils dilate. His cock was getting hard with this sight. And after that kiss came another one. A little more pressing, a little more burning with desire to possess.

His fingers wrapped around your neck a little tighter in the beat.

Then he put his hands on your bare waist. He squeezed you between the wall and his body. As if to remind you that he owned you.

His voice mixed with your breaths. "You can still stop this. But you won't."

Because you couldn't stop. The serum continued to flow through your veins. But now his voice, his touch, his closeness to your skin... More effective than the serum.

The wetness he left on your lips shone in the dim light, like raw meat.

Suddenly, he grabbed your hair from behind. Not hard, but determined. His fingers got into your hair, gripping it near the nape of your neck. Your head fell back suddenly, your neck tensed, your breath hitched. His breath licked your skin as he spoke.

"You're scared like prey... and I've never seen anything so perfect," he said through his teeth.

His fingers pressed against your hair roots, steadying you.

Your skin was burning. Your heart was beating like it had lost control. His other hand found the edge of your panties. And he entered between your skin and the fabric like an invader, finding the outer lips of your vulva.

It was wet... Dr. Crane’s fingers were wet enough to make them soggy. His middle and ring fingers were wet enough to slide easily into her slit.

A slick sound filled your ear as he stroked your inner lips in a circular motion.

He raised his eyebrows and smiled wryly, “Oh, my… you’re soaked,” he said, while continuing to tease your clitoris and vaginal opening. “So tell me, what exactly are you afraid of? Of me, or of the fact that I scare you and you enjoy it?” he whispered. When he reached your clitoris and stopped there, he squeezed the bud with two fingers. Even the slightest pressure inevitably stimulated the dilated capillaries inside. Your sensitivity increased to the point that your temple twitched with each stroke.

As he continued to crush your clitoris between his fingers, you felt the pain. Your chest heaved, you sighed, your mouth slightly parted. This was more than it should have been. Pain triggers your fear, Dr. He made you see Crane as a threat—and you should have. You wanted to run away. But the pleasure in the pain was so sweet, so tempting. Lust and pain balanced each other. Your mind was giving warning signals… your body was writhing in surrender.

“Ah. You weren’t expecting this, were you?” he said, his index and ring fingers stretching your outer lips. “That your fear would make you… suffer for me,” he said, his middle finger brushing along your vulva. It stopped at the entrance to your sensitive vagina, applying pressure.

You were so out of control that your breathing quickened. Your muscles tensed, you held onto the arms of the man you feared, your fingers trembling. The man who was bringing you to orgasm locked eyes with you, both godlike and beastlike. And he stared into your eyes, impassive, emotionless, and grabbed the fabric beneath him, pulling it taut. The sound of the fabric tearing didn’t fill the room, but your ears did. His dominant movements, his dull gaze, his desire to possess reminded you of death. You wanted to escape from him. To escape without looking back and to lock yourself somewhere he couldn't find you.

The wall behind you was no longer just a physical boundary. As alive as your own skin. Cold. Hard.

But he was more honest than you. Because you still thought you could escape. His presence was as close as a sentence. As heavy as a look. And you had already accepted that you couldn't escape, but you wouldn't admit it to yourself.

Jonathan threw the torn fabric in his hand to the ground and stepped back toward his desk, as if he expected you to follow him. Your inner thighs were wet as you took a step. Your arousal was flowing through your legs in a colorless, slippery liquid. It was the arousal of fear, the orgasm of death.

You stood in front of him. “Now,” he said, “you will bend over for me.” He raised one hand and pointed to the table. The files were scattered on top of it.

Your fingertips were trembling slightly. Your breath was now uncontrollably ragged. Your body wanted to get closer to a man you saw as a devil.

The moment you realized this, the inner scream began.

Your mind was screaming, “No.”

But your skin… that fire that stretched from your spine to your womanhood, knew that you were nothing but Crane’s shadow.

You turned back to the desk, your hands fixed on a place where there were no papers, your head bowed. He was right behind you, and that feeling was more dangerous than making eye contact with him. Because he was watching you. And him continuing to watch without doing anything, not taking you even though he had untied you… would leave you even more naked. Because then you would not only carry the desire, but also the shame of rejection.

When Jonathan’s hand touched your hair, your muscles clenched. His fingers tightened around the strands. He leaned your head back against his shoulder, his lips tingling your ears. “You flinch when I touch you… but your body calls me back like a prayer,” he said, his voice threatening. “Isn’t it beautiful? Your terror is what makes you… irresistibly wet.”

Jonathan’s face cracked into a smile, but it was dark. “You don’t belong in the outside world anymore,” he said, unclasping your bra. “You belong here. In this room. "Under my control," he continued. After your bra was removed, you were now as naked as your soul. Your warm body tensed when his cold hands cupped your breasts from behind. Your areolas were hard, your nipples were erect, and you felt the coldness of his fingers very sensitively. But that wasn't all you felt. His cock pressing against your hips was straining the fabric, twitching to fill your tight vagina.

He cupped your left breast and squeezed it hard. He crushed your right nipple between his fingers, just like he had done to your clitoris a moment ago. He leaned down to your ear and rubbed his tongue around it. All the way around, as if he were setting a boundary around your ear.

You, on the other hand, frowned in fear and began to moan with desire. The husky sound coming from your throat was lustful and shy at the same time.

"You're ashamed of how much you want this, aren't you, Y/N?" Jonathan said, sliding his hand from your left breast down to your belly. "But this shame... making you tighter. Wetter. Needier." His fingers were making a figure 8 at his groin now. "Don't hide it. Let it devour you. I want to see everything about you."

All of this, while the serum in your veins was still stimulating your amygdala, was getting darker and scarier. "No." came out of your lips. "No" had many meanings for you. But most of all, it was because you couldn't accept that the doctor you thought was more terrifying than your nightmares wanted to fuck you. Yet, he had been in your dreams ever since you saw him. Ever since you saw him, you wanted him to fill you with his sperm on the gurney in his lab. But the serum made everything complicated.

Jonathan pressed his hand on your back. His fingertips were strong enough to leave white marks on your skin. You bowed in lustful fear. First a little, then a little more... But it wasn't enough for Dr. Crane. He wanted you to press your face against the table.

You turned your head to the right. When your left cheek touched the file, the first thing you noticed was the cold. It was as if all the light in the room had been drained from the walls; only his silhouette remained. Your eyes were on the metal cabinet, but your mind was on him.

Your breaths were short, broken. You wanted to slowly push yourself up, but… When the warmth of his hand pressed against the center of your back, something inside you unraveled.

You were in the exact position he wanted. "I've been dreaming of this exact position since you were leaning over my bookshelf last semester," he said, his hand still on your back, applying pressure. It restricted your movement, shouting that the will was in his hands. "I almost touched you then. But I waited. Because now... now you'll remember this for the rest of your life."

And his free hand went to his tie.

You didn't see him. But you heard his movements. The slight rustle of the fabric of his tie. Time suddenly slowed down. As if every second was diminishing one more defense inside you. And you were no longer sure what was more troubling: his hand holding you or the fact that he hadn't done anything yet.

His removal of the tie was slow and precise. As if he'd done it a hundred times. But this time, not to loosen your shirt, but to steady you. His eyes never left yours as his fingers released the fabric that had come loose from his collar with a single tug. He took his time. Because he knew that fear thrived best in waiting.

And you... were motionless.

Your lungs were rising and falling rapidly in a narrow space.

Your hands were shaking, but your body couldn't move. Your head was crowded: "He chose you long ago. You always knew that."

The tie was now in Jonathan’s hands, and even before it touched your skin, you felt him tie you up. Your body froze, but your thoughts were screaming, “He won’t do it now. He’s just scaring you. It’s just a game…”

“Put your hands behind your back,” he said. His voice was low but unarguable. Just that sentence sent an icy shiver down your spine. You didn’t move. But he didn’t wait. He gently but firmly guided your wrists back. His fingertips were cold; like a doctor’s gloved hands.

He noticed you were trembling. But he didn’t say anything. As the fabric of the tie wrapped around your wrists, your heart began to race like a false alarm. But no one would wake up from that alarm. Because you were the only one in the room. And he was listening to your fear.

When the fabric was knotted, your hands were now tied behind your back. Your shoulders were tense. And he studied you like a painting. His gaze was not cold, but dark. Not satiated, still hungry.

The sound of the belt reached your ears. You knew it was your turn, but your heart was pounding with fear, and the colorless liquid flowing down your legs was thickening.

The hard, heavy click of his metal buckle echoed in the silence of the room, brief but firm. Every moment you didn’t see, your ears grew stronger with your imagination.

Then, that dry scraping sound of skin being pulled across fabric… As the buckle was released, the belt flexed like a spring at the end, then relaxed and dropped.

The sound of the zipper was more delicate. It cut through the air like a thin, continuous scratch.

The weight of his pants yielded on its own as the waistband came undone. The thick fabric made a gentle scrape as it slid down his legs; a brief stiffness at the knees, and then a muffled, rolling sound as his weight dropped to the floor.

He wore only a pair of skinny, smoky-gray boxers underneath. The fabric was neither new nor worn; it was simply “used.” He grabbed the faded seams and pulled them down. His hardened penis arched slightly as it was released from the elastic at the waist.

Jonathan was straining at the entrance to her vagina. He first took hold of his penis with his hand and flicked it toward her clitoris. A warning shot through your spine, clenching your fists. But the fabric around your wrists was straining and hurting. You sighed through your teeth.

Then he stroked your vulva a few times. He reached down from your clitoris to the entrance of your vagina, and pushed a few inches inside, but never in. It was driving you crazy. “Oh, please, Dr. Crane!” you moaned. “Please,” he begged. Like prey begging the hunter.

Jonathan was even more aroused by your words. “Should we put that in your internship report?” he asked, almost rasping. “‘Subject: Dr. Crane applied full pressure; subject responded with incoherent moans and demanded more.’” Dr. Crane could no longer catch his breath. “Let’s call it… behavioral data.”

You were aroused by these words. Both terrified and lustful. Triggered by the corrupt desire he had for you. His pursuit of you, his insatiable obsession with you, was enticing. “You scare me, Doctor…” you moaned. You paused but never stopped. “…but I don’t know why I still desire you so much.” The words came out in gasps, “I want you to fuck me, in all your sick fantasies.”

Jonathan wheezed breathlessly, “Do you really need someone to dominate you, Y/N? And someone to bring you to your knees with nothing but their eyes.”

You groaned breathlessly, “No… not someone.

Just you and your twisted mind.” You looked so eager. So needy.

When Jonathan pushed his cock into your vagina, it enveloped you completely. It wasn’t very long, but it was thick. Too thick for you. Too tight for him. He threw his head back in pleasure as the rough, warm walls of his vagina wrapped around Jonathan’s manhood. “Oh, Y/N, every breath belongs to me. Every tremor you make is my victory.”

His cock was surrounded by the knots of your warm vaginal walls. This rough structure allowed him to feel you deeper. Jonathan was losing himself in the pleasure you were giving him, moaning. Every time he pushed his big cock inside you, his swollen balls slapped your ass, stimulating both your ‘g’ spot and your clitoris, making you almost cry. And you couldn’t react at all. He had you completely trapped in his body.

“You like that, don’t you?” Jonathan asked as he fucked you like an animal. “Tell me you want me, Y/N, tell me you want to be trapped in my darkness.”

You were out of breath. With the intensity of the terrifying pleasure you were experiencing, the whites of your eyes were exposed, and your moans were getting louder and echoing in Jonathan's ears. "Oh, Dr. Crane, this is beyond my dreams."

Your flesh was slapping against each other with each impact as he rooted into your tight hole. And he continued to thrust rhythmically. "It's wonderful to feel you from the inside." he said.

You were both about to reach the peaks of pleasure. Your tight vagina felt Crane's hardness and veined surface down to the smallest cell. His penis was wrapped around your knotted walls, twitching.

You were now at the height of your orgasm. Even though his penis filled your vagina completely, the juices of pleasure continued to leak from the exit of your vagina. You were so wet that a slurry sound echoed with each thrust.

Jonathan leaned over you and put his lips to your ear. Now you could taste his moans, his short breath, the warmth of his breath just behind your ear. He bit your earlobe. It was painful, but the tip of his tongue was taking the pain to a stimulating level. "My poor obsession, just be patient a little longer. It's almost here."

The table was shaking. The creaking echoed off the walls of the room as the table legs rubbed against the floor. The muscles in his hips were now clenched, and he was about to spill his sperm onto your womanhood. But he held himself back to witness the moment his sperm slid across your skin, and he pulled out of you suddenly and came breathlessly onto your hips. As his sperm spread over your warm skin, you came right after. Your juices of pleasure had soaked the office floor, and the rest had seeped down your legs and dripped down to your ankles.

The effects of the serum had completely worn off, and you were left alone with only your interest and desire for Jonathan Crane. Your ears were buzzing, your eyes were blurry with pleasure. You were on cloud nine, realizing you had never had an orgasm before. You had never had real sex. And what you wanted was exactly what Jonathan Crane wanted.

[bardotdoves]

“I'm probably not very frightening to a guy like you...”

[mothhball]

Beneath me

Pairing || professor!Jonathan Crane x student!Reader

Warnings || 18+ SMUT, NON-CON, DUB-CON, forced breeding, fingering, p in v sex, housewife kink(?), humiliation, dumbification, misogyny, unprotected sex, age gap (professor and student, everyone’s an adult), brief dacryphilia, condescending use of petnames, jon is a prick in this but gets better towards the end (if you squint hard enough)

Summary || The professor suspects you cheated on your exam, but you’re determined to prove him wrong.

Words || 3.7k

Notes || First ever fic and it’s smut because I love suffering. English isn’t my first language, so I hope everything makes sense. Please don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with anything mentioned in the warnings

Afternoon lectures. The bane of many students’ existence, yours included. You’d been on campus since 9 am, trying to catch up on homework and study material for the most dreaded class of the day. Abnormal Psychology, presented by none other than Professor Jonathan Crane. Crane with his smart suits and piercing eyes. Crane with his condescending remarks and off-handed insults. Crane with his ridiculously handsome face and –

“Are you even listening to me?” The man in question is now standing in front of you, staring you down with narrowed eyes as his lips pull down into a frown. Yes, right. It’s 5 pm now, almost the end of the lecture and time to get your exam results back. You shake yourself out of your stupor, glancing down at the paper he left on your desk. But instead of a grade, you only see a bold red question mark which takes up almost a fourth of the entire first page. Crane clears his throat impatiently, and his mood sours more and more the longer he has to stand next to your seat.

“I said, you will meet me in my office after class. Is that understood? And I’d suggest you get your head in order until then,” he hisses, icy blue eyes filled with disdain. Your heart sinks, and you can feel the blood leaving your face as you manage to nod rather stiffly.

“Of course… Professor Crane, “ you murmur in reply, and upon hearing that, the professor quickly resumes his round around the lecture hall, handing back grades to your fellow students. As the first people pack up their things and begin to file out of the room, you slowly pack up as well. Your hands are cold from anxiety as you zip up your bag and get up from your seat. Meeting Professor Crane in his office was the last thing you wanted to do right now. The plan was to go home, grab takeout on the way and curl up in bed with a movie starring this forty-something year old actor you have the hots for. But God forbit anyone in Gotham wants to have a nice time.

Soon enough, you find yourself in Crane’s office, taking the seat in front of his desk and folding your hands in your lap to keep from fidgeting. The professor runs a hand through his hair, looking you over with a skeptical glare before he straightens his posture and gets to the point.

“I’m disappointed, shocked and quite frankly, I feel personally insulted.”

Your brows furrow, but before you can speak, he pulls out two stacks of paper, smacking them down on the desk. You quickly recognize one stack as a copy of your exam, but as you look over at the other, it feels like someone froze time for a moment. It’s someone else’s exam, but they wrote down the same answers. Not word for word, but in a way and structure that’s quite obviously plagiarized. Squinting at the name, you remember the guy sitting next to you, and anger bubbles up inside of your chest.

“He cheated off of me,” you mutter, trying to stay calm.

“Brennan said the same thing. Funny how that works, huh? And in case it went over your head, I don’t find it funny at all. But I will have to fail one of you. The question is, which one will it be?”

He takes his glasses off, gingerly setting the spectacles aside before he pinches the bridge of his nose. A little dramatic, but very much expected from him.

“Look, I’m not saying you were the one cheating off of Brennan,” He starts, sounding exhausted and absent at the same time. Like this is all beneath him. Like your future in his class has as much importance as the piece of lint he’s picking off of his sweater vest. “But there’s no real proof that he cheated off of you either. It’s a case of ‘he said, she said’. And it’s not like Brennan had much reason to cheat. He has had consistently good grades, whereas you-“

“I’ll prove it, “ you interrupt him without thinking, clenching your hands so tightly that your nails dig into the skin of your palms. Crane looks visibly taken aback, perplexed that you have the gall to intercept before he could expose your rather mediocre academic history in his class. You know you’re average. A face in the crowd; one of many names on an attendance sheet he barely pays attention to.

“I’ll prove it to you,” you repeat, swallowing dryly. Your mouth suddenly feels like you ate sand, and you really want to clear your throat, but you’ve done so thrice within the past five minutes, and you can tell it’s starting to piss him off. “Give me a chance, please. Please, Professor Crane. I know the material, I swear.”

Crane’s eyes briefly dart down to your lips, and his eyebrows furrow in thought before he nods slowly, thoughtfully. He’s making a show of it. Portraying himself as the generous teacher while you’re desperate for even the smallest chance of passing this goddamn class.

“Alright,” He sighs, and the weight seems to lift off of your shoulders. A smile begins to spread on your face, and –

 “Get out a pen. And paper. You’re going to write an essay.”

Eyebrows raised in confusion, you tilt your head a little. You almost feel stupid to ask.

“What, right now?”

“Of course, right now. At home, you’d get the chance to cheat again, wouldn’t you?”

Again. He’s still convinced you were the one to cheat on your exam. His tone is bitingly condescending and he doesn’t bother to elaborate further as he gets up from his chair to head over to the almost overflowing bookshelf next to his desk. You’re still sitting there, hands in your lap until he lets out an exasperated sigh, signaling for you to get a move on. Not wanting to incur even more of his wrath, you dig through your bag to get out a pen and some loose sheets of paper.

In the meantime, Crane has chosen a book from his shelf, and he’s wordlessly flipping through the pages until he lands on a fitting topic for an essay. He snaps the book shut and returns to his desk, fixing his tie as he nods to himself.

“Alright. I want 5 pages on fear conditioning. If you truly studied for the exam, this should be a piece of cake. If you didn’t, this will be an embarrassing little lecture you’re in dire need of learning.”

Your eyes widen, and you stammer for a moment, unable to find the words while staying respectful.

“That many? But it’s already –“

“Five-thirty pm? I hope you didn’t have any plans for tonight. And you should be grateful that I don’t have plans either. I’m staying late for your sake. Because you convinced me to give you a chance. I don’t have to do this, you know? I could just fail you and go home. So, I think a little gratitude would be more than appropriate.” There’s an odd expression in his eyes. Halfway between hunger and conflict. He’s usually so composed. You must really be testing his patience.

“Thank you, Prof –“ “Thank me by getting to it already.”

You nod meekly, grabbing the pen and beginning to jot down the date and your name in the corner of the first page. While you’re focused on the introduction part of your essay, you miss the way that Crane folds his hands on the desk, gripping so hard his knuckles turn white. His icy gaze is focused on every twitch of your muscles, every swoop of your handwriting, every time you softly bite your lips in thought. If only you’d look up. You’d see the way his jaw is set and his pupils expand. You’d realize the situation you’re in. A bunny with its neck in the jaws of the wolf.

You’re about two thirds done with the first page when he wheels his chair around the desk, closer to yours. Once his arm brushes against you, you pause to lift your gaze, looking at him with equal parts confusion and curiosity.

“Uhm… professor? What are you doing?”

“Checking on your progress,” Is his curt reply, but he leans in even closer, staring down at your half-baked essay. “Eyes on the paper.”

You comply, getting back to writing after a short second of sorting your thoughts. It’s more difficult to write with him basically breathing down your neck, and your heart skips a beat when he scoots even closer. Despite this, you keep on writing. Until his hand lands on your thigh.

You tense, looking up at him. Your lips part, and you’re about to say something before he speaks first.

“Eyes. On. The. Paper. We’re going to simulate a stressful, distracting environment. Not unlike a lecture hall during an exam. If you can keep your cool, I’ll know you didn’t cheat.”

You bite your lip, hesitating.

“Or I could fail you right now, and you’ll prove me and my suspicions right.”

Back to writing it is. Your hand is a little shakier during the next few sentences while the warmth of his fingers seeps through the fabric of your skirt into your skin. But you get back into the motions, almost able to ignore him until his hand flexes and begins to wander. A shiver runs down your spine as his touch slips underneath your skirt, feeling the soft flesh on the inside of your thigh.

“That’s it. Keep writing. Try to show me how smart you are.”

Crane’s voice is a snide whisper right next to your ear. His breath sends a shiver down your spine, but you keep your focus on the essay. Well, at least some of it. Once his fingers brush over the crotch of your panties, your breath hitches as heat builds in your core. But you can’t even get a word in.

“Run your mouth and your final grade drops to an F. You’re on my time now, understood? Not a fucking word to anyone or else a failed class will be the least of your worries.”

You’ve never heard him curse before. The man sitting beside you, the man with his hand under your skirt isn’t the professor you’ve known throughout the semester. No, at this point, the mask is slipping and the difference is startling. Crane pushes your skirt up with one hand and your legs apart with the other, letting out a low, appreciative hum at the sight of your wet panties.

“Fuck. You’re soaking through the lace, aren’t you? I didn’t even touch you yet… Are you always this easy? Almost adorable… Keep writing for me.”

His words make your ears burn with embarrassment, and you bite down on the inside of your cheek as you get back to your essay. It’s getting harder to think. Especially once his fingers slip underneath your panties, running between your glistening folds. Crane quickly finds your clit, rubbing circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves for a deliciously brief moment before he moves his hand further down to your entrance.

“Now you’re being grateful, hm? Is this what you were thinking about while everyone else was making an effort during my lectures? While everyone else was busy doing their work… you were getting worked up in your seat thinking about me. Thinking about me playing with your little cunt.”

The corners of his lips pull up into a self-satisfied grin as he plunges a finger inside of you, and you can’t help but let out a soft sigh of pleasure. You’re so wet that he’s not meeting any resistance from your sweet pussy, so he quickly adds a second one. The slick noises are obscene, and you duck your head in an attempt to hide your flushed face and focus on the essay, but it’s futile. You’re writing complete and utter nonsense at this point, and he knows it. Crane scoots his chair even closer, pressing up against your side as he works his fingers inside of you, caressing that spongy spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. As he looks over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of your writing, he scoffs out a laugh.

“Goodness, sweetie. That’s what your pretty little head managed to come up with so far? All this talk about wanting to prove yourself, and you deliver this? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more pathetic attempt at an essay in all my years of teaching.”

Tears well up in your eyes at the harshness of his words, and the sight of it makes Crane’s cock harden in his slacks. He licks his lips, curling his fingers inside of you with a little more urgency as he leans in to whisper into the crook of your neck.

“Let out those noises. I guarantee they’re worth more than every brainless contribution you’ve ever made in my class.”

It’s an order, not a request, and you find yourself unable to keep quiet anymore as his thumb comes up to rub your clit again. Your wetness is starting to drip down onto the seat below you while you let out a breathy moan, and you begin to doubt yourself. Maybe you really are as empty-headed as he says. To your dismay, this thought only causes the tension in your core to build up even faster.

“There we go. Close to cumming from being fingered by your professor. You’re so needy, so eager for the slightest bit of attention. A toy that needs to be played with 24/7. Aren’t you ashamed?”

You let out another moan of pleasure and humiliation, clenching around his digits as he stretches you open. When did you forget how to speak?

“Trying to play in the big leagues while you’re just a dumb little fuckpet for my enjoyment,” he hisses, before he sinks his teeth into your earlobe, causing you to squeak. It hurts. But that’s the point. You’re so close to the edge, toes curling inside of your shoes. And then suddenly, he withdraws his hand. You catch a glimpse of his glistening fingers, and you turn your head just in time to watch him lick your juices off of them. He lets out a groan, satisfied by your taste.

“Get up. Hands on the desk.”

You scramble to get up, standing on wobbly legs as you bend over Crane’s desk. The professor wastes no time, grabbing onto your sopping wet panties and ripping them off of you. The fabric shreds beneath his hands, leaving your skin stinging where it cut slightly into the soft flesh of your thighs. Your skirt is flipped up, exposing your rear to him, and he moans out another sound of appreciation. His hands come up to grab onto the meat of your ass, spreading them apart to allow him a perfect view of your dripping cunt.

“Lord knows you’re not made for higher education.”

Crane leans in, licking a stripe up between your folds, and you bite down on a knuckle to keep in the pathetic moan that hangs on your lips. Your body is desperately begging you to just let him take what he wants from you, but your mind clings onto the last shred of dignity you have. When the sound of his belt being undone tears you from your thoughts, you turn your head, looking at him from over your shoulder.

“Wait –“ You start, suddenly struck by the reality of it all.

Crane chuckles at the expression of wide-eyed apprehension on your face.

“You’re not braindead already, are you? What did you think was going to be the logical conclusion of this? Of course, I’m going to bury my dick in you. Fuck, if you were this tight around my fingers, I can’t wait to feel you squeezing my cock….”

“No, I –“

“Shh, no need to worry. Judging by your essay, you don’t have the mental capacity anyway.”

Crane roughly grabs a fistful of your hair, pushing your head down until your cheek meets the wooden surface of his desk while he hurriedly unzips his slacks. He’s painfully hard at this point, straining against the fabric of his boxers, and he lets out a relieved hiss once he’s finally freed himself. He leans over you, pressing his weight into your back and aligning himself with your tight hole before he pushes his hips forward. You’re immobilized under him, squished against the desk as he fills you with his length. Crane’s lips find your pulse, licking and nibbling at your neck as he bottoms out inside of you, shuddering from the sensation of your plush walls around his cock.

“Good girl… you’re so wet. All for me, huh? Yes… just for me.” He moans through his teeth, leaning back a little to watch as your pussy stretches around him when he begins to slowly thrust into you. You let out a soft whine in response, not quite adjusted to him yet. But if you know anything about him at this point, it’s that he doesn’t care.

“I know, sweetheart, it’s a lot. Just relax – shh, shh, that’s it. You feel so good, squeezing me like a proper toy. All obedient and sweet… you really were built for this.“

He lifts his hand, landing a smack on your ass before he pulls out all the way and pushes back in, letting out a condescending laugh at the way you shiver. You can feel how deep he reaches, hitting every spot while he stretches you out with calculated thrusts. His pace begins to speed up, and his other hand wraps around your throat to keep you close as he pounds into you. Coherent thought becomes difficult for you, and even if you did want to say something, it’s suddenly made impossible when Crane pushes two fingers into your mouth, almost making you gag.

“Needy little thing. Bent over and babbling like a whore. But you -fuuuck - you take me so well, don’t you? All tight and sopping wet for my cock to stretch you out...”

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, yanking you back by your hair to make you lift your torso up from the desk. The carefully crafted persona of a calm, reasonable Professor Dr. Jonathan Crane has completely slipped from his face now and shattered by his feet like Fine China. His hands move quickly, urgently as his rhythm begins to stutter. The fingers that are now soaked with your saliva make their way back between your legs to circle your clit while his other hand leaves your hair to tear open your blouse, sending the buttons flying everywhere.

His teeth find your neck again as he grabs at your chest, kneading your soft breasts as he marks you up. Hickeys, bruises, bite marks. He leaves them behind to claim. To own. Your climax hits you like a truck, knocking the air from your lungs as he fucks you through your orgasm, not faltering for a second. Stars fill your vision for a moment, and you’re only vaguely aware of the kisses that he’s pressing to your cheek. Your walls are clenching him tightly, causing him to curse under his breath.

Crane swallows heavily, rasping into your ear between shallow breaths.

“Tell you what… No more thinking about essays. In fact, I don’t want you to think ever again. No more exams… no more studies. As if you’d ever be someone of importance in this field to begin with. No, no… I won’t let you waste your time on a silly little Bachelor’s anymore... Fuckpets like you only need to be bred. I’m gonna be generous and fuck a child into you.”

Your eyes snap wide open, and even with your cock-drunken brain, you realize just how serious he is about this. In an attempt to get away, you begin to struggle in his grasp, but he replies by kicking your legs further apart, forcing you down against the desk again. The wooden edge digs against your thighs, keeping your hips in place for him as he plows you into the piece of furniture. Your cheek is pressed up against your unfinished essay, reminding you of your failure on all accounts as you drool onto the paper.

Your hands are clawing at the desk, trying to find purchase when his own hands find yours, linking your fingers together in a frighteningly intimate gesture. Crane continues to moan your name, pressing his face into the crook of your neck before he pushes his cock as deep as he can into your poor cunt, filling you with his hot cum. He lazily rocks his hips back and forth a few more times, trying to push in his load as far as he can before he finally stills, panting against your skin. He stays on your back for another few moments, breathing in your scent and idly squeezing your hands with his.

Once his breathing has evened out once more, he straightens up, kissing the top of your head before he pulls out. Crane watches as his seed drips out of you, a glint of amusement and possessiveness in his eyes as he pushes it back into you with two fingers. You feel completely boneless, crumpled on the desk as you try to make sense of what happened and what will happen. The silence doesn’t last long before Crane speaks up again.

“In the morning, you’ll make me breakfast, and in the evening, you’ll cream on my cock. Like a proper little housewife. And I’ll get to see your tits swell and your belly expand as our kid grows inside of you,” He muses, running his hands over your shoulders and down your back, a gesture that’s more meant to ground himself than it is meant to soothe you.

His voice is soft, yet eerily determined. A man that’s planning the future out loud. Unbeknownst to you, he’s reaching into his suit pocket behind you, pulling out a small syringe filled with a clear liquid.

“And if you get bored again and your mind starts to wander, I’ll knock you up again and again until you know your place. Face down, ass up. Beneath me.”

[mimicmimikyuwrites]

Who You Belong To - Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow) x Fem!Reader SMUT

Summary: You and your professor share what could barely be called a relationship, but what's there is tricky and difficult to put a positive label on. When a fellow classmate successfully asks you on a date, Dr. Crane decides to make one thing clear: who you belong to.

Contents/Possible Warnings: Age Gap (Reader is in her early 20's, Crane's in his mid 30's), inclusion of original male character, student-professor relationship, unprotected sex, P in V sex, toxic relationship (?), creampie, semi-clothed sex, mentions of masturbation, degradation, semi-public sex (they fuck in an office), SMUT, MDNI

Other Notes: You can read part two here.

Some people say there's over four hundred estimated phobias, others say that number can be even higher at five hundred; no matter the number, you were sure Dr. Jonathan Crane knew every single one of them by heart. Your slightly off-putting psychology professor with a passion for fear and its workings shared a relationship with you that had breeched its professional expectations long ago. You couldn't tell what he was to you, exactly, but it certainly wasn't just your professor, not when he had been inside of you more times than either of you could count.

It wasn't uncommon for him to ask you to stay after class, leading into an invitation to his office before you found yourself bent over an expensive, wooden desk that had already been cleared off in expectation of you being pressed to it while you took him. Sometimes if he wanted to strike a bit of fear of getting caught into you, he'd fuck you right in the lecture hall, always letting you know how terrifying the consequences would be if someone else did something as simple as come back for a forgotten pen.

You may have been his favorite teacher's pet, but you were sure there were others. Jonathan was an attractive man who taught an already difficult class, it'd be no surprise to you if he had other women lined up for a chance to recieve a better grade from him in exchange for a little "extra- credit" assignment, as much as you hated to admit it to yourself. He was never yours to begin with.

"Care to tell me why you're staring down at your closed text book instead of listening to my lesson?" Your professor questioned, breaking you out of your thoughts. Shit, how had you gotten so immersed in your little daydream that you had forgotten you were in class? You could feel the sympathetic stares of your peers burning into you as Crane loomed over you, a gleam of mischievous satisfaction in his blue eyes. You didn't respond.

"Stay after class," He said plainly, heading back to the front of the room. He'd still ask you to stay back regardless of how things went, the little show he had made out of you was his way of toying with you in just the way he liked. It was more of a tease at this point, you weren't scared, not of him. Still, you shrunk back into your seat in faux embarrassment to entertain him.

"To those who were paying attention, unlike a certain someone," he paused, gaze drifting over to you as he quickly took in the sight of what you were wearing.

While it was nothing out of the ordinary for you, you did choose to wear a skirt today, a favorite of his to see on you. How easy would it be for him to pull it up, bunching the fabric over your hips so be could get acess to what he was really after? He also took note of your gloss-covered lips, mind drifting onto how great they'd look wrapped around his cock or wide open as you moaned for him. He shifted, moving to be further behind his desk as he felt his pants tighten. He would wreck you after everyone was gone.

"You have a test on the topic of agoraphobia this upcoming Monday; today is Friday, which means you have the weekend to review the notes, which I hope you've been taking, for your own sake." He continued. "You're all free to go, except who I've already asked to stay." He really wouldn't stop rubbing that in, would he? Maybe he was trying to rile you up to make your usual "meeting" more exciting today.

As your classmates rose, you stayed seated, putting your stuff into your bag as you did. It was all routine, except for the man who had approached you before making his way out. He stood over you with a friendly smile, one that you had to admit made him look handsome. He didn't look too different from Dr. Crane in terms of basic features; dark hair and cornflower blue eyes. He was your type on the level of looks.

"Hey, I'm Ryan," He introduced himself, friendly smile remaining on his face. "I heard that you're pretty good in this class, making straight A's. I was wondering if you could help me study this weekend if you're free? Maybe we could grab a cup of coffee, too?" You looked over to where Dr. Crane was standing, the man in question observing your interaction from his desk, making it subtle by acting like he was sorting through papers.

You and your professor weren't exclusive, and if he had others lined up and waiting for him, then you could, too; it'd only be fair. Your classmate wanted to study and get coffee? He'd get what he wanted and more. "Sure! I'm free tommorrow at twelve if that works out for you," You finally replied, smiling up at Ryan. You had just met the guy and he was already doing something that Crane never did: asking you out on a date.

Ryan grinned, grabbing a notebook out of his bag and ripping out a piece of paper, writing his number on it before handing it to you. "I'll see you then!" He exclaimed happily before waving goodbye and leaving. After he had left, you stood up, pulling your bag over your shoulder before you made your way to where Jonathan was at the front of the lecture hall. He did ask you to stay after class.

"Throw it away," Crane stated plainly, moving the small, paper-filled trashcan that was under his desk to be in front of you. You looked down, not realizing you still had the slip of paper with Ryan's number on it in your hand.

"Do you even know what it is?" You retorted, shoving the paper into your bag.

"He gave you his number. You don't need the number of someone you turned down," He responded, moving the trashcan even closer to you. "Throw it away." He repeated.

"Except I didn't turn him down." You replied, watching his brows furrow in a mix of confusion, and then annoyance once your words sunk in. "We're not exclusive, you and I, are we?" Part of you hoped he'd prove you wrong, telling you that he was yours and you were his, while another part of you wanted to tell him 'fuck you" to his face. How many simultaneously lucky and unlucky women did he have waiting for him? Many, you were sure of it.

"I'm sure you have someone else in another one of your classes that you can spend your evening with, Dr. Crane." You smiled, trying to ignore the growing pain in your heart. "If you can have others, then it's only fair that I can as well."

"What makes you think that I have others?" He inquired, looking up at you with curious, blue eyes. "Do you think I'm the type of man to give out straight A's in my class in exchange for a fling or two? I don't even up your grades, darling." He chuckled lightly.

You rolled your eyes. He had to be lying to you... right? Were you really the only one and he just didn't see you as more than someone to have sex with? You didn't know what idea hurt you more, but the end result was the same: you meant little to him, and your body was all he wanted.

"I'll see you on Monday, professor." You mumbled out, feeling defeated. You already knew why he had asked you to stay after class, but the thought of him touching you while he wanted nothing more than just sex sickened you. What did you expect? That's all things had ever been. You shouldn't have caught feelings.

He watched you leave, letting out a long sigh once you were gone. You had always been a pain in his ass, but not one he'd ever get rid of.

Saturday at Twelve left just as quickly as it had come, and before you knew it, not only had you had your date, but you were also back in your Psychology class on Monday, a test on agoraphobia in front of you. Being nearly sixty questions long, it was intimidating to look at, even more so when the majority of questions were statistic-based. You were far from worried, however, having studied the topic extensively over the past few weeks.

Any confidence you had left you once you received your score later that same class period. You had failed by a large margin, the bright red ink in the corner shamefully exclaiming '34%' seeming to mock you as you stared back at it. You had yet to fail any assignment in your Psychology course, let alone one on such a common fear as agoraphobia. Your professor did this on purpose.

"Yes? Can I help you?" Crane asked, not bothering to look up as he shuffled through a stack of papers on his desk. You placed your failed test in front of the man, an angry frown on your face as you did so.

"Did you intentionally fail me because I went out on a date this weekend, you prick?!" He finally glanced up at you, his neutral expression not faltering a bit despite your obvious discontent. Then, he stood up, making his way over to his office door in the corner of the room.

"Come on, let's take this to my office so you can shout at me without embarrassing yourself as easily." The condescension in his voice only served to upset you further, much to his sadistic delight. You were the first one inside, Jonathan making sure to lock the door behind you. Before you could even open up your mouth to yell at him once more, he spoke.

"Did it feel good?" He asked nonchalantly, catching you off guard.

"What? What are you—"

"Did it feel good when he fucked you?" He finished, watching calmly as your eyes widened in shock. "You have a hickey on your neck under all that makeup you used to try and hide it. You've done the same to the ones I've given you in the past. It's just barely noticeable."

He stepped forward, closing in on you like a hungry animal would their prey, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "Did it feel good? Did he manage to fuck you better than I ever could?" His arm wrapped around you, a hand placing itself on the small of your back as he leaned into you. "Or did he leave you wanting more? Did you go home and grab that vibrator of yours, just wishing it was me that had been the one with you while you were forced to make yourself cum, because he couldn't?"

He moved, lifting you up so he could sit you on the desk. Of course, like always, it was cleared off ahead of time in anticipation of your visit.

"Maybe I need to show you who you belong to, hmm?" His hands moved down under your skirt, one resting on your inner thigh while the other gave an experimental touch to your clothed sex. You were already wet, your arousal felt through the thin cotton of your panties. "Soaking already, my dear? He must've left you worse off than I imagined." Jonathan purred.

"H-He barely touched me," You stuttered out, feeling Crane tug your underwear to the side, his deft fingers finding your clit. "All we did was make out." You let out a soft moan as he began slowly rubbing at the sensitive bud.

"I don't believe you." His hands left you, beginning to undo his belt. The prominent tent in his black slacks let you know just what was in store for you; he was starving for you. "Not when you admitted you let him touch what's mine." He continued, motioning for you to take your soaked panties off.

"What's yours?" You breathed out, slipping off the clothing in question, letting it fall to the ground below.

"You need to know who you belong to." He stated, pulling his cock out; hard and leaking pre-cum at the tip. Your pussy grew even wetter at the sight. You spread your legs on instinct as he came in closer, putting himself in between them, a hand resting on your hip while the other lined himself up with your eager cunt, the head of his cock teasing your entrance.

"Who do you belong to?" He asked staring into your eyes with his half-lidded, sultry ones swimming with lust and need. "Answer me correctly and I'll be nice and give you what you want."

"You. I belong to you. Dr. Jonathan Cra— oh, fuck!" You gasped out, feeling him thrust into you without warning. He set a quick, almost animalistic pace, wasting no time; not when he needed you so much. Every drag of his thick cock inside of your desperate cunt sent pleasure coursing through you.

"I bet he didn't fuck you as good as this," he groaned, a tight grip on your hips as he slammed into you, the lewd sounds of your shared pleasure filling the small space of his office. It had only been a few days since he had last fucked you, but with the way you were already trembling beneath him it felt like it had been months.

"You're the best I've —Oh!— ever had!" You managed to get out between your moans. It was true, too. Out of every man you'd ever been with, no man had made you feel as good as Jonathan did. "Harder– baby, please!" You begged, gripping the edge of the desk like your life depended on it.

"Look at you, begging like a slut," He growled, pounding into you even harder. "That's okay, darling. You're my little slut. Mine to fuck. Mine to ruin." He let out a loud groan as your pussy clamped down on him at the sound of his words. "Oh? Does that turn you on? The thought of me ruining you? Trust me, you're not going to want a single person other than me after I'm done with you, darling." You pulled him down, dragging him into a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Your tongue moved against his, just like you were made for each other.

"I love you," you whimpered out, feeling him nip at your neck. "Please— I want to be all yours. Only yours." You pleaded, your mind too clouded with the intense pleasure rocking through your body to fully process the potential impact of what you had just confessed.

"You already are." He responded, hips snapping against yours as he lost his rhythm. "I love you, too. I don't care what trouble I'll get into for what we've done. I don't care if I lose my job, as long as you're with me at the end of it all."

That sent you over the edge, along with the tip of his cock grazing your sweet spot. You came around him, your orgasm crashing over you as your legs shook with the force of it all. He spilled into you not long after, thick, warm cum shooting deep inside you and leaking out to drip down your thighs as he let out a long, loud groan of ecstasy.

You slumped back against the desk, feeling the cold wood against your warm, hot skin. Jonathan buried his head into the crook of your neck, pressing soft, chaste kisses to it as you both came down from your orgasmic highs. You stayed like that for a long moment until both of you calmed down, a blissful exhaustion filling you.

"There's a new restaurant that opened up in the town center," he smiled, caressing your cheek. "I hear it has some of the best Chicken Alfredo the city has to offer. Good wine, too."

You chuckled tiredly, not catching on to his offer. "You fucked me silly just so you could tell me about some Italian place?"

"I'm sure it's a better first date than whatever that guy got you," He said, letting out a chuckle of his own. "I'm free later tonight if that's not too short notice."

Your eyes shot open as the realization set in. "Wait— You're asking me out? What if someone from the University sees us, Jonathan? You could get—" He cut you off with a short, sweet kiss.

"Arkham always needs new doctors, darling. There's never a shortage of the need for psychiatrists. I'm tired of grading papers, anyway." He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. "You heard what I said earlier, didn't you? I love you. You belong to me."

You had finally learned who you belonged to, and you couldn't have been happier.

[dstryvampres]

Smoke Signals

Jonathan Crane x Reader

Summary: Dr Crane is tired of you talking back.

Warnings: smut, fingering, age gap(reader is early 20s, crane is mid 40s), power imbalance, brat taming(I think??), reader is a smoker, dub con, p in v, unprotected, praise, degradation, spanking, creampie

Word count: 2.2k

The trek to Dr Crane office on the fifth floor was quick and easy, seeing as there was no one else using the elevator because it was so late at night. When you push open the door to Dr Crane’s office it creaks, alerting him immediately to your presence.

“I thought I told you to quit smoking before you come to my office,” is what Dr Crane decides on greeting you with. His face is stern, pen in hand as he writes out a statement on a student’s quiz.

“Yeah, well I was fiending all day and they don’t let you have a smoke within 15 meters of the psychology testing centre. Hard to get a smoke break in,” You quip back, hanging your tote bag over the back of a chair before sliding between it and Dr Crane’s desk to sit.

“Well, if you won’t quit all together, you could at least have the common courtesy to not reek of it near me,” He scoffs, clicking his pen and setting it down on his desk.

You toy with the fabric of your sheer black tights as Dr Crane sets aside whatever he was working on before and brings out two sheets of paper. Two rubrics, one for him, which he settles in front of him, and one for you, which he flips towards you.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Dr Crane asks, standing up from his desk and heading towards the table near the window. He clicks on the kettle, staring at it for a couple seconds before he starts to hear it bubble up before he turns to you again.

“Just any tea is fine, except ginger, I want something herbal tonight,” you reply, rummaging through your tote bag looking for a pen to use for tonight.

“So herbal tea?” Jonathan asks, shaking his head at you in the corner of your eye.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I said,” you sit up straight once again when you find your pencil case, plopping it down on Dr Crane’s darkwood desk.

You hear a sigh from the professor as he turns around to look out the window at the rain, his fingers toying around with the packaging of a tea bag. No matter if Dr Crane happens to be your boss, you can’t deny that he’s insanely attractive. Young looking face with high cheekbones, blue eyes that stare holes into your being, dark brown hair that he somehow styles perfectly without trying that hard, all packaged in suits that do him far too many favours. Sure he has a slightly bitter attitude, but you’re no better. With all the times you snap back and push his buttons he’s far too patient with you, and seems to genuinely care about your well being. Whether that care is actually genuine or is just to avoid having to find another TA, you’re not one hundred percent sure.

A click comes from the kettle, and soon enough Dr Crane sets down a steaming mug in front of you before sliding into his own chair with a mug in his hand.

“Thank you,” you say, blowing on the steaming liquid in hopes to cool it down quicker.

“Don’t burn yourself.”

Dr Crane grabs his pen before directing both of your attention to the rubric and assignment guide. He drones on about the basics, word count, percentage to dock based off of just principle things, before delving into more important specifics to the assignment. For a supposed research essay, the need to include the students own fears into the mix was a weird choice to be a necessity. There’s no need to ask about it, the conditions for the assignment have already been set in stone, the due date is in about a week.

“Everything making sense?” Dr Crane asks, looking at you, eyebrows furrowed together.

You nod in response, reaching over to grab a highlighter from Dr Crane’s collection across the table. Maybe you should bring up the weird conditions of the assignment…

“Actually, just one thing confuses me about this assignment,” You start, looking for any signs of anger from Dr Crane, knowing just how often you seem to push his buttons before continuing, “why do the students need to disclose their own fears in this assignment, it’s supposed to be a research essay on different ways the brain copes with fear.”

Dr Crane clenches his jaw, looking away from you annoyed. Acting like you were questioning the fundamentals of grammar and not some strange one off point he decided to add to this assignment. He shakes his head, taking off his glasses and laying them down on the table.

“You’re not the one running the class, are you?” Dr Crane asks, voice showing just thin his patience has become in a matter of seconds.

“Well, obviously not, but I’m just-”

You’re cut off with the screeching of Dr Crane’s chair as he stands up, walking towards the door. Fuck, is he going to leave? Is he going to ask you to leave? Are you being fired out of one of the best looking jobs on your resume? When you hear the click of the lock on the door, you’re not sure if your fate is better or worse than any of the options thought of before. Nevertheless, your body tenses up and your head starts to fog up, whatever is going to happen you don’t think it will be too pleasant.

“You know what? I’m so sick of you always thinking you know better than me,” He slowly walks over to you as he speaks, shoes clicking on the linoleum floor of his office.

“I don’t think that,” you respond, voice strained. Now he’s standing over where you’re seated, forcing you to look upwards at him. You feel so small and powerless in this moment. Maybe, it’s only now and here, in this position, that you finally remember that this man holds your entire future as a psychologist in his hands.

“I want you to remember who has more leverage here, who can get you into the best jobs in the state,” it’s like he can read your mind.

You gulp and close your eyes. You’ve spent the last year and three months of your masters degree and time as a TA under Dr Crane pushing back against him, challenging the man. You’re sure that it’s here, in his locked office that he will give you a piece of his mind before dropping you completely. Leaving you and your master’s thesis to flounder in the last half of it, beg for anyone to aid you in the specific thesis everyone knew only Crane was suitable to supervise at this university. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Please, don’t drop me and my thesis. I won’t challenge you ever again, I’ll do anything you want, please,” you beg, opening your eyes to stare at Crane’s. Hoping the eye contact would connect with some deeper part of him, but his blue eyes stared back, cold and emotionless.

“Anything?” Crane asks, quirking an eyebrow at your begging.

“Yes, anything. I’ll get on my knees and beg you, I’ll mark every assignment myself-”

“Face the table and put your hands on top of it,” Crane demands.

“What?” Your mind short circuits at his request, not expecting something like that.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to challenge me ever again?” Dr Crane sighs, crossing his arms, waiting for you to obey.

You follow his request, placing both your hands on the table, looking down at the dark oak wood. It’s cold underneath your palms, but that doesn’t help with the sweat accumulating onto your palms. Dr Crane hums behind you, seemingly happy with your compliance to his request. He kicks your feet away from the desk, making your butt stick out more.

“Now, I want you to spread your legs for me,” Dr Crane puts a hand on your ass, squeezing the flesh. Your eyebrows furrow, taking a second too long for his liking and earning a slap to the ass, you quickly move to spread your legs.

“Good girl,” Dr Crane hums, massaging the spot where he hit you previously. You whine in response, feeling a heat start to grow in your cunt.

Dr Crane smacks your ass again, a little lighter than before, almost teasing. His other hand is placed on your ass, both hands move down to your thighs, then back up to your ass, this time sliding under your skirt and flipping it up. Your pink panties are visible through the sheer black tights causing Dr Crane to sigh out.

“You feel how hard I am, slut?” Dr Crane asks, you hear the smirk in his voice as he presses his hard-on into your ass. You moan, feeling the weight of it press into your wet cunt and soiled panties.

Quickly Dr Crane rips open the thin fabric of your tights, allowing for direct access to your panties and cunt. He feels your wet heat through your panties, quickly moving them to the side to expose your cunt. You moan as the cold air of his office hits your cunt.

“You’re so wet. Do you let all your professors fuck you? Or am I a sort of desprate case?” Dr Crane cooes, ghosting his fingers over your exposed cunt.

He runs his fingers up and down your cunt, collecting your wetness over them before pushing them inside of you. The intrusion is so unexpected it makes you gasp, pull away from it briefly. He fucks you with his fingers shallowly, at a bored pace. You push back onto his fingers, begging for more. Dr Crane removes his finger from your cunt, and you whine in response.

“Fuck, you’re a desperate whore huh?” Dr Crane laughs, giving your ass another harsh slap.

Behind you Dr Crane unzips his pants, freeing his cock. He lines it up with your hole and just stays there. No matter how much you try to push back and whine for him to put it in he isn’t moving.

“You’ve been such a bitch, I don’t think you deserve my cock. Why don’t you beg for it?” you can hear the cocky look on Dr Crane’s face just from his voice. Though it doesn’t seem to matter much as you open your mouth to beg.

“Please Dr Crane, I’ll be such a good girl. You can use me anytime and I’ll never be a bitch again, as long as I have your cock, please doctor please,” you plead, wiggling your hips.

“Good girl.”

Dr Crane pushes inside of you. His cock is average length, but stretches you out in a way no other man ever has. It makes your head spin as he spears you on his cock.

“Fuck, I didn’t expect a whore like you to be so tight,” Dr Crane pants out, putting both of his hands on your waist.

He pulls out of you slowly, before slamming back into your cunt. Setting a brutal pace as soon as he slams back into you a second time. Only faltering when he smacks your ass. You yelp out each time, before pushing back onto his cock. Dr Crane continually stretched you out and hit the most sensitive spots inside of you. Your legs start to shake half way through, the only thing stopping you from crumbling being Dr Crane’s cock and hands. He pushes you back on him each time, almost demanding you take him in further.

“You fuck me so good doctor,” you moan out, “Can I cum doctor?”

“Yeah, cum all over my cock dumb slut,” Dr Crane says, speeding up the pace.

One of his hands reaches down from your hips to your clit, rubbing fast and hard on it. A touch so hard and borderline painful on the sensitive bundle of nerves tips you over the edge in mere seconds. Your knees buckle. Stars flood your vision. Your boss fucking you through the whole thing.

You start to weep from overstimulation, tears welling in your eyes when you come back from your high. Dr Crane is still fucking you in the same brutal pace.

“Sluts like you don’t get breaks until I come too,” Dr Crane snarls out at you and your weeping, earning another sharp smack to your ass.

The tears spill out over your eyes as you cum again all over his cock. Your walls clenching and seizing around Dr Crane so hard his cock becomes painful as it pumps in and out of you.

He speeds up and his pace starts to become more aggressive, until Dr Crane stills inside of you. His cum rushes into your cunt, holding himself inside you after both of you have finally come down from your high. Once Dr Crane pulls out of you, you feel as his cum comes spilling out of your cunt.

“I’ll give you your share of the papers to mark next monday,” Dr Crane says, tucking his cock away and zipping up his pants. “I expect to not hear any confusion about the grading from you, I feel like I explained myself pretty well.

taglist: @paradiseprincesss @xanaxiii @luluartpop

[mydear-corinthian]

love potion no. 9

sypnosis - attempting to make doctor jonathan crane be in love with you using your love potion

pairing - jonathan crane x reader (pharmacist!)

warnings - SMUT +18, p in v, fingering, creampie, jealousy, reader attempting to poison crane

notes - rushed & based of my fav song, divider by cafekitsune

main masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist

You've been working as the hospital's pharmacist for a while now. The experience was a fifty-fifty. How strange to work under the walls where high-profile criminals are admitted in the city of Gotham.

One day, while you were working on your regular evening shift, a tall man wearing rectangular glasses and a black suit let out a small cough as he approached the window of the pharmacy's counter. Setting your pen down, you looked at this man. Your gaze met his blue eyes. You noticed how his hair was neatly styled.

There was a moment of silence before you brushed up your thoughts. "Can I help you with anything, sir?"

"I'm here to get the prescription I need."

"And what's your name, sir?"

"Doctor Jonathan Crane."

Your eyes widened, and the pen in your fingers dropped as you heard the name.

That's Jonathan fucking Crane?

He looked younger than you expected to be. You thought that the head psychologist was old so he's the only psychologist in the asylum allowed to prescribe medication.

"I— Please give me a few seconds to find it, Doctor Crane," you stuttered, immediately standing up and wengoing the back of the cashier to where all the anti-depressants and anti-psychotic medicines were stored.

"Hurry up. I don't have enough time to wait," he replied, rolling his eyes out of irritation.

After a few minutes, you finally saw a brown paper bag with his name on it. You immediately grabbed it and then stapled it to ensure that the medicines were safely secured. You walked up to the desk, placing the paper box on top of it in front of Jonathan.

"Thank you," he said, looking at the metallic nameplate on your uniform. "Miss (L/n)."

After that first interaction, he has been meeting you up again in the pharmacy. Taking his usual prescription medicines. After a few more visits, he started to make a few more chats rather than greetings. Asking you how you were, when's your schedule, etc.,

During those visits, you cannot help but feel something. The way you blush every time he compliments you. The way his delicate fingers meet yours when you give him the medicines. Or the way how he just looks fucking good.

One day, you waited for Jonathan to grab his prescription, so you waited. It's been a few hours and no Doctor Crane appeared. Taking a deep sigh, you continued to do your inventory as you waited for him to come.

After a few hours of waiting, a woman knocks on the glass of the pharmacy's counter. You greeted, letting out a soft smile despite being sad for not seeing the psychologist yet.

"May I help you, ma'am?" you asked.

"I'm here to get Doctor Crane's prescription."

Your ears perked up as you heard his name. Your back stiffens as your eyes widen. Why is she here? Why isn't Jonathan here?

"I'm sorry, ma'am; who are you?" you asked in confusion. "I'm sure Doctor Crane doesn't want his prescription medicines to be taken."

The women laughed at your question and your eyebrows met together.

"Oh, I'm his assistant, silly. Maybe his soon-to-be girlfriend? Not sure yet."

What?

Your stomach churned. A mix of sadness and anger rolled up your mind. You didn't know that Jonathan was interested in anyone. You thought that you would have a chance with him. You felt ill.

You stormed out right away, grabbing the papaer box with his name on it. Putting it in front of her harshly.

Forcing on a smile, you said, "Here's the prescription, ma'am."

"Thank you." the woman replied, grabbing the paper box before walking away.

Jealousy is buried all over your body. Bur you cannot help but feel insecure. She was indeed pretty. For sure Jonathan likes her too.

But you also felt mostly anger and jealousy.

As soon as your shift ended, you hurriedly grabbed your bag and went straight to your small apartment. Turning the doorknob, you entered your apartment and removed your shoe. Grabbing a pen and paper from your cabinet, you wrote different formulas for making something for him.

A love potion.

It does sound silly but you were so obsessed with him and you want him that badly. You felt like he was yours and you were his.

The remaining days stayed the same. The same woman grabbed Jonathan's medicines. The same anger and jealousy never left you. You continued in your potion, grabbing all the hallucinogens that you needed from the rmaprimacyou will spend your night making it.

After a week, you finally finished creating the spray. You choose to make the smell the same as your perfume; to let him know that he is yours.

Arriving at the Asylum, you set your bag behind your chair as you start to do your work. There were a lot of customers that day so you kept yourself occupied.

Finally, his assistant arrived.

She approached the glass with the same cheeky smile. "Jonathan's prescription, please."

Fuck, are they in the first-name business now?

Straightening your back, you said, "I think I'll give it to Doctor Crane myself."

The assistant's head turned to your direction with a face in disbelief. She placed her phone down.

"Why?" she asked.

"Doctor Crane requested a new medicine and it contains rare chemicals and it needs to be taken care of properly. This is the last medicine in our inventory so I suggest I'll be the one to give it to him." you lied.

"Fine. I don't care with whatever medicine he wants anyway. Your pharmacists can take catfish that. I'll just go take a quick dinner break, anyways." she replied, rolling her eyes before she walked away while busy typing on her phone.

As she walked away, you let out a sigh of relief. You grabbed the paper box at the back and then the spray you placed on a small glass sprayer in your bag, hiding it in your pocket.

"Hey, Adeline, I'll just give this medicine to Doctor Crane; he requested it," you said, showing him the paper box with his name.

"Yeah sure, no problem. I'll cover the cashier for you." your friend replied.

Letting out a 'thank you', you exited the pharmacy. You didn't know where his clinic was so you tried finding his name on the big board on the entrance of the hospital that was filled with all the doctors and their clinic rooms in the Asylum. You got up the elevator and pressed the buttons. You're confident with this. You checked the formula all over again and gave you the same result but you cannot help but feel how your heartbeat thumped aggressively.

It will work.

You went out as soon as the elevator doors opened. The whole floor was quiet and there were only a few people there, mainly janitors cleaning up. You walked while looking at the small paper in your hand where you wrote his room number.

You stopped your tracks as soon as you saw his name on a sign on a black door.

Dr. Jonathan Crane, M.D, Psy.D, J. Crim. Psychol.

Letting out a deep breath, your fingers opened the door. The entrance was small. A long cushion was on the right while the assistant/secretary's table was on the left— which was empty. There was another door in front of you, which you think is his office.

You knocked three times on the door, fixing your uniform and your hair. You gripped your pocket tightly, securing it.

Your eyes met him as he opened the door. His outfit looked the same. His hairstyles led properly. His rectangular glasses shined. Jonathan's eyes then met yours.

"(Y/n)? What are you doing here?" he asked, not closing the door.

Fuck, he looks hot.

"I— I'm here for the prescription you needed, Doctor Crane," you replied, handing out the paper box with his name on your hand. "Your.. secretary said that she was busy so I decided to just give it to you instead of myself."

Jonathan's eyes still locking yours. "Oh. Well, thank you, (Y/n). Do you want to come inside?" he offered, taking the prescription in your hands gently, his fingers touching yours.

You felt a strike on your spine at the sudden short touch. Jonathan's touch was gentle and his hands felt soft.

"O-Okay.." you replied.

Jonathan opened his door widely, letting you come inside first and then him. His office was twice as big as the outside. His certificates hanging on the wall. A small scarecrow figure is displayed on the black shelves.

"Please, sit." Jonathan offered.

Nodding, you sat down. Your hand still clutching tightly to your pockets.

"How have you been?" he asked, leaning against his wooden table while you sat in front of him.

"I'm fine, Doctor Cra—"

"Jonathan. Jonathan is alright." he interrupted.

"Oh, right.." you nodded. "I'm fine, Jonathan. Lots of customers but still doing great. And you?"

"Same way either," he replied, removing his glasses as he looked at you and fuck, you find it so hot.

"So, your secretary.." you brought up the topic. "Is she your.. girlfriend?"

Your question made him laugh. Putting his glasses on he replied, "What makes you think that?"

"Well, she told me that she's your soon-to-be girlfriend so you know.." your hands never leaving your pocket.

Jonathan notices how your hands never leave your pocket. His eyes trying to know what you're hiding inside it.

"What's in your pocket?" he asked, changing the topic.

Fuck.

You sighed, giving up. You stood up and grabbed the spray in your pocket, spraying on his face a couple of puffs. You let out a relief.

His eyes squinted, attempting to rub the liquid off his face.

"How are you feeling, Jonathan?" you asked, walking towards him closely; your face getting closer to his as you trickled your fingers onto his soft face before letting your lips meet his. His hands gripped your waist softly as he kissed back, savoring each other's taste.

He finally opened his eyes and let out another laugh. You let go of him immediately, you were confused. It didn't work? But you were sure that the formula was right. You had the right chemicals. You had the best hallucinogenic chemicals in the city.

Unless..

"Let me guess.. love potion?" he asked, his lips painting a smirk on his face as he looked at you.

You panicked. "I— Why isn't it working?"

Your heels stepped backward while he moved forward. Your heart started to thump aggressively; you were panicking.

"Why isn't it working indeed." Jonathan's eyes grow wide as his lips curve into a smirk. "Well, there are only two options. Either your little experience was an absolute fail or I'm already in love with you."

The words coming out of your mouth left you gasping. He's right. There were only two options.

"But how about your secretary?" you asked.

Jonathan began walking much closer to you until both of your faces were inches apart; your waist hitting his desk. You can be sure that he can hear how loud your heartbeat is. You can smell his strong men's perfume from his neck and his wrists. You can see how ravishing his blue eyes really are.

"It's you. It's always been you." Jonathan confessed, his eyes getting soft as he looked at you.

After a few visits from the pharmacy, Jonathan started to take an interest in you. He observes how you tilt a strand of your hair to the back of your ear whenever he compliments you. How your things are always the same color which he thinks is your favorite. How your ears perked up whenever he brings small conversations about your expertise— medicines.

Jonathan's soft hands found their way to your hips, securing them; tthemknowow you were his. Your lower body sat on top of his black wooden table. His, then, lips crashed into yours again but delicately. You were shocked by the sudden confession and the kiss but you ignored it anyway; you kissed him back, gripping a fistful of his hair as the kiss deepened. The way his tongue met yours made you wet. He explored your lips and tongue, allowing him to savor your taste leaving a trail of kisses down your neck before sucking it, making you suddenly moan in pleasure.

"Ah yes," you moaned but immediately covered your mouth when you noticed how loud it was.

"Don't worry, love," he said in between kisses, continuing to mark your neck. "The whole room is soundproof. Scream all you want, doll."

The wetness in your panties became worse. Your breath hitched as he sucked that spot in your neck. His hands began to trail down to your thighs, his fingers tracing it. The tent in his pants began to be visible.

"Please— touch me, Jonathan.."

Jonathan's fingers now trailed in between your thighs, toying with your clothed clit under your skirt. The touch sends shivers down your spine. He can feel how wet you are and your white lacey panties.

His lips began to paint another sluggish smirk. "So wet for me already?" he teased.

"Please, Johnny. I need you," you cried in pleasure as his fingers started to massage your clit from your panties.

Jonathan removed your panties before throwing them off the floor. The cold air touching your sensitive cunt made you shiver. His thumb began to rub it slowly and then his pace fastened making you bob your head backward, your eyes closing as you felt the pleasure down there. The wet noise echoed all over the room. He then started to insert two of his fingers with no warning making you moaaloudud.

"Fuck!— Yes, Jonathan!"

You moaned as his finger hit that spongy spot there. Your toyed pussy clenching around his fingers. His thumb circling figure eights on your clit. Back arching, your legs squirmed.

Jonathan's fast pace made you feel the knot in your stomach tighten, feeling more wet. Your moans were getting louder and louder.

"Jon.." you moaned. "I'm close."

"Go on," he whispered, you can feel his hot breath on your neck. "Cum on my fingers."

Jonathan's pace quickened until your orgasm flowed. His fingers were coated with your white juices. Jonathan brought up his fingers to his tongue, licking it clean as he tasted your juice.

"Mhm, sweet," he smirked.

Even though you just came from your orgasm, you still have that desire for more. You want him to take you. You want to feel him.

Jonathan gave you a small sweet kiss before his hands found their way to his black trousers, unzipping them; his erection can be clear through his boxers.

"You want me that bad, huh?" he teased. "I think you're the one who drank that potion of yours."

His voice was deep, husky, and raspy which made you want him more. He removed his black blazer, leaving him with his white long-sleeved polo and a tie. You began to unzip your skirt as well, tossing it on the floor. He kisses you again deeply.

As soon as he removed his boxers, his cock sprung out. He was bigger than you expected and veiny. Jonathan began to align his cock to your dripping and aching hole and then inserted himself fully.

"Fuuuckkk—" he groaned as he felt your tight walls take him. "You're so tight."

You gasped as you felt his length take you; a loud hiss escaped from your lips.

"Are you okay? Does it hurt?" he genuinely asked as he noticed you hissed.

Shaking your head, you gripped his broad shoulders. "No— I'm fine. Just keep going."

Jonathan started to slowly thrust inside you, taking no rush which you appreciated. He was gentle. Your legs locked his hips as you embraced his shoulders with your arms.

"I've been dreaming about this since—" he let out a low groan as his hips moved closer to you . "..the day I saw you. Fuck, you're beautiful."

His thrust quickened, making you moan. Your tits were bouncing at every move he makes. Your eyes were completely shut, your head rolling back as you savored the pleasure Jonathan gave you. The way his tip hit your G-spot made you scream a series of the most pornographic moans you've ever done.

"Oh my god! Yes yes yes!"

A smirk on his face was formed when he heard your lovely moans in his ears. Your moans are probably his favorite note. His baby blue eyes met yours when you looked at him. The way he was still wearing his sexy glasses made you blush more.

"You feel so good, my love," he said in between his thrusts. "Fuck— you're mine, okay?"

"Yes, Johnny! I'm—fuck— yours!"

All you felt was nothing but love and ecstasy. Every thrust, every moan, every kiss, and every touch coming from him makes you feel weak and pleasurable.

The table you guys were fucking on aggressively moves at every movement the both of you do. His files, ball pens, and other items fell from the table but none of you minded as your business was focused somewhere else.

A feeling of wetness and and closeless throb in your stomach. Jonathan abusing your sensitive spot with his fat cock didn't help. Your moans and his grunts synchronize together as the both of you feel close.

"I'm gonna cum, love. Where do you want it?"

"Inside, please! Fuck! Fill me up, please please please!"

"My princess wants me to fill her up, yeah? Alright then."

After a few more aggressive thrusts, you felt your orgasm came. His cock was now stained with your cum as he continued.

"Gonna cum now, doll. Take it, baby. Yes yes yes!" Jonathan groaned as he finally came inside you. His dick spurts out his hot white cum inside your walls. Jonathan, then, pulled out; a mix of his load spilled out in your hole.

"Fuck, look at that," he said, watching it dripped to his black table.

Jonathan gave you another kiss but this time, it was passionate. His lips let out a series of compliments which made you flustered and blush at the same time.

"I guess I'll be the one who'll give you your medicines now," you teased.

"I look forward to that, my love."

After dressing up again, Jonathan guided you to the door, not wanting you to be late for your shift. As soon as he opened the door, the both of you were greeted by his assistant who just came in.

"Doctor Crane and... Miss (L/n)... Didn't expect you to visit here." the female assistant said, clearly not expecting you at all.

"Natalia, clear out my schedule this Friday. I'm going on a date with Miss (L/n) here." Jonathan said, making you blush at the sudden invitation.

His assistant's face turned into a frown and anger but tried to let out a fake smile before you and Jonathan left his clinic.

"Your assistant must be sad that I'm going out with you, Doctor Crane."

"Oh, baby... I'm only yours."

[cillianhead]

Sitting Pretty || Jonathan Crane x Reader

summary: Needy and so incredibly horny, you seek out your boyfriend to treat your ailments.

Here's a little short thing for y'all <3

Warnings: Smut, cockwarming, graphic language, swearing, unprotected P in V, slight degradation, praising, there's a bit of slapping but nothing too serious, adult content.

18+ Minors DNI.

Seeking out Jonathan was pretty easy, he finally had a day off of work for once but he was in his study anyway, reading over medical documents, prescriptions, legal forms, and all that boring stuff you didn't particularly care for. He hadn't paid any attention to you all day, a small peck in the morning before he slipped out of bed and went into his home office to work was all he had given you today.

"Jonny?" You asked meekly, creaking the door of his study open. You were in one of his button up shirts, though none of the buttons were done up, leaving your bare chest and stomach on display. He looked up from his work, quirking an eyebrow at you. Just the sight of him, his glasses sitting on his pretty nose and still in his pyjamas as he worked. He looked so handsome, it made you squeeze your bare thighs together.

"What is it, bunny?" Jonathan tilted his head at you, waving you over with a curl of his finger. Your feet padded over to him and you could feel his hungry eyes on your tits, nipples hard from the cold air.

"Need you..." Was all you could get out as you sat on his warm lap, an arm of his slipped around your waist. "Please... you've barely... given me any attention at all today, Jonny..."

Jonathan just smirked as he signed off another bit of paperwork, humming, not giving his full attention to you. You frowned grumpily. "Is that so?" He knew you were all worked up, he knew it from the second you walked into the room with that sad little look on your face. "Well too bad, too busy with work, my love. Maybe later." He mumbled dismissively.

"Please!" You cried, leaning your head into the crook of his neck, squeezing your eyes shut. Whining like a needy brat. "I'll take anything you can give me please... please... just need you inside of me, I'll be good, Jonny..."

Jonathan sighed, knowing how you were when you were horny. You wouldn't leave him alone until you got what you want, got what you needed. "I'll tell you what, you can sit on my cock but you're not allowed to move, do you hear me?" He grabbed you by your chin sternly, pen still slotted between his fingers. "No playing around, sweetheart." You just nodded feverishly, you quickly pulled down his pyjama pants, his cock was already hard and red for you. Biting your lip, you slipped down your underwear, letting it fall onto the floor as you ground your wet cunt against his head until you sank down on him, back pressed against his clothed chest. You let out a low moan, squeezing around him, you could hear him take in a deep breath through his nose as he kept writing, knowing your pussy had an intoxicating effect over him.

"F-Feels so good, Jonathan... thank you," You mumbled, trying your best to keep your aching hips still. Your clit throbbed with need as the head of his dick pressed snugly against your cervix in the most deliciously painful way.

"Now you've got what you want you can just sit there and look pretty for me, darling." Jonathan pinched your sensitive nipple, you gasped at this, clenching around him causing him to let out a throaty groan. "You've gotta stop doing that, baby, or you won't be allowed to sit here anymore." You squeezed his cock again at the nickname which earned you a hard slap on your clit, making you cry.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... you just feel too good..." You whined, throwing your head back to rest on his shoulder. He could tell you were struggling to sit still, could tell you still needed more.

You sat there for a little while longer, being good, being obedient while he did his work and his dick sat inside you, cunt hugging it tightly and needily. But you were growing more and more restless by the second.

"Touch your clit f'me," Jonathan whispered deep into your ear. "Want you to cum while sitting on my cock."

"C-Can't..."

"Don't tell me you want me to do it for you too?" He grunted, clearly displeased with your answer. You shook your head with embarrassment. "Pathetic slut, can't even touch yourself, takin' my cock but you also need my fingers too? Greedy bitch." He gave you a smack on your cheek, face stinging, as he slipped his fingers between your sticky folds and rubbed perfect circles on your swollen clit. He was so hot when he was mean.

"Thank you... thank you so much..." You were a stupid mess, wanting to bounce on his cock so bad. He was touching you so perfectly and you hated how it turned you on even further how he continued to do his work even with you sitting on him, his cock fully sheathed inside you and his fingers working your clit, working you closer to your oncoming orgasm. You were thankful for whatever he gave you. Shifting your hips, trying to readjust, to get more friction of some kind, as you felt yourself on the brink of cumming, you got another hard slap on your clit before he continued touching you. "Ow!"

"Remember what I fucking said about no moving." Jonathan grumbled, you felt his dick twitch inside you, you knew he was close too, getting off in the way your pussy perfectly squeezed him.

You were dripping all over him, so wet for him. He twitched inside of you again and suddenly before you could really process what was going on he slammed his pen down and pushed you down over the desk, pushing your face down into the expensive mahogany as he pulled his hips out before slamming right back in. Jonathan couldn't take it anymore, couldn't take the way your pussy squeezed him, he was holding back bucking into you that entire time, so he finally gave in and started fucking you.

"Oh!" You felt yourself unraveling, creaming around him. "Yes!" Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as he fucked into you roughly.

"Fuckin' take it, that's it, little girl, take my big cock," Jonathan groaned, slamming in and out of you, his cock hitting your cervix perfectly and heavy balls hitting your clit with a perfect rhythm. "That's a good girl, so fucking good for me, gonna fill you with my cum." You were writhing on the desk, your pussy gushing for him. "So wet, so wet for me, gonna cum... fuck... gonna cum...!" He groaned, spilling his seed into you, filling you with his sweet cum. Stilling his hips completely as he let out his own whiny sounds of pleasure, despite his rough treatment of you, his whines were high pitched and a bit pathetic, it only turned you on further the way his rough exterior melted as he came. You squeezed him further, your own orgasm still going on, milking him of all he's got and smiling to yourself, knowing you got what you want. "Fucking hell." He whispered.

"Thank you... thank you!" You moaned and you could feel his nails digging into your hips as he breathed deeply, coming down from his high. Your clit throbbing and your head spinning, you gasped for air. "Thank you so much... Jonny... love you..."

"So grateful for my cum aren't you?" He hummed, pulling you down with him, down onto his office chair again, softening cock still inside you. Cum dripping out of you slowly. "What a sweet thing you are..." He sniffed your hair, burying his nose in your neck. You just leaned back on him, fucked out and all dumb. Your mind was blank with pure contentment. "Such a dumb pretty little girl... gonna make you my wife." He praised, placing a sloppy kiss on your lips before he slid the chair over to his desk and continued his work.

-

I hope you enjoyed!! <3

[lovelybucky1]

Better Than Revenge

Kinktober Day 7- Fear Play

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

kinktober masterlist

main masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I have waited so long for this."

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” he hisses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No! No, please, you can’t do that.”

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

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

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

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

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

All you can do is cry and shake your head.

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

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

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

“Hmm,” he hums.

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

“Please,” you beg again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That catches your attention. Our child?

“W-what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod in understanding. "Good girl."

[jtargaryen18]

Under His Skin ~ Chapter 10

Series Masterlist

Words: 9.4k

Pairing: Jonathan Crane aka Scarecrow (Nolan!verse Batman) x F Reader

Warnings: Drugging, manipulation, explicit sex, oral (f receiving), P in V, light bondage, light domination.

Jonathan has a special evening planned for the two of you.

Disclaimer:The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site.

The scent of honey, garlic, and soy filled the kitchen as you stirred the pan gently, letting the glaze thicken over the chicken. The evening light streamed through the window, casting long golden lines across the countertops. It was peaceful.

You glanced at the clock. Jonathan would be home soon.

Dinner was nearly done, and for a moment, you just stood there, spoon in hand, listening to the gentle simmer of the sauce. The last few days had passed in a strange kind of stillness. On the plus side, there'd been no drama or unusual visitors to the house. It was just quiet. 

In that quiet, your mind calmed, but your worries grew. The longer the silence stretched, the more your thoughts wandered. And most of them came back to the same few things.

Ares. Jonathan had said little about him over the last few days. Each time you asked, he’d offer something vague. “He’s still being monitored,” or “There’s been no change.” Then he'd respectfully change the subject. You hadn’t pressed, but maybe you should have. Something in the way he responded made it feel... difficult. Maybe the situation was that dire, and he didn't want to dash your hopes.

Then there was your apartment. Your things. Your life. Your car was still parked in that building’s lot. Ares’s apartment had to be dealt with too. And bills didn’t stop just because your life had been ripped apart.

The only saving grace, besides Jonathan, was Lexi. She’d been checking in. Her texts were patient, warm. We miss you. No pressure. Just come back when you’re ready. You’d thanked her, promised soon. But even now, you weren’t sure when that would be or why you were putting it off.

Well. Maybe you did know. You were afraid to ask Jonathan. Afraid to ask about your car. About going back to the gallery. About Ares. You knew it had a lot to do with everything he'd done for you so far. You'd never be able to repay him for everything. You didn't want to ask for more on top of all that.

But you were his house guest, nothing more. You certainly weren’t in hiding, and he wasn’t holding you here. If you wanted to leave, you could, right? So why didn't you? And why were you afraid to ask Jonathan for help in doing so? You didn't want to seem ungrateful for all he was doing for you, but you'd think he'd want you to have your vehicle back and reclaim your autonomy.

He'd understand. You needed your job. You had bills to pay and a life to rebuild. There was so much still undone, and you couldn’t just live in limbo forever, no matter how safe his house felt.

Maybe it was time to take Lexi up on her offer and stay with her. But you squashed that idea a second later. Lexi came with a lot of drama. It probably wouldn't be a better situation. 

Maybe it was time to talk to Jonathan about the next steps you needed to take.

And then, of course, there were the other worries. The ones that lived just under the surface. Who had been behind the break-in at the gallery? The trashing of your apartment? The strange man who showed up on Jonathan's doorstep, the man who intimidated you at a glance and had you fleeing back to Jonathan's guest room like a scared child. Each day, you watched the news, hoping for something, anything, that might explain it. If there were reports of similar incidents, a pattern, you could tell yourself it wasn’t personal. Just Gotham being Gotham. But there weren’t. No incidents like yours. Nothing had happened to anyone else at the gallery, not Lexi nor any of your volunteer helpers. 

Which left only you.

Still, Gotham was Gotham. Crime had spiked lately, and you knew that, too, because you’d been watching the news. Murders. Robberies. Gangs of thugs tearing through back alleys and burned-out neighborhoods. And the most disturbing headlines? There were reports of a man terrorizing the city dressed like a scarecrow. Some fringe psychopath with a burlap bag over his head leaving fear in his wake. The still photo someone had sent to the local news station showed some shaky surveillance camera could have been comically surreal. But it just wasn't. It was terrifying and even though all you had was a blurry silhouette, something felt so wrong.

So, yes, all of that made you hesitant. Made you more willing to stay behind the locked doors of Jonathan's house, to listen when he said now wasn’t the right time. That he’d take care of things and protect you. And part of you hated how easy it had become to just let him.

You stirred the sauce again, watching the glaze bubble and catch the light. 

And then there was Jonathan. He hadn’t done anything inappropriate since you'd been staying there. But still, there were things. Little things. The way he’d press a kiss to your temple when he came home. The soft, fleeting brush of his hand at the small of your back when passing behind you in the kitchen. The way his arm would settle around your shoulders as the two of you watched some old black-and-white film, casual and almost protective.

None of it felt overtly threatening. If anything, it felt intentional. And the way he looked at you sometimes, like he already belonged in your life, and was just waiting for you to realize it, was far more intimate than any touch.

The attention he paid you every evening was steady and unwavering. You just weren't sure exactly what he wanted from you, if anything. 

And then, unbidden, Lexi’s words surfaced again. She'd suggested that your life hadn't started unraveling until Jonathan came into your life. You dismissed it at the time. You’d brushed her off, telling yourself she was just stressed and overwhelmed by everything that had happened at the gallery. But now, it was harder to push the thought away. Was she right? Everything started falling apart after Jonathan stepped in. After he became part of your world. 

Of course, it could all be coincidence. Helping people was what he did for a living. That was the logical explanation, wasn’t it? He’d spent years navigating broken minds, unraveling trauma, guiding patients through the dark. Maybe this, you, wasn’t so different. Maybe he’d just seen you struggling and stepped in the way anyone decent would. And maybe, watching Ares fall apart, watching what that did to you, something in him shifted. Maybe it had started as kindness. But now, maybe his feelings were involved. And that thought made you pause. Not because the idea was unpleasant.

Jonathan was very handsome. Striking, even. Those piercing blue eyes, the precise way he moved, the careful articulation of his words... He had the presence of someone who knew he was the smartest man in the room, and he usually was. A brilliant scholar in psychology and biochemistry. The kind of intellect that left most people scrambling to keep up. When you first met him, you’d found him mildly terrifying. Cold in a way that didn’t feel cruel, just maybe unreachable.

Now?

Now, he touched you like you were breakable and precious all at once. And you weren’t sure when that changed. Maybe it had something to do with Ares’s fall. That night your world cracked open and Jonathan stepped into the wreckage like he belonged there. Like he’d expected to be needed.

Since then, you’d become something of a perpetual damsel in distress. Constantly needing rescue, comfort, and shelter. You hated that feeling.

So then what was the attraction? Was it really you he was drawn to? The idea gnawed at you in the quiet. What did he see when he looked at you now? A woman he wanted? Or a problem he could solve?

It had to be the latter. Next to Ares, you'd always felt so average and lucky to be with him. With Jonathan...?

What were you even thinking right now? It was too soon. You were still holding onto hope, faint as it was, that Ares might come back to you. That he’d recover enough to be the man you remembered. The one who smiled when you touched his arm. The one who, at least once, had looked at you like you were his whole world. Your heart told you that hope was probably foolish, that the Ares you’d loved might be lost for good. Still, it was hard to let go.

Ares cared about the appearance of things. How he was viewed by the world, his peers. You were part of that and you'd worked so hard to be what he needed when he needed it, never stopping to ask yourself what you wanted.

Jonathan couldn't have been more different from Ares. He seemed to actually care about the work, not how he looked doing it. To you, he was attentive and steady. The way he looked at you when you spoke, the way he remembered little things like your favorite tea, the colors you wore, how you preferred the windows open when it rained. He gave you undivided attention, and part of you ached for it with a need that surprised you. 

To this point in your life, Ares had been your only real boyfriend. Your only lover. You’d carved out space in your life for him, cleared your evenings, made plans around his schedule, learned to hold your breath waiting for a text that might not come. He always had an excuse. Always something else demanding his time. And when you tried to talk about it, he brushed it off. Or worse, made you feel like you were asking too much.

So yes, maybe whatever this was with Jonathan was too fast. But it also felt really fucking good to finally be seen.

You were just reaching for the sesame seeds to finish plating dinner when you heard the door open, quietly, like always. You didn’t turn. You were used to his near-silent entrances by now.

What you weren’t used to was the sudden feeling of his arms wrapping around you from behind. You stiffened as Jonathan pulled you back into him, the firm press of his chest against your back unmistakable. One arm wrapped securely around your waist, the other curling just beneath your ribs. His kiss was low and deliberate, pressed to the side of your neck.

It made you shiver. Not from desire, from surprise. You felt the shift in him immediately, the faint hum of satisfaction in the way he held you tighter for a moment, like he’d read your reaction exactly how he wanted to. Like it confirmed something for him.

“You always smell like ginger and honey now,” he murmured near your ear. “So nice to come home to.”

His tone was warm, teasing, but something in the way he said it...

You managed a soft laugh, trying to ease the moment. “Dinner’s just about ready.”

After a few long seconds, he finally let go.

“I brought you something,” Jonathan said with a quiet smile, brushing a hand down your arm before stepping back. He disappeared through the back door leading into the garage.

You were catching your breath from how quickly the moment shifted and how easily he'd moved from intimate to casual, like the line between the two barely existed for him.

A moment later, he returned with a box in his arms, your laptop case slung over one shoulder. He set them gently on the table. Your heart jumped at the sight of it. You crossed the kitchen, hands already reaching, a surprised smile tugging at your lips. Your things. Your laptop. A stack of your mail. A neatly folded stack of your clothing, not just your casual items, but several of your dressier outfits too with a couple pairs of your shoes, your black flats and pumps. A canvas bag of your sketchbooks and paints. 

“I thought you might want a little more of home,” he said, watching your reaction. “They finally let me pull a few more things. Just had to nudge the right contact at GCPD.”

You glanced up at him, genuinely touched. “Thank you. Really.”

It was right there on your tongue. Could you take me to get my car? Could I go through the apartment myself, if I could handle it? You almost said it.

But Jonathan looked so pleased. So content to have made you happy. 

You smiled instead. “This means so much.”

Jonathan returned the smile, soft and quiet. “I want you to have what you need.”

Dinner was ready, and before you could even offer, Jonathan gathered your things to carry them down the hall to your room with that same quiet efficiency he applied to everything.

“Take care of dinner,” he said gently when you moved to help. “I’ll be right back.”

You did as he asked, laid out plates and silverware while the chicken rested. When he returned, soft instrumental music floated in from the speaker he’d turned on in the corner. It was classical, something graceful and unintrusive. He lit the candles on the table, and the glow turned the dining room into something almost dreamlike. 

Then he disappeared again, returning with a dark wine bottle in hand. “It’s a sweet red,” he said, showing it to you like a magician unveiling a prize. “I had a feeling you’d prefer that.”

You did. The first sip was smooth, almost decadent. You smiled. “It’s perfect.”

“I’m glad,” he said, pouring a glass for himself, then topping off yours without being asked. 

Over dinner, he spoke about his work with practiced ease, the way a man might talk about a well-run machine.

“Dr. Carl Hill,” he said. “Just started yesterday at Arkham. Officially taking over my old position. I just want us to provide the best care we can give our patients."

You nodded, listening. The name didn’t mean anything to you, but the way Jonathan spoke about it made it clear that Hill’s arrival was important. And he didn’t say it directly, but you understood the implication aside from patient care. He'd have more time for his research and for you.

The impulse came again. How is Ares? Is he any better?

It just didn't feel like the right time to ask.

Your conversation went on, mostly you listening. You laughed, soft and honest, at something clever he said about patient compliance. He smiled at that. Not the cold, knowing smile he sometimes wore, but something lighter. The wine kept flowing, and he never let your glass sit empty for long. And while alcohol usually didn’t go to your head, tonight it did. Your limbs relaxed, you felt warm. The candlelight made everything glow. You felt happy and safe. 

Jonathan carried everything to the sink while you packed up the leftovers, your movements slow and content. The wine left a pleasant hum in your limbs, like your body had exhaled for the first time in days. When you turned to start washing dishes, he waved you off with a gentle, “I'll get this later.”

You let him herd you into the living room, laughing softly as he guided you by the waist. “Roman Holiday tonight,” he said as he shrugged out of his suit jacket and moved to dim the lights. “Have you seen it?"

You hadn't. The only black-and-white film you ever remembered seeing in your childhood was The Wizard of Oz, and most of that film was in color. It always seemed to boost his enjoyment when you hadn't seen a movie he liked before. He'd watch your expressions at times during the film, ask your opinion once it was over. 

As he always did, he brought the wine and both glasses. Jonathan pulled off his glasses and settled on the couch close to you, his arm going around your shoulders. Wine glass in hand, you got comfortable on the couch, and the opening credits were already rolling. Your thoughts drifted because you were so relaxed. 

Halfway through the film, you stood to go to the bathroom, and immediately, the room swayed.

Jonathan was on his feet before you could say anything, steadying you with a hand at your elbow. “Are you okay?”

You laughed, brushing it off. “Apparently, I really like that wine.”

He smiled, warm and easy, and let you go, but not without watching until you disappeared down the hall.

When you returned, you were still really buzzed, the soft light of the room blurring at the edges. You found yourself back on the couch. His arm was already there, slipping behind you, then both arms. Then you felt the warmth of him all around you. It had been so long since Ares had held you like that... Maybe it was habit, or the wine, but you shifted closer, your back settling against his side as you got comfortable. 

You were aware of the film playing, Audrey Hepburn on the scooter in black and white. But you weren't concentrating on it. After a few moments, you felt the soft brush of his lips just beneath your ear. You shivered. He brushed another kiss over your neck, his breath warm against your skin. More slow kisses pressed into your skin, and you didn’t remember leaning your head back. You didn’t remember how any of this started. But his lips traced the line of your neck, feathering down toward your shoulder. Your eyes drifted shut for a moment. It felt so good. 

You smiled, your sigh a whisper of a sound. “Jonathan… what are you doing?”

His lips brushed just beneath your ear before he answered, voice low and close. “Making sure you know how wanted you are.”

His tone was gentle, almost reverent, but there was something else beneath it. Something quietly possessive. He wasn’t asking for permission. No, it felt like he was reminding you of something he believed was already his.

You huffed out a soft laugh, still floating on the edges of euphoria, the wine like silk in your veins. Thoughts came slowly, filtered through the warmth of his lips and breath on your skin, and the hush of the film still playing in the background. 

“I’m not sure I even know what that feels like,” you whispered, almost to yourself. “To be wanted.” You didn’t mean to say it out loud. But the words were out now. “I worked so hard to try to make Ares happy,” you added, your voice barely audible. “Ares is the only boyfriend I ever had. I was six months from eighteen when we started going out.” You paused, a weak laugh slipping out, too bitter to be amused. “Which is sad all by itself, but... I’m not even sure he wanted me most of the time.”

As soon as you said it, you regretted the sound of it. You hated how sad that confession felt, how small it made you sound. But it was true. And in this moment, you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore.

Jonathan stilled for just a moment, shifting so he could see your face. Something in his expression shifted, something more like understanding… and something colder beneath that.

“You were just a girl,” he said softly. “Barely starting your life.” His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it now. A quiet outrage, barely veiled. “He didn’t give you room to grow. To figure out who you were without bending around him.”

He already knew. And somehow, that made it worse.

The truth settled heavy over you. You weren’t even speaking to him now, just speaking your thoughts aloud, almost as if hearing them for the first time yourself. “I’ve never really lived on my own,” you said quietly. “I went from my parents to Ares. I’ve never even...” You swallowed. “Ares was all I ever knew.”

You stared down at your hands, barely able to meet his gaze. “What would’ve happened to me if you hadn’t been there?” The question wasn’t rhetorical. It scared you how real it felt. And then, with a clarity that surprised even you, you said, “I’m sorry. For everything you’ve done, and had to handle. I know you didn’t have to. And I’ve just been here, falling apart, and making this your responsibility.”

Jonathan didn’t move, but you could feel the way your words landed.

“I just…” you continued, voice softer now, more raw.&nbsp;“When you said you wanted me to know I was wanted… I wouldn't know how to respond to that.”

The silence was uncomfortable for you for a moment, had you wondering if you said too much. Then he reached for your hand, carefully, like you might break if he moved too fast. He didn’t say something generic like 'it’s okay,' or 'take your time.' His touch spoke louder than words, gentle and grounding.

His thumb traced over your knuckles with deliberate focus… then zeroed in on your ring finger. Had he noticed? You hadn’t worn the engagement ring for the last couple of days. The one Ares gave you when he proposed, maybe two months before Jonathan first arrived at Arkham. You hadn’t meant to make a statement by taking it off. At least, not consciously. But now, with Jonathan’s thumb lingering there, warm and silent over the bare place where that promise used to sit… you wondered if he’d seen more in that absence than you meant to reveal.

“That’s why I’m here. To remind you, every day, that you belong,” he brushed a kiss over your knuckles, “with me.”

It sounded like comfort, had your heart fluttering in your chest. It felt like safety. But underneath, it was something else entirely. A promise. A warning.

A claim.

Inside, Jonathan was losing his goddamn mind in the best of ways. 

She had no idea what she’d really just communicated to him. Her apology, heartfelt and sincere, wasn’t weakness. It was trust, and the dependence he craved. It was pure surrender, gift-wrapped in guilt.

And now, she was looking at him like he was the only thing keeping her from collapsing into herself completely. She didn’t even realize it, but she was tethering to him emotionally. More importantly, she was letting go of the past, of Ares. Not only could he see it in her eyes, but there was also the absence of her engagement ring. She hadn't worn it for three days. He noticed it the moment she served him dinner on the second night. Her left hand had been bare, the delicate diamond solitaire that had once sat there conspicuously absent. He hadn’t said anything, but its absence spoke volumes.

She couldn’t have been a better choice for him. And unlike the first her, he'd managed to pull her out of his dark fantasies, into his life. He'd stripped away the life she had before, brought her into his home. There was only one barrier left between them, and he was tearing it down tonight. 

Tonight, I'll make her mine.

Ares had plucked her from obscurity when she was young, molded her into some hollow reflection of the life he wanted people to think he had. A poised, agreeable companion. A pretty accessory who never asked for too much. And yet, she'd never lived with him in six years. Ares kept her at arm’s length. Close enough to orbit, never close enough to land.

Jonathan found it all distasteful. Why so young? Because even then, Ares was insecure. He didn’t want a partner, he wanted someone impressionable. Someone who would admire his intellect without ever challenging it. Someone he could shape and claim without the threat of being seen too clearly. Not love, control.

He saw the pattern now, plain as day. And as much as he despised what Ares had done, he found something else in it too—opportunity. Where Ares had needed someone to reflect him, Jonathan wanted someone authentic, open-minded, and caring. A light to balance his darkness. Someone who, in spite of everything, was her own person. Where Ares hadn't appreciated all of her facets, he was going to own every part of her, all of them his, a beautiful tender garden he could explore every day.

Was it convenient that she'd been so sheltered? Sure. But it gave him the chance to share who he was with her. To teach her to adore him as much as he adored her. One day, she'd be as obsessed with him as he was with her.

On top of her physical beauty and pleasing manners, she had depth and sensitivity. She was intelligent, intuitive, and hers was a fierce, unexamined loyalty. Qualities Ares had no idea how to nurture because he’d never seen her as more than a part of his own life in the first place. 

But Jonathan did. And now, since she was telling him her story, he needed to understand just how clean her slate was. Who else had access? Who might still try and pull her back into that old world?

“Your parents,” he said, quiet but deliberate, his thumb tracing lazy circles along her hand. He needed to touch her and that innocent connection was all he trusted himself with at the moment. “Do you talk to them?”

If they were still involved in her life, they were variables, and he'd have to account for them. Guide them, if possible. Remove, if necessary.

She mattered too much now. And he wasn’t about to let the past take her back.

Her fingers tensed beneath his, just slightly. Then she exhaled, her voice low. “When I took off with Ares… things changed with my parents. Not in a good way. It didn't help that I was an only child.” She glanced down, a shadow flitting across her expression. “But we still talked at least every couple of weeks. Then… almost three years ago, they were killed in their car by a drunk driver."

Jonathan watched her closely, absorbing every word, every flicker of pain that passed through her voice. No tears, but the wound was still there. Old grief, not yet calloused over.

“I was devastated,” she went on. “They left me a sizable inheritance. Ares didn’t care, his family’s money made mine irrelevant. So I used some of it to buy the gallery with Lexi. Some of it paid off my student loans. The rest I kept. Just in case.”

Just in case. Jonathan’s mind snagged on those words. So she had been preparing, even then. Somewhere inside, some quiet, resilient part of her had known she might need an escape hatch. That she couldn’t count on Ares forever. That her safety, her future, might depend on her own resources. 

He filed that away with quiet satisfaction. No family to intervene. No parents to call her home or question his presence in her life. No one to disrupt the bond he was building, inch by inch.

Only Lexi remained. And even she was soft. Easy to placate if necessary.

His thumb slowed over her knuckles, then stilled.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, the words gentle but weighted.

She shook her head, eyes glazed slightly, not just from the memory but from the wine he selected. Sweet and heavy, it was exactly the kind she preferred. But it was more than just the alcohol. That would’ve been unpredictable, and he preferred control. Jonathan had added something subtle. Harmless in small amounts. A low dose, just enough to ease resistance, lift inhibitions, smooth over fear with warmth. A gentle nudge, not a shove. He wanted her open, not confused. 

A soft laugh escaped her. “This is surreal. I used to think you hated me.”

Jonathan let the smile come slow and measured, but inside, something turned over. She wasn’t fishing for reassurance. No, she was offering up a quiet truth, and maybe, without even realizing it, asking for something in return. Not comfort or protection.

Love.

That’s what she’d been chasing all along, wasn’t it? It hit him with quiet certainty. She’d run off with Ares because she thought it was love. She stayed because she kept trying to earn it, bending herself into every shape, trying to be what Ares needed, craved, and wanted. Even now, years later, she was still gauging her worth through that lens. Still hoping someone would see her.

That was why she was telling him this. She didn’t just want to be safe. She wanted to be wanted. Loved.

Jonathan didn’t do love. Not the way she meant it, anyway. Love was messy. It clouded judgment and invited chaos. 

But possession? Devotion with structure? He could give her that in spades. And if she needed to call it love, if she needed to feel like it was love, he could shape himself around that. He would say the words if she needed them. Wear the mask if it helped her trust him more easily. To him, the outcome mattered more than the label.

She didn’t understand love anyway. Whatever Ares had given her, it wasn’t love. It was performance and absence. Conditional affection packaged as something deeper. All she had now was the idea of love. She knew she wanted it, yearned for it, but she had no true framework to measure it by. And he could build that framework, heartbeat by heartbeat, until she couldn’t tell where her own longing ended and he began.

Now he understood exactly what she needed. She just needed certainty, to be chosen and claimed. Protected in a way that left no room for doubt.

So he leaned in, hand still tracing soft, grounding circles against her skin. “I never hated you,” he said, his gaze searching hers. “Why would you think that?” Just curious enough to disarm her, tender enough to draw her deeper.

He already had a dozen answers of his own. But he wanted hers. Needed to hear the shape of her insecurity in her own words. That flash of doubt, the ache behind her smile, he craved it like oxygen. The more of her pain she gave him, the more space he could take up in its absence.

“I just always felt… small around you,” she admitted. “Like I was asking for something I didn’t deserve. Your time, your attention. I didn’t know how to talk to you, especially when you wouldn’t even look at me.” Her voice was quiet, but each word felt like a truth she’d been holding onto for too long. “And when you came to the gallery that day, to apologize… it was the first time I thought maybe I had imagined everything. That maybe I wasn’t just some nuisance you tolerated.”

Jonathan’s smile deepened. He did deliberately intimidate. Always had. Power was easier to hold when others felt a little off balance. But hearing her say it? That it had made her feel unworthy? That stirred something in him he didn’t like. Or maybe liked too much.

“I never meant for you to feel that way,” he said, his voice pitched low.

She just listened, mesmerized by his words. So trusting. 

Jonathan’s eyes didn’t waver from hers as the silence stretched, thick with unsaid things. "And I envied him. It was hard to watch him take you for granted, day after day. I saw everything you gave, everything you were, and I knew he didn’t deserve you... I won't make that mistake.”

She didn't try to back away, her gaze just held his. “I…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Her breath came faster, and he knew her heart was racing. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to stop pretending you don’t feel it.”

She turned toward him slightly, caught in the gravity of his gaze. Jonathan didn’t move. He could see the questions flashing behind her eyes, hesitation laced with recognition.

“There’s a connection between us,” he said. It was a truth he'd long since accepted. “I’ve felt it since the beginning. And I know you’ve felt it too.”

She opened her mouth, maybe to argue, to retreat into the safety of doubt. To tell him it was too soon, too much? But she didn’t. No words came. And in that silence, Jonathan saw exactly what he needed: her agreement. Even if she couldn’t voice it yet. Not fear or rejection. Just her vulnerability and acceptance.

She nodded, her eyes wide, her lips parted just slightly.

Jonathan didn’t hesitate. He kissed her, softly at first. A question she could still say no to. But she kissed him back, and that was all the answer he needed.

His hand came up to cradle her jaw, his thumb grazing her cheek like he was learning the shape of her trust. When he deepened the kiss, tasting her, savoring her, something broke loose inside him, raw and aching that had waited too long. She responded, tentative at first, then surer. Her hands fumbled against his chest, slid up over his shoulders. When her fingers found his hair and tugged, a moan broke from him, guttural and real.

The kiss spiralled, slow and consuming. The warmth of wine on her breath, the scent of rain and her, wrapped around him like a dream he wasn’t ready to wake from. By the time he finally pulled back, the movie was long forgotten. But the moment was seared into him. And so was she.

“I need you to understand something,” he whispered against her lips. “You mean so much to me. You're not a convenience or some passing guest. You're part of my life now, whether you realize it or not. Whatever you were chasing before, whatever you thought you had to earn, I'll give it to you. I just want you. Exactly as you are.”

And in his mind, the net tightened, not cruelly, but carefully. Every soft truth was a thread. Every kindness, a knot.

Finally, her surrender was here, and it felt like victory wrapped in velvet.

Jonathan's declaration made you pause. You went from wondering if he'd developed feelings for you to making out with him on the couch. Now, he was admitting that you meant something to him,  that he considered you part of his life. The intensity of those words, in those blue, blue eyes, left you speechless. Telling you he just wanted you. And you knew exactly what direction tonight was headed in, but you wanted him. Now that you knew how he felt about you, you wanted that connection. Even if it only lasted a little while. You'd never needed much.

You couldn't even make a comparison to Ares now, his face fading in your memory. Ares had expectations about sex throughout the entirety of your relationship, basically sex whenever he wanted it and could possibly get it. And you'd given him that whether you were in the mood or not, whether you finished or not. Afterwards, it was usually worth it. He'd hold you, talk about the future. Sometimes he talked about the two of you, your forthcoming marriage. You'd understood when he didn't. Ares had a lot of responsibilities.

The man stalking you across the sofa right now offered an entirely different experience. And in that moment, you realized you didn't know a lot about him. When you were together, you'd always talked about you and your life. All you knew of him was his credentials, which Ares had bitterly pointed out one day, griping about how he felt 'Crane was trying to undermine me.' You thought you remembered Ares saying Jonathan taught at the university before he came to Arkham. Outside of that, you didn't know if he was a native of the city. You didn't know if he'd had other relationships before, though you assumed he had. 

All you knew was that the man in front of you looked like he was about to eat you alive, and it scared and excited you at the same time. 

"Shhh," he soothed, moving closer and smoothing one of his long, elegant hands over the side of your face. "Don't be afraid," he whispered. "This is meant to be."

His hand slid around the back of your head, carefully pulling you to him for a kiss. And the way he kissed you, like he absolutely needed to, went beyond your meager experience. The way he kissed you was intense, like he was doing more than working you up for what he wanted. After a moment, your shaking hands slid up his arms, back up into the silky dark locks of his hair. He hummed into your mouth when you did, carefully sliding you away from the back of the sofa and pressing you down across the seat. He kissed your breathless as he did, his hands slowly exploring your body over the blouse you'd worn tonight, over your hip to the hem of your pencil skirt that ended at mid-thigh. 

Jonathan broke the kiss to blaze a trail across your cheek to the hollow beneath your ear. You were panting now, taking in air with your fingers clutched in his hair. The way his lips and tongue played over your skin had you shivering, the way his hand dropped to your nylon-covered thigh and slowly began moving up under your skirt, had you jerking in his hold. 

Your name was a desperate sigh just below your ear. His hand stayed on your thigh, his fingers finding the lace top of your stocking. Struggling for air as much as you were, his gaze was fierce on you, color flooding his face. You felt the gentle brush of his fingertips against your tender skin.

"I've wanted you so much," he whispered, his gaze searching your face. You saw concern in his eyes, but an equal amount of just pure desire darkening his gaze. "You know I would never hurt you, right? I won't allow anything to hurt you, my love."

My love. The endearment had your heart squeezing in your chest.

His fingers slid higher along the inside of your thigh, so close to the edge of your panties. Jonathan loomed over you, claiming your lips in a kiss that had your heart racing against his. You gasped into his mouth as his hand slid up to your sex, turning his wrist so his fingers slid inside your panties and into the wet petals waiting there. He moaned into your mouth, some of his weight pressing you into the sofa as he explored you with a careful touch, one finger circling your clit until you were writhing beneath him.

"Yes," he whispered against your lips before trailing kisses down over your chin, down the slim column of your throat. Over your clothes, his lips burned a path down your chest, to your tummy. When his weight left you, and he was kneeling in front of the couch, his hands pushing your skirt higher. All you could do was tremble as you watched him. He pulled his hand away from your wet center only long enough to pull your panties down, peeling them off you entirely. Flames of humiliation burned within you because you knew they were wet, and he pressed his face into them, breathing you in. 

You shifted then, not sure what you meant to do, but you were so self-conscious in that moment. Your breath came out in a rush as you watched him. After a long moment, his gaze and attention returned to you, and there was a flash of something wild in his eyes as he shoved your panties into the pocket of his slacks and slid his hands up your shins, over your thighs. His lips followed then, and you froze. Ares had made half-hearted attempts at going down on you, and you'd trained yourself to feign enjoyment, hoping he'd be done in a couple of moments. Then he'd get back to what he wanted. 

Now, you were shaking in Jonathan's grasp as his mouth moved closer to the center of you, the smell of you rising on the heat of your body. Smoothly, he slid one of your legs over his shoulder, his blue-eyed gaze on you until you felt his breath on the aching flesh he'd almost reached.

"I'm going to make you feel so good," he whispered. "Just relax, let me."

When he got his mouth on you, you sucked in a breath. Jonathan didn't take his time or ease you into anything. Wrapping his arms around your thighs, he held them open for his torment. You'd always shaved everything because it was Ares' preference, but again, it was all about how it looked. Ares had done little for you when it came to oral sex.

Jonathan was devouring you. His lips and tongue explored every inch of you as you struggled in his grip, your hands pawing at the sofa, restlessly looking for a purpose as his tongue zeroed in on your clit. He captured one of your hands with his own, not slowing down at all, and placing it on his head. Your fingers slid into Jonathan's hair as he teased you, the tip of his tongue playing with your clit, and tracing your opening in turns. 

Mindlessly, you were writhing on his couch as release came for you, real release. You could count on one hand how many times Ares had actually made you come.

Now it was a wave that broke over you, and you did your best to keep quiet, to try and breathe through it. Your fingers clutched in his hair as it shook you, sending currents of pleasure racing through you. But he didn't stop or even slow down. With a soft growl, he kept at you, pulling a cry from you when he slid a single finger into you. Again you struggled in his hold, the sensations much stronger than anything you were used to. His answer to that was to slide in another finger, moving them carefully in and out of you as his lips and tongue teased your clit, pushing you to the edge again with a speed that left you breathless and dazed. 

Then he was curling his fingers inside you, searching your walls for something. You felt lightheaded, helpless to do anything but drown in the flood of sensation he unleashed on you. When he found a certain space inside you, your second orgasm shook you like a storm. Your cries echoed in the room, the edges of your vision faded on you as you fought to breathe.

When Jonathan stayed there, still taking your apart with his mouth and fingers, you thought you might pass out. Moving your hand from his hair, you moved it to press the heel of your hand to his forehead, gently trying to give him the hint that you couldn't take more. Not with your lower body started clenching in the need to be filled.

Panting, he eased back from you, using the back of his hand to swipe at his mouth. "Are you okay?" he asked with a darkened gaze.

You nodded, hoping you could form words. "I can't take... too much... I just..."

"You can," he whispered heatedly, determination flashing in his eyes. "You can take more. And you can scream or cry if it helps..." 

When he dove back in, your back arched. Your thighs fought his hold again but he tightened his grip on you, the overstimulation had your heart racing. He pulled desperate whines from you as he learned you, seeking all the ways he could tear you apart. Before long you were begging him, chanting, "please," over and over again. Please stop. Please give me more. You weren't sure anymore. It felt like a fever wracked your body and the tears came on then, desperate tears as he kept going, pushing you close to the edge of your sanity. His fingers found your inner trigger again, the touch combined with the flutter of his tongue sent your flying, whimpering, in tears.

You felt like you'd been hit by lightning when you came back around, just lying there struggling to catch your breath. Jonathan peered down into your eyes with so much pride and adoration. His body was draped over yours, his hands held your head as he gently kissed you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. His thumb brushed a tear away on one side of your face. He surprised you then by licking up your tears on the other side, collecting them on his tongue. Humming, he gazed down at you and smiled. An almost angelic smile.

"Let's go to my bedroom," he whispered, stealing another kiss before lifting from you. 

Jonathan's hands were careful as they worked off the strappy heels you still wore, caressing each foot after he released it. He helped you up from the sofa with such care as you scrambled to pull your skirt back down. You were grateful he was there, holding you, helping you walk. You still felt the effects of the wine, your body still hummed from his attentions on the couch. He praised you the entire way, telling you how beautiful you were, how you were his perfect girl.

Warm light beckoned from the open door of his bedroom when you reached it, gold and ambient, casting soft shadows across the hallway. His bedroom was everything you expected. 

And nothing you expected. 

It was clean and minimalist, impossibly precise just like him. There was no clutter or chaos. Everything had its place, and even the air felt still.

Your gaze drifted slowly, as if your body didn’t quite belong to you. You took in the sharp lines of his bed, the neatly stacked books, the symmetrical nightstands. A small desk by the window. Bare walls, save for a framed anatomical sketch in muted ink tones. And maybe it was the wine you'd enjoyed, but it didn’t feel cold to you.

There was something strangely calm about the space. It hadn't been curated to impress, but to soothe. Still, a part of you shivered beneath the surface warmth. Not from fear. From something you couldn’t name.

And then you saw it. A second toothbrush on the sink in the adjoining master bathroom, both high-end electric models. A drawer in one of his dressers was left slightly ajar, with nothing inside. There was a soft folded blanket at the foot of the bed that didn’t look like it belonged to him. It was soft blue and fleece, the type of blankets you'd alway favored.

Had it always been there? It almost looked like he'd been preparing for this moment long before you even knew it was coming.

But Jonathan left you no time to think about it, helping you over to the huge bed at the center of his room. Jonathan was still almost fully dressed, pulling off his shoes before climbing onto the bed with you. Pressing you onto your back, he climbed over you, dropping kisses on your lips, your face. One of his hands raced through the buttons on your blouse before pulling it free of your skirt, pulling it off you. His lips brushed kisses over your chest, along the lines of your shoulders as his fingers undid the clasp at the front of your bra and he moved quickly to pull that free of you too. 

You were trembling beneath that intent gaze as it moved over you, instinctively bringing your arms in to cover your breasts. Jonathan captured your hands in his, pressing them into the bed on either side of you as he looked his fill. 

"You're not hiding from me," he whispered, his voice held an undertone of demand. "Not anymore."

He claimed your mouth in a seering kiss as one hand moved from yours to the zipper at the side of your skirt. He had little trouble working that down your body until you were left only in your stockings, stretched out beneath him. 

When he pressed a kiss to your breast, he smiled. "None of my fantasies ever did you justice," he whispered. Lowering himself over you again, he pressed himself between your thighs, until you brought your knees up around his hips. His hand slid between your bodies, delving back into the wet center of you with a delicate touch. He seemed content to just watch you for a long moment, holding you there on his bed. You felt the heated length of him through his trousers, pressing into your thigh. And despite what your body had just been through on the couch, your thighs squeezed around his hand in need.

Jonathan gasped, his eyes closing like he was savoring the moment. 

"What contraception methods do you use?" he asked, before dropping his head so his lips could play with one of your nipples. 

It was hard push thoughts through the daze he had you in, especially when his tongue started teasing that tight little peak. Somehow you managed. "I use... an implant," you whispered as he kept teasing you. "I got it last summer... I think it's good for... three years."

He chained kisses up your chest, reclaiming your mouth for a deep kiss. "Perfect," he said, his teeth nipping at your lower lip. "I want to feel every part of you."

His hand flew to the front of his trousers, undoing the fine leather belt, the front tab, and pushing them down his hips. Without thinking your fingers worked at loosening his silver tie, pulling it free before plucking at the buttons on his dress shirt. Jonathan smiled, taking himself in hand as he allowed you to pull open his shirt. He just didn't have the patience to let you take it off him. 

With a speed that startled you, he reached for his silk tie and grabbed your wrists. You froze as you watched him use the tie to bind your hands tightly and then shove them above your head as he positioned himself at your entrance. The head of him was wide and you sucked in a breath as he began pressing inside you. You hadn't gotten a look at him, you'd been distracted by the way he'd tied your wrists together. But it didn't take you long to realize how big Jonathan was as your walls stretched around him, sliding easily on your wetness. When he'd pushed into you as far as he could go, your thighs trembled around him. Your body scrambled to adjust to him. He was long too and it was a little scary with the size of him that you were spread out for him with your hands out of play. 

Instinctively, you tested the strength of the tie and the knot he'd used. There was no give which had your heart speeding up, and he saw you do it.

He must have read something in your expression because he paused, dropping onto his elbows to be closer to you. "Shhh," he soothed. "You just need to trust me, love. I'm going to take care of you." 

Slowly he started moving in you, easy strokes. You were grateful for that because the size of him was new to you, hitting points inside you that you weren't even aware of. 

"I know it's a lot," he whispered by your ear, making you shiver. "But you're taking my cock so well... You're the perfect girl I always knew you were."

His hands grabbed yours, holding them by his tie as he caged you to the bed. And Jonathan was a little heavier than he looked. He fucked into you slowly, for several moments before he whispered into your ear again.

"I'm going move faster now, love," he said. "I have to. You just... feel too good. I know you'll take it for me, take all of me... And you can cry if you need to..."

What if something hurts? Do I get a safeword? You almost asked but he dropped a gentle kiss on your lips. If he'd noticed you were still trembling around him, he didn't mention it. He took his time, still sliding in and out of your pussy with care for just a moment later.

Then Jonathan took you. Gone was the genteel man you'd come to know over the last many weeks. He was wild above you, his thrusts came fast and hard. His movements brought a slight edge of pain but he wasn't trying to hurt you. All you could do was wrap your legs around him and go along for the ride. He rode you hard, but he wasn't lost in his own pleasure. He dropped kisses over your face and neck as he fucked you, his gaze intense on you the entire time. 

When you felt desire building low in your belly, you focused on breathing and closed your eyes. Immediately, he grabbed your face in a firm hand, his own inches from yours when your eyes flew open.

"No," he whispered against your lips, moving faster within you. "Keep those beautiful eyes open, on me..."

Jonathan held onto your face and it was intense with another orgasm coming for you. Your thighs tightened around him, your back arched. His movements didn't cease, and he showed you no mercy. Jonathan kept your gaze locked on him as you moved together, his body buried in yours. When you came this time, Jonathan captured your cries in his mouth, riding you through it without respite. It went on like that for several minutes more with just the rush of your breath, the sound of his deep moans disturbing the silence.

When he finally threw his head back, a sound somewhere between a growl and a sob, you shuddered in relief that he'd reached his end, pumping himself into you frantically.

Finally, you allowed your eyes to slide closed, trying to catch your breath. You were exhausted, physically and emotionally. Your hands tingled from loss of circulation. When Jonathan pulled himself from you, you winced, already feeling the soreness. Pulling your shaking thighs together, you curled up on your side, pulling your hands in towards your center. 

You were aware of Jonathan tucking himself back into his slacks, his movements quick. He was shaking just as much as you were when he climbed off the bed, heading into the bathroom. You flinched when the bed dipped by your head a few seconds later.

"You were perfect," he whispered, pulling the knot at your wrists. The tie gave way in an instant. Taking your wrists in his hands, he gently massaged the grooves his tie had left on your skin, encouraging blood flow to return to your hands. 

You were still trembling when he helped you sit up, pulling you into his arms. You felt him pressing kisses into your hair, over your shoulders. He just held you there, his hands smoothing over your skin. 

"You were everything I ever dreamed you'd be," he whispered. 

Once sex was over, you were on your own. That's how it had always been before, which is why it surprised you when gentle fingers tipped your chin up. Jonathan's gaze met yours, his smile was gentle. "Let's get you into a nice bath."

You wouldn't have made it to the bathroom on your own power, but you were grateful for the whirlpool bath, for scent of honeysuckle he'd added to the water. Carefully, he sat you on the edge of the tub, taking a knee so he could carefully pull off the stockings you still wore. His fingers trailed along your skin, making you shiver. 

The bath was heavenly. You sat in it like a child while he tenderly cleaned you up, taking his time drying you with soft towels. You didn't remember leaving the bathroom so he must have carried you back to his bed, dressing you in his discarded shirt, and tucked you in. Your body felt so heavy, your mind wiped clear of all your worries.The scent of him was all around you.

Moments later, he climbed into bed behind you, his body curling around yours. His skin was damp from a shower, and he smelled nice.

"You're never going to have to beg for anything ever again," he whispered just behind your ear. "I'm going to take care of you, keep you safe. You just need to trust me. My beautiful, perfect girl..."

You were between dreaming and sleep, but your heart heard his words. Words you'd only ever dreamed of hearing. You hummed in answer. Jonathan pulled you closer, his warmth seeping into every part of you.

"Sleep, love," he whispered. 

It was the last thing you remembered.

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Moth to the Flame Pt. 4 | Dr. Crane x Reader

summary: Dr. Jonathan Crane isn't the only 'crazy' in Gotham City and he's about to meet his match. When confronted with an unpleasant secret from his past, he's skeptical to trust the strange young woman who calls herself Victoria Vale, the rightful heiress to Arkham Asylum (and maybe his downfall).

warnings: smut, aggressive sex, and choking.

Direction - Interpol 🎶

Lovers From the Past- Mareux 🎶

Something breaks inside you, like a rear window or an old family picture. Your breath slows and the night closes in on you, but it isn’t unpleasant, you find yourself welcoming it. Could this man who experienced such similar trauma to you, the man that has as much hate for Thomas Wayne as you, be the person that disarms you? Crane pulls back, looking down at you sprawled beneath him on your bed. Your eyes soften beneath his gaze and you trace his jaw with the pads of your fingers. Crane’s brow furrows slightly, caught off guard by this display of vulnerability from you. Vulnerability, not weakness, there’s a difference and even Crane can see that in the darkness stretched out between you. 

You pull his face down to yours and kiss him softer than you ever have before. Crane’s mind draws a blank for a moment as he feels your warm lips work against his with a gentleness that he doesn’t recognize from you, but damn it- he likes it. He removes his glasses and tosses them onto the nightstand and you groan softly against his sticky lips. Your hands run down his bare sides to his waistband. Your fingers rub against the slightly burned flesh on his hip and he winches, growling into your mouth. You smile proudly and keep moving your hands down into the lip of his pants. Crane bucks his hips up as he feels you undo his trousers and find his cock stuck in his boxers. As your hand moves up and down over his erection, Crane’s hands play softly with your skin, following the dips and curves of your body. He kisses the mounds of flesh that form your breasts, his teeth teasing the skin. 

“You can be rough with me, Crane. My body isn’t as fragile as you think it is. I can hold my own,” you whisper against his cheek, a groan of frustration escaping as you speak. Crane pulls his head back and smirks down at you, shaking his head. 

“Oh I know your body isn’t fragile, darling. I’ve never gotten so close to losing in a fight before…” he chuckles and runs his finger over your right eyebrow. You take his hand from your face and move it slowly to the junction of your thighs, resting his fingers where the waistband of your damp underwear began. 

“Then use it.” 

Crane raises his eyebrow at your tone and nods, as if he’d consider your proposition with little concern. But as his fingers touch the wet lips of your sex, his eyes cloud with desire and disbelief. His cock hardens in your other hand and he bucks against you again, his mind stuck on how wet you are. He looks down as his hand slips further into your underwear and he slides a free finger between your folds. He looks back up at you, his forehead creased as he plays with you like an experiment. Words escape him for once but you can understand what he wants by the way his mouth falls open and his cock warms in your grip. 

Crane lowers his lips to kiss you again, harder this time, with an animalistic urgency that you revel in. His breathing becomes shorter as his hands rip off your underwear and throw them somewhere in your bedroom. You push down his pants and he slips out of them, kicking off his shoes with the same quick motions. He immediately spreads your thighs and pulls them up around his hips, his erection already seeking entrance. When there are no more clothes between you, he pushes himself flush against you, his fingers digging into the pump flesh of your hips. Your fingers card through his hair and catch when he pushes into you roughly. You both tense as he enters and then both relax, taking a breath to make the intrusion easier for both of you. 

He can feel you relax around him and takes the opportunity to thrust further, hitting the base of your uterus. He growls and his biceps quiver from the shivers of pleasure rushing through his body. You throw your head back and grip his shoulders, pulling him closer, deeper. Crane pants deeply above you and moves faster, his thighs straining as he tries to go as deep as he possibly can, wanting to feel every inch of you. You grin, already overwhelmed with pleasure from the pace of his hips, but he’s going too fast and at this rate, you’ll finish in a minute. You roll him over and perch yourself on top. 

In a show of dominance, you press your hands against his smooth, sweaty chest and slow the pace. Crane groans at the change in pace and grips your hips, pulling you hard against his cock in an attempt at regaining some control. You allow Crane the shred of control he’s taken back from you but you also wrap your hand around his throat and lean closer to his face. 

“Tell me Dr. Crane, do you find this display of control just fascinating?”

“No, no, no. We’ll have none of that, Miss Vale,” Crane tuts at your teasing and thrusts up into you, smirking when you cry out. To get back at him, you lean down and lick the length of his jaw, whimpering dramatically into his ear. Your hand tightens around his throat as you nip his earlobe. 

“Are you trying to actually kill me?” His voice is deeper with your hand squeezing his throat like that. You loosen your fingers just slightly and rock back and forth on his cock faster, your mouth falling open against his cheek as you nod. Crane rolls his eyes and moves your hips for you, grinding you faster and prompting more breathless moans from your mouth. You sit back up and move your hand to rest on top of his, still gripping your hips. Your head falls back, your breasts pushing up as you groan in pleasure. You roll your hips and Crane curses beneath his breath, one of his hands dropping your hip to play with your breast, his palm teasing your hardened nipple. You take his other hand and slip two of his fingers into your mouth so you can suck them, soothing some of the displaced energy in your body. Crane arches his back, groaning loudly as he feels your tongue swirl erotically over his fingers. 

You ride him faster, harder, spurned on by the way his beautiful eyes roll back into his head. You drop his hands so you can lean over him, supporting yourself on your forearms on either side of his head. Crane bends his knees and grips your hips, taking the opportunity to thrust up into you. 

“I’m almost glad you won…” you whisper against his ear and Crane shivers. 

“Damn you, darling.” Crane slips one of his hands around the back of your neck, holding you flush against his chest. You’re gasping against his shoulder as he builds you up to a climax. As you feel the pressure build in your navel, teetering on the edge of an explosion, you bite down on his shoulder. 

“Come for me,” Crane grits his teeth and curses. 

“You first,” you growl back, stubbornly. Crane rolls his eyes and laughs breathlessly at your stubbornness. 

“You’re just making things harder for yourself. Just come for me, darling.”

 You raise your head and press the tip of your nose to Crane’s, determined now not to cum first. “Then make me, Crane.”

He meets your gaze and looks deep into your eyes. You’re such a defiant, stubborn, frustrating brat, but God he loves that and he loves the challenge you give him. 

“Oh, I’m going to”

He flips you over and grabs your jaw, clutching it between his fingers. He lets out a low chuckle and grips the headboard with his other hand. Your beautiful, defiant, infuriating face is close to his as he keeps you completely under his control. 

“Not so defiant now, are you, darling?”

“Oh shut up and fuck me,” you tangle your fingers in his hair and smile, tugging at the dark roots. 

“You’re such a brat,” he growls and tightens his grip on your jaw, subjecting you to the mercy of his thrusts as he moves again. You start to pant louder, so loud that you worry the neighbors will hear you through the thin plaster walls. Crane chuckles breathlessly between moans, “do you want the whole apartment complex hearing you, Miss Vale?” 

You don’t respond because being beneath his body weight, forced to feel the brunt of his thrusts, your climax hits you like a blinding wave of light. You take Crane’s throat and pull him closer, forcing him to make eye-contact with you as you cum. Your climax wracks your whole body, making you grab the base of the headboard for leverage as your body shakes and you cry out. Crane groans, looking at your face screwed up in what looks like pain, but you both know it’s pleasure. 

“Fuck…” Crane curses and feels himself cum, seizing his whole lower body. His eyes close in weak ecstasy until his hips slow and you ride out the pleasure of your combined climaxes. Sweat drips from his chest onto yours as you stare at each other in silent serenity. You reach his lips with yours and kiss him slowly, sporadically, distracted by the force of your heartbeats. You can feel his pounding against his chest as he comes down from his high, and the same is true for you.  

He no longer looks so frightening as he lies on top of your chest, his hair tousled from where you had pulled it. You stroke his hair, his cheek pressed against your breast. 

“I have to say that I’m impressed, Crane,” you whisper with a content smile. 

“Mmm? Impressed by what exactly?” Crane murmurs against your breast, kissing your nipple. 

“How quickly you found me. I knew you’d probably find me but I definitely had to put up a fight. I think I’m officially glad that you won…” 

He lifts his head off your neck and looks down at you with a smirk, “You are a challenge, Miss Vale, but that makes it even more satisfying when I won, though you put up one hell of a fucking fight, jesus.” 

“But you liked it, didn’t you?” You smile, running your hands over his cheeks up to his ears. Crane catches your hands and holds them away, his eyes shining. 

“Yes… but you seem to forget- I will always win.” He mutters as he raises himself up onto his forearms over you, smiling. 

“Mmm no,” you answer, rubbing your nose against his with a sly smile, “you and I will always tie. We’re too similar.” 

Crane huffs and shakes his head, “it’ll be a cold day in hell when you win against me. I am very dedicated to getting what I deserve.”

“Maybe I just need to raise the stakes. I haven’t shown you all my tricks,” you shrug and play with his dark hair, unphased by his dark teasing. 

“Neither have I, though I’d like to hear more about these tricks of yours… and what better time than now, when I have you pinned down in such a pretty position…” he whispers down against your lips. You laugh as he trails his lips down your neck, tickling you gently. He inhales deeply against the crook of your neck and pulls back. 

“You know what I love more than anything?”

“What?” You ask, trailing your pointer finger down the curve of his dark brow. 

“That now you’re mine. As much as you may try to deny it, you’ll always come back to me.”

“Don’t let it get to your head, Crane.” You smile and trails your hands down his pale neck, brushing your nails against his collarbones. 

“Too late…” he whispers and kisses you briefly. “You’re stuck with me now.” 

“Yes sir, whatever you say sir,” you respond drolly and roll your pretty eyes. 

“You’re infuriating,” he groans and shakes his head. 

“Don’t pretend it doesn’t turn you on just to hear me call you ‘sir.’ I bet you love it when your pretty little students do it, don’t you?” You tease as you pull him closer once again, nibbling on his ear as you whisper. Crane laughs and wraps his fingers around your throat, holding you in place gently. 

“My students call me ‘sir’ every day. Why do you think you’ll get that kind of reaction out of me, Miss Vale?” 

“Because none of your students know who you really are. I know what you want sir,” you emphasize the word ‘sir,’ “I know what you crave because I crave it too.” 

Crane lets out a huff and grips your neck tighter, angling your head back so he can whisper against the point of your chin. 

“You, Miss Vale, are my darkest desire. I crave you in ways you could never understand, and that infuriates me more than anything else in this world. And you insist on furtherly pissing me off, don’t you, darling?”

You nod and bite your lip, already getting turned on yet again, your thighs growing warmer. Crane look over your face and his eyes rest on your lip caught between your teeth and closes his eyes before looking away. 

“Do me a favor. Don’t bite your lip like that,” he mutters. 

You release your lip with a pop and raise your eyebrow, “why?” You run your tongue between your lips, wetting them from where they’d gone dry from kissing him. 

“When you bite your lip like that, all I can think about is biting it for you… maybe leave a few extra marks in other places.” He trails his eyes down your body beneath him, imagining himself sinking his teeth into the soft places of your body. 

“If you get to mark me then I get to mark you. Fair’s fair.” You move your hand to touch his hip where you’d burned him. 

“Now that’s not fair,” Crane interjects, tutting, “you burned me first, remember darling? So if you got to mark me…” Quickly he drops your throat and takes your thighs, spreading them and pulling you down the bed. 

You gasp before finding the words to respond, “then what?” 

“Then I’m going to mark you, Miss Vale. I’m going to have fun with it too.” 

“How…primal of you,” you whisper and shift your hips, feeling the pressure build between your thighs. 

“Oh darling, you don’t even know the half of it. I fully intend on being savage with you tonight,” he strokes your face, smirking, “we both know that you can handle it.” 

“Do what you wish, Crane. Victor gets the spoils…” you remind him, your breath short as you look up at his pale face distorted in the dark into a mask. 

You see a new version of Crane emerge as he lowers his head to your neck, sucking roughly on your skin until you could feel the blood vessels crackle beneath the surface. You moan from the roughness of his actions, your sex getting wetter. His hand slides up to grasp your throat again, his warm fingers squeezing only slightly as his teeth scrape against you. 

“Beg for it,” Crane whispers in a strained voice against your ear, his hips settling against yours. 

“Crane, please, please Dr. Crane…” You whimper sarcastically, smiling as his fingers tighten around your throat and his cock lies warm against your stomach. Crane huffs and rolls his eyes. He angles his face just above yours, his lips curved in a look of patient warning. 

“Try again, my little brat, and this time make it more persuasive.  Say my name, and say please, and do it more sincerely.”

You take a breath and wiggle against his hold until you can get comfortable. Finally, with a small smile, you do as he asks. “Please, Dr. Crane. Ever since I saw your lecture on phobias… I’ve wanted you. I don’t just want you to fuck me… I want you to hurt me… I want you to take everything from me… because you’re like me. I trust you to hurt me as much as you want to. I need you…”

“Mmm,” Crane pretends to think it over and nods slowly, “better but it’s not enough, not after you treated me earlier this evening. Beg.” His voice is a command now and you gasp softly, feeling his free hand drift between your thighs. 

“Beg.”

Crane whispers again against your ear and exhales, shifting strands of your hair from your face. His hand runs up and down the inside of your thigh as he drops his mouth down to your shoulder, leaving a painful hickey in a prominent position. You whimper and moan, words stuck in your throat as your hands feel over his body, his arms, his shoulders. 

“Beg, darling.” He says again, losing some of his patience. You gasp and shake your head, your fingers gripping his shoulders.  

“I’m already begging, doc. Jesus just rip me apart.”

“Mm that works,” Crane shrugs with a smirk and aligns himself with your sex, pushing in fast. He slips easily inside now and he curses loudly from how wet you still are. He holds your hips down and moves his hips deeply, hitting your hips every time with his. He pulls one of your thighs around his lower back and settles as closely as he can against your pelvis until you cry out in pain. His hand around your throat strokes your skin as he smiles down at you, proud. 

“I have all the time in the world to figure you out now. I’ll find what makes you tick, and more importantly, what makes you cum,” Crane growls with a sick smile and moves faster. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and your scratch your nails down his back, overcome by both overstimulation and pleasure. 

“Look at you, pet. Oh that’s it, darling, give it up. You’re so close to feeling everything that I’m going to give you. Damn, you’re already so fucking close, aren’t you?” He teases, his face set in a sneer. 

“Crane…” you whisper, your eyes squeezed shut now as you feel yourself already starting to cum again. He groans as he feels you tighten around his cock, prompting his second climax of the night. As he cums, you feel your orgasm wash over you, your back arching and your fingers drawing blood on Crane’s back. 

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful when you give into me…” he sighs and strokes your face with his palm, his chest heaving. 

“Don’t get used to it,” you pant and swipe his hand away from your face, smiling. 

Crane laughs and watches you as you try to catch your breath below him. He notices how you don’t try to move or change positions, and your thighs are still shaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

“You can’t move now, can you? You’re too weak…” he smiles and kisses your neck. 

“Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be able to kick your ass again.” You laugh breathlessly and pull his mouth to yours to kiss him. He kisses you back and pulls out, lying beside you and wrapping his arm around your side. He traces the curves of your body with his palm, smiling against your mouth. 

“God, darling, a minute ago you were begging me to ruin you. Now you think you’ll be fine in a few minutes? Look at you, you can barely move right now. I think I did a damn good job, don’t you?”

“I’m never going to live that down will I?” You roll your eyes and bite his lip gently, playfully. Crane shakes his head and kisses you again, biting your lip back. “I like this side of you.” You pull Crane closer so that you can feel his bare chest against yours. 

“Of course you do. You like whatever version of me that takes you and breaks you. You’re such an easy little pet to figure out, darling…”

“I keep forgetting you’re a shrink…” you groan and push him away playfully. Crane kisses your neck instead, his lips barely touching your skin. He smiles and chuckles. 

“It’s part of my job, darling. I take apart the minds of the most deranged criminals of Gotham. You think I can’t solve you, too?”

“I let you get into my head.”

“You let me get into a lot more than that, Miss Vale.”

“Well soon it will be my turn to return the favor.”

“You’re going to figure me out the way I figured you out? Seems a bit arrogant, darling…”

“I found you first, didn’t I?” You smile. 

“That’s true. Finding me doesn’t mean you’ve figured me out, though, does it?”

“No, but I think I just about have anyway. Maybe I’ll tell you what I’ve learned one day.” 

Crane perks up, his eyebrows raised, “Maybe I don’t want to wait until another day to hear what you think you’ve figured out. That’s just too much for a man like me to handle.”

“You need to learn how to handle disappointment,” you respond coolly and kiss his cheek. Crane laughs and takes your wrists, holding them against the headboard. “Don’t be a brat, darling. Just tell me. Tell me what you think you’ve figured out about me. I’m dying to know.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

@m0thh3ad @sl-newsie @strangeobsessed @cillamity

[haveyouanytime]

jonathan crane taking care of you when you're sick

completely self-indulgent and probably not my best lol!! wrote this in an hour bc i'm sick as a dog

౨ৎ daily click to help palestine 🍉

One night, your throat began to feel sore. It should’ve been a sign, but you simply thought it was your allergies and the cold weather coming together to kick your butt for one night. 

But as the night grew into early morning, you couldn’t sleep as the sore throat added on a headache, aching muscles, chills, and sweats. After having the worst chills, making your entire body even more sore-- you were now flushed, warm to the touch, and beginning to sweat. 

Luckily for you, your boyfriend was a walking freezer. 

You lay beside Jonathan on your shared bed, tucked into his bare chest in just your tank top and underwear, after you had stripped off your clothes following your sudden sweats. Jonathan had done the same, lying beside you in just his pajama bottoms. It was a complete 180 to just moments before, with you layered up and wrapped in two or three blankets to fight off your trembling chills. 

All those winter nights you spent pawing at his chest, trying to put as much space between you and his icy hands as possible were far gone; instead, you grabbed his hand and placed it atop your head as a makeshift cold compress. 

He chuckled, holding his hand to your forehead as he sat up on one elbow beside you. “Remember not even an hour ago when you told me to not touch you?” 

“That was before I felt like I was put in an oven.” You responded, your voice weak with your fatigue and discomfort. Your brows were furrowed, and he wiped away the forming sweat forming at your hairline. 

Unbeknownst to you, your boyfriend had a secret side-- he secretly liked seeing you writhe and in some state of pain. He looked down at you, watching as you showed visible discomfort while curling into him, caught in his imagination of what it would be like with you under his fear toxin. 

That was, until, your soft mewl of discomfort pulled him from his thoughts. He gave you quiet, comforting shushes, running his cold hand through your hair. He readjusted himself so he laid down, resting your head on his bare chest. His skin was cold to the touch, consoling your body as your body fought against your flu. 

“I’m sorry.” You broke the silence, your voice weak and scratchy as your eyes stayed shut due to your relentless headache. 

His brows scrunch together, his crystal blue eyes flickering down to look at you lying atop his chest. “Sorry for what?” 

“For getting sick, and keeping you up.” You weakly answered, placing your hand atop his chest. “I know you’re tired from work, and you’ll be tired-”

“Shush. I’ll always take care of you.” He answered, wrapping his hand around your wrist. “You’re mine.” 

You let a small smile grow on your lips despite your discomfort, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck. “I’ll take the day off, don’t worry. I’ll stay home and take care of you. Just try and sleep, darling.” He whispers, letting go of your wrist to hold the back of your head. He watches as you slowly slip into sleep, pushing the wispy hairs back from your hairline and placing a soft kiss onto your forehead.

[darthannie]

day twelve: forced orgasm with jonathan crane

pairing: Jonathan Crane x f!reader word count: 703 warnings: noncon, floor sex, clothed sex, dacryphilia if you squint, unprotected sex a/n: There’s something about Jonathan Crane having a private practice and using me that really does it for me.  kinktober masterlist

You should have never chosen Jonathan Crane to be your doctor. Stockholm syndrome would be the proper way to describe your relationship with him. 

It started as a normal patient/doctor relationship. Somewhere along the way, Jonathan began disclosing more personal information in an attempt to relate to you. He admitted his attraction to you one day during a session. You felt a prickle of embarrassment creep up, almost feeling like you had done something wrong. He assured you it was a good thing and he wanted to continue helping you. 

During a recent session, you cried and cried for the entire forty-five minutes. You thought he was taking pity on you when he hugged you as you got up to leave. Then he wouldn’t let go. You kept trying to push him away but he pulled you in for a timid kiss. It threw you off, but you kissed him back. 

He took it a step further when he reached under your shirt and groped your breast. You tried to remove his hand but he squeezed tighter. It almost hurt. His hand moved to lift your skirt. You swat his hand away, but he resisted as he reached underneath to pull down your panties. They fell down to your ankles.

You wanted to get away from him. You thought to get on the floor, quickly drag yourself away, and then make a run for it. But, he simply followed you to the ground when you went down. You went to drag yourself away from him but he crawled over you, completely enveloping you under him. He guided you onto your back and flipped up your skirt. He felt how wet you were on his fingers. He teased you with one before adding another. 

“You’re so wet for me,” he muttered.

“Jonathan, why are you doing this?”, you said meekly. 

“Because you want me to.”

He kissed you and this time you didn’t kiss him back. Maybe it had to do with you coming to your senses. Or maybe it was because you heard his belt and zipper come undone. You felt his tip on your clit. He was toying with you, delaying the inevitable. He entered you slowly, letting you adjust to him.

You lied there as dead weight. You didn’t want to give him anything. Not a single word, not a single moan, nothing to indicate you were enjoying what he was doing.

And yet, you couldn’t help but let out a small yelp when he hit a certain angle. He smiled, “See I knew you had it in you.” 

His thrusts were agitated, trying desperately to get you to cum. He grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him. The sick, tightlipped smile never left his face. He inspected the way you looked at him. It was a face of disbelief. Your doctor, of all people, shouldn’t be doing this to you. And you shouldn’t be bewitched by the way he stretched your cunt more than anyone else ever had. 

You tried to say “stop” but the sound got stuck in your throat, sounding like a disgruntled shout. You continued your whining, unable to form any thoughts. His thumb started to rub your clit. You were completely, utterly drunk on him. 

“Cum on me,” he commanded.

“I can’t!”, you whined. 

“I’m not asking twice.” 

His thumb moved quicker and his thrusts got deeper. After a few moments, you involuntarily came undone. Tears began forming in your eyes. Your orgasm was so overwhelming your entire body shook. He didn’t bother pulling out of you. He came deep inside you, his hips faltering as he filled you with his cum. 

When he finished, he pulled out of you and pulled up your panties. He fixed his pants and then your skirt. He stood up and reached out his hand to help you up. You ignored the gesture, thinking it was in poor taste considering what had just occurred. He pretended as if nothing happened.

“Well, that’s it for today,” he said as he stood behind his desk. “Is next week at the same time still good for you?”

“Yes,” you replied. You only hoped the next session was not as eventful. 

Taglist:

@devotedlyshadowytheorist, @dxnger-dxys, @tommyshelbywhore, @quinnlilias,@madnessandobsession, @mvpr-moon, @nela-cutie, @faebirdie, @charmed-asylum, @anasanthology, @ilikefictionalmen, @akanne-aka, @no-fooking-fighting,@queenofstresss, @flwrs4aust, @mrkdvidal1989, @eleanorthemo,@ilovepeoplesdads, @00hsv, @laylasbunbunny

(If something is up with your tag or you would like to be added, let me know!)

[butterfly-lies-chase-them-away]

Hi! I just stumbled upon your profile when I was searching for jonathan crane x reader fics, and can I just say that I loved Behind The Mask so so much! Would it be possible to request a fic Jonathan x reader that is inspired by You are the right one by Sports? If so, thank you so much! 💕✨

You Are The Right One - Jonathan Crane x Reader (Part 1/2)

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Word Count: 8016

Warnings: High School!Jonathan Crane, bullying

Summary: !!Request!! High school was a cesspool of misery for Jonathan. After the cruel prank from his crush and biggest bully, he believed his days would be forever stuck by the shadows of ridicule and isolation. Until a beacon of light emerged in the form of one girl who reached out with a helping hand.

A/N: (This gif does not match the vibe whatsoever, but oh well!) Bro, I had never heard this song before, but the second I listened to it AHAHHAH!!! the way this song tingles my brain~ chefs kiss. Thank you so much Anon for introducing this song to me 💚 While writing this fic, I really got into the comic book Jonathan, so the whole time writing this, instead of picturing Cillian Murphy, my brain went off and thought about the lanky ginger Jonathan from the comics...smash. This doesn't really affect how you read it or anything, I don't bring up his appearance (I think) but yeah, fun fact! Thank you so much for the request, Anon, I hope you like it and I hope everyone else likes it as well 💚

(Part 2)

-

"Hey! Scarecrow!" The jeering shout pierced the air before a rotten pumpkin collided with Jonathan's head.

With a jolt, he crashed onto the unforgiving concrete, the impact scraping his knees raw and sending his glasses tumbling from his face. Laughter and mocking taunts echoed from the other side of the street, adding insult to injury. Wiping the slimy remnants of pumpkin from his face, Jonathan retrieved his glasses from the ground and carefully replaced them, picking himself off the floor and rushing to his house.

Jonathan hated his time at school, not due to its academic challenges, they were a mere breeze to him. It was the individuals within the school walls who soured his experience. Each day seemed to bring a fresh onslaught of taunts, shoves, and the relentless pursuit to make him feel small. It was an existence he loathed.

Bo Gribbs stood out as the ringleader of torment, his cruelty unmatched by any other. Jonathan couldn't fathom what he had done to deserve such relentless bullying from Bo, but he found himself powerless to retaliate. Physically overpowered and painfully aware of his own frailty, Jonathan's slender frame seemed almost translucent beneath his clothing, a stark testament to his vulnerability in the face of Bo's tyranny.

Yet, even within the supposed sanctuary of his supposed home, peace was still not found for him. If he managed to escape the torment of school, he found himself ensnared in the clutches of his eccentric great-grandmother, whose own torture made every moment a living hell. The irony of her religious fervor contrasted against her treatment of him was not lost on Jonathan.

Though Jonathan's existence felt like a descent into inferno, he clung to the belief that it was merely a chapter in his life, not the entire story. Determined to carve out a brighter future for himself. He vowed to end the torment, one way or another.

-

Walking through the corridors proved to be a difficult journey for Jonathan, each step fraught with the anticipation of another cruel encounter. As he traversed the halls, barely two minutes had passed before a forceful shove sent him careening forward, his body meeting the cold embrace of the linoleum floor. His knees, accustomed to such harsh treatment, absorbed the impact with resigned familiarity.

The clatter of his glasses hitting the ground echoed amidst the cacophony of jeers from passing jocks, their laughter cutting through the air like a serrated blade. With a heavy sigh, Jonathan reached out, his fingers fumbling as they sought the familiar frames now lying abandoned on the floor.

To add insult to injury, the contents of his binder lay strewn across the corridor in a chaotic array of papers and notebooks. With a resigned sense of foreboding, Jonathan began the arduous task of gathering his scattered belongings, readying himself for the inevitable shit day that lay ahead.

Amidst the din of the bustling hallway, the sound of approaching footsteps caught Jonathan's attention, his heart sinking as he braced for yet another harsh confrontation. However, what he beheld was not the expected boot poised for a strike, but rather a figure, a girl, crouched beside him, her hands reaching out to aid in gathering the scattered papers.

Stunned into silence, Jonathan could only watch in disbelief as the girl worked alongside him, her actions a stark contrast to the hostility he had come to expect. Caught in a moment of bewildered confusion, he found himself unable to move, his mind reeling with questions. What was she doing? Was she helping him?

As Jonathan's mind struggled to catch up with the whirlwind of events, he watched in astonishment as the girl collected the scattered papers, her movements somehow appearing graceful. With each piece she retrieved, she seemed to breathe life into the crap that had enveloped his world just moments before. As she stacked the papers before him, Jonathan couldn't help but marvel at the dexterity of her fingers, a stark contrast to the clumsy awkwardness he felt coursing through his own limbs.

When she finally glanced up, her face illuminated by the fluorescent lights of the corridor, Jonathan found himself momentarily transfixed by the sight before him. The delicate curve of her jawline, the softness of her features, and the warmth in her eyes sent a flutter through his chest, igniting a blush that crept up his cheeks. It had been an eternity since he had been in such close proximity to a girl, let alone one this attrative.

Despite the pounding of his heart and the flush of embarrassment that suffused his face, Jonathan couldn't help but brace himself for the anticipated rejection and humiliation. Yet, to his astonishment, the girl's expression remained neutral, devoid of the revulsion he had come to expect from others.

In that fleeting moment, as their eyes met, Jonathan felt a spark of hope ignite within him, a glimmer of possibility amidst the darkness of his reality.

"I'm not sure they're in order, sorry," she offered apologetically, handing the papers over to him.

Jonathan's mind raced, struggling to process the flood of emotions and sensations crashing over him like waves against a rocky shore. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words emerged, his voice lost amidst the thoughts within him. His cheeks burned with a fierce blush, the heat spreading across his skin like wildfire as he fought to steady his erratic breaths.

Despite the turmoil raging within him, Jonathan found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the girl before him. Every delicate movement, every subtle shift in her demeanor, captivated his attention like a mesmerizing dance. He watched as she nervously nibbled on her lower lip, her brows furrowed in a mixture of concern and uncertainty.

A pang of self-reproach stabbed at Jonathan's heart as he cursed his own awkwardness, berating himself for his inability to ease the tension that hung thick in the air. He longed to reach out, to offer some semblance of reassurance, but the weight of his own insecurities held him captive, shackling him in silence.

In the midst of his internal turmoil, Jonathan couldn't help but wonder if he was the cause of the girl's discomfort. Was it his presence alone that had driven her to such nervous agitation? The thought only served to deepen his sense of self-condemnation, a bitter reminder of his own inadequacy in the face of this unexpected encounter.

Taking the papers from her outstretched hand, Jonathan murmured a barely audible "thank you," his eyes remaining fixed on the ground.

"It's okay," she reassured softly, straightening up.

As Jonathan remained rooted to the spot, his gaze fixated on the ground, he felt a sense of regret wash over him as he watched the girl gracefully rise to her feet. Every movement seemed to unfold in slow motion, each subtle shift of her body conveying a depth of emotion that left Jonathan feeling utterly captivated.

The soft rustle of fabric as she straightened her posture, the delicate sway of her hair as she lifted her head, every detail etched itself into Jonathan's memory like a scene from a cherished dream. He longed to reach out, to capture this fleeting moment before it slipped through his fingers like grains of sand, but the weight of his own insecurities held him firmly in place.

As she turned to leave, the sound of her footsteps echoed through the empty corridor, each step a somber reminder of the distance that now lay between them. Jonathan listened intently, the rhythmic sound of her footfalls fading into the silence like a whispered promise lost to the wind.

Only when she was finally out of sight did Jonathan dare to lift his gaze, his eyes scanning the empty space where she had stood mere moments before. The memory of her presence lingered like an echo in his mind, a bittersweet reminder of the connection he had felt, however fleeting it may have been.

-

As the final bell reverberated through the hallways, signaling the end of lunch and the impending arrival of the last period, Jonathan's thoughts were consumed by the memory of the girl he had crossed paths with that very morning. Her image lingered in his mind like a vivid dream, each detail etched into his consciousness with a clarity that was exhilarating and mildly disturbing.

The mere thought of her sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He could almost feel the weight of her gaze, piercing through the veil of his thoughts, igniting a fire within him that he struggled to contain.

This crush felt different, unlike any he had experienced before. It wasn't merely a passing fancy or a fleeting attraction. It was a connection that transcended the boundaries of mere physical appearance. There was an ineffable quality about her, a magnetic allure that beckoned him closer with each passing moment.

As he gazed out into the tranquil expanse before him, Jonathan couldn't shake the feeling that destiny had intervened, weaving their paths together. And in that moment, amidst the quiet solitude of the afternoon, he allowed himself to entertain the tantalizing possibility that perhaps, just perhaps, this encounter was the beginning of something truly extraordinary.

It may have seemed naive, even foolish, to harbor such aspirations, but for Jonathan, it was a rare moment of respite in an otherwise shitty landscape. To entertain the notion that perhaps, just perhaps, the universe held something extraordinary in store for him was a welcome change.

Jonathan’s previous crushes seemed like nothing compared to the emotions that stirred by his encounter with the mysterious girl that morning. Recollections of past crushes, like shards of fragmented glass, pricked at his consciousness, reminding him of the superficiality that had defined those fleeting attractions.

Sherry, with her beauty and captivating presence, had been the subject of Jonathan's affections not so long ago. Yet, his admiration for her had always been tempered by the harsh reality of her social circle. Despite the allure of her charm, Jonathan found himself relegated to the sidelines, but he knew he could never have anyone like her anyway.

But it wasn't just Sherry's group that posed a barrier to Jonathan's desires, it was her association with Bo Gribbs, the boy that tormented him every day. Bo's looming presence, like a dark cloud on the horizon, served as a constant reminder of the toxicity that permeated Sherry's world. And yet, despite the danger that lurked beneath the surface, Jonathan remained steadfast in his pursuit, blind to the warning signs that whispered caution in the wind.

It wasn't until Sherry played a cruel prank on him, a twisted joke that left him humiliated and vulnerable, that Jonathan's rose-tinted glasses were shattered, revealing the harsh truth that had eluded him for so long. The sting of betrayal, like a venomous serpent coiled within his heart, forced him to confront the reality of his situation, a reality where he made judgement off appearance alone.

As he reflected on the events of that fateful night, Jonathan couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for the time wasted chasing after hollow dreams. But amidst the ashes of his past disappointments, a flicker of hope ignited within him, a hope born from the promise of a new beginning, forged in the fires of his encounter with the mysterious girl who had captured his heart with a single glance and kind gesture.

This girl, she was unlike anyone Jonathan had ever encountered before. Every detail of her presence seemed to exude an air of kindess, something that he didn’t experience often. 

It wasn't just her appearance that set her apart, it was the way she carried herself, with a confidence that bordered on defiance, as if daring the world to unravel the enigma of her being. There was an undeniable magnetism about her, an intangible quality that drew Jonathan in like a moth to a flame.

And for the first time in his life, Jonathan dared to hope that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance for something more than mere admiration from afar. He allowed himself to entertain the possibility of forging a connection with this stranger.

As Jonathan settled into his usual seat at the front of the classroom, he arranged his books on the desk before him. The desks were arranged in pairs, accommodating two students each, yet Jonathan found himself occupying his table alone, a solitude he had grown accustomed to and even appreciated. 

The rest of the class filtered in, taking their usual places. But just as the bell signaled the start of class, the door creaked open to reveal a newcomer, a sight that caused Jonathan's heart to skip a beat. Like a vision materializing, she stepped into the room, the girl who had occupied Jonathan's thoughts since the start of the day.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Jonathan's eyes traced her every movement, drinking in the graceful sway of her stride, the subtle tilt of her head as she looked around at the desks before her. It was as if the very essence of her presence infused the room with a palpable energy, setting Jonathan's heart ablaze with a flurry of emotions he struggled to contain.

What was she doing here, in his classroom, when she wasn't supposed to be? The question echoed through Jonathan's mind like a mantra, a puzzle he couldn't quite unravel.

As she cast her gaze about the room, seeking out an empty seat, Jonathan's breath caught in his throat, a knot of anticipation tightening in his chest. And then, as if guided by some unseen force, her eyes landed on the spot beside him before drifting up to his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips like a secret shared between them.

The rush of heat that flooded Jonathan's cheeks was as sudden and unexpected as a summer storm, his pulse quickening with a fervor that threatened to overwhelm him. It was a moment suspended in time, a collision of worlds that left Jonathan reeling in disbelief.

He sat there, his heart hammering against his ribcage like a drum echoing in the hollows of his chest. Every nerve in his body seemed to hum with electricity as he watched her draw nearer, her presence casting a spell upon him that left him breathless with anticipation. It was as if time itself had slowed to a crawl, each passing second stretching into eternity.

"May I sit here?" Her voice, like a melody woven from silk and honey, broke through the haze of Jonathan's thoughts, drawing his attention to the question hanging in the air.

Jonathan swallowed hard, the sudden dryness of his throat betraying the ruckus of emotions raging within him. With a shaky nod, he managed to tear his gaze away from her mesmerizing presence, meeting her eyes with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"Thank you," she murmured softly, her voice like a gentle breeze on a summer's eve as she settled into the seat beside him, her movements fluid and graceful.

"I just moved classes," she continued, her tone casual yet tinged with a hint of frustration, "I had a clash with English and Statistics, which messed up my whole timetable."

As she explained the reason for her unexpected presence in his class, Jonathan found himself captivated by the sound of her voice, each word a symphony of warmth and sincerity that washed over him like a soothing balm.

Jonathan drank in her words like a man parched in the desert, his thirst for her presence growing with each passing moment. He wanted nothing more than to listen to her voice for eternity, to lose himself in the melody of her speech.

"I'm Y/n, by the way," she said, turning to look at him with a smile that seemed to illuminate the entire room with its radiance.

"I'm Jo-" Jonathan's words were abruptly cut off by the sharp impact of a book colliding with the back of his head, jolting him out of his trance with a start.

Laughter erupted throughout the classroom, echoing off the walls as Jonathan winced in pain, his hand instinctively flying to the back of his head, fingers curling around the tender spot where the book had struck.

"Holy fuck! Are you okay?" Y/n's voice cut through the chaos, her hand landing gently on his shoulder in a gesture of concern.

Jonathan's breath caught in his throat at the touch, a jolt of electricity coursing through him at the warmth of her hand against his skin. If he weren't in such agonizing pain, he might have choked on his own saliva at the unexpected intimacy of the moment. "I'm fine," he managed to whisper, his voice barely above a hoarse murmur.

As Y/n leaned in to check on him, neither of them noticed the approach of the culprit responsible for Jonathan's suffering. It wasn't until he spoke that their attention was drawn to him, his smug tone slicing through the air like a knife.

"Sorry, Scarecrow, my hand slipped," Bo said, his voice dripping with malice.

With a heavy thud, Bo's hand landed on Jonathan's back, causing him to flinch and cough in response. Leaning in closer, Bo loomed over Jonathan, his presence like a dark cloud casting a shadow over the room.

"Do you mind?" Y/n's voice cut through the tension like a sharp blade, her gaze locked on Bo with a fierceness that made him falter for a moment.

"Mind what, Y/n? I’m fine, how ‘bout yourself?" Bo retorted, his smirk never faltering, even under the weight of her glare.

"Go be a dick somewhere else," Y/n shot back.

Jonathan's heart swelled with a mixture of gratitude and admiration as he watched Y/n stand up to Bo, her unwavering determination a stark contrast to the fear and apprehension that had gripped him only moments before.

For a moment, Bo seemed taken aback by Y/n's assertiveness, his usual swagger faltering in the face of her unwavering gaze. But then, with a mocking snort, he straightened up, his smirk morphing into a sneer as he turned his attention back to Jonathan.

"Looks like Scarecrow's got himself a little protector," Bo jeered, his words dripping with contempt.

Ignoring Bo's taunts, Y/n turned back to Jonathan, her expression softening with concern. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, her voice gentle and reassuring.

Jonathan couldn't help but nod, a surge of gratitude flooding through him at the genuine concern in her eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine," he replied.

As the tension in the room began to settle, the teacher cleared their throat, drawing attention to the front of the classroom. With one last glance at Y/n, Jonathan turned his focus to the lesson.

Jonathan felt a gentle tap on his arm, pulling him from his thoughts. He turned to find Y/n looking at him with a kind expression.

"Sorry, I never actually caught your name before Bo started being a dick," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of apology.

"Jonathan," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips, before turning her attention back to the front of the classroom.

As Jonathan watched her, a warmth spread through his chest, chasing away the lingering discomfort from Bo's earlier antics. In that brief exchange, he felt a connection form.

As Jonathan sat beside Y/n in class, his mind couldn't help but drift back to her. Her presence beside him seemed to fill the air with a quiet warmth, casting a soft glow over the otherwise mundane surroundings of the classroom.

He stole furtive glances in her direction, marveling at the way the sunlight danced in her hair, illuminating strands of gold like a halo. The gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the way her eyes flickered with concentration as she followed along with the lesson, every detail of her being seemed to captivate him in ways he couldn't quite comprehend.

He longed to hear her speak again, to lose himself in the melody of her words and the warmth of her smile. But more than anything, it was the way she made him feel, the sense of comfort and ease that washed over him in her presence. For the first time in a long while, Jonathan felt a glimmer of hope stirring within him, a belief that perhaps, just perhaps, there was something special blossoming between them.

As the final minutes of class ticked by, Jonathan's attention remained divided between the lesson and the gentle presence of Y/n beside him. He found himself stealing glances at her whenever he could, savoring the fleeting moments of shared proximity.

When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the period, Jonathan felt a pang of reluctance as he realized their time together was drawing to a close. He began gathering his belongings, his mind already drifting ahead to the remainder of the day.

But before he could make his exit, Y/n turned to him with a smile, her eyes sparkling with warmth and kindness. "Hey, Jonathan," she said softly, "do you mind if I walk with you?"

Jonathan's heart skipped a beat at her words, a rush of warmth flooding through him at the prospect of spending more time with her. "I don’t mind," he replied, almost too quickly.

Together, they made their way out of the classroom, the bustling halls alive with the energy of students eager to begin their weekend. As they walked side by side, Jonathan felt a sense of contentment wash over him, grateful for the unexpected situation that had brought them together.

As they stepped out of the building, Y/n cast a fleeting glance behind them before returning her focus to the path ahead. "I just really didn't want Bo to bother you any more than he already has. If you don't want me to walk with you, I totally get that," she said, her voice tinged with concern.

"It's fine... I don't mind," Jonathan replied, his words tinged with a mix of gratitude and disbelief.

A smile tugged at the corners of Y/n's lips as she looked at him. "Then I'll walk with you," she said, her eyes sparkling with warmth and sincerity.

As Jonathan processed Y/n's offer, a swirl of conflicting emotions churned within him. 

On one hand, he was overwhelmed by a sense of disbelief and wonder that someone as kind and compassionate as Y/n would willingly extend such a gesture of friendship to him. It was a glimmer of light in the darkness of his daily struggles, a ray of hope that pierced through the clouds of uncertainty that hung heavy over his life.

But as he considered the practicalities of the situation, a nagging sense of apprehension gnawed at the edges of his consciousness. He couldn't shake the feeling that allowing Y/n to accompany him all the way to his house would only invite trouble. Grandma Keeny was not one to tolerate such liberties, and Jonathan knew all too well the consequences of crossing her.

With a heavy heart, Jonathan weighed his options. On one hand, he longed for the companionship and warmth that Y/n's presence offered. But on the other, he couldn't bear the thought of subjecting her to the wrath of Grandma Keeny.

In the end, Jonathan found himself at a crossroads, both metaphorically and literally, as they reached an intersection. With a heavy heart, he turned to Y/n, his expression a mixture of gratitude and reluctance.

"I'm going this way," he murmured, the words stumbling awkwardly from his lips.

Y/n's smile faltered slightly at his words, a flicker of confusion dancing in her eyes. "You don't want me to keep walking with you?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Jonathan hesitated for a moment, torn between the desire to confide in Y/n and the fear of burdening her with his troubles. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head gently.

"It's not that," he began, his voice soft but resolute. "I just don't want to inconvenience you. It's a bit out of the way, and I wouldn't want to make you late home or anything."

Y/n regarded him with a thoughtful expression, her gaze searching his face for any sign of hesitation or discomfort. After a moment, she nodded understandingly, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Alright then," she said, her tone warm and reassuring. "Just know that the offer still stands if you ever need someone to walk with."

Jonathan felt a surge of gratitude wash over him at her words, a sense of warmth and belonging settling in the pit of his stomach. Though he couldn't bring himself to explain the full extent of his situation, he was grateful for Y/n's understanding and compassion.

With a final nod of thanks, Jonathan watched as Y/n continued on her way, her presence a comforting reminder that he wasn't alone in his struggles.

As Jonathan made his way along the footpath, the memory of Y/n lingered like a gentle breeze, offering a brief respite from the turmoil of his thoughts.

But as he neared his house, the weight of reality came crashing down upon him like a leaden blanket. The giddiness he felt began to wane, replaced by a sense of foreboding dread.

He couldn't bring himself to call it a home, not with the constant cloud of tension that hung heavy in the air. Grandma Keeny's presence loomed over the house like a specter, her disapproving gaze a constant reminder of the hell Jonathan endured within its walls.

With each step closer to the front door, Jonathan's stomach churned with a mixture of anxiety and apprehension. He knew that no matter how hard he tried, there would always be something for Grandma Keeny to find fault with.

But as he steeled himself to face whatever awaited him inside, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind, a reminder of the brief moment of solace he had found in Y/n's company. And for that fleeting moment, Jonathan allowed himself to cling to the hope that one day, he would find a place where he truly belonged.

As Jonathan entered the house, the air seemed to thicken with tension, each creak of the floorboards echoing through the house. He braced himself for the inevitable confrontation, steeling his nerves against the onslaught of Grandma Keeny's disapproving scrutiny.

Sure enough, as soon as he crossed the threshold, he was met with the sharp pang of her voice slicing through the silence like a knife. "You're late again, Jonathan," she scolded, her tone laced with thinly veiled disdain.

He hardly needed to glance at the clock to know she made that up. Jonathan bit back a retort, knowing from experience that it would only incite further wrath. Instead, he offered a mumbled apology, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground as he braced himself for the barrage of criticism that was sure to follow.

But to his surprise, Grandma Kenny's response was not as scathing as he had anticipated. "Don't let this happen again," she said curtly, her voice carrying a tone of warning.

Though her words lacked the usual venomous edge, Jonathan still felt the weight of her disapproval bearing down on him like a heavy burden. He nodded silently, knowing better than to provoke further confrontation.

As he retreated to his room. While he was grateful to have escaped unscathed this time, he couldn't shake the feeling that Grandma Keeny's temporary leniency was merely the calm before the storm.

As he settled into bed, the memory of Y/n's kind smile lingered in his mind like a flickering flame in the darkness. It was a reminder that even amidst the chaos and uncertainty, there were moments of warmth and kindness to be found.

But that moment of rest was short-lived. The tranquility shattered as Grandma Kenny's sharp voice pierced through the silence, demanding that he come downstairs to make her a coffee. Jonathan's shoulders sagged as he rolled his eyes, begrudgingly pushing himself off the bed.

-

Jonathan stood by his locker, the light of the hallway casting shadows across the floor. The low hum of students milling about filled the air, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter or snippets of conversation. He slowly grabbed each book from his locker, the scent of aged paper and faint traces of graphite wafting up as he sifted through the contents.

With each item he retrieved, Jonathan's mind wandered, lost in the potential chance of Y/n walking past. He imagined the rhythmic tap of her footsteps echoing down the corridor, the soft rustle of her clothing as she approached. His heart quickened at the thought of her warm smile, the playful glint in her eyes that never failed to captivate him.

In his mind, Jonathan pictured Y/n strolling alongside him to class, their conversation flowing effortlessly as if they had known each other for years. He envisioned himself maintaining composure, staying cool, without the usual nervousness that plagued him in social interactions. Imagining her radiant smile directed up at him, he couldn't help but glance over his shoulder, hoping to see her.

Sure, he had only met her the day before and their only interactions were brief. Yet, in those fleeting moments, Jonathan felt a something with Y/n that bet any connection he had ever thought he shared with Sherry. The memory of his last crush on Sherry now seemed trivial and shallow in comparison to the depth of feeling he harbored for Y/n, he cringed just thinking about it.

Lost in his imagination, Jonathan nearly missed Y/n's presence walking through the hallway. She was a vision, just as captivating as the day prior. His heart quickened with anticipation, hoping for a fleeting glance from her. Yet, she passed by without so much as a glance in his direction.

Feeling a pang of disappointment, Jonathan turned back to his locker, cursing himself for entertaining such fantasies. He berated his own foolishness, knowing deep down that she wouldn't notice him. As he watched her move toward her own locker, he couldn't shake the sense of longing that lingered in his heart.

Jonathan couldn't tear his eyes away as he watched a guy approach Y/n at her locker. He felt a surge of jealousy rise within him, coupled with a gnawing sense of unease. His mind raced with scenarios, imagining the worst possible outcomes. What if this guy was her boyfriend? What if she preferred his company over Jonathan's?

He had completely forgetthen the about the possibility that she might already be in a relationship. A knot formed in his stomach as he watched them engage in conversation. He strained to hear snippets of their exchange, trying to decipher their relationship. His grip tightened on the books in his hands, his knuckles turning white with tension.

Jonathan's thoughts swirled with insecurity and doubt. He couldn't shake the feeling of inadequacy that washed over him. As he watched the interaction unfold, a sense of resignation settled over him. Perhaps it was best to keep his distance, to spare himself the inevitable disappointment of rejection.

As Jonathan closed his locker, he couldn't help but overhear the exchange between Y/n and the guy who had approached her. He lingered nearby, discreetly eavesdropping on their conversation.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you every time, I don’t want to go out with you,” Y/n's voice carried a firmness, her words laced with frustration.

The guy persisted, undeterred. “And I shouldn’t have to tell you that I’m not a bad guy. What have you got to lose?” he argued.

Y/n didn't mince her words. “I’ve watched you and your friends bully people, yet you’re gonna stand there and tell me you’re not a bad guy?” Her tone was sharp, cutting through the air with conviction.

With a dismissive roll of his eyes, the guy retorted, “It’s just a bit of fun.”

Y/n's response was final. “Goodbye, now,” she stated firmly, closing her locker and walking away, leaving the guy behind.

Jonathan felt a wave of relief wash over him as he listened to the conversation unfold. Not only did it confirm that Y/n was single, but it also revealed her refusal to entertain someone disrespectful like that guy. Yet, alongside the relief, a simmering anger brewed within him. The audacity of that guy to treat her with such disrespect ignited a fire within Jonathan. Upon getting a closer look, he recognized the guy as one of the same guys who had tormented him before, one that hangs with Bo. Aaron was a real piece of shit. 

Jonathan's gaze must have lingered for too long, for the Aaron turned to face him, his expression twisted with anger. "What are you looking at, Scarecrow?" he spat out aggressively.

Jonathan felt a surge of panic coursing through him, his muscles tensing in preparation for confrontation. However, before he could respond, the bell rang, cutting through the tension like a sharp blade. With a sense of relief, Jonathan hastily made his exit, heading off to his own class, leaving the guy behind in the hallway.

-

Jonathan managed to navigate his classes without encountering Aaron again, a small relief in an otherwise nerve racking day. As lunchtime arrived, he found himself in the crowded cafeteria.

For Jonathan, lunch was a simple affair. His pockets rarely held enough spare change to afford a cafeteria meal, and even if they did, the thought of eating the food they served was revolting in and of itself. Instead, he relied on the sandwich he'd prepared at home earlier that morning. A humble meal, but one that brought him comfort.

In the corner of the cafeteria, Jonathan sat in solitary silence, a lone figure amidst rest. With a library book propped open before him, he stole moments between bites of his homemade sandwich to immerse himself in its pages. The book was a refuge, a small rebellion against the suffocating grip of Grandma Kenny's stringent beliefs.

Jonathan didn’t want to imagine the consequences if Grandma Kenny were to discover his forbidden literary indulgence. Her wrath was legendary, her punishments cruel and unpredictable. From stupid chores to brutal beatings. Jonathan shuddered at the memory of being locked in the decrepit church, surrounded by the menacing caws of circling crows. An ordeal he'd endured more than once for daring to defy her rules.

He barely noticed that person approaching his table. Jonathan's heart jumped in his chest as he watched Aaron's hand descend upon the table with a thud, the sudden noise echoing in the cafeteria. His grip tightened on the book, his knuckles turning white, as he braced himself for whatever confrontation was about to unfold.

Aaron's smirk widened as he snatched the book from Jonathan's hands, flipping through its pages with a mocking chuckle. "What cha reading, Scarecrow?" he taunted, his voice dripping with malice.

Jonathan remained rooted to his seat, his silence a stark contrast to Aaron's brash demeanor. Yet, beneath the surface, a torrent of emotions churned within him. Fear, anger, and a deep-seated sense of vulnerability.

With a swift motion, Aaron swatted Jonathan's sandwich off the table, the force causing crumbs to scatter across the surface. Jonathan flinched at the sudden movement, his fingers twitching as if instinctively reaching out to reclaim his meal.

But he held himself back, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Aaron. He knew better than to provoke further confrontation, especially in such a public setting. So, with a clenched jaw and a steely resolve, Jonathan remained silent, his eyes betraying none of the turmoil raging within.

Aaron's smirk widened at Jonathan's restraint, clearly relishing the power he held in this moment of dominance. With a swift motion, he tossed the book aside, its pages fluttering in protest before settling on the tabletop. 

"What's the matter, Scarecrow? Cat got your tongue?" Aaron taunted, leaning in closer, his breath hot against Jonathan's ear.

Jonathan's jaw tightened further, his fingers curling into fists beneath the table. He refused to give Aaron the satisfaction of a response, knowing that any retort would only fuel the bully's ego. Instead, he focused on maintaining his composure, willing himself to remain calm in the face of adversity.

As Aaron continued to mock and jeer, Jonathan's mind raced, searching for an escape from this uncomfortable confrontation. He knew he couldn't let Aaron intimidate him, not again. With a deep breath, Jonathan forced himself to ignore the taunts, his eyes flickering momentarily to the scattered crumbs on the table.

Just as Aaron seemed poised to escalate the situation further, a familiar voice cut through the tension like a knife. 

"Hey, Aaron, leave him alone."

Y/n stood at the edge of the table, her expression a mixture of concern and determination. Her presence seemed to catch Aaron off guard, his smirk faltering for just a moment before he composed himself.

"Mind your own business, Y/n," Aaron retorted, his tone dripping with disdain.

"And you wonder why I won’t go out with you," Y/n shot back, her voice unwavering.

Jonathan watched in awe as Y/n stood her ground, her confidence radiating in the face of adversity. He felt a surge of gratitude towards her, knowing that she had once again stepped in to defend him.

Aaron's eyes narrowed as he glared at Y/n, clearly unaccustomed to being challenged. For a moment, the cafeteria seemed to hold its breath, or atleast it did for Jonathan.

But then, with a frustrated huff, Aaron shoved himself away from the table, casting one last menacing glare at Jonathan before stalking off into the crowd.

Y/n exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing as the immediate threat dissipated. She turned to Jonathan with a sympathetic smile, offering him a reassuring nod.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, concern evident in her eyes.

Jonathan nodded, gratitude swelling in his chest. "Thanks to you," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n's smile widened, and she reached out to gently squeeze his shoulder. "Anytime," she said. “You wanna come sit with my friends and me?” Y/n offered, her voice carrying a warmth that melted away some of Jonathan's anxiety.

Jonathan felt his heart flutter in his chest. Was she really inviting him to join her? He glanced down, adjusting his glasses to hide the nervousness he felt bubbling inside.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I just don’t want Aaron coming back to bother you,” Y/n added, her concern evident in her tone.

“I’d like that,” Jonathan replied, his voice soft but resolute.

Y/n's smile widened. Jonathan began gathering his things, carefully stowing his book in his bag before turning to his sandwich. However, his heart sank as he realized it had been scattered across the table, a casualty of Aaron's aggression.

With a frustrated huff, Jonathan began collecting the remnants of his meal, his movements tinged with embarrassment. Y/n watched him with a sympathetic gaze.

“Do you have anything else to eat?” Y/n asked gently.

Jonathan shook his head, a pang of hunger gnawing at his stomach as he disposed of the ruined sandwich in the nearby bin.

“I have some food you can have if you’d like,” Y/n offered, her voice warm and inviting.

“It’s okay, you should eat your food, don’t worry about me,” Jonathan replied, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“It’s fine, my dad always packs me too much anyways,” Y/n insisted, her smile unwavering.

Y/n reached out a hand towards Jonathan, silently inviting him to join her. He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding with a mixture of nervousness and gratitude, before accepting her gesture.

As they walked together towards Y/n's table, Jonathan couldn't help but steal glances at her. She walked with an effortless grace, her presence exuding a sense of comfort that eased the tension coiled within him.

Arriving at the table, Y/n pulled out a sandwich from her bag, “You can have this one, I don’t feel like eating two ham sandwiches today.” Without hesitation, she handed it to Jonathan, a small but genuine smile gracing her lips.

Jonathan accepted the sandwich with a grateful nod, his stomach rumbling in anticipation of the unexpected meal. He glanced around the table, noticing Y/n's friends chatting and laughing amongst themselves. They didn't seem to pay him much mind, but Jonathan didn't mind. His focus was solely on Y/n, her presence casting a comforting glow that made him feel at ease.

Settling into his seat, Jonathan began unwrapping the sandwich, the simple act of kindness from Y/n filling him with a sense of warmth that he hadn't felt in a long time. As he took a bite, he couldn't help but steal another glance at Y/n, feeling a sense of gratitude wash over him for her unexpected kindness.

-

It was perfect that he shared lunch with Y/n, not just because Jonathan cherished her company, but also because they had a class together, offering the perfect excuse to stroll side by side. With each step, Jonathan felt a sense of pride swell within him, as if walking with Y/n wasn’t just out of practicality, but because they were together, almost like a couple.

Y/n's lively chatter filled the air as they walked through the corridors, but Jonathan found himself lost in her presence, captivated by her every word and movement. Arriving at their classroom, they settled into their familiar seats, and Jonathan couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement as Y/n's arm brushed against his own, sending his heart into a flutter.

In that moment, Jonathan felt a sense of certainty wash over him. Y/n was meant for him, of that he was sure. Her smiles, her kindness, her very essence seemed to affirm his belief. No girl had ever shown him such warmth, and he couldn't deny the connection he felt with her.

As he sat beside her, Jonathan knew he had to ask her out. It had taken him over a week to muster the courage to ask out Sherry, but with Y/n, it felt different. She lifted his spirits effortlessly, instilling in him a newfound confidence. Though they had only known each other for a short time, Jonathan couldn't shake the feeling that she was the right one.

-

Walking out of class together, their steps echoing faintly in the empty hallway, Jonathan and Y/n exchanged casual conversation. Their last periods were both study periods, which gave them the opportunity to leave school early. As they stepped into the open air outside the building, Jonathan's heart drummed against his ribcage. He knew he had to ask her out. There was no turning back now.

Approaching the familiar corner where their paths diverged, the pair came to a halt and turned to face each other. The soft afternoon sunlight cast a warm glow around them, highlighting Y/n's radiant smile.

"Thanks for walking with me. See you tomorrow," Y/n said, her smile warming Jonathan's heart as she prepared to bid him farewell.

Summoning every ounce of courage, Jonathan spoke up, his words hanging in the air between them like delicate wisps of anticipation. "U-uh, Y/n?" he began, his voice betraying a slight tremor of nervousness.

"Yes, Jonathan?" Y/n replied, her eyes fixed on him expectantly, a gentle curiosity gleaming within them.

This was his moment. Jonathan took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do. "I-I was wondering… if y-you'd like to go out with me?" he managed to utter, his heart pounding furiously against his chest, his hands trembling ever so slightly with nervous anticipation.

As he observed her reaction, he detected a subtle change in her demeanor. The radiant smile that had graced her lips moments ago seemed to wane, replaced by a hint of saddness that creased her brow ever so slightly. Jonathan's stomach churned with apprehension as he realized he might have misread the situation.

In that moment, he felt like a complete idiot. He berated himself internally for being so stupid, for daring to hope for something more. Jonathan's gaze faltered, his eyes dropping to the ground in a gesture of defeat. He cursed his own foolishness, reprimanding himself for misinterpreting Y/n's kindness as something it wasn't.

"I'm sorry, I never should have asked," Jonathan murmured, his voice tinged with shame.

Y/n's gentle touch on his arm made him glance up, meeting her gaze once more. He was met with a look of sincerity and understanding, her eyes soft with empathy.

"No, it's not that, Jonathan..." Y/n began, her voice tender as she sought to reassure him. "I'm sorry, I do like you, Jonathan, it's just... I'm not really ready to date anyone at the moment," she explained, her words laced with a hint of guilt.

Jonathan felt a mixture of relief and disappointment wash over him. He appreciated Y/n's honesty, but he couldn't shake the sting of rejection. Nevertheless, he managed a small nod, acknowledging her words.

Jonathan's heart sank as he prepared himself for rejection, his mind already forming apologies for his audacity. But then, Y/n spoke, her voice soft yet firm, cutting through the heavy atmosphere like a beacon of hope amidst the darkness.

"It's okay, Y/n," Jonathan replied, his voice tinged with a mixture of disappointment and acceptance. "I understand. Thank you for being honest with me."

Y/n's expression softened, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Thank you for understanding, Jonathan. You're a good friend."

The weight of her words settled over him, and Jonathan couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth blossom within his chest. Despite the outcome not being what he had hoped for, he found solace in the bond they shared and the prospect of their continued friendship.

With a faint smile, Jonathan mustered the courage to meet Y/n's gaze once more. "I'm glad we can still be friends," he said, his voice soft yet sincere.

Y/n returned his smile, her eyes reflecting warmth and gratitude. "Me too, Jonathan," she replied, reaching out to gently squeeze his arm.

Jonathan's heart swelled as she suddenly pulled him closer, wrapping him in a warm embrace. His breath caught in his throat, momentarily stunned by the unexpected gesture. He hesitated for a moment before tentatively returning the hug, savoring the fleeting moment between them.

As Y/n pulled away, Jonathan couldn't help but feel a pang of longing, wishing he could hold onto the moment just a little longer. He watched in awe as she walked away, her figure disappearing down the street. Despite the bittersweet twinge of unrequited feelings, Jonathan couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for Y/n's grace and kindness.

He knew that she was the one he wanted to be with. Her kindness, understanding, and genuine nature spoke volumes to him, reaffirming his belief that she was worth waiting for.

As he watched her walk away, Jonathan couldn't help but feel a profound sense of connection to her, a feeling he hadn't experienced with anyone else before. He knew that their bond was special, even if it wasn't romantic just yet. And while he longed for more, he was willing to be patient, knowing that good things often took time.

With a wistful smile, Jonathan silently vowed to cherish their friendship and support Y/n in any way he could. He was willing to wait for her, confident that their paths would eventually align in the future. And as he continued on his journey home, he carried with him a sense of hope and anticipation, knowing that she was worth the wait.

-

A/N: Sorry this took so long to come out, as usual, uni shit 💀 (cause I'm a dumb ass doing a double major) I set this after the Halloween party, so Jonathan probably should have been more aggressive and all that shit, but in the comic, he's all shy and all that stuff with Sherry (before the prank), so I wanted to keep along those lines. I really hope I did this request justice as I loved it so much. Thank you all for reading and I hope you liked it as much as I liked writing it 💚

[mothhball]

Your man can only make one dish. What's he making for you?

(this turned into a hc, so sorry lmao)

holy fuck, this man's fridge is EMPTY since he's obviously too busy terrorizing people and serving cunt while doing it

I do think he can cook, but since he's too preoccupied with other things, he usually lives off coffee, deli sandwiches or little snacks like pretzel sticks or trail mix (he grazes when he's in a rush, like a fucking bird)

BUT if you even INSINUATE that he can't cook, he'll take that personally. It's about honor now. Growing up poor and neglected, he learned how to turn three ingredients and a dream into something edible.

He can fry a MEAN catfish (also prefers it over fried chicken, since his fingers stay clean in case he gets a phone call or has to leave), and even though he tries to keep it a secret, he's a sucker for pecan pie.

He'll also stand over you and watch while you eat. Crossed arms, frowning, laser focus, and grumbling all like "who can't cook now? huh? i know you weren't talking about me"

He's also good at following recipes, but those "childhood meals" come from the heart, and he could probably cook that blindfolded. Don't ask, he won't wear a cute apron while doing so. (maybe after a glass of wine and enough begging. MAYBE.)

______________________________

(If you ask ME personally, I want him to make me some sushi, and I'll eat it off his body, thank you very much)

[mimicmimikyuwrites]

One Last Time - Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow) x Fem!Reader SMUT

Summary: After Jonathan decides this year will be his last as a professor, you and he decide to have fun one last time in the place where your relationship started. (Alternatively: you two fuck in the lecture hall to relive your past exchanges for a final time)

Contents/Possible Warnings: Established relationship, Student-Professor relationship, Age gap (Reader's in her early 20s, Jonathan's in his mid-30s), P in V sex, semi-public sex, creampie, semi-clothed sex, breeding kink, squirting, hair pulling, degradation, SMUT, MDNI

Other Notes: This is part two of this wonderful fic, but can be read separately. Hope you enjoy!! 💕

It was an almost surreal experience entering the lecture hall of Dr. Crane's class knowing it'd be the last time it'd be his. The professor had graded too many subpar essays and received too many emails from drunk university students for a lifetime, according to him, and it was time he found another job, particularly one that paid enough to justify the money he spent on his doctorate. After today, there'd be no more Professor Crane, something that managed to both sadden and excite you.

You still had a year left until you received your degree, which disappointingly meant that you'd no longer look forward to seeing him each day of the next academic year. What excited you was the freedom that'd come from no longer having to worry about someone catching onto the relationship you had with your professor, one that had almost always been intimate but had grown increasingly more romantic over the past few months as you became exclusive and put a label on things.

There'd be no more sneaking around and hoping that no one who knew you would see you both on dates. While Jonathan had made it clear that he didn't care about the consequences of being with you, the idea of your fellow students and the higher-ups at the university accusing your every grade of being rooted in you sleeping with your professor bothered you heavily.

As you stepped into the lecture hall, you found it to be empty; the door in the corner of the room leading to Jonathan's office opened slightly. You moved downwards from the top of the room all the way to the bottom, moving through the rows of seats until you finally reached his office. You peeked in, finding him sorting through his things, placing his belongings into labeled boxes as he went along.

"Did I catch you during office hours, Dr. Crane?" You asked with a smile, opening the door further. "Or should I come back another day?" He looked up, his lips turned upwards in a smile of his own at the sight of you at his door.

"You're always welcome in my office, my darling. At any time it pleases you." He stood up, setting the box he had in his hands aside before approaching you, pulling you in, and pressing a sweet kiss to your lips once close enough. You let out a satisfied sigh, placing your hands on his shoulders as you melted into his touch. You were glad you had taken that first risk at the beginning of the Fall, especially since it had led to one of your most rewarding relationships yet.

"All I have to do is finish putting a few items into a box or two and then I can finally stop making lesson plans and watching people butcher their understanding of psychology," he quipped once you two separated, moving back over to his desk.

"I know I'll still see you outside of here, but I'm going to miss having you at the university, Jonathan." You frowned, looking around the office you had spent so much time in with him. So many memories had been made in the small yet cozy room, and once he was done packing up, there'd be no more to make inside of it. "This is where it all started. Where we started. We really did a lot in here, didn't we?"

He chuckled, the memories coming back to him. "How many times did I have you bent over this desk, hmm? Or had your back to it while I pinned you down, those pretty little legs of yours shaking with pleasure while I fucked every thought out of your head?" His hand ran over the smooth, dark mahogany wood. "How about we do things here one last time? Relive that exhilarating thrill before we lose the opportunity?" He purred, lustful gaze landing on you.

You bit your lip, the beginning of your arousal making its way through your body. As much as you loved the idea of him bending you over that desk one more time, you had a better idea. One that'd put his favorite element into things: fear. You stepped forward, tugging lightly on his tie, bringing his face close to yours.

"You know what would really be thrilling? Scary even?" You whispered, watching as his blue eyes gleamed with piqued interest at your words. "Why don't we do things in the lecture hall? It wouldn't be the first time we have, but it will be the last." You slowly led him out of the room and into the empty hall in question. "Think about how both of our hearts will be racing with fear at the thought of us being caught. Sounds exciting, doesn't it? Like it always is."

His lips found yours again, kissing you hungrily as you moved towards the large, light brown desk at the front of the room. Fear was his passion in life, and to hear you so eager to engage in it for the adrenaline rush-filled thrill of it all lit a fire in him. His hands found the buttons of your blouse, undoing them quickly and letting the piece of clothing slide down your shoulders before taking off your bra not long after.

You shivered as the cool air of the room hit the warm skin of your bare breasts, only to let out a soft moan as one of Jonathan's hands gently grabbed at one, savoring the feeling of your soft skin as well as the sounds you let out at the feeling of his touch.

As he flipped you over so you were bent over the desk, tits pressed up against the wooden surface, the full reality of the situation sunk in, your heart racing as adrenaline began to seep through your veins. He had you in such a vulnerable position that if anyone were to walk in, there would be no escape or explaining yourself, not when you were half-naked with the man who was still technically your professor.

That's what made it so exciting.

You felt his hardened cock through his slacks as it pressed up against your ass through your skirt, and you ground back against him as he lifted it up, letting him feel just how wet you were through your panties. He growled as you did, pulling them down to just enough to have access to your wet cunt, dripping with arousal.

"You're such a slut, aren't you?" He questioned, already knowing your answer. He placed a hand on your hip as he teased the tip of his cock against the entrance of your pussy. "Bent over for a man over a decade older than you, your professor of all people, with your pretty little cunt just begging to be filled in the middle of the lecture hall."

You pushed your hips back, desperately trying to get him inside of you. "Only for you. I'd never do this for anyone else, no matter who it was." You struggled to hold in a loud moan as he thrust forward, burying himself inside of you; seemingly satisfied with your response.

"I wonder, how many other of your professors have you thought about fucking?" His hands held a tight grip on your hips as he set a fast pace, his cock sinking into you. "Or am I really the only one you'd do this for? Maybe I believe you, especially when I've ruined you for anyone else. Your body is made for me at this point, darling."

He leaned down, hunched over you as you felt his hot breath against your ear. "Maybe I'll be nice and fuck a baby into you. Fill you up day after day until all you know how to do is take my cum." His free hand found your clit, rubbing at it as he continued to fuck into you.

"Please—" You whined, legs shaking and struggling to hold you up as it all started to become too much. He had only been inside of you for a short time and you were already close. You could feel it building up, knowing you were going to cum harder than you ever had before.

"Wait— Jonathan!" You gasped, not knowing what you were pleading for as he continued to pound into you while rubbing your clit. Then it happened, your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, and you came with an almost pathetic cry of his name as you squirted on his cock.

"Good girl," he groaned, feeling you clamp down on him. "That felt good, didn't it? Haven't seen you do that for me until now." His hands went up to your hair, pulling it roughly while he continued to thrust, hips snapping against yours as he lost himself in the feeling of your pussy. He held you up as you trembled, overwhelmed but oh so ready to please him.

"Fuck, you're gonna make me cum," he moaned, letting your hair go in favor of gripping your hips tight enough to bruise. "You want that – mph! — d-dont you? For me to fill you up, breed you like were made for it." A deep, animalistic noise left him as he finally came, filling you to the brim with thick, warm cum that spilled out of your cunt and onto the ground below.

You two stayed like that for a long moment with him inside of you, both of you catching your breaths before he finally pulled out, more of his cum slipping out of you. You lay against the desk, your cheek pressed to it as you had difficulty keeping your eyes open, exhausted.

"Don't fall asleep on me," Jonathan murmured with a light laugh. "We have to get you cleaned up. You made quite a mess, my love." You sighed, pulling yourself up, looking at him with a dopey smile. He had managed to fuck every thought out of your head. All that remained was a drowsy bliss.

You'd miss this, but you still had him at the end of the day, and that's all that truly mattered.

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

God made girls lethal, when he made monsters of men.

Jonathan Crane x psycho!reader PART TWO

PART ONE

warnings - blood, gore, attempted sexual assault, death.

Masterlist

REQUESTS OPEN - request here

*************************

You’re sessions with Jonathan began to dwindle. No matter how much you screamed, bit, scratched and attacked the other shrinks, demanding to see Jonathan, no one would let you. Always claiming that he had other patients he deemed more severe.

“BULLSHIT!” You screamed. If he wanted dangerous, boy, was he gonna get dangerous.

That was how Jonathan Crane sauntered down the hall and into your cell where he saw you, straight jacket on, strapped down to a wooden chair, held by three guards. Your smile dribbled blood out of your red mouth.

“There are easier ways to get my attention than biting off a guy’s ear.” He sounded almost bored and this made you whimper.

“Well they clearly weren’t working as I asked for you a million times and you NEVER CAME!” Your voice rose into a shrill scream for the last words. But he didn’t even flinch. Instead he kneeled down in front of your shaking form and stroked your soft cheek.

“Now, now darling. There, there. I haven’t been a very good psychiatrist have I?”

“No.” You softly whimpered out.

“No. I’ve been neglecting you haven’t I?" He cooed. Your body softened at his caring words. You meekly nodded.

The guards around you were confused but one sharp glare from Jonathan shut them up and they daren’t look at your intimate moment any longer.

From then on, Jonathan allowed the two of you to have weekly meetings. But they weren’t designed to analyse you, but rather to court you.

He would come and sit down with you and you would talk for hours. About movies, books, games etc.

Some days he would bring you little treats. Secret chocolates, a teddy bear. One day he even brought a hairbrush and he sat behind you and the whole session consisted of him lightly brushing out the tangled locks of your unkept mane. No words were said. But it was ecstacy.

Your favourite gift was when he presented you with a white rose.

“What are those red splotches?” You enquired looking at the streaks which littered the pure base.

“You see I cut myself on the thorn and some dropped on the rose. I was going to get you a new one but I couldn’t help but be so intrigued by it. It really adds something, don’t you think?”

In lieu of a reply you merely reached forward and grabbed his hand where you could see the healing scar. Without breaking his gaze you leant forward and took the whole finger into your mouth. Jonathan struggled to hold back a moan as you salivated at the still iron taste.

In his time with you, Jonathan had noted the keen interest some of the male guards had in you. He sometimes laughed it off believing their stupidity knew no bounds if they were willing to take you on. But he couldn’t help but worry for you.

“God I wouldn’t mind taking a bit of that ass.”

“Are you serious dude? That bitch is crazy. Proper stone cold psychopath.”

“Don’t worry, she’s being sedated well enough, or at least she will be soon. She won’t give us any problems.”

Jonathan overheard the guards from the outside of the break room door.

Since meeting you he had become enraptured. Enchanted by your very being. He viewed you as the most sacred relic he could ever dare to possess. He knew your strength was unimaginable. But you were his. And no one messed with his Queen.

One day you were being transported from your session with Jonathan, who had now deemed it fit to have the sessions in his office rather than your cell. The two guards, who flanked your sides, spoke over you in silent code. Once they had deemed the corridor completely empty. They grabbed your sides, still held in the straight jacket, and began to drag you towards an abandoned closet. Taking your pants and underwear off on the way. Their intentions clearly immoral.

It took you by such surprise that you barely had time to react. You were not used to being manhandled but the shock of the moment meant you couldn’t clear your head enough to launch a good enough attack.

Before the three of you were over the doors precipice, a loud voice announced their exit from their office.

Jonathan called out to ask the two men a question, to which they responded after manoeuvring you out of a compromising position. He shot you a single glance before explaining how he would prefer to walk you back to your cell as well, as, in his words,

“I don’t want her to give you any problems.” with a knowing glint in his eye.

That night the two same guards were summoned to your cell.

They stood to the side of where you sat slumped in your chair. The previous encounter had scarred you and weakened your own sense of self. They were just men, you had killed them before. Why was it so hard now. What was this weak feeling and why did it make you want to scream.

However, your self-sabotaging thoughts were halted the minute Jonathan’s lean frame entered. His soft smile landed on your frame which appeared to have shrunk in the presence of the two guards. This lit a fire deep within his heart.

He brought his briefcase up to the table and popped it open. He pulled out a macabre clown mask, decorated with black and red. He walked forward, whistling as he went, and placed it on your face. You were unable to resist, but deep down you didn’t want to. You trusted Jonathan.

He returned to his briefcase, sat down, took off his glasses, and looked deep into your eyes.

“Would you like to see my mask.” He condescendingly teased.

He pulled out a ratty burlap sack which you noted had stitching which resembled a face. He placed it on his head and immediately pressed a hidden button which released a sulphuric green gas into the air. It was then you noted the breathing device attached to your own mask.

Jonathan bared his knuckles on the table and used it to raise himself into a godlike stance.

You were startled by the bloodcurdling screams which erupted from the two men behind you. You whipped around to see them collapse to the floor, writhing about in pain. Both looking and pointing up at Jonathan in pure god-fearing terror.

Suddenly, they both seized. Their last moments of fear etched onto their faces like stone. Their hearts had gone.

You tilted your head to look down, interestedly, at the two corpses. You turned back around when you felt a presence at your back.

Jonathan stood over you, masked and all. His hand outreached.

“Scarecrow will never hurt you, my love.”

You carefully lifted up your own mask to reveal a teeth-chattering grin plastered over your sadistic expression.

*************************

PART THREE

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