#nolanverse jonathan crane x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

paradiseprincesss · 3 months ago

Text

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

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

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

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

WORD COUNT -> 3.3k

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

MASTERLIST

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is everything okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Doctor Crane—”

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

“What is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Drinks?”

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

“Y-yeah,” you stammered. “It is.”

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

You nodded, slightly starstruck.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

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

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

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

And so you did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jonathan, I–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Should we go upstairs?” you suddenly asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please,” you whimpered.

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

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

“O-oh–” you moaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

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mothhball · 9 months ago

Text

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.”

#jonathan crane x reader #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x reader #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane #batman begins #nolanverse #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane x y/n #.moth writes

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mimicmimikyuwrites · 4 months ago

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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.

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dstryvampres · 5 months ago

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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

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cillianhead · 1 year ago

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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

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mydear-corinthian · 5 months ago

Text

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."

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bardotdoves · 2 months ago

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

#jonathan crane #dr crane #dr jonathan crane #batman begins #cillian murphy #cillianmurphyedit #scarecrow #batman #film #the dark knight trilogy #nolanverse #2005 #gifs #jonathan crane x reader

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haveyouanytime · 8 months ago

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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.

#blog:haveyouanytime #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane fluff #jonathan crane comfort #nolanverse batman

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lovelybucky1 · 1 year ago

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Better Than Revenge

Kinktober Day 7- Fear Play

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I have waited so long for this."

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” he hisses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No! No, please, you can’t do that.”

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

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

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

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

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

All you can do is cry and shake your head.

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

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

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

“Hmm,” he hums.

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

“Please,” you beg again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That catches your attention. Our child?

“W-what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod in understanding. "Good girl."

#jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow #dc scarecrow #nolanverse #jonathan crane headcanon #jonathan crane fanfic #jonathan crane fanfiction #jonathan crane smut #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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h4unted-d4rling · 2 years ago

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He’s so daddy he looks like a Lana Del Rey song.

#jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane #nolanverse Jonathan Crane #dk!jonathan crane #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow #the dark knight trilogy #Batman begins #the dark knight #the dark knight rises #cillian murphy #scarecrow simp #Jonathan Crane Simp

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butterfly-lies-chase-them-away · 7 months ago

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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 marred 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 💚

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paradiseprincesss · 5 months ago

Text

please, please, please | jonathan crane

please please please by sabrina carpenter has been playing in my head nonstop...and the music video? that has jonathan crane and his gf written ALL over it. also i promise I AM WORKING ON REQUESTS i swear.

summary: you warn jonathan not to embarrass you at your dinner party — you know how he is sometimes. thankfully, disasters were avoided during dinner and as a reward, you let him try something new in the bedroom with you that he's been wanting to do.

warnings: smut, p in v, fingering, sex toys (butt plug), anal but only using the toy lol, jonathan kills someone, talk of dead bodies lmfao? mdni 18+ only

word count: 3.9k

masterlist

"what did you do?!" you whisper yell at jonathan, who was currently staring at you with hearts in his eyes and a sheepish smile.

"i didn't know he was going to react this way, swear it," he says quietly, "i just wanted to see what a concentrated dose would do."

you look at the man slumped over on your apartment couch, seemingly dead. you turn your head to jonathan silently, looking at him incredulously as he kept that sheepish smile plastered on his face.

your boyfriend, doctor jonathan crane, had "accidentally" — that's what he claims — murdered your electrician with a too high dose of his fear toxin. he swore that he had thought some man had broken into your house and he was only trying to protect you; which yes, you found sweet, but there was also the issue of the now dead electrician in your living room.

"i swear baby," he says with his hands up defensively, "i thought he broke in."

"i told you that the electrician was coming by today!"

jonathan laughs awkwardly for a moment, but he pulled you close and gave you a little kiss on the forehead. "i'm sorry darling. don't be mad, please."

you let him pull you close, relaxing into his touch, "jonathan, what are we supposed to do with his body? we have dinner guests coming over in less than two hours."

"i got it," he assures you, "don't worry. i'm sure if i just hide his body in the meantime, nobody will notice."

you groan, wriggling out of his grasp as you leave him to it. you get ready, doing your makeup and hair, before picking out on outfit for your dinner party.

you and jonathan recently moved in together, and though you had been dating for quite some time, he hadn't really met your friends all that much. sure, he'd seen them a handful of times, but you wanted your friends to get to know him better — i mean hey, they had asked to.

honestly, you thought you had good judgement and you thought you had good taste. i mean, you managed to snag a handsome, intelligent, financially stable doctor; what else could a girl ask for? and look — yes, you may of had a small, tiny, little track record of dating mentally unstable, dangerous, and wild men but you swore jonathan was different.

he wasn't unstable, dangerous and wild. no, no, no — he was calculated, precise and a murderer! three totally different traits than what you usually go for.

"look at you, baby," jonathan cooed as he watched you walk into the kitchen, "you're the prettiest, my god."

you blush, shaking your head bashfully as you pull him into a kiss, admiring his every feature. "i love you, jon."

"i love you, too."

"but listen to me," you say softly, trying your hardest to sound menacing, "you're a doctor — so act like one. please don't kill one of our guests or anything."

"only for you, darling." he says with a smile, hands resting on your hips.

the doorbell to your apartment rang, and you made your way to the door with jonathan, hand in hand. "oh, and one more thing," you say quickly reaching to unlock your front door, "i beg you, don't embarrass me, motherfucker."

jonathan holds back a laugh at your not-so-threatening threat as you let your friends in, and the night goes by without a hitch. you don't know where jonathan has hid the dead body in your apartment, but you don't care as long as your guests don't fucking find it.

"it was great getting to see you two again. you guys are so wonderful together. congratulations on the new place, by the way!" your friend tells you as you all wrap up dinner, a few of the other dinner guests still finishing off their wine.

"thank you!" you gush, smiling happily, "we really love it here, right jonathan?"

"yes, darling. it's quite lovely, isn't it?" he replies softly, caressing your hand with his.

"your patio is gorgeous, by the way — great view of the city. we should have a drink out there, it's still early!" another one of your guests suggests, and jonathan shoots you a look.

oh, so that's where he hid the body — on the fucking balcony where anyone could see.

"o-oh!" you stammer, "um, you know, the summer weather is great. wonderful, really — but like, isn't the inside of our brand new apartment just so lovely, too? like look at our new ceiling fan — wow."

your friend looks at you with a confused expression, and she laughs a little awkwardly. "yeah totally, the interior design is so...great."

"yeah, so i have a fun idea," you say rather enthusiastically, to which jonathan has to look away to stop himself from laughing, "maybe let's stay inside? i know your craving some fresh air, but the ceiling fan is so nice."

"darling," jonathan interrupts softly, smiling at you then looking at your friends, "why don't we just schedule a time another day to have drinks all together? i'd love to keep the night going, but i'm afraid i have to work particularly early tomorrow at the asylum."

everyone "ahh'd" in union as they respected what he did for work — he was one of gothams finest, most renown psychiatrists, after all. surprisingly, tonight it was jonathan saving you from slipping up instead of you coming to save him.

as your dinner guests left one by one, you shut the door and locked it as you turn to jonathan with a sweet smile. "thank you for that, i wasn't particularly planning on my friends seeing a dead body out on the balcony tonight."

"relax, baby," jonathan cooed, "i told you i'd handle it, right?"

you look up into your boyfriends beautiful, pale, blue eyes — for someone so notoriously dangerous, he sure was gentle and sweet with you. of course, jonathan did have a soft spot for you and you only.

he would openly admit it, too.

"right, sorry," you whisper as he leans down from his towering height to kiss you, "i trust you."

he hums in satisfaction, then captured your lips in a kiss. his gentle hands roamed across your body, and suddenly, jonathan was pulling you flush against him. through broken kisses and breathless panting, his hand found it's way to your neck. when he gave it a light, experimental squeeze, you moaned into the kiss — he knew this was exactly how to get you going.

"go to the bedroom," he commands softly, "and be ready when i get there, darling."

you look at him inquisitively for a second, but as soon as he raises a brow; you don't ask any questions. he goes into the living room to rummage around for something, and you make your way into your shared bedroom.

you slip out of your evening attire, keeping the lacy, black, intimate lingerie you had underneath on as you patiently wait on the bed for your boyfriend. after a few moments, he returns with something in his hands — a small, dainty, pink gift box with a white ribbon adorned around it.

"i was good for you tonight, right darling?" jonathan asked softly, handing the pink gift box over to you as you start to unravel the bow on top.

"of course you were." you sigh, smiling dopily at him.

he hummed as you opened the box and your eyes went wide, "well, now i want you to be good for me, baby."

inside the dainty, pink, gift box was a butt plug, and on the end of it was a shimmering, baby pink, sparkly gem. "jonathan," you blush profusely, "y-you wanna do...?"

"i just want you to try it out while i fuck you, darling. see how it feels — it's an experiment i've been wanting to try out with you for a while." he says lowly, watching you like a hawk as you took it out of the box.

"i've never done anything...there." you say shyly, and he kisses you gently; of course he'd see sex as a way to experiment.

this was a man of science we're talking about, after all.

"that's alright," he assures you with a quiet chuckle, "i'll guide you through it, okay? you trust me, don't you?"

"yeah," you giggle, "okay — fine, but just this once."

jonathan eyed you down in your black, lacy lingerie as you shuffled around on the bed, bending over as you reached for the lube in the bedside drawer. he had to stop himself from groaning aloud when he saw your already wet cunt soaking through your undergarments — all bent over and needy for his fat cock.

you tossed the bottle of lube over to the side of the bed, crawling over to jonathan as his eyes turned three shades darker at the sight. after you crawled into his lap, he slowly unhooked your very lacy, very see through bralette, slipping it right off your shoulders.

his hands immediately came to paw at your tits as you rested your head on his collarbone, leaning back at the feeling of his strong hands tweaking your perked up nipples.

"jonathan," you breathlessly moan, "please."

"be good for me, baby — be patient." he whispered against your ear, nipping it lightly.

his feather light touch traced down, further and further until he got to your underwear. his fingers hooked into the lace trim, gently and ever so slowly helping you out of the undergarment. you felt your breath hitch lightly as the cold air hit your bare, soaked core, and you leaned further back into jonathan.

jonathan — who by the way, was still fully clothed — swiped two fingers through your dripping folds gently, causing you to jump at the sudden pleasurable feeling. "you're soaked," he noticed, placing a kiss down your neck, "i've barely touched you."

"i-i know," you whimper, "but—"

"i bet you liked it when i said i wanted to experiment on you, hm? did that turn you on, darling? knowing that i'm studying your every reaction to my touch?"

you bit your lip as he spoke, cutting you off as you whimpered under his touch. yes — he was on the dot with his assumptions and observations. sure, you'd never used a butt plug before but hey, if it was with jonathan, you were pretty much down for anything.

"yes," you admitted breathlessly, "fuck, jon."

it was strange — the thought of him studying you during sex in such a...clinical way. it was a major turn on for you, in fact, you didn't know if you'd ever been so turned on before. jonathan proceeded to slowly insert a finger into your drooling hole, causing you to let out a choked moan.

"yeah, you're fucking dripping." he observed, peppering kisses down your neck and shoulders as you relaxed your head onto his. after he fucked you with one finger for no more than a minute, he was suddenly inserting another — it was no issue though, you were so wet that his second finger slipped in without resistance.

you arched your back instinctively, letting out choked, breathless moans as you whimpered his name sweetly. it was like music to jonathan's ears — hearing you fall apart as he carefully, slowly, and precisely turned you into nothing in just mere minutes.

"s-so close!" you squeaked out, and jonathan was suddenly drawing his fingers out of you, causing your jaw to drop and you to turn around to look at him with disbelief.

"i know," he cooed, "now, turn back around and get on all fours. face down, ass up."

you looked at him with surprise, but jonathan was always in control in the bedroom — this wasn't new by any means, but it sure was hot. listening and hanging onto his every word, you do as he asks, getting on all fours as you hear him shuffle around behind you.

with your ass up and your pretty face down, you bite your lip as you hear the pop of the lube bottle cap being opened. you gasp quietly as you feel a foreign, cold, silicone texture poke at your ass — it was almost embarrassing how wet this was making you.

"look at how wet you're getting, and i haven't even put the toy in your ass yet." jonathan chuckled lowly, feeling his cock straining so hard against his pants that he thought the zipper might pop open.

"s-shut up." you try to retaliate, but it comes out more like a broken, desperate plea.

"m'gonna push it in now, okay? not all the way, i promise i'll be gentle — and slow." jonathan says softly, his voice easing your nerves.

though you wished you could see his face, the thought was soon wiped from your mind as you felt the silicone toy being pushed into you, stretching your ass out. thankfully, it wasn't painful. it felt uncomfortable at first, but the more he pushed, the more you got used to the stretch.

"how's it feeling, baby?" jonathan asked lowly, watching your glistening cunt clench around nothing.

"s'okay," you respond, "is it almost all the way in?"

"almost, just a little more to go. you look so good like this, darling. letting me do whatever i want to you, and you just take it like a good girl."

his words made your cheeks burn, and you whine as you felt him give the toy one more gentle push into your ass. it felt good, surprisingly, but it also felt full. you felt full.

"is it hurting?" jonathan asked with concern, and you shook your head no, finally looking behind you as you saw his face.

his cheeks were dusted with a pink colour, and his lips looked plush. he was extremely turned on — that much was obvious with just the way he looked. your eyes trailed down to the tent in his pants; he was so hard it looked like his trousers were about to rip.

"feels really full, though," you giggle softly, "i'm guessing you like the view?"

"god, baby," he groans, "i wish you could see what i'm seeing right now — your ass up with a pretty, pink gemstone in it. all stretched out and waiting for me to fuck your pretty little cunt, hm?"

"mm, y-yeah." you moan as he reaches for your hips, gently turning you onto your back as he pushes you into the soft pillows.

the butt plug still felt a little odd to you as you switched positions, now laying on your back, but it felt good at the same time. as your mind was focused on the feeling of that, you look back up at jonathan to see him desperately trying to undress himself. as controlled and precise as the doctor was — he was a needy mess when it came to you.

"hurry up, doctor crane," you tease, biting your lip as he huffs, clearly affected by your little comment, "i'm so fucking wet—"

"i'm gonna fuck you till you can't think anymore," he interrupted, his voice strained, "you're going to be so full with my cum."

his suit jacket was long gone, and now so was his white button down and tie. his trousers had seemingly disappeared somewhere as well, and his leaking, hard, veiny cock sprung free, hitting his stomach lightly as he took it out.

within seconds, your legs were spread for him. pupils blown wide.m jonathan was positioned between your legs, the tip of his cock rubbing up against your dripping cunt, and you whined when he teased your folds. "how does it feel?" jonathan asks softly, just barely putting the head in, "you feel nice and full, darling? all stretched out?"

"s-so full," you pant, "but i need your cock — so badly."

he smirks to himself; his ego clearly being stroked with the way he had you, his beautiful girlfriend, in bed begging for him and letting him do whatever he pleases to any of your holes.

with a sudden thrust, he slid into you with ease from how slick your cunt was, and you gasped at the feeling of his cock filling you up. jonathan set a moderate pace; not too fast but not too slow, either.

"does it feel good, baby? having both your holes all stuffed?" he asks, fucking into you gently as you struggled to speak.

"y-yes!" you said to him, voice shaky, "feels so good, f-fuck—"

jonathan continued to thrust his thick cock into your tight, wet hole and within seconds, you were cockdrunk. your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you moaned his name over and over, incoherently begging for something. you weren't sure what exactly you were begging for, but as long as you were begging — jonathan was satisfied.

this is how he liked you — fucked out and willing to do anything for him. to be fair, he would do absolutely anything (and i mean anything, including murder), for you too. you were his girl, his everything, what he needed in his life — so naturally, nothing was off the table when it came to what he'd do for you.

but nothing beat the feeling of you submitting to him like this.

"god, you're already close, aren't you, my love?" jonathan asked softly, picking up his pace as his cock brushed up against your walls.

he was right — you were close. the way his thick, veiny cock stretched you open while you were stuffed with a toy in your other hole had you feeling ready to tip over the edge in just seconds. "insatiable," jonathan commented as he plowed into you faster and harder, "that's what you are, darling. look at my needy girl; she needs all over holes filled and stretched, all the fucking time."

his filthy, degrading (but also very hot) comments tipped you over the edge, and before you knew it — you were coming undone all over his cock as he groaned. a plethora of whines and pleas left your lips, but you were so gone from the way he was fucking you stupid, you didn't even realize what was said in that moment.

before you could register what was happening, jonathan pulled out of you quickly. he flipped you onto your stomach, being quite gentle with you, as he grabbed onto your hips, indicating he wanted you to be on all fours again. understanding what he was asking, you did what you knew to do — be face down, ass up.

"jesus," jonathan groans from behind you, giving your ass a light spank, "fuck, look at that."

you whine at the gentle spank he gave you, and his fingers brushed up against your other hole, where the butt plug was sitting. "j-jon," you whined, "please."

you heard him chuckle lowly, his cock brushing up against your folds once more as he slowly split you open on his cock. he was enjoying this far too much — the sight of you with that pink gemstone in your ass and the way your cunt took his cock deeper and deeper with every thrust? it was driving him insane.

"fucking beautiful," he groaned, "h-how'd you manage to get even tighter, baby?"

"f-feels so good, oh m-my god!" you started to scream into the pillows as one of jonathan's hands snaked down and started to rub at your clit.

as you were about to cum from the way he was rubbing your sensitive clit, he removed his hand which caused you to whine. he chuckled softly from behind you, fucking you into the mattress so deep and rough, you were for sure going to be sore for the next week to come.

suddenly, you gasped as your cunt started to flutter around jonathan's length. his hand that was previously on your clit, was now toying with the butt plug, teasingly pushing it in and out gently. he didn't pull it out all the way, but just ever so slightly — just enough so that every time he pushed it back in, you'd feel so full again.

"are you about to cum, baby?" jonathan asked sweetly, "are you about to cum on my cock?"

"f-fuck, yes! yes!" you screamed as jonathan fucked you even faster.

"s-shit, me too," he groaned, "come now, baby — fuuuck!"

as your vision went white and you creamed his cock, jonathan gave you a few more harsh thrusts before he spilled his cum into you. hot ropes of cum covered your walls, filling your hole up completely.

as both of you were coming down from your intense highs, jonathan pulled out after a moment. his cum started to leak from your cunt, and he took two fingers to push it back in — causing you to whine at the sensation.

his demeanour changed the second you two weren't fucking anymore — he was soft, doting, and loving towards you as soon as he cleaned you up. he helped you into his arms, pulling you close as the two of you curled up under the sheets in the crisp, cool, air-conditioned bedroom.

"that was something," jonathan says, being the first one to break the silence, "did you like it? i didn't hurt you, right?"

"no, you didn't hurt me at all, baby," you laughed softly, kissing him on the cheek, "and yeah, it was really ejoyable."

"i see. well, i'm glad you enjoyed it, darling." he smiles at you lovingly, pulling you into a gentle, passionate kiss.

as you wrapped your arms around his neck, you looked up at your devoted boyfriend with the most loving, adorable, and kind look that jonathan had ever seen. "i love you, jonathan. that was fun."

"i love you too, darling," he says, but he pauses before getting up with a sigh, "i'm sorry to cut this moment short, my dear, but i do believe that i have a certain...body to dispose of in a timely manner."

"you and your pillow talk, jonathan. it never seizes to amaze me — last week it was about that patient you terrorized at work and this week, it's the dead electrician on our balcony." you said with a small smile, biting your lip as you teased your deranged, doctor boyfriend.

"well, all i can say is that i'm lucky to have you in my life, my dear." he said softly, looking at you with those gorgeous, pale, icy blue eyes of his. "i truly do love you."

as he turned around to look at you once more time before leaving the bedroom to go deal with the body on the balcony, you smile at him sweetly. he had his bodies on the balcony and you had your skeletons in your closet — you just understood him.

everyone has their ghosts, right? and plus, as long as nobody else knew about the whole scarecrow and murderer thing, then it would be fine. it would aways be fine.

"i truly love you too, jonathan," you said after a moment, and you could've sworn that you saw the scarecrow himself start to blush, "but if you wanna go and be stupid, don't do it in front of me."

he shakes his head on his way out — presumably to dispose of the body in ways you didn't really want to know of. jonathan's voice called out back to you as he made his way to the balcony doors.

"noted, my love!"

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

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mothhball · 5 months ago

Text

II – VIRIDIS

viridis – marked by youthful vigor

JONATHAN CRANE X FEM!READER

summary Drinking your woes away was a temporary solution, and it ends up in tears. But even in the darkest night, there's the chance of a silver lining. Just be sure you're well-informed about your shiny spark of hope.

warnings NEEDLES, BLOOD SAMPLE, very mild medfet (a whisper for now), alcohol, reader gets drunk, some mildly foul language, unhappy relationship,

notes oooo longer chapter! and things are MOVING

! MINORS DNI !

story masterlist • main masterlist • taglist • kofi word count: 5.2k

The news themselves were already bad, but even worse was the pity from everyone you told about the rejection. Behind every sympathetic smile and half-hug was a hidden “I told you so” that no one said out loud, but was obvious enough.

Despite what people told you, apparently no one had believed that you could make it in the first place, and that realization caused a rage to burn and fester within your guts. A rage which found no outlet since that wretched Thursday that you since then blacked out with a fat sharpie from your calendar. Reading that letter felt like repeatedly getting hit over the head with a steel pipe, beating you into a pathetic, bloody pulp right where you were standing in your kitchen. Your boyfriend tried to rub your back, but you bristled and immediately turned away from him, scowling like it was him specifically who sent the rejection. His little pout disgusted you. But what made you actually nauseous was the relief in his eyes. Never once, in 3 years of this relationship, did you resent him like you did on that Thursday afternoon. Bitter, seething resentment which almost caused you to lash out at him like a riled-up dog.

But instead, you chose to take the high road. Or rather you fled, left the apartment and drove over to your best friend Mina’s to cry and shout into one of her lovely couch pillows. The smart, admirable choice would’ve been to write an email to Potomac. To timidly ask Dr. Rabin to turn a blind eye and allow you to send in a late application. But every time your fingers hovered over the keys of your old, ratty laptop, the embarrassment was too much, and you slammed it shut once more, leaving the unfinished request behind. But your boyfriend Tristan, in his seemingly endless quest of half-heartedly trying to manage your future, urged you to send the email. So, you did. At least that’s what you told him. A little white lie to let him keep his peace of mind.

Your mood only got worse towards the weekend, prompting a few of your friends and your boyfriend to drag you off to do the responsible thing. Get drunk and shake off the tension during a night out. And now here you are, downing shots on a Saturday night in an attempt to forget your woes at least for a little while.

The club is packed and stuffy, and the lights flicker over a mass of people that seems to have grown into one hive mind of an entity, allowing you to feel swallowed and anonymous for just a few blissful hours. Every mouthful of alcohol that you swallow works in your favor to numb the anxiety gnawing at your bones while the bass gently licks at your feverish skin, causing your heart to vibrate in your ribcage. It’s easy to lose yourself in sips of colorful shots and cocktails. At least until a firm hand on your shoulder prevents you from placing another order. Turning your head, you’re met by Tristan’s disgruntled eyes, and before you can shake off his grip, he’s already pulling you away from the bar to a relatively quiet spot in another hallway of the club. Still, he has to raise his voice when he speaks to you, already laying the foundation for a screaming match.

“What are you doing??” he asks, giving you a once over that only serves to further sour his mood.

“What do you mean? I’m just having a couple of drinks,” you slur back at him, returning that nasty look he’s sending you. Tristan scoffs, shaking his head like you’re a lost cause, even though he’s not exactly sober either.

“You’re getting wasted. Are you still sulking over that rejection? Jesus…”

That actually makes your jaw drop, and you’re speechless for a few seconds, which your boyfriend takes as his cue to continue.

“Just let it go. Some things aren’t meant to be. It’s better this way”

“What the hell do you mean by that?” you hiss back at him, curling your fingers tightly into the fabric of the little dress you’re wearing.

“I… Listen, we both know Arkham isn’t… your style. You… you’re not that kind of person –“ Tristan sighs, somehow trying to make his statement seem less insulting and vague by waving his hands around in your face.

“The kind of person to what??”

“The kind of person who’d make it there! You would’ve quit after two weeks! Let’s be real for once. And then you’d have to start over again and you would have to wait yet another semester to graduate!” Every word that leaves his mouth pisses you off even more, and a truly ugly emotion rears its head within you. Things are escalating. You still have half a mind to realize it. You should call it a night, go home and talk things out in the morning. But this is the first time that Tristan is being brutally honest about your career choices.

“Oh, I didn’t know it was a race, Tristan! How silly of me! I’ll make sure to plan every future decision around your life schedule from now on!” You get in his face, venom dripping off of every shouted syllable that slips from your tongue a little too easily.

“You’re putting words in my mouth! I never said I wanted you to plan your life around me! I’m just worried! All of my friend’s girlfriends –“

“So that’s what this is about? The girlfriends of your little business school friend group?? Am I part of some weird dick measuring contest?” You continue before he gets a word in, asking a question that’s been burning in your throat for a few months now.

“Are you ashamed of me??”

You’re met with silence. Silence that’s so obviously an answer in itself that it causes your heart to slip out of your chest and shatter on the sticky floor below. Tristan notices the devastated expression on your face, but his drunken audacity eggs him on to double down.

“I wouldn’t have to be if you just acted like an adult! You can’t always get what you want! For fuck’s sake, just be happy with what you have for once!” You wish you had a drink you could throw in his face. But your hands are empty, shaking with anger and disappointment. You can’t look at him anymore.

“Screw you, Tristan.” And with that, you turn, leaving him standing there while you rush to find an exit as tears well up in your eyes. He doesn’t make a move to follow you, and it simultaneously calms and saddens you even more.

Navigating the club is even more complicated with your blurred vision, and you bump into a few people, no doubt spilling a few overpriced drinks in the process. But you’re either too fast or they’re too drunk to really do anything about it.

Finally, finally, you make it outside, choking out a strangled noise that’s a pathetic mix between a sob and a whine, and you quickly duck into a nearby alley to give way to the tears. You’re drunk and overly emotional, you try to rationalize with yourself, but it doesn’t lessen the ache in any way. So, pressing a palm over your mouth, you reluctantly allow yourself to cry. The night air is icy, but fresh enough to comfort you and slowly clear up the lump in your throat, and after some cathartic five minutes, you start to calm down again. Your tears run black at this point, dragging your favorite mascara down your cheeks, and you sniffle as you into your purse to grab a compact mirror and assess the damage.

It's in that moment when your phone display lights up, alerting you to an incoming call. Your stomach twists into knots as you fish the phone out of your purse. A call from Tristan might make things worse, and you’re not really in the mood to talk to him right now, so –

But the call isn’t coming from your boyfriend. Your eyes widen before they narrow into slits, and annoyance bubbles up within your chest. There on the phone display, proudly displayed as the caller ID is Dr. Jonathan Crane’s name. Your thumb hovers over the glass before you decide to pick up the call. As soon as you hear his voice, annoyance gives way to a little spark of hope. It also serves to sober you up a little. You barely have time to rasp out a “Hello?” before he speaks, sounding almost relieved that you picked up.

“I know that calling at such a late hour is quite unusual, but I’m glad I could get ahold of you before it was too late. Believe me, I was just as surprised as you most likely were. To be frank, I was so certain that you'd be joining us that I didn't even check the list to confirm it.” Papers rustle on his end of the line. He must still be in his office.

“Yeah, I… I was optimistic as well. Maybe… Maybe a little too much,” you admit softly, trying to concentrate on your words to avoid slurring. Crane hums, and you can’t tell if it’s in understanding or amusement. Reading him in person was already hard enough, but it’s nigh impossible over the phone.

“Tell you what, I believe you dodged a bullet. I clarified with the other staff members what the responsibilities of those interns will be, and that wouldn’t be right for you. Sorting files and sitting in on group therapy sessions at the Low Security Wing? No, that would be a waste of your time. You’re not that kind of person. Which is why I’m offering you something else.”

You lick your dry lips, still tasting the salt of your tears and some last traces of your lipstick. For a second, you’re unsure if you heard him correctly. “Something else?”

Crane glosses over your question, and in your mind you understand. This might be sensitive information. Drunk-You feels a little like a spy, keeping a secret from Tristan who would surely be mad that you’re even talking to the director of Arkham Asylum right now.

“Are you free to come in tomorrow? I know it’s quite late already –“

“Yes. Yes, I am,” you interrupt, feeling brave.

“Good. Then let’s meet in my office at… let’s say… 10 am? Is that alright?”

“I… uh, absolutely.” You quickly rummage through your purse, using a lip liner and an old receipt to haphazardly write down the appointment. “I’ll be there.”

“Perfect. Enjoy the rest of your night,” he says before he hangs up right after. You have no chance to say goodbye properly as the line clicks. Maybe it’s for the best. Knowing yourself, you would’ve wished him a great night as well with the addition of a plea to “get home safe”, which would’ve been a little much.

When you head back inside, you’re spotted by your worried friends and an indifferent Tristan, and dear GOD, the urge to boast and gloat has never been this strong before in your life. But you stay quiet as you put on a smile, avoiding to look at your boyfriend. You stay quiet as your group gets into a taxi, and stay quiet as you get back home and head straight for your bed. “You’re not that kind of person” was something you heard twice in one night. And only once did it feel right.

The pounding ache in your skull serves as your alarm clock the next day, tearing you out of a restless sleep only 10 minutes before you were supposed to get up anyway. A frown finds its way onto your features as you tiptoe out of the bedroom, catching a glimpse of the still sleeping Tristan on the couch in the living room. Neither of you have said a word to each other since the fight, and you'll be damned if you start the conversation about something he messed up in the first place.

You walk past him, feeling the cold surface of the floorboards beneath your feet as you head into the bathroom to try to make yourself look (and smell) presentable. The stench of alcohol leaves your tongue after brushing and rinsing with mouthwash thrice, and an overindulgence of body wash in the shower solves everything else. The final touch is a generous amount of concealer under your eyes, and you're surprised that you actually pass off as someone who doesn't have an awful hangover right now.

Getting dressed is another challenge, though. You can't exactly say that Drunk-You had the gift of foresight to pick a suitable outfit for your second meeting with Dr. Crane, so you dig through your closet to make yourself look presentable. Your fingers wander over the different fabrics, tracing cotton and polyester, wool and tweed as you grumble to yourself. Christ, this shouldn’t feel like rocket science.

This dreadful indecisiveness eats up a sizeable chunk of your time, and as you button up your blouse, you realize how late it suddenly is.

Breakfast consists of an aspirin and a large black coffee, and you make sure to let the coffee machine shriek as loudly as it wants just to spite Tristan a little more before you rush out of the apartment.

This time around, the drive to Arkham Asylum feels a little more familiar. You still depend heavily on your GPS, but you remember some of the turns and streets, and you don’t feel as tiny and insignificant as you did a week ago. You’re here with an explicit purpose now. Crane knows who you are and asked you to come back nevertheless.

Upon entering the still intimidating building, you stop by the reception again, spotting a familiar face. The receptionist seems just as surprised to see you, sharp eyes flicking down to a visitor's list that seems to confirm the validity of your return before she points a manicured nail towards the security check. You raise your hand to wave at her as you pass. She doesn't wave back. Oh well, you can't get them all.

The maze of a third-floor feels straightforward as well today, made possible by the ever-present red lines guiding you to your destination. This time, you're able to meet Crane in his office, and his request to enter can be heard through the door after the first knock.

Everything still looks the same as you enter, save for his now orderly desk. The chaos of files from back then is now a neat stack that the doctor rests his folded hands atop. You open your mouth to greet him, but Crane speaks first, completely catching you off-guard.

"The bunny is back. I'm glad to see it."

"Excuse me?" You blink at him before you look down at yourself. No, no bunny-themed clothes or accessories anywhere that might have given him the idea to call you that. You’re drawing a blank. Unsure whether this is part of a hazing process or an inside joke you must’ve missed, you lift your gaze back up to him. There’s a fleeting look of sardonic amusement on his face before he reels himself back in to elaborate.

“That's what you reminded me of the first time you came here. Glancing around, all skittish and frightened in the hallway…” he explains, already turning his head away from you to reach into one of his desk drawers and retrieve a folder. Your folder. “Please, close the door and take a seat. We’re already running low on time.”

After following his instructions, you find yourself sitting in the same chair from a week ago, foregoing the act of presenting yourself as a confident person. It’s no use, anyway. Crane already knows you’re desperate. It’s seeping out of your every pore, giving your worries a rich and sweet taste that the director of Arkham seems to indulge in for a moment. At least, that’s what you assume based on the expression in his cold eyes. You’re no fool. It’s basically a guarantee that his offer will bite you in the ass in some way or another.

“You must be a little put-off by this meeting. It’s not exactly orthodox to ask you to come in on a Sunday, but I read the list of this year’s interns just minutes before I called you last night. And that was purely by chance. Like I said, I was positive you’d be one of them.” Crane opens your folder, but his eyes stay on your face. “I have no idea what goes on in the heads of my staff sometimes, and now I’m fairly certain it can’t be much. But I don’t intend to waste a person like you.”

You shift in your seat, listening intently to every word that leaves his lips. It’s your lifeline. And he knows it.

“So, I am making you an offer. Just promise to listen first,” he says, and one of his eyebrows twitches upwards at the intensity in your gaze. “The position I’m offering you would be exclusive. It won’t be approved by anyone else but me and it technically didn’t exist before I made up my mind about it. I am offering you the position of intern assistant.”

Your eyes widen. Even in his darkroom of an office, it feels like the air just became lighter and the colors brighter. Crane lifts a finger, continuing his offer.

“No surface scratching – You’d be my shadow. Which means more work and responsibilities, but also more privileges, more insight, more knowledge. I’ll teach you what you need to know to get ahead in this field, and by the end of it, your fellow students will eat your dust. Your professors as well, if I’m being honest.”

Before you can even respond, he’s already reaching back into his desk, pulling out a massive stack of paperwork. And then the rushing begins. Crane checks his watch, clicking his tongue before he pushes the documents over to you, along with a fountain pen.

“How long would it take you to read this? I have to hand this in within the next 50 minutes to make sure you’re cleared in time. If you even accept my offer, that is. It’s a terrible time crunch, I know, but I’d really like to have you as a member of staff in one week.”

Tentatively, you reach out for the fountain pen, twirling it around in your fingers for a moment as you think about his offer. This hesitancy only causes him to lean forward and flip through the first pages, pointing out a handful of sections for only a few seconds each before he moves on.

“It’s the regular stuff, I guess. Everything I just told you in cumbersome wording. I really wish I could take my time and go through each page with you, but the circumstances just won’t allow it. If you have any questions, I’ll gladly answer all of them once you’ve signed.”

It’s shady as hell. A red flag that’s so glaringly obvious that it makes you wonder how Crane can keep a straight expression. But this is your one chance of getting a look behind the scenes. Your one chance of proving them wrong. Professor Campbell, Tristan, everyone who doubted you could do it. This could go horribly wrong. But it could also be your ticket into the big leagues. Shadowing the asylum’s director would be a privilege that no one else gets. A chance to make connections and grow. Not to mention that your résumé would look incredible with Crane’s recommendation attached to it.

Hell, he may be exploiting you, but who says you can’t exploit him right back? It’s your good right to milk this opportunity as much as you can.

Meanwhile, the psychiatrist continues to ramble on, rattling off half-apologies and made-up reasons why you have to sign as quickly as possible once he reaches the last page of the contract. The page where you have to place your signature on the intended line. Both of you are surprised by how quickly you sign it.

As you place the cap back onto the fountain pen, it feels like the air has been sucked out of the room, creating a vacuum in which both of you seem to grapple with the reality that you’d be stuck to Dr. Crane’s side for a few months, following every step and instruction of his. You manage to break the silence first.

“There. I have questions now.”

“Of course. I already expected as much,” Crane says as he pulls the freshly signed contract back to his side of the desk, staring down at your signature as if he’s half expecting it to jump off the paper. But then he places the thick document back into the drawer it came from, letting out a quiet breath. You notice that he seems significantly more at ease now, movements once again patient and effortlessly measured, and your brows furrow a little as you speak.

“What’s my hourly rate?”

“There’s nothing of the sort, I’m afraid.” Your blood runs cold at his nonchalance, and your lips part to protest when he cuts you off. “You will be working the same hours as me. And since my overtime and schedule is a little unpredictable at times, we will just have to see. You will be paid at the end of the month, however. The amount will depend on how much we actually did.”

“I… alright.” You bite your tongue, even though your displeasure is obvious. Nevertheless, you proceed with your second question. “You mentioned more responsibilities. I guess there’s a catch, then? Or a few?”

Crane chuckles, getting up from his chair to walk over to a cabinet in search of something specific. He speaks to you from over his shoulder.

“Right to the point. Wonderful. But yes, there are a few peculiarities that come with the position. Starting with – You’re not afraid of needles, are you?”

He closes the cabinet, returning to the desk with a little tray containing various items.

“We’ll start with a mandatory blood sample. I hope this isn’t a problem. I just need to know that my assistant is in peak condition. And didn’t smoke anything on the way here.”

You want to scoff, but swallow the sound at the last second. The fact that you took offense to his unspoken accusation is written across your face, and Crane doesn’t comment any further on it as he sets the tray down on the desk and pulls his chair closer to yours.

“I’m fine with needles,” you murmur, already pulling up your sleeve.

“No trypanophobia? A shame,” Crane chuckles, sitting down again before he reaches out for your arm. Your doubts whether he’s even qualified to do this as a psychiatrist vanish the moment his hands come in contact with your skin. He’s cold. Almost uncomfortably cold as his fingers brush over the bend of your elbow in search of a suitable vein. Once he’s successful, he picks a tourniquet from the tray of equipment and fastens it around your upper arm. His movements seem too perfect to be experienced. As if he’s a green med student working with the textbook perched on his lap. As if he’d burst into flame if he did something wrong.

“So, about the catch,” he continues, grabbing a bottle of disinfectant and spraying it over the spot he picked on your arm. Surprisingly, the liquid isn’t much colder than his touch. “Since you’ll be my shadow, you’re also required to accompany me to appointments outside of Arkham. Conferences, meetings… so on and so forth. I also have some upcoming court dates within the next few months. Obviously, I’m not the defendant. I’m just an advisor.”

You nod along to his words, eyes following his hands as he rubs disinfectant into his own skin before he pulls on a pair of blue nitrile gloves. Crane stretches the material over his hands until it’s taut, making it squeak before he shifts closer until his knees touch yours. At this proximity, you can smell his cologne, and the combination throws you off a little. It’s mainly sandalwood and bergamot, but there’s a hint of something else you can’t quite grasp. Something chemical, almost acidic. The psychiatrist continues to speak, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Another catch is that there’s a required dress code for you. As my assistant, you need to always look presentable. You can’t be running around looking like a hobo since your actions and appearance will reflect on me as well. And I’d rather not be associated with… any of those cheap trends that seem to be popular with the bottom of the barrel nowadays. You’ll have to give me your clothing size so I can prepare a new wardrobe for you. It’ll just save us time in the long run.”

Your brows furrow, but his request seems reasonable. “Alright. I suppose that’s fair,” you say, watching closely as he runs his thumb over the bend of your elbow. Then, he presses down to anchor the vein. It’s right in this moment when he decides to drop another bombshell.

“Which brings me to probably the biggest drawback in all of this.”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his. He’s already looking at your face, watching for the slightest twitch in your expression.

“You’ll have to stay at my place for the duration of your internship.”

What follows is a solid minute of deafening silence. Your pulse races, thumping softly against the pad of Crane’s thumb. He can tell you’re displeased, and he frowns a little, surprisingly empathetic.

“What?” you manage to croak out, swallowing dryly.

“Believe me, I spent all night trying to come up with a better solution. Sometimes, I get emergency calls in the middle of the night and it’s vital that you’re there with me. Those cases are the real deal. They’re raw and unfiltered, often much more than incidents that happen during the day. And as you told me during your interview, you live quite far away from here.”

You nod stiffly, gaze dropping to where he’s still pressing his thumb down on your arm. Crane can see and feel how uneasy this condition makes you, and he tries to lessen the blow.

“You’ll have your own bathroom and bedroom, of course. We will only share the kitchen and living room. And the laundry room, but I suppose that is the least of your worries. I won’t bother you.”

When he sees that you’re still not too happy, he quickly adds, “You can also tell me to be quiet whenever I mention work after hours.”

This at least gets a reaction from you. You force yourself to crack a smile, meeting his eyes once more.

“Okay. I’ll hold you to it.”

“Perfect.” The psychiatrist nods, wasting no time uncapping a butterfly needle and puncturing your skin with it. The sudden sting almost makes you flinch, but his grip suddenly is so tight that you don’t get any wiggle room. You watch as your blood travels down through the attached tube, filling up a small sample bottle and shortly after, a second one.

“You’re pretty brave for a bunny,” he jokes, setting your blood samples down on the tray before he releases the tourniquet and reaches for some gauze. His eyes stay on yours the entire time as he pulls out the needle and presses the gauze against your arm, soaking up your discomfort in a way that only fascinated scientists are capable of.

“Press down.”

You mutter a “sure” as you obey his instruction, relieved when he finally turns away from you to discard the needle and his gloves. The final touch is a little band-aid over the tiny puncture wound, and you keep your hand over it as Crane pushes his chair back into its rightful place and takes a seat once more. He studies one of the full sample tubes as he speaks up again.

“You must be a little overwhelmed right now. Which is understandable, don’t get me wrong. But I’d like for you to go home and start packing your most important belongings. I’ll text you my address and will take care of the rest. You just need to show up next Sunday and get started on Monday.”

“Do I need to bring anything in specific? Like… a notebook or something?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “You’ll get your stationery and other supplies here. I’ll make sure to try to organize you a separate desk. Maybe even one of the more comfortable office chairs. But I can’t really promise any luxuries.”

“I know this establishment oftentimes seems like a revolving door when it comes to staff applying and quitting. But I don't want that with you.” Crane tears his eyes away from your blood sample, giving you his undivided attention again. “There won't be an easy way out, however. Either you prove yourself and do your job until the end of your internship, or else there will be no certificate and you'll have to try your luck elsewhere. And I hate to worry you, but getting a job without one of my letters of recommendation might be a little tricky. But I assure you, that's the absolute worst-case scenario."

You let out a little breath and nod, straightening in your chair. Your mind is already racing, spinning around in a colorful variety that ranges from dread to genuine excitement. The biggest problem, however, is that you will have to break the news to your boyfriend. The thought makes you a little nauseous, but if Crane notices it, he’s generous enough not to mention it.

Your goodbyes are brief, and you’re still holding your hand over the band aid as you leave the building and reach your car. Dark clouds are brewing overhead, announcing one of Gotham’s common rainy afternoons, and it already smells earthy with a hint of wet concrete.

The drive home doesn’t take as much time as you would’ve liked, even though you’re stopped plenty of times by red lights or passing cop cars with their sirens turned on. No, you reach the apartment much too soon, climbing the stairs with a heavy heart and sweaty palms. The band aid feels like it’s burning a hole into your flesh, hidden away underneath your sleeve. A secret hint of the meeting with Crane. Your key hovers in front of the lock on your front door as you freeze. Telling Tristan about the internship would mean telling him about your impending new living arrangements. Yes, you’d get the satisfaction of proving him wrong about your capabilities, but he’d blow up about everything else. Even worse, what if he reports the conditions of your internship? What if he ruins everything before it has even begun?

Another big fight doesn’t fit into your schedule either. Neither does a breakup. Taking a breath, you unlock the door and step into the apartment, almost immediately meeting Tristan in the hallway. Time freezes for a moment, and then you say the first thing that comes to mind.

“I need to pack. They want me back at Potomac.”

It’s okay, right? It’s no big deal. After all, it’s just another little white lie to let him keep his peace of mind.

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#cillian murphy x reader #jonathan crane x reader #cillian murphy #jonathan crane x y/n #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane #nolanverse #.moth writes

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mimicmimikyuwrites · 3 months ago

Text

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.

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