#scarecrow fanfiction

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

warnings: swearing, mention of scarecrows fear serum

tags: @illiana-mystery, @eclecticwildflowers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[futurefamousdeadmusician]

Just Found Out Jonathan Crane is a Scorpio

I wasn't too familiar with Scorpio men so I googled some traits and this is... well...

Article

[adhdnursegoat]

Arkham Shadows

cw: kissing

word count: 2.4k

The Arkham Botanical Gardens are alive with music and laughter, every corner filled with both silly and sexy costumes and guests wrapped up in the festive air of the evening. The asylum’s Halloween party is the one time where co-workers can mingle and actually have fun. You feel sorry for the ones who still have to work the units.

Tonight, you and Jonathan have managed to slip away from your usual responsibilities, indulging in a rare moment of fun. The lights are dim, the room awash with hues of purple and orange, casting eerie shadows that give the place an ethereal, almost otherworldly vibe. Ghostly figures dance in the flickering light, their laughter mingling with the haunting melodies that float through the air, wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

People mill about in costumes—cosplayers sporting intricate armor, ghouls with ghostly pallor, and classic monsters lurching through the throngs. But Jonathan? He stands out, not for his flamboyance, but for the understated way he chooses to dress. He has kept it simple, too simple, and it drives you absolutely wild.

He is beside you in his usual brown, fraying attire, the fabric worn yet somehow fitting him perfectly. Every button is perfectly in place, his bolo tie neatly knotted against the crisp white of his shirt. The only hint of “costume” he’s indulged in tonight are a pair of fangs, plastic yet sharp, fitted snugly to his canines. They glimmer, catching the dim light, sharp and gleaming like the wicked secrets he harbors. They peek out whenever he parts his lips, the bone color blending seamlessly with his own, giving him a predatory edge that sends a thrill down your spine.

His icy blue eyes gleam behind his silver glasses, their calculating gaze scanning the room, amused yet keenly aware of everything around him. It’s an expression that holds both fascination and disdain, as if he’s surveying a world that both amuses and bores him. But, your focus is solely on him, the way he stands so composed and in control, seemingly unaffected by the chaos around him.

“Jonathan,” you rasp, unable to keep your gaze off of him, your voice barely rising above the din of the party. “You look…”

“Underwhelming, I know,” he interjects, his voice low and droll, though the hint of a smirk tugs at his lips, making your heart race. He adjusts his glasses, glancing around the crowded lounge, as if he’s assessing potential threats��or opportunities. “But you know I don’t concern myself with these frivolous displays.”

“Oh, I know,” you say, your tone teasing as you inch closer to him, brushing your hand against his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the fraying fabric. “But that’s not what I was going to say…” Your voice drops lower, filled with mischief, as you bite your lip, your eyes sweeping over his form, drinking in every detail. The way he stands, so effortlessly composed, ignites a fire within you that you struggle to contain. And those fangs… an enticing accessory that has your heart racing and your pulse quickening.

Jonathan cocks an eyebrow, turning to face you completely, intrigued by the shift in your demeanor. “What were you going to say, then?” he prompts, his voice a smooth drawl that sends shivers of anticipation through you. His gaze is fixed on you, and it’s impossible not to notice the way his pupils dilate ever so slightly, the sharp intelligence in his eyes softening, just for you.

“That you look devastatingly sexy,” you murmur, your words dripping with playful sincerity. You tilt your head, a wicked grin tugging at the corners of your lips, your voice low and teasing. “And that I want to jump your bones.”

The effect is immediate. Jonathan blinks, momentarily caught off guard by your boldness, his icy blue gaze widening ever so slightly. He quickly recovers, though, his expression smoothing into something more composed as he scoffs softly, rolling his eyes in an attempt to maintain control. “How brazen of you,” he chides, his tone laced with a faint hint of condescension, though it lacks any real venom.

“You know I am,” you purr, taking a step closer, your body brushing against his. The contact is brief but electric, and you don’t miss the way his posture shifts, how he stiffens ever so slightly at the sensation. His breath hitches—just for a moment—but you notice, and it sends a thrill through you. You’re close enough now to feel the heat radiating off of him, the subtle scent of his cologne mingling with the spice of the evening’s atmosphere. “But that’s what you love about me, isn’t it?” you continue, your voice silky, teasing. “How forward I am.”

You don’t give him a chance to respond. Instead, you reach up, your fingers sliding over the rough fabric of his collar, trailing lightly against the fraying edges. Jonathan remains still, a statue of composure, but you can feel the tension coiling within him, the barely contained energy simmering beneath the surface. His eyes darken, the amusement fading slightly as he watches you with a newfound intensity, his focus entirely on you.

Slowly, deliberately, you pull him down toward you, your hands gently guiding him until his face hovers inches above yours. His breath is warm against your skin, carrying the faintest notes of coffee. You can see the flicker of his eyes, the way his gaze drops momentarily to your lips before darting back up to meet your own.

An amused smirk quirks at the corners of his mouth, and you catch the glint of his fangs in the dim light of the lounge, sharp and menacing, yet somehow alluring. It makes your pulse quicken, your heart racing as you lean in just a little closer, teasing him with the promise of contact.

“Are you planning to bite me, Doctor Crane?” you tease, your voice a sultry whisper. The question hangs in the air, laced with playful curiosity, your eyebrow arching as you meet his gaze with a challenge. There’s something about the way he’s watching you now, something dangerous lurking beneath the surface, and it sends a delicious shiver down your spine.

A low chuckle escapes him, the sound dark and rich, filled with a dangerous allure that makes your breath catch. “Not unless you ask me to,” he replies, his voice a smooth, velvet purr that drips with amusement—and something else, something more predatory. His head tilts slightly, his gaze flickering with a brief moment of consideration, as though he’s actually entertaining the idea.

You can feel the tension ratcheting up between you, the space between your bodies crackling with anticipation. His words send a thrill of excitement racing through you, and you find yourself leaning in, emboldened by the challenge in his tone. There’s a glint in his eyes now, a hint of hunger lurking behind his composed facade, and it’s enough to make you wonder just how far you can push him.

“Though,” he adds after a pause, his voice dropping lower, more intimate as his lips hover dangerously close to yours, “you do seem rather eager tonight.”

Jonathan's eyes darken, the usual cold calculation replaced by a smoldering hunger that pulls you in like gravity. His lips hover over yours, teasing, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath but still too far to claim what you want.

“I can’t help it,” you murmur, tugging on the lapels of his suit to pull him closer, your voice coming out in a breathy whisper. “You’re just impossible to resist.”

He hums softly in approval, the sound reverberating through him and into you, low and rich like the rumble of a storm.

Then he moves.

Jonathan's descent is agonizingly slow, his lips finally brushing yours in a kiss that feels inevitable, like a match striking after the flame has been teased for far too long. The softness of his lips surprises you, but it’s the pressure, the control behind the kiss, that steals your breath. His hands slide up, cradling your face with an intensity that makes your skin burn where he touches you, his fingers weaving into your hair. He doesn’t hold you too tightly, not yet—it’s a possessive touch that leaves you trembling, a promise of what’s to come.

His kiss is maddening. Each movement is precise, deliberate, as though he’s testing how far he can push you, how much you’ll give. His lips press against yours with a measured force, retreating just as you lean in for more. It’s a dance, one he orchestrates with expert precision, letting the tension coil tighter and tighter between you until it’s nearly unbearable. Jonathan Crane is in control, and he knows it.

But so do you.

Your fingers cling to the fabric of his suit, desperate for something solid as the world around you blurs. The room falls away, the crowd, the music, all fading into the background. You’re dimly aware that anyone could be watching, that people might be staring, but the thought only fuels the fire in your belly. Let them watch. Let them see how completely you’ve fallen under his spell.

Sensing your eagerness, Jonathan presses closer, the hard planes of his body flush against yours. His kiss deepens, a shift that sends heat surging through your veins, pooling low in your stomach. His tongue teases the seam of your lips, a fleeting, feather-light touch that has you gasping, wanting more. And then, just as you open for him, there’s the faintest graze of his fangs against your bottom lip.

The sensation is so quick, so light, you almost miss it—but it’s enough to send a shock of adrenaline through you. A shiver races down your spine as you realize he’s toying with you, testing your limits, and the thrill of danger with desire is enough to leave you breathless.

Jonathan pulls back just as you’re leaning in for more, leaving you teetering on the edge. His hands slide down the length of your spine, tracing each vertebra with deliberate care, and it feels as though he’s mapping your body, learning every inch of you in this brief, stolen moment. His chest heaves against yours, both of you breathing heavily, the air between you thick and hot.

He’s flushed now, a rare sight, his normally pale cheeks tinged with color, but it’s his eyes that betray him the most. They’re dark, clouded with a fierce craving that words can’t fully capture. It’s a look that sends a rush of heat straight through you, making you dizzy with anticipation.

But then his lips ghost over yours again, barely touching, and he rasps, his voice low and rough, vibrating against your mouth, “We’re in public, my dear,” he warns, his breath warm and tantalizing. “And I’m supposed to be playing nice.”

“Oh, you’re plenty nice,” you purr, letting your lips ghost along the edge of his sharp jawline before nipping at the skin—just enough to make him tense, a subtle catch in his breath betraying his composure. You feel his pulse quicken beneath your lips, and it makes your grin widen as you pull back ever so slightly to meet his eyes. “But later tonight… maybe I want to feel a little scared.”

The sound that escapes him is a low, guttural groan that sends a delicious thrill through your body. His hands move with purpose, sliding down to your lower back, his fingers pressing into your skin as if he can’t pull you close enough. The hard lines of his body mold against yours, and for a moment, you feel as though you’ve stolen the breath from his lungs. "You’re insatiable," he growls softly, the tight restraint in his voice fraying with each second that passes.

“And you’re irresistible,” you counter with a wicked grin, claiming his lips again in a kiss that is hotter, more demanding, your desire crashing over the both of you like a wave. The kiss deepens, his hunger matching yours now, the flicker of control he’s held onto slowly unraveling as his hands roam your body, fingers tracing over the curves of your hips and waist.

The world around you blurs—the music, the laughter, the crowd—none of it exists anymore. There’s only him. Jonathan Crane, the man who thrives on fear, is now entirely in your grasp, his lips fervent and possessive and always in control as they move against yours.

You break the kiss, gasping for air, but Jonathan is relentless. His lips trail down your neck, leaving a searing path in their wake. The warmth of his breath fans over your skin as he presses open-mouthed kisses against the sensitive flesh, igniting sparks wherever he touches. The heat builds with every graze of his lips, and when his teeth scrape lightly over your pulse point, you can’t help the shiver that races down your spine, your entire body attuned to the electric sensation.

You tug at his suit jacket, pulling him impossibly closer, savoring the way his breath hitches at your touch. The tension between you feels like it could snap at any moment, and the thrill of it—the dark, heady undercurrent of danger—only makes you want him more.

“You’re going to regret this,” he murmurs against your neck, his voice rough and thick with desire. There’s an unmistakable edge in his words, something dark and teasing that makes your stomach twist with anticipation. It’s not a warning—it’s a promise of what he’s capable of, a glimpse of the control he’s about to wield. The idea of it—of him unraveling you—sets your pulse racing even faster beneath his mouth.

“How do you know?” you challenge, breathless and daring, nails lightly scratching down the front of his chest, just enough to make him feel your defiance. The sensation pulls a deep, satisfied growl from him, his breath hot against your skin.

Jonathan’s hands snap to your wrists, his grip yanking you close, ensuing you don’t move. He holds you firmly in place against his chest, a commanding gesture that sends a wave of heat crashing through you. His touch is rough yet careful, as if reminding you of who holds the power here. A low, dark laugh escapes him, vibrating through the space between you as he looms over you. Those fangs of his—sharp and glinting under the purple glow of the lights—catch your gaze, and the longer you stare, the more you wonder if they’re really fake.

“Oh, I’ll make sure of it.”

[darkcranefiction]

Injected Nightmares

FOR: JONATHAN CRANE X RAEDER INSERT

PART: ONE

WARNING: MENTAL DISORDERS, NON-CONSENTIAL SMUT, TWISTED STUFF, MEDICAL PLAY

NOTE: DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T READ IT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

The journey to Akram Asylum felt like a descent into darkness, as if the heavy clouds above threatened to envelop you entirely. In the dimming light, the trees surrounding the asylum loomed menacingly, their branches twisting together like the tendrils of some ancient creature. Your car slowly navigated the narrow road, its wheels crunching over the gravel that lined the way.

As you approached the asylum, the oppressive atmosphere seemed to become even more palpable.

The large iron gates creaked open before you, revealing the stark, ominous facade of the building itself. The windows were barred, the bricks were discolored and weathered, as though they had witnessed countless horrors over the years. The cold, unforgiving wind gusted through the courtyard, carrying with it the faint cries of the patients trapped within the walls.

The sound of your knock on the door reverberated through the silent hallways, leaving you feeling uneasy.

Dr. Jonathan Crane emerged from the shadows, his gaze assessing you up and down, seemingly taking note of every small detail about you. With a firm nod, he led you towards the dimly lit room where your intake examination would take place. You followed him hesitantly, wondering what secrets lay hidden behind his piercing eyes.

Inside the room, you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. The only source of light came from a single lamp near the examination table, casting eerie shadows across the chamber.

The room smelled musty, as though dampness had permeated the very fabric of the space. As Dr. Crane began his examination, he instructed you to undress completely, a chill running down your spine at the thought of revealing yourself in such a dark and dismal setting.

With trembling hands, you removed your clothes, stepping onto the cold metal surface of the examination table. His eyes roamed over your body, and a sinister smile formed on his lips.

He first began to talk about your thoughts, your dreams and everything surrounding your mental state which, to you, seemed odd, considering that you were naked.

His eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief as he asked questions that made you feel both exposed and vulnerable.

"What do you think of when you close your eyes at night?" he asked, leaning closer to you.

Your heart raced, and your cheeks burned with embarrassment. "I... I don't know," you stammered, looking away. "Please, Doctor, just get on with the examination."

He merely chuckled, a low rumble in his throat that sent shivers down your spine.

"Isn't it strange how our minds can wander so far when we're left alone with our thoughts? It's fascinating, really."

You shifted uncomfortably on the table, unable to find a response. It was almost as if his eyes could see right through you, as if he knew exactly what thoughts lurked beneath the surface.

"Any thoughts of self-harm?" he probed further, his tone almost conspiratorial. "And please, be honest now. It's safe here."

You shook your head, your heart racing in your chest.

"No, nothing like that." He nodded, scribbling something down on his clipboard. 

"Any thoughts of harming others?" Dr. Crane continued, his question causing your brow to furrow.

"No, not intentionally," you replied, attempting to maintain eye contact. "But why do you ask?"

He smiled cryptically, reaching for a fresh sheet of paper. "It's standard procedure, my dear. We must understand all aspects of your mind before we can help you fully."

You swallowed hard, still unsure of whether to trust him or not. "So, no harmful thoughts or urges to hurt anyone else?" he pressed, his voice lowering slightly.

"It's crucial for us to explore these aspects, especially in a facility like this one."

You shifted nervously on the table, your heart pounding against your ribcage. "I guess..."

"Don't worry, my dear," he reassured you with a warm, comforting smile. "It's just a part of the process."

The room fell silent once again, the only sounds being the ticking of the clock on the wall and the soft rustling of papers as Dr. Crane jotted down notes on his clipboard.

"We will have to explore this further, to ensure your safety and the safety of others here. But fear not, my dear, it's simply for understanding your psyche better."

A knot formed in your stomach, but you couldn't bring yourself to argue with him. Instead, you took a deep breath and tried to remain composed, listening intently as he continued speaking.

"Now, let's move on to the physical examination."

Dr. Crane's voice broke the silence, drawing your attention back to him. His eyes held a predatory gleam, and his lips curved into a wicked grin.

"Any pains anywhere?" he then asked as he began to turn your neck, left to right, while you responded with an anxious "no".

"Good, now open your mouth for me. Open wide" he instructed and, after you complied with his request, he inspected your teeth, your tongue, and your ears, observing everything with an intensity that seemed almost predatory.

He then moved on to your breasts, placing a cold stethoscope against your chest to listen to your heartbeat before removing it again and taking some notes.

"I will examine your breasts next," he announced, his voice resonating with authority.

You couldn't help but shiver slightly, your eyes growing wide as you looked at him.

"There's no need to be frightened, my dear," he assured you kindly. "This is just another part of the examination process."

Swallowing hard, you nodded slowly, forcing yourself to relax as he proceeded with the examination.

The cool fingers of Dr. Crane caressed your skin, moving delicately over your body. As he reached your breasts, his touch became more deliberate and forceful. 

"This hurts, doctor." You cried out, feeling a sudden surge of pain as his fingertips dug deeper into your flesh.

"Just bear with it," he replied, his voice cold and distant. "I need to examine you thoroughly."

You bit your lip, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as he expertly maneuvered his fingers around your most sensitive areas. It felt like he was searching for something hidden beneath your skin, and you had no choice but to endure the pain.

His relentless exploration left you trembling with anxiety, and you found yourself yearning for the moment when he would finally release you from his grasp.

"All seems well" he eventually acknowledged before retrieving some rubber gloves from the box next to the examination table. His movements were calculated, precise, each action serving a purpose.

"So lets carry on, shall we?" he then said before walking over to the drawer beside the examination table, rummaging through it until he found what he was searching for. Pulling out a jar of lubricant, he carefully placed it on the table in front of you. 

You swallowed, feeling a mixture of confusion and dread as you glanced between him and the jar.

"Dr. Crane, may I ask what this is for?" Your voice wavered, betraying your unease.

He smiled slyly, his eyes alight with mischief. "Oh, my dear, don't worry. It's merely to facilitate a thorough examination." He proceeded to open the jar, revealing a silky gel inside. "This will make things much more comfortable for you during your vaginal and rectal examinations," he explained, his eyes holding a mischievous glint.

"Please place your feet on the footrests now and allow your knees to fall open," he instructed.

Your heart thumped erratically in your chest as you complied, feeling vulnerable and exposed under his watchful gaze.

As you obeyed his orders, he positioned himself between your legs and used a lamp to shine some light towards your intimate region.

He then proceeded to coat his latex covered fingers generously with the slippery gel. The cool substance slid effortlessly over his fingers, giving them a wet, shiny sheen.

"Relax, my dear," he cooed, leaning in closer, his breath brushing against your ear. "This will only take a moment."

Despite his words, you felt anything but relaxed. In fact, your muscles tensed involuntarily, as if anticipating the worst.

As his fingers dipped inside you, penetrating your virgin core, your face contorted in pain. "That hurts, doctor!" you gasped, struggling to contain your tears.

Dr. Crane continued his inspection, his expression unchanged, his voice cold and detached. "I assure you, it's perfectly normal. Many women experience discomfort during their first pelvic examination," Dr. Crane reassured you, his voice calm and steady. "It's only natural, considering the sensitivity of the area."

You forced yourself to breathe deeply, attempting to control the tears streaming down your cheeks. "Doctor, please, it hurts so much," you whimpered, your voice breaking with emotion.

Dr. Crane continued to work diligently, unphased by your pleas. "Just try to relax, my dear. It'll go quicker if you don't fight it," Dr. Crane coaxed, his fingers expertly exploring your inner depths.

You bit your lip, trying desperately to follow his advice despite the intense pain and humiliation. Your eyes filled with tears, but you remained steadfast, determined not to give in to your agony.

As he finally withdrew his finger from you, you noticed some blood on its tip.

"Have you ever had intercourse?" he then asked as he cleaned his hands, seemingly unaffected by the discomfort he had caused you.

"No," you replied, your voice strained from the pain. "I haven't had sex with anyone."

Dr. Crane regarded you with a keen interest, his eyes assessing you like a prize specimen. "Very well, I will not use a speculum in your vagina then. Your hymen still appears to be intact, hence the bleeding," he observed before, without warning, he pulled off his gloves and reached for a new set. As he donned them, you found yourself growing increasingly anxious, fearing what was to come next.

Without hesitation, he picked up a rectal speculum from the nearby tray and prepared it for use. "Please lie down on your side now, facing away from me," he instructed, his voice devoid of empathy.

You did as he said, your legs bent at the knees and your bottom raised toward the sky. Your heart raced as you awaited his next move, terrified of what might come next.

"Please, Dr. Crane, don't do this to me," you pleaded, your voice laced with desperation.

Dr. Crane regarded you with a smirk, his eyes full of amusement. "Don't worry, my dear," he reassured you. "It will only hurt momentarily," he told you before reaching for the cold jelly again.

This time, however, instead of applying it to his own gloved fingers, he carefully massaged it onto your anus.

You felt your body tensing up even more, instinctively fighting against the invasion of his fingers. The unfamiliar sensation was excruciating, yet you remained stoic, refusing to cry out or show weakness.

"Relax, my dear," he repeated, his voice remaining as unemotional as ever. "I assure you, this won't last long."

Despite his attempts to soothe you, you could feel your insides clenching tightly as he placed the speculum at the entrance to your rectum.

Tears welled up in your eyes once more, threatening to spill over as he carefully inserted the device into your tight anus. You closed your eyes, gritting your teeth, willing yourself to maintain composure. With a firm push, the metal device disappeared inside you.

"I will now adjust the width of the speculum so that I can examine your rectum," Dr. Crane informed you coolly.

Gripping the handles, he started to widen the device, his movements smooth and precise.

A wave of panic coursed through you as you struggled to remain composed. This was nothing short of torture, and you prayed that it would soon be over.

Sweat formed on your brow, beading and dripping down your temple.

Your heart raced as you felt the invasive device stretching your rectum, the unbearable pressure making you want to scream out in pain.

Dr Crane then used his finger to glide inside your anus, testing its reaction to his touch.

As he continued his examination, the burning sensation intensified, leaving you feeling utterly violated and helpless.

Every fiber of your being ached, begging for relief, but you maintained your composure, unwilling to let him see how deeply his actions affected you.

Finally, Dr. Crane removed the speculum, leaving you feeling utterly exposed and defeated.

Your eyes darted towards him, searching for any hint of remorse or regret on his face.

"All done, my dear," Dr. Crane finally announced, pulling off his gloves and tossing them into the trash bin. "Thank you for your cooperation."

You rose slowly from the examination table, feeling exhausted and drained. Your face flushed with shame and embarrassment; you could barely muster enough strength to leave the room.

Dr. Crane followed closely behind, leading you to the exit. "Please return tomorrow morning for further tests," he commanded, his tone implying that you had no choice in the matter.

[nicsnort]

The Bookworm and the Beast [part 5]

A dark Scarecrow/Fem!OC romance fanfic

Intro [with A03 link] First Previous

Isabel was warm and comfortable. She sat up stretching as she did so, she felt great, though she did have a disturbing dream.

"So you are finally awake." Isabel froze her muscles tensing up. It hadn't been a dream. Slowly she opened her eyes and looked at the man in the chair across from her. His fingers were steepled under his chin and his ice-blue eyes were staring at her, he wasn't wearing the mask and, in the light, there was no doubt who he was.

"Mr. Irving…Stephen…why?"

"Stephen Irving does not exist," the man said leaning forward in his chair, "I am Dr. Jonathan Crane. As for why…I wanted to see what you were like before I took you, also I do love books and you gave such a perfect way in, I could not resist."

"I see…will the check go through?"

"You are a thousand miles from home and you are still concerned about your library, interesting. No, the check will not go through."

"Excellent, I'm being held hostage and my library is going to fail, anything else?"

"I believe I ran over your cat."

"I don't have a cat."

"Then, no."

Isabel stared at the wall in front of her, her mind slowly processing what he had said. Was that supposed to be some kind of joke? The corner of her mouth twitched and before she could stop herself she was laughing. It was a burst of desperate laughter, tears began to fall from her eyes as she laughed and laughed. He didn't move while she suffered her small breakdown, he just watched her, legs crossed, amusement dancing behind his eyes. Eventually, Isabel calmed herself and wiped away the tears streaks from her face.

She looked at Stephen—no—Jonathan Crane her mind in conflict trying to reconcile how the sweet Mr. Irving had turned out to be this cruel monster. He said he wanted to keep in contact, was this what he meant? Kidnapping her or was he really going to keep in contact?

"If I hadn't asked to see your face…you said…as Stephen, that you wanted to keep in contact if I didn't find out that, you know…what…?" Isabel trailed off wrapping her arms defensively around herself. Crane's smile was twisted and his eyes sparked with cruelty.

"I was going to keep in contact of course. That would have been such a fun game, comforting you after your ordeal, leading you on without you knowing who I was. It would have been quite amusing."

Isabel's teeth clenched together. "Hilarious."

Crane laughed, "Being mad at something that did not happen is a waste if you are going to be mad at me then at least do it for something I have done." Isabel was unsure of what to say. She rubbed her arms and looked away from Crane who was staring her down intensely.

"So," Crane said uncrossing his legs dramatically and standing after a minute of silence. "What am I going to do with you?" Isabel rubbed her arms again and shifted on the couch uncomfortably. "No comment? Well, I guess I will just lock you back in the ro—"

"No!" Isabel shouted in panic. "Please, no. I'm going insane in that room, please Ste—Dr. Crane."

"Oh?" Crane said raising an eyebrow. "Going insane? Well if that's the case…beg."

"What?" Isabel asked unbelievingly, looking up at Crane.

"Beg. If you do not want to be locked up again, get on your knees and beg." Crane's eyes burrowed into hers they were cold, hard, and serious. Isabel slid off the couch and onto her knees. She looked down at Crane's feet unable to keep looking him in the eyes.

"P-please," she near whispered.

"Louder."

"Please."

"Please, what?"

"Please, don't lock me up again."

"You do not sound very convincing," Dr. Crane said taking a set of keys from his pocket and rattling them menacingly.

"No!" Isabel cried panicking again, "Please, Dr. Crane, no, don't, don't, please…" She trailed off as tears began pouring from her eyes.

"Excellent," Crane declared turning on his heels and sitting back in the chair. Isabel looked up at him rubbing away the tears with the back of her hand. "You may sit."

Her heart pounding in her chest Isabel slid back up onto the couch. In the chair, Crane was smirking. "I believe these will make suitable chambers for you now," he said gesturing around the room. "Bedroom, bathroom, and living room that should be enough, the door to the hall will still be locked but you will have free range to move between the rooms."

"Th-thank you," Isabel said smiling lightly in relief.

"I should find some use for you though," Crane tapped the tips of his fingers against the arm of the chair. "Ah, I know books."

Isabel perked up at that blessed word and she stared at Crane like a dog at a treat in its owner's hand. The constant observer Crane was he noticed Isabel's attentiveness and smirked.

"I have quite a few old books, a lot of them have fallen into disrepair over the years, usually I would fix them myself but my experiments have kept me too busy. You will repair the books for me."

"I can do that." Isabel tried to hide her elation at being allowed access to books but it shone through her eyes.

"Excellent." Crane looked down in his wristwatch. "Time does fly; well I must get back to my research." He stood stretching slightly.

"Oh yes, I nearly forgot." Bending over Crane took something from a bag by his chair. "Here." He tossed something onto the cushion next to her. Isabel looked over as Crane began to walk away. It was a change of clothes.

"Thank you, Dr. Crane." Isabel heard Crane's footsteps cease for a few seconds before he 'tch'-ed in disgust and left, locking the door behind him.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Thank you," Jonathan muttered as he locked the door. "Thank you?"

That idiotic girl, what was she doing thanking him? He had kidnapped her, locked her away, and threatened her and her father. Thank you should be the last two words to cross her lips. That was interesting though. Jonathan slipped his press book out of his breast pocket and scribbled a note inside. Tucking the notebook away he made the short journey back to the apartment he was currently inhabiting.

It was the same apartment he had taken Isabel for her first meal and it was where he had allowed her to shower. His private quarters, where he didn't perform any experiments and where Batman had never found him. Sure he might have been pressing his luck bringing Isabel here but seeing how he had paid off every vagrant in a twenty-block radius by supplying them with drugs he was confident he was in no danger of being ratted out. Opening the apartment door Jonathan readied himself for an afternoon of chemical experimentation, after a nice cup of coffee of course. As he locked the door behind him though, Jonathan realized that the smell of roasting coffee beans was already in the air. There were only a few people idiotic enough to break into his sanctuary: Joker, Harley Quinn, the Mad Hatter, and…

"Riddler."

"Hey, Jon, I made coffee."

Jonathan sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, he did not need this right now. "What do you want, Edward?"

"Want? Can I not just come to visit?" Edward asked sarcastically handing Jonathan a cup of black coffee.

"No, you cannot."

"Fine, fine, it's just that I heard something very interesting the other day..." Edward took a sip of his coffee prolonging the time he was annoying Jonathan. "…that you have a house guest, a person you aren't experimenting on, and this person is a female, a fairly attractive female to boot."

"And where exactly did you hear this information?"

"I'm not one to reveal my sources."

"It was Elizabeth then." Edward shrugged non-committedly. Of course, it was Elizabeth; he may have hired her to keep an eye on Mr. Warren but she was loyal to Edward and must have told him.

"So, is it true then?" Edward asked taking another sip of his coffee.

"Yes, as Elizabeth might have told you as well, I took the girl as leverage over her father, nothing more."

"Nothing more? I see that's why you have her in the apartment next door and not in that single room you kept upstairs, and haven't experimented on her."

"She was up there for the past week."

"So you still haven't experimented on her? Who are and what have you done to the Scarecrow?"

"Edward, despite your massive and overly exaggerated intellect you are mistaken if you believe all of my experiments need to involve my toxin. My experiments can consist of more than just raw fear and its effects there are other things I am interested in."

"Like what?"

"Stockholm syndrome."

Edward grinned and chuckled softly, "You are one sick puppy."

"If you are just realizing this now I would re-evaluate how good you believe your analytical skills to be." Chuckling again Edward set down his half-finished cup of coffee. He walked past Jonathan and unlocked the door.

"Hopefully, this one turns out better than Miss Albright." Edward had already shut the door by the time Jonathan had turned around, meaning the cheap ceramic coffee cup shattered against the door instead of the Rogue's head. Jonathan sneered in displeasure. Becky Albright was not one of the things Jonathan liked to discuss. She had testified against him in court and had refused his proposal to become his Mistress of Fear. That was a miscalculation in retrospect, Jonathan had thought she was like him but in the end, she had mocked him with her very existence. He didn't have to worry about her distracting him anymore though because despite the Dark Knights' gallant effort "plucky Becky" was currently six feet under and she had screamed and begged in the end.

~~~~~~~

Isabel ran a hand once more along the fresh clothes as she looked at herself in the cracked bathroom mirror. These were her clothes meaning once Crane had subdued her he had gone through her closet and, most embarrassingly, her panty drawer. It also appeared that he had not grabbed clothing at random either as the light purple shirt with a brown flower design was matched with a brown skirt. If Crane had spent so much time picking out matching clothes for her it made her wonder what else he had gone through in the room. Had he gone through her book collection, her treasure box, and what if, and Isabel blushed furiously at the thought, he had found the electronic "feminine toy" she kept in her bedside drawer?

Of course, there was also the pressing question of why prepare a change of clothes for her. Why didn't he just leave her locked up in that room until her father had finished whatever god-forsaken thing he was working on? Isabel rubbed her temples; she was starting to develop a headache from the stress. Leaving the bathroom Isabel decided to examine the other rooms. The room she had woken up in was the living room it was barren of all decoration except for the ratted stained couch, the sunken armchair, and a small standing lamp that provided the majority of the light in the room as the windows were boarded up. There seemed to be a door that led from the living room but it was boarded up. Isabel assumed that the door led to the kitchen as the kitchen was not to be found anywhere else. Down the hall from the living room was the bathroom and after that the bedroom.

The floorboards creaked as Isabel walked into the bedroom. This room was a lot better than the previous room she had been kept in. It was about 12 by 10 feet with a single bed pushed up against the wall. On the bed was a plush comforter with the corners tucked under the mattress and two rather thick pillows. Isabel smiled as she sat down on the bed. This was nice. She ran her fingers along the light blue cotton cover and then flopped down onto her side. Oh yes, this was definitely better. Isabel rolled onto her back kicked off her shoes and closed her eyes for a nap.

When Isabel woke no sunlight shone through the cracks in the boarded-up window. She sat up stretching and her shoulders popped satisfactorily. Isabel stood and left the bedroom to relieve herself. Before today she had never understood the luxury of toilets but now after doing her business in a bucket for a week, she realized why they were dubbed thrones. Flushing the toilet Isabel briefly wondered how, what appeared to be, an abandoned building was receiving water; but then again it didn't really matter to her as long as she could keep her new luxury. Leaving the bathroom Isabel went into the living room.

The first thing Isabel noticed was that someone had turned the lamp on flooding the room with soft yellow light, the second thing was that sitting on the coffee table was a tray of food and a pile of books, and the final thing she saw was a note sticking out from under the plate. She picked up the glass of water on the tray and took a long sip of the warm water. The tray must have been sitting out for a while as the water Crane usually gave her was cold. Sitting down on the couch Isabel slid the paper out from under the plate. The note was written in the same script-style writing as the note she had found on the first day.

'I see you have already made yourself comfortable, good I want you to feel at home you will be here a while after all. Remember though that I have granted you this comfort and it can be taken away.

I would like you to start with these books here, when you are finished with a book put it by the door. If I did not know that you would already feel free to read them as well, just do not forget to mend them.'

Isabel set down the letter. She ran a finger along the spine of the topmost book, "Sherlock Holmes: A Study in Scarlet", trying to contain her joy at the feel of the hard leather cover. Picking up the tray of food she went into the bedroom, it was best she kept her distance until she was ready to work on the books, they were less of a distraction that way. Sitting down on the bed Isabel ate her room-temperature meal.

____________

Next

Masterlist

Note: Elizabeth is the OC from another story of mine that is slowly being revised and posted to Ao3 from fanfiction.net and she is paired with the Riddler. Crane trusts her enough to watch Mr. Warren because she a generally loyal person to whoever hires her (though as stated her first loyalty is to Edward) and he has hired her in the past.

[gorbo-longstocking]

Chapter 5

You lifted your leg and kicked open the doors with a loud bang. There was a surprised yelp, the smell of garlic growing stronger now that you were in his… office, if you could call it that. It was a wide room of wall to wall bookshelves, and nestled to the side at what you could only assume was once the front desk, were at least ten computer monitors, their glow being the only light that filled the room. Sat in an office chair in front of the screens was the Riddler, his eyebrows melded with his hairline.

When he realized who you were, his surprise melted into a satisfied smirk. He looked like the cat that got the cream and it infuriated you. “Took you long enough to—”

“You!” With an enraged snarl, you lifted your laptop over your head and charged.

Fear flickered over his face, and before you managed to get halfway across the room, he pulled a pistol from under the desk. It seemed he was a trained hand, his grip was firm, the muzzle level, but it was obvious he didn’t resort to firearms often. He didn’t seem to know where to aim. At first, he pointed at your head, then moved to aim at your stomach. “Another step and I— Damn!”

When you didn’t adjust your course, a shot rang out and a sharp pinch in your gut alerted you to the fact that you had been hit. You had eaten well today, so the injury wouldn’t last. The only roadblock you had to face was if the bullet didn’t exit out of your back, but that was a problem for later. Right now, despite the white hot burning that spread from the wound, lighting each of your sensitive nerves ablaze, you were single minded in your pursuit. Edward Nygma would pay.

“Jesus Christ—” Another bang, this time the bullet clipped your ear. He was aiming to kill now. Before he could fire off another shot, your feet were planted on his desk and your fingers were wrapped around his wrist. With a squeeze, he let out a pained gasp and the weapon tumbled from his fingers onto the ground.

[kevinsmahoney77]

Well, there's only one proper response to this, They Might Be Giants!

"Every jumbled pile of person has a thinking part that wonders what the part that isn't thinking isn't thinking of!"

@theymightbegiantsofficial

Wait… what?

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

There weren't a lot of Rogues that Damian approved of. Some were correct in their assessment, like Poison Ivy , who pointed out that people were destroying the planet, but she went about changing things in all the wrong ways.

But this one, a practical phantom, had caught his interest. None of his family have managed to catch him, and aside from attacking people found abusing animals or other civilians, he had committed no violent crimes.

No, this person's MO was to break into abandoned homes, factories, businesses, and "areas of notice" to turn them into animal sanctuaries overnight. That or he would build odd structures in random places for stray animals or homeless people to crawl into for safety and warmth.No one knew how he did it as it seemed many of these structures were fused together to build them in the absence of nails or adhesives.

Whats more is that these creations were large and incredibly durable, making them a nightmare to remove or take apart.

As an artist himself, he didn't exactly see the abstract formations as an eyesore, but was instead intrigued by them, regardless of what he told the others.

Honestly, he thinks father is after this person not for justice but for the need to know.

Especially after one of the largest of these installations popped up inside Wayne Enterprises own lobby without a trace or hint of how it got there.

As Danny is rummaging through a heap of scraps disguised as a homeless man, he wonders what he should make next and where to put it

[feninina]

𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐞 ༉‧₊˚.⁀➷

therapist! jonathan crane x female reader.

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: when your father decided that you needed therapy, taking you to his dear friend dr. crane to treat and help you, you thought it wouldn't work at all, but it turned out to be everything you needed.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: SMUT(minors dni!!), noncon/dubcon, depression, cursing, crane is a mysoginistic prick, using therapy for unhinged reasons, smut, hair pulling, jonathan just being an creep, choking AND strangulation, dacryphilia, hitting, unprotected sex (safe sex its great sex!!), breeding kink, forced breeding, power dynamics, i think crane should be a warning himself, reader being borderline stupid and naive. also this has a lot of backstory i’m so sorry i got carried away lol.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 7.1K

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: omg my first fic on here!! this is also my first work on english and my first smut ever so i apologise in advance for any mistake!! i hope y'all enjoy it anyways ahahahaha live laugh love jonathan crane👏🏻 feedback its very appreciated so i can improve and continue to publish better works, anyways enjoyyyy 💓

𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘁

It was awkward, to say the least.

You were sitting across from Doctor Crane in the couch at your dad's house, legs crossed as you watched him write on his clipboard, something about it making you feel anxious, a little nauseous, even.

This wasn't your first session, you started doing this four months ago, not long after your divorce that caused you to fall into a spiral of sadness and misery. Your failed— and short marriage was the main reason you started taking therapy with your dad's friend, the chief of Arkham, Jonathan Crane, and still, you couldn't bring yourself to talk about it.

He was patient, you told him several times that he was a saint. Regardless, before you started with the sessions, he explained to your dad that he didn't really do this; therapy really wasn't his strong suit, but for a friend, a desperate one, he would gladly do it.

Your dad came to him, offering a big stack of money if he would talk to his little girl, make her recover her once joyful personality, like you had one to begin with. Jonathan really couldn't say no, and not really because of the money, he had other reasons in mind, unethical reasons.

And there you were now. You were quick to open up to him, eager to talk, to be listened and he, on the other hand, was ready to listen, to give you advice, console you and help you get through the sorrow that was following you since you were young, playing the role of your knight in shinning armor.

"I can't believe you don't actually do this" you said once, sniffling your nose with a handkerchief he gave you as he examined you with a warm gaze, an empathetic grin on his face. "You're really helping me"

Jonathan was quick to wave his hand and tell you that it wasn't a big deal, that he was just doing his job, and if you weren't so innocent, so stupid, you would have noticed the mischievous sparkle that flickered in his eyes for a split second.

You were landing right in the palm of his hand.

Not even thirty minutes into the first session you told him everything about your past; every little thing you thought he needed to know to treat you. And you were slightly right; he did need to know those things, but not to treat you, just to manipulate you and mold your little brain into what he was envisioning for you and your future together.

Truth was, you hated everything about your life, regardless of the fact that you had everything. That's what you've been told since you were a child; a big house, a lot of money, maids taking care of you so you wouldn't have to move a finger and just sit pretty and relax inside the walls of the huge mansion that confined you since you could recall.

You have everything. That was bullshit.

Sometimes, you couldn't help but think that people told you that out of pity, like they knew how miserable you felt, but not daring to say a word about it. Your dad was a powerful man, and you were aware of that, ever since you were born, he had bussines with Falcone and you knew that people feared him, he practically ruled Gotham, that lifeless and dangerous city that you had to live in.

You have everything. You were tired of that sentence. You didn't care at all about these nice things surrounding you, those dresses in your closet, those diamonds in your jeweler, that fancy car you owned since your eighteenth birthday, no, that was useless in your eyes, because all you really wanted, was love.

It was a lonely life; you learned how to do everything by yourself, how to comb your hair, how to deal with your period when it first came, how to dress up properly and do your makeup. You didn't even had to learn about boy problems because there weren't any boys in your life, you were homeschooled. So you were quiet, not really having to talk at all, there was nobody to talk to.

And since Jonathan was the only person you were talking to at the moment, you started to feel like you loved him, the idea sitting right with you without you even knowing it, thinking that this was how therapy normally went.

Loneliness striked your life at a young age; your mother died from a strange disease when you were eight, leaving you with a shattered heart thad bled everytime you walked past her bedroom, or saw a picture of her. You practically watched her die, a witness of how she lost her strength, how her once beautiful skin turned pale and yellow, and lost every little spark within herself, and the worst part was that all the money you had, couldn't even help her.

It was a deep wound that you carried with yourself, with nobody to talk about it.

Your father spent his days locked up in his office, and when he wasn't there, he was out in the city doing unthinkable things that you didn't even wanted to know about, leaving you on your own, having to fill all of those silent and empty rooms by yourself, with nobody to laugh with, nobody to hold you and see you grow. He wasn't really around, working all the time, too busy to know that his daughter didn't seem to care about all the expensive stuff he bought for her, not even taking the time to have dinner with you or hold a simple conversation. He loved you, you knew that, he just wasn't the type to show his affection with words or actions, but with gifts. And you hated everything about it.

But now, Jonathan was there, making you feel listened, finally saving you from falling into loneliness again. Your whole life, you thought you had a horrible sickness, that you were doomed to this awful destiny of sorrow and silence, but now, with his sweet words and good company, you couldn't be more than relieved.

You wished sometimes that you met him earlier, that this whole therapy stuff started before, and you even confessed it to him. And it irked him a little, that you didn't even remember how you two really met each other, hiding his annoyance with a warm smile.

Some months ago, your father started to brought you to parties he attended, parties were all the corrupts scumbags from Gotham reunited and celebrated how they were dragging the city to the gates of hell on their benefit, and you couldn't be more happy to attend them. You knew he was bringing you because he recently broke up with the young girl he carried with him— that was most likely your age, and needed a pretty thing to hang of his arm and take care of the people he didn't feel like talking to.

So you accepted this new life, eating up this role of socialite like it was made for you.

It was a chance to know people, to speak and make new friends, but you learned quickly that those people weren't there for that, and picked up on how mostly of the people who talked to you just wanted to climb up the social ladder and gain some extra points from your father.

He, even, introduced you to a couple of people that seemed close to your age, and you chatted with them, feeling extremely anxious because you weren't used to this, so it was weird to them seeing such a pretty woman, with your status and fortune, acting so shy and quiet in a place that your dad practically owned.

After a couple of hours, you learned the agenda. All you had to do was put on a fake smile, get them off your father's shoulders and pretend you were very interested in what they had to say, hiding your uncomfortable expression behind your glass of champagne, promising them that you would arrange a reunion with your father someday.

One of those nights, your father introduced you to someone, someone who you didn't pay much attention because he seemed to be uninterested too, only being there for the sake of his job.

"Pretty girl, come here" your father said, a cheerful tone of voice as grabbed you by the shoulder to get your attention, snapping you out of your train of thoughts. "I want you to meet my friend, Doctor Crane"

You looked at the man in front of your dad, his pale blue eyes already sizing you up discretely, looking at you up and down in a way that didn't go unnoticed by you, a shiver running down your spine as his eyes finally locked with yours.

You couldn't help but feel small under his gaze, your glass now forgotten in your left hand, the right one extended to take his and stretch it for a quick second, returning to your first position, his expression remaining serious.

"Nice to meet you" he spoke, his voice sounding like velvet in your eyes, not quite sensing the undertone behind it. "Your father told me wonders about you"

You grin, the irony of that sentence making you laugh a little, what wonders could your father know about you? But you kept your composure, the conversation not going any further, and you forgot about him fast enough, when in another of those annoying parties you met the love of your life — or so you thought.

That same night, when you went back home, you were thinking about spending the rest of your life with some guy that flirted with you at the bar, and Jonathan, prayed to whatever thing listening to him up there, that crossed your path with his again.

He practically obsessed with you, because it felt right. You were young, beautiful, wealthy and had a last name that could open even more doors for him, getting tired of saving Falcone's man of going to jail; you were an opportunity, tied to a nice pair of legs.

After a few weeks of stalking, it kinda broke his heart that naive as he expected you, you got married to the guy from the party; he told you then his name was Lewis, and now you doubted it that was even true.

You were finally going to get what you always wished for, a family, love. And it was perfect. Everything was perfect.

It was a dream that you were living in. A dream that shattered in front of you no longer than three months after.

After you contracted married with this man, you took care of the house, now learning all of these housewife duties that you didn't know anything about, but making your best effort to please him, to be the perfect woman ever created, departing from your old life and habits and adjusting them to his own.

You couldn't be more happy, regardless of your bad cooking, the bad-swiped floor and the half-done bed that welcomed you both every night, you finally had love.

It lasted three months. Your wholesome real life fantasy of a marriage destroyed when you found out, accidentally, that this man was just an employee of your dad, willing to get a promotion if he married you. At that moment, you didn't know who you hated more, if the bastard, or your dad who was literally bribing the bastard to love you.

But your dad only wanted to make you happy, tho.

You were embarrassed, not quite sure of how to tell this to Jonathan, because after all, he was there for you, just for the money your dad was paying him. Your cursed the day your dad became rich, because all of it was making you miserable and it felt like it wasn't going to stop.

At this point, a feeling of despite against you was growing within Jonathan, after a few weeks treating you, he quickly remembered why he didn’t chose this path of career, but remembering that he was there because of a major reason; a reason more important than your helpless cries for attention.

He was sick of you, all you ever did was complain in the commodity of your million dollar house, unaware that there were more important problems in the world. It isn’t completely your fault, Jonathan thought one day, you were just an ungrateful brat, and his work was to tame you, and he planned to do just that today.

"So," he startled you, narrowing his eyebrows, an expression in his face that you could only understand as concern. "remember, if you don't speak, I can't help you".

You chuckle and shift your weight in the chair, immediately feeling your eyes fill up with tears as you confronted the fact that you had to speak about it, right now. He was quick to offer you his handkerchief, as he always did and with shaky hands you took it, sniffling onto it, closing your eyes as you felt your whole body shake with each one of your cries.

You felt Jonathan put his hand on your knee, softy caressing the skin that his thumb could reach, opening your eyes and looking at his, Jonathan welcoming you with a pitying look. You put the tissue aside, both him being so close and his scent impregnated on the piece of fabric making you feel a little giddy, a little confused.

Why was your heart racing so much? He was your therapist, here to talk about your former husband.

Jonathan couldn't help but grin a little, knowing he was maybe breaking a rule here, touching you like this, being so close. He couldn't care less, after all, he wasn't here listening to you cry and bitch about your whole life for the sake of your well-being. He was here because he wanted you to break and get on your knees to him. Figuratively and literally.

"It's so embarrassing" you struggled to spit out "He didn't even love me, Doctor"

He hummed, dragging his chair so he was a little closer to you, you looked at him through your teary lashes and tried to keep it together, this wasn't the first time you cried in front of him, but the reason itself was enough to make you feel full of shame.

He didn't say anything, this being a motivation for you to continue.

"My dad was paying him" you murmured, cleaning the mascara off your cheeks. "It was all a lie"

The whole situation was absurd, what happened to you still felt like a sick joke they were playing on you, your dad and Lewis, probably waiting for the perfect moment to tell you the truth.

But that wasn't going to happen, right now the only thing that felt true to you was Jonathan. He set you up to that, and you blindly fell on his silly trap.

"Poor thing" he cooed you, moving his hand a little further up your thigh, noticing the goosebumps on your skin. A mastermind, that's how he felt. "How could they?"

That was all the mendacity he fed you with since you started seeing him, making you believe he was actually empathizing with you, full of loathe against everyone who hurt you, who dared to leave you alone, but now he was there, his task being to pretend to care.

"It's pathetic" you blurted out, leaning into his touch when his prying hand went up to your cheek. You really couldn't say anything more, crying against his hand like it was something you did every monday morning. "I'm so sad. I don't know what to do"

He shook his face, your eyes meeting his with a confused expression, black stained tears dropping on your lap and wetting his hand before he returned it and looked over his clipboard, pretending to think.

You were so vulnerable, ready for him to destroy. He finally got you where he wanted. He then explained you that you were so sad that it made you unaware of a lot of things, blinded by your own pity against yourself that every door that opened, you closed. It all came down to a thing; you needed a diagnosis.

He gave you a moment to process the information, ready to continue with his plan.

"Actually," he started, his tone now more firm, more strict, the one he used when you were approaching the end of the session. On the last one, he recommended you to touch yourself, to liberate oxytocin on your brain or something you really didn't understood.

It was almost evil from his side, he knew that your only thought while doing it would he him ordering you to do so.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of such awful news, Y/N" he stated, making your heart skip a beat. "But I think you're sick"

You nearly gasped, the air got stuck in your throat, more tears gathering in your eyes. You lifted one of your hands to your chest, a million thoughts crossing your head as Jonathan's clever eyes examined your expression.

Bingo.

"Sick" you repeated after a moment, almost like you were making peace with the revelation. "How sick?"

It was an innocent question, your tone of voice shaking as your inferior lip trembled, holding it with your teeth in an attempt to not burst into tears again, your whole body feeling like it was going to break into a million peaces by how much you were shaking in the couch.

Jonathan was quick, standing from the chair he was on and taking a seat by your side, his hand swiftly placing in your knee. You looked at him confused, he never got this close, maybe your sickness was serious.

"What am I, Doctor?" you whispered, your eyes showing him a hint of fear that made him finally lose all his faked professionalism. "Depressed? Crazy?"

Both of you were dying of anticipation now; meanwhile you feared that you were going to get admitted to Arkham, Jonathan was seeing the golden ticket to the best future he could ever achieve, and all thanks to you.

"Oh, no, no" he purred, his hand making its way up to your thigh. "You're sick, not crazy"

You parted your lips as his hand moved more further, not really sure of what was happening, not daring to stop him, too scared of your mental health to think about anything else, not helping the way your legs started to part too.

A sudden gasp left your lips as his hand squeezed your tight, a smile you never saw on him appearing on his face. The crying stopped a moment ago, the surprise of having him so close making you go a little numb.

"I know what a girl like you needs" he said, almost sternly, like his hand wasn't centimeters away from your panties.

Was in that moment, that you knew this wasn’t about therapy anymore.

"You think so?" you whispered, your voice still shaky, but now for a whole different reason. "And what is it, Doctor?"

"To be fucked stupid"

It almost shocked you how he said that as it was a normal diagnosis, like he gave you a name of a medicine you could go and buy at any drugstore in town. You gulped and didn't move when his grip tightened on your leg, your face growing red.

A loud gasp escaped your lips when at your lack of response, Jonathan grabbed you hard by the jaw and forced you to look at him. Your eyes glistened with nothing but fear, your brows narrowing as you mumbled something that he really couldn't understand, and it wasn't like he wanted to.

"You're sick, Y/N" he repeated, more harshly this time, his hand moving your head as he spoke. "And I'm going to cure you"

He let go of your face to clasp his lips against yours, a kiss very far away from sweet, his mouth moving roughly against yours. You never had been kissed like this, so you tried to play it along, trying to show him some of the love you felt for him, that you thought you owed him.

But he didn't care if you felt loved during the kiss, trying to assert the dominance he held upon you, his hand now holding firmly the back of you neck to prevent you from pulling away.

It was a mess; your teeth clashed, drool was dripping from your chin as his tongue explored every space of your mouth, not leaving anywhere of it untouched. Your movements were a little stiff, unsure of what to do, trying to provide the sweetness that he lacked.

His hand moved to your the front of your neck and squeezed it a little, making you yelp in surprise, the sound muffled by his mouth. You tried to get away from the kiss, confused about his rough actions against you, a little scared of him even, almost like you didn’t trust him every little part of your brain in this same couch for the last couple of months.

But then it clicked on your foggy brain, he knew you, perfectly— you only knew his name, you didn’t know what this man was capable of.

You could only move a few centimeters away from his hungry mouth, your lips parted as tears welled in your eyes from the pressure he was applying to your neck.

“Stop” you managed to stutter, your breath mixing with his. “I can’t- breathe”

You doubted that he listened to you, your voice not coming out of your throat at all and getting stuck in your larynx, your voice-box completely muffled by his strong grip.

“Shut up, brat” he spitted, his tone sounding full of abhor, your eyes wide open as you felt the air leaving your body and your lungs starting to burn. “Always getting what you want”

You weakly placed one of your hands around his wrist, another attempt of gasp elicited from your agape mouth as he lifted his other hand and choked you with both, something in your dizzy mind telling you that he was possessed.

“Crying all the time- complaining” he continued, not caring if you were listening, the suffocation being to much to bare now. “So selfish”

And maybe he was.

Your brain was filled with fear, wondering how it all went from a kiss to this— almost getting killed by your therapist in your couch. You opened your eyes to meet his, feeling like your chest was on fire as there wasn’t any air flowing in, seeing how the blue of Jonathan’s eyes has darkened and his lips were parted as well, the muscles of his jaw twitching as he choked you to death.

Your eyebrows narrowed together in terror as you noticed that familiar tingly sensation in your lower belly and your thighs clenching together. Maybe it was something about him exercising this power over you, how you felt so feeble under his touch, that was probably leaving bruises on your neck for you to carry and show around what he was making you do it.

You didn’t have enough time to think about it, you were practically dying.

“And you are enjoying this?” he said with an amused tone, probably noticing how your thighs fragily contracted against one another.

You felt yourself slowly lose your consciousness when finally the relief came and the air started to flow again to your desperate lungs, taking long and loud puffs of air when his hand let go of your neck. Your erratic breath was interrupted by a loud moan that escaped you when Crane yanked you by your hair and shoved you to the floor.

He was quick yo position you between his legs, looking at you through his unfixed glasses, giving you a twisted smile that made you quiver in fear, that growing wet patch on your panties making you feel like a really sick girl.

“Doctor-” you mumbled, closing your eyes as he pulled your hair, withdrawing a mewl off your mouth. “Hurts”

“You talk when I tell you to talk” he snickered, adjusting the way his fingers gripped your hair. You thought that he might just pull out the strand he was tugging. “I’m sick of your whining”

You felt more tears well up in your eyes; not sure if it was from the pain in your head or how his words felt like a knife that landed right on your heart. You were confused, sad, angry— a little hot, too.

“I pay you yo listen to me” you said, your voice so shaky you were lucky he could understand you. You wished he didn’t understand you.

Another sort of moan left your lips as a hard slap made a landing in your cheek, your face turned to the side because of the impact. You closed your eyes in disbelief, a cry coming out as you felt helpless, wondering if this was some exposure therapy he was experimenting on you.

He repeated himself, instructing you to talk only when you were told so, nodding in defeat as you accepted whatever this was and continued to play along with Jonathan’s sick fantasy of controlling you, without even knowing it.

You looked at him with nothing but inquietude, the look in his eyes giving you the foreboding that nothing good was about to happen now, frightened of what we would do to you.

He didn’t show any hints of letting go of your hair anytime soon, just holding it firmly to keep you looking at him through your heavy lashes, a wicked grin on his smug face.

“Let’s give that whining mouth of yours a good use” he said, and you gulped, understanding what he wanted and quivering in fear, not really understanding why the sticky sensation between your legs grew.

“Undo my pants” he commanded, and you stayed still, your eyes not leaving his even when another slap landed on your tear-wet face. “Do as you’re told, brat. This might be your only cure”

You couldn’t help but sob a little, his tone sounding so definitive, so professional. Your trembling hands reached his belt and unbuckling it ungracefully, taking longer than he expected, you heard him chuckle as you unbuttoned his pants afterwards, then putting your hands back in front of your lap.

“C’mon” he pulled your hair again, causing you to moan in pain. “Don’t make me tell you what to do”

You looked at him again in nothing but shame, trying to resist to this humiliating request of his, but complying it anyways. He said he was going to cure you, but now you doubted it, right now, you only wanted this to be over.

With a last look at his eyes you returned your attention to the growing bulge in his slacks, the shame in your brain being present at all times, not quite helping the way your eyes were fixated on his clothed member. You were quick to free him out after your staring earned you a other harsh pull of hair, your lips turned into a line when his cock slapped his abdomen, causing his dress shirt to wrinkle a little.

“Go on, Y/N” he encouraged you, as you looked at him with pleading eyes, silently begging him for mercy, knowing that even if you screamed it at him, he just wouldn’t listen. “This isn’t about what you want, anymore. Is about what you need”

A tear slid from your eyes and disappeared down your cheek when his free hand placed the tip of his hard cock on your parted lips, gesturing you to take it and not waste more of his time— more than you already did.

“Open up, whore” he said under his breath, using your hair as a device to move your head and help you shove his length down your throat. You complied, the tears in your eyes now soaking in you cheeks by the effort that you were making trying to welcome his thick shaft down your mouth.

You were sure you scratched him with your teeth a few times as he bobbed your head up and down with his strong hand, manhandling you without care for his own pleasure. You placed your hands on his knees, trying not to gag, but when his tip touched the bottom of your throat, you couldn’t help it.

You cried as you felt suffocated again, now for a whole different reason, a more humiliating one, and you almost wished he killed you then. His hips buckled everytime your lips reached the base of his cock, the room filled with the sounds of your mouth and saliva coating his shaft and the soft moans that came out of his poisoned lips.

“Take it, whore” he said, his voice now husky and distorted by the pleasure, the pain that your teeth accidentally inflicted on him turning him even more. “God- you are horrible at this”

He chuckled between heavy breaths, pulling you by the hair and releasing his cock from your mouth, a vulgar pop filling both of your ears at the sudden separation of your lips and his member. Your eyes looked at the floor, feeling such a shame that the mere thought of meeting his face with your fearful face made you cringe, the pulsating pain on the back of your head making you dizzy.

“You can’t suck dick properly” he said, his tone sounding like he was making fun of you. “No wonder why your husband left you. You’re just pathetic”

You finally rose up your face to look at that insufferable smile of his, ignoring the way his cock was still hanging there in front of you, almost brushing your nose. His fingers finally untangled from your hair and giving you some sort of solace, the consolation that this traumatic session was over.

Maybe the remedy was worse than the sickness itself.

“Jonathan, stop it, plea-”

Your imploration was completely ignored, followed by another slap on your wet cheek that made you cry even more, not understanding how this man could’ve been the same one who made you felt loved and finally listened. You fell for a lie once again.

“Get on the couch” he simply said, his words were like a bucket of cold water fell on you. “Stop the bitching, don’t want to hear it”

“And I’m your doctor. Not Jonathan” he reminded you, making you feel even more ashamed.

You did as he told, again, half-standing from the floor and sitting next to him, trying to take as much space from him as you could before he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer, your face growing red as his face was now centimeters away from yours.

“You look so beautiful when you cry” he whispered, caressing your face but trying to nor wipe the tears away, almost like he was admiring you. It made you melt into his touch, glad that his kind demeanor was there again. Even if his words made you cringe— and the fact that his cock was still out, you felt your heart grew warmer by the way he tenderly touched you.

It didn’t last much longer, when his lips twitched into a malicious smile and went down to nibble your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses around the bruised skin and bitting where his fingers hurt you previously, making your fingers wrap on his hair and cry for mercy, trying for him to stop hurting you this much.

“Shut up, stupid brat” he repeated that same insult, making you swallow your cries, closing your eyes in disbelief as he continued to injure your already suffering skin.

You arched your back in surprise when all of the sudden his hands reached for your breasts, groping your tits like his life depending on it, stimulating you through the fabric of your shirt, but all you felt was fear and anger, impotence flowing through your veins because you just couldn’t scream and push him away, fear was freezing you on the spot.

The worst part? You maybe didn’t wanted to push him away. Because maybe if he gets what he wants now you would be cured and he’ll be back to normal, returning you the sweet Doctor Crane that you met once, not this monster that was groping you like a piece of meat.

He clicked his tongue and dropped both of his hands to spread your legs open, forcing your back to drop onto the hand rester of the couch. You looked at him with big eyes, your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest and scream to Jonathan that enough was enough, you just couldn’t take any of this anymore.

But your heart stayed there, between your lungs that seemed incapable to hold any air, making your breathing erratic. So nobody screamed Jonathan to stop, and he continued with his profanation against your persona— your dignity.

He bit his lip at the sight of your fucked-up face, your legs open as it showed him the dark patch on your baby blue panties, darting his eyes from your half-exposed crotch to your teary eyes.

“God, keep crying and I might come now” he growled, lowering his face to meet your pussy, kissing it through your underwear, making you mewl, closing your eyes at the sudden attention your core was getting.

You felt embarrassed at how much you enjoyed when he moved the fabric to the side and started making out with your cunt, swallowing your fluids like a starved man.

“So wet” he mumbled against your labia, the vibration making your eyes roll back, bitting your lip to prevent any moan to come out; he was raping you, why did he make you enjoy it? “I bet you like this, to be treated like a whore”

You shook your head, more tears falling out of your eyes as you felt nothing else but humiliation, pleasure washing over your body everytime his tongue brushed your clit, your back arched against nothing.

“You like it?” he said, finally pulling out and pushing his body up so his face was in front of yours, his cock grazing against your now stimulated pussy, a gasp leaving your lips, a gasp that quickly turned into a hurting moan when his hand slapped you again, this time in your throbbing cunt. “Answer me”

“I- I do” you whispered, gripping his shoulders when you felt him align the head of his member with your whole, scared of how it was going to fit. You had trouble taking it when he face-fucked you, how the fuck it was going to fit down there?

“I’m going to fuck you so good” he whispered between pants, jerking himself off before entering you. “You’re going to forget that pathetic husband of yours”

You couldn’t help but cry, trying to push him off by the shoulders, a terrified look on your face. “It won’t fit, Doctor” you pleaded, a crooked grin on his face as you keep on calling him that. “I beg you, don’t-”

“Yes, beg me” he said, starting to push his member inside you with a slow but relentlessly pace, not giving you enough time to adjust, just to scream and hit him weakly on the chest, face and shoulders before ge grabbed your hands and pinned them down, on the sides of your body. “I’m going to cure you- do you so good”

His voice was low, as he barely could speak when he felt just how tight you were, your walls hugging his cock just the right way, his pulsating head making your mind dizzy, the stinging pain starting to be forgotten.

But when he slid out and entered back it, the hardness of his movement made your insides burn with pain, a loud cry echoing in the walls of the living room as he started to trust into your pussy with a fast pace, not caring at all if you felt good.

He snapped his hips against yours with an animalistic force, growls escaped from his mouth every time his cock was welcomed by the warmth of your stretch whole, the sensation making him go even more feral, making you cry more.

He let go of one of your hands and grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at his eyes as he fucked you vigorously, the blue on his iris not existent anymore, only his widely dilated pupils meeting yours, your blurred vision distinguishing the depraved expression in his face.

“You- so tight” he snarled, his voice barely audible, covered by the sound of skin slapping and your loud cries. “I bet your stupid husband didn’t fuck you like this”

You felt nothing but shame as you felt his cock now sliding in and out more easily, the wetness of your cunt growing as he spoke to you like that, that familiar heat flourishing in your lower belly as his words degraded you, your cries quickly becoming moans.

“This was all you needed- fuck” he said, his spit splashing your face as he talked, his words full of disdain. “A good dick, that’s all it takes to keep bitches like you quiet” You nodded, thinking that if you agreed he would stop. How wrong you were.

In a quick movement Jonathan took his cock out and spun you around, not giving you time to get on your ass up by laying your chest down before he stabbed your hole again, pushing your skirt all the way up to see how his pelvis came into collision with your ass.

You were moaning like a bitch in heat now, sure that the maids were listening, not really caring about it anymore. Jonathan was fucking you nice and hard, your mouth wide open as his tip brushed your cervix, screaming to him to keep it right there.

“I’m close” he said, pulling your hair back to press his chest to your back, his other hand going down to play with your swollen clit, wanting your to come around his cock like the slut he knew you were. “Come with me, you whore”

“Yes” you moaned, your tongue out as his cock hit the right spots, making your hips to move against his, grinding against his hand and dick, feeling your wetness drip down to your thighs. “Yes, yes, I want to”

He laughed, approaching your ear with his tongue to bite it, leaving a long and wet kiss underneath it that made you grow hotter, your eyes closed as you let him use you; the only thought in your mind being him and his wonder-working cock.

Truth was, he was fucking you stiffly, every slam of his hips stronger than the last one, but you were so deprived of touch, so dick-starved, that even if Jonathan was fucking you like a lifeless doll, only for the sake of his pleasure, you loved it, even when it hurt you.

“I’m going to fill you up” he said against your ear, his hand leaving your clit unattended as he grabbed your hip to increase the velocity of his thrusts, ramming your hole like a demented man, making your head drop against his shoulder and scream at the ceiling, now knowing what he meant by curing you.

“Going to get you pregnant” he said, more to himself than anything “so you don’t have to bitch about being alone anymore”

You opened your eyes with terror, you didn’t want children, you were so young. The idea made you frightened, the moaning now sounding like little nos and pull outs, but Jonathan didn’t listen.

“Doctor please, please, pull out” you pleaded, reaching for his hips and trying to push him away, one of his hands slapping your ass and pulling you down by your shoulder blade so you wouldn’t fight anymore. “Doctor Crane please”

“I will fucking fill you up, Y/N” he chanted, laughing at the idea of your round belly and your swollen tits, carrying his baby all day and feeling all worked up and needy all day, only waiting for him to fuck you all day. “You won’t be alone again. You won’t be sad again”

Then you realized it.

When he came, your hot walls creamed every single drop of his cum, making his thrusts sloppy and slow, his moans filling your ears as you sobbed under his touch, feeling his seed paint your walls and load your insides with his sperm.

That was your cure.

His hot release that now flooded inside your leaking cunt, that was your so-promised antidote. He took away your solitude by giving you his and yours firstborn, a bastard baby that would give you the company that you lacked.

You felt him chuckle as he rode out his high, the chase of his own climax made you forget yours, so now there you were, your swollen cunt looking for its release while his rested among your insides calmly, like it was meant to be.

He didn’t pull out immediately, taking his time to appreciate the sight of your skirt resting in your hips all rolled up, your bruised neck and messy hair, the way your ass was exposed to him by the way he had you arching your back. All for him— for him to wreck.

He pulled out and rolled his eyes when you started crying, now being annoying instead of hot. You sat on the couch and saw him button his pants and fix his hair, hissing when you felt nothing but pain growing in your worn-out pussy. You explained through your weak voice how he ruined your life, that he was the worst person you’ve ever met and that now you had to carry the product of his sick and twisted rapist-fantasy, even tried to hit him, but your pathetic tantrum only gained you another slap in the face, and a stern look.

When he tried to stand up and leave, you grabbed him by the wrist and begged him not to, he couldn’t just leave you, not now, not ever.

“Don’t be so ungrateful” he said, a smile that made you feel nothing but trepidation in his face. “You’ll never be alone again”

You couldn’t help but feel scared. Scared of him, of what just happened, of what’s going to happen next, scared for your future son with this evil specie of a man.

When you continued to cry, and he pulled you for a hug as he assured you that he would never leave you; and how could he? He had a long life of success waiting for him now, giving a girl of your status his last name, his children. Oh, it’s going to be wonderful, he just needed to tame you and make you the perfect slave for him, and that wasn’t going to be hard.

You were sure that you’ll never be loved, but at least now Jonathan was going to be with you. You’ll never be alone again.

thanks for reading. w/love, fenina;)

taglist: @lovesickxcherries @genini @ilunapb @ostricx @devotedlyshadowytheorist

if you want to be added let me know, it’ll be my pleasure🫶🏻

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Don't Ruin It | Agent Lenny Miller x fem!Reader

summary: Sexual tension comes to a head (literally) when a younger female agent (you) makes a move on her superior agent, Lenny Miller, after a successful undercover mission.

warnings: Infidelity, power-imbalance, hazy consent, praise and dubious humiliation, smut.

word count: 3,300k

ONE SHOT! Who would’ve guessed…

Taking What's Not Yours- TV Girl 🎶

That's so True- Gracie Abrams 🎵

You were partners. Partners. And he was married. Married. There were so many fucking ethical reasons why you shouldn’t but damn it all, you did. 

“I need your wire,” Agent Lenny Miller said over his shoulder as he sorted the equipment back into their cases. Your heart was still racing from the conclusion of your mission, your body was thrumming with adrenaline. You turned to face the hotel mirror and unzipped the back of your dress. When he was done with his brief task, Miller turned and after a moment of hesitation, approached you slowly. He clenched his jaw as he brushed the zipper away so that he could reach the mic-pack secured to the band of your bra. His pale fingers lingered an extra moment longer on the bare skin above and below the clasp as he pulled the pack off. He blinked his heavy eyelashes slowly, wetting his lips as he followed the wire up your back to your ear. His finger trailed over your skin, pretending to hold to the wire as his eyes glanced up to meet yours in the mirror. You removed the mic from your ear and turned back slowly to hand it to him. Miller looked down at you, still holding the pack, his heart racing too but his eyes deadly calm, keeping a level head just like a good agent would. Staring for a moment at the mic-pack, Miller finally exhaled slowly and nodded, taking the mic pack and wire. He switched the device off and looked back down at you again, face-to-face. 

You were a young agent, fresh out of training with an expertise in languages. Agent Lenny Miller was a senior agent, a typical dark, brooding type with attitude issues and a soft-spot for intelligent women. He was always arrogant, but it was because he was always right. God, it was so fucking infuriating. When he wasn’t smiling (which was most of the time), you could barely make out the beginnings of crows’ feet at each outside corner of his eyes. He was in his mid-forties, married with a son. He wasn’t technically your boss but that didn’t make it any more ethical. These were just the things you told yourself as he continued to look down at you with his pale blue eyes. 

He was standing with his feet shoulder-length apart and his jaw still painfully clenched. You reached around to the back of your dress and unzipped it all the way, your chest rising and falling quickly. Miller inhaled deeply as he saw what you were doing. Your black dress slowly slipped down your body to pool at your feet. He let himself look down at your body, covered only by your underwear. He stepped closer, just half a step, his lips falling open as he looked down at your lips. You rose onto the balls of your feet, offering your mouth but he inhaled sharply again and ran his hand over his mouth. 

Miller stepped back and turned. He walked to an armchair in the hotel room and sat down on the edge of the seat, his hands steepled. 

“Len-” you started but he held up a hand to stop you. 

“Shhh, don’t ruin it, don’t ruin it” he whispered gently and looked you over again from the chair across the room. You stood silently in your underwear for a moment until you felt brave enough to move your arms to undo your hair. Your hair fell around your shoulders and you ran your fingers through it, picking out the knots quickly. Once that was done, you looked back at the man and asked him point-blank. 

“Is it your wife?”

“Don’t ask me about her, Y/N.” He responded calmly, his hand still resting against his lips as he stared at you. You raise your chin slightly and inch closer until you're right in front of him. He looks up at you in appreciative silence, like he’s at an art gallery or the symphony. He lets you step between his knees and run your hands down the back of his head starting from the crown. His eyes close slowly and he sighs as your hands stroke his dark hair. 

“If only you knew…” you whispered as your other hand slid down his cheek. Agent Miller’s eyes opened and he smiled softly, leaning into your hand. 

“Know what?”

“How much I want you,” you answered breathlessly, your heart fluttering beyond beating. Miller chuckled in discomfort and inner turmoil. He shook his head and leaned back in the chair, out of reach of your hand. 

“You know as well as I do that we can’t do this, Y/L/N.” 

“Don’t talk like that.” You responded cooly, taking a step back as he watched you, his eyes helplessly trailing over your body. Miller leaned his chin against his closed hand, wetting his lips again as you put more distance between you. You could make out the half-hard bulge in his trousers that he tried to ignore. You two stared at each other for a minute on end, neither speaking as your eyes spoke to your individual desires. Finally, Miller sighed and reached out his hand, palm up and beckoning. 

“C’mere.”

His voice was gentle but sure, as if there were absolutely no hesitation behind his request. You waited another moment before finally stepping back between his legs. His arms opened, inviting you to sit on his lap. You sat on his upper thigh, within the cage of his arms. Miller used his other hand to pull your legs across his lap, so that you were sitting completely across his legs like a child. His open hand rubbed up and down your thigh furthest away from his chest, slipping all the way down to your calf. You looked down at him and exhaled shakily. 

“I-” he started but you pressed a finger against his lips, shushing him gently but firmly. 

“Don’t ruin it.” 

He smirked softly behind your finger and looked at your lips as you moved your head close to his. You dropped your finger and held the curve of his jaw instead, brushing your lips against his. The short stubble on his jaw tickled your fingers as you pushed them down his throat. His hand moved to hook around your waist and his lips fell open, responding to your tease. You exhaled shakily again, this time against his lips before finally kissing him. The kiss was so soft that your lips barely touched, barely moved. He looked up into your face, exhaling tightly before pulling you closer once again. You kissed again and just as softly as before. When you pulled away, you stared at each other in tense silence, the world around you was shrill like a static that separated you two from the rest of the world. 

“Do you want to stop?” You whispered, looking between his blue eyes and his button nose. He briefly pressed a finger against your lips, dismissing your question, before kissing you again. His kiss was harder, stronger, as if he’d finally made up his mind without saying so: he was going to fuck you because damn it, he wanted you so badly. His teeth caught your bottom lip and you moaned against him as your fingers found the buttons of his collared shirt. The process was slow but expertly coordinated as if you already knew each other’s bodies as well as your own. You unbuttoned his shirt, slowly revealing his undershirt once each button slipped out of its eyelet hold. He wore the same undershirts that your dad used to wear beneath his dress shirts, the ones he wore to work, the similarity brought a strange sense of comfort as your hands felt the fabric beneath your hands. 

Miller pulled you to straddle his lap so that you were completely facing him on your knees. You rested your butt on his legs, waiting patiently until his shirt and undershirt were completely removed. He held his arms over his head so that you could pull the shirt away from his bare skin. Agent Lenny Miller was by no means a largely muscular man, he’d left his field days behind him, but he was still fit, still lean and handsome. His arms were still muscular and you could feel the tension of his muscles every time he moved them around you. You sat back, ending your kiss for a moment so that you could look down at his bare chest. His pectoral muscles were tight and defined, his stomach shallow and taught. There was a dusting of freckles across his pale chest and a thin line of dark hair beneath his bellybutton. You pressed your hand against his lower stomach and felt the muscle meet your hand as it tensed. He laid his hands on the chair’s armrests and watched you with a calm expression on his face. 

You slipped off his lap and opened his legs so that you could kneel between them. He ran his hand over his lips as he watched you, his eyes glued to you. You placed your hands on his knees and rose for a moment longer so that you could run your tongue across his collarbones. You dragged your tongue up his sternum, up to his throat, and ended at his jaw with a gentle nip. He shook once beneath you and groaned softly, so quietly that you barely heard it. When you returned to the place between his knees, his lips fell open in a helpless way, as if he were stuck in a trance. When his pants were undone, you ran your hand over his now-very-hard-cock and looked up into his eyes. 

“Go on then,” he whispered, smirking softly as if he were joking. You smiled and pulled down his boxers just enough to find his erection. When it sprang free, he groaned audibly and leaned his head back for a moment. You rolled your tongue around the head slowly, relishing the taste of his precum, showing you just how much he wanted you too. Your hand gripped his shaft and squeezed gently, making him jerk his hips. He cursed beneath his breath as you moved your mouth farther onto his cock. You sucked softly, just wanting to prep him, not to make him cum. His hands tightened on the armrests, his nails digging into the red leather upholstery. You took his cock as far as you could without gagging and rolled your tongue before bobbing up and down. 

“Ah fuck, girl. Slow, slow” he praised gently and closed his eyes as you sucked. When you could hear the distinct sounds of masculine whimpers, you stopped and looked back up at him. Miller exhaled tightly and ran his hand over your hair, fixing how it fell at the side of your face. His hand dropped to your shoulder and played with the soft skin there before pulling one of your bra straps off of your shoulder. You waited as he did the same to the other strap. He sighed as you stood slowly and stepped backwards towards the hotel bed, never used. Miller removed the last of his clothes and followed you slowly, his hand reaching out for your body. You let him pull you closer and kissed him as he felt for the clasp of your bra. He undid it easily and pulled it off of your arms so that he could feel your breasts. He nearly growled as he squeezed your breasts, feeling the hard nipple between his fingers. Miller picked you up easily and laid you back on the bed. He took your knees and pulled them apart so that he could stand between them. Still kissing you, he fit his hands beneath the bands of your thongs on your hips. His hands rubbed back and forth on your love-handles, in no rush to take off your underwear. 

“Turn over, agent Y/L/N,” he muttered against your lips. 

You nodded slowly, your lips starting to feel swollen and hot. You flipped over onto your stomach and felt his hands cup your butt before pulling down your underwear. He pulled them down your knees, over your calves, and off your ankles. 

“Look at you. Good girl…” he whispered and tossed the underwear to the side. You pushed your butt up, signaling your need for him. Miller chuckled briefly in understanding and spread your knees again with his hands. With one of his hands, he feels over your wet cunt and leans over you to nip your shoulder. 

When you moan he nods, “I know, I know. Me too.” 

His long, rough fingers teased you cruelly as you bit your lip to keep from whining. 

“Miller…” you whispered after a while of waiting and teasing. The senior agent smiled and leaned closer to your ear. 

“Patience, girl. It’s an agent’s best virtue.” 

You rolled your eyes and started to respond snippily before you felt him press against you, groaning. He pumped into you, hitting your ass with each quick gentle stroke. His hand that wasn’t being used to support his body went to your chin and pulled your head to lie flat on the side. 

“How does it feel?” He asked. 

“Hhha,” you tried to speak in a small breathless voice. He moved his hand back to your hip so that he could thrust deeper. 

“Mmm fuck, you’re tight,” he panted and moved faster, harder. You cried out in pleasure and arched your back as much as you can beneath his body. “Tell me when you’re close.” 

He groaned in pleasure as he found a good rhythm, your cunt gripping his cock better than his wife ever could. You moaned loudly, nearing yelling as he held you down and subjected you to the brutal honestly of his fucking. 

He leaned down over you to rub his lips against your smooth upper back. He kissed your shoulder blade and slowed his thrusts, savoring the intimacy of your bodies. He moved his hips forward in a slow and flexed manner, straddling the line between climax and continuity. 

“Good girl. Good. fucking. girl.” He muttered, his lips still barely touching your back. 

“Shit I’m close,” you whined, your thighs shaking out of your control. As soon as the words left your mouth, Miller pulled out and picked you up by your hips. Nearly cradling you in his arms, he swapped places with you and placed you on top of his freckled upper chest. 

“Sit,” he instructed calmly, “I’ll finish you off,” he gripped your thighs, waiting for you to move onto his face. You were panting and red in the face and it took a moment for you to realize what he was asking. With another reassuring nod from him, you shifted your body up and slowly lowered yourself down onto his face. You were skeptical and awkward until you felt his tongue glide over the lips of your sex. His nose rubbed against your clit as he sucked and lapped at your cunt. Your mouth fell open and your thighs immediately reacted by quivering. You placed your hands over his, still on your thighs, and cried out. 

“That’s it,” his voice was muffled but still clear as he felt your orgasm building again, “I won’t stop you this time.” 

Your body tried to jerk away from his mouth as your climax came on fast and strong but Miller kept you close to his lips. His arms didn’t let you leave even as you writhed from pleasure. You panted loudly, whining, until you finally orgasmed. Miller felt you orgasm against his mouth and waited until you had ridden it out before letting you pull away. You moved back enough for him to sit up. You were both panting and high on pleasure which made it impossible to speak. Miller looked you up and down, his way of asking if you were ok. You nodded softly and he nodded in return. 

“You didn’t finish,” you observed breathlessly, straddling his lap as he leaned against the headboard.

“No?” He raised a brow, pretending to be ignorant. 

“No, you didn’t.” 

“You’re observant, good for you agent Y/L/N,” he responded evenly, raising both of his brows so that his forehead creased into that judgmental look he did so well. 

“Fuck you.” 

“Already did. Try again,” he tilted his head to the side slightly and nearly smirked. His biceps curled as he ran his hands up and down your arms. When you cocked your eyebrow back, calling him out on his bullshit, he sighed and resigned. 

“That was for you, not for me,” he explained calmly, his eyes meeting yours. 

“Making me finish, you mean?” You asked slowly, your brows furrowed more. 

“Yes,” he nodded slowly and pursed his lips, “that was for you. I wanted to make you come.” 

“And now what?” 

“What do you mean?” Miller asked, confused. 

“What do we do now?”

“We put on our clothes and go back to doing our jobs,” he answered with a half-hearted shrug. You scowled and shook your head. 

“No.”

“No?” He repeated. 

“You want this too, as much as you try to deny it and shame me for it. I’m not just a pity-fuck. Look me in the fucking eyes and say that you didn’t want me,” your voice dropped and you grabbed his shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscles. He held your gaze calmly but his heart beat faster. His jaw clenched and unclenched as he considered his response. Deciding against words, Miller grabbed the back of your neck and forced you into a hard kiss. You were caught by surprise and moaned tightly as he pulled you close and found your tongue to suck on, delirious with passion. His hands wrapped around you and flipped you over where you were then lying on your back beneath him. 

“Fine, how’s this? I’ll look you in the eyes while I fuck you,” he growled and helped himself inside you. Like this, you could see his bright blue eyes as he held himself up over your body. He was already grunting and panting as he started to move back and forth. Both of your mouths fell open and you cried out in more pain than pleasure at this overstimulation. One of his hands wrapped around your throat, his thumb playing with the ridges of flexed muscles as you panted beneath him. His eyes only left you once when he dropped his head to your breasts to take one of your nipples between his teeth. He didn’t press hard, just enough to make you whimper. He flicked his large tongue over your breast, teasing the nipple with quick aggressive flicks. Your back arched and he growled in pleasure against your chest as he allowed himself to feel his orgasm. He returned his head to its original position so that he could watch your facial expression as he came. His mouth was open, his lips wet and pink. His cheeks hollowed everytime he panted, hitting your hips hard with his at the same time. He said nothing as he came, just slowed his thrusts, focusing instead on going as deeply as he could. His eyes closed and he shuttered, cumming inside you. 

When it was over, Miller remained fixed above you, his grip loosened around your neck. He traced his finger up and down your throat in a strange show of affection. 

“Alright?” Miller asked in a deep, heavy voice. You nodded and ran your hand over his chest. 

“You?”

“Alright.” He nodded once. You stared into each others’ eyes, panting and exchanging hot breath. 

“Alright,” you whispered. 

Another moment of silence passed. 

“Alright,” he repeated, staring now at your lips. Slowly, Miller inched closer. Slowly, your lips touched once more. 

Alright.

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

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

warnings: swearing, mention of cranes fear gas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[futurefamousdeadmusician]

Someone must put me down before I make any more Jonathan Crane pic crews.

[adhdnursegoat]

just scheduled the first fic for selfshiptober! aaaahhhhhhh it's gonna be so good! yall aren't ready!

[ichiwashername-o]

Dangerous Secrets - Rewritten

And here we go!

Chapter 1 is officially OUT!

I hope you all enjoy!

Spoiler art for the end of the chapter under the cut ;)

[nicsnort]

The Bookworm and the Beast [part 47]

A dark Scarecrow/Fem!OC romance fanfic

Intro [with Ao3 link] First Previous

CW: Death and Funerals

The wind whipped around, and there was the threat of rain in the air as Isabel stood in front of the grave. The small funeral had ended some time ago, but she could not leave. Isabel watched as the men covered the grave with fresh dirt. They had left in silence, leaving Isabel staring at the headstone.

Jonathan Crane August 15th 1980-March 28th 2045

Twenty-nine years. They had had twenty-nine years together. No that wasn't right. As much as he tried, Jonathan had never given up his life of crime. Jonathan had made her a promise long ago that she and Evelyn were his new life's work, but the truth was that he was still in love with his Fear Toxin. A little less than two years after he made a promise to never leave her, he did.

Isabel was cold. She groaned and reached over to cuddle Jonathan, only to find him gone. Cracking her eyes open, she looked to the bathroom. The light wasn't on.

"Jonathan?" She called groggily, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. From the room next door, Evelyn's room, she heard Jonathan muttering softly. Tiredly, Isabel got up and walked to the room. She paused outside of the door and peered inside, through the crack, listening.

"...regrets. You are so perfect. I love you and your mother so much but I need to go away for a while."

"Papa go?" Evelyn's tired, but sweet little voice asked.

"Yes, just for a few months."

"Go where?"

"Back to Gotham."

"Gotham? Batman!" Evelyn's tone became scared at the mention of Batman. She had been raised with her father and her "uncles" and "aunt" always casting Batman as the villain in their stories to her.

"Yes, Papa needs to go and fight Batman."

"Papa fight!" Evelyn giggled, "Papa win!"

"Yes, I will win," Jonathan reached down and picked Evelyn up, hugging her tightly. "I will win and return to you as soon as possible."

Evelyn closed her eyes as her father hugged her, and when she opened them, she spotted Isabel through the cracked door. "Mama!"

As Isabel opened the door and entered, Jonathan turned, Evelyn still in his arms. "Why Mama cry?"

Isabel reached up and wiped the tears from her eyes. "Nothing, it is nothing, sweetie."

Evelyn smiled and returned to hugging Jonathan. Isabel stepped up and wrapped her arms around both of them. Jonathan put an arm around Isabel and pulled her tight against him. The family stayed like that for a long while. Eventually, though, Evelyn became antsy. "Tired, Papa."

"Okay, my sweet, back to bed."

"Night, night Papa. Night, night Mama." Jonathan set Evelyn back in her bed, and the two adults snuck out of the room. Taking Isabel's hand, Jonathan led her down the stairs so they would not wake Evelyn back up.

"You were just going to leave without telling me?" Isabel accused once they were downstairs.

"No, no," Jonathan said, drawing her into his arms. "Of course not, pet. I was just saying goodbye to Evelyn first."

Isabel felt tears rolling down her cheeks. "Y-you didn't even tell me. We didn't discuss it at all."

"I know, Isabel. I'm sorry. I didn't know how to bring it up. Please understand. I don't have a scheme. I just need to conduct some research. I will be back in a few months. I promise…"

That had been the second promise he broke. Jonathan had been caught by Batman and thrown in Arkham, it was not until six months after he left that he returned. It was almost poetic, though, he had returned on Evelyn's birthday. Jonathan stayed with them again for a year and a half before returning to Gotham. That ended up being the pattern of their life. Stay for a couple of years, then leave. All in all, Jonathan missed about 4 years of Evelyn growing up. Four years they would never get back.

The wind was stinging Isabel's cheeks, the pain increased by the tears now streaming down them. Sniffing, Isabel dabbed the tears away. Jonathan had asked her not to cry. They'd known this was coming. Ten years ago, Jonathan returned to her and officially retired. Five years ago, he had fallen ill. All the years of being beaten by both Batman and other criminals and many more years of accidentally inhaling his chemicals had finally taken their toll. There was nothing the doctors could have done to help him, and all Isabel could do was ease his pain in any way possible.

The last year had been the worst. Isabel had done all she could, but in the end, they both knew his time was up. Then in the middle of the day, three days ago, Jonathan had been sitting in his chair reading when he suddenly looked up at Isabel sitting on the couch.

"I love you, Isabel." He had said, his voice still strong but the tone softer than it had been when they were young.

"I love you too, Jonathan," Isabel had replied automatically, not looking up from her book.

"No, Isabel." His tone, this time, made her look at him. "I do love you, and I am sorry that I went back to Gotham all those years ago. I should never have left you or Evelyn. We should have moved across the country far away from Gotham and Batman. I was being selfish, and I am sorry. I am so, terribly sorry."

Tears had pricked his eyes, which Isabel had not seen often in all her years with him. Smiling, Isabel had gotten up and kissed Jonathan's cheek, but then he had grabbed the back of her head and given her a proper kiss on the lips. Not passionate, but even fuller in meaning and intent than the kisses they shared when they were young. Pulling away, Isabel had felt her eyes misting over as well. "Do you need anything, Jonathan?"

"No, pet," Jonathan had said tiredly, "I think I will just close my eyes for a bit."

Isabel had nodded and went back down to read some more. When she had checked on Jonathan an hour later, he had passed on.

"Mom." Isabel was pulled out of her memories by the sound of her daughter's voice. "Mom, it is going to rain soon."

"Yes, Sweet," Isabel sighed. "Just-just a couple more minutes."

Evelyn put a hand on her mother's shoulder. "Okay, Mom. Stewart is waiting for you, though."

Isabel nodded before turning back to the grave. After her daughter's footsteps faded, Isabel heard another pair approaching her. "I am sorry for your loss, Mrs. Crane."

Isabel turned to look at the source of the unknown voice. It was a man, old, but not older than her, somewhere in his late fifties. Most notably, he was huge, not with fat but with well-toned muscle. Muscle that could only be earned with years of constant use.

"Thank you." She paused for a second before continuing, "He had been sick for a few years. There was nothing the doctors could do. So many years of bodily abuse led to this. I always thought, one less punch, one less broken rib, one less time exposed to that toxin…but it doesn't matter now, I guess."

The other man was silent, staring consideringly at the grave.

"I suppose I should thank you again, though, for never coming for us, for him at home."

"I don't know what you mean."

"I'm not a fool, Batman. I saw you one night. Out in the woods, watching us. You knew where we were, and you knew where Jonathan was hiding. You could have burst in and arrested him, me. Broken up our family, but you never did. Thank you for that."

The man was silent once again.

"I also know what you have done with the other bodies. The bodies of Jervis, Two-Face, and the others who have died so far. I know you take them so their graves cannot be made into monuments to their crimes. Please, though, don't take his body. No one in this town knows who he is. No one will find him. Please, when the time comes, let me be buried next to my husband."

"No idea what you mean, ma'am," the man said, walking away. "Once again, I'm sorry for your loss."

Isabel watched as the man walked away. Her attention was drawn away, though, by a call from a young boy by the road. "Babushka!"

Smiling for the first time all day, Isabel waved at her grandson. Glancing back towards the man, Isabel saw that he had disappeared. Closing her eyes, Isabel looked back towards the grave once more. Bending down near the headstone, Isabel placed her hands on top of it. "Sorry, my love, I have to go now. It might be a while until we see each other again. I love you."

Standing, Isabel made her way to the road where her daughter and grandson were waiting for her. The six-year-old boy wrapped his arms around Isabel, his pumpkin-shaped plastic bucket that Jonathan had given him three years ago on Halloween, knocking against her legs.

"I am sorry, Babushka," he said, hugging her tightly, "I am going to miss Grandad."

"I know, little ghoul, so am I," Isabel said, patting his straw blonde hair inherited from his father.

Evelyn hugged her mother tightly. When they parted, Isabel looked at her daughter with her blue eyes so, much like her father's and her grandson with an obsession with Halloween to rival his grandad's. Doctor Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, the God of Fear, was gone, but his legacy would live on.

________

Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed this old fanfic I wrote a decade ago! If you are interested in some of my more recent works, see my master list!

Masterlist

[gothamite-rambler]

Oh to be a Romani kid who was raised in the circus.

Robin!Dick (10 years old) cautiously approached Scarecrow, his face masked to shield him from the fear toxin.

Robin!Dick: Um, sir, you're not American, right?

Scarecrow scanned the area, wary of Batman’s presence, unsure if this was some sort of trap. After a moment, he decided to answer.

Scarecrow: I'm from England, born and raised. Moved here in my teens. Why do you ask?

Robin!Dick: Okay, you're an adult, then. Can you explain to me what the heck a pound is?

Scarecrow (confused, slightly annoyed): The currency?

Robin!Dick (with slight panic): No, weight! Why is it written "lb"? And what are inches? Why is a football field a unit of measurement?

Scarecrow (nodding, relating to the plight): Oh… wow. I went through this when I first moved here.

Robin!Dick: Yeah my... um... grandfather did too, but he won't explain any of this! I'm so confused! Why is it all so confusing?

Scarecrow (being british): Because when the Americans won the war, they decided to keep messing with us. I can give you a quick crash course, but where's Batman?

Robin!Dick turned around and pointed at his father, who was busy battling a swarm of crazed goons.

Robin!Dick: He’s… busy.

Scarecrow: I should spray you with toxin, but dang, you are adorable.

Robin!Dick (appreciating the compliment): Aww, thank you!

Scarecrow: No problem! Alright, to start: the imperial system is what the bloody Americans use, this place and a small number of other places, while the metric system is what everyone else uses.