Jonathan Crane X Reader - Tumblr Posts

Reservoir {Jonathan Crane x Anxious!Reader}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2492 Summary: Jonathan keeps asking you, his partner, to move in with him. You finally tell him the reason why you keep saying no. Warnings: Contains mental illness, anxiety, vomiting, degrading thoughts.

Jonathan had asked again. This is the third time this month that he had brought up you moving in with him. The fifth time that he had come into your apartment and sneered at how he could hear the neighbors through the thin walls, how your sink never ran right - the water trickling more than ever spewing but the landlord never sent the maintenance man, and how the floorboards weren’t level and he always felt how wonky it was beneath his feet. He hated coming to your place. But it was much easier for him to get to from work than it was for you to get to his own large house. He always thought about how he could fit this whole apartment in his living room. You wouldn’t have to deal with any landlords. The neighbors were far and few between. But you kept on rejecting him. He had hoped third time was the charm. But it wasn’t. You said no once more, and he couldn’t take not finding out more this time.

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The Arkham Patient (Part One)

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Warning: Smut, BDSM, Torture with Consent, Filth, Strictly 18+

Words: 2,689

Please comment and let me know what you think and as to whether I should continue writing this…

****

‘For fuck sake, get your fucking hands of me’ you screamed as, once again, you kicked one of the guards into his most intimate region as he tried to restrain you.

There was no reason for you to be here, in this hell hole of an asylum. You weren’t crazy. In fact, you thought that you were simply misunderstood.

You admitted to killing three men, but you had your reasons. You were criminally minded and did well in Gotham until you were declared insane and were sent to Arkham Asylum for treatment, a treatment which you refused to accept.

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🔪 knife against the throat, ☁️ enemies to lovers/🧸exes with feelings, 👀 forced proximity

with my man jonathan, for spice.

ily hope you have had a wonderful week.

thank u so much hailey :,)) hope this stinky scary crow man fic is to ur liking🥰 ilyyy

send me build a blurb asks <3

masterlist | built blurbs

pairing: jonathan crane x reader

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it? You’re still beautiful. Radiant, even.” The knife’s cold blade tapped the underside of your chin teasingly. You had just stepped through your front door when Jonathan slammed your back to his chest, holding a knife to your throat as he kicked the door shut.

You slammed your elbow into his ribs, wrestling out of his grip. You snatched the knife away, aiming it at his neck. “Radiant. That seems to happen whenever I’m rid of you, but you keep crawling back. Sneaking into my apartment when I’m not around, lying in wait. Typical.” You knocked the knife against his Adam's apple, gently, avoiding breaking the skin. “You still carry a torch for me, Jonny?” You dragged the knife down to his chest, slicing an “X” into his dress shirt, over his heart.

He chuckled, leaning forward, nose ghosting yours. “I missed you.”

You grinned, wrapping a hand around his neck, pushing him back. You stabbed between his legs, the blade plunging into the wall. Not even a flinch.

He raised his eyebrows. “Your landlord’s not gonna like that.”

“To what do I owe this visit, Jonathan?” You smiled.

“A truce. Come back to me.” He paused. “We had fun, didn’t we?”

You scoffed. “Being your little… partner-in-crime was fine a year ago, but I’ve moved on. Besides, you were an aching bore.” You laughed. “You won’t get me back without a fight.”

He yanked the knife out of the wall, pinning you to the ground. “You never go down without a fight. Why do you think I brought this?” He asked, brandishing the gleaming blade. “Besides the added excitement. Without it, this conversation would be an… aching bore.”

“It’s certainly gotten my attention.” You smirked, pressing a finger to the tip of the knife as he pointed it at you. “You wouldn’t use it on me, though. You love me, don’t you?” You pouted mockingly.

“I think you know we were more than just 'partners-in-crime', (Y/N). Our bond’s stronger than that.” He laughed, the smile disappearing as he grew deadly serious. “We would’ve killed for each other.” He hesitated, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I know I’ve killed for you.”

You looked at each other, silent for a moment before Jonathan whipped his head toward the door. Footsteps, heading toward your apartment. He pulled you to your feet, rushing you into your closet.

He clapped a hand over your mouth, pressing you close to him in the cramped space. The knife returned to your throat, ensuring you wouldn’t move as you watched a dark figure appear in the doorway. Batman. You thought you’d never see him again, having given up your life of crime, leaving Jon behind. He must’ve found out Jonathan was in the neighbourhood.

You screwed your eyes shut, trying to steady your breathing. You felt Jon’s chest heave against your back and you reached for his hand, pulling the knife away from your neck. He slipped it into his pocket, and you laced your fingers with his, squeezing his hand. Like old times. Slowly, he removed his other hand from your mouth, wrapping his arm around your chest, holding you even closer. You sighed, leaning back into him, his presence a comfort as you hid with bated breath.

Your eyes followed Bats as he scanned your apartment, surveying the area for any signs of you two. Your grip on Jon’s hand grew tighter as you watched Batman trace the hole you’d cut in the wall with his finger, a sigh of relief leaving your mouth as he disregarded it, finally leaving your apartment.

The two of you held still for a moment before Jon exhaled sharply, dropping his head into your shoulder, relieved. He looked back up, swallowing hard as his arm still held you tightly, keeping you near. You turned, your chest pressing against his as you glanced at each other, his face illuminated by the slashes of light streaming in through the slats in the closet doors. You hadn’t been this close to him since you left. You remembered now, what he used to look like after close shaves like these, after your sprees. A triumphant gleam in his eye, a wild, uninhibited smile, your expression mirroring his.

He leaned in toward you, pressing his lips to yours gently. You dipped your head down, holding your temple against his chest as he reached out his hand, the one he’d wielded the knife with just minutes before, running his fingers through your hair. Gentle.

“Where to next, Scarecrow?” You whispered, a smile spreading across his face.

“Anywhere my partner wishes, Little Crow.”

if i love you, is that a fact or a weapon? - part ii

part i

masterlist

fill out this form to be in my taglist :))

a/n: i am not immune to the rivals dancing with each other at a fancy ball while making snippy remarks trope and hopefully you aren't too. i hope you enjoy and please consider interacting if you liked it! ily <3

Bruce slid his suit jacket off, tossing it in your direction. You caught it, slinging it over yourself and letting it hang loose around your shoulders, shielding your exposed skin from the pleasant bite of the cold air as the two of you walked toward the ballroom.

“You’ve gone soft, Brucey. Worried about whether I’ll catch a cold?” You teased. The two of you were making your way up to a charity gala. Bruce had benevolently offered you his plus-one invitation, allowing you to beat away the terrible boredom that came with being all alone in Wayne Manor.

He reached his arm over his back, tapping his shoulder. You slid the jacket down, turning to look at the reflection of your back in one of the wall’s mirrored panels. You saw the blue-black bloom of a bruise on your shoulder blade, just visible through your outfit.

“Strong for a scarecrow, huh?” Bruce joked, his eyes betraying frustration.

The memory of Scarecrow had become a constant fixture in both your minds. You sometimes felt like the wild flash of his blue eyes still lingered, his stare burning into your skull. You could remember the dig of his nails in your arm, the hardness of his forearm pushing into your neck, the scrape of his bared teeth. You couldn’t help but wonder where he’d gone, and you couldn’t get him off your mind.

You and Bruce stood on the outskirts of the sweeping room. All was bathed in the golden light from the chandeliers that hung far above you, glinting off the crystal glasses of champagne held by the guests as they swayed to the music from the big band.

He was instantly swarmed with reporters, beneficiaries and donors, all fawning over him. You allowed him to fend off the crowd as your eyes wandered across the room.

You froze, a flash of recognition moving across your face as your eyes met a cold gaze. Your heart sank. It was him. Scarecrow.

He eyed you like a predator and you controlled your urge to shove through the crowd and run away. You were surrounded by reporters and guests. You couldn’t make a scene here, it would arouse too much suspicion. You were cornered.

He cleaned up well, his hair slicked back, donning a clean suit, composed and sure as he strode toward you and Bruce, in tow of the woman beside him. The blaze of his eyes through his glasses made your stomach drop. His face had etched itself into your mind since your fight, but you hadn’t imagined seeing him again so soon, especially like this.

Your trembling hand clutched onto Bruce’s forearm as you pushed your mouth next to his ear, keeping your voice low, such that even the reporters who craned their necks to listen couldn’t hear.

“That’s him. Straight ahead. Scarecrow.” You whispered, voice saturated with panic. You saw the muscle in Bruce’s jaw twitch as he grit his teeth, eyes hardening. He squeezed your hand, prompting you to stay calm in front of the watchful eyes of the gala’s guests. A courteous smile fixed itself on his face as he dismissed the reporters with a polite wave of his hand, the crowd dispersing as the two of them made their way over.

“Mr Wayne!” The woman shook Bruce’s hand, gushing. “I’m the head of the psychology department at Gotham U., I had to come over and thank you for your generous donation last semester.”

Bruce flashed a tight smile at her.

“This is my colleague, one of our professors. Dr Jonathan Crane.”

A name. He had to have some sort of crazy courage to be bold enough to reveal his identity to you and Bruce, but he was safe for now. Surrounded by all these people, your hands were tied.

He grasped Jonathan’s hand, shaking it with a stronger grip than normal.

“I’d like to extend my thanks to you too, Mr Wayne.” Jon drawled, his voice laced with a venom indiscernible to anyone but you and Bruce. “I have only respect for someone who appreciates the power of the mind as much as I do.” He snarked. You felt your fist clench beside you.

“I’m sure you do.” Bruce shot back sarcastically. Crane returned his gaze to you and your breath caught in your throat.

“Would you like to dance?”

Your mouth dropped open a little in shock. Dance? With him, now? You wanted nothing more than to escape, wriggle yourself out of the strange power play he was trying to get you into. The suggestion seemed so ridiculous, the music from the band made you want to laugh and burst into tears simultaneously. No. You wouldn’t let him get in your head that easily. You glanced back at the head of department as she smiled expectantly at the two of you. You didn’t really have a choice.

“Sure.” You choked out, plastering a genial smile on your face.

Jon offered his arm and you begrudgingly laced yours through his, the soft fabric of his suit feeling like sandpaper against your skin, the warmth of his arm making you recoil.

“Are you a good dancer, Professor Crane?” You asked as he led you toward the dancefloor, trying to defuse the silence that fell over you two in an attempt to calm your nerves.

“How do you mean?” He responded, his voice steady and tinged with a bit of boredom. You looked at his profile, the placid, unwavering expression on his face much different from your first encounter. The adrenaline from the fight must’ve given him a rush of emotion, and standing so close to him without attempting to beat him to a pulp felt strange.

“Well… how do you dance?”

“Close.” He held onto your arms, yanking you toward him. You held in a yelp of surprise as he pressed you to his chest, face inches away from yours. Your heart filled with resolve, and you forced yourself to straighten up, looking directly into his eyes. He wouldn’t shake you that easily.

“Keeping your friends close and your enemies closer?” You retorted, entwining your hand with his, knuckles flexing as you dug your nails into his hand.

“Clever.” He wasn’t a particularly bad dancer, but he was undeniably mechanical as he led you around the room, smiling over your shoulder at Bruce’s glare as he danced with the head of department, skirting around the two of you. “But you’re hurting my feelings. Aren’t we friends?”

You smirked, stamping hard on his feet “on accident”. “Are you usually friends with those who kick your ass, Doctor?”

He trampled on yours in return, the grip on your hand getting tighter every minute, every movement more harsh than the last. “I believe I kicked yours.”

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s cut the shit. Why’re you here?”

Jon exhaled sharply through his nose. “(Y/N), can’t I dance without you assuming I have some sort of wicked ulterior motive?” You scowled at his condescending tone, his feigned innocence irritating you.

You narrowed your eyes, ignoring his question. “How do you know my name?”

His lips curved into a small smile. “I have my ways.” It took you everything not to wind your hand out of his grip and punch him in the jaw. He continued, fixing his eyes on you. “I’ve been watching you for some time. You’re an… interesting subject. Any other questions?” You felt bile rise in your throat. Watching you. You composed yourself. You weren’t scared of him. You met his gaze again, confident as ever.

“Just one. It’s cliche, though.”

“Shoot.”

“Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

He smirked. “Funny.” He said derisively.

“No admission of whether you’re armed, then?” You asked, raising your eyebrow.

He dipped you, leaning in to whisper in your ear. His arms supported your weight as he held you, his hot breath on your neck. You felt a blush spread across your cheeks.

“I wouldn’t use it on you. I like you too much.”

You moved back as he lifted you back up, glaring at him. “I’m flattered.”

He looked at you amusedly, and you finally pulled your attention off him for a second.

Something was wrong.

You were so caught up in your standoff that you didn’t notice the music winding down, eventually completely stopping. A sickening silence hung over the ballroom and your skin turned to ice under Jon’s touch.

Around you, the waiters that had been walking through the room, serving the crowd, halted, as if in a trance. They each picked up the bottles of champagne they held on their trays, smashing them on the ground simultaneously, the shattering of the glass ringing out through the ballroom, eliciting confused gasps from the guests.

A canister rolled out from the shattered green debris, the same red glare of the time sensitive device you saw in the warehouse flashing on each of them. You wrestled yourself away from Jonathan, attempting to sprint away when Jon hooked his arm around your waist, wrenching you back to him as he clapped his hand over your mouth and nose. The canisters exploded, clouds of his toxin blooming across the room.

Soon, the room was nothing but a grey mass of the billowing toxin, and you could only feel yourself struggling against Jonathan’s hold as he pulled a burlap sack over your head, tossing you over his shoulder, screams echoing through the fog.

congrats 🥳 on 300!! for the blurbs (💕) thingy: i was thinking about sadboy jonathan saying something like: "If there was ever anybody meant for me, it's you." xx

a/n: thank you so much for the request <3 i hope you like it :) love jon. the saddest. the baddest. the maddest.

masterlist

pairing: sadboy yan jonathan crane x reader

tw: kidnapping, swearing. yan angst obsessive jonathan.

The window rattled in its frame as you slammed your fist against it, and you couldn’t help but feel mocked by the dull, hollow bang that sounded through the room as you failed to break through. You could feel the quiver of the glass in your bones.

Looking at the wall of glass before you made rage bubble in your chest. It was the only thing separating your punch from Jonathan’s unflinching face.

You whipped around, shaking out your arm as pain radiated off your flexing knuckles. Jonathan’s gaze bore into your back, burning with a ferocity akin to the heat occupying your cheeks as your skin flushed with frustration. Unconsciously, you rolled your shoulders, trying to shake off his stare. It didn’t work. He was always watching.

“It’ll take more than that to break it.” His voice was infuriating and dangerously calm.

“But… you knew that, didn’t you?” His eyes flickered toward the splintered remnants of what was once a chair in the corner of your room.

Your muscles ached as you recalled how you’d smashed it into the wall for the better part of half an hour, the deafening cracks of the wood still ringing in your ears. Jonathan had just stood, observing.

His placidity was enough to make you scream.

You paced like a caged animal. You weren’t far from a caged animal, thrown in here by Jonathan. Your grey little cell, somewhere in the asylum’s basement.

You sighed, pressing your cheek against the cool wall. You had tried. You had really, really tried. You had fought until your muscles were fatigued and screamed until your lungs felt like they were going to give out. You knocked your forehead twice against the wall. Your simmering anger was giving way to sadness and exhaustion.

You buried your face in your hands, sniffling. It was all too much.

“Don’t.” His voice made you start a little, and his slightly harsh, commanding tone almost made you want to listen. You pushed that instinct aside, ignoring him, a cracking sob escaping your lips.

“Stop. No, don’t do that.” He sounded panicked. You turned toward him, and his eyebrows furrowed as he shifted, swallowing thickly as he looked at your red-rimmed eyes. He looked anxious. Almost a little hurt. “This is good for us. I did good for us.”

“Oh, fuck off.” You barked out a miserable laugh, sinking to the floor. “How could this possibly be good?” You spat, glaring up at him before dropping your head, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes.

After what felt like an eternity of quiet, the swing of the door cut through the silence. You heard Jon’s footsteps as he approached you, and you could sense his presence as he stood over you, watching as you sat wilted on the floor below him.

Slowly, he moved next to you, pulling you close. His arms enveloped you, pressing you to his chest as he rested his chin on your head.

Every cell in your body screamed at you to take your chance. To wrestle him off you, push past him and run out the door.

But you were exhausted. You could barely build up the energy to look at him.

“Why are you doing this to me?” You mumbled against his chest, voice hollow and soft.

“I love you.” He spoke, hand running through your hair. The touch turned your skin to ice.

"No, you don't." You sighed, trying to push yourself away. He tightened his grip. “You don’t do these things to people you love.”

“I’m doing this because I love you.” He cooed, the gentle lilt of his voice making your head swim. “I care. I’m doing this for your own good. You’re safe here-”

“Stop." You squirmed against him, his arms digging into your ribs as he held you. “This isn’t love, you don’t know about love-"

“I know that when you love something, you hold onto it.”

“Until you crush it?” You rasped, wriggling out of his grasp. You let your head hang, your gaze trained on the ground, away from him. His hands circled your wrists, clamping tightly around each one.

The two of you were suspended in silence, punctuated only by your shuddering breaths.

“I don’t love you.” You whispered, mustering whatever strength you had left to lift your head. You shook your head, staring into his eyes, a clear, cruel blue.

His hands tightened around your arms.

“Then you’ll learn.” His voice was possessed by a determination that stung. “If there was anybody meant for me, it’s you. I can’t let you go. I won’t.”

You screwed your eyes shut, defeat singing through your body like an ache. You couldn’t bear to look up. He pulled you closer again, running his hand up and down your back, trying to reassure you.

“I hate you.” You whispered, voice muffled against his shirt.

“That’ll pass.”

Hi bex! Can I request some angst for jonathan crane!?

hi there! i hope this is good, sorry it's a little short! (also the m on my keyboard is like? acting weird, so sorry for any typos) (1.2k words, tw for slight dubcon and forceful drugging)

“Jonathan, you need to leave.”

You couldn’t help but pity the poor doctor. It was raining outside and he looked soaked to the bone from walking, and his black hair hung limply in his pale face. Your chest burned with anger, though, even through your pity. He knew what he had done. He knew that you by no means wanted to see him.

“I’m sorry,” he told you quickly. “Look, I don’t even know what I did—”

“Don’t lie to me,” you said quickly and began to shut your door, but Jonathan shoved his foot in the doorway, keeping it open. His big blue eyes were more alert than ever, fixed on you with a frightening intensity. You had only ever seen that once before, on That Night, the night that your years of courtship and dating and your marriage were washed away. “You know exactly what you did, Dr. Crane.”

“Oh, so I’m Dr. Crane now?” Jonathan chuckled. “What happened to Jonathan? Or Johnny? You used to call me that all the time.”

“Well, I don’t anymore,” you snapped. “Get out of here, I’ll call the cops.”

“For what?” your ex-husband asked. “Just let me in, sweetheart, let’s talk about this.”

“I don’t want to talk to you!” you gasped, fear seizing your chest when Jonathan’s gaze darkened. “Please, just leave me alone!”

Dr. Crane stood and watched you for a moment, almost seemingly enjoying watching you quiver in fear. Your Jonathan never used to be like this. When you first met him, both still undergrads at Gotham University, he was a shy and sweet guy who didn’t really know how to talk to a woman. He liked watching crime shows on television and he could ramble for hours about psychiatric treatments, and you gladly let him. You looked back on those days without the rose-tinted glasses. You were so in love, it almost made you sick. Back then, Jonathan Crane didn’t have any flaws. He was your Johnny, just like he said. Maybe he had a few quirks, but you never minded that. As you rationalized it, if he could put up with all your bullshit, you could put up with all of his. You still remember how it felt when he proposed to you, done in his own special way; he took you across the bay to a pasture where you two had escaped during his late-night grad school study times. He had spread out a blanket on the ground, just like old times, and he had asked you to be the beautiful Mrs. Crane. His cheeks were so red. He was so nervous.

And then, something changed in your Johnny. He graduated with his doctorate and was almost immediately hired to work at Arkham Asylum, and he started acting differently. You knew that, in his line of work, there surely was always something on his mind, but you felt powerless when he would come home and lock himself in his office. He would only come out when you sat by the door and begged him to join you for dinner, and he’d sneak into bed mere hours before he had to get up. Most times, it hardly felt like you were married. You couldn’t exactly blame him, though; he was one of the only qualified professionals at that out-of-touch facility and he had an awful workload on him, and you felt sorry for him every time he’d crawl into bed and sigh with the weight of his entire body.

That night, he had left the door to his office open. While his pay was good, rent in Gotham was nearly extortionate, and his office was just the spare bedroom with his desk shoved in the corner. It was deathly quiet in the apartment that night, enough to make your skin crawl. Usually, you could hear your husband mumbling to himself through the closed door or the incessant tapping at his computer, but you didn’t hear anything. You got out of bed and quietly moved down the hallway, in search of any noise, and you only heard something when you got right up next to the room. The door was cracked open enough, and you peeked inside—

Jonathan slammed the front door open, and you stumbled backwards in shock. Your ex-husband, drenched in the rain and his eyes alight with a fury that you had never seen, slammed the door shut behind him, and he grabbed your arms. “Sweetheart, listen to me!” he cried as you thrashed against his grip. “I’d never hurt you. I would never do that on purpose, I’m sorry. You know I love you more than that.”

“Get off of me!” you sobbed, trying in any way to defend yourself. But, for as lanky and skinny as Jonathan was, he was incredibly strong, and he had practice in holding you down.

“I need you,” Jonathan whispered. “I need you, I can’t do this without you. Please, please take me back.”

Fear surged through your body, and you lashed out against him again. It was some sick joke, it had to be. It was just like that night. He had grabbed you and slammed you against the wall, and he had wrenched your mouth open with his thumb and put something in your mouth. To this day, all those months later, you still didn’t know what he had given you. But it scarred you. The world pulsated and throbbed with color, and you screamed in terror at the creature that replaced your husband. Deep, soulless eyes, creatures crawling from his gaping maw. Your entire body ran cold and your ears rang so loudly that you couldn’t even hear Jonathan’s voice, as altered as it was, and you cowered away from the monster that captured you against the wall. Once you had finally exhausted yourself and whatever drug your husband had fed you had worn off, you had almost immediately packed a bag and left. You met with your lawyer the next day and, within a year, your marriage had ended. Truthfully, you still didn’t know if the whole experience was real or if it, as several doctors had told you, was a stress reaction to the tense environment at home, but you felt in your heart of hearts that your husband had given you some sort of drug that had forced that reaction. It was awful and Jonathan had never owned up to it, but you knew that he knew what he had done.

“I’d rather die than be with you,” you whimpered. “Y-You drugged me!”

“Only because I love you!” Jonathan said. “I-I thought I was making something else… A stimulant, but my ratios were off! I-I didn’t mean to do that to you, please believe me, sweetheart.”

“So why’d you slam me against the wall?” you asked. “Why’d you force me to take it? If you thought it was harmless, you could have asked me.”

Jonathan sighed, and he tugged you into his body. His wet shirt soaked right through your pajama shirt and you squirmed away from his cold skin, but he put a gentle kiss on your neck anyway, as if nothing were wrong. “I fucked up,” he whispered. “But one mistake shouldn’t define an entire marriage.”

“But it does, Jonathan,” you huffed. “It did. You’re too late.”

“Please, sweetheart,” Jonathan whispered, and you recognized the watery tone in his voice. He tugged his face from your neck, and you melted at the bright color of his eyes. His icy eyes always turned bright blue when he cried. His face went red and his eyes went brilliant blue, and the look tugged at your heart. “I can’t do this without you. Please come back to me.”

smth a little short and sweet

i havent watched the new batman, but i keep thinking about scarecrow saurrrrr 😩😩

cw // ‼️‼️17+‼️‼️ sacrificing, slightly n s f w, lowkey yandere, sadism, dubcon

“please, jonathan. don’t hurt them. they’re innocent.” you’re splayed on the bed. jonathan hovers over you, his hands clutching your wrists in place. his face presses against your neck, you feel his teeth brush your skin.

“hurt me. hurt me instead, leave them. you can use me however you want. just… please.” you feel him pause. he lifts himself, positioning one knee between your thighs.

“oh? you’d let me use you, huh? no complaints?” you swallow as his grip on your wrist tightens.

“no, nothing. only for you.” you feel his breathe on your face and fight the urge to turn away.

“no matter what experiments i want to test? no matter how much i push you close to breaking?” his smirk grows and you feel tears form.

“anything you want. i am yours, as long as you don’t hurt anyone else.” you blink and let your tears roll down. he watches. he lets go of one hand to hold your jaw tightly. you feel pain bloom.

“you promise, my pretty?” he turns your head and leaves wet kisses on your neck, trailing downward.

“i promise.”

𝖇𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖘𝖕𝖔𝖙𝖘 | professor!jonathan crane x batgirl!reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 | it can be difficult, living a double life: spending your days as a scholarship student at gotham university, and your nights as batgirl, the legendary heroine, fighting alongside batman and robin. though it proves to take a toll on you mentally and physically, flunked term papers and missed lectures will be the least of your problems when you encounter the scarecrow somewhere in the shadowy alleyways of gotham...

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 | 7k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 | NONCON SMUT (18+ only; violent/rough sex, use of fear toxin, degradation, semi-public sex/exhibitionism, bondage), professor/student dynamic (therefore implied age gap), some angst and depiction of ptsd/aftermath, reader is dating robin/tim drake

“And so,” Professor Crane continued, looking towards the class from the board, chalk in hand, "this triggers the fear response, and all that comes with it.  You're probably familiar with the symptoms of fear: heart rate increase, cold sweat, overall heightened arousal."

A few giggles could be heard at that, and he rolled his eyes.

"Not that sort of arousal, necessarily," he frowned.

Everyone else just brushed off the childish humor of the moment, but you narrowed your eyes, getting a sense that the word necessarily was doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence.

He returned to his lecture, drawing lines in chalk over his crude diagram of the human brain, explaining how each area of the brain contributed to fear and the fight-or-flight response.  As he spoke, you re-read the handout he’d given today— and you chewed on your lip absent-mindedly as you reviewed the bibliography.

"Dr. Crane?" you raised your hand, interrupting his lecture mid-sentence.  "I had a question about some of the studies you reference here."

"Yes?" he returned, turning to face you with a slightly confused expression.

"Well you cite a paper out of Berkeley from 2002, to support the conclusion that exposure therapy is the best response to aggressive phobias— however, if you actually read the paper—"

"I read the paper, Miss," he interrupted sternly.

"Then, if you actually understood the paper," you continued, a few students gasping and laughing softly at your insubordination, "then you would see that the conclusions indicate the perceived decrease in fear response comes at the expense of long-term stability.  Don't you think that negates any positive implications?"

The silence in the room was tense: everyone was waiting for how he would respond to your critique.  Instead, he just smiled at you slightly.  "I think you may have more context for how research is conducted, and reevaluate your conclusions, when you get a chance to organize your own research— in about a decade."

"Actually, Professor, I'll be leading my own experiment this quarter," you corrected, just as he was about to turn away from you and keep lecturing.  "I'm the recipient of the Wayne Enterprises Collegiate Scholarship— which pays for my education here and also comes with a fifty thousand dollar research grant."

“Ah,” he said, bitterness dripping from his tone as he set his hands on the desk and leaned forward a bit.  “May I ask what topic you hope to explore with your research?”

“Crime,” you explained, “and criminal behavior.”

“Hm,” he nodded, frowning slightly in an impressed sort of way, taking his weight off the desk.  “And it doesn’t bother you that you’re here studying psychology?”

You lowered your brow, confused by his question.  “I’m sorry?”

“Criminology is a subfield of sociology, which is related to but distinct from psychology,” he explained.

“Would you recommend that I switch majors, Doctor?” you asked simply.

“Well, it’s no secret that you’ve set the curve on our last two exams,” Dr. Crane smiled, tilting his head slightly.  “So, no— I think I’d rather keep you here.”

You straightened up slightly, taken aback by his wording.

“Plus, while you’re still in my department,” he continued, “I have a better chance of talking some sense into you.”

With that, he returned to teaching, and you noticed how the other students were watching you before you sighed and tried to listen to the rest of class.

~

You caught up with him on a long stretch of hallway, just as he stepped up to his office door.  “Professor!” you got his attention, and he turned to you with a slightly smug look as he held his hands together.

“Ah, yes,” he greeted, “I see you’re here to apologize for how you spoke to me in class today?”

You knew he didn’t actually expect that, he knew better after having you under him for the last two quarters— um, so to speak.  “Just as soon as you do,” you offered with a smirk in return, shifting your weight on your hip.

That was what moved your button-down slightly, and his eyes drifted down to your neck— when they did, confusion and concern suddenly painted his expression. “My,” he gasped a little, pulling on the collar of your shirt with one finger to expose a healing scrape on your chest; his fingertip brushed over your skin and the golden chain of your necklace, and you jumped away slightly.  “How’d you get that?”

“It’s nothing—” you blurted out, blinking quickly, “I tripped, on campus, actually.”

“That wonky step up to the Commons?” he assumed.  “I’ve filed two complaints about that loose brick…”

“Yes,” you agreed quickly, smiling.  “Yeah, I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I didn’t catch myself well while holding my books—”

“Hm,” he nodded back, “that’s a shame.  A girl as smart as you, forgetting the Commons building doesn’t have brick steps— or steps at all, in fact.”

You swallowed thickly, glancing away. 

“You sure were eager for an explanation, though,” he smiled.  “How’d you really get such a nasty scrape?  It does look like concrete, but I’m guessing it didn’t happen on campus—”

“It’s no matter,” you assured.

“It wasn’t that boyfriend of yours, was it?” he pressed.  “Mr. Drake, as I recall?”

“Wha— no!” you gasped.

“He’s not your boyfriend?”

“Well, he is,” you explained, “but he didn’t—”

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Crane offered, lowering his voice slightly.  

“Of course,” you sighed, “but there’s nothing to tell.  Things are fine with Tim, I promise.” 

“He shared your interest in criminal studies, didn’t he?” Professor Crane recalled.  “Clearly, he didn’t share your scholarly aptitude, though, seeing as he’s dropped out.”

“H-he was smart enough,” you justified, “he left because of stress.”

“Ah,” the Professor nodded, “and he doesn’t take that stress out on you at all?”

“C’mon, Professor, Tim’s a good person,” you promised.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Crane replied, “but it’s the ones that act the kindest that have the most to hide, isn’t it?”

You knew there was another meaning to that statement, but there were so many possibilities that you couldn’t settle on one.

“You understand that if I suspect anything, I’m required to alert our student wellness services,” he reminded you.  “They’ll have a counselor reach out to you—”

“Listen, Dr. Crane— I didn’t come here to speak to you about my personal life,” you reminded him, “I wanted to ask you about my performance in the class so far, in your opinion.”

He paused before sighing in relent.  “I’m a little concerned, actually,” he admitted, “about your most recent paper.”

He pulled it from the folder under his arm and handed it back to you— covered in red ink.  You blinked at him, biting your lip in confusion.  “I thought these wouldn’t be returned until—”

“I worked on yours first,” he explained quickly, even though that explanation only brought more questions than answers.  “It’s still very strong, but it’s not what I expect from you at this point.  It feels rushed.”

Rushed— yeah, I remember this one.  I wrote it all the night it was due because I spent the three days before recovering from that fight with Falcone’s thugs at the docks—

“I’ll let you rewrite it,” he offered, “if you can get it back to me before I return the rest of your classmates’ work.”

You laughed a little, looking at the paper in front of you, and Crane knitted his brows together.  “You know, Professor, sometimes I can’t tell if I’m your favorite student, or your most hated.”

He smiled a little, glancing down briefly at the floor in a sort of self-effacing way.  “I don’t have favorites,” he assured, unconvincingly.  “You’re not my best student, or my worst— you’re an entirely different kind of student.  You’re nothing like those other… juvenile, moronic co-eds looking in the exact wrong place for an easy A.”

Your eyes widened a little, seeing the way he let a little irritation— disdain, really— paint his tone.  He snarled a bit as he spoke, his nostrils flaring; like he was holding it back, how much resentment he really had for your classmates.  

As quickly as it came, he seemed to shake it off, and then he smiled again… but it was tight, and forced, you could see that just as easily.  “You challenge me,” he finished quickly.  “I appreciate that as much as I detest it.”

You smiled back, somewhat genuinely despite the icky feeling that suddenly wiggled in your stomach.  “I suppose I feel the same way,” you admitted.

He opened his mouth, hesitating slightly, before tilting his head the other way and starting over.  “Could you come into my office for a minute?” he asked suddenly, a strange glimmer in his eyes behind the thin silver glasses.  “I’d like to show you my latest work— I think you’ll find it quite intriguing…”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a ring of keys and started to unlock his office door, and you didn’t feel too excellent about it.

Just then, a group of students walked by, and you heard them talking amongst each other as one looked at a text message on her phone.  “Oh my god,” one said as she explained to those around her, “my friend’s at the bank right now— she said someone’s holding up the place…”

“What?” another student asked, and you tilted your head a bit to hear them better.

“Yeah, the one on Main and 57th?  The police aren’t there yet— she said they have guns…” 

Your heart started to race.  Sounds like a job for Batgirl.

Crane was in his own world, though, about to open the door.  “Maybe I can even convince you to change some of your conclusions about the study of fear,” he posited.

You stepped back, motivated to leave just as much by a strange suspicion of Professor Crane as the opportunity to stop the nearby bank robbery.  “I-I have to go,” you said, before you’d thought of a good excuse— and that hadn’t gone well for you last time, but hopefully he wasn’t going to quiz you on campus architecture again to trip you up.

He looked confused, a little sad even, as he turned to you again.  “This won’t take long,” he promised, “I’d just like to show you—”

“Sorry,” you blurted out as you kept backing up, “I gotta… you know, um… buy tampons.”

Hoping something that awkward would get him to stop asking questions, you turned on your heel and darted off down the hall, looking for the best way off campus and to a secluded spot where you could pull your Batgirl get-up out of the false compartment in your bag and get to work.

~

“I don’t like you going out there alone,” Bruce said flatly, not looking up from his hands clasped in his lap.

“Wow, really?” you rolled your eyes, feigning surprise.  “News to me.”

“You’re too young, and it’s dangerous,” he continued anyway.

“Doing all the greatest hits tonight, huh?” you smirked.  “Next you’ll say you need to keep up your identity better, study hard so no one suspects you and then finish it off with don’t touch the Batmobile.”

He sighed and shook his head.  “You can touch it, you just can’t drive it.”

“Right,” you agreed flatly, sighing as you adjusted in your spot on the couch.  You’d taken up shop here in the Wayne Manor private library: something about your interaction with Professor Crane yesterday made you want to study off-campus for the afternoon…

You knew Bruce had a point about working alone— you didn’t really want to be alone, you were certainly safer when you had Batman by your side.  The problem was that you were too safe… Bruce protected you so well that he hindered you; you’d accused him of wanting you to just stay behind and patch him up after fights rather than actually helping.  He denied it, obviously, but actions speak louder than words— and there was such a difference in the way he treated you and Robin was obvious.

In fact, that itself had driven a wedge between you and your boyfriend— one of many reasons Bruce had implored you both not to get involved in that way, but it was sort of unavoidable.  You can only do such high intensity, high pressure work alongside someone for so long before the tension is too much to bear… 

Then again, that very tension that made your relationship with Tim threatened to break it, and you knew that— you felt that, even now, as he looked at you with a sympathetic sort of stare.  You cleared your throat and focused on your book again.

“Please don’t go out without us again,” Tim asked— softer, sweeter, lacking that father-figure-sternness Bruce was always trying to muster.

“I think the people in that bank are pretty happy that I did,” you replied with a snarky smile.

“We were on our way—” Bruce began.

“It was a one man job!” you insisted.

“There were seven men on that heist team— and two more parked outside,” Bruce explained, getting more frustrated as this discussion continued.  “It doesn’t matter.  We work as a team.”

“Except when you go out alone,” you reminded him.

“I’ve been doing this longer,” he explained, standing up, “I’ve been doing it better, and I’ve been doing it on my own since you were still in high school.”

“Then why did you take me in?” you returned sharply, knitting your brows together in confusion and frustration.  “Why did you train me, why did you bring me here and tell me the truth?”

“Because I saw your potential,” he answered as he began to walk away, “not because you’re ready to save the whole fucking world by yourself.”

You shook your head in frustration— almost disbelief, except of course he would do this— as Bruce shut the door behind him.  Conversation didn’t go his way, he just left— that was normal.  Ironic, for a man who interrogated criminals on the street almost daily.

“He’s right,” Tim informed you after a pregnant pause, and you glared at him.

“Would you excuse me?  I have to study,” you explained sharply as you motioned to the textbooks and notepads laid out on the table, as you’d had them before you were interrupted by these two, “because apparently the best thing Batgirl can do is not be Batgirl.”

“Hey,” Tim sighed, “he doesn’t mean it like that… he just wants you to keep focusing on your studies, that’s all.”

“I just think it’s funny—” you began.

“I bet it’s not gonna be very funny,” Tim noticed with a frown.

“— that Bruce thinks it’s so important that I keep my grades up so nobody knows what I’m doing at night— so nobody knows that I’m not getting any goddamn sleep— but you got to drop out and that apparently wasn’t going to make anybody suspicious?” you noticed.  “You know, I had a professor ask me about you today— wondering what was up with you leaving so suddenly.  Why is nobody worried about that?”

“We worry about you because we care about you,” he explained.

You tossed your books aside, standing up to face Tim properly.  “That’s bullshit,” you spat.

“You think I don’t care about you, seriously?” he asked.

“I know you care about me, but you don’t respect me,” you explained, “neither of you do.  You two go off and do what you want, you’d rather me be your nurse than actually be out there— when you know damn well that you need me!”

“I need you,” Tim promised, “in so many ways.  That’s why I can’t let anything happen to you—”

“Well, things need to happen to me sometimes!  Isn’t that what life is, things happening to you?!” you laughed exasperatedly.  “I mean, shit, why do I go to school at all?  Why don’t you guys just lock me at the top of Wayne Tower and I’ll never ever leave and you can just climb up my hair when you wanna come visit!”

“Christ,” Tim groaned, “you are so fucking ridiculous sometimes— what are you trying to prove?  Why do you need to be out there every night beating up bad guys, whether Bruce tells you to or not?”

Instead of answering that, you simply accused: “He obviously likes you better than me.”

“Is that really what this is about?  You want Bruce to like you?!” Tim scoffed.  “Are you that shallow?”

“I want him to trust me!” you clarified.  “I want him to understand what I’m capable of!”

“You know what you’re capable of,” he replied, grabbing your shoulders.  “I know.  Is that not enough?”

You let out a long breath, looking down at the floor.

“I love you,” Tim sighed— but it didn’t sound very sweet when he said it like that, it sounded sad.

“I love you too,” you replied instinctively, but it felt oddly hollow leaving your lips.

“Please,” he breathed as he pressed his forehead to yours, “please stay safe.  You’re stronger than me, you can take a lot more than I can.”

You were about to ask him what he meant by that, since you both knew he was physically stronger and more resilient than you, walking away from fights that could’ve put you in a stretcher.  But before you could ask, he spoke again.

“My heart can only take so much.”

But that only proved your point, though you didn’t tell him out loud: that what him and Bruce wanted you to do had nothing to do with your strength, and everything to do with their weakness.

~

In your defense, you took the night off.

But the next night, you had to get out there— Bruce and Tim told you to stay behind so Batman and Robin could go save the day, and you?  You were holding down the fort, keeping the couch warm.  What a fucking waste; there was more evil in this city than two men could purge— there was more for you to do.  As tempting as it was to meet them at the rendezvous location they’d figured out and try to help clear out the gangsters there buying an illegal weapons shipment, you knew that would just lead to the same fight again.  This time, the plan was to go out, kick some criminal ass, come back, and leave Bruce none the wiser.

You scanned police radios patiently, waiting for just the right thing— small enough to fix on your own, big enough to matter.  You wished, sometimes, that you had less to choose from…

Units respond, units respond — 10-79 reported at West Main and 88th.

Bomb threat.  That felt manageable, and you were pretty handy with defusal in case that threat had any credibility.  You turned off the radio and stood up, looking down over the city from your vantage point on a highrise fire escape.  It was beautiful, in its grimy Gotham way: a light rainfall coated everything in a fuzzy static like old film; it made the concrete reflect the neon lights a little clearer, the whole skyline sort of slick and steamy.  

Running and jumping to the next roof, you made a path to your destination and navigated the city unseen, like any good Bat-person would.

You were nearly there when you stopped on a roof above an abandoned manufacturing plant— well, that’s the thing, it wasn’t as abandoned as you thought.  There was a glass sunroof, and even though it was dark and rainy, the light inside brought your attention to a group of men inside.  Not to profile or anything, but 4 bald guys with guns standing around is usually a good sign that someone’s up to no good…

Trying to get a better look at what was going on inside, you carefully lifted one of the glass panels and slipped inside, sneaking around the metal scaffolding as the sound of the rain was muffled and replaced with distance, echoing voices.

You crouched in the rafters, watching with narrowed eyes as the group of men faced against a figure you couldn’t make out with the shadows and pillars in the way.

“So, are we good for this deal, or what?” the leader of the group asked.

A modulated, deeper voice answered: “This is half of what we agreed.”

“My team had some… road bumps, trying to bring this to you,” the man explained, stepping forward slightly.  “We lost some of the compound.  This is what we’re offering, take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” the shadowy figure agreed.  “How much for what’s left?”

“The same price we discussed.”

“For half the amount?  How does that work?”

“It’s a flat rate,” the smuggler— that’s what he must have been, right?— explained with a smug smirk.  “In fact, I should charge you more— call it hazard pay, for what my men had to go through to get this here.”

“I see,” the deeper voice replied.  “How about this: I kill all of you, and take it.”

Your eyes widened; isn’t this guy alone?  He’s sure got some balls…

The group of men paused before beginning to laugh.  “You?” the leader repeated.  “This skinny guy in the suit is gonna kill all of us?”

“I can do worse than that— I’ll make you beg for me to kill you.”

Feeling the tension of this discussion reach its breaking point, you realized you needed to intervene now: leaning over to make sure you had the right spot under you, you took the grappling hook off of your belt and pointed it down.

Firing it with a metallic whooshing sort of sound, the device grabbed one of the men and yanked him up into the shadows of the ceiling with you.  Everyone on the ground looked up in shock and fear, pointing their guns aimlessly into the darkness.  Before he could even really react to what had just occurred, you dropped the man back down— onto one of his friends, of course, which incapacitated them both but saved him from a much worse fate than if he’d landed on that concrete warehouse floor.

“What the fuck?” the leader of the group yelled as he tried to fire indiscriminately up at you— but you were already running along the steel beam, following one of the men as he tried to make a dash for the exit.

A blast from your long-distance taser gun brought him to the ground instantly, and as the last one left searched for the source of your attacks, you jumped down to the ground just behind him, landing in a crouched position.  As soon as he’d turned around to face you, you’d grabbed a loose metal pipe from nearby and hit him over the head with an oddly-satisfying bong noise.

You knew the other man was still somewhere in the dark nearby, and you called out for him: “Whoever you are, stop hiding in the shadows: that’s kinda my thing,” you informed him.

He stepped forward in the cool, gray light: a man in a torn and tattered suit, with a burlap mask that had massive stitches like scars.  Batman had just warned you about this guy, what was his name again?

"My," he purred with pleasant shock, his voice clearly deepened electronically by something in that sack on his head.  "If it isn't Batgirl.  Nice outfit, very… shiny."

"Yours looks pretty rough," you noticed.

He shrugged.  "It does the job."

You smiled back, remembering finally who you were dealing with.  "Not with me.  I'm not scared of you, Scarecrow."

"You will be," he promised.

You swung first, a roundhouse kick right at his head, but he ducked and came back up at you— he tried to grab you but you slipped away.

Instead of going after you again, he ran— grabbed one of the suitcases off of the palette nearby, whatever this ‘shipment’ was, and bolted for the door into the alleyway.  You almost laughed, impressed that he thought he could outrun you, but then again this was the guy who threatened to kill four armed men straight to their face.

You chased him right out the door, but as you dashed into the alley behind the manufacturing plant— the one that faced the northern street— you learned a moment too late that he hadn’t run at all, but was waiting for you there.

He sprayed something in your face, and you coughed as a cloud of vapor filled your lungs.  You assumed it was pepper spray at first, but it didn't burn— actually, it smelled a little sweet, sort of herbal.  But the effects were almost instantaneous, the pounding in your chest and the sinking feeling in your gut, the world spinning around you.

The fear response: heart rate increase, cold sweat, overall heightened arousal.

Instantly you felt old memories rushing in— awful, horrifying ones, and even worse than you remembered them.  For a moment, there was fear with no real object, just the feeling… until he grabbed your face and forced you to look at him, at the wicked mask that seemed impossibly close— that seemed like it could swallow you whole.  You screamed, trying to turn away or shut your eyes or something, but nothing assuaged the terror.

"Please," you sobbed.  "Make it stop!  Please!"

“Nothing can stop it now,” his voice returned— even rougher and darker than before, the deep bass of it making you shiver.  “This is who you are.  Give in to the fear.”

If nothing else, he had a point that fighting it wasn’t proving very useful— but giving in meant letting the world collapse in on you, letting the darkness pull you back… the darkness you’d fought so hard to make into an ally was becoming your enemy again.  

He grabbed your mask and tugged it away; even overwhelmed with primal terror, enough logic remained for you to reach up and try to cover your face.

But he simply grabbed your hands and shoved them away.  You heard a laugh behind that horrible mask, just before he suddenly took it off.

The toxin changed his face, too— his smile was wider and his teeth sharper, his eyes totally black— and you couldn't recognize him at first.  Only when he addressed you by name did you finally put it together; "Professor Crane?" you realized with a horrified gasp.

"I imagine you haven't finished rewriting that paper yet?"

"Oh god," you sobbed, "you— you're— how can you do this?"

You struggled against him again, but he held you back effortlessly.  “I said I liked you because you’re a challenge,” he remembered with a laugh.  “But out here, you’re no challenge at all.  Just a stupid little girl in a mask.”

He slapped you hard across the face, making you stumble even more as you lost your balance, colliding with the damp black asphalt.

He descended onto you, turning you on your back when you tried to hide your face in your arm as an escape from the terrifying visions.  “I’ve been waiting for a chance to put you in your place,” he admitted with a growl as he started to pull your armored clothes off of you roughly.  “You act a little too fearless for my liking… good to know it’s all an act.”

You cried, shaking and flailing beneath him, but you couldn’t actually put up a fight like this— the darkness throbbed around you, shadows reaching out to pull you into their abyss.  “Please,” you begged again, “no!  Stop, please!”

You weren’t even sure yourself if you were talking to him or to the hallucinated, anthropomorphized energy in the dark, but neither stopped.  He struggled at times to get your clothes off, they weren’t exactly designed to come off quickly but you shuddered violently from the cool night air when your chest was exposed.  You heard a deep growl from him, and you whimpered loudly as his hands ran over your skin.  “What are you so scared of?” he asked, sounding amused— but in your mind, those hands were claws that could shred you to pieces at any moment, and you breathed so fast that your chest just spasmed and quaked.  “I think you’ve been needing this for a while…”

He roughly turned you onto your stomach, face down against the street, and started to tug down your pants.  You were too scared to even beg him to stop, to try to bargain or reason with him— you just shuddered and cried, hiding your face and hoping for relief from the dread.

He smacked you on your bare ass, once it was exposed, and chuckled to himself at your whine in response.  The next thing you heard was the sound of a belt opening, a zipper unzipped…

Was it the toxin that made you afraid he would rip you in half, when he pressed his erection against your thigh?  Or was that just common sense?

You grimaced when you heard him spit into his hand, but it fell into a whining cry as he pushed his tip against your opening.  With your pants only down to your knees, you couldn’t even spread your legs at all, making you feel even more like there was no chance he could fit.  The sick, anxious fear felt a little different now— maybe not as strong, but mostly just something new… something deeper and subtler and heavier.  It wasn’t visions of monsters or memories of suffering, it was just this inevitable violation and the sureness that you were completely helpless.

He pushed his hips forward sharply, making you scream out and instantly reach back to try to grab his hips and push them away.  He ignored it and kept going forward with a low groan.  “Mm, you can take it,” he promised gruffly.  “Fucking take it.”

You cried as he put a hand on your shoulders, keeping you pressed down painfully into the ground, as he slid the rest of the way in.

It stung, it stretched you in an awful way and went far too deep… but you were wet, you could feel it.  Overall heightened arousal… not that sort of arousal, necessarily.  He obviously noticed as well, growling a bit.  “You like this, hm?” he accused.

“N-no,” you managed to slur, but it was hard to even breathe with his weight pressing you down.  You pushed back harder against his thighs through his undone trousers, but he growled and grab your hand to pin it down above your head.  He brought the other up beside it, and quickly pulled his belt out from the loops to tie around your wrists.  “Professor,” you pleaded under your breath, feeling your warm tears mix with the cold rain on the ground.

But he was already inside you, it was too late for that— and with your hands conveniently out of the way, he breathed heavy as he started to pull back and shove back in.

There was no build-up after that, he just fucked you as hard and fast as he wanted with no regard for how you cried and struggled under him.  He grabbed your hair and forced your head back awkwardly as you sobbed.

“Say my name,” he ordered, apparently irritated by the title of ‘Professor’ — but you didn’t know for sure if he wanted to be addressed as Jonathan or Scarecrow, and you feared the consequences if you chose incorrectly.  

Still, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “J-Jonathan,” you spat out hoarsely, and he grinned happily before dropping you back onto the ground.  You struggled against the belt around your wrists— not actually expecting to get out of it, and not having any plan if you did, just mainly out of instinct.  All it did was dig the sharp edge of the leather into your skin, making you cry harder.

It rocked you back and forth on the ground, those rough thrusts— the friction inside you was hot and fast, and each time he slammed all the way in, you heard the clapping of skin on skin and felt his tip ram against the deepest places inside you.  You didn’t even realize it was possible to be bruised inside like that, but you knew you would be by the end of this.

He didn’t slow down, really, but he changed his rhythm slightly and found an angle to go even just a bit deeper into you, until you whined pathetically with every pump into you.  It seemed like the toxin was wearing off, in that you weren’t seeing things anymore, but there was still obviously a sick feeling in your stomach, and an unreliable beating in your chest, and a deep throbbing in your ears.

“You’re getting even wetter,” he noticed with a low chuckle, and you whimpered as you hoped not to have to acknowledge that.  “Fucking soaking me— poor girl, I don’t think you can help it…”

At least it made this hurt a little less, but no amount of wetness could prevent him from holding your hips painfully tight and fucking you so forcefully it seemed hateful.  You whined loudly with every movement, fingers curling into shaky fists even when it was useless with his belt restraining you.

When you turned your face to the side, you saw figures at the other end of the alley— not hallucinations, nothing scary, just passersby on the street— and you reached out for them instinctively as hope flooded your chest.  Blinking the tears from your eyes, you could see them clearer: a man and woman, older, well-dressed.  “P-please,” you croaked out in a broken voice, “please, help me— call the police—”

They heard you, and they turned and looked at you, only to grimace and turn away; the man pulled his date closer, shuffling her away with him as they kept walking.  You whimpered pathetically, and Crane laughed above you.  “That’s Gotham for you,” he mused.  “No one wants to get involved.  These are the people Batgirl wants to save?”

They weren’t the only ones who saw, either; later, a small crowd of young men in bandanas and baggy pants passed by— some of them looked young enough to still be in high school.  You prayed to anything that would listen that they would move along without noticing, but one of them saw and pointed at you two with a scoffing laugh.  Feeling as if you could throw up, you shut your eyes tight and heard the chorus of jeers as they realized what they were seeing.  They laughed and hollered; what the fuck, dude! and ohh shit and hey, she’s pretty hot declared in juvenile voices between raunchy chuckles.  You saw flashes of light when you blinked your eyes— were they taking pictures of this with their phones?  You wondered if Jonathan would be forced to stop them, if he was concerned about evidence, but he didn’t react at all… he didn’t even slow down.

Once they’d gotten an eyeful and the sight had lost its shock, they wandered away— you could still hear their voices echoing around the buildings for a moment until it all faded in with the ambient sounds of the city: sirens, horns, footsteps, and that perpetual Gotham drizzle.

“I can feel it,” he whispered to you suddenly, “it keeps squeezing me.  Such a needy fucking cunt.”

You didn’t know if the ‘cunt’ was referring to your anatomy or to you as a person, and either option made your throat a little dry— but dryness was the least of your problems between your legs, in fact you were pretty sure you were dripping now, you could feel how slippery and sticky you’d become.  Your thighs were coated, it was even running down over your swelling and neglected clit.

He lowered himself a bit, resting his arms beside your head and breathing close to your ear.  He even brushed some of your hair out of the way with his hand, wanting to get a better look at your face, and you shut your eyes.

Increasingly loud groans and sighs above you made you realize what was about to happen, just as much as the throbbing feeling inside you.

“F-fuck,” he let out in a scratchy voice.  “Fuck!”

You whimpered yourself just as you heard him choke out a sort of high-pitched, shaky moan, and his thrusts went from erratic and desperate to slower and uneven.  He twitched inside you, and you felt the flood of heat in impossible contrast to the cold ground under you.

“God…” he groaned, his hand on your shoulder tightening and digging a little too deep into your skin.  Then he laughed a little as he finally came to a stop— breathless, light, almost making him sound impressed.  With you or himself, it’s hard to say; it sounded like a laugh of relief.

A lump formed in your throat as you considered what you were supposed to do now— he’d just come inside you, raw, and it made your stomach sink (but it made your walls clench unexpectedly, too).  As he carefully pulled out, you whimpered at the way it reawakened the sting of his first entrance— especially when he first pushed inside.  He sighed heavily when he finally got himself out of you completely, and then his hands— hot, a little clammy, and strong— came into view to free your aching wrists from his belt.  

He stood up over you, and you heard him readjust his trousers before zipping them up and putting back on his belt.  “Was it good for you?” he asked with a quiet, but smug, chuckle.

Bringing your hands nearer to press against the ground, you tried to lift yourself up on shaking arms.  When your torso was only a few inches off the pavement, Jonathan put his polished shoe on your back between your shoulder blades and pushed you back down.  You whimpered as he looked down at you, tilting his head while he admired your helpless form.

“Stay down,” he ordered.

Finally taking his foot off of you, he picked his mask up from the ground, sighing as he shook some of the raindrops off of it and put it back on.

“Well,” he began with a sigh, his voice modulated by the sack over his head again, “I’ll see you in class.  I look forward to seeing what you do with that paper.”

You didn’t watch him leave; you just heard the warehouse door shut again.  Your eyes were looking blankly forward, blinking away stinging tears, looking at the way the neon lights of the buildings across the street reflected in the puddles on the ground.

~

You jolted, much more than necessary, when someone knocked on the bathroom door; it made the water in your bath ripple, though the fluffy white surface of the bubbles was hardly disturbed.  “Can I come in?” you heard Bruce’s voice.

“Yeah,” you answered, but he stopped when he opened the door.

“You’re not decent,” he noticed, turning away.

“There’s bubbles everywhere, you can’t see anything,” you sighed, and he stepped the rest of the way in.  A pause that both of you pretended wasn’t awkward occurred.

“Tim told me that you came back roughed up,” he said eventually.

You said nothing.

“I told you not to—” he began.

“I know.” 

He sighed; you kept staring forward at the white tile wall in front of you.  "What happened?" he asked simply.

“I know Tim told you already— two guys, probably Falcone’s— they went at me in a tunnel by the Southside,” you explained with a sigh.  “I was just following a stolen van, I didn’t know who took it— I would’ve called you if I knew.  I just wanted something I could handle on my own.”

You knew the story didn’t add up; Falcone’s men would’ve probably given you a black eye, maybe a broken nose, and bruises on your stomach from kicks and punches.  Instead what you had were concrete scrapes on your cheek, fingerprint-sized bruises on your hips and thighs, and thin abrasions all around your wrists.  Not to mention the jitters and auditory hallucinations from working Crane’s toxin out of your system— his voice, still in your ear: just a stupid little girl in a mask.  You’d stopped looking over your shoulder by now, but your heart still raced every time.

You knew the story didn’t add up, but you knew it didn’t matter, because Bruce was going to buy it.  He wasn’t ready to imagine the truth yet.  This time, when you heard Crane’s voice, it wasn’t a hallucination but a memory: you sure were eager for an explanation.

Bruce nodded and began to walk out of the bathroom.  “Alright,” he said.  “Rest up.”

You scoffed to yourself as he left quietly— for a detective, he still had a few blindspots.  Surely, we all do.

Left alone in the bathroom again, you were surrounded by silence once more.  In silence, it was easier to hear his voice in your ear.  Just a stupid little girl in a mask.

The shrill sound of your cell phone startled you, and you awkwardly leaned out of the tub just far enough to grab it off of the pile of towels you'd left it on.

"Hello?" you answered, irritation obvious in your tone.

“Hello, ma’am, this is Tracy from the Gotham University Student Wellness Center,” the sweet, lilting voice came from the other end of the line.  “We recently received notice of concern that you may be experiencing domestic violence.  We’d love for you to come into our office to discuss this and receive complementary counseling, when’s a good time that we could—?”

You hung up and tossed the phone away, sinking down into the water.

Can I request some lime with Jonathan crane/scarecrow from batman begins..I'm wanting it to where my oc grim (they/she) is a patient. And one day they get onto the topic of masochism somehow. Then it just goes from there...

Ty <3

Thanks for the ask <33 p.s I don't know his personality so this might be ooc

Jonathan Crane x Oc

It was like it always was in your scheduled appointments with Dr. Cane. Just talking about things here and there till somehow masochism was brought up.

Grim's POV

I've always been interested in Dr.Crane he's just so handsome and smart. I wonder... I look away and smirk "Y'know doctor I've kinda been interested in masochism and sadism pretty much BDSM stuff..." I slowly drags my fingers across the couch' arms. He gulps "Yeah?" "Yeah how about you?" I ask looking him dead in the eyes he stares back with a calm expression. "Hmm I've entertained the idea" He says giving a faint smile my smirk turns in a grin "Oh? So you enjoy it?" I ask "Aren't I the one supposed to be asking you questions?" He says quirking a brow I get up from my seat. Our eyes never leave each other. I move towards him and stand before him. I grab his chin and tilt his head to look up at me. His legs spread open and I position myself in between them. I lean my head down towards his neck and bit it. I bit him hard to where it drew blood. He moaned lowly and leaned his head back. He closed his eyes and gripped the chair.

I take off his glasses and set them down on his table. I run my fingers threw his hair and then back and grip his hair. He gasps and his eyes shoot open wide. He is blushing furiously, his eyes are half lidded. He lets out something between a moan and a whimper. I tilt my head to the side and grin widely. "Look at you so fucking pathetic, your such a mess what ever will I do with you" I say looking down at him with smug look. He looks away embarrassed most likely and lets out another adorable whimper. "God you sound so cute though" Blush spreads on my cheeks ever so slightly. I bite my lip and let go of his hair. He lets out a breath and looks up at me with lidded puppy eyes. I grab him by the neck harshly earning another moan from him. I start to leave wet sloppy kisses everywhere on him. I unbutton his suit to expose his chest. He hardly has any chest hair it's looks like he trims it. I start to leave a trail of wet small kisses on his chest. I get closer towards the growing tent in his pants. I stop kissing him earning a whine from him. I kiss him roughly on the mouth and slip my tongue in. He tasted a little sweet but also sour it reminded me of a lemon drop. I was dominating over him and he just followed my lead.

I broke the kiss leaving us both gasping and panting for air. Saliva dripped from the side of him mouth. I licked it up and squeezed harder on his neck for a second. He rolled his eyes back and moaned. I unbuckled his pants unzipped them.

(I dunno how to finish this T-T)

Because my mutual wanted this I shall bless them with beauty. *Mwah* @raven-the-cryptid

Jonathan Crane x reader

Warnings: stalking, non-con touching and recording

Once he saw you he couldn't get enough. You were just too beautiful and the way your eyes shined in the light took away his breath. He wanted more, no- he needed more of you.

He started to stalk you, admiring your beauty from afar. But soon it wasn't enough he needed more. He tried talking to you in person but you just ignored him. Pain and anger struck him. But he wasn't mad at you, no not fully you were just trying to do your job. He can relate.

It wasn't your fault that those filthy creatures took away your attention. So instead he settled for a different way to spend time with you. He quickly learned your schedule and your routine. He made sure the times he could come over and the times he could stay and lay with you.

This time is no different he walked down the apartment hallway and headed towards your door. He had made a copy of your key so he could easily break get in. He smiled and twisted the doorknob open. You weren't home right now and weren't supposed to be home until later.

This means he has as much time as he wants to smell your scent. And also see if you made and changes or left anything interesting in your home. He loves knowing everything about you, your just his little thing that he loves to study. He made his way into your bedroom. He familiarized himself with the layout of your home already. He stepped inside your room and walked toward your dresser. He opened your top dresser to reveal your underwear. He grinned and his eyes lit up like kids eyes when they get candy. He grabs a pair and brings it to his nose and smells it. He takes a deep long inhale and then exhales with a sigh. He dramatically shivered and stumbled towards your bed. He falls on it and curls up in it. He just inhales your scent, it overwhelmed him but he didn't mind. He loved it, being surrounded by you is a blessing. He buried his face in your pillow and dozed off breathing in your addicting scent.

He awoke to the sound of the door to your apartment opening. His eyes flew open wide and he gasped. He must have slept to long. Panic engulfed him and he quickly flew to your closet and hid in there. He moved some clothes aside and hid in the very corner. He heard the bedroom door open and you step in. You were humming a tune that sounded absolutely beautiful. He watched you from the cracks. You were changing your clothes, starting with your top. You discarded it haphazardly onto the floor along with your bra. You placed on a bigger looser shirt. Then you took your tight pants that showed off your curves and put on some nice cotton pajama pants.

Jonathan could feel his dick grow hard in his pants. Just watching you change and seeing your body made him feel certain things. You yawned and grabbed your phone scrolling through it and then clicking in a video. You moved one of your hands towards your pants. You slipped your hand underneath your pants and underwear and start playing with your clit. You then entered two fingers into you. You started moaning and pink blush dusted your face. Jonathan was flustered and his eyes wide. He was loving every second of this. He loved hearing your cute moans. He pulled out his phone and recorded you. He was growing painfully hard and started to palm himself through his pants. His eyes are lidded matching yours. He couldn't help it you are just so cute and irresistible. He needed you right now but he couldn't. You let out one big moan and then you stopped your motions. You got up and left and returned a moment later. You turned your light off. You crawled back into bed and drifted off to sleep.

Jonathan looked at his phone it was 10:55pm it was late. He slowly opened the closet door and stepped out. He closed the door gently and made his way over to you. He laid down with you spooning your body close to his. His hands started to wander caressing you in many places. He felt how soft your tits were and how squishy your thighs were. He was worshipping your body, he couldn't get enough. He was loudly breathing into your ear on accident. He grabbed one of your hands and slid them underneath his pants he made your hand grab his dick. He gasped at the feeling and held back a moan. He started pumping himself with your hand. He was close to cumming, the sensation of your hand on his dick was to much for him. He let out a loud moan and cum covered your hand. He pulled your hand from his pants and placed it back where it was. You were stirring from your sleep but he paid no mind.

He started to touch you some more this time playing with your hair. Your eyes slowly opened and you froze. Your blood went cold and you accidentally let out a whimper. Jonathan froze and turned your body facing him. Your eyes were big and bug eyed staring at him. You started to move so Jonathan held you down, trapping you underneath him. You started to scream, letting out a big bloody scream. His eyes widened and he cursed himself. He reached into his pocket and grabbed out some of his fear toxin. He sprayed you with it making you speechless but your fear still active and much worse. You just stared at him with tears cascading down your face. You wanted this to be over but he wanted this to be forever and eventually it will.

Could you continue that fanfic of Jonathan crane X reader pleaseee

And do more fanfics with Jonathan??

I can do more Jonathan fics if I have ideas or requested :) also not going to do anymore parts on this, it was hard enough trying to do something for this 😭@raven-the-cryptid (you might wanna see this)

Tw: non-con, yandere, mature audience only

Jonathan x reader

He caressed your skin lovingly which made you sick. You were high in his fear toxin which made this whole experience even worse. You couldn't scream or move all you could do was beg and plead, which fell on deaf ears. He pretended you were enjoying this and you were begging for more. He was painfully hard and started to rub against your thigh. He started to moan and he bit his lip.

He stole your lips with his and kissed you roughly, bruised your lips. Oh how he craved you for so long. And now he finally has you and he is never going to let you go, ever. "A-ah look at you your so cute underneath me like this" he said while groping your boobs. He brought his lips to your neck and left a trail of kisses. He then started sucking on the soft flesh, leaving love bites. "I can't get enough of you..you taste so good" he kisses you again. With one hand he undos his belt and zipper and quickly removes his cock from it's confines.

Your eyes wide and you shake your head and tears spill out your eyes. You mumble no and beg him to stop. He acts like he doesn't hear you and pulled your bottoms off. He slowly slides in, letting you adjust to him. You cry out and shut your eye tightly. He let out a mix of a moan and whine. "You take me so well baby.. please open your eyes and look at me" he asks you softly.

"Please I wanna see those gorgeous eyes of yours" he asked again but this time his voice was a little more harsh. You obliged and slowly opened them. You saw his grinning face that was all flushed out and and the deranged look in his eyes. He was utterly obsessed with you. He started thrusting into you. You gripped the sheets and turned your head to the side biting your bottom lips hard.

He picked up the pace and your bedframe slammed against the wall. He grinned and and thrusted into you again. You were embarrassed and seeing the look on his face made you sick. He was getting pleasure from this which made your stomach twist and churn. You let out a whimper, nothing was pleasurable it was just pain. You couldn't handle this it was too much. With one last hard thrust he cummed in you. He tossed his head back and moaned. He looked at you, panting and beads of sweat on his forehead. You looked miserable and pathetic, tears stained your face and your nose was filled with snot. You cried and he cupped your face and whispered softly and sweetly to you. Telling you how great you are and how good you took him. But you didn't even listen it didn't matter, you hated him. You tried to glare at him but when you did he just made you cry even more. The fear toxin was fucking with your mind and you couldn't handle it. Within a few seconds everything went black. Jonathan dressed you up and packed a few of your things before taking you to where you guys would be staying at.

Hello

Could i ask for a story where Jonathan crane makes his female student do a blowjob on him for better grades? Like... forcing? I'm sorry

Don't be sorry it's totally fine.

Jonathan Crane x reader

You were struggling in his class, you only had a D+. You needed to bring up your grade so here you were. You walked towards him, he was currently at his desk. He heard your footsteps and he glanced up at your figure walking towards him.

You nervously looked at him and your fingers were twitching. "U-uhm s-sir I need to talk to y-you about my grade..." You stuttered and looked away. He stopped what he was doing and looked at you. He fully took in you and your outfit. He licked his lips, you were wearing such a tight dress that showed off your curves. He cleared his throat "Yes, what about them?"

"I-I was wondering if t-there was anything I could do to bring it up..?" You asked in a whisper, he smirked at your shyness. " I suppose there are a few things that you could do.." he looked a you with a lust filled gaze. You met his eyes and saw the fire burning in them and you looked away again.

"L-like what? I'll d anything to bring it up.." your legs were shaking, you were so nervous for nothing. "Come over here" you looked at him with confusion but did what he said. You looked at with with big eyes waiting to see what he would do next.

Jonathan turned towards you and smirked. He grabbed your wrist and tugged you towards him. You gasped and your heart started racing more if it was even possible. "M-Mr.Crane?" You asked "you said you would do anything right?" He whispered lowly in your ear. It sent shivers down your spine and your wide eyes looked at him.

"I-I yeah .." you said not liking where this was going. "Then get on your knees" he said in a dark voice. Your eyes widened even more and you shook your head. "N-no please I'll do anything else please.." you begged tears fell down your cheeks. You looked down and saw his cock pressed tightly against his pants, begging to be freed.

He chuckled "I've already decided so if you want your grade up then you'll get on your knees and suck my cock like a good girl" he said and his grip on your wrist got tighter. You sobbed and shook your head "N-no let go!" With his free hand he undid his belt and freed his cock. You shoke harder seeing it and you tugged trying to break free.

He rolled his eyes "stop being so difficult you asked for this.." he tugged your wrist hard so you fell right in front of him. You face only inches away from his twitching cock. You tried to beg more but then his hand went to the back of your head and forced you closer. You tried to turn away but then it slapped against your cheek and the tip pressed against your lips.

You squirmed and squealed, your broken sobs ignored. "If you bite me I swear I will ruin you" he muttered. He grabbed you face and pried your jaw open. He then thrusted his cock into your mouth. You screamed and as it hit the back of your mouth you gagged. You started choking and he laughed you are having a hard time breathing.

His pace was rough and fast, he didn't let you up for air and guided your head up and down. The lewd sound of his cock violating your mouth echoed of the walls of the room. Your sobs started to quiet down but tears still flowed out of your eyes. Your jaw tightened but you didn't dare bite.

"Ahh good girl your taking me so well hahh" he gasps out his head was tossed back and he let out a little whine as your tongue accidentally ran against one of his veins. He tugged your head and made you go faster to where everything was blurry. He was chasing his high and was close. You gagged and screamed out, you couldn't take this and you sure as hell didn't want to swallow his cum.

Without warning he cummed in your mouth and pulled you off him. You gasped and coughed out, salvia dripped out of your mouth. He cock twitched and was coated with your spit. He grinned when he saw what a mess you were. He still had a tight grip on your hair. Your cheeks were stained with tears and your makeup was running. Cum and salvia dripped out of your mouth and you looked at him with a hard gaze.

"Were not done yet sweetheart.." he said, your eyes widen and you tried to say something but he forced you down in his cock before you could. You screamed and he made you choke again. He shoved you all the way down on his cock till your nose was buried in his trimmed pubes. You whined and fresh tears poured out your eyes.

You couldn't take this your wanted it to be over. You sobbed and your body went slack, surrounding yourself to him. He grinned at this and took your mouth off him. You looked at him with lidded eyes. "T-thank you" you babbled. He grabbed his cock and started to pump himself fast. Your eyes widened at the realization "N-No please" you whined you braced yourself and shut your eyes. He groaned and you felt his hit cum land on your face. He looked down at you and licked his lips. The scene before him was breathtaking.

Your face was coated with his cum and your whined. You slowly opened your eyes and looked at with big puppy eyes. Your face was flushed and it looked like you could fall over any second. "Good job I'll be sure to raise that grade bye now" he the tucked himself into his pants and turned away.

Can I get a request for Cillian Murphy? Angst, smut, fluff, I'm open to suggestions!

sorry, did you say,

“toxic, dangerous, sexy af and could probably kill me at any given moment if they wanted”?

…

GUINEA PIG ───

jonathan crane ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I think we most fully understood each other when once I tried to kill him with a kitchen knife.” — ‘South and West’, Joan Didion

pairing. switch!jonathan crane x professor!reader

summary. you and your dear friend, jonathan crane, have an odd relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. one day, you experiment your aphrodisiac on him.

warnings. swearing, use of aphrodisiac & fear toxin, oral sex (m), unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, mention of death, murder, drugs, multiple orgasms, slight breeding kink, face fucking, dubcon(?) SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 6.1k

a/n. the enemies to friends to fucking pipeline is sooo real and i love it. BTW! this is really self indulgent and again, i’m a beginner to writing smut so pls don’t judge😭 the beginning is also oddly plotty, so i apologize for that.

You and your colleague, Jonathan Crane, have a harmonious, albeit slightly sick and twisted, relationship. 

Your repertoires, opposite in every way, complete one another like you were made to match. You are messy, frenzied, intimate; he is neat, calculated, distant. He is impatient, histrionic, stubborn. You are tolerant, deadpan, submissive. 

This is an odd, good-cop bad-cop dynamic you’ve built, but it works. Your traits uphold the order you’ve built around yourselves; you allow each other to function. 

Who ever said something so codependent, so parasitic, would fall apart? That it was dangerous, destructive? Everyone, but in your case, it has been anything but. 

These are the simple rules of your relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. This partnership came to bloom when, after years of competing to be the “better” psychology professor at Gotham University, he sent you a gift that sprayed with you with fear toxin, and you baked him a cake that knocked him out for 24 hours following, heart rate so low he could’ve been mistaken as dead. 

“Fucking - hell,” You murmured under your breath, stumbling halfway across Gotham City to locate Crane’s absurdly lavish condo in the Diamond District, barely able to keep yourself upright. 

You were being visually assaulted by dozens of images, all your phobias no matter big or small, dancing across your senses. Spiders crawled all over your body, you saw yourself about to step off a steep, snowy cliff, you felt yourself suffocate as you were buried to death in a casket. It was utter torture, and you would have to endure it until you found Crane. 

You must’ve looked like one of those tweaking drug addicts from down in the Narrows, shivering, sweating, and rubbing all over your body to remove some of the “spiders” taking over your body. The terror was settling into you, into your spine like a terribly malignant disease. 

At last, you found the apartment building, blearily snuck in behind a drunk couple, and scanned the mail boxes until you found J. CRANE: 525. 

You headed up the elevator, grasping at the walls for dear life, feeling that growing, unmistakable sense of dread start to take over your mind. You felt like you were going mad, now, not just afflicted with something that made you look like it. 

When you finally got to his door, it was left open a crack, and you welcomed the small mercy of Crane’s overarching narcissism: he didn’t lock his door, often, because most days he felt more invincible than fucking god. 

“Crane!” You shouted, clutching at your head and staggering into his large apartment. “Crane!” you repeated, this time more desperate, more fearful than anything. 

However, your deepest fear, at the moment, had come true. You stepped into his kitchen, and found the man laying on the floor unresponsive. 

“Fuck me,” you cursed. You’d sent the man home with the cake twelve hours ago, when he took the half-day off from GSU, and you came home from your after-class tutoring hours just moments ago. 

You’d opened the mystery package on your front porch promptly, and you found yourself having been gassed with a compound that made you see every little thing you were afraid of. Immediately, you’d known it was Crane; the man’s pet specialty was fear. 

As for you, you wanted your… gift, to serve a reminder to him that he should not overstep your boundaries, your territory, as the psychology professor who was there first. If knocking him out was a little bit mad, he was bordering insanity for the toxin he poisoned you with. 

Even so, your threat was an empty one. You weren’t counting on the man to even eat the cake - hell, you’d never seen the man consume anything but straight black coffee. 

You couldn’t judge a book by its cover, you know now, and laid there on the couch of his apartment, waiting for the twelve hours to be over. Waiting for Crane, the fucking madman, to wake the hell up, blaming him for the predicament despite your very obvious involvement in it.

You breathed in and out, harried and rapid fire as you tried to focus, tried to block out the horrific things you were seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting. 

(Your eyes are swarmed, viscerally, by a grotesque hallucination of your family burning to death; you hear them cry out, voices interrupted when they’re fire gets to their lungs; you smell their death, the smell of flesh burning, how the smoke chokes you — you taste their blood on your tongue, how tender a raging fire makes charred flesh. 

Tender, you think on your choice of words again, and almost throw up.

What have you done, you think, and what is going through that fucked up head of yours, Crane?)

You tried to ground yourself, tether your lost mind back to Earth. You’re sitting in a field in Northwestern Ireland, you said to yourself, inhaling. Up ahead is the beach; water is crashing on the rocks. You exhaled, the wind tastes like salt, and it is just you and I, here together. It is only I and you, here, together. 

Like so, 12 hours passed. Not so much passed — that word gave the connotation the hours slipped past you, the way a peaceful stream of water does; no, more accurately, it dragged by, like when an arm slips out of the ambulance cot on its way to the emergency vehicle, and drags on the concrete. The EMT’s don’t notice what’s making their trip so hard, so slow, until the hand is rubbed raw and bloody. 

You repeated that mantra so many times you were starting to get queasy when you thought the words “you’re sitting in a field..” but nonetheless, the string of words kept you sane. 

Sane enough, at least - you weren’t sure you’d be the same blissful person you were yesterday. Sure, you were always a little bit… unorthodox? Petty? Competitive enough to bake so many drugs into a cake your opposing professor knocks out? 

But, with this — this being drugged by Crane — made you feel a piece of yourself break away. There would be no more of your life lived without knowing how fearful, well, fear, is. It's like discovering the Boogeyman and never being able to stop checking under your bed; the paranoia moves into your head and never leaves. 

Crane began stirring, and your eyes opened as soon as you heard the noise. Surprisingly enough, however, you were no longer being hammered with the hallucinations that had been distressing you just half a day ago. 

Had it been the mantra? The near-prayer you now swore was etched on your heart? 

“Fucking…” Crane said, getting up off the floor. He was clutching his head, eyes squinted, body hunched and tense. Looks like spending half a day on the floor wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but you didn’t give a fuck — atleast he was sleeping. If you had to be mentally destroyed by his toxin, you’d best believe you were taking the couch. 

“Why - why are you here? What the hell did you do to me?” He said after noticing you, voice raspy. He hadn’t had anything to drink or eat in a while, after all. 

“I could say the fucking same for you,” You muttered, giving him a pointed look. “You - what the fuck did you spray me with?”

Immediately, a twisted grin was bared on Crane’s lips, despite his fatigued demeanor. “Did you like it? My fear-toxin,” he preened, like the winning kid at a school science fair.

You rolled your eyes, and before you could control your tendencies, you’d swung back and then socked him straight in the face. 

Crane double-backed, looking terribly affronted, as if he hadn’t sent you the gas knowing how it would affect you. “Ow,” is all he said, face contorting oddly around the pain. 

“Yeah, “ow”. Fuck you, Crane.”

Crane raised a brow. “You’re acting like you didn’t feed me a poisoned cake!” He said incredulously.

“It wasn’t that poisoned,” you bit out, teeth gritted. “Not so poisoned I was hallucinating my family dying for twelve hours straight.”

“Ah, thanatophobia, not really one of my favourites—“ Crane started, like he was losing himself in a romantic daydream, before snapping back to reality. “Did you just say twelve hours?”

“Twelve hours for me. Twenty-four for you.” You said, reveling in how panicked he looked. 

“I — that’s long enough for me to be killed a hundred times over,” he mumbled under his breath. “What the fuck did you put in that cake?”

“I never expected you to eat it, Crane. You’re fucking skin and bones, I thought you’d just throw it out.”

“What did you put in the cake?” he repeated. 

“Ugh,” you sunk into the couch, “some amytal, zolpidem. Some melatonin. I didn’t measure, okay, and again, I wasn’t counting on you eating it.” You didn’t know why you had this urging feeling to respond to him, to humor his jabs, his dumb fucking theatrics, but you did anyway. 

“Some amytal? Some zolpidem? Some melatonin? Jesus fucking christ - is that what you wanted? To kill me?” He was leaning down, face inches away from yours now. 

You pushed him away, disgust on your features clear as day. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not some sociopathic fear-freak like you, Crane. I don’t mix compounds in my creepy little office with the thought of drugging out my fellow professor in mind. It was just an empty threat.”

He let out a disbelieving laugh, “Mixing barbiturates and medications into a cake sounds like an empty threat to you?”

“You know what?” You said brightly, getting up off the couch, “I don’t have to argue with you. I came to get my cure, woke up having cured myself.” Then, you burst out the door, fury rolling off you in waves, and you left.

There was something about the incident, however, that seemed to intrigue Crane to no end. Soon enough, he began entering your office during your breaks, asking to have a chat. Or, he’d walk in during your lessons, forcing you two in the hall alone. Sometimes, he’d even wait for you after school, dozing off in front of your classroom and waiting for you to exit your office. 

You couldn’t tell what was making Crane so interested, but he was hanging off you and your every word like some lovesick puppy.

You, on the other hand, also couldn’t get Crane out of your head. Certainly not for some weird, fucked up reason like his, but because of what he had created. A lot of people doubted his intelligence, mostly because of his obsession on things nobody really cared about, but that obsession made way to the destructive fear-toxin you’d inhaled, and it was seriously unlike anything you’d ever experienced, hell, even read about. It was a brand new creation, and downright deadly. 

Your interest in the man was more so on… keeping him in check. As rivals did. But his was on how you’d breezed past the effects of his toxin in just twelve hours. He’s expected you to go half mad, honestly. Your threat was empty… his was, decidedly, not. 

By the end of the next week following the incident, you two began eating lunch together, asking for joint classes, and spending nights over at each other's places. Not in that way, of course — your way was like a group of scientists having a forever eureka, because your minds fit like perfect puzzle pieces. 

Your intrigue had met his intrigue, and it felt natural, coming to a united front like that. You found you had more in common than you thought, something you should’ve found out about a long time ago, 3 ½ years kind of long time ago. Apart, you two were volatile; angry, spewing threats, attempting murder on the other. Together, however, you were absolute perfection: productive, well-mannered, motivated. 

Now, fast-forward coming on two years since the incident. You and Crane - now, Jonathan, have been inseparable since that time. You two were close, closer than siblings or children and parents or couples; you felt like the same person that had been split into two. Being together was the only thing that felt right, being back at the origin, like being at home. 

Fuck’s sakes, you did have the same home — you’d moved in together. Not to his, nor yours, but to a big house you bought on the outskirts of Gotham, with a big yard and an even bigger lab in the basement. It was like a scientist's amusement park. 

Maybe it - this relationship of yours - was codependency. But maybe it was utter genius: your careers had both never seen so many accomplishments until you and Jonathan came together. Partly because you had a greater inspiration when coupled with the other, but, mostly because you had a body to test on during preliminary trials. 

Creating things, like the fear-toxin, required human testing, and finding a way to get that done always slowed Jonathan down. Since finding you, however, it’d been a breeze. 

You offered yourself up readily, given Jonathan would do the same. And, besides, Jonathan had never been worried about you and his toxin very much — after that first time you took the toxin, you could easily find yourself out of its effects. You were the only person he’d ever encountered who could do this, and it was downright fascinating. He wanted to keep you, see how that strong little mind of yours worked overtime to fight his toxin off. 

You, on the other hand, rarely tested anything like that on Jonathan. Your interests lied elsewhere: what smells activate the human mind to recall memories, what are ways to accurately fight off drugs like GHB — all mental stimulation. 

That, however, changed one evening, when you had been brewing up a serum for the past few weeks. You’d gotten to the point in creation where you needed to test on someone, and observe the effects. 

“Jonathan,” you called out, looking down at your notes. The man in question was grading assignments for the psychology class you taught — now, in joint lessons more often than not — sitting at a desk a few metres away from you in the lab. 

“Jonathan!” you repeated louder this time, looking up from your notes. 

“What?” He shouted back, still hunched over on the ungodly amount of assignments he needed to mark. 

“Come here. I need to test something on you.” You said, nonchalant. 

That, however, piqued Jonathan’s interest to no end: you hadn’t tested anything on him in nearly a year. It hurt, a little, to test you endlessly and have nothing to give in return - so this, no matter what it was, Jonathan would take in stride.

Jonathan nodded vehemently, “Okay.” He then dropped all he’d been doing on the desk and made his way over, before sitting in the chair next to you. You made quick work, tying his arms and legs to the chair like he’d done to you so many times before. He watched you work, completely enraptured in how you looked while experimenting. 

“So,” He said, tearing his sticky gaze off of you, “what’re you pumping me full of?”

You sat back in your desk chair and scratched your cheek, a little unsure how to say this. “Well, I created a serum that, once injected, would lower or lose all inhibitions of the victim. They’d be completely malleable, agreeable, if you just, um,” you fanned yourself, feeling a little too close to the man in front of you, room feeling incredibly warm.

“Just what?” He pried, leaning back in his chair. 

You exhaled shakily, “if you just promise to - to provide relief to them. Sexual - relief.”

Jonathan let out an incredulous laugh. “You made a working aphrodisiac?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t exactly — I don’t even know if it works, for sure. If you don’t want to- take it, then you don’t have to.” You offered up weakly. 

“How d’you get it out of the system?” He said instead, ignoring your words and picking up the needle you had ready for him on your worktable, which was filled with a thick, pink liquid. 

You flushed. “You, um, help the victim relieve themselves, until the feeling is gone.” 

Jonathan looked up at you, a sly smirk on his lips. “And you were going to give this to me?” 

You turned away, face red, exasperated. “I told you, you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.”

“And let you pleasure some random guy you snatched off the street? No way,” he said, before you heard a familiar prick, small whine leaving Jonathan’s mouth.

You spun back around so fast you thought you got whiplash. “Jonathan, wait—“ you said, alarmed. You were really, seriously, considering not giving the aphrodisiac to him — it would disrupt the careful balance you and he had built over the past years. 

You were afraid that if he took the serum, and let you, for lack of a better word, get him off, you wouldn’t be able to look at him without remembering him needy, hot and bothered, calling your name out like it was the only word he knew. 

He’d done it anyway, though. And now, you both just had to get through this… experiment. 

Quickly, you grabbed your pen and notebook, ready to approach this scenario as detached and clinically as possible, ignoring the pulsing need in your insides as you saw Jonathan’s face slowly contort into a warm, heavy-lidded lustful one. 

“How do you feel, Jonathan?” You said, standing further away from him so he couldn’t so much as feel your body heat on him. 

“I…” Jonathan blinked rapidly, licking his lips, looking you up and down. “Warm. I just feel… warm.” He readjusted in the seat, unable to sit still. “And - kind of, tingly? Like I - well, I don’t know…”

You noted his words, as well as some of your own observations: his pupils were dilated, so much so the crystalline blue of his eyes were merely slivers, his lips were pursed, plump, and he was pink all over; pink cheeks, pink ears, pink neck. He was talkative, loose-lipped and a little out of it.

You inhaled, then exhaled, before starting the next phase of the experiment. “Jonathan, how do you feel when I touch you here?” You said, raising the back of your hand to caress his cheek. 

Jonathan was affected almost immediately, eyes shutting tight. “It feels,” he said breathily, leaning into your touch, “ah… nice. Good.”

You nodded, promptly pulling away as soon as he’d finished his sentence. Subject enjoys physical touch. Jonathan then peered up at you, looking slightly… disappointed? 

You shook yourself, getting back on task. “How do you feel now?” You pried, noticing he looked far more affected than before. 

Beads of sweat were dripping from his forehead, making his wavy brown hair stick to his skin. He was breathing heavily, and, when you had touched him, he was extremely warm, like he had a fever. 

“I’m, I…” Jonathan trailed off, eyes shutting, shaking his head. “Mmm… my head feels — fuzzy,” he bit out raspily. 

“Okay. Good. It's exactly as I thought,” you murmured, continuing to scratch down notes. 

You ignored him for a few minutes, writing up a list of side effects and observed results of the aphrodisiac. Then, your gaze drew back to him, who had been focussing intently on you the whole time. 

“Jonathan?” you called out quietly, seeing his dazed expression. “Talk to me.”

Jonathan shuddered, leaning forward in the chair, head hanging low, “My - my body’s, hnngh… it feels— feels weird.” He bit his lip, face screwed up and tense. “I’m warm all over…”

His shoulders were hunched in, and he was trembling. You lifted a hand up to his head, petting him softly, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“Ah…” Jonathan squeaked out at your touch, face going slack, “I feel like I need you to - to…” he sighed exasperatedly, “I need you.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek conflictedly. On one hand, you needed to finish up a few more tests, meaning Jonathan would be teased - or tortured, depending on how fast the aphrodisiac was affecting him - a little longer. On the other hand, he was already a breathy mess, begging for your touch. For you. 

“Fuck,” you murmured, turning away from the man who’s eyes were practically rolling into the back of his head at the way you tugged at his locks. “No, no,” you fought your internal struggle. You would not give in to his pleas - you would finish this experiment. 

“Okay. Okay.” you said to no-one but yourself, extracting your hand from his velvet soft hair. “Let’s be professional about this. Jonathan, I’m going to take your clothes off, but you can’t move, and you can’t touch me, okay?”

Jonathan’s breathing became more labored as you spoke, and you swore you could see desperate tears filling his eyes. “I can’t- I can’t touch you? But… but why not?” He was practically whining for you.

“Because, Jonathan, it wouldn’t be beneficial to the experiment.” You didn’t look your partner in the eye, because his complete and total change in behavior had you feeling, quite frankly, as warm as him. 

You continued by undoing the restraints on his arms and legs, and his sharp intakes of breath as your fingers brushed past his skin didn’t slip past you. Not at all. 

Firstly, you undid the man’s white button-up shirt slipping it past his flushed torso. Jonathan’s skin was actually pink and warm all over, and he was breathing heavily now, gripping the chair so tight his knuckles were white. 

“Are you okay, Jonathan?” you asked absently, as you began unbuckling his belt and slipping down his fly. 

Jonathan’s breath hitched in his throat, and he didn’t answer you, biting down on his lower lip to stop any desperate moans from escaping him. 

You finally finished undressing your partner, then redid his restraints, before you stepped back to see him fully. Jonathan was shivering, faint tear tracks on his pink cheeks, head cocked back. 

“It’s just - one, or two more tests, Jonathan.” You murmured quietly, kneeling down in front of him. 

Your hands pressed flat on his thighs, rubbing him up and down, grazing your fingers lightly on his feverish skin. You had to regularly ground yourself, stop yourself from inching up to the poor, untouched tent in his boxer shorts. 

Above you, you could hear Jonathan let out a low groan, “Ah, hnng— please,” he called out to no-one in particular.

“Does that - feel good, Jonathan?” You ask, getting back up on your feet. His desperate groans were getting to you now, how needy his little keens were. 

“So - good,” he panted. “Your— you, I want— need, I need…” he trailed off, babbling, lost to the pleasure of your touch. 

“Jonathan, if I… touched you more, would you do anything for me?” You said finally. The invention of the aphrodisiac was intended to sway someone's motivations, make them bend to your will. Sure, there was that added sexual aspect, but it was created with less… pleasurable intentions. 

“Anything, anything at all,” he said deliriously, rolling his head around. “Jus’… just need you to- touch me.”

“Would you give yourself fear-toxin, Jonathan?”

“Yes! Yes, just — please… please! Stop asking me— questions… I need you so fucking bad, ah…”

“Jesus,” you said. Your aphrodisiac was stronger than you thought. You were satisfied, however, with the results of it. The first trial was a success, and you saw how you could use this on anyone - even people in particular positions of power, and get them to do your bidding. Quite helpful, indeed. 

Now, you needed to… get Jonathan out of this state. By, ah, relieving him.

You had decided to do this, to test him, so you had to be responsible and help ease him out of this experiment. Quickly, you stripped your own clothing, even your underwear, before undoing the restraints on his arms and legs. 

Jonathan’s eyes widened as he watched you undress. “Are you - are you… gonna t—touch me? Now? Please?” He practically begged, almost drooling at the sight of your naked body. 

“Mhm,” you said, a tremble in your voice. “Gon’ help you get out of this.”

Then, you climbed onto Jonathan’s lap, shutting your eyes as you felt his hard cock within his boxer shorts slide between your legs deliciously. 

He let out a guttural groan as your weight pressed down on him, feeling your wetness soak his shorts. That measly piece of fabric was all that was keeping him from entering your plush, velvet folds, and he was going practically insane at the feeling. 

“M’god,” Jonathan whined out, leaning his sweaty head on your shoulder. “Y’feel so, a—ah, good…”

You couldn’t help the breezy laugh that made its way out of you. “I haven’t even touched you yet, Jonathan, and you’re already so worked up,” you whispered in his ear, hot breath fanning on his warm skin.

“P-pleeeease,” He begged, slowly grinding into you. Jonathan was barely coherent, mind just focussed on chasing the release he so desperately needed.

You raised a brow, but complied, slipping your warm hands down his boxer shorts and pulling his thick length out. You pumped him lazy, feeling how he writhed under you, tasteful whimpers slipping out of his mouth. 

After another second of you stroking him lightly, your thumb grazing past the tip and collected a decent amount of precum, he actually did come, wet hot load spurting upwards on his chest and your face. “Ah - hnngh, oh my — oh my god,” he drooled, jutting into your hand. 

It dripped down from your cheek onto your lips, and Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut, losing himself in the pleasure. You swiped a handful of his cream off your face, before covering his still hard, curved cock with it. 

“You’re not done, aren’t you?” You said to him quietly, his hips stuttering as you artfully smeared his come on himself. Jonathan was arching into your touch, completely putty in your hands. 

“Nuh- no, m’still— still need you, need you so bad.” he whimpered shamefully, hands stuck to your waist.

“Look at you go,” you found yourself cooing, dragging a creamy hand down his equally as creamy chest, your fingernails grazing him. “Let me take care of you.”

Then, you lifted yourself up off his lap, and carefully situated your slit on the tip of his head. “Christ,” you called out as you slid down, “you’re fucking big,” 

Inch by inch, you took him, and Jonathan’s eyes were rolling into the back of his head, a string of senseless groans and whines leaving his mouth. “Feels so warm, so so warm,” he choked out at last, looking at you adoringly. 

You started to lift out of him, your cunt stinging slightly at the sheer size of his cock, when you felt a heated liquid shoot through you, Jonathan’s knees buckling under your ass. 

He’d come, again, even before you could get started. You shook your head incredulously at the terribly horny man beneath you, eyes glazed over in the pure ecstasy he was feeling. 

“Stop, fucking — coming,” you scolded, bottoming his cock into you once more, “you’re gonna get me so — ah— fucking - pregnant if you keep coming.”

“Sorry,” Jonathan said sheepishly, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “Can’t help it— you feel so — hnngh — feel so good.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, then focussed on getting a good pace of sliding in and out, your hips rolling deeper and deeper into his own. You were bouncing quickly on his cock, dick-riding him like you’d never done before. 

With all other sexual partners you had, they wanted to be all vanilla, always just missionary, going slow until they were close, no sense of creativity or any other wishes that just feeling you. With Jonathan - especially in the state he was in now - you could do whatever you wanted, as long as his cock was in your cunt. 

“Good — god,” you screamed out, when Jonathan suddenly gained control over himself and snapped into you, rough hands pinching the flesh of your hips. He rutted into you, hard and fast, for a moment like that continually, before his control melted once more into nothingness, and all he could do was let you take the reins. 

“Please— how’re you so — ah, how does your pussy feel so good…” he murmured, trailing off into a high-pitched moan when you pulled out, then just as fast sunk down on him. 

Jonathan’s fingers trailed up your body, rubbing at your soft flesh, before they found your breasts, kneading you tenderly. He chanced several licks on both your erect nipples, and you shuddered, tightening around him. Your cunt was sucking him in, devouring his length no matter how big he was, and he could feel how his length was stretching your walls wide open. 

“So fucking big.” You panted, arms wrapping around his neck, “fat fucking cock all needy, just me.”

“Jus’… just for you! All - ah, all for you,” Jonathan repeated with a squeak, lips bitten delicately between his teeth. 

Your hands trailed all over his body, and as the pleasure was getting to you, making your head dizzy and your thoughts foggy, you bounced down on him and your nails scratched up his back, surely leaving small wounds. 

This miniscule amount of pain seemed to amplify Jonathan’s endless pleasure, and you could feel him pumping you full of his come once again, the tip of his dick pressed flush against your cervix. His come made you feel so full, fuller than you already did with his monstrous cock nestled into you, continually rubbing up on the toe-curlingly spongy spot in your cunt every time you pushed him back in. 

“Mmf,” Jonathan groaned, pleasure muffling whatever he was was going to say, “m’gonna… gonna get you pregnant,”

“Yeah?” You breathed out, squeezing your eyes shut, “Is that what this needy cock wants? To get my wet cunt full and me pregnant?”

“Yes, yes, hnngh, please, wanna come - wanna come more,” Jonathan cried out. 

“‘kay, okay,” you nodded vehemently, “then make this pussy feel good.” 

Then, you slid out with a whimper, two loads worth of come spilling out of your worn-out cunt, turning around so your ass would face him, before you sunk back down on him. You were chasing your own pleasure now, the unmistakable feeling rumbling within your lower stomach. 

Jonathan was completely fucked out, just a shaking, hot and bothered mess on the sticky wooden chair you’d both occupied, but he still welcomed your warm pussy back on him with open arms. Your folds beat any other cunt he’d ever been in, and he knew nothing, not even his own hand, could match up to how addicting you were, how delectably you took him. 

The new angle had you reeling, your hands gripping Jonathan’s thighs for some much-needed support. You were buckling, getting weaker with every bounce, but were still desperate for release. It affected Jonathan too, and he was pressing his face up against your hair, biting down lightly on your shoulder to collect himself despite the earth-shattering pleasure you were inflicting on him. 

Your fleshy cunt met his rock-solid cock every moment perfectly, and soon enough your back was arching, head leaning back on Jonathan’s shoulder. That knot in your stomach was tightening, a fire burning within you and begging you not to stop.

Jonathan’s needy hands were coursing all over your body, rubbing on you in all the right places, and when his calloused fingers began pinching and twisting at your sensitive nipples, you saw white. That burning feeling dragged across your entire body, your jaw tensing, and you felt positively fuzzy, pure pleasure destroying all coherent thoughts you’d been having, your mind now focussed on the insane way he made you orgasm. 

There was nothing that could compare to how you felt now, this being the hardest you’d orgasmed in your entire life. There was just something about Jonathan — be it how unbelievably big he was, or perhaps the odd tension that surrounded you two for the past few years — that made this experience ten times, no, a hundred times, better.

It was like his dick had been artfully crafted to stretch you out and stuff you full; that thick cock, made just for you. 

In place of your weakening strength, Jonathan kept his hand tweaking your breast, and his other hand gripped your hip tightly, helping you bounce up and down on his cock. Thus, the pleasure was maximized by his touch, and you rode out your high like that for a few more long moments. 

You stayed there, on his lap panting and drooling, for a few more seconds, before you climbed off of him, grimacing at the loss of his sweet cock in you. 

You stood shakily, feeling his come ooze out of your sticky hole, and you were surprised to see that Jonathan was still hard. He was panting, head leaning against the chair, hands and legs trembling, but his dick could probably still pump out another round of come. 

You did always wondering how he’d taste, and after seeing how long and thick he was, you wanted to know if his dick could make you cry, too. So, you kneeled down on the cold floor, pulling him by the ankles a little further off the chair, so you could get better access to him, and buried your pretty little head between his shaking thighs. 

“What’re you— doing?” Jonathan said blearily, but before he could continue, your soft lips wrapped around him, and your tongue began artfully swiveling his sensitive head.

The loudest moan you’d heard so far was drawn out of Jonathan, and more, similar noises came out of him. It was nonsensical, and unintelligible, but you could tell he was having the time of his life — as if he hadn’t just orgasmed three times prior. 

You started slowly, mouth taking his cock until you felt like you couldn’t anymore, before forcing past that point and making yourself take him to the back of your throat. Tears lined the rims of your eyes, your head swimming from lack of oxygen, but you couldn’t help how badly you wanted to hear him whimper and whine out from how good you were servicing him, his pretty groans reaching your ears like music. 

You pulled his cock out of your mouth when you felt like you were going to pass out, and then you began lapping up at his cock, sucking and curving your tongue around his long length. You sucked him hard and fast, and then, his hands grappled at your hair. 

At this point, you believed the aphrodisiac was wearing off, and Jonathan, now a little more clearheaded, began face fucking you, filling your sweet mouth full with his filthy cock. He couldn’t resist doing so, especially with you looking up at him through your tear-stained lashes, hollowing out your cheeks and gripping his thighs like your life depended on it. 

You gagged on him, several times, but he didn’t care, and with a jolted thrust past your swollen lips, he came, squirting all he had left down your throat. You sucked and swallowed every drop of him into your mouth, loving the taste of his salty liquid. 

Now, you were both fucked out, beyond tired, the strain on your muscles settling in. Your core had been properly exercised, what with how many times you rutted into Jonathan, and he, similarly, had a strained back with how much he arched into your touch, his aphrodisiac-clouded mind wanting nothing more but to be touched by you. 

“Good god, woman,” Jonathan said, collapsing into the wooden chair, which was sticky with sweat, come and your cunt’s soaking wetness. “You could’ve just said you wanted to fuck,”

You panted, dropping down onto the cold floor beneath you and wincing. “We’re — we were, just friends.”

He waved away your words, “We live together, darling. Not quite sure if that's “just” friends.”

You looked up at him, before laughing agreeably. “Felt good though, didn’t it?” A smug grin made its way on your lips, remembering how submissive Jonathan had been, how desperate he’d been just for the slightest bit of touch. 

“Amazing,” he said exasperatedly. “But next time, you’re not topping.”

“Next time, huh?” You said brightly, shakily getting up. Jonathan helped you, both of you limping exhaustedly up the stairs to your actual house, where you really should’ve been fucking, instead of the clinical environment of your large basement lab.

Jonathan’s hands found your ass, pulling you flush against him and kneading the flesh roughly. “Why not? Don’t you wanna know how I fuck?” he whispered suggestively into your ear, nibbling at the lobe. 

“I think, you’ve still got some aphrodisiac in you, Jon.” you said, laughing breezily. 

*Me, re-watching Gotham*

This idea came to me while eating lunch and watching this movie.