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ourladyofoldgotham · 8 months

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i'd be your mistress (just to keep you around)

jonathan crane x gender neutral reader

NSFW 18+, minors dni

infidelity, angst, smut

summary

On a summer night, Dr. Jonathan Crane sneaks away from his life for a few hours to be with you.

It’s a warm August evening in Gotham, in the dusky hours before night falls and after the sun goes down. You hear his car before you see it - with practice, you can recognize it even in the milieu of the evening rush on the highway below your balcony, like a voice in a crowd. Your lover always calls late.

He lets himself in. You’ve never been particularly bothered by that. After all, he has a right to it. The money he pays you every month covers over half your rent, plus a solid chunk of your grocery bill- there’s no way you could get a place like this on your own acting.

Sometimes you wonder exactly why he does it - out of affection? A need to know you’re safe and cared for when he’s not there? Out of his own self-preservation? A way to make sure his tires stay unslashed and his reputation tidy when he comes to visit? Or out of guilt?

You try not to wonder. It’s easier to leave things unquestioned, with him. He makes it easy, honestly. You think about it more than you should when you’re alone- about whether it’s right to need him and have him in his respites from his beautiful life - but under his sharp, lonely gaze, it feels like it melts away. It’s just you and him. The rest doesn’t matter. Not right then.

He seems distracted when he unlocks the door. He is more often than not, these days. A perfect life can drive a man mad. There’s always something on his mind. Sometimes he’ll tell you about it absentmindedly, sitting back on the couch with a vodka martini while he undresses you with his eyes. It’s usually work things - a fascinating case, or a particularly troubled patient. He asks you your thoughts on it, and there’s something you find charming about it. As though he sees you as someone far more intelligent than you seem, as more than the sum of your parts. Sometimes, he refuses to - avoiding the question and your gaze as his hands slip under your shirt while you fix him a drink. That’s when you know it’s about his other life. His children, maybe. Issues with school or an argument with his wife. The things he really comes to you to forget. You wonder sometimes if they know - if they ever put something together from all of the evenings spent away.

He used to be more than just an evening caller. A couple years ago, he’d even spent the whole weekend with you. It had been the only thing you’d asked for for your birthday that year, and he had been willing to provide it. Between the wild sex, you’d done normal things together. He took you out to the fair and won you a prize. You went to dinner. You felt like a normal couple, like something to be shown off on his arm and not hidden away. Maybe that was the problem.

He was gone early Monday morning - you didn’t wake up to see him go, but you could have sworn you heard your door shut before the sun came up. After that, it was radio silence. Brief periods of quiet on his end are typical, he’s a busy man, but it had never been anything like this. There was always a little something to tide you over - a text, a little treat showing up on your doorstep, a call when he’s driving home from work. This was something else, something more worrying. At first you scanned the obituaries, the news, any accident reports that you could get your hands on going about your day. Maybe something had happened. Nothing showed up. You texted, of course. You called. No reply. He read them, sometimes, though. They delivered. You read into that. Maybe more than you should have. On the 12th of the month his money still showed up in your account. No note.

It did that four more times before you saw him again. He called you out of the blue one cold night in early December and asked if you were home. The exhaustion in his voice made your heart melt in seconds. You were out of practice making the martini, but when you cut your hand making the twist and ran out of vodka he kissed you on the cheek and said that anything you made would have been fine. The two of you ended up with hot spiked cider instead, curled up on the couch together. He was sweet, but he didn’t seem all there that night. He didn’t seem to want much from you but your company. He mentioned something offhandedly about the new baby, and he left you there alone just a couple hours after he came. His drink was still on the coffee table untouched.

To his credit, he was better about the silence after. He texted, sometimes, but so much less than before. Maybe a couple of times a month, one or two a week if you got lucky. It was the first time you ever really realized the vastness of his life outside of your apartment, and it served as a wakeup call. You stopped looking for auditions and started looking for jobs. The next time he came over your table was covered in applications and classified ads.

He asked about it. He looked confused, almost nervous. You spilled your heart out to him, of course. You never could keep a secret from him, and when you finished, there was a softness in his eyes that made you want to break down crying. He told you that you didn’t need that - that you never would. That he couldn’t always be there when you wanted him, or when he wanted you, but that he would always be there when you needed him. He told you that he loved you. It was the first time he said it. You tried your best to believe him.

You’ve been his thing on the side for four years now. You’ve gotten good at it. A distraction, a comfort for a couple hours in the night when he needs you in exchange for his money and as little of his time as you can manage. He has a life outside of you. He calls you on his terms. You make yourself as easily compartmentalized as possible.

When he comes in tonight, you have his drink in your hand and you’re already dressed up for him. He isn’t really looking at you. You’ve learned to be okay with that. You take his hand and lead him to the couch, setting his glasses aside on the coffee table.

You push him back and there’s no resistance. Your hand brushes against his cheek as you stand over him and he smiles, leaning into the soft touch. You lean in for a kiss and he melts underneath you. When you deepen it, he reaches up to hold you, one hand on the small of your back and the other undoing your shirt.

You pull back and look at him and he looks wrecked already, his icy blue irises barely a ring around his widened pupils. When he sighs and drops his head into the crook of your neck you know he needed this as much as you did. Maybe more.

You sink to the floor and kneel in front of him. He’s still in his suit, but it’s disheveled now, his shirt crumpled from where you grabbed onto him with his sleeves haphazardly rolled up. His face is flushed, and when you touch him over his slacks he throws his head back and whines. You don’t tease him for too long, though, just mouthing at him over his boxers for a minute. His hand is covering his mouth as he lets out a shaky moan when you pull out his cock, already rock-hard and dripping with precum.

You‘ve had your fair share of practice, and you know exactly what he likes. You sink your head down to his base almost immediately, and his hips buck up into your mouth. He apologizes for it through shaky breaths, but there’s something that drives you crazy about knowing he needs you badly enough for the infamous Jonathan Crane to lose control. His hand tugs at your hair, guiding you as you lick a stripe up the underside of his cock and swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. He arches his back and shivers, pulling you off.

“I…don’t want to finish this here. Go to the bedroom. Get ready for me.”

You get up, legs just a little shaky, and leave him on the couch with a kiss on his neck. You open yourself up for him, but he takes a longer time than you thought he would coming in. When he does, you feel that distance between the two of you again. His hand caresses your cheek softly, and you stand up to undress him properly. You’re tender with him, almost. You kiss his neck. You bring him back down to earth. He groans a little and sits down on the bed, pulling you close to him. Something in his eyes makes you feel like this is the first time he’s seen you in a long time.

“You look wonderful tonight, darling. Can’t think of what I could have done for all this to be for me.”

He smiles and grazes a kiss across your knuckles, raising your hand to his lips.

You hold his face in your hands and kiss him as you sink down onto his cock. It takes him by surprise, almost, his breath shaky. You opened yourself up while you were waiting, but you’re still hot and tight around him. Your legs are spread, your thighs on either side of his lap, and he clings onto them as you start to move - slowly, then switching to a breakneck pace when you find the spot inside that makes you see stars. For a minute, you falter, and then his hands are on you again, on your hips bouncing you on his cock, and then one reaching between your bodies to touch you. He is a terribly skilled man with his hands, and before you know it, you’re cumming on his chest. He guides you through it, soft and gentle, moving your hips through a slow roll, toying with the line where the pleasure becomes overstimulation.

He’s stronger than he looks, and he lays you down gently on the bed in the haze afterwards. He kneels between your legs above you, pulling your hips up to meet his. It’s only a few thrusts before you hear his breath start to quicken, his movements erratic. He’s over you now, cheeks hot and flushed, his blue eyes fluttering shut. You press one hand against his chest and the other on the back of his head to pull him in for a desperate kiss, but before you can, he’s pulling back, hand on the bed to steady himself as he pulls out and cums onto you.

He falls onto the bed next to you, and your hand intertwines with his, as easy as breathing. You can feel his heartbeat slowing as your head rests on his shoulder. He kisses you on the forehead and pulls you just a little closer, and for a moment the world seems perfectly atop its axis.

He catches his breath for a couple of minutes before he rolls out of bed. You hear the faucet running for a couple of minutes and watch the golden light slip out from under the door around his lean shadow. When he comes back, he's presentable again, and he hands you a warm washcloth. He gets dressed in silence as you clean yourself up.

With his shirt still unbuttoned, he leaves the room and steps out onto the balcony. You watch him for a minute, through the open bedroom door. The glow of the cherry on his cigarette lights up his face against the dim blue sky. He looks older than you remember him looking. More tired. More distant. You catch a glimpse of your own reflection in the glass. You do too.

You slip out of the glass door behind him, dressed in your pajamas - his old shirt and boxers. It's chilly, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders. You stay there for a while, his warmth against your side, while he finishes his cigarette. Neither of you speak. Gotham looks softer in the dying light. It's him that breaks the silence first.

"I love you. You have to know that."

"More than you love your life now? That I don't."

He looks away.

"I don't blame you for it. I wish I could sometimes. But I can't."

As you speak, you take a cigarette from the box in his hand. You lean in and he lights it for you from the embers of his.

"There are things about me that you don't know. Some for your own good. Some for mine. Maybe you should blame me."

His jaw is tense, and there’s a sadness in his eyes.

"You think I'm a far better man than you should. I wish you could understand."

"Maybe I could."

"I'm not giving you up on a maybe."

Your cigarette is finished and the night is cold, a silence falling over the two of you. It's half-past-midnight when he tells you he has to go.

You ask him to stay. You rarely do these days. When you do, it’s somewhere between a weakness and an indulgence and a hope.

He says no. He always does.

There’s something in the dark outside at night these days that unsettles you. Some sinking fear in the pit of your chest. You tackle it tonight to stand on the balcony after he says goodbye at the door. You watch his car crawl back out of the city through the evening traffic until you lose it in the crowd. By the time his car turns into a dark alley downtown, you are in a fitful sleep. He does not think of either of the lives waiting for him among the bright lights.

The next morning, reports will rise of a new villain on Gotham’s roster. “The Scarecrow”, they’re calling him. Panic about fear toxins and phobia will drip from the edges of the morning paper, but you won’t spare them a second glance. All you can do is trust. All you can do is wait for him to come back and pray that maybe this time he’ll stay.

thanks for reading

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soapskies · 8 months

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Could I request a yandere nolanverse scarecrow with a reader who is a patient at Akrham. Maybe reader has anger or trust issues and only interacts to certain individuals because most people aren't very affectionate or kinds (platonic if possible please since I'm a sucker for your teen/kid reader fics)

YAN. NOLANVERSE SCARECROW W/ TROUBLED PATIENT

MALE READER. PLATONIC HCS. READER IS AN OLDER KID.

— Nolanverse Jon is a psychiatrist, not a psychologist, but I thought it would be more interesting if I wrote him to have one-on-one sessions with reader. So suspend your disbelief. :P

You learned early on that the only way to survive your situation was to shut down, or fight your way through it.

One of the youngest patients at Arkham, you were infamous among your doctors for being very uncooperative during your sessions

Most of your issues exacerbated by the conditions at the asylum, and inmates who had no trouble walking all over you.

Your therapists (who didn’t care much for juvenile delinquents anyway, when villains like the Joker were housed in the opposite wing), were quick to walk out on you when you lashed out, all except one.

Dr. Crane was the only one who stayed in the room with you, even when you were screaming until your throat burned and spent entire sessions curled up on the floor.

Although you glared daggers into him, he met you with an even tone of voice and a self-assured demeanor that couldn’t be matched, scribbling away on that notepad of his when you thought there was nothing of importance to note.

Dr. Crane seemed to make all the time in the world for you, always first on the scene when you broke down, and never treated you harshly, no matter how cold you were towards him. No matter how many other doctors looked at you with contempt, as if counseling you was a chore.

Maybe if you were paying attention, you would notice that you ran into him a lot outside of sessions, in which he would prod about your well-being and insist on walking you wherever you needed to go, like an overbearing father.

Not to mention how his actions went far beyond a normal doctor-patient relationship, whether it was holding your shoulder steady to look you sternly in the eye or the tight, awkward squeeze he would give you briefly before parting ways

He seemed to prod you about everything. How you slept, what you ate, who you talked to, what your family is like…

Come to think of it, you haven’t heard from your parents in a very long time, since you started your sessions with Crane. Not that you wanted to hear back from them anyway, when they were the ones who sent you there in the first place.

Miraculously, you were eventually released for “good behavior”, despite your headspace not feeling any clearer, and in none other than Dr. Crane’s care.

Nobody seemed to question it, or give you a second glance as you walked out the doors with him. You were under the impression you were going home, only to be herded into the doctor’s car and driven to some secluded house in the countryside, a good long ways away.

Suffice to say, you never left out of his sight again.

#scarecrow x male reader #jonathan crane x male reader #jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow x child reader #scarecrow x you #tw yandere #yandere x child reader #yandere #yandere x male reader #platonic x reader #nolanverse scarecrow

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spidey-x-male-reader · 9 months

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PLEASE Batman Begins Scarecrow with a male reader, every fic for him is fem reader and I’m down bad for this man 🥲🙏 how about some relationship hcs with a reader who’s the complete opposite of him, a big scaredy-cat?

Pairing: Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow) x male!reader

Summary: Headcanons - you're dating Jonathan Crane while being a big scaredy-cat

A/N: This was so relatable because I honestly love Jonathan Crane (and generally Cillian Murphy so much) and I'm so easily scared of so many different things man

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

When you told him that you were a big scaredy cat he thought you were overdoing it

You weren’t

However he doesn’t judge you for anything, quite the opposite actually. He finds it endearing

He would judge you for none of your fears or things you’re afraid of

He understands that everyone has their fears, and he respects that. He takes a patient and gentle approach when encouraging you to confront your anxieties, without pushing you too hard or too fast

That man is a psychologist. He knows exactly how to properly handle things like that

He becomes even more protective of you, not just because he cares about you deeply but also because he recognizes your vulnerability

He’s always around when you need help whether it is encouragement or getting you out of a situation, he doesn‘t even hesitate

I feel like he’d consider trying to help you confront your fears with his fear toxin but then is like “yeah no let’s not do that”

So he helps you out the usual way

Even though he might seem scary at first (especially with the mask) he starts becoming a calming presence in your life

He would literally leave his work in a second if you called or texted that you needed help

Sure that man is a supervillain but you’re his soft spot

He’d really do anything to help you deal better with your fears and would be so proud of you when you managed to do something no matter how small it seems to be

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wisteriaiswriting · 3 days

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ᴀʀᴋʜᴀᴍ ᴀꜱʏʟᴜᴍ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

I write for any of the listed characters either, x character or x reader (Male or Gender neutral.)

Check out my main masterlist!

Villains:

ʙᴀɴᴇ |

ʜᴀʀʟᴇʏ Qᴜɪɴɴ |

ᴋɪʟʟᴇʀ ᴄʀᴏᴄ |

ᴘᴏɪꜱᴏɴ ɪᴠʏ |

ꜱᴄᴀʀᴇᴄʀᴏᴡ |

ᴛʜᴇ ᴊᴏᴋᴇʀ |

Heros:

ʙᴀᴛᴍᴀɴ [ʙʀᴜᴄᴇ ᴡᴀʏɴᴇ] |

Civilians:

ᴊᴀᴍᴇꜱ 'ᴊɪᴍ' ɢᴏʀᴅᴏɴ |

ᴏʀᴀᴄʟᴇ [ʙᴀʀʙᴀʀᴀ ɢᴏʀᴅᴏɴ ᴅʀᴀᴋᴇ] |

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shivering-isles-cryptid · 2 years

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Legion of Doom x Cheetah's Son reader

Platonic, mostly, some antagonistic, some romantic, a few sexual

Y/n walked into the L.O.D. headquarters, holding his mom's lunch in his hand, and a coffee cup in the other. He walked past security, not even looking at the supervillain he passed, not until Lex Luthor stepped infront of him. "Can I help you?" He asked, his arm behind his back and glaring at y/n. "No." Y/n answered and walked past him. His tail swished, smacking Luthor's leg. Luthor grabbed it and pulled you back, making you almost drop your coffee. "What the hell is wrong with you?! Do you know how hot this coffee is? I almost spilled it you dipshit!" Y/n yelled at Luthor, snatching his tail back. "This building is for Legion of Doom members only, it would be smart for you to leave." Luthor said, standing to his full height in front of Y/n, Bane and Scarecrow now standing behind him. Y/n walked over to a table and set the bag and coffee down, smiling at Black Adam. "Hey, will you watch these for a second? Thanks hot stuff." Y/n wiggled his fingers in a little wave before turning around and pouncing on Scarecrow. Claws shot from his finger and he scratched at Scarecrows arms before gettong thrown off by Bane, who threw him into a wall. Y/n launched himself off the wall and landed on Bane, wrapping his legs around his neck and punching his in the face while using his tail to redirect Banes attacks. He felt some one grab himz and he was thrown to the floor, staring at Black Manta, who's eye beams were charging. Y/n launched himself up and sliced his tubes, the water gushing out and Manta running to find some water. Y/n looked around at the villains surrounding him. Luthor, now wearing a green and purple suit, Two Face, Scarecrow, Bane, Livewire, Penguin, Joker, Mr. Freeze, Sinestro, and Giganta. Y/n cracked his neck and got on all fours, ready to pounce when he sensed someone walking behind him. He turned around and smiled at his mom. "Y/n Minerva, what do you think you're doing?" His mom asked, the brown bag in her hand and Black Adam walking next to her drinking from Y/n's coffee cup. "You forgot your lunch, so i brought it to you. And that little morsel in the power suit grabbed my tail." Y/n said, hissing at Luthor, who was blushing and scratching his neck. The other villains, except for Bane, walked away. "Thank you for bringing my lunch, kitten. Next time, check in with security." Barbara said, kissing his forehead.

He in fact did not check in with security next time. He, again, just walked in without even looking at them. This time, instead of starting a brawl with every villain in the building, he set a coffee in front of Black Adam and walked away, drinking his own. "What was that?" Scarecrow whispered to Adam. "What? Hes a good kid when you're not trying to kill him." Adam said, sipping the coffee, wincing at the amount of caramel. "That bastard." Adam mumbled, still drinking the coffee.

The next time, he came into work with his mom, so he had to check in. He went to the pool, napping in a sun chair, lightly purring. Black Manta and Penguin watched him from the other side. "That's one pretty cat. If you know what I mean." Penguin jabbed his elbow into Manta, who looked at him and blinked. "He's 17 Oswald." Manta said before dropping back into the sea salt pool.

Y/n sat in the board room, his feet propped on the table as he scrolled through his phone. "I dont know, im just saying. His birthday is in 2 weeks, and then he'll be an adult and I can shoot my shot. I'm only 22, so its not that big of a difference." Y/n looked up from his phone when he saw Scarecrow, the Riddler and Bane walk in. "He is the son of your coworker Scarecrow. Difference of not, that is very weird." Bane said shaking his head, none of them noticing him. "You best hurry up with that Scarecrow, before I do." Riddler said, laughing maniacally. "Its not that weird. I mean, I am a pretty kitty, aren't I?" Y/n purred, leaning forward in the chair and putting his chin in his hands. The three of them stopped moving and turned to look at him. He gave a small wave and a smirk, sending a wink at them.

Y/n stood next to his mom, holding a hand over his mouth. She said they were robbing the Gotham Mint, turns out it was a surprise birthday party. Y/n walked in and thanked every villain he passed until he got to the snack table. He grabbed a sushi roll and pulled the fish out, tossing the rice and plants onto a small plate before turning around. Black Adam was holding a box wrapped with black paper and a gold ribbon. "Aww, Adam, a present wrpaped in you signature colors. How thoughtful." Y/n joked and took the box, pulling out a claw to cut a square into the top and opening the box. "Oh my god. You got me a faux fur coat?! Best presemt ever!" Y/n exclaimed and put the coat on. "Thanks Adam."

"If I were you two, I'd make a move on Y/n before Adam get him." Manta said, interrupting Riddler and Scarecrow and pointing at Y/n and Black Adam together, Y/n wearing a cheetah print fur coat. "Isn't Balck Adam 40 something?" Scarecrow asked, Riddler who shrugged. "He could be anywhere between 40 and 400. Either way he's too old for him." Riddler said, standing up. "I hope that you're not planning on seducing my son Edward. After all, you're 12 years older than him." A feline voice said from behind them. Riddler turned around and sae Cheetah leaning against a wall, eating pieces of meat off of her claws like they were skewers. "O-of course not Barbara. I was just making sure that Adam, who is older than even Freeze here doesn't make one." Riddler lied, cold sweat dripping down his neck. "I wouldn't worry about that if I were you. Since Adam is his godfather." Cheetah said, walkimg away, tail swishing. "Oh, and Scarecrow, I'd hurry up if I were you. It looks like someone else is on the hunt." Barbara said, pointing at Livewire, who was walking towards Y/n. Scarecrow shot up and started to speed walk to Y/n.

Y/n had just grabbed another sushi roll when he heard two people walking towards him. From the sounds and smell of it, it was Livewire and Scarecrow. He turned towards Scarecrow and smiled. "Hey, whats up?" He said, smiling at the bag faced man. "Well you see, I was thinking, maybe, if you want to, we coukd possibly..." Y/n placed a finger on his mouth. "I'd love to." Y/n smiled, his fangs catching the light and basically glowing. Scarecrow smiled and pulled him into a kiss, which he accepted earnestly.

#scarecrow x male reader #scarecrow #dc #dc fanfiction #dc fanfic #gay fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #gay #gay fanfic

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gwiyeounsonyeon · 2 years

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Doctor Crane's lips coated in spit and cum. That's it, that's the post.

He hates it but he looks so pretty covered in cum you just can’t resist especially if he’s wearing his glasses,,

#scarecrow x male reader #x male reader #batman begins #johnathan crane #johnathan crane x male reader #johnathan crane x reader

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rosiemarieyn · 2 months

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Favour ||Pt. 1||

pairing: Jonathan Crane x (male) psychiatrist!Reader

Summary: Your annoying boss decides firing you, or you could do him a favour and keep your job.

Genre: Darkfic (?)

word count: 2.3k

Note: I just love jonathan crane so much so i wanted to write smth with parts !!

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Getting out of your black car was a hard task for you. You haven't gotten any proper sleep for the last week and now your dear boss jonathan — Sorry, "Dr. Crane" was making you work overtime.

"I hate this job." You complained as you walked through the asylum doors. "Good morning." you heard someone say behind you, even though it was nighttime. You turned to look at the person behind you, only to see your boss, who thought he was more mature, responsible, and smarter than you. Don't get me wrong, he is smart but he is a narcissistic piece of—

"Cat got your tongue? Get back to work. he said sternly before passing by you and looking at you while doing so.

"Motherfucker…" you thought as he managed to piss you off one more time.

It has been a couple of hours— 9 to be exact. Tonight was going to be a long night, and your boss wouldn't stop nagging you. You tried to escape his deadly gaze by going into the break room to have some coffee. You rolled your eyes while drinking your hot coffee when you saw Dr. Crane walk in, looking around like a lost dog, until he spotted you. You could almost see the way his face softened if it wasn't for the RBF he always puts on.

"Doctor, I need you to come to my office. Right. Now." There it is, his usual "bitchy tone" as you called it. He walked away with his hands behind his back, you screamed internally and turned to the other doctors, "Someone also hasn't gotten any sleep, huh?" you said sarcastically as your co-workers laughed at your not-so-degrading joke about your boss.

You stood in front of his office door. Staring at the walnut door with "Dr. Jonathan Crane" written on it. You knocked 3 times, he liked it like that weirdo. You heard a faint voice call behind the door, "Come in." so you opened the door to find him sitting on his black leather chair, pen in hand, signing documents with his glasses almost falling off his nose.

"what do you need me for?" you uttered, not wanting it to sound like you were annoyed but you were very, very annoyed at him. He looked up from his work and said, "Take a seat, please." he gestured at a chair in front of him, which you sat on while huffing.

"What do you mean by you're firing me?" your eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. He leaned back on his chair and spoke softly, "Or you could do something for me to not fire you, doctor."

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy imagine #cillian x reader #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane #tdk #scarecrow #scarecrow x you #male reader #scarecrow x reader

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monstersandmaw · 2 years

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If you are doing the one-word prompt game, then, scarecrow for my prompt

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

___

Wow. This one really got away from me, but then again, I probably owe you a longer story after all these years anyway! Thank you for the prompt! (heavily inspired by this haunted village ambience video on YouTube that I listen to a lot while writing).

Contents: a rather lonely male scarecrow x artistic gn reader, haunted village, a cheeky magpie, a cute rabbit, lots of soft fluff, sfw Wordcount: 2987

(prompts closed)

___

The last rays of sunlight glanced off mounded clumps of moss that choked the old, drystone wall on your left, and gave them all a little glint of gold. Part of you almost believed that if you were to risk a closer look into the cracks between the stones, you would find fairy coins and gems stashed there for safe keeping. Mud splashed up your boots from the rutted, potholed road which wound away down the hill, and off to your left, the looming beech wood whispered and rustled constantly, sending spiralling copper leaves out into the open fields to the right of the road.

Between the trees, twilight now began to pool and stretch, spreading like an ink stain over the carpet of fallen beech leaves and driving off the sun as night took its turn to watch over the woods and all the creatures who dwelt there.

A tawny owl took up a call from somewhere nearby. The broken half-refrain that sought a mate to complete the melody rang softly between the still trees, and you sighed, hoping he’d find a mate.

You’d heard about this place, the abandoned village in the valley, and had been travelling on foot for days to reach it with your sketch book in your bag and enough food to last you a week if you were careful. To your surprise, you glimpsed bright, fat, round pumpkins growing in the fields on your right, their coiling tendrils spreading merrily across the roughly tilled earth despite the place having lain barren and empty for generations. No one who lived within ten miles of this place ever dared come down this road, and yet there were fresh crops still growing in abandoned farmland.

“Full of ghosts and demons that place is,” the old baker’s wife had hissed at you that morning when you’d bought a loaf for the journey at the nearest town. “Don’t you go wandering around there…”

As you’d left that small, riverside town, with its creaking water mill and ringing blacksmith’s, a tall young man in a dark green cloak had come up to you and pressed a charm into your hands. He’d had a sharp, serious face and deep, black eyes, and people had whispered in the pub the night before that he was the witch’s son. You’d looked down at your hands and found a smooth disc made of antler with a familiar stave rune carved into it.

“To keep you safe,” he’d said, and turned away. You watched him walk a couple of paces before he stopped, sighed, and turned back to you. “I’ve been there,” he said. “To the village. Don’t take anything from there unless it’s given to you first.”

Unnerved by his odd advice, you’d just nodded, thanked him, and donned the protective amulet. It had warmed against your skin as it hung on its leather cord around your neck, and you ran your fingers over it a few times as you walked, thinking about this words again.

Now, as you peered over the planks of a rotting, dilapidated fence overlooking the village, you caught sight of a twisted old apple orchard swathed in evening mist in the wide, verdant valley off to your right, and what seemed to be a dark figure standing in the centre of it. Your heart fairly stopped beating until you realised that they weren’t moving at all, and it was only the faint breeze tugging at the corner of an old coat that was catching your eye. It was a scarecrow.

You camped that night in the only house that still seemed to have a solid, thatched roof, lighting a fire in the cold grate and sleeping in your bedroll on the flagstone floor rather than occupying the empty bed that had been left behind. It felt rude and presumptuous somehow.

After a spot of breakfast the next morning, you banked the fire and left your belongings neatly by the hearth, and looked around the small, single-roomed stone cottage before leaving. “Thank you for letting me sleep here,” you said aloud to no one in particular.

It seemed a bit silly, but it also important somehow, and you nearly jumped out of your skin when a magpie flapped its wings in the rafters above and laughed at you. “No harm in saying thank you,” you muttered to it, and stumbled out of the door, embarrassed.

Your morning was spent wandering the village, getting to know the layout of the old, tumbledown buildings, but your afternoon took you to the ancient apple orchard where you found the scarecrow again, standing sentry in the centre of the trees with his arms spread wide, almost in welcome.

You came to a halt in front of him and looked up into his weathered face, surprised at how friendly his features were. Sure, his face was made of sack cloth and bits of pale straw stuck out at the cuffs and hem of his linen shirt, but the roots that had been chosen for his hands all had four fingers and a gnarled thumb, and the branches that made up his legs beneath the brown broadcloth trousers stuffed with straw were in proportion with the rest of his body. He had big, leather boots on which, like the rest of his clothes and the wide-brimmed, leather hat he wore, were in far better condition than they had any right to be after he’d been presumably hanging on his post for a hundred years or more.

“I almost want to offer you an apple,” you chuckled nervously. “Don’t worry, I haven’t come to thieve from your orchard. I’ve just come to draw the trees. I hope that’s alright. You mind if I sit with you a while?”

Obviously, you got no answer from the silent scarecrow, and although his face was warped with age, it seemed to have a kindly, almost curious set to its vague features, and the stitched mouth seemed to smile a little at the corners.

You sat with your back resting against his post and lost yourself in the careful skate of charcoal and graphite over paper, drawing the speckled feathers of a thrush as it hopped about looking for snails, the curve of the old, white gate that hung off its hinges at a jaunty angle, the lines of the roofs of the village with their ribcage rafters showing, the twisting trunks of the trees like gnarled hands reaching up from the earth to share their fruits with the world. Your magpie joined you for a while and hopped about, chattering away to himself, and you laughed as he began to play with a fallen leaf for a while before flapping off and leaving a single feather behind. You drew that too, lying in the dewy grass, but left it where it lay. The warning of the witch’s son reminded you not to take what had not been offered.

It was only when a cool breeze caressed the back of your neck like a lover’s breath that you jolted and realised how long you’d been sitting there.

The had light faded unnoticed from the brilliant pinks and oranges of sunset to the calm, quiet lilacs and blues of dusk that you blinked, and you could barely see three feet in front of you now. It was only because your paper was white that you could see the marks after all. Fog rolled in from the edges of the low-walled orchard, but despite the way the white fingers crawled across the grass, it didn’t seem threatening in the least.

Groaning and rolling your neck to ease the built-up tension and stiffness, you set your sketchbook down and clambered to your feet, joints creaking after so long in one pose, and you stretched out your back as well. You looked up at the scarecrow and frowned. You could have sworn he had been looking towards the gate when you’d arrived, but his head was bowed down now and looking in your direction.

“You’ve been watching me sketch, have you?” you said, not sounding quite as confident as you’d hoped. Perhaps he’d just moved in a breath of wind earlier. “Well, don’t judge me too harshly, hm? It’s the having fun that counts, not the end result. I’m sorry I intruded on your peace for so long though.”

Again the softest, gentlest breeze wafted around your face and the pages of your sketchbook fluttered open until they stopped on one you’d done of the scarecrow himself.

You cocked an eyebrow. “You like it?” you asked, not really believing that you were actually communicating. “I’m not sure I captured your smile quite right. I can come back again tomorrow and try again though. You’ll tell me if I’m not welcome, right?”

In a flash of black and white wings that came down out of nowhere and made you yip in surprise, the magpie landed on the scarecrow’s shoulder and gave another harsh, laughing chatter at you. He almost seemed to be mocking your startled reaction. Then he fluttered down onto the grass, hopped around a bit, and stooped to pick something up. When he flapped back up to the scarecrow’s shoulder and hopped about, he had the iridescent feather in his beak. He cocked his head a few times and then stuck his neck forwards towards you.

“For me?” you asked, reaching slowly for the feather.

The bird nodded, and as you took it, he spoke. “For you.”

Your eyes went wide and you almost dropped the feather. The black and white bird danced around, apparently enjoying your surprise. Then he made another few cawing noises, flapped his wings, and then disappeared off through a gap in the apple trees. “Well, thank you,” you croaked into the silence he left behind. You knew that corvids could imitate human speech, but that had all been very… precise.

Patting the scarecrow’s chest near his shoulder in an informal farewell, you turned to pick up your sketchbook from the dewy grass and looked back one last time at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

When you stepped over the ruined gate to the orchard the next morning, you made deliberate note of where the scarecrow was looking, and it had definitely changed overnight. Now he was looking across at his right hand that was stretched out wide on the cruciform support from which he hung. In it, you saw a flash of white and a few flashes of colour, and frowned. He hadn’t been holding anything the previous day.

As you approached, you could see better what it was that he was holding, and you exhaled slowly. It was a beautiful bunch of silvery dried grasses, with bright dandelions, red poppies, and dusky blue harebells, all wrapped around with the fluffy heads of old man’s beard that loved to ramble freely over the hedgerows and walls.

“Is… Is that for me too?” you asked. “How did you get them?” An idea lodged itself in your mind and you couldn’t shake it. He was definitely able to look in different directions, so that must mean… “Can you move?”

Only the wind answered you for a long, stretching moment. Then, with the kind of aching slowness that made your heart stop, his head began to turn. Slowly, carefully, he nodded once.

You swallowed and took half a step back, heartbeat thudding. “Is it… Is it alright that I’m here?”

Again, to your immense relief, he nodded again. He moved like the rusty hinge of an old barn door.

“Can you speak?”

He paused, and for a second you thought perhaps he hadn’t understood, but then he nodded a third time.

You licked your lips nervously and looked at the flowers. “So… are they for me?”

Yet another nod was your only answer.

“Did you gather them yourself? I mean, can you… get down from there?” The idea of him roaming around the fields while you’d been fast asleep was partly terrifying and partly rather sweet, and it prompted another question before you’d even waited for the first to be answered. “Are we the only two people here?”

A warm, amused chuckle, like the crunching of autumn leaves, sounded from the scarecrow. He shook his head slightly.

“‘No’ we’re not alone or ‘no’ you can’t get down? Or ‘no’ you didn’t get them yourself?”

The gnarled fingers of his left hand twitched and then the rope that seemed to hold him lashed to the support loosened a fraction and he held up a finger in a gesture that asked you to wait, to slow down.

“I’m sorry,” you said, stepping back again. “I get a bit ahead of myself sometimes.”

Another friendly laugh sounded and you watched the stitched gash that formed his mouth stretch upwards at the corners. His hollow eye sockets lifted a little too and his whole face expressed a gentle mirth. “I can speak…” he said in a rasping, reedy voice. “Though I have had no one but that wretched magpie to talk to for years.”

He spoke fondly enough of the creature, despite his words, and you smiled.

“I can move and get down, though it takes… effort.”

“Oh. Do you mind if I stay and draw some more?”

“Not at all,” he said.

“You’re welcome to come down and join me. I could even draw you again… see if I can get your face right this time.”

He laughed, and the ropes uncoiled on their own, gently lowering him down to the grass. He was about your height, though he stood crookedly, leaning against the support behind him. He kept the brim of his hat tilted down as if to shield his face from you, and he shifted self-consciously as you looked at him. He held out the flowers and you watched the way his hands moved like living flesh, though they were undoubtedly made of the roots of a tree.

You took the flowers carefully from him and felt oddly choked. “I can’t remember the last time someone brought me flowers.”

“There’s not much out at this time of year, but…” he shrugged. “I found what I could. You were kind to sit and chat with me yesterday, even though you didn’t know I could hear you, and the magpie said you were polite in Old Rose’s cottage…”

“Thank you.”

Setting the flowers down beside your satchel, you drew out your sketchbook and sat cross-legged on the ground nearby. He sat as well, stretching his legs out in front of him and letting his hands lie softly in his lap. For a while he just watched you and then seemed to doze as the sun rose and lent a little weak warmth to the autumn day.

After a while, you began to ask him about the history of the village and why it had eventually been abandoned, and he talked in his rasping, faltering way for hours. A rabbit snuffled through the grass as the day wore on, and you froze, not wanting to startle it. It came right up to him, ears forward, nose twitching.

“Hello,” he murmured with a fond chuckle, and the creature leapt straight up into his lap. He cradled it and you carefully turned a new page in your sketchbook to try and capture it.

Luckily, the rabbit was in no hurry to leave, and he stroked his fingers through its fur long enough that you got three decent sketches out of it before it hopped off in search of the dewy dandelions growing between the trees. When he looked up at you and found you watching, he dipped his head again in a clearly bashful gesture.

“Want to see?” you said, waggling the sketchbook.

He nodded, and you went over to sit beside him. His finger shook as he trailed it carefully around the edge of the sketch, mindful not to smudge it, and then he looked up at you. This close, you could see the weave of the sack cloth that made up his face and the crinkles where the material pulled around his mouth and empty eye sockets. “You… I… Is this really how you see me?” he asked in a whisper barely louder than the breeze through the grasses.

With a frown, you turned your gaze back to the sketchbook to look at the drawings more critically. Was he offended? You thought you’d managed to capture the gentle way he’d cradled the rabbit’s soft body, the way his gnarl-knuckled hands had gracefully stroked its fur, the fond tilt of his head as he’d regarded the vulnerable creature in his care, but you’d also taken your time to match the way he listed slightly to one side, his broken-branch spine and crooked limbs not keeping him perfectly upright. It lent him a soft, shy quality, and you nodded. “I think you’re beautiful,” you said and then flushed hot with embarrassment.

He turned his head away and then looked back again, regarding you from the dark, shadowy hollows of his eyes. “No one has ever found me beautiful,” he said. “Not even the farmer who made me. I’m supposed to be frightening, you know? All the village children used to be afraid of me.”

“I’m sure you could be if you needed to be,” you said. “If I were here to steal apples, I mean. The rabbits aren’t a threat, and the magpie is only playful.”

“You could take anything you liked,” he breathed. “I wouldn’t stop you.”

“But could you if you wanted to?”

He paused. “Yes.”

You brought your hand to his cheek and found the sack cloth warm beneath your palm despite the autumn chill in the air. “Let me stay and sketch a while longer?”

“As long as you like,” he whispered back. “You’re welcome here as long as you like.”

___

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#scarecrow #male scarecrow #scarecrow monster #scarecrow x reader #(but not DC scarecrow!!)#just an ordinary old scarecrow lad #monster boyfriend #exophilia #one word prompts #gender neutral reader #gn reader #male monster #male monster x reader #male monster x gender neutral reader

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battyshopkeeper · 2 years

Text

I have a horrible idea and imma need y'all to hear me out

#i have a fic idea planned out now #the batman #batman begins #edward nashton #jonathan crane #scarecrow #the riddler #mlm #x male reader #edward nashton x reader #edward nashton x male reader #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x male reader

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madnessreruns · 1 year

Note

ive come to azk for more jonny x guy reader,, mayhapz with zome fear gaz Zhenaniganz tm? thank u ☆૮꒰•༝ •。꒱ა

Experiments of Mine

Gotham! Jonny x Male! Reader

Note: Reader was implied in to be male but then here’s nothing about it in there.

Summery: Jonny shows you his experiments then you kiss and everyone claps

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Softly, your footsteps echoed throughout the halls, peaking through the doorway to the hallway . The broken down house stank of the rotting wood around you, the old floorboards creaked under you. Bugs and other small creatures skittered into a nearby hole in the wall as you walked through the doorway.

You entered the hall, burns and scratches marked the wall as around you, holes in the wall showing the insides of the home, some going far enough that you could see into the next room. As you progressed forward you saw doors that had fallen off of their hinges, floorboards torn up, trash littered along the walkway.

Even graffiti covered some of the walls, you highly doubted the perpetrators left alive, knowing the person you were meeting.

At the end of the hall was a staircase, large windows covering the wall. Most have cracks in it, some were boarded up, others we’re covered with half burnt curtains that blacked out some of the light. The stairs looked unstable, you highly doubted you would be able to walk up them without falling through.

You took a right, entering another small hall, no lights except for candles that lined the hall were there, leaving it to be mostly dark. You followed the trail to the end of the hall, entering what seemed to be a kitchen.

Lab equipment sat on the island in the center of the room, vials with mysterious liquids bubbled, a mixing pot sat at one side, little trays with unknown items and chemicals were scattered about. You looked around, bags of random items sat around the island, mice and rats crawling about on the floor.

You leaned forward, watching as one of the vials bubbled, and steamed, the liquid inside was a pale orange, with the steam pouring out of the bottle, pooling around the bottom. It reeked, the stench of something rotting, like a dead, rotting corpse.

You were so entranced that you jumped as you felt a hand being placed on your shoulder.

You jumped, whipping your head back, almost knocking heads with him as he was so close to you. When you froze he just leaned forward, his eyes were wide open, bugging out of his sockets. His eyes were bloodshot, large bags hanging under his eyes, the purpleish color contrasting incredibly compared to his pale skin.

His eyelids and surrounding skin from his eyes weren’t decorated with the usual black face paint that he wore with his mask. Speaking of his mask, the facial garment was ratted, moth eaten.

He didn’t do anything, he just loomed over you. His breath was baited, shaky, incredibly raspy. Like a hiss leaving him every time he would exhale.

“Good evening.. Mr.. Crane..” your voice was full of fake confidence, leaning back from him. He snapped his head to the side, a tilt of the head.

He nodded, leaning back, motioning for you to follow him as he walked backwards. You watched as he retreated into the darkness, exiting through a doorway you could barely see from how dark it was.

You followed, much slower then he did. He crept, tiptoeing around, it kinda looked like he was dancing around the drawling mice and broken, burnt pieces of wood.

He led you through to the dining room, back up to a wall as you entered, and there he was.

A man was tied up, a bag over his head. You froze, you could hear him whimpering and crying, his legs shaking. His legs were tied to the chair, his arms behind his back. A noose hung around his neck, keeping the bag on his head.

You carefully looked back at Jonathan, he was looking at you with wide eyes.

“Why did you want me here?” You asked. He had asked you to come here, back to his old home, his current home.

He cocked his head again.

He ushered you over, grabbing your hand as he led you forward, towards the man. Hovered over you from behind.

“Watch..” he whispered, the man was twitching and crying.

He didn’t do anything else, he just continued his convulsing out of fear.

“Isn’t it wonderful…” he said, gesturing to the man. “Watching his primal fear instincts fail, as he wails and cries… he’s given up on getting out..”

You looked at him, scrunching your eyebrows in confusion. He looked at you, leaning up to press his forehead against your temple.

“Yes.. in a way,. I suppose it’s neat.. in an odd way,” you stuttered out.

“It’s not even the fun part yet,” his voice was excited, he walked forward.

He wheeled a contraption over to the man, hooking his arm up. There was a bowl on the top of the machine, a seemingly boiling, bubbling and steaming. He hooked up an iv to the man’s arm, securing a needle under the skin.

He moved a bunch of the levers and buttons on the machine before stepping back, holding you as he watched. You looked on, horrified as the liquid flowed through the syringe and into the man.

He started by squirming, shaking and violently twitching.

Then he began to gasp and cry, wailing like a broken toddler. You looked at Jon, his eye were shimmering as he watched, he noticed you looking at him, he gently turned your head to look back at the man.

His torso and legs began to convulse, they tried to twist and turn, but were held down by the restrictions. That’s when the screaming started. It was blood curdling, how the man screeched, it made you terrified. He started to sling his head around, screaming and crying.

He thrusted his torso up, trying to get rid of the restraints, before he slung his head back, hitting it on the chair. He went limp, before you saw the large red gash on the back of his head.

You let out a crippling gasp, looking up where his head, a large red stain had been splattered and left on the impact point.

You stepped back, being stopped by Jons hand, he pulled you back, gently pulling you towards the now dead man. His body was still, like a statue.

“What.. did you do to him..” your voice was scared, you were scared.

“He was my test subject, he was disposable..” he looked at you, removing his mask, showing you his slightly sweaty, young face.

He looked younger then you thought he would, his skin was pale, and his cheeks were hollow. Yet his skin looked soft, his looked like a gentle kind boy. But seeing what he just did to that man, it took your breath away, in a weird way.

His eyes were intense, he leaned forward, he was so close to you. He was pretty, in a sick way, but he was still pretty.

“Is that why you brought me here,” your breath was shaky, “Are you going to do that to me,” you looked at him.

He smiled, he shook his head no, holding your face.

“Oh, no no no… I wanted to show you my work, all my hard work..” he was amazed with himself, looking back at the man’s body. He looked back at you, he leaned forward.

He gently kissed you, bringing his hand to hold the bottom of your back. You gently grabbed his shoulders, pulling him close.

He pulled back, smiling slightly, his eyes still wide and intense. He grabbed your hand, dragging you to another place.

“C’mon, lemme show you another experiment of mine…”

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#cas.txt #ask #anonymous #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane #gotham #gotham fox #gotham tv #gotham x you #gotham x male reader #gotham x reader #gotham jonathan crane #scarecrow #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow x you

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transsexualjoanofarc · 4 months

Text

i shoukd start writing more damn!!!

#me.txt #📔#things i want to write: heat 1995 ending but it gets even more fucked up (murder suicide or more cannibalism #michael centric tgf fic thats about hold up my kitty looks so cute right now.#michael centric tgf fic about his relationship with his family in canon #michael centric tgf fic but its a bit of an au where hes explicitly gay+trans there are some things i can do with it its pretty self indulg #nt. more scarecrow 1973 fic!!!!!!!!!!!! MORE!!!#fix it. lion & max funtimes on the road. i dont know i just need more!!!!!#also some ridiculously indulgent x reader inserts for me & the other fags on this site who cantt find good x male readers

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ourladyofoldgotham · 8 months

Text

our father

jonathan crane x male reader

NSFW 18+, minors dni

hookups, catholicism, smut

summary

Jonathan Crane goes out on a Friday night looking for sin. When he finds you, he gets that and more.

There’s something that sets him apart from across the bar. Maybe it’s the halo, maybe it’s the Sunday best. Whatever it is, it makes you want to tear him to pieces.

This isn’t what Jonathan Crane would typically pick to do on a Friday night. The music is blasting somewhere between loud and deafening, and the air is thick and hot and full of sin and filth between the bodies packed into the room. He has the distinct sense that this is not where he’s supposed to be. But, of course - it is.

University was both exactly what he had been told it would be like and nothing like what he’d expected. There was sin hidden in every darkness. That wasn’t the part he was scared of. The part he was scared of was that he liked it. That he would seek it out, that he would follow its scent like a hunting dog. That was what he was here for.

He feels your eyes on him and he turns away from your gaze, the silver crucifix around his neck glimmering coolly in the low light. You cross the room to where he’s standing alone in the corner, his sharp eyes flickering around the room.

“You don’t come here often, do you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

He chuckles nervously. Up close, you can see him even better, eyes as clear and wide as the sky and pale freckles across his nose. A flush creeps across his cheeks.

“So what brings you here tonight, then?”

You lean in, and you could swear you hear his breath quicken.

“Some friends suggested this place. They said it was nice, that maybe I could meet someone.”

“Maybe you could. Let me buy you a drink.”

You get a whiskey, neat. He gets the same thing as you, but from the face he makes when he tastes it, you can tell he’s never tried it before. It’s cute, endearing almost. Tempting.

“I think I’ve seen you around. You live near here or something?”

“I grew up in Old Gotham, but I’m here for university. I’m studying biology.”

“Not too far from the nest then, huh? I don’t think I’ve seen you around Gotham University.”

You raise an eyebrow at him and he blushes.

“I go to St. Thomas’s, the Jesuit college on campus.”

“Catholic? A man of God in a place like this? A little sinful, isn’t it?”

You grin at him.

“Maybe that’s what I’m here to find.”

He speaks just above a whisper, turning his face away. The flush in his face is spreading down his neck, and it makes you wonder how far it goes. His pupils are blown wide, his eyes on you as you tip back the rest of your drink.

You grab his wrist.

“Want me to help you find it?”

He nods silently, and you drag him to the dance floor.

The music is loud, something with a heavy beat. You don’t know the song well, but it works for what you need it to do. On the packed floor, your bodies are pressed against each other. You drag him towards you by his hips, and you feel him hard against you. He’s just a little taller than you, and he’s looking up, his throat flushed and enticing and his blue eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. You could swear he whimpers at the touch. You’d tease him more, but you can’t wait.

You grab the chain around his neck and pull him down to whisper in his ear.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

He nods, and you take his hand again, pulling him across the floor to the exit. When you get into the cool night air, you drag him into the dark alley next to the bar and pin him against the wall. You pull him into a fierce kiss, and his knees practically buckle, collapsing into you like he’s been starving for you for years.

You pull away first, him chasing you for a second before resting his head back on the brick, panting.

“I need a real yes for this one, angel. Out loud.”

“Yes. Please. Please, just touch me.”

He sounds wrecked already, almost as much as he looks. Flushed, breathing hard, his mouth spit-shiny and red already as he begs and you’ve barely touched him. He’s desperate for you in a way that seems almost implausible.

“Have you ever done this before?”

He’s clearly distracted, kissing down your neck and running his hands under your shirt, but he snaps back to attention at the question.

“No, never. Nothing, nothing like this at least.”

“This is your first time? With a stranger in an alleyway? A man who doesn’t even know your name?”

You take a step back, teasing him. He takes the bait, reaching for you.

“Jonathan. Crane. You know my name now.”

“So I do. Do you need to know mine?”

He shakes his head rapidly.

“I like it better this way.”

“Christ.”

He still looks holy, even in the Gotham alley, almost glowing under the streetlights. There’s something about angels that makes you want to see how dirty you can get them.

“Is there something else you want to call me then?”

He pauses, breath shaky.

“Daddy.”

You grin, pinning him again.

“Good boy.”

He whimpers as you kiss him, one hand running up and down his chest underneath his untucked shirt and the other rubbing the bulge in his pants. His hips buck up against you, his head resting in the crook of your neck as he wraps his arms around your waist.

He hardly lets you go long enough for you to unbutton his pants and pull out his cock, but when you do, he’s rock hard and dripping with precum. He moans the instant your hand touches him, hand over his mouth. You’ve only stroked him a couple times, your thumb rubbing over the head of his cock, when he cums. He spills over your fist onto his shirt, collapsing into you as he whimpers.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, just felt so good. Didn’t - had no idea it could feel like that.”

He’s panting, his hands shaky.

“That desperate for me, huh? Not exactly how good boys like you are supposed to behave, is it?”

You stroke his cheek with your hand and he melts into the touch.

“Let me make it up to you, please. Want to make you feel good.”

“You sure? It’s your first time, might be a lot. Don’t want to push you too far.”

He’s rubbing the bulge in your pants now, pressing himself into you and away from the wall. He stops kissing your neck for just a second to whisper in your ear.

“I need to feel you, daddy. Don’t you want to make me a sinner?”

A better man couldn’t have turned him down, and you’re not a better man.

“On your knees. Right here in front of me.”

He obeys you almost instantly, dropping to his knees in the alleyway, his eyes gazing up at you with barely a ring of icy blue left around his pupils.

“You want me to guide you through it?”

“Please.”

You unzip your pants and pull your cock out. You’re hard already - watching him like this does something to you. He watches it, almost transfixed.

You lift his chin up to look at you, and when you run your thumb across his bottom lip, his mouth falls open for you.

“No teeth. Don’t try to take it all at once.”

He nods up at you, and swirls his tongue around the tip of your cock. You shudder with how good it feels - it’s been longer than you thought, and it’s the first time he’s really touched you tonight.

“Good. Just like that.”

He looks gorgeous like this, pretty pink mouth wrapped around you and his blue eyes watering as he tries to take you deeper into his throat. He’s disheveled, his shirt half-untucked and his pants still undone and damp with cum.

It’s good - better than good even, he’s delectable - but you still need more. You place a hand on the back of his head, fingers tangling through his hair. You look down at him, a silent check-in, and he nods.

You go as slow as you can, watching him breathe slowly though his nose. The wet heat of his mouth is almost enough to drive you crazy.

“You sure you haven’t done this before?”

He pulls off and starts stroking you almost painfully slowly.

“Only for you.”

You throw your head back against the wall and groan as he licks up the underside of your cock.

“Didn’t think a little angel like you would be such a natural at this.”

He grins, something sharp and dangerous, and then he sinks down all the way to the base, his throat swallowing around you.

It’s not long until you’re close, and you pull him off by his hair, starting to stroke yourself with the other. He pouts, trying to bat it away.

“Fuck - no, gonna cum.”

“I know.”

He takes you back into his mouth, his eyes looking up at you adoringly and then fluttering shut as he swallows every last drop down.

“Holy shit. Come up here.”

You tug at his crucifix and drag him in for a kiss with one hand, doing up your pants with the other.

“Such a good fucking boy for me, huh?”

He nods, and you can taste yourself on his tongue.

You let him go after a minute, and he leans back against the wall, panting. He does his pants back up, running a hand through his hair and trying to smooth out his shirt. He still looks debauched, but you have to admit he cleans up nice.

“You find what you were looking for tonight, Mr. Jonathan Crane?”

“Yes. I think I did.”

“Guess I should be letting you go now then.”

You move to leave the alley, but he catches your hand.

“Well, I’m not quite sure I can head back to my dorm in this state. After all, they might suspect something.”

He looks nervous behind the seductiveness, and you remember for a second exactly how new all this is to him.

“Of course. Can’t let you go back to St. Thomas like this, can I? Might just have to take you home with me.”

There’s a soft relief in his eyes, and he leans into you. Your arm wraps around his waist, protecting him from the chill of the night. His head drops onto your shoulder, tired, and it stays there until you see the bright white of the taxi headlights coming around the corner.

sorry god. everyone else thanks for reading

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