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a1atheias · 2 months ago

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spider eye lamb

Summary - As his loving 'wife', Eddie Gluskin demands that you drop to your knees and shine his shoes for him. (A commission from the absolutely lovely @loathsome-goblin)

(tw for: varied abuse, forced feminization, bootblacking, shoe humping, mentions of nc, psychological abuse)

Link to AO3 ☆ Fic Masterlist ☆ Ko-Fi

In his darker moments, Dwight sometimes wished that he has just let the groom kill him after their first encounter because a harsh hand around his throat followed by a slow, fatal snap could not have been worse than all the things which had followed. But survival and time had allowed both cowardice and a traitorous hope to settle into his bones and no matter what horrors he found himself subjected to as the days progressed, he could not bring himself to push back and allow his new husband to now offer him up to the sawing table.

And so, kneeling on the filthy floor of Mount Massive Asylum between the legs of Eddie Gluskin, Dwight plastered a meaningless smile across his lips he inhaled softly though his mouth – a skill he had naturally developed to overcome the stench of death which hung heavily in the asylum air. To the floor at his side lay a small shine box, one which Gluskin had produced from his stash of stolen items with a theatrical flourish as he excitedly ushered poor Dwight into another absolutely menial and insane task to prove his devotion to his new role.

In only a few days, he had received an intense course on how exactly the infamous groom - a creature so evil and depraved that even the other monsters of the asylum gave him a wide berth - liked his filthy living space to be cleaned. How he liked his meagre offerings of food to be cooked. How he liked to be addressed. How he liked to make love.

That last lesson was one which Dwight had not truly allowed himself to process yet. It was one which he didn’t think he could allow himself to process without going as mad as the screaming inmates whose cries echoed through the corridors across the long nights. He went through the motions of the act, saying the words he knew would keep him alive as he allowed Gluskin to use his body.

More often than not, he would tilt his head to the side and focus on the streaks of dried blood which stained the filthy walls instead of the traitorous heat in his groin which the physical stimulation forced on him – the scant pleasure worse than any violence in how it fucked with his mind and sparked hollowing guilt.

But endure he did, and every possible moment was dedicated to thinking about escaping this hellhole of a place with both his body and mind as intact as possible.

“Darling?” Gluskin spoke, his melodic voice stretching out the vowels as he called for Dwight’s attention. His dark hair was pushed into a familiar hairstyle atop his scabbed skin, unnatural eyes sparkling their insanity as he ran his fingers through the strands. “Are you lost in one of your little fancies?”

“No, Eddie.” Swallowing down the familiar disgust which burned his throat as he looked up at Gluskin, Dwight smoothed out the front of the stained dress which he had been forced into wearing several days ago – the light fabric utterly ruined by fuck knows what kind of filth and fluids its prior wearers had allowed to accumulate on it. He suspected that it was once white, but in its current state it was almost impossible to say that for certain.

“Then make a start! These shoes won’t clean themselves.” Eddie continued, tapping the very tips of his feet together in a playful, expectant way.

Glancing down at his latest task, Dwight bit the inside of his lip to keep his expression from shifting. The shoes were disgusting. A deep, black leather almost every inch was completely covered in grime and blood, each shoe absolutely wearing the last remnants of their previous owner like a badge of sick pride.

"Spic and span, my darling." Eddie beamed down from his seated position, the toe of his right foot shifting to prod at the rusted shine box. "It's a wife's place to make sure her beloved isn't embarrassing himself with untidy footwear."

Nodding submissively, Dwight’s fingers trembled as they opened the shine box. Inside, lay a small stained rag and a tiny pot of black shine, the wax within utterly dried up and useless for its intended purpose. Unwilling to indicate any issues, Dwight dutifully picked up the rag and made a show of swiping it across the black before dropping his hands to Eddie’s feet.

Rubbing the rag across the shoe with a firm grip, Dwight flinched as Gluskin broke into a jaunty tune, the notes humming free of his throat as his gaze settled on something distant and unseen. His hands kept up their motions though, alternating between trying to scrape off as much of the filth from the shoes as possible while keeping his movements as unobtrusive as possible – not wanting to regain the attention of the monster he was servicing.

He allowed his thoughts to wander. After this, no doubt Gluskin would insist on a dance, something to show off his new shoes, and the ratty old radio which the monster seemed to genuine love would find itself tuned to some old-fashioned show to keep up the delusion which Dwight had found himself forced to play a sordid part in.

Only once, he had messed up the basic box-step which he had been made to learn and before he could issue a quiet apology, he found his jaw almost knocked out of place by a harsh backhand from Gluskin as the groom lost his damned mind over the minor misstep. It was truly frightening and, stunned into submission, Dwight still shivered when he considered it. Gluskin was bigger in every way, his height and strength a very real threat, and as Dwight had fallen to the floor in shock, his head rung with the blow while he found himself subjected to a barrage of verbal abuse.

Words which didn’t even apply to him.

The insults, which seemed to come from an outside source as the criticisms appeared to apply more to the man screaming them than the victim he had just struck to the floor, were shocking. Violent and sexual, the fear which seized Dwight’s chest had rendered him useless – curling his body into as small a ball as possible, instinct guiding his movements.

But then the apologies had been quick to follow. Sweet, sickly, honeyed words whispered into his ear as Gluskin pulled him close and showed him how sorry he was. Touched him in ways which were worse than any blow that his hands or feet could have delivered. Told him he was loved as he forced his cock between his legs and pushed past the dry discomfort as he sheathed himself with no care for how it made Dwight bite back his whimpers.

“Sweetheart!”

Jerking back to the task at hand as his thoughts were once more snatched by Gluskin’s booming voice, Dwight looked up at him with empty eyes.

“I lost myself in thoughts there, love. I don’t want you to feel forgotten as you do such lovely work. So, I have had an idea, a wicked idea! Allow me something naughty to make up for my little neglect.”

Gluskin's foot snaked its way beneath Dwight's dress and Dwight focused on steadying his breath as he felt the soft leather press teasingly against the panties which were forcibly pulled on his body to cover what little decency he had left. He hated the panties, hated the off-colour material flecked heavily with red, and the enthusiasm and gratitude he had been obligated to fake upon their gifting had made his throat ache with repressed bile.

"Eddie-" Dwight hissed despite his desire to ignore the teasing, the shoe grazing his enlarged clit in a way that made his stomach lurch with discomfort and, shamefully, arousal. Despite the horror, his body still reacted in a physical way to much of Gluskin’s touch – his nerves not quite on board with his mind when it came to how to respond to the various stimulations.

"I know, I know!" Gluskin interrupted, running his hand through his shortened hair. "It seems improper- almost perverted! But a man is allowed to tease isn't he? What wife wouldn't love her velvety mound receiving some attention?"

Hiding a grimace at the term, Dwight forced a smile to his lips - one which he hoped was close to a wry, satisfying smirk but definitely fell short of his vaguely repulsed gaze. Gluskin met his eyes and Dwight saw it, that spark of madness which shone from behind the veneer of infatuation.

Sometimes, when night fell on the asylum and Dwight found himself pulled into the marital bed, that spark was missing - replaced by a calculating, almost sadistic look.

It was a look which frightened him more than anything as it was the only true glance which he received of the man behind the groom. A man who deluded himself into acts so horrific that Dwight doubted, even if he somehow escaped this living hell, that he could ever share his experiences with another living soul. A man who mutilated men without hesitation and only spared him due to his own physicality.

"Sweetheart!" Gluskin had exclaimed with genuine joy as he tore the denims from Dwight’s restrained body and discovered his lack of unsightly bits. "You're perfect! A vision! Beautiful! No need for any nasty corrections…"

And Dwight has been thankful. The floor to his side still covered in the vomit he had been unable to hold back as he watched the last potential wife be carved up by the saw. The sight of the blood and flesh as it were torn and spat in several directions was somehow less traumatic than the noise of the poor inmate as their screams and pleading for mercy dissolved into guttural noises; inhumane and filled with a primal distress which pulled the contents of Dwights stomach swiftly to the floor.

"Are you paying attention to me, sweetheart?" Gluksin interrupted Dwight's scattered thoughts with a sharp, insistent tone. "I hope you're not thinking of someone else while I'm pleasuring you. A good girl must think only of her love, lest she be accused of being a filthy slut. No one wants a whore for a wife." His words growing steadily more agitated as he spoke, Gluskin's foot moved with increased aggression, pressing the top of his shoe into Dwight's cunt with such pressure that Dwight couldn’t help but shift around to avoid the worst of it.

"Just you, Eddie." Dwight bit out from behind a placating smile.

Bringing his hand up, he laced it around the back of Gluskin's leg and gave it an encouraging squeeze, hoping that the offer of some physical affection would be enough to calm his mood. The foot moved in a slow rhythm, brushing along his concealed cunt like a lover’s palm and Dwight hated how his body accepted the touch, a slight dampness pressing at the fabric which would no doubt result in Gluskin discovering just how much he enjoyed his little torment.

“Good! Good, good, good. Just what I thought. Now, stand up and let me see you.”

Thankful for the removal of his foot, Dwight stood on shaking legs as quickly as he could while allowing the pleasure to dissipate. Even seated, Gluskin’s height was impressive and his head came up to Dwight’s chest as he straightened up fully.

“My beautiful wife.” Gluskin crooned, mad eyes washing across every inch of your dress covered frame. “So lovely, and almost perfect.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Dwight took the words with a grim smile as he tucked his head slightly to hide the disgust in his eyes.

"I do wish there was more here." Grumbling, Gluskin placed his hands over Dwight’s chest.

Surgery scars long since healed, the slight bulge of his tits was only due to residual fat distribution and nothing more and he was thankful for it as Gluskin tended to leave his chest alone due to the lack of a voluptuous base to work with.

"Perhaps something you could work on, my love. After all, a successful marriage is all about trying our best for the one we love. Don’t you agree?” Gluskin continued.

Enhancing the grim smile into one which was almost manic as he fell into his role, a need to survive stripping him of every last dignity, Dwight nodded in full agreement as he catered to his own personal monster.

“Yes, Eddie. You’re absolutely right.”

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a1atheias · 4 months ago

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moonlight pursuit

Summary - Giving chase to Jonathan Crane through an old cornfield proves to be a dangerous move when he turns the tables and reveals more than just your identity.

(tw for: physical assault, handcuffs, dubious consent, age gap, groping, mentions of student/professor, floor sex, fingering, forced orgasm, restraints, unsafe sex)

Link to AO3 ☆ Fic Masterlist ☆ Kofi

The anonymous tip had been good, but all the useful information in the world could not replace sheer bad luck and you unleash a frustrated growl into the cold night air as you watch Crane slip from the edge of the cornfield into a storage barn. The pursuit had been tiring, his stamina and agility surprising given his age, and your feet kicking up a storm against the dusty ground as you chase him hotly.

The barn is huge, but the incredible darkness lends it some claustrophobic qualities as you slip through the wooden doors and immediately struggle to detect any movement.

"Another little hero," Crane spat, the origin of his speech difficult to detect between the abandoned machinery which littered the barn and sent wild shadows across the space, "running around this city trying to clean up something unsalvageable. Have you ever stopped to look at what you're trying to save? You lose yourself in a baseless fantasy. Fear will mend this city before misplaced hope ever could."

You squint into the darkness but find nothing as you refute his words.

"Shut up, Crane."

He had been your professor once. A man with little tolerance and a commanding presence as he delivered his lectures with varying intensity. You had graduated before news of his removal had reached your ears but hearing about the gun incident hadn’t been too surprising, given some of his other teaching choices.

His re-emergence as the Scarecrow, however, had held a little more shock in its presentation.

The inky black looms as your eyes fight to adjust, every shadow threatening as you weave your way across the stone slats which make up the floor. You can feel the weight of his unseen observations, anxiety spiking in your heart as a sense that you were now far more out of your depth than you had anticipated pinched at your thoughts.

A sharp movement catches you off guard as Crane takes advantage of your momentary hesitation. Hurtling at you from the void, the shock of his appearance allows him to slam his body into your own – gathered momentum and larger frame giving you no chance of defence as you find your body smashed harshly to the ground.

Stunned into silence, you feel the cold stone against your lower back and realise that your costume has ripped across the spine to expose your skin to the chill.

Rolling quickly to your front, athleticism nowhere near enough to allow you to rise directly from your back, your palms press against the stone as you make to rise with a shuddering inhale. But Crane is faster that you expect and horror washes across your face as you find your body pinned to the ground by his foot as he pushes his weight harshly into your lower back. Panicking and with blood rushing in your ears, you manage to scratch out at his hand as he wraps his fingers around your own - quickly tugging at and securing your hands into the metal cuffs which had been hanging loosely from your belt.

Now trapped and experiencing an almost feral level of panic, the metal of the handcuffs bite into your wrists, sharp and freezing, as you growl like an untamed beast and attempt to kick up at Crane with your feet.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Crane takes a step back to avoid the attack and his expression is open in how sadistically delighted he is in his success.

"Silly girl. Playing at a game she has no business engaging in. To allow a professional his observations, I believe these risk-seeking behaviours stem from a much darker psychological need, little mouse. You did not fear following me into this dark place but your anxiety now hangs in the air like a fog."

In no place to listen to his wicked musings, you tilt your head back enough to work out exactly where he is standing as you glare up at him with open hatred.

"Fuck yourself."

Smacking his foot out from under him with a sharp sweep of your leg, you muster all the energy in your body to swiftly pounce on his frame as he falls to the ground with just as much dignity as yourself, the only difference being that he made the decision to land on his back rather than his front.

Wind pulled from his lungs, Crane looks stunned as he lays there and you don't give him a moment to recover any of his posture. You launch yourself down at him, ignoring the screaming pain in your wrists at the sudden motion as you take advantage and climb atop his much longer body.

Knees hugging his hips as you straddle him, you can't ignore the sudden feel of the bulge of his cock pressing against your ass but it's quick to disappear as you react on instinct - smashing your head down to headbutt him with as much force as you can, hoping to cause enough disorientation or damage to allow you to escape for a moment and rethink your plans.

Crane reacts without thought, the threat of your imminent attack springing him into action. His hands shoot up to wrap around your neck, the strength in his wiry arms enough to stop your violent descent and the surge of vulnerability, of the hard and threatening pressure on such a dangerous place, makes you freeze, like a rabbit caught in headlights with no easy escape.

The thin digits squeeze harshly enough to force your breath to stutter as it fights to break free of your lungs and the sudden shift of sensation, the adrenaline pulsing through your veins and making your heart feel like it is going to burst free of your chest, drags the worst possible noise from your throat.

A moan.

Crane, despite all his posturing, cannot hide his surprise at the noise as the violent fury in his expression shifts quickly between surprise, confusion, and suspicion. Time appears to still between you in an instant, both unwilling to be the first to break the moment even as every nerve in your body tells you to flee.

The memories rise unbidden. Of your old lectures with the man now pinned beneath you. How consuming and electric his presence felt as he strode across the stage and delved into his teachings. The speed with which he could determine if a student held genuine interest in his class or if they considered psychology an easy set of credits. How swiftly he managed those who dared to grow unruly within his walls.

With his stuffy suits and merciless teaching pace, he was not exactly popular with the students but there were many, yourself included, who enjoyed his strong character and the immature whispers of what kind of lover he would be were never too far from any study group.

You shift uncomfortably, but the movement of your ass glancing across his groin adds a fresh humiliation that only adds to the reasoning of why Cranes' actions were just as strangled and stilted as your own despite his apparent victory. He was hard, painfully hard, with the chase and adrenaline clearly affecting him as much as yourself.

Again, your thoughts drift to the past.

You had always thought there was something about him. Maybe it was the passion for his subject or maybe it was the sheer intensity of his gaze as his eyes zeroed in to receive an answer from his audience, but regardless, back then you had allowed hormonal fantasy to indulge. Once it was a private meeting, a discussion of your upcoming dissertation which quickly turned heated and found you pinned to his desk screaming his name into the wood. Another saw the fantasy shift to the lecture hall itself, your knees spread wide across the seats as his head disappeared between your legs-

Snapping free of the fantastical memories, the very real bulge of his cock against your ass freshly ignites an overwhelming sense of panic and shame which settles into each of your pores and spurs you into motion. Rolling from his body as you snatch your neck free of his grip, the scent of hay and dirt tickles at your nose mercilessly. Your body aches from the exertion, the chase and fight taking its toll, but you push through the discomfort as you struggle to your feet - a vague plan to return to the cornfield and lose Crane within the long stalks seeming like the best possible solution to a safe escape.

Making your escape as you quickly stumble away, you are harshly reminded that fate was not as forgiving as you would have liked.

A thin foot retaliates in kind to kick out the back of your left knee, forcing your legs to collapse out from under you as you are sent hurtling to the floor once again. It is instinct and instinct alone that makes you tilt your head to the side as your chest and face take the brunt of the fall. Immediately, pain flares in your cheek as it scrapes along the stone paving of the barn floor and as you lay there, dazed and wheezing once again, you can feel that the skin is torn and bleeding.

Crane capitalises on your misfortune as he quickly reverses the positioning, flipping you to your back and straddling your lower stomach to secure you into place as your wrists continue to scream their abuse - the metal cuffs harshly pressing against the cold stone below your back.

Crane's expression is heated, anger and the slightest tendrils of shame making his eyes flash and the high points of his sunken cheeks flush as he fights to regain control of himself. "Let's see who our precious vigilante is, hmm?" He drawls. "You are no bat- definitely too under sourced and woefully prepared to be one of his spawn."

His fingers press into the mask which hides your features, the fabric thin and breathable to ensure comfort, and you attempt to snap at his fingers with your teeth - a final, last-ditch attempt at maintaining your identity as fear of his discovery makes your blood run cold.

He tuts with disapproval, pulling his fingers away and pressing two against your forehead, roughly pushing your head against the stone with a thoroughly mocking frown. "Sit still or taste my toxin, little mouse. I am not above using it and leaving you hear to scream into the night with no one to hear you."

Frightened into obedience by the very real threat, you stop struggling - a rabbit frozen in headlights - and hold back a whimper as his fingers pull the mask free of your skin and drop it to the filthy floor.

Open surprise lights up his eyes, widening his features for a moment as he gazes at your face - obvious recognition immediately giving the game away as disappointment in your own failure rolls across your stomach and guts you from the inside out.

"I know you. You were a student. One of mine." Crane mutters, mostly to himself, as he eyes rove across your features.

"Fuck off!"

A sharp sting, the sudden shock of it more surprising than the pain itself, laces through your uninjured cheek as his fingers glance off the skin there in an open-palmed slap - the hit more of a warning than anything else as his eyes quickly narrow at the choice language. Feeling the heat of the blow settling across your skin, you can't help the flush which follows as humiliation is quick to rise in your chest.

A slap.

Not even enough of a threat to be worthy of a solid punch.

Without thought, your teeth appear to bite at your lower lip as you feel the warmth spread across your body. Creeping across your skin, the heat leaves a ruddy flush which is only made worse as your eyes lock with Crane's - the piercing blue so intense that you can't help but picture that same wicked hand elsewhere as it reddens other, more enjoyable skin.

Whether it was the flush, or the flush combined with the earlier moan, that gave you away, you didn't know, but what was clear was the look of sudden understanding which flashed in Crane's eyes - a suspicion confirmed by whatever thoughts or feelings he saw projected from your wild eyes.

"Some of my former colleagues used to joke that attending my classes was a sport for masochists. You, little mouse, seem determined to embolden their claims."

"Let me go."

"Now? When you've just become so interesting? I see it, that flicker of delight which sparks when misery knocks. I know it. I've lived it, dear. You cannot hide from your kind."

"You're insane. You're seeing things which don't exist, Crane." You lie, his callout over your slight masochism making you defensive.

"It appears I can teach much but common sense is lacking. Oh well. Maybe further tuition will see you learn something."

Crouched beside you, his attention is piercing and pins you to the ground in such a way that you feel utterly trapped and vulnerable - the fierceness of his gaze only adding to the slight throbbing heat of arousal which teased at your skin through the anxiety.

"Some vigilante," Crane scoffs as he wipes his hand across the front of his costume, "damp as a whore at the thought of being debased by the very monster she is chasing."

The vulgarity catches your breath in your lungs. You had never heard him speak like this. Not as a professor. Not even in the few scant appearances and interviews which had appeared online over the years. Heat flares across your skin as the words sink deep.

"I'm not." You deny, continuing to lie through your teeth and determined not to give an inch. "You're sick and deluded."

"Really? Let's check."

His fingers slip past the waistband of your costumed pants and slide down through the curls of trimmed pubic hair which cover your mound before settling comfortably against their prize - fingertips quick to press through your dampened folds to the warm hole they hid away. Scandalised and struggling despite the lack of free movement your positioning afforded, you grunt and whine in discomfort as he freely cups his hand against your cunt.

"Have you fantasised about this since attending my classes?" There is a demand in his voice, one laced with a heated mockery which makes you flush as he continues to stroke his long fingers against your slit. "You would have been what- very early twenties? Is that how you ended up in such a dead-end, thankless role? Spent too long thinking about fucking your professor and too little on your studies?"

"N-no." Unable to use your hands, you squeeze your thighs together but it only adds to the pressure as his hand is gripped too tightly.

"Did you see my name plastered across the newspapers?” Crane continues. “See the brilliance of my toxin and my work? Are you secretly here to volunteer for one of my experiments, little mouse? I would be very happy to have you."

Genuine fear stabs at your chest. You had seen them, the few videos which the trashier news stations had managed to secure of the poor people who Crane has experimented on. Panicked, your heels scrape on the stone as you attempt to scramble away once more - this time backwards and away from his wicked hand.

It's a useless attempt, Crane's fingers easily pulling you back towards him as they remain greedily pressing between your legs - teasing the wettened skin there with a lazy certainty.

"Leaving so soon, little mouse? I thought you wanted my attention? A whole chase through a cornfield only to end up on flat your back with your legs spread in a filthy barn? Surely not a mistake on your part- perhaps I underestimated your original intentions?"

He rubs you as he speaks, his fingers teasing your folds and hole before sliding up to brush across your clit - hands angled in such a way that he's able to press just enough to spark sharp bolts of sensation up your spine with every slightly brush.

"No. You deserve to be taken in and sent to Arkham for what you've don- oh my god…"

Unable to really believe what is happening, you feel fresh shame as your knees widen to give him easier access as his fingers grow more damp with every passing moment; arousal betraying the more sensible, rational part of your brain as heat flares in both your groin and the pink of your slapped cheek.

You come undone around his fingers with a choking gasp, the thrill of pleasure spreading across your skin in waves as you tighten your thighs and feel the tremble in the flesh there.

As the pleasure passes, it leaves a cold sensation in its wake. Disgust, embarrassment, and hatred fill the void but you have no time act on the conflicting emotions as your eyes drop to Cranes groin while he falls to his knees and frees his cock from his costume.

"I don't see the harm in allowing you to fulfil your fantasy, little mouse." Crane grunts, one hand stroking his cock while the other pulls at your pants and underwear, exposing your soaked sex to the cold air of the barn. "In fact, it may satiate me enough to reconsider my use of you as a trial participant in my next toxin batch. In those early stages, I would hate to see a former students potential go to such waste."

Despite it all, you raise your ass and allow him to slip your clothing from you - a willing participant to your own downfall even if you were unwilling to admit it. From burgeoning vigilante to a panting mess, the irony was not lost on you that Crane was the one to reduce you to this; a man whose academic demands had left you close to tears more than once.

No one would ever need to know.

"Just fuck me." You demand, giving in to the pressing voices which called for something salvageable to come out of this horrible night. "Dr. Crane." You breathe his name with some contempt, unwilling to quite give in fully.

He doesn't answer but the vicious grin which lights up his narrow features is all the reply you need. Moving swiftly, his hands are cold against your thighs as they spread you wide so that he could enjoy his prize. "You lack the skill for vigilantism, little mouse. Admirable though your foolish efforts are, if you fell to me then you would never survive my less reasonable colleagues. This is a much better use of your time."

You had agreed to fuck him, not listen to him preach to you from between your legs.

Unable to move your hands, you instead use your foot. Bringing it up, you push at his lower back hard enough to make him fall forward a little as he remained on his knees. He takes the unsubtle hint in stride, returning his hand to your cunt as he sinks two of his fingers as deep as possible in a single swift motion. It's careless, rough, and so fucking good that you don't even care how obscenely wet the noise it creates is as you moan out your appreciation.

Still fresh from your first orgasm, the sensation of his fingers pressing against your sensitive skin is divine and you mourn the loss as he only pumps them within you for a minute before snatching them free, content with how prepared you were to receive him. In a flash, his hands lock around your hips and pull you almost flush to his groin as he lines the blunted, slightly flared head of his cock up with your hole.

Feeling the girth of him, you grit your teeth and slow your breathing. His two fingers had already been a little snug and you both gasp as he breaches your hole, the sensation making your head spin, and sinks his cock a few inches deep in one sharp push. The stretch is deliriously good, every slight motion pulling at your walls as Crane quickly shifts his hips to start building up a frantic rhythm.

His breath comes in short, sharp huffs as he thrusts away and the slight puffs of air are visible in the cold barn air. Your wrists ache with every movement, his hips driving into you and pushing your hands harder against the stone. It’s almost enough to make you cry out, the discomfort mixing with the chill making your skin quiver and tremble, but it’s made all the more bearable by just how focused Crane’s eyes are as they pierce into your own – drinking in every small whimper and twist of your lips.

With one hand gripping your hip so hard that you can feel his fingertips digging bruises into your covered hip, Crane keeps his other hand busy as he slides it up your costume. Thin fingers leave gooseflesh in their wake as they crawl up towards your chest, sliding over your stomach as his cock slows down for a moment. His palm cups the thick material of your bra, squeezing your tit roughly as his lip curls up at the corner, some unknown thought making him smirk. The squeeze is heady, making your hips roll against his cock as you wordlessly encourage him to continue.

Your mind flashes back to his lectures, to the assured confidence and utter disdain which he showcased in every interaction, and how that same man hung over you now – his intensity having only grown with his infamy. Tension growing tighter across your groin, you don’t bother attempting to hide your arousal as you willingly rock your hips up to meet him and kick your feet against his back to push him deeper.

He meets your aggression with his own, hand continuing to split its attention between your tits as he growls and grunts his way to his release. The scent of burlap cuts through the sex and you attempt to pull your gaze from his intense expression to get a closer look at his costume but a sharp growl from his throat snaps your eyes back to him. His irritation is clear and it catches your breath as you realise he needs you to look at him. He wants the attention. Wants your eyes on him as much as you want his on your own.

A particularly messy thrust is enough to push your over the dangerous edge which he had you straddling and your trapped fingers curl into the stone as you gasp and ride out the harsh pleasure. A huff breaks through the pitiful noises which escape your lips as you feel his cock twitch and the heat of his release pulses deep in your cunt – a fiery heat which sparks fresh panic in your chest as you realise what you’ve done.

“Dr. Crane-” You gasp out, eyes wide but body unwilling to respond to reason and you clamp down around his cock, taking everything he has as the aftershocks of your orgasm keep your legs feeling tense.

He doesn’t acknowledge you, instead snatching his attention from your face to tilt his head down and watch as he pulls his cock free of you. The noise is obscene and you immediately feel the chill of the cool air on your slickened skin as your hole clenches, missing the sensation of being filled as Crane neatly tucks his stained cock away and rises to fix his costume fully.

In the absence of a loving afterglow, a sense of shame and disgust fills your chest – a self-hatred which instantly causes your throat to churn as you feel just how wet you are due to the mixed releases.

"Pursue me or attempt to interfere in my work again and I will not be so kind, sweetheart." Crane announces, throwing the last word out with a mocking lilt that makes you hyper aware of his release at it continues to drip from you to the cold stone below. "Unless, of course, you are looking to continue your education in a way that only a woman like you would understand."

A woman like you.

A whore who spreads her legs to a monster responsible for causing the suffering of so many.

It is a comment which stings more than you would like to admit.

"May I suggest you flee home quickly.” Crane continues, reaching into his pocket to pull free the handcuff keys which he had detached from the cuffs linking your wrists. “Not all shadows in the city belong to the Scarecrow and I would hate to think of a former student becoming little more than a statistic."

He drops to one knee by your fallen figure and a smirk tilts his mouth as you flinch at the sudden, unexpected proximity. Before you can say anything, he pushes his head towards your own and his fingers are warm against your neck as he pulls your mouth tight against his. The taste of him is immediate; an obvious smoking habit lingering against his tongue as he takes what he wants from you once more.

So caught off guard by the forceful intimacy, you allow it.

Eyes wide, you see every fine line which maps his skin and you grunt in surprise as his free hand presses something sharp against your stomach. Glancing down to see the handcuff keys, you find yourself released from his grip as he gives you access to the freedom which he had denied thus far.

“Time to flee now, little mouse. The night will only grow darker and we both know what lurks within.”

The faux-concern which poisons his words ignites something within you as you recover from the kiss, firing up the irritation and self-hatred with such fervour that you cannot help your mouth move of its own accord as you snarl up at him.

"I hate you."

"Yes, I suppose you do. But you hate yourself even more for what happened here tonight. For your shortcomings. Your inability to maintain that righteousness which has no doubt inspired you. May I suggest a good therapist? Such failure and self-loathing will only lead to further destructive behaviours."

Mask abandoned and laying in a messy pile near your head, you don’t doubt for a moment that he can read the various emotions which whirl within your skull and shift your features as you watch him prepare to leave. He spoke the truth, you both knew it, but that didn’t take away the instinct to deny everything he said.

“Take heed, little mouse. This city will swallow you up whole if you let it. Fear drives people to actions which they would find abhorrent in the light of the day.”

“Like this?” You spit out with venom, glaring between his face and crotch.

Crane shrugs, drawing himself to his fullest height as he takes a step back from your body – visibly matching your movements by drawing his eyes between your furious expression and abused sex with a stony expression.

“Live with your choices, little mouse. As I live with mine.”

And with that, he disappeared through the barn doors without sparing a glance back at your prone figure. Now left alone, the pressing weight of how quickly events had spiralled makes you feel light-headed for a moment before you shake that feeling away and focus on getting the hell back to your apartment.

Aroused. Beaten. Cold. Used.

You were ready to go home and take a long hot shower. Indulge in something real before the inevitable mental toil took hold. Rolling to the side, you pick up the handcuff keys with aching fingers and set to work on releasing your hands so you can re-dress your lower half.

Live with your choices, little mouse.

Despite it all, he had been a surprisingly good fuck, and that knowledge was possibly more irritating than anything else which had occurred this night. He had even had to gall to suggest that he was open to further education if you sought him out.

Bastard.

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