scarecrowdoll

[scarecrowdoll]

[scarecrowdoll]

Roadside [18+]

pairing: Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

warnings: smut, non con, violence, unprotected sex, p in v, breeding, misogyny, spanking, blood, fear play, age gap (slightly mentioned)

words: 2.2 k

note: this is my first fic so please be kind. If any of the listed warnings makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read. Also English is not my first language.

You had hitched a ride late in the evening after a loud student party. But the driver suddenly pulled over and forced you out in the middle of the highway when you refused to pay him.

The night was dark and quiet, with nothing around but the hum of insects and the stretch of empty road. You stood there alone, shivering in the cold air, surrounded by silence. After a few useless minutes of waiting, you realized no other ride was coming. So, you started walking.

Your head felt cloudy from the alcohol you’d had earlier. The party had been wild — fun, until it wasn't. Suddenly, you heard a car approaching. It slowed down beside you. Its headlights cut through the darkness, casting long shadows on the pavement.

A man leaned out of the driver’s side window and said, “You’re definitely pretty. How much?”

Wait, did he just mistake me for a prostitute?

You thought, heart sinking as you turned to face him.

The first thing you noticed were his lips — full and pouty. Under different circumstances, they might have been attractive. His hair was a tousled mess of chestnut brown, falling in loose waves. High cheekbones framed striking baby-blue eyes that studied you intently. He looked older than you, definitely middle-aged. A sharp black suit contrasted with the wildness of his hair.

He smiled in a way that made your skin crawl, then pulled out a thick roll of cash. The bills looked worn and dirty — all hundreds.

"Well? Did you hear what I said? I'll pay top dollar for your services, darling. It'll at least make this cold night worth it." He broke your stunned silence.

It took you a moment to fully register the situation.

You were aware your outfit was revealing — a tight leather skirt hugging your hips, and a sheer lace blouse that left little to the imagination. You’d worn it for fun, not for this. Being left out here, alone and exposed, had never crossed your mind.

He snickered, clearly amused by your expression.

"You're kidding me. What’s a girl like you doing here at this hour?”

You were still disoriented. The alcohol started to fade.

“I need a ride.” You mumbled, barely able to meet his eyes.

You didn’t want to be stranded here any longer.

He raised an eyebrow, noting how you stumbled over your words. But the idea of you sitting beside him clearly pleased him more than it should have. He opened the passenger door and gestured as he said, "Get in, doll."

You hesitated, then climbed into the car. The warmth was a relief. You told him your destination, and he nodded.

This little outfit of yours made it hard for him to look away. His gaze trailed down your body, eyeing the swell of your exposed chest through the lace. He didn’t bother hiding his interest, seeming to enjoy your discomfort. After nearly ten minutes of silence, he finally spoke again.

"So, why are you really out here?"

"I was dropped off…” you replied quietly.

He laughed, the sound low and mocking.

"Poor thing. Now let me guess: someone stole your wallet and phone too?" He chuckles to himself again, "You're terrible at lying, honey. How do I know you’re not some crazy murderer who kills people who pick up hitchhikers?"

“I’m not lying,” you said quickly.

“Relax, I’m just kidding. You look too sweet for that.”

He sighed, then added,

"Well don’t worry. I’m not after your money. In fact… you’re exactly the type of girl I’ve been looking for. You make a pretty attractive companion for this drive."

His hand reached out and brushed a strand of hair from your face. The touch lingered just a second longer than necessary. It sent an involuntary shiver down your spine.

You weren’t really in the mood to talk, but you said a little anyway — just enough to keep him from asking more. You’d just moved to Gotham to study psychology at the university. He seemed amused. But he didn’t say much. A few minutes went by before he finally pulls the car to a stop, turning off the engine of the car.

You swallowed hard, your eyes darting around the darkness outside. Trees loomed in the distance. Cold fog crept over the road and gave everything an eerie glow. You were too far from the city now — too far from help.

"What are we doing out here?" you asked, voice trembling as your pulse pounded in your ears.

The car felt hotter with every passing second. The silence stretched tight, like a wire ready to snap. Your instincts screamed louder, whispering urgent warnings.

He tilted his head toward you, calm as if he had all the time in the world.

“And here I thought you’re drunk enough not to care,” he said, smirking. “Seems like I don’t even have to use my toxin — you’re already so skittish.”

The word hung in the air. Toxin? You had no idea what he meant. You stared at him, trying to read his face. But the glint in his eyes told you he meant every word.

"I can hear your little heart racing,” he murmured. “Maybe I should rip open your chest and take it as a trophy. You will bleed out so beautifully, doll.”

“No, please don’t,” you begged, voice cracking as tears welled in your eyes.

You didn’t get a chance to say more. He moved too fast. His hand clamped around the back of your head and yanked you toward him, pressing his lips against yours. The kiss was rough, unwanted — a violation. You struggled, trying to twist away, but his grip was unrelenting.

Overwhelmed by panic and disgust, you bit his lower lip as hard as you could. The sharp, metallic tang of blood filled your mouth.

With a growl, his hand snapped around your throat and pushed you back against the seat, his face twisting with pain. You stared up at him, blood coating your tongue.

His eyes widen in surprise at your sudden outburst. But then his expression twisted into something far more dangerous.

"You're going to regret doing that," he hissed.

He grabbed you roughly and shoved you down so you were flat against the seat. His body loomed over yours, pinning you in place.

You fought back, kicking, pushing — anything to get him off.

“Get off of me, you fucking creep!” you screamed.

His hand lashed across your cheek. The sharp slap echoed in the small space. Your head snapped to the side, exposing the vulnerable skin of your neck. Without warning, he leaned down and bit your neck, hard enough to draw blood. His teeth sank deeper into your skin, relishing the taste of your flesh. Hearing you cry out, he reveled in the pain he's inflicting on you. He leaned back for a moment, admiring your abused neck. The sight of your pained expression and trembling body sending a surge of dark pleasure through him.

"You want to act like a wild animal?" he said softly, voice full of menace. "Well, I'm going to treat you like one."

He couldn't resist the urge any longer. With his free hand, he reached down and started to roughly tug your skirt upward. His fingers dug into your thighs, leaving bruising marks. He tore your panties without hesitation — with practiced ease. Then he forced your legs apart, pinning your knees to your sides and exposing your pussy to the cold air and his hungry gaze.

“Please stop.” You cried out, breath hitching.

He unbuckled his belt slowly, wrapping the leather around his wrist a few times, letting the moment hang between you like a coiled wire.

"You're in for a rough ride, my dear," he murmured darkly. "I'm going to teach you a lesson you won't forget."

Suddenly the leather hit your sensitive clit, making you jerk and want to clench your thighs, but his iron grip wouldn’t let you. A stubborn tear slipped from the corner of your eye. He gave you a round of slaps, sharp and punishing, until you screamed and thrashed beneath the relentless rhythm.

“Look at you,” he said, almost fondly, “trembling and wet. This is what you crave, isn’t it?”

His hands moved with purpose, tearing at the front of your blouse. The fabric giving way easily under his strong grip, revealing your breasts to his gaze.

Then came the buckle — again and again — striking your inner thighs and breasts, each blow leaving hot trails behind. Your cries turned to gasps, your fight slowly draining. Eventually, your body gave in, melting under the weight of sensation and exhaustion.

His hand roamed across your skin, his touch rough and callous as he ran his fingers along the curve of your hip. Instinctively you wanted to move away but there was no room for that.

"Such smooth, creamy skin," he muttered. "It's a shame I have to make it all bruised and marked up."

However, he didn’t hit you again like you expected. Instead, his hand reached to draw invisible circles on your swollen abused bud. You shivered at the touch. It sent a shockwave of electricity through your body, jolting every nerve into overdrive. You tensed up at first, but then relaxed under his skilled hand. Your mouth fell open as you let out heavy breaths. He could feel the way your hips twitched against his palm, the way your body betrayed your mind.

"Such a needy little cunt." He muttered.

A mix of embarrassment and excitement flushed on your face. You could smell your own arousal, feeling the wetness sliding down your inner thighs. Still, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you like this.

In one smooth motion, he freed himself, and before you could form a thought, he buried his cock inside you in one hard, brutal thrust. The pain made you cry out. He was so thick you barely took him in. Your body shook, slick with sweat, clenching around him. He groaned in pleasure.

“You are taking me so fucking well,” he phrased.

His grip on your thighs tightened, fingers digging into your skin. He continued to slam his hips into you with slow pace. The mixture of pain and pleasure etched on your face, and he couldn’t help but admire the sight.

“Do you have any idea what's going to happen to you?”

He waited until you shook your head. Of course, you didn’t — how could you possibly guess what this crazy fucker was capable of.

“I'm going to cut off your lovely feet, somewhere around the ankle.” He said it like a promise, calm and cold. “And when I ride out of these woods, leaving you without your legs, you might still be conscious.”

His words sent a wave of panic crashing through you. The thought alone made you sick to your stomach. Tears spilled, not from pain, but from raw, primal fear.

Oh God. He’s serious. He’s actually going to do it.

“Please don’t do this!” you choked out.

Your heart was pounding so violently it felt like it might break your ribs. Tears blurred your vision as your whole body began to tremble. The fear wasn’t just in your head anymore — it lived under your skin, flooding your limbs with helpless panic.

“Then beg me to cum in your pussy. Tell me how much you want to carry your rapist’s baby in your belly.” He growled, voice low and cruel.

“Yes, I want this...” You whispered, bottom lip trembling as you cried.

In response he gave you a sharp slap across your face, in a way to warn you without stopping his rough strokes.

“Louder,” he demanded. “Beg for it like a little fucktoy you are.”

You sobbed, breath catching, but repeated the words — shame curling deep in your gut.

“Please, I want you to get me pregnant. I- I want you to cum inside of me. Claim me as yours.”

“That’s more like it. I knew you are just a worthless whore. The only purpose you have in life is to make me happy. Am I correct?”

Everything was too intense, but you nodded pathetically. The words were lost behind sobs and choked moans.

His pace grew rougher, more erratic. Every thrust sent your body jolting beneath him while he was chasing his own high. Using your body like a toy made for his pleasure.

He drove into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt with a loud groan. Ropes of cum plaster your walls as he filled you up. He stayed there, breathing heavily against your neck.

You couldn’t stop the tears that slipped down your cheeks. Whether they were from humiliation, confusion, or something else entirely — you no longer knew.

For a few long moments, neither of you spoke. The only sound was your uneven breathing and the whisper of wind against the windows. Slowly, his grip loosened. His fingers brushed over the marks he’d left on your body, lingering with quiet possession.

“You did so well, doll,” he said softly, almost sweetly. “Maybe next time you’ll beg sooner.”

He gently fixed your blouse, hiding the bruises he’d made. Then he turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life as the car rolled forward again, back toward the city that would never know what happened out here in the dark.