Formidaphobia (Doctor!Crane x Patient Reader Part Two)
A/N: This fic has managed to somehow worm its way into my mind. I honestly really like the idea I have for this fic moving forward so I’ve decided to try and add sequels, perhaps even adapt it into a longer story with regular chapter updates and what not (if I do this I’ll probably post weekly updates). I’m still testing out the waters since I really struggle with finding motivation to regularly update but I’m sure positive feedback will help me be able to update more often. I am basing Crane slightly off his Batman 89 echoes appearance though I will probably add aspects of Fear State Crane and other comics in general later on. The storyline will probably end up taking inspiration from a multitude of different comics or maybe go off on its own leg and even feature multiple rogues (ofc riddler is gonna be included bc how could I write a goon fic and not include the one and only) if I continue regularly updating it as I want it to end up developing as a more slow burn on the romance side of things while a bit more fast burn on lust. I’m listening to Touch Myself by Genitortures while I write that’s probably how the reader feels about Dr. Crane overall. If you haven’t read part one go to that before this!
ᥫ᭡ Crane has been avoiding you since your last session so you decide to arrange a little get together ♡₊˚
“I want all the files pulled and delivered to my office instantly, do you understand me?” Crane barked into the phone, demanding harshly from the quivering Gotham Asylum warden.
He had been on this phone for over an hour, demanding to get ahold of your records that had been supposedly “misplaced”.
“I’m afraid that’s classified-“
“As her current psychiatrist, it’s vital I know all the information regarding her case so I can properly decide how to asses and treat her. Pull the files. What did her previous psychiatrist diagnose her under?”
Astounding silence followed his question before the warden awkwardly answered, “He didn’t.”
“He didn’t diagnose her with anything. He couldn’t. See, Dr. Crane, she had a tendency to remain painfully silent, not interested in engaging with any of us. We figured we’d just keep her here and keep trying different medications to get a result but then she got her hands on matches and The entire recreational room went up in flames.”
Crane clicked his tongue, processing the frantic rambling of the warden as he took note of your arsonist tendency that hadn’t even been mentioned to him when you got thrown in his care. His index and middle finger pressed against his temple, massaging it gently as his brain was starting to hurt from the blubbering idiot on the phone.
“And you didn’t think to mention any of this before shipping her over?”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Crane. My assistant must’ve interfered with sending the records over after the fire that your patient caused. Part of the records office was damaged as well and file must’ve gotten misplaced.”
There it was again, that same word he heard on the phone over an hour earlier causing the spare pencil crane clutched between his hands to snap under the pressure of his thumb. Just what kind of fool did this warden take him for? Misplaced? The record office conveniently also getting damaged despite being located two separate floors below the recreational room? It was all too convenient for Crane’s liking. Though he gotten let on a hint that he was catching on to the warden desperately attempting to withhold information from him.
Through gritted teeth and a glaring smile he forced onto his face, he responded as coldly as usual, keeping an air of professionalism, “Thank you for your time. If you remember anything else regarding her, you have my number so shoot me a call.”
With that he slammed the wall phone back into the receiver, his desk lightly shaking under the force. One of his hands swept through the fluffy strands of umber hair as he stared mindlessly at the chicken scratch he scribbled down on the page in front of him. He made a mental note to bring up your arsonist tendencies the next time he saw you.
After last session, he approved of your movement to solitary as punishment for your conduct around the asylum in general. Normally he’d have to increase the number of sessions with you to twice a week (much like he did after every one of your previous infractions), but now he found himself avoiding seeing you. That clinical side of him was ever so curious at what the effect would be denying you that attention you seemed desperate to earn from him. Just how far would you go in order to see him?
“Dr. Crane?” A voice snapped Crane out of his thoughts, his gaze instantly lifting to meet the panicked expression of the pale faced orderly.
“Did something happen? You seem… frightened,” Jon responded with a distinct hint of emphasis on the word frightened.
“You’ve gotta come quick to solitary. She’s got the nurse!”
With a cryptic message, the orderly scrambled back down the narrow corridor clearly expecting Jon to follow him. Momentarily, Crane held back before pulling up the white lab coat that had been crudely draped across the back of his chair. He slipped the material over his arms before joining the man to see whatever commotion (he was almost certain you were responsible for) was unfolding. Upon reaching the solitary wing, there on the broken tiles lay the head nurse with a bottle of pills scattered around her, and the white hat askew on her blonde locks. Crimson guzzled from the torn flesh of her nose like a faucet as one teal manicured hand reached up to press against the wound. Her shrieking only amplified upon the realization of the severity of her wound. One wretched finger pointed over towards where you were being restrained by several guards, thrashing around wildly like an animal.
“She bit me!” Hissed the bitter, terrified woman while continuing her accusatory pointing.
Surely enough red droplets coated the corners of your lips and your chin, occasionally dripping onto the white tiles beneath your feet. Great, now he was going to have to add biter to your chart alongside arsonist as if you weren’t causing enough trouble without those traits. Upon making eye contact with Crane, your flailing body stilled in the rough grasps of the two orderlies, an eerie grin forming on your face as you stared at the doctor, your doctor.
“I thought I made it abundantly clear to refrain from visiting her alone,” he criticized the careless nurse whose shrieking had silenced into a mixture of sobs and mindless gibberish.
He turned callously towards the guards, silently motioning them to bring you back. The guards followed suite with little resistance from your rather peaceful, obliging body. Rather than stopping at his office like usually, he extended the visit down towards his laboratory, gesturing they drop you inside on a dental looking chair.
“Did I earn myself a dose of that toxin of yours for my… poor behavior, doc?” Gingerly, you interrogated, seeming freakishly alright with being pumped full of hallucinogenics and left at Dr. Crane’s mercy.
He remained silent though, adjusting the projector behind your head and dimming the room just enough before reaching around with one outstretched palm clutching a few facial tissues to wipe away the vermillion coating the bottom half of your face.
“No, as cathartic as such a sight would be, it’s not what I’ve brought you here for. This is a standard fear test, just to get a general idea of what I’m… dealing with. All I’ll be doing is showing you a series of images and then studying your reaction.”
The sudden scraping of plastic wheels against the floor caused your eyes to dart towards the side where Crane pushed an odd cart right beside where you’re sitting.
“If you’re thinking I’m going to fuck you, you’d be sourly mistaken. I need to attach these to track your heart rate.”
Despite the denial of any lustful reason for his instruction, you couldn’t help but feel a bit jittery at the thought of slightly undress in front of Crane. A light smirk played on your lips as you reached for the hem of your shirt, tugging it upwards sharply and over your head in one fluid motion. He grasped the discarded fabric, tossing it carelessly on a dust coated wooden table in the corner of the room. Despite his entirely professional reasons for his instructions, his eyes couldn’t help but fall to the hint of cleavage sticking out crudely from that thin scrap of lace you called a bra. A few scratches marred at your skin that had Jon’s attention perking ever so slightly. Potential self mutilation? Did you get in another fight? Observantly, his thumb reached down to press against the scar tissues.
“Someone do that to you?”
Your blank eyes stared up at his expression, eyebrows raising in mild surprise at his curiosity towards the injuries.
“Are you concerned for my wellbeing, doc? How truly altruistic of you!”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
However, you fall back into that eerie quietness you commonly fell into whenever approached with a topic you didn’t wish to elaborate upon. It grated on Dr. Crane’s nerves far harsher than he’d like to admit though he knew better than to pry. Perhaps when he finally unleashed that toxin upon you and studied you in your purest form of terror you’d finally give him the answers he’d been demanding.
Working efficiently, he approached you and attached the stickers as a green line showed up on the monitor tracking each beat of your heart. Lightly and diligently, his fingers ran over the slides, dusting them off before sticking them inside the projector. His spare hand reached for the switch, flicking off the lights entirely as he began the slides of images, noting what your heart rate is at with every flash. The beginning slides were almost always normal portraying a group of people playing volleyball at the beach or a family or any other general, sappy life event an average Gothamite might encounter before progressing into darker topics. Later on a few slides showed graphic depictions of a mother’s murder or a man being burned alive or any other genuinely disturbing thing to witness for the average mind. Likewise, your heart rate remained steadier than ever, eyes appearing slightly glassy as you carefully studied whatever was being presented to you. Dr. Crane found himself mildly bored and dissatisfied with your mundane reaction to the images, having hoped to see that look of sweet distress marring your expression. Finally, the ending slides were almost always the same: a picture of Batman was shown followed by a picture of Scarecrow. Having expected another unenthusiastic response, his mind was half paying attention but that’s when he saw a spike in the reading just as he clicked onto the last image. Your heart rate had jumped up drastically, fingers digging into the metal arms of the chair as you began violently seizing and shaking your head from side to side, eyes forcibly closed and refusing to stare at the image on screen. Your breathing had grown labored just at the mere sight of the Scarecrow, the sight of you so raw so emotional causing Crane’s cock to twitch slightly beneath the fabric of his pants.
“I can’t- fuck! I can’t look!”
“Shh, shh… open your eyes for me. I know it’s uncomfortable, but it’s an important part of the examination.”
This was the response he had been perilously searching for: seeing you at your weakest, trembling like you were stranded in the Alaskan snow, pupils as wide as possible, and the heavy pounding of your heart attempting to escape from your chest. He circled like a starved lion cautiously peering at a lone gazelle, his hands on either side of your arms to keep you firmly planted back in the seat.
“Good. You’re being so brave. Just keep staring at the scarecrow. I want to try something to help you get over this troublesome fear of yours. Breathe for me.”
The heart rate monitor had begun beeping out of control, the readings spiking far off the chart as Crane’s hands brushed gently up and down your arms in a mock soothing motion though you continued vigorously shaking beneath his touch.
“Fear and arousal often go hand in hand… with the increased heart rate, increased alertness… that rush of adrenaline can easily be mistaken for a different sort of excitement. Perhaps that’s the key towards solving your dilemma,” he softly murmured in your ear.
Your mind however was still in deep overdrive at the image of a lone Scarecrow in a field including such a level of phobia in you at the mildest provocation that it was deliciously tempting for the doctor. He knew you would listen to his instruction at the right set of motivation. After all, he saw just how deep and mad your attraction towards him drove you to do such devious things. So once more he was testing your devotion as if studying bacteria in a Petri dish to see how certain stimuli (in this case his instruction to doing unpleasant things) impacted the experiment.
“I want you to touch yourself while looking right at the scarecrow.”
“Gnh, doc, it’s too much! No more.”
“Persevere. You want to get better, don’t you? If you quit now you’ll be nothing but a lost cause and utter waste of my time.”
It was clear to Crane just how needy you were for his approval, for him to be proud of you. Despite the anguished look on your face, you obeyed him, allowing your hands to trail down your body towards the pants of your uniform, easing your fingers towards your entrance only to hear a slight scoff from Crane, practically being able to feel him shaking his head behind you.
“So modest and so confused… do I need to spell it out for you? Pull down your pants and underwear. No need to get so flustered. This is entirely done for medical , altruistic purposes only.”
He didn’t have a purpose for having you expose yourself to him though he found the event much more humiliating that way and a lot more accessible for his perverse fantasies of you screaming out from both pleasure and fear. Part of him was doing it to see just how far you’d be willing to go to satisfy him. By now your breathing had calmed a little despite the rapid and aggressive thumping of your heart rate. Crane frowned slightly at the notion, feeling disheartened that you were getting slightly more desensitized to the image of the scarecrow even if that was the end goal of this treatment.
His finger clicked on the slide, moving it to a different picture of the same scarecrow to hear you gasping once more followed by panicked shallow breaths. Per his command, you had stripped your lower half entirely bare for his viewership, a hint of amusement glimmering in Crane’s eyes at the blatant obedience. Your fingers worked slowly, quivering as you tentatively eased one digit inside yourself, eyes fluttering at the sensation much to Crane’s disapproval. His fingers were on your face in an instant, peeling the lids of your eyes open and positioning your head towards the image of the Scarecrow projected out in front of you.
“Incapable of keeping your eyes open? It’s a wonder you even know how to touch yourself,” he chided, ensuring to keep your senses focusing on the image that evoked such an innate, distressed reaction from you.
Despite the shakiness of breath and the consistent sweat pooling on your palms, you kept pleasuring yourself per Crane’s command. Easing and stroking yourself with your thumb gently pressing on the bundle of nerves peeking out from your hood while your index and middle moved in a steady circular rhythm. Crane occasionally switched the slide to another closer up of a Scarecrow whenever he felt you getting too eased at the image in order to keep you in that constant state of unknowing terror all the while he analytically viewed every micro response, ever spiking on the heart rate readings, every goosebump covering your skin, every squelching thrust of your fingers inside you.
His own body had begun responding accordingly to the sight as he felt the stiffness forming in his groin. His hands discreetly adjusted himself. The last thing he needed was giving into your little attraction, showing even the mildest of reciprocation for you could result in your unpredictable clinginess cracking up even more if he allowed your mind to entertain the thought of him sharing a hint of sexual desire.
“You’re doing so well, just keep going, keep being a good girl,” he encouraged, providing you enough positive reinforcement to keep you at bay despite the distressing nature of this act.
Anytime he felt as if your eyes would close, he was there beside you to fixate your chin and gaze in place at the projection. He could tell you were beginning to rapidly approach your peak with the increased speed of movement, the throbbing pulse of your clit and the way you’d begun moaning out. By now, your reactions were more arousal based rather than fear based even as you continued to observe the Scarecrow.
“Doctor-! Oh Doctor! Doctor Crane!” You panted pathetically, continuing that steady rhythm of playing with yourself while letting out an assortment of unintelligible curses and whines.
With a final push of your fingers, the throbbing sensation had reached its peak resulting in an eruption of orgasmic fluid, the essence coating your fingers and palm while you tensely extracted your fingers from your wetness. Subsequently, he switched off the monitor and flickered the overhead lights back on the room. Once more, he tossed several tissues towards you.
“Very successful session for the day, you’ve done good. Now clean yourself up and get dressed. The guards will be waiting outside to escort you back to your cell.”
With that, he pushed open the door a crack, slipping out and leaving you flushed and panting in the empty room with the tissues down in your hand.
