Scarecrow Doll

[scarecrowdoll]

Heyyy, Love you Jonathan Crane series! Will you please make a part 4?

Hi, thank you so much. I really appreciate it. But I don’t have any ideas now 😭

[jynx-raven]

[scarecrowdoll]

Yours to claim [+18]

pairing: prof!Jonathan Crane x student!reader

warnings: smut, noncon/dubcon, facefucking, deepthroat, unprotected sex, anal sex, dry humping, humiliation

words: 1.9k

summary: you caught another student’s attention and Jonathan doesn’t take it lightly. His jealousy follows you into the quiet of the library, where he makes sure you remember exactly who you belong to.

note: I believe it’s part 3 of series with Jonathan. I thought it would be done but suddenly I got the idea of library sex. Here is part 1 and part 2 . English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy 💋

The library was quiet, heavy with the smell of old paper, the overhead lamps casting soft pools of yellow light across the rows of books. It was past working hours and you didn’t notice as you were lost in the words on the page.

Then a subtle pressure that prickled across your skin when you heard footsteps behind you. His shadow stretched long across your desk.

“So…” His voice slid down your spine, low and measured. “That’s your plan? You playing little games in my classroom just to spite me.”

You froze in your chair, every nerve alive. His hand came down on your shoulder, fingers curling tight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You tried to defend.

He leaned down slightly so his mouth was near your ear.

“Pathetic,” he murmured, studying your face. “Looking for attention when you already belong to me…” He leaned in closer, his breath grazing your cheek. His eyes glinted sharp behind the thin frames of his glasses, and for a moment, you hated yourself for ever thinking he hadn’t noticed. You almost forgot how someone tried to flirt with you during the lecture.

It irritated him, to say the least, seeing you interact with another man. He hated the idea of anyone else having your attention. He kept up his professional facade, but inwardly he was seething, his eyes occasionally drifting towards you and the guy next to you.

He straightened up and placed an empty chair closer to you. He sat down, removing his jacket and draping it over the back of the chair.

You looked up at him through my lashes, biting the inside of your cheek. “Don’t tell me you are jealous.”

Jonathan’s smirk deepened, slow and venomous, like a snake uncoiling. He leaned forward, his icy blue eyes locked onto yours.

"Jealous?" He tilted his head slightly, studying you like a specimen pinned under glass. "Keep testing me."

His voice dropped to a whisper so smooth it slithered across the silence between you. He reached down and grabbed your chin roughly. It was almost stung this time, his fingers digging into your soft flesh and leaving tiny indentations on your skin.

“I think you are forgetting your place.”

Jonathan released his grip to take your throat instead, his fingers encircling the soft skin and squeezing just enough to cut off your breath. He leaned in even closer, his voice soft and dangerous.

"You belong to me. Your body and mind — every single part of you. But you act like a spoiled brat."

His grip tightened, making you whimper softly, your hands grabbing his hand, trying to make him stop. Just when you thought you were not able to handle it anymore he released you. You took a deep breath, but he grabbed your chin again, forcing you to look at him.

“Now apologize, nice and polite.”

Your eyes watered. You had nothing to apologize for. He was the only one who made it difficult.

“But it was not my fault.”

A sharp sound echoed through the air as his palm met your cheek and you whimpered.

"You apologize because I said so. Not because you want to.” He pulled back, his thumb brushing away your tears with unexpected tenderness. "Now go on. I know you can do it."

For a moment, your eyes locked in silence, tears threatening to spill as you struggled to hold them back. Your whole body trembled, it all felt so unfair. “I-I’m sorry.” You forced words out.

Jonathan's expression remained unreadable for a moment, his fingers still curled around your throat. He studied your trembling form, the forced words hanging between you like a confession under duress.

"Good girl." His voice was soft, but there was no warmth in it. "But you’re sorry because you want me to stop. Not because you respect me… not because you understand."

He traced the outline of your lower lip with his thumb, his touch gentle.

"Such a soft, pretty mouth. You should put it to better use."

He took a deep inhale, his gaze raking over your face hungrily.

"Now, you're going to apologize correctly. Get on your knees."

You hesitated, heat rushing to your face, but his stare left no room for defiance.

Slowly, you sinked down to your knees and crawled in between his legs. The sound of the buckle sliding free cut through the silence, sharp and deliberate.

“That’s better.” His tone was almost gentle. “Maybe you’re not as stubborn as you pretend.”

He grasped your chin firmly, tilting your face up to meet his intense gaze. “Remember, this is your choice. You wanted this, craved it. So open wide.”

With a swift motion, he unzipped his pants, freeing his rigid cock. It sprang thick and pulsing, already leaking precum. His grip shifted, sliding into your hair, twisting at the roots until your scalp burned. He guided your head closer, the heavy shaft brushing your lips.

Closing your eyes, you parted your lips, allowing his heated length to slide against your tongue. The salty tang of his arousal coated your taste buds. You took his cock as far into your mouth as you could go until you started to gag. His breath caught sharply. A raw unfiltered sound of pleasure that he didn’t bother to suppress. His fingers clenched in your hair, holding you there as his hips twitched slightly forward. Your hands gripped his thighs, holding him steady as you worked to pleasure him.

"All that defiance…" he murmured, voice thick with arousal. "and now you are, sucking me like you were made for it."

You made yourself gag on him a couple times, and then pull off his cock to drool all that excess saliva. He tilted his head back slightly, eyes closing for just a second, before snapping them open again to watch you. One of your hands moved to cup his balls, already covered in your saliva. His breath came faster now as you moved down his shaft with deliberate slowness. Each inch swallowed felt like torture in the most exquisite way. His fingers flexed in your hair, jaw clenched tight as you took him. He is so thick that he had to push you down, past the back of your throat. The pressure forced you open, stretching you until your throat burned, the intrusion overwhelming.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Relax your throat. You can take it. Be a good girl for me.”

He holds you there for a minute, savoring the way you shuddered around him. When at last he let you draw back, a wet gasp tore from your throat. Your mascara was ruined.

Before you could catch your breath, his hand forced your chin lower. His cock glistened with your saliva, heavy and swollen as he pressed you down between his thighs.

“Not done yet,” he muttered darkly. “Show me how grateful you are.”

The musky heat of him filled your senses as he pressed harder. You wrapped your lips around one of his balls, sucking gently until his breath caught. Only when you felt his grip tighten did you switch to the other, working them in turn.

Suddenly, he yanked you off with a wet pop of your lips leaving him.

“Enough. Get up and face the desk.”

You froze, not expecting to hear this. Some part of you had hoped to finish him with your mouth. That it would be enough to satisfy him. But the look on his face told you otherwise. Seeing him waiting impatiently, you slowly pushed yourself upright, knees burning from the solid floor.

He was already moving behind you, a rough shove pressed you flat onto the desk. The wood was cool beneath your cheek, your breath fogging against its surface. His hands wasted no time, yanking your skirt up past your hips, revealing the evidence of your arousal. The sudden rush of air across your thighs made you flinch, and humiliation seared through you as he pulled at your underwear.

His palms spread your cheeks wider for him to line up your tight hole. You flinched at the feeling. Before you could protest, he started to press the tip into your ass.

“Wait please… I’m not—” Your cry cut off into a sob as his hand shot forward, pinning your wrists tight behind your back. You struggled, thrashing against him, but his grip only tightened.

“You don’t get to decide.” he growled into your ear, the heat of his breath searing your skin. “Not after you act like a brat.”

His hips rolled forward, the tip pushing harder, stretching you where you’d never been stretched before. Pain and pressure spiked through you, your body fighting him, your voice breaking with every protest.

“Stop fighting,” he hissed, his free hand pressing into the small of your back to hold you down. “The more you struggle, the worse it will hurt.”

He pushed deeper, slow but merciless, splitting you open inch by inch. Your nails clawed at the desk, the sharp burn tearing a choked cry from your throat.

“God, so tight,” he groaned, his hips grinding forward, forcing you to take more of him. “Your ass is even better than your pussy.”

You shook your head desperately, muffled pleas spilling out between ragged breaths. “It hurts, please, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” His tone was final, brooking no refusal. He drove further in, ignoring your protests, savoring every twitch of your body. His hand still pinned your wrists like iron, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.

The desk creaked under the rhythm of his thrusts, each one pushing you flat, stealing the breath from your lungs. Pain radiated through your body, but beneath it a traitorous heat began to spark, shame crawling up your spine as you felt yourself grow wetter. His hips slapped against your ass, the sound obscene in the quiet library.

“You asked for this. Won’t be able to sit for days.”

Each word was punctuated by another roll of his hips. The kind designed to stretch you wider, deeper, to make sure every nerve ending screamed his name. You whimpered, mortified, but the touch sent shocks through you, tightening every muscle.

“That’s it,” he purred darkly, pushing even harder, his voice ragged with lust. “No one else will ever touch you like this. No one else will mark you the way I do.”

His thrusts grew harder, faster, driving you into the desk with relentless force. Your breath came in ragged gasps, tears streaking your cheeks, mascara smeared black across your skin.

"Fucking hell," he groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder as his hips stuttered, before he buried himself to the root and let go. A hot flood surged deep inside you as he came with a guttural moan, cock throbbing violently with each pulse of release.

For a moment the world narrowed to nothing but the sound of his ragged breathing and the humiliating warmth spreading inside you. Then, slowly, he pulled back. His hand caught your chin again, tilting your face up so you couldn’t hide.

“Good girl,” he murmured, almost tender, though his eyes glittered with triumph. “Now you’ll never forget who you belong to.”

He released you at last, leaving you shaking, your body sore and marked.

[scarecrowdoll]

can you write more of jonathan crane?

Sure thing, he’s my favorite boy 🫦 I just need some inspiration and take my time to write it

[00cillian]

I would let him experiment on me ^_~

[scarecrowdoll]

The quiet below [+18]

pairing: Emmett x fem!reader

warnings: smut, dub-con, breathplay, dirty talk, oral (fem receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, spanking (slightly mentioned), soft aftercare

words: 2,3k

summary: basically: he catches us doing things we thought he was too grumpy to notice. And he wasn’t exactly gentle about it.

note: this fic exists because my brain went “post-apocalyptic smut?” yes. Watching Emmett on screen had me thinking of him on my face… and ended with this. English is not my first language.

You hadn’t chosen to end up together. Not really. It was either that or die. You’d stumbled into his life — bloodied, breathless, on the edge of giving up. Even though he didn’t want a roommate, he let you stay. Maybe because you didn’t cause much trouble for both of you. Or maybe because, deep down, he just couldn’t bear to be completely alone anymore.

The bunker had what you needed to survive. The walls were reinforced with metal scraps, blankets and tarps hung in certain corners to muffle sound, and there was a stockpile of canned food, tools, and old supplies. There was no light unless you lit a lantern. But there was safety.

Days blurred into quiet repetition. Emmett would leave in early hours, moving through the ruins and returning with supplies or nothing at all. You’d stay behind, unless he needed help lifting something or watching his back. He preferred to scavenge alone. Not because he didn’t trust you, but because he didn’t want to lose you.

He didn’t say much of anything, really. Survival was the only thing you had in common. You’d go entire days without more than a handful of words between you.

At first, Emmett had seemed distant, almost untouchable — a figure built from control and cold intelligence. He kept a distance, but he noticed you.

Sometimes it showed in the smallest things: the way the good blanket always ended up folded at the foot of your bedding when the nights grew colder.

You’d made an effort to carve out your own corner of the bunker. A bedroll with a few cushions, makeshift crate for your things and hanging cloth to offer the illusion of privacy. Emmett’s cot was across the room.

You could hear every breath he took when he was asleep, every shift of his weight. Some nights he didn’t sleep — just lay there in the dark, staring up at the ceiling.

That night had been longer than most. Your needs didn’t disappear when the world ended. If anything, they’d sharpened — twisted into something deeper, rawer, more desperate. Not from desire alone, but from the stress, the exhaustion, the endless days of tension without release.

You watched him laying on his cot, eyes tracing the line of his shoulders under his shirt, the scar near his elbow, the way his hand curled under his pillow.

Then you slipped behind your hanging cloth. Pulled the blanket over your legs. Closed your eyes. But your body wouldn’t rest. You tried to ignore it. You really did. But your skin felt too hot. Your thighs clenched. The ache between your legs was dull, but demanding.

So, when the silence stretched into the early hours and his breathing turned steady you gave in. Your hand slid under your shirt, fingers trailing over your ribs. Your breath hitched. You paused, listening.

Still silence.

You moved lower, your fingers dipping past the waistband of your pants. The slick heat met you quickly. Lips parted, you exhaled silently and began to circle your clit with trembling fingers. Each movement eased the tightness in your stomach, even as your muscles tensed. Your hips shifted, making sheets slightly shuffle.

Your other hand pressed hard over your mouth, just in case. You’d done this before because human body doesn’t care about boundaries.

But you were too far gone to notice the floorboard creak.

Focused on that slow, spreading burn in your belly to realize the air had shifted — that someone else was awake. Shadows moved against the wall, breaking the fragile illusion of privacy.

“Having trouble sleeping?”

Your hand yanks away from between your legs like you’ve been caught stealing, your whole body seizing up under the thin blanket. You can’t see his face clearly in the low light, but his shoulders are tense.

“Not the first time either,” he growls, stepping closer. “You think I’ve been sleeping through this shit? Listening to you every night, pretending I don’t fucking hear it?”

You sit up, quickly pulling the blanket to your chest, heart slamming in your ears.

“I-I wasn’t-” your voice comes out hoarse, barely a whisper.

He crouches down in front of you, bringing his face level with yours.

“You’ve been keeping me awake, squirming over there like some animal in heat.”

Heat accumulates in your cheeks from embarrassment. Your back hits the concrete wall behind you as he moves closer.

“Listen little bunny. I have been patient. But now? I’m at my limit.”

You shake your head quickly.

“I didn’t mean to - I wasn’t trying to -“

His hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist - the one you were just using. You try to pull away, but his grip tightens.

“I bet if I sucked these into my mouth,” he murmurs, voice low, wicked, “they’d taste just like your pussy.”

Your stomach twists and breath hitches. His lips ghost over the tips of your slick fingers, not quite touching.

“Maybe that’s what you wanted?” he asks, but it’s not really a question. His eyes bore into yours. “Thinking about me when you’re dripping like that?”

You open your mouth to speak — to deny, to beg, to say anything — but he just grabs the edge of the blanket and yanks it down hard.

“Please, I didn’t want you to hear.” You cried, tears filling your eyes.

“Shh… quiet. I know it’s not your fault. You just couldn’t help, right?” he muttered, his voice low but sharp as he looms over you.

His hand grinds your throat and pushes your head into the pillow. Your pulse jumps under his fingers. His knee pushes between your thighs, just enough for you to feel the pressure but nowhere near to satisfy.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he whispers. “You do that again, I throw you out. You can go moan outside, see how long you will last.”

Your whole body shook under him, every nerve on edge. His palm slid over your damp skin, catching on the heat of your sweat, making you squirm harder against the mattress.

“P-please…” you whisper, barely audible.

He shifts forward, his free hand sliding over you pjs. Almost lazily, fingers skimming over the underside of your breast, tracing your collarbone as if teasing. Feeling your hardening nipples.

“Guess which part of you I am going to taste first.”

He pushed the fabric over your face, freeing your breasts to his gaze. When his fingers brushed under your breast, you couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath, muffled quickly under his palm. He cups one of your breasts, then squeezes gently. He uses his fingers to pinch your nipples gently at first, but then he adds more pressure until you start to squirm under him. Only when they turn a shade of red, just the way he likes, he releases you.

His voice is low, a dark whisper. “I wasn't hoping you'd say it. I'd rather not be nice to such a bad little bunny.”

You can feel his breathing, low and even—like a predator getting ready to lunge. His fingers trail lower with deliberate slowness. Then hooked under the waistband of your pants, pulling them down your legs until throwing them somewhere.

His breath ghosts over your ear as he whispered:

“Keep your mouth shut, sweetheart. That’s all you’re good for right now.”

Then finally he let two fingers trail lower, slipping through wet heat with deliberate slowness.

You arch into his palm, bite your lip, try to keep from sobbing with need and shame. He dragged a finger through your slick heat again, slow and teasing, watching you squirm.

“I should’ve done this a long time ago,” he growls, voice low and ragged.

Without warning, he hauled your hips up and over his shoulders. The sudden lift made you gasp, but the sound barely escaped before his mouth was on you. He pressed his lips to your mound, his tongue darting out to taste you. You were so sensitive for him and he was only getting started. He looked up, meeting your eyes beneath heavy lids and a veil of hazy satisfaction.

He felt you jerk against him and he only held you tighter, his hands like iron on your hips. The muffled sounds you made — desperate, trying to be quiet — only turned him on more. He didn’t let up. Instead, he sucked hard on that sensitive little nub while sliding two fingers deep inside without warning. He curled them just right, finding the spot that unravels you.

"You taste so sweet, princess.” he panted.

He dipped his head again and closed his lips around you, as he sucked gently, tongue circling and flicking, just enough to build that heat but never enough. He knew just how much pressure to use, how to tease and torture you. He pulled out to slap hard against your clit—once, twice—a sharp sting that made you gasp through your tongue.

"Mm… you like that? You like it when I punish you while your sweet little cunt tries to come?"

You shook your head, biting your lip, trying to keep the sounds trapped in your throat, but your hips betrayed you, rocking up into his face, chasing the friction you craved. Then he was back, his tongue circled your clit with maddening patience, every flick sending a sharp shiver down your spine. Heat pooled low in your belly, the kind of pressure that built and built until you were trembling against his mouth. He felt you clamp down — hot, tight, desperate — and he didn’t let up. Not for a second. Each thrust of his fingers made you tighter, wetter, your walls fluttering around him as if your body was already begging for release.

“Already so close,” he murmured, and the teasing edge in his voice made you whimper.

By the time he added a third finger, you were quivering, breathless, your body strung so tight it hurt. Every nerve screamed for release. And when he finally sucked hard, curling deep inside just right, your control shattered. The orgasm ripped through you in waves, back arching off the bed, thighs clamped around his head as he drank every trembling spasm until you were nothing but quivering heat in his hands.

When he finally pulled away, his lips and beard glistened with your arousal. His gaze locked on yours, dark and heavy, before he crawled over you. The weight of him caged you in completely, the heat radiating from his body surrounded you.

“Can’t have you being loud, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and cruel.

Before you could speak, he yanked the pillow from under your head and pressed it down over your face. The world went black and stifled. Cotton muffled you and each inhale grew hotter, shallower.

“Breathe slow,” he growled above you. “You’ll get enough if you behave.”

His voice was rough as he slowly dragged his cock out, pressing the tip against your wetness. The thick, blunt pressure of him pushed between your folds, the intrusion rough and unyielding. He bottomed out in one harsh thrust, forcing a muffled cry from you that was swallowed by the pillow.

His hips slammed into you again, harder this time, each impact jarring you deeper into the mattress. You squirmed under him, lungs already aching for a deeper breath, but his free hand clamped around your thigh and shoved it higher, stretching you open as he pounded into you. The rhythm was merciless, punishing, each thrust knocking another gasp.

“Not so loud now, huh?” His voice was harsh, the words broken by his breathing. “This is what you were asking for.”

Your fingers clawed at his arm, not sure if you were begging him to ease up or to push harder. The air under grew thick and hot, every breath shorter than the last, your head spinning with equal parts fear and heat.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take another second, the pressure lifted.

Cool air rushed over your face, making you gasp, but before you could fill your lungs fully, he shoved it down again as he thrust deeper. The way your pussy clenched around his cock like a vice every time you needed to breath it was exquisite. He could feel you teetering on the edge of panic and pleasure, that fragile line he loved to walk you along. The pressure made every moan die in your throat, forced back down into your chest where they turned into ragged, desperate breaths through your nose.

His thrusts deepened, each one measured and forceful, his hips slamming into yours until your thighs ached from the strain of holding him. His cock throbbed inside you with every desperate clench, each twitch of your body driving him closer to the edge. The slap of skin echoing off the walls as he yanked your legs higher over his shoulders.

Then you felt it — the tense, sharp pulse deep inside you, his body locking against yours. A low, guttural groan tore from his chest, the vibration running straight through you. His hips jerked with each spasm, chasing every last drop as you milked him dry.

He stayed buried to the hilt, throbbing hard, his breath coming in ragged bursts against your skin before he let the pillow fall away. You gasped beneath him, chest rising and falling fast, tears glistening at the corners of your eyes.

Instead of pulling away, he closed the space between you.

The kiss was nothing like the way he’d taken you.

It was slow, deep, unhurried — his lips warm and firm against yours, lingering like he didn’t want to let go. His beard brushed your skin in soft, teasing strokes, not scraping, just grazing, every movement sending a faint shiver through you.

His mouth moved with careful pressure, coaxing instead of demanding, his tongue sliding past your lips to explore your mouth, as though testing your willingness to follow.

"You taste like sin," he growled as he pulled away.

[soogerbooher-deactivated2026032]

[cillsworld]

Help me doctor Crane✧₊⁺

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Ship|Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

Summary|you run into Jonathan out of fear and he takes advantage of the situation.

Word Count|1344

Warnings|smut(18+!), age gap!, oral(m!rec), deep throating, chocking, crying?, kidnapping, innocent! reader, dub-con?

Notes|soo this is my first like smut writing or fanfic ever, well it's a drabble but ykyk. I think it's okay but I don't love it, also had no idea how to end it so it's a bit random but yeah😭 hope u enjoy! masterlist

"Oh look at you, such a pretty little thing.." His raspy but quiet voice sighed out, itching a part of your brain in the most pleasant way, his presence fully intoxicating you; from the odd way he smelt or how he held your face, squeezing your cheeks between one hand while mocking you.

"practically ran into the belly of the beast and why? Because you were scared?" the condescendence was dripping from his tone as he chuckled dryly, finding it hilarious that after being sprayed by one of his goons you had run to his arms for comfort, and now you're stuck here in his little 'base'; whining behind the cloth he had hastily stuffed in your mouth, struggling against the restraints he had put on you while your brain was still hazy, somehow managing to bind you to a support beam.

"what am I gonna do with you hmm?" He continued in a bit of an agitated tone, his eyebrows furrowing as he stared you down, "I could just.. kill you?" he muttered out and your eyes naturally widened, the dangers of this situation setting in, specially when you saw the gleam in his eyes, a muffled whimper escaped you.

"but that would be such a waste..." He was almost talking to himself now in a barely audible tone, his eyes dropping to blatantly check you out.

You tried speaking from behind the gag, wanting to have a say in the matter of your own life and death; he rose an eyebrow in response, reaching up to untie it, seemingly interested in what you have to say for his own amusement.

"please don't kill me doctor Crane, please! I'll do anything!" Your pleas were met with a very bored looking 'doctor Crane', seemingly sick of the generic lines he'd heard one too many times, but they were definitely different coming from a youthful, attractive girl such as yourself and caused a certain tightness in his pants.

Your frantic pleas were interrupted by a hum of his smooth voice, "anything? You'd do anything?" he repeated in a strangely slow tone, though it was unsettling you rushed to nod in response, not letting the chance of surviving letting slip.

He scoffed lightly, glancing downward in thought before taking leisurely steps behind the pole you were tied to, undoing the messily done knots to release your sore wrists, "let's test that theory then.."

Of course you tried to make a run for it but a hand in your hair and arm over your neck were quick to pull you back, so quick in fact that you were sure he anticipated your attempted escape which made you feel dumb for even trying.

"You didn't think it'd be that easy right sweetheart?" he muttered in your ear, his voice had a eery edge to it now that made goosebumps rise all over your skin.

"You're choking me..." Your now raspy voice spoke as your eyes started to well up from the burn in your scalp, your hands reached up to try and pry his arm off your neck though he was much stronger than you so your efforts were to no avail

"oh am I?" He spoke in mock pity, tightening his arm around your neck making you yelp as you started to panic even more, "could've just played nice but you just had to go and be a smartass huh"

"I'm sorry.. Please stop I'm sorry" you whimpered out as tears dripped down your cheeks, landing on the sleeve of his coat that probably cost an unreasonable amount of money.

Your ears perked up as the sound of sniffing reached them, his hands left you hair and neck before turning you around to face him while you took in quick breaths to fill your parched lungs, "smell so sweet.."

He muttered more to himself than you while playing with a strand of your hair, blue eyes looking over your flushed, wet and sniffling face, "how old re'you sweetheart?" His oddly soothing voice questioned as he cupped your cheek with one hand, wiping a stray tear with his thumb.

"I'm- uhm, nineteen.." He sucked in a sharp breath at that, his pale cheeks flushing lightly, "then you know what I want don't you? What you'll have to do in order for me to free you.." He questioned lowly,

You had a vague idea of what he wanted, but hoped if you pretended not to know you'd be able to escape faster, "what do I have to do doctor Crane?" You questioned back with a tilt of your head.

"Don't play dumb sweetheart" he retorted with a scoff, finding amusement in your antics.

"I want you" you let out a little squeak of surprise feeling the force of his hands on your shoulders, pushing till you were sitting on your knees.

"To be on your knees and suck me off, is that clear enough for you?" He questioned with a mocking tilt of his head, squishing your cheeks between one hand as he did so, "y-yeah.." You responded quietly with a little nod.

Your shaky hands reached for his zipper, glancing up at him before pulling it down and unbuttoning his pants to reveal his covered bulge, you were about to pull his boxers down but paused, letting your fingers rest on the cotton hem.

"I've never.. done this before doctor Crane" you voiced your nerves quietly, chewing on your bottom lip as your cheeks flushed from embarrassment, his face softened slightly at your confession.

"I know.. I'll help you" he responded in a soothing tone, running a hand through your hair, he reached his other to pull down his black boxers to reveal his hard dick.

He took pleasure in the way you started at it in awe, "go on, touch it" he told you quietly, you tentatively brought your had and wrapped it around his base, looking up at him with wide eyes as he wrapped his hand around yours and guided it to stroke him.

"now wrap your lips around it and suck" he ordered impatiently, removing his hand from yours as you got the hang of it, you did as he asked and took his tip in your mouth, letting your tongue lick the beads of pre-cum off his slit, a groan escaping him that urged you on, getting bolder as you took him half way and hallowed your cheeks.

His hand tightened in your hair as he started thrusting in your mouth in sync with the way he was making your head go up and down on his dick, "there you go.." He muttered out, basking in the little whimpers escaping you as he went deeper and deeper.

As he started breaching your throat barrier your squirming grew and his pleasure increased at the tightness of your throat, he let you go for a moment to take a breath before pushing you all the way down till your nose was buried in his pubic hair, triggering your gag reflex as you tried to push yourself off, "calm down and take it, you've gotta work for your reward darling"

He muttered out as your eyes started watering, your whimpers and muffled mewls sending waves of pleasure straight to his brain and making his eyes roll back into his head, his hand tightening in your hair as he started rutting into your mouth, letting his body be controlled by the pleasure while panic induced you from the lack of air.

You felt his cock twitching in your mouth before he pulled out and let you fall back on your elbows, he aimed himself to come all over your face and exposed cleavage, most of it going in your mouth as you tried to breathe.

He tucked himself back in as you tried to collect yourself, he grabbed your face and collected most of his come on his finger and shoved it in your mouth, "swallow" he instructed simply and you did as he asked, cringing at the taste.

He removed his finger with a pop and straightened himself up, brushing a hand through his hair before looking down at you, "you should run into me more often sweetheart"

[cillianhead]

Your Dog || Jackson Rippner x Reader

smutty blurb enjoy <3

warnings: SMUT, Oral Sex (m receiving), Facefucking, Semi-Pet Play but like not fully???, Leashes/collars, slapping, degradation, Jackson is mean in this (when isn't he though), pet names, use of the title 'Master', ADULT CONTENT!!! 18+ MINORS DNI!!!

smut under the cut <3

"Good puppy... that's it... good fuckin' puppy..." Jackson groaned, tugging on your leash even harder as he fucked your throat. Drool ran out from your parted lips, which were painfully stretched around his thick cock. He was fucking your face relentlessly with no consideration for if you could breathe or not. The back of your throat was sore and your jaw ached but you tried your best to take it. Just like the drool and bile that came up your throat, tears were wetting your face as they streamed endlessly from your eyes.

"Oh... don't look at me like that, puppy... I know you like being used like this." He had a triumphant grin on his face, smug with pleasure and power. "Your tears only make me even more hard."

You couldn't respond. How could you with his dick shoved down your throat? His hips stuttered and with each buck of his pelvis, his balls slapped your chin. Frankly, it was embarrassing. Your eyes fluttered shut at the stinging in your eyes but were quickly met with the palm of his hand hitting your face. "Keep your eyes open bitch," Jackson hissed, slapping you with the back of his hand again as your eyes shoot open. He smirked, pleased as he bucked his hips into your mouth again. "Want you to look me in the eyes when I cum down your throat."

You could tell he was going to cum soon by the way his stomach tightened and his chest heaved, continuing to rock in and out of your mouth.

"Fuck... fuuuckk...." Jackson's voice was whiny, sounding like a real porn star as he bounced your head in between his spread legs. Slut. "Gonna cum... gonna fuckin' cum... take it for me... please puppy... please... oh fuck..." His dominant grasp on the world was quickly slipping from his fingertips as his cock twitched and his back arched. Cum shot down your throat and leaked from your lips. Choking on the thick substance and the lack of air. Jackson was pathetic when he came, so utterly pathetic. He whined like a bitch.

You coughed as he finally let go of the back of your head but kept a tight hold of your leash, tugging on it to remind you of your place.

"Swallow it," Jackson huffed, slumping back into his seat. His thighs were still spread open like the whore he was, cum dribbling down his cock and stickying his thighs and in between. You swallow, though residues of it are still dripping from your tongue and lips, like hot wax on a burning candle. "Good girl," He cooed, thumb swiping at your lips before prodding itself into your mouth. Jackson watched, a satisfied hum rumbling from his rising chest, as you sucked it clean. "Think you can lick me clean? Like a little kitty cat? Go on... use that tongue of yours... lick it clean, bitch."

"I..." You bit your lip, eyes still watery as you lean forward. There was no point in denying him. So timidly you kitten-licked his cock, face flushed scarlet as if you were a prude, as if you hadn't done this a million times before... though this was the first time with a collar and a leash around your throat.

"What? Don't like the taste?" He asked with a scoff, fingers scratching at his stubbly chin, his thighs shaking softly. "C'mon... put your back into it, I work so hard day and night for you and when I come home... this is what you give me? Can't even keep your master pleased, can you? You're a bad dog..." He growled, voice low and warning. And you bowed your head in shame at the words he spoke.

"Y-Yes master..." You swallowed, poking your tongue out and licking along his thighs, sucking up the last droplets of his jizz.

He snickered, clearly amused as he twisted the rope of your leash around his pointer and pulled your face into his taint. "You missed a spot," Jackson mused, chuckling to himself. "Go on, dirty mut... do your job." This was so humiliating. You squeezed your eyes shut, black spots dancing underneath your eyelids as you breathed in the smell and licked a stripe up from his taint to his balls, popping one into your mouth to keep him happy.

"Oh, pup..." Jackson pulled on your leash, collar digging into your neck and cutting off your air supply as you sucked. "Thatta girl... that's right... you know your fuckin' place."

He pulled you off of him, kicking you down onto your haunches. He stood up, albeit a little shakily, and smiled down at you- a proud gleam in those sea-stricken eyes.

"Now, does my little puppy want a treat?" He asked, tone condescendingly sweet. "Say 'please master'."

"Please... Master...."

Another pull on your leash, reminding you that you'd be nothing more than his pet for the night.

-

SORRY, THIS WAS SO SHORT!!! I hope you enjoyed <333 I love you all....

[sadder-daisy]

[scarecrowdoll]

After class

pairing: prof!Jonathan Crane x student!reader

warnings: smut, non con, lots of chocking, belt kink, power imbalance, blackmail, degradation, unprotected sex, breeding.

words: 2,5k

summary: You didn’t think you’d ever see him again – especially not at the front of your lecture hall. Turns out he remembers everything. And he wants more.

note: I said I wasn’t sure about writing a part 2. But here we are 🫦. Here is part 1. Read the trigger warnings and if any of these makes you uncomfortable, please don't read. All characters are 18+, no minors involved. Also English is not my first language.

It had been weeks since that night — the one you refused to name, the one you tried not to think about. You’d done everything to forget it. Told yourself it was over. Locked the memory away in the farthest corner of your mind, hidden behind walls you hoped would never break. No one could see what was eating you from the inside out.

That morning, the university felt unchanged. The routine of student life moved like water in a mountain stream – fast, repetitive, blurring the lines between days. It was just another class. You tried to focus on your notebook, your pen trembling slightly between your fingers. The professor was running late.

Then the door opened — and your body went cold.

He walked in.

It felt like your heart dropped straight to your stomach. There was no mistake – it was him. He looked just like he had that night, only now he wore the mask of professionalism. His stride was slow and confident. Dark charcoal suit clung neatly to his long frame, the white collar of his shirt crisp and sharp beneath a burgundy tie. Thin glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, catching the pale light as he surveyed the room with a calm, unreadable expression.

His eyes drifted across the rows of students then suddenly paused on you. You felt it land like a blade, before his gaze moved on.

“My name is Jonathan Crane. You will refer to me as Mr. Crane,” he said calmly, addressing the class. “Professor Milton is on temporary leave due to personal health matters. I’ll be taking over this course for the remainder of the semester.”

He didn’t seem like the kind of professor students adored. There was something unnerving about him — a quiet sharpness behind the measured tone. But not many seemed to notice it. To them, he probably appeared composed, confident, even impressive. He didn’t try to be liked. He walked in and expected the room to bend around him — and it did.

He turned toward the chalkboard, outlining the revised syllabus, grading policies, the upcoming assignments. Around you, students dutifully took notes. But you could hardly hear anything over the pounding in your ears.

Then he picked up the attendance list and began reading names aloud, one by one.

Students answered with casual “Here,” or raised a hand, some barely looking up from their notebooks. A few joked at his stiff tone, clearly unaware of who exactly stood in front of them. But you couldn’t focus on any of it. Each name brought him closer to yours, until he reached it.

He paused, eyes lifting to meet yours. He said it slowly, like tasting the syllables on his tongue. He was waiting for confirmation, wanting to hear it from your lips.

You lifted your hand.

"Here," you forced out.

For a moment, you thought you saw the corner of his mouth twitch — not quite a smile. Just a flicker of recognition before he gave the faintest nod and moved on.

The rest of the lecture passed in a blur. His voice droned on about cognitive theory and behavioral patterns. You didn’t dare to look at him directly. But you felt his presence like static in the air, always watching you. The notes in front of you blurred into nonsense. Head low, you silently count the minutes until it would be over.

Finally, he glanced at the clock and closed the folder on his desk with a soft thud.

“We’ll continue this discussion in our next session,” he said.

As the last of the students slipped past you toward the door, you quietly gathered your things, keeping your head down and your breath shallow. Maybe, just maybe, if you moved fast enough, you could get out without a word.

You stood up, heart racing, and turned to follow the others out. But you didn’t make it more than two steps before his voice cut through the air behind you.

“Miss Y/L/N.”

His tone wasn’t raised, but it carried the weight of command. You turned slowly, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.

He didn’t speak. Not immediately. He seemed to be waiting for the room to empty and the quiet to settle. Then he stepped closer.

“Why do you sit all the way in the back?”

You blinked, startled by the question. That wasn’t what you expected.

“I… I don’t know. I’m used to it.”

“No one sees you back there,” he said, his tone casual but edged. “But you see everyone. You’re hiding.”

“I’m not hiding,” you said quickly. “I just prefer that spot.”

“Sure,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“A word in my office,” he said softer now, already turning toward the door. “If you don’t mind.”

But you both knew it wasn’t a request.

You followed him down the quiet hallway, your footsteps light but unsteady, echoing faintly in the narrow space. The building felt colder now, more hollow, as if the walls themselves were watching.

He stopped in front of a narrow door marked ‘Dr. J. Crane – Psychology Department’, then opened it without a word, holding it just long enough for you to step inside.

“Close the door,” he said quietly, not bothering to turn around as he walked to his desk.

You obeyed, the latch clicking shut behind you like a trap snapping closed.

The room was dim, lit only by the soft yellow glow of a desk lamp. Papers were stacked in neat, obsessive piles. Bookshelves lined the walls — all medical journals, legal codes, case studies. The blinds were drawn. It smelled faintly of old books and something sharper underneath — like chemicals.

You didn’t wait for permission. With quick strides you marched up to the desk and, without thinking, swept a stack of papers to the floor.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” you snapped, voice shaking with rage. “Do you think I won’t report what you did?”

He stopped mid-motion and slowly turned to face you, giving a small, patient smile.

“By all means, report it,” he said softly. “But let’s think about what that would look like. No witnesses. No evidence. A drunk girl, alone on the highway, claiming she was… what exactly? Attacked by her professor?”

He took a step toward, close enough for you to feel the heat of his frame.

“Who do you think they’ll believe? A respectful professor like me or some random student?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but the words never came.

He studied your expression for a moment, then lowered his voice.

“Speaking of records,” he added, pulling out a folder, “I happened to read your last paper — the one you submitted to Professor Milton before he fell ill.”

He opened it with a slow flourish.

“Remarkably similar to another one I read two years ago, and I have a feeling you plagiarized it.”

Your blood turned cold.

“I-I didn’t—”

His smile widened, slow and merciless.

“Sure you didn’t. Near-identical phrasing, questionable citations. A very poor attempt at hiding it, if I’m honest. You will automatically fail the course. Do you know what that means?”

He let the words hang heavy between you, holding your gaze.

“You’d be placed on academic review. Probably the end of your degree entirely. Do you want that?” he asked.

There was a long silence. Something in his tone, in his certainty, made your confidence falter.

He leaned in, his voice now barely above a whisper.

“Or… we could keep this between us. No scandal. No consequences.”

You stared at him, heart thudding like a trapped animal.

“I don’t want to hurt you, my dear,” he said, almost tender. “But you’ve made things very complicated for yourself. And now, you owe me.”

“I hate you so much,” you whispered.

He didn't really care about your negative comment. The balance of power was already in his favor – and you both knew it.

“Hate me all you like,” he said. “That’s your new reality, sweetheart. You can still do exactly what I say.”

You didn’t respond to his last remark. You just stood there, your breath coming in shallow bursts. Tears pricked at your eyes, sharp and hot, but you held them back — one of the last defiant acts you still had control over.

Then his voice again, lower this time, dark with command:

“Lock the door.”

You froze.

“I said lock it.”

You moved before your mind caught up. The quiet click of the latch echoed louder than a gunshot. The silence stretched as he crossed the room slowly, deliberately, closing the distance. Your body tensed as you felt him behind you, the air shifting with his presence. He didn’t touch you. Not yet.

“You’ve already made your choice by staying,” he murmured, his voice grazing your neck like a whisper you weren’t meant to hear. “Now you’re going to show me just how far you’re willing to go.”

Before you could react, his hand clamped around your arm, and he yanked you forward with sudden force. You stumbled, barely catching your balance before he shoved you hard against his desk. Papers scattered, a pen rolled to the floor, but he didn’t care. He pressed into your back, caging you in with the unyielding weight of his body.

“You really thought you could walk away like nothing happened?” he hissed. “That I wouldn’t recognize you, wouldn’t come find you?”

He let go of your face just long enough to tug at your blouse, popping open the buttons with practiced ease.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Not for one goddamn second.”

You gasped as he yanked the fabric down, exposing your bra. His hands were rough, impatient – he didn’t treat you like something to be cherished, only claimed. His fingers grazing the lace before curling possessively around your breast.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured against your neck, lips grazing your skin as his fingers brushed lower. “But your thighs are pressing together like a desperate little slut.”

“Shut up,” you spat, but your voice broke.

He chuckled darkly. “Still pretending? You’ve been thinking about it too. Every night. I bet you’ve touched yourself imagining my hands on you again.”

You shook your head, biting down the sob rising in your throat.

He pressed his knee between your legs, forcing them apart. His free hand sliding up your trembling thigh, slow and deliberate, dragging your skirt higher with each inch. When his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties and yanked them down roughly, the cold air hit your skin.

You tried to twist away, but his grip only tightened – enough to bruise and remind you he was in control.

“I like you better like this,” he said. “No attitude. Just a pathetic, wet cunt waiting to be used.”

You wanted to scream at him, shove him away — but your body wouldn’t move. Not out of fear. Out of anticipation you hated yourself for.

“You don’t get to pretend you’re innocent anymore,” he said behind you, unfastening his belt. “You lost that the moment you let me have you.”

In one swift motion, he wrapped the belt around your neck, pulling tight through the buckle. You choked on your breath, panic exploding through you like a shockwave. Your hand flew up, clawing frantically at the leather, but your fingers felt clumsy and weak.

He didn’t loosen it, belt cutting into your throat with every shallow gasp you managed. Your knees threatened to give out. Your pulse roared in your ears, vision flickering at the edges. But even as the darkness crept in, something shameful pulsed low in your belly — hot, insistent, undeniable.

“You look so pretty when you’re afraid,” he whispered, the buckle creaking as he pulled it tighter. “It suits you.”

Your vision blurred, black edging into the corners. The part of you that still cared about dignity wanted to scream, to fight, but the rest of you was paralyzed — trapped between terror and something far uglier.

With that he unfastened his pants and freed his rigid cock, positioned himself at your entrance. He buried himself to the hilt, a low growl of satisfaction rumbling in his chest as your body enveloped him.

"Fuck, you feel incredible. So wet for me even as I choke the life from you."

He began to move, each powerful thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. With his free hand, he reached down to rub your clit in slow, deliberate circles. Your breath came in ragged gasps, the pleasure and pain mingling into an intense, overwhelming sensation.

"What do you want more? To breathe? Or to come and soak my cock?"

His words were a dark, seductive promise as he continued to tease your sensitive flesh, the belt still snug around your throat, a constant reminder of your vulnerability and his absolute control. You could feel your orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly until it was teetering on the brink of release. As if in response to his words, your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your inner walls rippling around his pistoning cock.

He groaned, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he felt your walls clenching around him, your body trembling from overstimulation. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep and let out a roar of pleasure as he spilled his seed inside you.

His breathing was ragged as he finally stilled inside you. The only sound in the room was the quiet hum of the desk lamp and your desperate gasps as you fought to refill your lungs.

Slowly, he loosened the belt.

The pressure around your throat gave way, and you collapsed forward onto the desk, wheezing, skin slick with sweat, your body trembling from the aftershocks.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just stood there behind you, still buried deep, watching the way you shook beneath him — chest heaving, fingers clutching at the desk’s edge.

Then, slowly, he withdrew. You felt the hot mess he left behind dripping down your thighs. Without a word, he tugged your panties back into place — rough and careless. The soaked fabric pressed against your skin, sticky and humiliating.

“You’ll leave like this,” he said, voice calm. “Let it remind you who you belong to.”

He stepped away from the desk and adjusted his shirt cuffs with the same quiet precision he had before.

“There will be rules going forward,” he continued. “You’ll show up when I say. You’ll do as I say. You’ll keep your pretty mouth shut in class. And in return, I’ll make sure that little plagiarism incident never sees the light of day.”

He paused, letting the silence settle like dust before stepping closer again. His hand reached out, and with firm fingers, he lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. His grip was steady, unrelenting.

“If you stop fighting me,” he added, voice lowering into something almost conspiratorial, “maybe I’ll even start being nice to you.”

He smiled — a cruel, amused curl of his lips that made it clear how much he enjoyed the game.

“But that depends on how well you behave.”

[sel-xn]

[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.