WHAT DO YOU FEAR? scarecrow! Gojo Satoru
⸻ kinktober 2025 | freaktober'25
synopsis ⸻ Scarecrow is at large again! Given your history with him, the night will be sleepless and fearful.
pairing ⸻ Scarecrow Gojo x reader
cw ⸻ NSFW, MDNI, DC au. abduction, professor/former student dynamic, medical malpractice, fear play, knife play, sadism/masochism, touch deprivation, degradation, dubcon, manipulation, restraints, intercourse under influence, fem reader, p! in v! intercourse, gendered terms, spit and cum stuff, oral fixation, just so much gaslighting yeah read if you wanna.
wc ⸻ 5k
a/n: this fic is a part of the freaktober event hosted by the most wonderful @redrrem, @joemama-2, and @for-ests! thank you to them for letting me participate <3 check out more from this event here!
“What is fear?”
A few kids behind you and beside you raised their hands to answer Dr. Gojo. He picked the kid beside you who raised his hand, the straightest in the entire class; he always did.
“Yes, Mr. Saito.” As the professor called out to Saito, whose face lit up like a thousand-watt lightbulb.
But Dr. Gojo's facial expressions remained rigid, yet conveyed much more than he let on. You saw a hint of amusement and this flash of something sinister in his eyes. It was as if whatever Saito, or anyone else in this room, was going to answer was going to be wrong anyway.
“Sir, fear is a psychological and physiological reaction an individual has as a response to some sort of threat in his environment, which triggers his fight or flight reaction.” Saito sits up in his seat and goes on, “If I were to explain it in detail, when someone perceives a threat, the signal for that stimulus is sent to the sympathetic nervous system through the spinal cord. The SNS then transfers those signals from the dorsal hypothalamus, which activates the heart, which then increases vascular resistance; hence, palpitations happen, and blood flow increases, specifically in the regions of the muscle, heart, and brain tissues. The hypothalamus then activates the adrenal medulla—”
“You can stop there, Mr. Saito.” Dr. Gojo walked back to the podium, and seeing him turn around from where he stood right in front of Saito’s face, in front of the first row of seats, it made Saito almost tear up. It looked like it, very evidently.
“I am glad you listen well in my classes to remember how the autonomic nervous system works in such detail. I am sure you can draw a detailed diagram of the hypothalamic region, including all the nuclei in that region, and even recite an in-depth analysis on the amygdala right on my command.” Dr. Gojo turned back to the class full of students and leaned against the podium.
“But I did not ask you about the related workings and systems of fear. I asked, “What is fear?” The professor looked unassuming, despite the huge grin on his face, seemingly friendly from afar, but anyone sitting in the front row and a few rows behind would know better. At least you did.
“Sir—um—it is an affective response.” Saito was starting to lose his book-smart confidence in the face of the professor’s rejection and interruption of his answer.
“Correct. And?” Dr. Gojo calmly asked.
“It—um—uh—the amygdala then—”
“You can stop there, Mr. Saito.” Dr. Gojo’s face went back to neutral; to everyone it was an inoffensive expression, but to Saito, all he saw was disappointment. And all you saw was anger.
“Anyone else who'd like to try?”
The entire class fell silent; Dr. Gojo gave the class some time to raise their hands. Everyone just made themselves look busy or at least averted their eyes to any corner of the room except for the professor’s eyes.
“Yes, Ms. L/n.” You put your hand down after he called out for you; the same sinister glint in his eyes was back, except now there was a smirk on his face, like he was daring you to answer his question, not as one of his top students in the class, but just as a human being. What did fear mean to you?
“Fear is a biological and primordial affective response. The physiological workings of how it happens—Saito explained it already.” You paused, and Dr. Gojo looked intrigued; he always did on the off chance you decided to chirp in during his lectures.
“It can be triggered for many reasons… such as when you, Dr. Gojo, look at Saito with disappointment in your eyes. He feels fear; he fears that these interactions will reflect on his grades negatively.” You casually gesture at Saito sitting to your left, and his eyes bulge out of their sockets.
If Dr. Gojo was only intrigued before, he looked positively invested now.
“I can give you a long explanation about how it works, why it happens, and what symptoms and feelings amalgamate into this overwhelming sensation that can only be described in one word, and that is fear.” Dr. Gojo walked off the podium and walked back towards the front row, where you were sitting.
“But that's not what you want. You want to know our opinions on fear.” Dr. Gojo, who has only been teaching at your university for the last 2 years, who is by far decades younger than all the professors in your faculty, who is closer to you in age than anyone who holds the same amount of degrees as him, and who has only ever looked impressed twice during lectures, currently looked quite impressed.
“Yes. That's what I want to know.”
“In my opinion, sir, if we are speaking in terms of evolution, fear is a much-needed effect; it has helped us evolve into who we are today.” He raised his brows as you spoke, and the corners of his mouth tugged slightly upwards. “But I do not think the modern human, with their need to fear few things other than fellow humans themselves, needs to feel this emotion so intensely as we do.”
Dr. Gojo’s face fell in an instant.
“Elaborate, please.”
Dr. Gojo’s facial expression as quickly recovered as they fell from your statement. But it did not go unnoticed by you. Even if the majority of the class were either too preoccupied or simply trying to avoid his gaze to not be picked out to answer a question, they all felt the tension when he asked you to elaborate on your answer.
“Well, we have evolved so much that it is not really environmental threats that we fear, but abstract ideas, like hell and divine punishment or stuff—given we have no evidence of these things being real. When we should fear the people who use these things as an excuse to fearmonger for their own selfish gain.”
Dr. Gojo’s eyes lit up with something unrecognizable, something akin to the insanity that every scientist, doctor, researcher, and practitioner of sciences involving the human brain has, but they looked a little too inhumane.
“I don’t disagree with you, Ms. L/n; I just think you are missing the point.”
“How so?”
“It is not that humans are not aware of these things you are mentioning. They simply choose to ignore it. There could be a murderer standing in front of you, and perhaps you would sense something off about him too, but you would at the end of the day choose to ignore his crazy eyes. Not because you are oblivious, but because you are afraid of the truth.”
Everything was so obviously in front of everyone’s eyes. He was hiding in plain sight. Yet no one knew until he chose to reveal himself to the world. That fact alone made you unbelievably furious.
He was always correct; he knew that too.
You were terrified the day you opened your TV to find out Batman finally arrested the Scarecrow and found out it was none other than your former professor. Even on the day his case was assigned to you and you saw him waiting for you with a smile, waiting for his most venerable student, as he called you—to sit opposite him to apparently treat the one professor who left the most impact on you—you were terrified then too. He knew that too.
You're still terrified of him to this day, even though it has been an entire year since you started seeing him in Arkham Asylum; you were still terrified every day to walk into that room and sit opposite him. Because every day he would sit there with the most gentle smile, empty eyes, and twitchy fingers; one slip of that mask, and even the guards appointed for your protection won't be able to do anything.
“Please, will you give me a straight answer, Dr. Gojo?”
Your frustration was starting to show. The first session isn't even over, and he is already getting under your skin. Deflecting every question with the precision of a professional well aware of how to navigate these things, it was hard to get any real answers.
“Like I've been saying, no need to be that formal; after all, you have always been the best student I ever taught. I might have been new to my job back then and quite young for it too, but I could tell you always had the potential for something great.”
His smile faltered for a moment, and it seemed like he finally blinked after ages.
“I am just sad you chose to rot in…this place.” The smile came back on; it stretched further up until it formed these wrinkles around his eyes, which weren't as noticeable as they are now. His tone was full of disgust, making you question how he had even been working here all these years himself. But then again, he was not actually performing his duties, so it made sense.
“Alright… Satoru, will you answer me seriously?”
You chose to
“I do not see why not; please do your job.”
With a deep breath, you sat up in your seat and reached for your glass of water for the ninth time in an hour. There was barely any water left in that glass; you've never in your short career felt so much pressure taking up a case.
You were naive enough to think things would get better after that day.
To answer in a few words—it did not in fact get easier. Every day it got worse and worse. He did not even take a week to figure out and dismantle all your techniques. It was bad enough he was your professor; he practically taught you half of these techniques, and the other half, he figured out with that sly, faux-innocent smile and those gentle eyes behind those glasses, which at one glance hid the emptiness in those eyes.
The same face you did not think you would be seeing anytime soon after you dropped the case, not at least until he succumbed to his death under mysterious circumstances in the Arkham Asylum. There was no way you could have cracked the scarecrow; it is not that you did not try, you really did, but there was something sinister behind those blue empty eyes of his that in your entire career you have never had the misfortune of encountering something similar. Given his prior relationship with you, you should've known it was not going to be easy.
With a sigh you go back to paying attention to the food reheating in your microwave. As you zone out looking at the food, the blurry sound of the news on TV playing in the background pokes your ears.
‘BREAKING NEWS: THE SCARECROW HAS ESCAPED FROM THE ARKHAM ASYLUM! THE SCARECROW IS AT LARGE, AND THE AUTHORITIES CANNOT GET A HOLD ON HIM!’
Your heart sank into the pits of your empty stomach. Your exhausted body felt heavier somehow; it was a familiar feeling. The feeling of fear, fear of not the scarecrow or the villain terrorizing the city, but your former professor, Dr. Gojo. The professor, who always seemed the most terrifying while donning that gentle smile, was often seen sporting it.
When the scarecrow’s identity was revealed, everyone was shocked to their core that someone like him could do that. You were not surprised; in fact, you felt reassured for feeling this sense of unsettling uncertainty about the man. It was never that he was weird to you; he was a great professor. He always took great interest in your answers, which stood out in comparison to others, whether good or bad. He has always been a good scientist, a good professor, and a good doctor—maybe too good at what he did, so the reality behind his mask never really slipped out.
None of that means the emptiness behind those eyes never ran a chill down your spine.
In this past year that you've come to know Dr. Gojo on a deeper level, you cannot really answer if you really have come to know him any more than what he has let you know. Whereas he has come to know you more than you even let on. It irks you to know how well that man can dismantle you with nothing more than one look. You have no idea why you've so many times ranted and told him the things you have or why, during late-night sessions, you've found comfort in that gentle smile that you secretly fear. And you have no intention of finding those answers, which is why you made up your mind to give up this job.
You remember when you told him the very last day that you won't be showing up; he did not say anything, other than the fact that his smile finally faltered and did not come back. You had rambled a little giving a sloppy panicky explanation and practically ran out of the room. He did not say a word.
This is the first time you're seeing his face after a month; you did not think it'd be on the TV so soon. This sense of something unknown, something terrifying slowly engulfing your lungs—you did not know it'd be back again.
This was merely a case of paranoia; it's because of the news. It's because you were involved in this case in a way, but there's nothing to worry about; they'll get him sooner or later. Where is he going to even hide? And you of all people would be the least of his concerns. Why would he come for you? At least that's what you told yourself.
“Sorry, did I scare you?”
That's what you last heard him say before you passed out. There was no smell, but there was something heavier than the air in your apartment that went into your lungs and made everything hazy. You saw that familiar smile on his face; this time there was nothing gentle or tactful about it. It was the face of a man gone into the depths of pure insanity.
“It's about time you woke up, sweetheart.”
When your vision came to be, you found yourself blinking at a ceiling that was too high and a half-empty room that seemed to be nowhere nicer than a warehouse. The air smelled how places tend to smell when they are left by themselves for too long, like dust and now, the abandonment. You tried to move around but couldn't move anything more than your neck. You were laid on your back on a table, a surgical table to be precise, with your hands and legs bound tightly enough to keep you still but not enough to hurt you. Which made the wishful thought cross your mind: if he had done so intentionally.
“Don't move too much, sweetheart; you might hurt yourself.” Yet when you heard his easy tone, it set in the distress that was initially lacking.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!? WHY AM I HERE?” You shouted at the top of your lungs, knowing there were no explicable answers behind your questions. Despite your commotion,
“Weren’t you the one who was supposed to figure that out? Gave up so easily, huh, Doc?”
You did not know what to answer him; on one hand you were terrified, agitated and disgusted by him, and on the other hand you were glad to see him. Which just made you inadvertently feel more disgusted.
“Just got bored without you around, princess.” There it was again, another one of those smiles that had nothing to do with his usual pretenses, something that stretched across his face and reached up to the corners of his eyes that was characteristically inconsistent.
“Are you so miserable that you can't help but make others feel that with you?” The humor in his voice was getting further under your skin, and he knew that very well as he did his best to continue to infuriate you.
“Hmm, good introspection. Well, you do not have to worry though; I will only drag you into my misery for eternity.” He did not react instantly after what you said. After saying those words, he paused for a few seconds to chuckle and continued. The delay in his reaction only made the weight of his words more eerie.
“Everyone… Well, they don’t move me or fascinate me, so they can rot for all I care.” He walked slowly over to a side of the room, which was concealed by a huge shelf.
“You're sick and beyond help!” As you finished, your throat started to close, the room started to get heavier, and something started creeping up from your gut and then upwards. It made you choke up, and the initial terror within you started intensifying by multiples of thousands. And when you saw him come back in your sight with a mask on his face, hiding everything but his empty blue eyes, you knew what was happing, and who you were now dealing with. Gone were your former professor, your patient, and Dr. Gojo; this is undeniably the scarecrow.
“Old news, sweetheart. You don't have any accurate diagnosis for me?”
Perhaps you would have thrown a few diagnoses towards him if only you were not hyperventilating, fighting the tears pooling in your eyes, and trying not to succumb to the terrifying whispering sounds in the back of your mind.
“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” He moved to another corner to fetch something, and meanwhile the heavy air started to clear out again, and it was breathable again.
“So, how did that feel?”
Satoru walked back over to where you were lying and leaned in while taking his mask off, and there was a twinkle in those empty blue eyes. For once he looked alive and interested in what was going on around him. He leaned over further until his face was hovering directly over your face.
“How did fear taste?” His latex-glove-clad hands came to caress your face, and vulnerable from exposure to whatever gas it was that he flooded your senses with, you leaned into his touch. As you nuzzled into his cold touch, tears poured out of your eyes, and momentarily you felt safe in his hands.
“Aw, you cryin’ sweetheart?” A scoffing laugh erupted from his throat, and distracted by the newfound glimmer in his eyes, you felt something cold and sharp on your collar.
As you looked down, you saw his other hand holding a knife, sharp and well-kept enough to be catching the dim light in the room, being held at your collar. This time you did not need the gas to make you feel terrified, but this fear was different. Instead of making your heart race, it completely stopped it. The only sound you could hear was his breath against your ears.
Satoru did not even look; he kept his face close to you, observing your eyes, the fear in them. He did not even look as he started to move his knife downwards, and your thin, worn-out t-shirt stood as no competition to his sharp blade as it started to tatter off of your body. As the knife started to go downwards and downwards, a part of you started to anticipate the feeling of the cold, sharp blade gliding off of your skin and tearing open your clothes. The knife, which might as well be considered a dagger, went from your collarbone to your chest, down your belly, and up to your belly button, leaving not even a single scratch.
“Oops!” He said mockingly as his hand went further down to tear open your shorts with a single sharp flick of the wrist, and then only briefly did the blade lift off of your body. It was then you somehow felt this disappointment settle in the pit of your stomach, which confused you.
“How cute sweetheart, no bra and such cute panties, all for me?”
Before you could say anything, his hand that was on the side of your face moved swiftly to shove those latex-covered fingers inside your mouth. It hit the roof of your mouth and then pushed your tongue flat in your mouth, making your jaw go slack and eyes go blurry.
“You feel that? This is my most well-kept knife; I carefully sharpened it. All for you.” Without being able to answer, you just looked up at him as he traced the knife a few times over your thighs. Almost breaking skin, almost pouring blood, but he did not. The knife flattened over your skin, and his fingers dug deeper down your mouth as you shrieked up to feel the cold metal of the knife being pressed against your abdomen. Then he used that knife to flick off the tattered panties, so now you lie naked under him.
Without another word, he started to move downwards, with both his now empty hands gliding over your body. Squeezing your tits, pinching the nipples in a manner that the latex burns on your skin. He continued to move downwards until he was between your legs and freed them from the restraint, and your natural reaction was to close them.
“Hmm, do I need a permit, sweetheart?”
You simply looked at him with glassy eyes, half stirred up enough to open your legs eagerly and half confused between the mix of embarrassment and horror.
“We do not have much time, and if you must know, I am not really that nice to be asking you twice.” Despite his warning, when you did not open your legs, he forcibly parted them open, and his eyes descended from your face to between your legs, where you could already feel something wet and slippery despite your best attempts.
“Oh, are you not the most beautiful thing ever? I only noticed when i saw you in that damned asylum; that is my mistake, of course. ” With a vivid grin on his face, entirely insane-looking, he moved closer to your core.
“Stop! I—”
“Yes, you are quite wet—oh, my apologies—I mean eager; I can see that.”
Another chuckle, and you can feel his latex-gloved fingers tracing your pussy like he turns the delicate crisp edges of a new book. He moved around his fingers in every crevice except for where they needed to be, tracing lazy circles and pinching your clit like he had all the time in the world, and this was not the same man warning you about the limited time you two had. And just when you thought this might be going longer, you looked down to see him tilt his head and open his mouth like a snake warding off a threat; he slithered his tongue out and let his spit drip down all over you. The warm substance slipped down the curve and folds of your cunt to your ass, and just as you gathered yourself to not let a sound peep out of you, you felt something warmer over your folds.
“Ahhh—” you inadvertently moaned as Dr. Gojo’s tongue licked a strip from your hole up to your clit. It is not that you did not have anything to say; you were just afraid you did not have anything to say that would discourage him. Especially when he looked like he had no intention of prying off the tight grip your thighs had on his head. In fact, if he died like so, between your legs, crushed by your thighs and breathless, that death would be more akin to heaven than rotting in Arkham Asylum.
As his languid movements became more sharp and precise, as his tongue slithered into your hole along with two fingers, which were somehow no longer gloved, you threw your head back and let the whimpers and grunts pour out without much resistance.
“What a pretty slut you are, Doctor, all for me?”
“Fuck, yes—I am, yes, sir.”
Your words came out in fragments, and he scoffed out a chuckle as he pulled your legs up on his shoulders and sat up on the table. With one gloved hand he swiftly opened up his pants and got rid of his shirt. Anticipation started boiling up in the pit of your stomach. Noticing your hopeful eyes and the drool gathering on the side of your lips, he took his sweet time to just rub the head of his hard and flushed cock over your folds. Making a mess out of both of you.
“Just—just do it—please!”
“Aw, impatient girls get punished; you do know that, don’t you? You are a smart girl; of course you do.”
You knew he was mocking; he was making fun of your precarious situation, but you were left a desperate mess. That's all. All you knew right now in this very moment that you wanted Dr. Gojo to fuck you however he liked, and you wanted that right this instant.
“No, no, I—I just—I just want you.”
“Me? The wanted criminal at large?” He pointed a finger at himself while jutting out his eyes comically.
“YES! Yes, yes, for fuck’s sake, yes!”
“Not a very model citizen of Gotham City, are you? Batman would be sooo disappointed.” He leaned down with his face inches close to you and shoved himself all the way in without a warning or a moment for you to breathe.
“T—too much fuck,”
“Quite the filthy mouth on you, sweetheart. Do you speak to all your patients with that mouth?” He nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck and left a heavy sigh. Then he looked up and came inches close to your lips and said, “Or am I special?”
“I must be. Always noticed how you looked at me in classes, loved whenever you raised your hand. Everything you ever said I could just never agree with, but you never ceased to fascinate me with your answers.”
His lips were practically on yours, and every word he said was incoherent to you.
“Also saw how you looked at me in that cell. Must say—fuck—I never thought I would find a lovestruck cute puppy like you so attractive.” You lifted your head up as much as you could to place his lips on yours, but he quickly pulled up while tutting with faux disappointment.
“So impatient, Doctor; that is not how you treat a patient!”
Just as he ended his sentence, his hips pulled away and came down with a heavy thrust. With sharp and precise thrusts, he starts looking for the spot that he knew would drive you over to insanity, exactly where he was waiting for you.
“Please—fuck, I—ughhh—too fast—”
“Shut up.” He responded with a smile and no politeness; the front of his hair was clinging to his forehead, and you could see his shoulders flex. Without his glasses the bags under his eyes were much clearer up close. “Make up your mind, won’t you, because I am clearly not the person to be held responsible.”
Your hands clutch at the edge of the table for dear life as the table starts to shake with each intense thrust. And he simply laughs at you trying to kiss him with your eyes squeezed close and whimpers slipping past them with ease. As soon as you give up your pathetic attempts, he dives in with the fervor and precision of a man who, with his meticulous hands and observant eyes, terrorized the city for years. And it took just that to finally drive you over the edge and have you cum all over him as your legs fell from his shoulders to his side.
“Fuck-fuck-fuck, I-ughhh-shit!”
“Aw, lost your smart words, Doctor?”
Despite his precise hips that could find and pound you exactly where it drove you crazy, his kiss was sloppy. Not in a bad way, just messy and wet for a lack of a clearer description. His tongue was the greediest thing you have ever met, and it wanted to explore every inch of your mouth.
“You know what I am going to do with you? I am going to keep you with me. I love the way fear looks on you, sweetheart. Who else but me will cherish you like you deserve, hm?”
His thrusts started getting sloppier and lost the consistency. You knew he was getting closer, but you could not bother with anything; you were high on post-orgasm and basically left like a blob of jelly to anything. Just as you felt his throbbing cock spasm, he took it out quickly out of you and started to pump it rapidly. You disappointedly stared at him with your half-lidded eyes. His face was contorted with focus and desperation, an expression you never thought you'd have the pleasure to see on his face. It was a new high in itself to see Satoru pump his own cock aimed at you until the veins in his arms started to jut and ropes of white liquid shot at you.
Everything landed exactly on different parameters of your body: face, tits, stomach, and abdomen. Everywhere he exactly wanted it.
If, according to the judgement of the court and masses, he was a sinful, insane criminal, the sight of you must be what puts a person on death row.
“Oh… look at you…”
There was that twinkle in his eyes again. The one you only saw when he was in the face of fear, but right now there was nothing as such, but only you covered in his cum under him that had the shine in his eyes that made him look alive. One of his hands came to gently caress your face, then he moved slightly to the side and unfastened both of your wrists, then pulled you up off the table and sat you on his lap. With his twitchy cock still buried within your walls.
“Are we…not done?”
“We are far from done, sweetheart.”
FIND MORE FROM ME HERE || my kinktober schedule
a/n: art by @/hhaet2_ , dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/omi-resources MRI scan is random from google, shitty edit by yours truly.
very unethical of me to be writing this if this blog ever gets traced back to me might lose my jobe someday but eh big scarecrow crazy guy saw cillian murphy and dove head straight into the comics when i was a wee 14 yr old lol. so i took the opportunity rem gave with open arms hope it is okish at least
