Scarecrow/You [Noncon]

gomen anon I didn't think anyone would miss this if I took it down.

--
Walking home after sunset in Gotham was like wearing a neon sign saying “rob and murder me please!” but sometimes there were just no alternatives. On the other hand, you had made it more than halfway home without attracting any sort of attention. In fact, the house was just barely in your line of sight!

What was not in sight, however, was the figure looming in the upcoming alleyway. So, of course, you were surprised when someone with thin fingers grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you towards them. Luckily, you came prepared and tried to reach into your pocket for pepper spray.

“Oh no, you aren’t getting this one so easily,” You empty nearly half the container on the perpetrator’s face area before you realize they’ve yet to let go. You pause to hear a low, rumbling chuckle that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You look at his face and grimace when you realize that he’s wearing a mask. Even worse, it appears to be some horrid potato sack; he’s probably some escapee from Arkham. You can feel one hand tighten painfully on you while the other releases, and in a matter of moments you’re breathing in the foulest smelling concoction you’ve ever encountered. The edges of your vision start to go hazy before you finally close your eyes and can’t find the strength to open then again.
--

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. It was one thing to wake up disoriented and unsure of the past few hours; it was another thing entirely to wake up and not even recognize the room. You scan the room, still dazed and groggy, trying to form any kind of coherent thought. You’re facing the window, although it’s pretty gritty and dusty, the walls are stark white, and it smells like hay and a high school chemistry lab. You close your eyes and try to think. All at once you seem to remember the alleyway encounter and snap out your confusion. You try to stand but your entire body refuses to move; you look down and groan. You’re completely bound to a chair. A slew of obscenities fly out of your mouth while you move your body around recklessly in an attempt to get loose.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You might hurt yourself.” You stop and look around to find the source of the voice. Your head isn’t able to turn far enough around so you simply brace yourself for anything. What you get, however, is a cloth covering your mouth and nose. Your would-be kidnapper seems sort of off, trying to use chloroform now that he actually has you. After holding your breath as long as possibly, you finally give in and take a deep, gasping breath. After a few breaths, he removes the cloth and you’re still fully aware of your surroundings.

In fact, you’re really aware of your surroundings. Like the fact that the room was incredibly small and overwhelmingly stuffy. For some reason, deeper and deeper breathes were needed. Heavy hands dropping onto your shoulders out of the blue certainly did not help to calm you down. Eyes wide, you almost yelped in surprise. Grinding your teeth, you stop the noise and force yourself to breath evenly.

--

“Breathing is elevated.” The left hand moved from shoulder to your neck. He rested two cold, thin fingers to (apparently) check your pulse. “And heart rate is slightly up. Good. Let’s see how much stress you can take.” And before you can even think about what he means, he turns you around to face him (and the rest of the room). Potato sack doesn’t seem to be too far off a description for his mask. The dark brown thing is riddled with stitches, looking more like a kid’s art project, if it weren’t being used by some crazy escapee anyway. There are holes where eyes should be, but you can’t even see anything but a black void. Actually there’s…you swallow, your mouth going a bit agape. You can see something wiggling on the other side of the mask.

As if sensing your curiosity he leans forward, just in time for a cockroach to scurry out and crawl down his lanky frame. You make a face. Fucking. Cockroaches. He doesn’t seem to notice, even as more and more of the little beasts crawl from his eyes and run down his body. He places one boney hand on your face, his skin clammy and cool. When he pulls his hands away, however, the skin he touched feels like it’s burning. The feeling persists and nags at you.

While concentrating on your face, you fail to notice your kidnapper shuffle around. When the burning sensation finally fades a bit, the man has returned, no longer wearing a shirt. His body is scrawny, with limbs as thin as tree branches. He also seems taller than before, his body more distorted. You blink your eyes, your vision foggy at times and images blurring in and out of your eyesight.

Suddenly, this deranged man is far too close and it’s much too hot in the room. You can feel him mess with your bonds, and before long you’re dragged from your seat and tossed onto the floor. Steeling your nerves, you try to get up to run only to tuned on your back to face the man. His voice bellows from beneath the mask, grotesque and garbled,

“Where do you think you’re going?” You can feel your heart practically jump out of your chest. Still, you’re stubborn and make a break for an exit anyway. You can hear him growl behind you before you’re tackled to the ground with hands wrapped around your neck. He squeezes, softly at first and then harder until you can’t see straight. You gargle some words out, asking for him to stop. He lets up, but doesn’t completely let go, instead leaning his body onto yours. You can feel something hard press into your backside and this really worries you.

You scramble to escape his grip, but only manage to anger him. Another low growl and he’s soon choking you again. You struggle for breath and just when you think you’re about to pass out he lets go completely. You don’t have the strength to fight, not right now, and he merely pulls your pants down to your ankles. He rolls you onto your back and pulls the pants off completely. Now it’s just you in a shirt, and him stripping out of his pants and briefs.

Long, thin, boney and cold. Spindly fingers pry your mouth open, the first and second digits probing around teeth and tongue as one single, stupid tear runs down your cheek. His other hand is busy feeling your chest, rolling your nipples, and occasionally grasping at your neck. When he deems his fingers moist enough he immediately thrusts two into your hole, wiggling them around and stretching you out. The feeling is overall uncomfortable and you squirm around. The man mumbles something under his breath, and is it just you or does it look like his mask is drooling? You almost squeal when a glob of black gunk falls from the stitched open mouth of the mask onto your thighs.

You look to the ceiling and wait for him to finish fingering you, just wishing for the day to be over. The two fingers are finally removed and he once again shoves them into your mouth. The taste of yourself is awkward but even when you bite down on his fingers, he lets out some weird, throaty little moan and then wraps his free hand right back around your neck. When he finally removed his fingers for the second time and shoved them into you, you growled, trying to scoot away.

“Fuck you!” He did that same, disgusting chuckle that made goosebumps rise on your arms. Removing his fingers and grabbed onto your hips and positioned himself.

“That’s exactly what you’re doing.” And with that cynical remark, he thrust whole-heartedly into you. It felt like someone ripping you in half. You could feel tears gather in your eyes from the pain, and try as you might you couldn’t keep them from falling. You let out a scream, but the sound seemed to turn him on more than anything. His boney fingers dug into your hips, and he thrust for all he was worth. He leaned forward, that ghastly mask staring right at your face. His pace quickened slightly, and the entire time he stared right into your eyes. You could see those damn roaches still crawling behind his mask and prayed they wouldn’t fall on you.

His hands left your hips and wandered to every other part of your body they could touch; scratching down your sides and playing with your nipples. He let his hands touch you while his continued to ram into your hole, forcing your arousal and, against your will, managing to bring you to climax.

The man had unbelievable stamina. It was unreal. Just when you thought you might actually pass out from exhaustion, the kidnapper pulled out. He sprayed his seed across your face, making loud, aggravating grunts and moans as if to taunt you. You scowled, his cum smelt like bleach and frankly it was almost as bad as the Joker giving you a pie to the face.

The beast leaned forward, panting softly, and reached his hand toward his mess. He swiped a bit onto his finger and then pushed it into your mouth, forcing you to taste himself.

“I’ll be preforming tests on you for the next week. Or until this new formula begins to show side effects.”

Fear gas was one hell of a drug.