hello! 🤍 i love your writing, you’re very talented <3 if you are up to the idea, i’d like to request a professor!jonathan crane x student!reader fic 🫶🏻 maybe fluff that leads to smut? thank u ily
Hello, anon! You're my very first request ever; this is so exciting! First of all, thank you for being so nice ❤️ And second, I will certainly give it my best shot! I will say that I struggle to write a fluffy Crane, so this might not be exactly what you pictured but I did try to make him a little less... diabolical than I usually would haha. But either way, I hope you enjoy!
Stimulus Response Theory
Pairing: Professor!Jonathan Crane x Reader
Word Count: 3.8k
Summary: Your professor's lesson on classical conditioning leaves you feeling flustered and frustrated, and Crane knows there's only one way to relieve the tension.
Warnings: Smut, slight exhibitionism, power play dynamics, teasing, tickling, manipulation, semi-public sex, established student/teacher relationship
***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***
“Stimulus. Response. Theory.”
Dr. Crane’s words echoed through the lecture hall, and dozens of students bent to scribble in their notebooks or tap at their keyboards. You, on the other hand, sat in a chair at the front of the room, harsh light blaring into your eyes from the projector as you faced the rows of crowded seats. Crane stood beside you, and brandished something from his breast pocket.
“A very basic concept,” your professor continued. “Wherein there is a stimulus-”
He held up his hand, and you took note of the fluffy, red feather that was firmly pinched between his fingers.
“That, when presented to the subject-”
Crane brought his hand and the feather close to your face, tickling you just at the tip of your nose. You jumped and pulled away, letting out a small, strangled noise. Dr. Crane smiled, but made sure his expression was neutral before turning back to the rest of the class.
“Results in a response,” Crane finished.
He stepped behind you, and you felt your stomach drop, just a fraction of an inch. Not being able to see him made you nervous, but in a pleasant way that had you crossing your legs more than anything else. You shifted a little in the hard plastic seat.
“Stimulus response can explain many basic behaviors,” Crane lectured. “But it is also the basis for what Ivan Pavlov termed ‘classical conditioning’ - through which, a subject can be trained to elicit a response that is normally associated with one stimulus, in response to a second, unrelated trigger.”
A few of the students in the front rows nodded their heads. Everyone had heard of Pavlov, of course; he and his dogs were covered in every Intro to Psych class at every college everywhere. Gotham University was no different, and so most people in Dr. Crane’s class were familiar with the concept. Still, it never hurt to go over the fundamentals before diving into the deeper lesson. At least, that was the excuse Crane had used when he called you up to the front of the room, asking you to help demonstrate something to the class.
Crane stepped back into your field of view, and you looked obediently up at him. Just the sight of him was enough to make your heart pump a little bit faster. Unbeknownst to the rest of the students in the lecture, you had been sleeping with your professor since almost the beginning of the semester. Things had started out innocently enough; you had visited his office hours a few times, asking for help with a lesson at first. Then, quickly, you fell into the habit of stopping by even if you didn’t have a question. And finally, of course, you’d ended up with your lips pressed desperately against his and your shirt thrown carelessly into the corner of the room. Things had only continued from there.
“Classical conditioning is most effective when the response being elicited is one of natural reflex,” Crane explained to the class. “For Pavlov, this was dogs salivating at the sight and smell of their food. For our subject here-” he motioned to you, “brushing this feather against her skin causes her to reflexively flinch.”
He demonstrated again by trailing the red feather along your wrist, which did indeed cause you to jerk back your arm. A few snickers leaked out of the faceless crowd of students.
“Now, when the naturally evocative stimulus is repeatedly paired with a second stimulus, such as the sound of a bell, Pavlov discovered that the response could be ‘transferred’ to that secondary stimulus. So that, eventually, the sound of the bell alone will elicit the same response - even in the absence of the original stimulus. For example…”
Crane tapped the small metal desk bell sitting on the table beside you. The bell rang, and Crane swiftly raked the feather over your arm, making you jump again.
“Now we’ve paired our two stimuli, and as we continue to solidify the link between them in the mind of the subject-”
He rang the bell and tickled you again, this time brushing the feather over your bare leg. You deeply regretted wearing cut-offs. The touch of the feather made you flinch, but, at the same time, you also started to feel a sharp jolt coursing through your core.
“Eventually, the sound of the bell alone will make her react.”
Crane continued lecturing, telling the class about Pavlov’s dogs and other famous examples of conditioning. At somewhat random intervals, he would stop whatever he was doing to ring the bell and brush the feather over various parts of your body. It seemed like he drifted over every inch of your exposed skin; anywhere he could reach. When he dragged it across your jaw, you nearly had to bite your tongue to stop from letting out a gasp. You were starting to enjoy this a bit too much, and realized to your shock that you were getting wet. You shifted in your seat again, hoping that no one else noticed what was happening to you.
“Using these concepts,” Crane said. “Virtually any stimulus can be paired with any other to create a learned response.”
The little bell rang again, and your whole body tensed, jerking in anticipation of the feather even as arousal pooled between your legs. Your face turned hot as the class laughed. Crane hadn’t even touched you.
“As you can see, if the initial relationship between stimulus and reaction is ingrained deeply enough, it doesn’t take very long at all to transfer to the second stimulus.” Crane smiled.
He was looking down at you, his expression mild. The red feather was tucked away, safely, in his pocket.
“Thank you,” Dr. Crane said, nodding. “You can go back to your seat.”
You got up, feeling a bit shaky on your legs, and made your way back to your desk in the front row. Almost as soon as you’d taken your seat, Crane rang the bell again, making you flinch even though you were now halfway across the room. Even worse, you felt yourself clench desperately at the sound. A few snickers came from the students around you, who sat close enough to see you jump. You watched as Crane’s eyes flicked briefly to your knees, which you were pressing together in a feeble attempt to try and control your reaction. He quickly composed himself, straightening up a little as he changed slides on the projector.
“Now,” he said, returning to his usual place behind the podium that stood next to the table. “Let’s talk about John Watson and his contributions to the theory.”
You tried to focus on taking notes, but couldn’t help the way your eyes drifted again and again to the silver bell, still perched just on the edge of Crane’s reach.
After class, as the other students went about packing up and heading to their next lecture, you shoved your books in your bag and hurried to catch Dr. Crane before he left the room.
“Professor?” you said, timidly. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
Crane glanced briefly at his watch, then looked up at you with a smile. He stood just in front of the table, the torturous silver bell to his left.
“Of course,” he answered. “What’s on your mind?”
You hesitated, waiting for the last few people in the room to hurry on their way. There was a lump in your throat, and you swallowed against it, trying to press it down. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous. Crane had seen you in much more intimate positions than this. But, something about him taunting you in front of a lecture hall full of other people had you feeling bothered, and in more ways than one. He had probably meant it to be harmless. Of course he liked you; it only made sense for him to pick you as his “volunteer” for a simple demonstration like this. He couldn’t have known the effect it would have on you, surely.
“I… um,” you tried to start.
The two of you were alone now, and you should have been able to spit it out. Still, for some reason your tongue was like dry cotton in your mouth. Your eyes drifted again to the bell, sitting within arm’s reach.
“I’m sorry, but… could you not ask me to volunteer for any more… things like that?” you muttered.
Crane seemed to consider your body language. He noticed the way you refused to look him in the eye, instead focusing on the shiny desk bell. You wrung your hands together, and shifted your weight from hip to hip.
“Is something the matter?” Dr. Crane asked.
“It’s just… it makes me a little uncomfortable,” you explained.
Crane stood close beside you, and reached out to touch the side of your wrist. His fingers were gentle; feather-light. But that only served to make things worse, and you felt yourself start to come dangerously close to unraveling again. If Crane noticed the way you subtly clenched your legs together, he didn’t say anything about it.
“I’m sorry,” he told you instead. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s okay!” you blurted out. Suddenly, you were worried you had offended him. “It’s my fault, really. I just…”
His fingers took hold of your wrist a bit more tightly, and he brought your hand up to circle his waist. You leaned into the hug, feeling at once both secure and yet unrestrained with desire as his arms wrapped around your shoulders. You caught a whiff of his cologne, slightly spicy with a hint of smoke. The smell only pulled you that much deeper into your internal battle.
“Just what?” Crane prompted.
“I just… don’t want to get turned on like that in class,” you whispered, embarrassment flooding your cheeks. “It’s bad enough having to listen to you; trying to pay attention when all I can think about is-”
Crane hooked a finger under your chin, pulling back from the hug a bit to make you look up at him. There was a sheen in his eyes that made you nervous, but also caused the heat in your stomach to grow.
“Turned on?” Crane echoed. “Why would you be turned on by what I did?”
The smile at the corners of his mouth told you that Crane knew the answer to his own question. Maybe he wasn’t as innocent in this as you had wanted to think.
“I think it’s just, um… you touching me like that…”
“Oh. Like this?”
Crane pulled the devious red feather back out of his breast pocket. Holding it up to the column of your neck, he dragged it slowly down toward your collarbone.
“Ah!” This time, you couldn’t stifle your gasp. Even though the lecture hall was empty, you still felt a rush of shame and embarrassment. You and Crane had had sex a few times in his office, but always with the door safely locked. Here, everything felt too public. Too exposed. Crane let the feather fall, red plume drifting to the floor.
“Professor…”
“Hm. I wonder…” Crane mused.
He reached behind himself to press down on the little bell, still sitting innocently on his desk. At the sound of the ring, you faltered and sank a little closer to him. The mumbled cry that fell from your lips was very unconvincingly muffled.
“Mm.” Crane smiled down at you. “You know, that’s the problem with classical conditioning. It’s just so hard to control all the variables. Sometimes the response is transferred to a secondary stimulus that was never intended, like the sight of the lab assistant who brings the dog’s food instead of the sound of the bell. And sometimes…” He rang the bell again, and you clenched, walls fluttering pathetically around nothing.
“Additional implicit reactions are accidentally transferred,” he finished.
You were feeling dizzy. Barely paying any attention to Crane’s impromptu lesson, all you could focus on was the buzzing heat between your legs.
“I’m sorry, darling,” Crane smirked. He brought his face close to yours, nose trailing over the curve of your jaw as he whispered to you. “I didn’t know a little teasing would turn you into such a mess.”
His voice was sweet, even as his words dug into you. He kissed along your jaw, and you felt yourself slump against him. Crane supported your weight effortlessly, shifting his body to lean back against the table so that he could feel you press into him fully. You let out a whimper as he kissed you again, this time pressing his lips to the very corner of your mouth.
“Poor thing,” Crane mused. “Here - let me help you.”
His hands moved down to the backs of your thighs, and before you could say a word he had spun you around and lifted you up on top of the desk. He kissed you, fully on the lips this time, and started to trail his soft fingers up and down your legs. His faint touch against your bare skin was driving you crazy. Usually, he was much more direct - taking what he wanted and not wasting time on too much foreplay. This was different, and all of it was making your head spin. When one of his hands reached the hem at the leg of your shorts, you took in a sharp breath of air.
“W-what are you-?”
“What do you think I'm doing?” he teased. “You said you were turned on, darling. I'm just taking care of that little problem for you.”
His fingers pushed under the hem of your shorts, resting on the top of your thigh. The tight fabric forced him to press into your flesh; pads of his fingers making you squirm under the more intense pressure. You hummed, clenching the edge of the desk.
“Look at you - falling apart when I've barely even touched you,” rasped Crane. “At least, not anywhere that usually makes you this desperate.”
His other hand snaked up to roam under your shirt, drifting over the side of your waist. Your breath hitched.
“I do seem to remember you liked it one time when I touched you here,” he laughed, dark voice sinking into your skin.
His mouth was at your neck, and the hum of his words felt like butterflies. Your whole body shivered, and Crane pressed a burning kiss to your collarbone.
“Mmm, I know you asked me not to volunteer you for any more demonstrations,” Crane said. “But I think if doing it makes you this needy, I might not be able to resist.”
He kissed your neck again, this time biting down softly. You let out a moan as you felt his teeth press into your skin.
“Besides, you wouldn't say no to your professor, right? If he asked you to do something?”
“O-of course not,” you replied. Dr. Crane liked when you were obedient.
“Good. Then I need you to do something for me right now.”
Crane pulled back to look into your eyes. His soft smile made your heart flip in your chest. His lips were red from kissing you, and as he opened them to speak, his deep voice sounded like honey.
“Take off your shorts, and bend over.”
The lump that had been in your throat earlier sank down into your stomach, and then even lower. Crane was still looking back at you, teasing eyes clear and bright behind his glasses.
“I don't know…” you hesitated. “Here?”
Crane reached over to tap the little silver bell, and the ring sent a pulse straight into your core. It was humiliating how fast he had wrapped you around his finger, without even trying to.
“Don't worry; it'll wear off eventually,” Crane said. “Probably. Permanent conditioning takes much more reinforcement. But for now…”
He rang the bell again, and you jumped. The ache was becoming unbearable, and you knew you couldn't hold out for much longer.
“For now, I'm going to have some fun,” Crane taunted. “Now take off your shorts, darling.”
This time, you hurried to do as he said. You shuffled out of the denim shorts, standing up to let them fall to the floor. As he had ordered earlier, you turned away from him, and bent over the table.
Crane's hands drifted over your hips, coming down to grab at your panties.
“I'm sorry; I should have been more clear.”
Suddenly, he yanked them down, quickly exposing you to the chill of the air.
“I wanted these off, too,” he clarified.
Naked from the waist down, you had a brief moment to consider the situation you now found yourself in. You were facing away from the door, fully on display for him and anyone else who might happen to walk into the classroom. Your professor didn't seem to be too bothered by the idea, as his hand grabbed your ass and pushed your legs open just a bit wider, getting a better view. But then again, maybe he wasn't thinking too clearly right now either. He pushed up your shirt, bunching the fabric so that your back was exposed. You considered asking him to stop so that you could move things to his office, where at least you could lock the door for a little privacy. But any objections you had were forgotten at the rough sound of Crane’s pants zipper.
You felt him press up against your entrance, gently parting your folds as he dragged the head of his hard cock up and down.
“You really are turned on,” Crane marveled. “And all over a little feather…”
As he spoke, you felt the soft plumes of the feather moving gently over your spine. You tensed again. Crane must have picked it back up when your back was turned, and now he was teasing you, slowly, swirling the feather over the swell of your ass.
“S-stop!” you begged, jerking away from the sensation.
“Do you really want me to?” Crane whispered. “Or are you just embarrassed at how wet I'm making you?”
He lazily trailed the feather over your leg, teasing you with the very tip of the soft red bristles. His cock was still on the verge of penetrating you, and you felt him twitch as your body reacted, bucking against the touch of the feather.
“N-no,” you stammered. “Don't stop.”
“That's what I thought,” Crane smirked.
He started pressing into you, and the feeling was exactly what you needed. All of his teasing had driven you almost to the edge, and as soon as he was inside of you, you felt yourself inching dangerously closer.
“I should tease you like this more often.” Crane was pulling out of you again, only to slam his hips back into you, making your whole body bounce on the table. “If I'd known I could make you this wet, and this desperate, I would have moved the conditioning lesson up a few weeks.”
He laughed, and you felt yourself melting around him. The drag of his cock was so good as he pulled out, and the snap of his hips made you see stars as he pushed in. When Crane brought the puff of the feather up to trail over the back of your arm, you clenched violently, and he moaned.
The sound seemed to echo in the huge, empty room. Crane stayed still for a moment, buried so deep inside of you that it hurt. Then, he started moving again, this time at a faster pace.
“S-slow down,” you begged.
“Why? So you can beg me to stop teasing you again?” Crane taunted. “You can't have it both ways, sweetheart - try to make up your mind.”
You couldn't, of course. With the way he was pounding into you, the only available space in your brain was completely devoted to him - his perfect, veiny cock, and how it was stretching you out, mercilessly. Your hands scrambled for purchase on the desk, clawing at the smooth faux-wood finish.
“Ah!”
You yelped as Crane rang the bell again, not taking even a small break from thrusting, and for what must have been the dozenth time, you clenched around him.
Between the bell and the feather, your head was spinning. Dimly, you felt certain that Crane had abandoned all actual application of Stimulus Response Theory long ago. He was recklessly using whatever tools there were at his disposal; working you up and making sure that all the wires in your brain were thoroughly and completely crossed. You didn't care though. Whatever made you fall apart for him was fine with you.
“M’so close,” you slurred, fingers curling into the desk.
Crane brought the feather down to the curve of your waist, tracing over the spot that drove you crazy. Just like he had recalled earlier, it made you go nearly feral with lust. That was all you needed to tip over the edge that had been taunting you for so long. As you fluttered all around him, Crane followed right after you.
“Oh my god!” you cried, not caring anymore that you were still in the classroom.
Crane's shallow moans and grunts behind you were enough to make you squeeze him again, milking his cock as it emptied into you.
“Oh my god,” you repeated, a little quieter now as the reality of what you had just done sank in.
“I’ll say. That was… intense,” Crane laughed.
He pulled out of you, and you felt his seed drip down the inside of your thigh. You saw him scrambling for something to help you clean up with as you turned around, still needing to lean against the table for support.
“Here.”
He offered you a clump of napkins, scavenged from somewhere deep inside the speaker’s podium. You stuffed them quickly between your legs, trying to wipe up the sticky trails of cum that had already started to snake down. After you'd cleaned up a bit, Dr. Crane leaned forward to kiss you.
His lips still had a hint of the hunger that had passed between you. The feel of them pressed against yours, faint trace of saliva reminding you of the barely-faded passion, made you woozy all over again. He had to hold you to stop you from sinking down onto the table.
“I'd say that was rather stimulating, wouldn't you?” Crane joked.
You felt your face heat up, and he brought his thumb softly to trail across the edge of your jaw. Inside, you could still feel the proof of his lust leaking slowly out of you, and the tickling sensation made you flinch.
“I think… I liked that a little too much,” you admitted.
Your professor smiled down at you, taking in your shy face before bringing his lips close to yours for another, sinful kiss. You felt him smile against you as he whispered.
“I think you did, too.”
Deviously, Crane reached behind you to ring the little silver bell.
This fic now has a Part 2 HERE!
