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honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 9 months ago

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Trevor Belmont x Chubby! Female Reader NSFW HC:

TW: Explicit Sexual Content, Minors DNI

Trevor being seemingly distant and restrained upon seeing your naked body until you’re undressing in your inn’s room when he stares at you with such intensity and lust that you feel you could melt right there on the spot.

Trevor being almost afraid to touch you, his large calloused hands tentatively reaching out to caress your soft, supple flesh, doing his best not to be overcome by his desire for you.

Trevor pouncing on you, once the dam finally breaks after you tell him you do, in fact, want him that way.

Trevor groping every inch of your soft body as he kisses you. Sloppily. Hungrily. It’s so filthy and raw and you love it.

The arms that beat vandals and kill monsters hoist your plump ass up. Your legs tightly wrapping around his waist as he carries you securely, safely bringing you to the bed and placing you gently down.

His stubbled chin scratching your hot soft supple skin as he kisses his way down from your mouth to your neck, to your chubby stomach- all the way down to the tops of your thick thighs.

Trevor teasing you by kissing even further past your wetness to your knees to your calves to your feet. Him pausing to run strong circles on the soles of your feet with his thumbs, looking at you with those gorgeous blue eyes of his, silently asking permission to taste you.

You nodding in anticipation, watching as he places your leg back down before crawling back up your body to the apex of your thighs. Your breath hitching when he first slides a finger down your wet slit.

Your heart and eyes swelling up when he finally spreads your lips apart and sighs at the gorgeous sight of your full sex on display for him.

Trevor whispering just how beautiful you are to him as he lowers his head down, placing a kiss on your stomach, then on your mound before descending on your pussy like a man starved.

Trevor licking and sucking at your core with such ferocity, you’re immediately bucking your hips up into his hot warm mouth, unable to stop the whimpers that escape your mouth.

Trevor feeling your wriggling and hearing your sounds, starting to release deep moans of his own, the vibrations feeling heavenly on your clit.

You getting closer and closer to your peak, begging Trevor to stop, tugging him by his hair away from you, it taking all the discipline in your being. You breathlessly telling him you want to finish with his cock inside you.

Trevor eagerly shedding his clothes- his weapons and belts, his shirt, and finally his slacks and undergarments. Him climbing over you, holding your face in both hands, kissing you so deeply and fiercely again you can’t help but inhale and melt into him.

You being impatient, asking him to please, please just fill you up already. Trevor moaning, practically cumming already from hearing the way you beg for his cock inside you.

Him pumping his erection a few times before lining the tip up with your entrance, ever so slowly pushing the head in.

You sucking in a breath as you feel the wide girth breech you, relishing the initial stretch his cock brings.

Trevor’s thighs shaking as he continues to push gradually into you, using all his restraint so as not to ram his cock into you as fast and as deep as it will go until you’re screaming his name, crying out underneath him.

You assuring him you’re ok, that you can take it, please. Trevor picking up the pace, finding a medium-paced rhythm that leaves you breathless, yet also wanting more.

You getting louder and louder with each thrust of his cock hitting your g-spot, you beg Trevor to fuck you harder… Yes, god right there!

Trevor lifting himself in a plank position over you, his impressive core strength on full display, as he pistons deeper and faster into you.

You crying out due to the loss of fullness as Trevor pulls out of you to quickly change positions in order to fuck you even deeper.

Him taking your feet and pushing them up and backwards, over your head, folding your plush body in half, that swollen wet pussy left perfectly on display for him, centered between the undersides of those two juicy thighs of yours.

Trevor telling you how good you feel. How much he loves your pussy, your body, eventually lost in pleasure, him slipping up and admitting that he loves you so fucking much and doesn’t want to imagine his future without you.

Trevor pounding into you, bruising your hips with his hands, the way he grips you so hard, as if terrified of letting you go.

Trevor getting closer and closer to his release, wanting to make sure you cum first. Using his thumb to rub circles on your clit, enjoying the way it makes those thick thighs ripple and shake when you cum so hard for the first time that night.

Trevor fucking you through your orgasm, giving you no time to recover as he feels his own impending release getting closer and closer.

Trevor telling you not to worry that he’ll pull out if you want, that he doesn’t want to burden you with his cursed lineage but him also admitting he’d love nothing more than to raise a giant family with you. To see your supple breasts get even bigger and swollen with milk and watch your soft stomach stretch to accommodate his child growing inside you.

Trevor finishing wherever you ask, releasing his cum with a deep choked-off moan, sounding so gruff, impassioned, and absolutely wrecked by the pulsations of your cunt. The feeling of his hot release causing you to swell with pride as you reach your peak for a third time that night.

Trevor falling on the bed, pulling you on top of him, his fingers sweetly stroking up and down your back as the both of you come down from your high.

You choosing to enjoy the silence between the two of you, soaking in the wonderful sounds of the peaceful night - the cricket chirps, and owls hooting. Knowing the moment won’t last as there will always be another fight and another monster, but so long as you have each other, you’ll be alright.

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#trevor belmont x reader #trevor belmont imagine #trevor belmont smut #castlevania smut #castlevania x reader #trevor x reader #castlevania #hc #hot!#whyyyy doesnt the read more bar worrrk?

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honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 2 months ago

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‘Gun Play’ & ‘Fear Play’ w/ Scarecrow (for Kinktober 2024)

Title: take this gun and cock it

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Batman Trilogy (Nolanverse)

Characters: Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow); Female Reader Insert

Pairing: Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow)/Female Reader

Summary: You knew you shouldn’t have put Dr. Crane on your dissertation committee, but he had the most pull in the Neuropharmacology world in and around Gotham. If you wanted to make a name for yourself in this profession, you’d need to get on his good side. After several passive-aggressive meetings with said professor, you decide enough is enough. If research and academia won’t show him, you will. So one afternoon, you walk into his private office intending to once and for all, prove to your Professor that pleasure is just as great, if not superior, of a motivator as fear. [Warning: Reader is high-key insane in this, like, almost as nuts as Crane. But be aware, this is a dark fic with very unequal power dynamics at play.]

Trigger Warning(s): Gunplay; Drugging; Threats of Violence; Implied Sex; Dubious Consent (due to the whole pointing a gun at him thing); Very Unsafe Firearm Practices (that would probably get this fic sponsored by the NRA); [Lowkey] Dead Dove, Do Not Eat

A/N: Here it is- my first-ever attempt at participating in Kinktober! So please go easy on me.

♔☍☣ ♔☍☣♔☍☣ ♔☍☣

“Knock, knock.” Poking your head into Dr. Professor Crane’s doorway, you flashed your teacher a cunning smile. “Got a sec?”

Not bothering to look up from his paperwork, Dr. Professor Crane’s answer was detached as per his usual.

“Office hours are posted on the door. If you must speak with me,” Jonathan sighed, tired of the frequent idiotic interruptions from fatuous students, “Sign up for a time slot. I don’t accept walk-ins.”

You playfully pouted, your recently glossed lips pursing into the shape of a frown.

“Surely that doesn’t include me? Especially since… I brought you coffee!”

Upon hearing your oddly chipper voice, Dr. Crane looked up, a perturbed expression on his face.

You waited silently as he sized you up, your gleeful exterior not shirking under his ice-blue gaze.

“Come in,” Crane finally settled on, the fresh coffee too tempting of an opportunity to pass up.

“One large black coffee, regular, just how you like it.”

You held out the beverage for him to take, blinking impatiently as he ignored your physical presence and instead went back to reading. With a roll of your eyes, you placed the styrofoam cup at the top of his desk.

Not wanting to waste any more time, you delved into the matter.

“So, uh, Dr. Professor Crane,” you started, “I wanted to speak to you about my upcoming thesis defense—”

“Mhm-hm,” Crane mumbled, already having written off the remainder of this interaction.

“Well, I was wondering if—”

“No.”

“I’m, I’m sorry?”

“I don’t give extensions. If you wanted to become a Doctor you should have thought of the effort required before applying to this program.”

You couldn’t help but sputter at the bastard’s words. Did he honestly think you were here to grovel before him? To get on your hands and knees and beg for an extension?! Oh, how rich!

After all the hoops you’ve jumped through, after all the changes and additional inclusions you made solely for his approval, for his benefit, did he truly think you had any intention of doing one more single thing he asked?

‘Oh no. Oh no, no, no,’ you thought. ‘I’m not the one that’s going to leave this office begging.’

You knew you needed his support for there to be unanimous approval from your dissertation committee concerning your upcoming thesis defense next week. And you knew from all the previous horror stories you’d heard through the Gotham University grapevine that in most cases, Crane was often students’ one stubborn holdout.

You knew you shouldn’t have picked him to be your dissertation advisor. But dammit, he was the best in the field of Neuropharmacology, so you figured you’d just suck it up and get on his good side. The only problem was, the man didn’t seem to have a good side!

Every semester, every class with him was like pulling teeth: torturously slow and agonizingly painful. You worked your ass off, day and night, working full-time while juggling a full course load only to be demeaned and nitpicked every chance he got. You were consistently the best in your class, and yet not once did Dr. Crane ever offer an encouraging word or a simple ‘great work’. But oh boy, did he have tons to say the second you’d make one teeny-tiny mistake.

It made your blood boil.

And the man simply would not shut the hell up about fear!

Fear, fear, fear, fear— it’s all he ever enjoyed lecturing about! It was obsessive! It had to be.

The way his fascination with fear and adrenaline would pervade their way into other topic discussions, so you wound up responsible for teaching yourself his lesson material nearly half the time. You swore he talked about fear so much, that some of your fellow students ended up having fear-induced psychotic breaks themselves!

At least, that’s what you used to think.

After a particularly harsh meeting with Dr. Crane, your adversarial thesis advisor, you ran into a fellow Psychology student as you entered the bathroom. Seeing your tearful expression and feeling concerned for your well-being, they cautioned you against working too closely with Crane any further. Confused, you wiped the tears and snot off your face and asked for them to clarify what they meant.

Apparently, someone, they weren’t sure who— probably a former flunkee student— started the vicious rumor that Crane was using his students as guinea pigs to conduct unauthorized experiments surrounding fear, and the nervous system’s fear response.

She said that several students had reported leaving lectures feeling nauseous, and unexpectedly anxious. Of course, it could have just been the grotesque nature of the material or the fact that Dr. Crane was a frightening teacher to perform for, but some of them had sworn they must've been hit with something inside his classroom.

It all sounded so farfetched, like the B-plot to a bad sci-fi movie. It couldn’t possibly be true. But then, the reality of your past experiences in his lectures came crashing down onto you like a tidal wave.

You were always so worked up, so angry when you left his lectures. You had just assumed it was because you found the man infuriating but what if…

‘What if,’ your mind supplied, ‘What if your anger, your elevated heart rate— what if all of it, was your nervous system’s fight or flight response having been activated by some secret drug?’

That’s when it all fell into place. It was like your blinders had been ripped off, exposing you, in an instant, to the harsh reality:

Your Professor, Dr. Jonathan Crane had spent the last few years drugging you, and getting away with it.

You didn’t know what pissed you off more, the fact that he used you as a lab rat or the fact that this little ongoing experiment of his was most likely the reason behind why he had such dissent for your thesis.

Your entire argument was that, as far as human motivators go, pleasure and reward had a much stronger influence compared to the fear of pain or punishment.

But of course!

It made sense that Dr. Crane took issue with that stance when his entire ideology revolved around how fear, not pleasure, not reward, ruled the mind above all else.

The cherry on top was that your unknowing participation in his sick game only further proved his point: your anger, triggered by your fear of failure, had driven you to work as hard as you did. No wonder he was so eager to criticize your manuscript! Every single time he watched your nostrils flare and your lips purse, he would know his theory was being proven right.

Well… not this time. Oh, no. This time, you were going to be the one pulling the strings and he was going to be the little white mouse, wondering which fork in the maze to take.

Was it risky? Oh, for sure. He could have you kicked out of the program, hell probably even arrested and tried for assault. But you just couldn’t curb your desire to do to him what he spent all those years doing to you. You wanted to watch him squirm, wanted to see his pupils blown, and his irises thin as his trembling figure begged for release from your experimental ministrations.

Who knows? Maybe all that medication he’d been slipping you had made you mad.

It was his fault, really. As a psychologist, he should have seen this coming.

Tut tut.

Oh, well! There was nothing he could do now. Not at the moment anyway.

Seated across from where you stood looking over his desk, Dr. Crane may not have known it, but he’d handed you the reins to the experimental controls long ago. From the second he started dosing you, this prognosis was inevitable.

It was like he always said: “The mind could only take so much.”

You walked around to the side of his desk, blocking his view of the door and the hall outside.

‘How cute,’ You thought. How cute how he pretended not to notice the change in your position, nor be intimidated by it.

“Ahem,” you cleared your throat, demanding his attention. “As I was saying, Professor,” you intentionally skipped his other title, “I need to speak with you a minute.”

Brows furrowing, Dr. Crane momentarily took off his glasses before rubbing his forehead trying to relieve some of the building tension. Unsuccessful in the attempt, Crane placed his rectangular glasses back on the bridge of his nose and turned his attention back to you.

The deprecatory nature of his stare combined with his piercing light blue eyes had the opposite effect. If you hadn’t learned the true nature of his psyche, you might have once again been intimidated by them. Rather than unnerve you, they made him appear susceptible. It was too late. You saw him for what he was now: a coward.

It was… appetizing.

Behind those frozen irises, behind that steely gaze was a scared little boy, playing dress-up, trying desperately to look stronger and bigger than he was.

Dr. Jonathan Crane was simply a scared little kid, masked in a psychologist's trench coat.

And now, you thought it high time to unmask him.

Ignoring his judgemental gaze, you moved even closer.

“I’m just trying to understand, Professor.”

Taking a seat on the corner of his desk, you were very much aware of how your deceptively short pencil skirt pulled taut against your thighs.

“I think my summation of the available data makes it pretty clear…”

You shifted all of your weight to one red high-heeled foot. The other you allowed to dangle loosely from where your bent knee met the edge of the professor’s dark oak desk.

“The brain’s reward center, dopamine— pleasure, is notably a greater motivator than fear.”

Licking your lips, you couldn't help but watch with wicked delight as the good doctor’s neck tensed, his muscles no doubt straining against the growing, sinful desire to glance downwards at the obvious part between your legs.

You tilted your dangling heel down, the pointed tip of your shoe grazing ever so slightly, ever so suggestively against your dear mentor’s outer thigh. Gleefully, you wondered if he could pick up the scent of your arousal, the two of you currently less than a foot apart.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Ms. (L/N),” Crane started.

“Come now, Doctor. Surely you, of all people, know that throughout human history, both mentally and physiologically speaking, pleasure has been, at the very least, as influential of a motivator as fear?”

Your dangly earring shook with the slight tilt of your head.

“People love to chase what feels good, what excites them, what makes them feel alive! Regardless of whether or not that thing isn’t good for them.”

Your equally distracting red-manicured fingers began to trace gentle circles around your outer ankle bone, the ends of your nails briefly swiping over the black material of his suit pants.

“Humans’ desire to feel pleasure wins out over their ability to behave rationally.”

Professor Dr. Crane swallowed tersely before nodding.

“I would agree with that statement.”

Jonathan pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, using the momentum as an inconspicuous opportunity to scooch his chair back, away from your contact.

“However, I would maintain the argument that fear holds a much more pivotal role in the survival of a species. And is, therefore, much more consequential in its provocations.”��

“Hmm…” You pursed your lips together, obviously only pretending to be deep in thought.

Across from you, Jonathan’s resentment for your pathetic salacious attempt only grew as he watched your actions morph into something akin to mockery.

You were his inferior! How dare you question him?!

It was bad enough the university board was breathing down his neck, now he had some pseudo-confident slutty graduate student to contend with as well.

Oh, you would pay for this. He would make you regret this little attention-whore stunt of yours. Just you wait…

Unfettered by the way Professor Crane’s jaw clenched, you continued your practiced spiel.

“I can see why you’d champion that. After all, your experiments here are centered around patients' reactions to fearful stimuli.” Unbothered, you checked your manicure before foxily pushing yourself off the desk, your high heels landing with a pointed ‘clack’ sound as they hit the floor.

“Makes sense why you’d be unable to recognize an opposing, although equally valid theory.”

“My grading is objective and based entirely on a student’s performance. And for you to imply otherwise—” Professor Crane’s piercing blue eyes stayed confidently fixed on yours.

“But it’s subjective too,” you countered, stepping directly in front of the man.

“You’re judging my performance on your personal model. A biased model ingrained in you, that your deeply held beliefs reign superior. To you, fear is the end all be all; it’s the cornerstone of human motivation. You can’t accept my performance as worthy or eligible when you're fixated on your own theory. Your superiority complex prevents you from being anything other than subjective as far as my research, my papers— even my very existence in your class is concerned.”

“It is not a discredit to my insight that you are incapable of seeing the depth of my genius—” Jonathan started to heatedly refute your assessment, but you cut him off.

Stepping forward, you placed your knee on the edge of his chair, centering it between his own.

“I know about your experiments.”

You kept your tone low so that only he could hear.

“I know the board is growing suspicious, thinking of ‘asking’ you to resign.” You said, making air quotes. “I know all about your special ‘cocktail’ the night of the Christmas Eve Party. I know the cops have been sniffing around, and it’s only a matter of time before those inbred idiots start asking that poor girl the right questions.”

“What do you want?” Jonathan asked, keeping a stiff upper lip.

Mindful not to alert you to his plan of action, Jonathan remained calm. He could still regain control here.

The man also known as Scarecrow to his Arkham patients was keenly aware that his briefcase containing his fear gas briefcase and Scarecrow mask was situated just to the left of you, resting inconspicuously on his desk.

If he could just make a move for it without you becoming wise to his plan.

‘What are you waiting for?!’ A scratchy, harsh voice inside Jonathon’s mind chided the Doctor for his hesitation. ‘Do it! Show her that fear is our domain, not hers, not hers! It’s time!’

‘It’s always time, isn’t it?’ Jonathan’s much smoother voice commented drearily. ‘Time to run. Time to cower.’

Time to just keep his head down and accept the consequences, accept how shameful, how broken he was.

‘No! No! It’s time to fight back! Time to glower! Time to gloat and rule over those puny imbeciles who’ve done us wrong. We are not afraid! They should be the ones who are afraid! They will be the ones who scream and cry— not us, not us!’

He would not release his hold on the situation. He did not scrape by, lie, steal, and torture for his brilliance only to roll over and show his belly to you! The wounded part of him demanded action, demanded sacrifice for these feelings of apprehension you had caused him.

The psychologist in him, the professional in him was almost impressed, nay, enthralled by your show of dominance. It was both vexing and amusing. It had crept under his skin and sunk its perfectly manicured claws into his chest, reaching in and commanding his heart to beat.

His heart started to beat faster and his breaths became more and more shallow.

It was dizzying, intoxicating— arousing even.

The Scarecrow in him wanted to crush it— to squash you.

But Jonathon wanted it to keep going— to consume him whole.

Enjoying his responses so far, you gripped both armrests of his chair, locking him in place.

“I want to conduct a little experiment of my own.” Your voice was still quiet, still assured.

“And then you can tell me in real-time which is stronger: pleasure…”

Releasing one hand from the armrest, you traced a red coffin-nailed finger down Jonathon’s chest, right down the middle of his tie.

“...Or fear.”

Feeling cornered by the weight of the unknown, the Scarecrow decided to make his move.

“If you’re done with this little display here, I have other matters to attend to, much more important than contending with brainless whore students.” He sneered, hoping his icy tone would catch you off guard enough that he could casually push out from under your weight.

His piercing blue eyes met your determined ones. It seemed you weren’t backing down.

‘Fine then’, Jonathan thought. ‘If that’s how you wanted to play it’.

His arm shot out past you, quickly gripping the handle of his briefcase. But before he could tug it open, you decided to play the last card up your sleeve.

“Not so fast, Doctor,” you reprimanded as if speaking to a child. “It’s not time for that… yet.”

Frozen, Jonathan’s previously confident eyes shifted into an expression between confusion and fear. Unable to even speak, he couldn't help but look back and forth between where his hand rested on his briefcase handle, and where your hand rested, gripping the barrel of a gun.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” You asked, turning the gun sideways to show off the pearl handle. “My Father gifted it to me when I moved to Gotham for University. Of course, at the time, I thought it was such a silly gift. Just total overkill. And then, I came here,” you waved it around rather casually as you spoke, “And I met you.”

You laughed, villainously at the memory, bearing your teeth and smiling wickedly at the dumbfounded teacher in front of you.

“Can I just say? I had never once thought of putting a bullet through a teacher’s head before I met you. God! You were just so, so, infuriating!” You shook your head in amused disbelief.

“And so arrogant! I mean the number of times you let out a little too much information, all just to insult a student’s inferior answer or to roast a fellow professor.” Your expression became incredulous. “Do you realize how much you told us, all because you thought we were too stupid to understand?!”

You rhythmically pressed the gun up into his, teasingly punctuating every other word.

“I mean, come on! Isn’t that Intro to Villany 101? Don’t spill the beans?”

“You don’t know anything.” The bolder character inside of Professor Crane had found his voice. “You may think you do, but you’re sorely mistaken.”

“I know enough,” you countered.

“Not as far as the cops are concerned. Or the faculty board.” His self-assured tone rivaled yours. “Do you really think I don’t have men on the inside?”

Having recaptured his certitude, The Scarecrow’s signature condescending expression settled back over his face as he craned his neck forward, bringing his mouth mere inches from your own.

“The minute you tell anyone what you think you know, your life ends— effective immediately.”

His bravado caused your large canine-baring grin to shrink into a much smaller, reserved one. If Johnathan’s words had scared you, you had no intention of making a big show of it.

You leaned in, pushing your face close enough to his that you could feel his heated breath on your lips.

“Guess it’s a good thing then, I don’t intend on telling anyone about this. And neither do you.”

“Is that so?” The Scarecrow challenged.

Without warning, you reached out with your free hand, gripping it securely around his throat, and forcibly tilted his head back. Using your newfound leverage you pushed your knee back against his crotch, smirking as you felt the unmistakable outline of his semi-hard cock through his clothes.

Satisfied that the ball was back in your court, you menacingly lined up the nozzle of your gun with Dr. Crane’s deliciously exposed Adam’s apple.

“Let’s find out.”

♔☍☣ ♔☍☣♔☍☣ ♔☍☣

A/N 2.0: So originally I was gonna expand on the sex scene at the end (because of the whole Kinktober thing, duh!) but I ran out of time. Who knows? Maybe I’ll continue it one day if enough people would enjoy it??? Lmk

#jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane imagine #jonathan crane #kinktober 2024 #kinktober #hot!

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