Summary: When the power goes out, Reader searches for comfort in her neighbor.
CW: loss of a parent, religious talk, sacrilegious content, reader being raised Christian, age gap, manipulation, power play, mentions of CSA (brief), degradation, oral f!receiving, Mr. Reed always asking too many questions, dry humping, fingering, cock drunk!reader, mentions of masturbation, oral m!receiving, biting, tit play, two crazies in love (lol), unprotected p in v, creampie
a/n: I watched Heretic on the flight to Japan and honestly I’m addicted to dirty dirty Mr. Reed, I can’t stand Hugh Grant but he’s hot so… I got long winded with this one but y’know I love a good fanfic
title track 🎶🛐
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It was raining.
Again.
Drumming harshly against your older metal roof. Mostly empty rooms in the hollow home. Living on your own ever since your mother passed away last year. She had been sick which was why you came back home to begin with. It was your responsibility to care for her. You were all she had left.
Clap of lightning. Illuminating the evening sky. Beautifully painting everything in its pinkish glow. It reminded you of when you were younger. Sitting out on the porch swing during the heavy rain. Mist waving in from the sides as you laid against your mom. Talking about how God was in Heaven bowling with the angels. That’s why sometimes the thunder was louder than others. It brought you comfort, even now. As childish as it seemed, it was a nice thought.
An especially harsh strike of lightning that had to be directly in your backyard made you jump. Power flickering off. Sighing when it did not come back on. Noting the note scribbled on the fridge that told you to buy new candles after the last power outage left you without.
And you were not a fan of darkness. Especially being alone in the darkness. You could feel your hands begin shaking at your sides. Sweat already beading along your hairline. Grabbing your phone and shining the small flashlight around the room. Swiftly grabbing your oversized raincoat, throwing on your ankle high boots, and heading to the door.
Harsh wind blew your hood off your head. Scoffing as you reached to fix it. Squinting at the darkness. Streetlights out as far as your newly adjusting eyes would allow you to see. You looked to your right seeing the faint yellow glow through a transom window on the side of your neighbors house.
As much as you hated to face the storm, it would only be for a simple minute. Taking a deep breath and running down your driveway, turning and going down his. Puddles splashed along your legs. Water pooling in the bottom of your short boots. Regretting not buying the taller ones.
You stepped upon the stoop before his front door. You had been here a few times before. When your mother would have you drop off desserts or dinner for the lonesome Mr. Reed. One of the only visitors he ever received. Assuming he was without family, as you were now.
Hesitation met your fist as it extended to meet his large front door. Ears ringing for a moment before another lightning strike had you jumping out of your skin. Hurriedly knocking.
No response.
You held yourself for a moment. Feet stamping over and over as you hoped for some sign of life behind the door. Unable to wait when the wind shifted and the rain was pouring down your back. Knocking a little harder this time.
“Coming,” his voice called from inside. Muffled but still audible. Rummaging around inside. Able to see his shadow from what you assumed was his lit candles. Clearly not prepared for company.
Your teeth began chittering. Blinking to get the water out of your eyes as you open mouth breathed. Trying not to get any up your nose.
The door creaked open. Skeptical blue eyes softening when they met you. Looking like a sad puppy left out in the cold. Shivering and faking a smile. His brows upturned at the sight. Smiling with his bright white teeth as he looked past you.
“Hi, Mr. Reed,” you shuttered.
“Hello, Dear. What… are you doing out in this storm?”
“I— uh… is your power out too?” You peaked into his house with your question. Welcoming glow of candles shining behind him.
He opened and closed his mouth as his eyes scanned up and down your body. Clothes soaking wet and gripping your skin. Body trembling with each gust of wind that would hit you.
“Ah. Yes. And I was just about to prepare dinner. Guess that’s on hold for now,” he smiled with a chuckle. Looking over his shoulder for a moment as he spoke.
You returned his expression. Standing with your arms crossed tightly over your chest as silence filled the space between you. Rain bouncing off metal roofs. Painting deep puddles along the ground you stood on.
“M-Mr. Reed, I hate to impose, but all my candles—“
“Oh, of course! Please, please, come in, dear. Get out of that dreadful storm,” he stepped back out of your way. Encouraging you with his hand to come inside.
You were relieved. Grateful for his generosity. It’s not like he owed it to you. Simple act of kindness from his heart.
It was warm. Strong contrast to the outdoors. You inhaled as you stood in the doorway. Familiar smell halting you. Not wanting to track any rain or mud into his home. Sound of his locks clicking caused you to look over your shoulder. Meeting his smile.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Reed,” you sighed beginning to unzip your jacket. His hands on your shoulders made your heart skip. Guiding your coat off your shoulders. Folding it over his arm before stepping before you, “I’ll take your coat for you, dear. Let you take your boots off. Get comfortable, I’m sure we are in for a long night.”
Singsong voice causing your cheeks to beam. Watching him disappear down the hallway. Sitting on the floor to remove your boots. Far too tight for their own good. A fight to get off. Grunting as you popped each of them off. Socks beyond soaked. Opting to remove them as well, tucking them into your shoes.
Finally, you could pinpoint the smell. Blueberry pie. A candle sitting on his coffee table. Identical to the candle one of your old dorm mates had. It almost felt homey. Familiar in a way that made your heart steady.
Mr. Reed reentered. You were still sat in the floor at his entryway. He cocked his head in question, “You don’t have to sit on the floor like a dog. You’re welcome in my home.”
You laughed. Soft embarrassment in your bones. “Yes, sir. I was just trying to get my shoes off,” you smiled at him. Hoisting yourself up. Pretending your damp clothes were not rubbing you in all the wrong spots. Discomfort in their wake.
You took a seat in front of his coffee table. Admiring the cute cartoon berries on the candle. Catching Mr. Reed’s attention.
“You like that one?”
“One of my dorm mates in college had one that she would burn anytime she needed to cram a study session. Just smells familiar, y’know?”
He smiled as he sat across from you. Wrinkles illuminated by the soft glow. He was handsome, no doubting that. Betting he broke many hearts back in his day. Looking down at his collared shirt. Noting how high the buttons went up. Calling to you like a siren. Wanting to see more of him.
And it was wrong. To lust. That had been true your entire life. Drilled into you from anyone who pushed Biblical Ideology. Especially after someone who had been nice enough to invite you into his home.
It’s not like you had not seen his eyes wandering also. When you would drop off a casserole or dessert. How he would practically stalk you as you walked into his kitchen to lay it on top of his stove. Catching the way his pupils would bounce back to your face from either your chest or ass. Sending a jolt of confidence through you.
How could something so immoral fill you with so much joy?
“Not a fan of the dark, I take it?”
You were taken aback by his cold read of you. Absolutely true. It was not something you were hiding, just not something normal adults shared. It was kiddy, in a way.
“Yeah,” you sighed, “Especially with mom gone and all. I don’t like being alone.”
“I am always happy to keep you company,” Mr. Reed analyzed you. Seeing how you would react to that. Watching the way your eyes met his then immediately deviated with shyness. How you barely pulled your lip between your teeth.
Oh. You were going to be a fun one.
“What do you like to do for fun, Mr. Reed?”
Innocent question. It had his mind tracing the catacombs of his basement. His usual speech that he gave to the poor, Catholic— Mormon— Christian— Muslim— whatever girl that came knocking to spread her gospel. The spritz of the sprinklers. Having full power.
You can’t answer a question like that. Especially when such a pretty girl had waltz right into his domain. Willing. Wanting. Needing.
“I collect Vinyl. Researching music and religion, anything that could overlap. I enjoy connecting the dots,” he nodded as he spoke.
“You’re very religious?” you gulped. Something more naughty at the idea that you were fantasizing about a Man of God. Or whatever God he believed in.
“Oh, now don’t twist my words,” he chuckled, “I research religion. Any and all. Isn’t it so interesting how so many share the same key stories? Yet each believes theirs is the one true religion. The correct path. The answer. Really makes you wonder.”
You sat with that. Remembering one of the first times you questioned your religion. Learning that women were not supposed to cut their hair, yet every single woman you knew did. Sending your youthful self into a spiral of turmoil. Being told that God made exceptions to the rules. Which made no sense.
How could something as concrete as the Bible have exceptions? Morphing to fit whatever story needed to be told that week. Learning the hard way there were no absolutes in life. Everything was gray.
You exhaled.
“And you? Y/N, are you religious?”
You pushed your lips together firm. That was a question you had not been asked in a long time. Yes, you prayed with your mother while she was dying. No, you did not go to church.
“Hmm,” you thought, “I… I was raised Christian. Brought up in church. And, I still believe there is a God. But, not the way churches make it seem..? Modern Puritan Culture has tainted what the Bible guided people to do. And at the end of it all, it’s a book that we have to believe was written with God’s influence. We have to believe it was made with our best intentions. And I guess it is easier for people to believe when it fits their narrative. Which is why Churches are the way they are now. Money hungry and political—“
You realized you were rambling. Far too in depth for such a simple question. Closing your eyes and softly smiling. Blowing your breath out as you composed yourself, “I’m sorry. I would say I am Agnostic. A hopeful one at that. But, no I do not partake in religion. Not really.”
Mr. Reed blinked at you. Eyebrows raised as he leaned back. Straightening his spine against his chair. Adjusting the glasses that sat at the tip of his nose. Over-exaggerating his breath as it escaped his lungs.
“Now that… is an inquisitive answer, my dear. Far more self aware than most washed-up-Christians. Don’t ever apologize for that!” Mr. Reed seemed giddy. Excited to have a conversation with someone as open to the concept as he was. Not forced into such a tight box by societal norms. Pretending it did not immediately cause his cock to throb between his legs.
He clapped his hands together in glee. Rising from his seat and walking over to a cabinet in his living room. Taking out an older record. Pretending to blow dust off the cover, flapping it away with his hand. Grinning over mischievously at you. Placing it on the small record player that was sitting below one of his higher up windows. Clearly battery operated. Starting off with a beautiful guitar riff.
Immediately recognizing the tune.
“The Hollies? Oh wow, I haven’t heard this since I was a little kid,” you grinned. A soft feeling of nostalgia pitting in your stomach. Remembering how the voices of The Hollies, The Eagles, Tom Petty, and many others would fill the walls of your home on Saturday mornings. Your mother and father having a preference for 70s style rock. Products of their time.
Mr. Reed looked over at you with a glance that no one had ever given you before. Like you were on the same playing field. Understanding each other beyond a normal level. Finally meeting his match.
“I remember when mom and dad told me about that big fiasco with Radiohead. Ended up with them being credited as co-writers. But I still like ‘Creep’, even if they do sound similar,” you sighed. Still able to vividly see them dancing together to their favorite vinyls. Leaning over the arm of your chair, cheek resting in your palm. Staring longingly at the spinning record. Almost like your parents would appear if you looked hard enough.
“It is refreshing to talk to someone as… informed as I. Your mom and dad raised you with exquisite taste,” Mr. Reed’s face was beaming. Entranced watching you sing softly under your breath. One of his brows raising as he slowly walked over to you. Taking his place behind your chair. Hands ghosting down to your shoulders once more. Firm fingertips dotted along your clavicle. Melting into his touch. Heart ramming into your ribcage repeatedly.
“Were you aware that Radiohead sued Lana Del Rey for plagiarizing ‘Creep’? Ironic to think. Suing someone over a song that you, yourself, were sued for years prior,” the smile on his tone was notable. Fingers splaying further along your upper chest, barely above your breasts.
“I had no idea,” you admitted, voice not above a whisper. Not keeping up with things as you should be. Leaving you with many things to learn. And you wanted him to be the one to teach it all to you.
Mr. Reed’s fingers dipped below the seam of your collar. Curling up around the mound of your breasts. Your head leaning further into the seat. Allowing him full view of where his hands were venturing. Eyes falling shut when they reached inside the cup of your bra. Eliciting soft pressure against the meat of your chest. A broken and soft whimper crawled its way out of your throat.
The record scratched.
Both of you turning in tandem to look at the player. Ripping you completely from what was about to happen. Mr. Reed scoffed. Stomping over and lifting the needle. You breathed out. Like some invisible hold had been taken away.
“Damned old thing,” he chastised the machine. You smiled watching him. A thin layer of sweat decorating your skin. Slick pooling between your legs.
His hand gripped the side of the cabinet next to him. The other resting on the same table as the record player. Knuckles white as his limbs shook with a clear display of rage. Frustration washing down his broad back.
So you stayed in your place. Acting like the perfect guest. Waiting for him to return and tell you some new fact. Giving him time to recoup.
His loud sigh made you look back to him. Pulling his glasses off and pinching the bridge between his nose. Brows furrowing and forehead ridden with lines. Thick fingers ran down his face as he craned his neck backward for a moment.
“I apologize for the interruption. Bought the thing at an old thrift shop, it has always given me trouble,” Mr. Reed walked back to join you. Pulling his pant legs as he sat. Making sure to hide the bulge that pressed against his zipper.
“I don’t mind. We have all night,” you smiled. Quizzing blue eyes met yours. Challenging you for a moment. Your face flushed suddenly. Understanding the double meaning of what you had said.
You held your hands up in a defensive position, “I— I don’t mean to overstay my welcome, of course! Just— with the power being out and all… I thought— sorry.” You stumbled like a newborn deer. Hiding your shame in your hands. Cheeks hot to the touch.
Mr. Reed chuckled. Teeth on display as he smirked at you. Corner of his mouth curved harshly upward. He liked embarrassing you. You were easy. Having the upper hand of your want for him. Knowing he could play it in a way that would have you shriveled and begging by the end of the night. Keep you as his forever.
“You would never believe I was good in English class with how bad I am with words,” you admitted through your hands. Laughing it off as a joke.
The sound of him shuffling before you caught your attention. By the time you had worked up the nerve to look at him he was standing above you. Looking down at you through his lenses. You felt small. Weak. Vulnerable. Fixing your posture and flattening your hands in your lap as you looked up at him. Fluttering your lashes with doed eyes. His thumb and pointer traced your jawline. Pinching your chin to keep your gaze looking up at him. Lips parted slightly, but not willing to question.
“Mr. Reed…”
“Y/N…”
He mimicked you. Your mouth was dry. He had taken it all from you. Leaving you with an aching core that begged for him to fill. Even with such a small touch, you knew you would give yourself to him. However he wanted you.
You wanted to please him.
“Do you show this much interest in every older man in your life?” A hint of condescension. Not bothering you. Used to being talked down to.
“I’m interested in you,” you breathed.
His brows jumped.
A surprising answer. Preparing for your admission of some father figure that was lacking in your life that caused you to gravitate towards older men. Some pity story about your uncle who touched you, or school teacher who said you were his favorite student.
Because wasn’t that your generation’s entire thing?
How pitiful life had been for you. Born into a world of tragedy and lightspeed trajectory towards the future. Smart phones and social media made you all depressed. And you used those very things to whine about it. Doing anything and nothing just to receive a couple of fake clicks from fake people. Anything to boost your ego. Your poor, fragile egos. Pathetic.
But not you.
No, you were all too aware of what you wanted. Not because he was older and filled some stupid void. But because he saw you for who you were. A girl who liked her men older and a little strange. Liking to be challenged intellectually. To have everything you knew turned on its head. Falling apart from the mere touch of his fingers on your chest. Needy. Broken, but not beyond repair. All alone in that big house next to his. How could you ever do it alone?
Perfect for him.
“Oh, my sweet Y/N,” Mr. Reed sighed. Hand cupping your cheek now. Thumb circling into your warm skin. Your pupils were blown. Barely distinguishable in the barely lit room. Drowning out the color of your irises. Like the ocean seen off an oil rig. So easily lost in. Unsure of when you could pull yourself out. Or when he could come up for air.
You pressed your face into his palm. Allowing your body to relax with his touch. Eyes falling shut.
“Please,” it was barely audible. Like you were not the one in control as you said it. Your body giving itself up to him. There was no immediate reply. Which had you tensing up all over again. Fearing you had misstepped. Crossed a boundary that he was uncomfortable with. Blowing this whole thing to shreds.
“I’m yours,” your last ditch effort. Complete compliance. Willing to do whatever he wanted. Wanting to do whatever he needed. He could take your soul with him for all you cared. Wrap himself so deeply in it that you never know where he ends and you begin.
His smile was evil. Purely driven by desire. Lust. Greed. All of it wrapped in a pretty bow around you. Like you had been the present he begged for all year.
“Needy little thing, aren’t you?”
It was like an arrow straight through your chest. Sheepishly retreating back into yourself. Assuming this was his way of denying you. Turning you away.
“I have to ask you,” his voice cascaded down your skin. Softly petting through your hair. Kneeling down to meet you at eye level. His hands splayed across your thighs. Holding your eyes with an unyielding strength, “Before we continue our little rendezvous. Do you trust me?”
You nodded before you could formulate words. Of course you trusted him. Knowing his more matured hands would care for you. Even if he was rough or harsh or brash. You could devote yourself to him.
“I need to hear you say it,” his voice was low. Hint of irritation, not one to repeat himself.
“Of course, Mr. Reed. I… I trust you entirely,” swallowing feeling completely overwhelmed by his piercing gaze.
Faith that only a woman needing to fill the void Church had forced through her could have. Craving companionship. Direction. Purpose.
And, God, he was willing.
“There she is,” his voice was steady and almost gentle. Commanding you in a way you had never felt before. Hooks already razoring into your very being.
You smiled. Cheeks heating up again as blood rushed through you. Communing in your core. You slowly rested your hands on his. Fingers dancing up his arms and flattening against his shoulders. Pushing yourself forward so that your foreheads rested together. The smell of his aftershave filling your senses. Aged skin feeling soft against yours.
It was all so slow. Unwilling to move too quickly. Fear of scaring the other off apparent. One of his hand cupped the side of your face, pinky framing your jaw. Fingertips lightly pressing against your hairline. Quivering at his gentle hand.
Slowly, he shifted. Pressing his lips to yours. Experimental. Careful.
Your nerves were on fire. Sent into overdrive from the smallest romantic gesture. Everything you wanted formulating in this very moment. Better than what you had imagined when you touched yourself to him.
Never breaking from each other’s mouth. Slowly introducing tongues to the mix. Exploring the taste of the other’s pallet. Deepening the kiss with each passing moment. Turning hungry. Your hands grasped at the sides of his face. Nails puncturing little crescents into his cheeks. His body forcing yours back into the chair.
Lips gently trailing down to your throat. Nipping and kissing your pulse. The feeling of your heartbeat on his lips had him feeling like a rabid animal. Like you were his prey already trapped between his jaws.
Mr. Reed pulled back to take in the look of you. Hooded eyes and weak figure slumped into the seat before him. Adoring the way your body absentmindedly followed his forward when he removed himself from you. Not yet prepared for separation.
You were the embodiment of temptation.
His hands were on your waistband. Thumbs hooking around as he spoke, “Tell me, Y/N. Do you masturbate?”
Bluntness of his question taking you aback. Curious of the nature in which he was asking. Was he going to punish you depending on your answer? You thought it best to tell the truth.
“I do,” you admitted under your breath.
His grin was wicked. Tongue glazing over his teeth as he looked at you. Slowly guiding your pants down to reveal your panties. Goosebumps perking along your now exposed thighs.
“Tell me more,” he leaned down and kissed your skin.
“I-I like to read dirty stories,” you admitted with a stumble, “And I have a-a small bullet vibrator in my nightstand. I like to do it before bed. Makes me sleep better.”
“What do you think about?”
You swallowed. Craning your head back as he continued revealing your body. Pants thrown somewhere behind him now. Feeling his articulated hands explore your skin. Tracing every scar or bump that plagued you.
“Sometimes… you, Mr. Reed,” you breathed out as he spread your legs open.
Displaying your most vulnerable parts for himself. Looking at how you soaked through the thin cotton. Flattering him. His finger prodded at your clothed slit. Causing your body to jump at the sudden touch. His shoulders bounced as he laughed to himself.
“Am I good in your imagination?”
“The best.”
Oceanic eyes met yours. Smirking when he met you. Large hands petted your soft skin. Planting kisses along your thighs.
“Have you ever received oral sex?”
You recalled when you were in college. Allowing one of the boys you were hooking up with to try it out. Sloppy and misguided. Unsure of what he was doing. Tongue prodding your labia and never finding your clit. Only doing it for his own benefit, not caring if you came.
“Yes,” you refused to lie.
“Did you cum?”
A laugh erupted from you. Defense mechanism to shield you from the embarrassment. You always thought it was something wrong with you. Smiling as you shook your head in disapproval. Hand slicking down your hair as you exhaled, “No.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he smiled, “You’ve only ever climaxed by your own accord?”
You thought for a moment. Recalling all the previous times you had sex. Having to finish yourself off afterward each and every time. Shameful when you thought about it that way.
“Yes, sir,” you spread your legs a little wider for him. Slumping further into the chair so that he could access you better. His finger ran under the fabric that clothed your entrance. Barely exposing your sensitivity to the air as his knuckle grazed your folds.
“Does the ‘God’ you believe in think such a sweet disciple as yourself should have to suffer in such a way?” 
Your breath hitched in your throat when he slid your panties clean off your legs. Taking each leg and propping them on his shoulders. Breath fanning against your slick core. Enamored by the way you twitched and pulsed. Never had he had someone want, or need, him so badly.
You reached forward. Urging for him to become eye level with you once more. His chest hovering over your exposed body. Framing his face with your hands. Flicking between his eyes. Close enough to feel the rhythmic breaths that fell from the other. Hands praising him. Letting him know who it was you were worshipping exactly.
“Do you think I deserve to suffer? A life of mediocrity and self indulgence. Never knowing such ethereal release that could be gifted to me,” you calmly asked.
Mr. Reed’s jaw locked. Swallowing hard as he scanned your face. Full submission. Placing yourself in his hands. All you were, and all you could be, his for the making. Praying for the path you needed to follow. So clearly laid out before you.
“It’s you,” you whispered.
His eyes widened. Chest rising and falling quicker than before. Anticipation vibrating throughout his figure. Facade cracking momentarily. Finally feeling the control he had long chased after. An offering crawling to him by its own volition. His holy grail.
“I can show you pleasure you’re incapable of imagining,” his tone was low and gruff. Lips capturing yours once again. Quickly resuming his previous position. Kissing directly above your slit. Finally licking a stripe up it.
You bucked and whined in response. Ecstasy flowed through every inch of your being. His tongue riding you along the coarse. Heels digging into his shoulder blades. Reaching for his greying locks for stability. Spine arching towards him as you choked out a moan. His tongue swirled and sucked your clit.
Your body was white hot with pleasure. Unable to contain the moans and breaths that fell from your ‘O’ shaped mouth. The most stunning blue eyes peered up from your groin. Nose nudging against your sensitive nub. He was an expert. Perfectly coaxing you along for the ride.
One of his hands wrapped under your leg, slowly pushing a finger into your hole. Massaging the spongy spot at your entrance. Curling and pumping while his mouth continued to devour you. His eyes were rolling back into his head. Silently enjoying your delectable flavor. Grip on your thigh burning the further he delved. Losing control over his desires for a moment. Humping into the cushion you sat upon. Needing to feel some kind of relief for his aching cock.
Thrusting giving you an extra sense of pleasure. Bodies moving in tandem as he chased your high. Wanting more than anything for you to unravel around him. Purely from his touch. The only man who could ever give you release. For you to truly show your soul to. Allow all walls and guards to crumble at his hand.
“Mr. Reed…” you trailed. Voice squeaky and airy.
He finally came up for air. Replacing his tongue with his thumb. Continuing to place the perfect amount of pressure on it. Lower half of his face slick with your juices. Panting as drooped eyes lasered into yours.
“I-I’m so close. Please, may I?”
He could have blown his load in his pants right then. Even when high on sensual pleasure, you wanted his permission. His blessing. It was all his to permit you. Most girls were so greedy. Giving in without a warning or question. But here you were. Finally earning what you had so long deserved from another human, yet you still wanted to make sure it was what he wanted.
Snickering as he kissed the bit of your belly that was exposed, “Yes, my dear. Give it all to me.”
Unraveling from his touch. Moaning louder than you had ever before. Legs shaking violently against his shoulders. Succumbing to your Earthly desires. Because that was all you truly had control of. The only denomination worth following. Your savior leaned back watching the way your insides convulsed around his finger. Creaming along his digit almost kissing it a thank you.
Your vision blurred. Blinking up at the ceiling. The room spinning and separating. Overlapping the other layers attempting to make your vision whole again. Throat straining to catch breath. Arms like noodles at your sides.
Mr. Reed laced one hand into yours. Interlocking fingers. Smiling widely up at you. Intoxicated from his touch. Barely able to keep your eyes open. Open mouth breathing causing your chest to heave.
His beautiful servant.
“You did so good for me, Y/N. My pretty girl. You sure know how to make this old man happy,” Mr. Reed pushed forward to kiss you tenderly.
“Better than anything I’ve ever experienced,” you drawled, words mixing together. Hazy state of mind causing you to blink slow. The weight of his hand against yours the only thing grounding you.
“I need you to stay with me, dear,” Mr. Reed stood before you. Stepping back to allow the space for you to breathe properly. Prominent outline of his erection pressed into his pants. Catching your heavy eyes. Sparking a second wind inside you. Crawling onto your knees before him. Hands splayed against the back of his clothed thighs. Head leaned back to meet his sparkling blues. Knees scraping against his hard wood flooring. Any amount of pain was worth it to repay him.
Your fingers met his belt buckle. Wordlessly asking permission with a look. His smile caught the reflection of the candle’s flame. Canines on beautiful display, “Go ahead.”
Hastily removing it from his waist. Throwing it beside you in the pile of your own clothing. Taking your time to undo his button and pull his zipper down. Tugging his trousers down his thighs. Revealing his fully hard cock trapped behind tight underwear. Fabric darker in a spot from where his tip leaked. Leaving little to the imagination with how transparent the white material was. You placed a kiss against his shaft. His body shuttered, hands balling at his sides.
It had been a long time since someone touched him in this way. Usually just putting on some old porno channel and yanking himself off. Still shocked he did not have to do anything drastic to you for you to throw yourself at him.
You kitten licked up his length. Tongue curling against the lip of his tip. Faint salty taste filling your mouth when you sucked the tip through his underwear. Mr. Reed’s hand grasped firmly in your hair. Soft sting where he met your roots. Veins popping in his neck as he tried to restrain himself.
Your hands reached for the band of his underwear, sudden bruising strength wrapping around your wrists. Paralyzing your hands. Wide eyes fluttered up at him. Fear that you had upset him in some way causing your stomach to turn. Feeling tears immediately prick the corners as your eyebrows furrowed. Frowning uncontrollably.
He laughed at your pitiful glance, “As badly as I want you to suck me off, I can’t spring back like I used to. I want to make sure I get to fill your cunt tonight, dear.”
Your skin tingled. Biting your lip. Feeling suddenly embarrassed by his strong eyes and casual demeanor. Tucking your face into your shoulder as you exhaled a half-laugh. Smiling widely. Biting into the meat of your cheek.
Shame was customary for you. Being taught from a young age that you needed to feel it. Earthly wants. Human nature. Unholy desires. Shame was what steered us closer to God. Satan wanted you to enjoy your time on the mortal plane. The Church made sure you knew it all.
Yet even under Mr. Reed’s harsh gaze you felt none. In a situation that would normally keep you up at night, you found yourself content. Unfamiliar relief that you never knew you were capable of.
“However you want me…” you peered into him. Hands folded in your nude lap. Back straight. Making sure to keep your field of vision only on his face. Letting him know that you were compliant. Even if he stopped right now, it was all up to him. You would be grateful for anything he was offering you.
And, he wanted you. Nearly spilling in his pants simply from satisfying you. Appreciative of his knowledge and touch. You were his perfect subject. Already understanding everything he could only pray to inform others of.
Mr. Reed’s hand extended to you. Placing yours in it and rising to your feet. Curious eyes questioning him. Closing in the gap between your faces. Thoughts strong behind his eyes.
Of course, he wanted to take you into his faux chapel. Wanted to fuck you in front of all the religious imagery he knew you were all too familiar with. Maybe even make you read verses about temptation while he was nestled between your walls.
But he knew he need save that for a different day. One where you had not had release in a while and needed it so badly that your voice would crack and strain with each line of text. Pleading with him like he was who you worshipped. The only one capable of giving you everything you could want or need.
The idea sent chills down his spine.
Mr. Reed’s hands rested on your hips. Pinkies touching your bare flesh as his eyes darted between yours. Taking a deep breath before speaking, “My bedroom is down the hall. I want you there.”
He stepped away beginning down the pitch black hallway. Your throat tightened. It was void of any light. No reflections or time to adjust. Stomach churning at the thought.
Mr. Reed paused in the cased opening. Looking over his shoulder at you. Meeting your hesitant figure. Clearly ridden with fear. His large palm extended out for you.
“Coming, dear?”
You had the grace of a newborn deer. Exhaling as you took his hand. Diving into the nothingness. Trusting that he would not lead you astray. This was his sanctuary. There was nothing to fear here.
Rounding a corner making you jump when your shoulder bumped the wall. Earning yourself a laugh from Mr. Reed. The click of a doorknob told you that you had arrived at your destination. Room darker than the hall you came from. Lacking windows. Closing the door behind you the only thing you knew was to stay still. Feet firmly planted on the carpeted floor. Waiting for his direction.
Sparking of a lighter caused your eyes to squint. Mr. Reed stood before his chester drawers, candle in his non-dominate hand. An old transparent bic was pinched between his fingers. Holding the flame to the already burnt wick. Setting the wax down from where you presumed he picked it up.
You looked around the bedroom. Older wallpaper matching that of the rest of the home. Crown molding half way up the wall, a beautiful accent. Giant canopy bed placed at the center. Hand carved, wooden beams accented each corner of the bed. Rising nearly all the way to the ceiling. Swirls and valleys decorating it.
The room smelt strongly of him. His body wash and shampoo. Whatever older cologne he sprayed on everyday out of habit. Comforter an older, hand stitched looking pattern. Several pillows pushed against the headboard. Bed perfectly made as you imagined he did every morning.
Pictures of him in his youth hang along the walls. Before his hair had greyed and back when you were sure he had women crawling at his feet. As handsome as you had imagined. Dark brown locks still the same as they were now. Noting the thinner framed glasses he sported in, what you imagined, was his university days. When he would have been closer to your age. More appropriate to be caught entangled with.
His hands wrapped around you from behind. Splaying wide fingers across your stomach under your shirt. Lips gently kissing the side of your neck. Tongue wetting the skin before sinking his teeth into you. You groaned as your body fell back into his, hand coming up to tangle in his hair. Nails scraping his scalp.
“I want you to remember this forever,” Mr. Reed’s voice was deeper than before. Sucking a sharp bruise into your neck. Kissing it delicately afterward. One hand ran up your body, resting against your breast. Squeezing the lump overtop the bra. Your head fell back into his shoulder. Whining when his fingers pinched at your hardening nipple.
Releasing you for a moment so that he could pull your shirt over your head. Throwing it towards the doorway. Meticulous fingers fidgeting with the clasp of your bra. Sliding the straps down your arms. Leaving you completely nude before him. Every inch of you on clear display, shadowed in the dim candlelight.
“My angel,” Mr. Reed whispered as his hands roamed every inch of your body. Grasping at every bit of skin, wanting to learn the scars and bruises and bumps and blemishes and everything that he normally could not see. You belonged to him. His to dissect.
Pulling your body flush to his. Firm erection pressed into your lower back. Arching so that your ass was rubbing against it. He groaned into your ear, fingertips digging into your skin. One hand venturing back up to cup your now bare chest. Pinching and rolling one of your nipples between his fingers. Pecking open mouthed kisses to your cheek and jawline with each twist of the bulb.
Your hand reached around to palm him through his loosely opened pants. Fabric still between you. He grunted and groaned, swearing you could hear a whimper mixed in.
“Spread out on the bed for me,” Mr. Reed commanded.
Excitement rushed through you. Crawling onto the soft mattress. Making sure you arched so he had the perfect view of your ass before reaching the pillows. Your head sunk into them, legs separated and hands folded neatly against your lower abdomen. Sitting up just enough to still be looking at him, but in the perfect position for him to bend and move you however he pleased.
Mr. Reed stood at the foot of the bed. Slowly removing the button down he wore, revealing a white t-shirt underneath. Shedding his trousers down. The sight one you had already known, yet it still ilicited a sensation between your legs. His stout figure was exquisite. Arms more muscular than you imagined. Belly soft, yet strong. You imagined he must do a lot of heavy lifting. Based off the garden in his backyard.
You pulled your lower lip between your teeth. Pushing your knees together to try and relieve any amount of feeling that pooled down your already sensitive slit. Sitting up slightly when you saw him hook his thumbs around the band of his underwear. Slowly, tugging the white fabric down his legs. Cock springing to life. Curving toward his stomach. Unable to make out the finer details in the dark.
Your mouth was watering. Jaw dropping as your brows contorted in anticipation. His knee pressed into the mattress. Dipping down with his weight. He crawled up, arms caging in your body. Matured body hovering above yours. His nose at the tip of yours. Leaning down to kiss you. Tongue parting your lips and lapping into your mouth. Glazing along your teeth.
His pupils were enlarged. Inquisitively drinking in the look on your face. Your hands cupped his face, thumbs rubbing circles into his cheeks as you deepened the kiss.
It was almost romantic. Shared nudity in such a moodlit room. No other sound but the soft moans and exhales from you both. Preparing for your bodies to become one.
Mr. Reed reached down and framed the base of his cock. Lining himself up with your entrance. Pushing the tip against your core causing you to exhale shakily. Agonizingly slow, he sheathed himself inside you. Your eyes squinted shut as you moaned, hands grasping at his bare back. Nails scratching into the tender flesh, surely to puff up in a few moments.
He stilled. Leaving your hips flush together. His mouth gaped as he tried to fill his lungs with air. Blinking as he heaved. “Plato’s ‘the Symposium’ suggests that all humans were originally whole. Later being divided into two parts, which is what led to our trivial search for our ‘missing half’. My dear, I believe Plato was right. And we have become whole once more,” Mr. Reed breathlessly confessed.
Cock twitching inside you with his words. You nodded, smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Insides still sensitive from your previous orgasm. Walls tightly spasming when he began to thrust in and out of you. Crying out in pleasure when his tip would graze the spongy spot inside you. Losing any cognitive function. He was all you needed.
“Y/N,” there was a chuckle behind his tone, “I need you to tell me how it is. Tell me everything you’re experiencing.”
You were delirious. Eyes struggling to stay open as you tried to focus your vision on him. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.
His hand gripped your cheeks firmly, forcing you to look directly at him, “Come on, Y/N. Talk to me.”
You exhaled. Finally able to blink yourself back to reality. You moaned, “I feel— good… fuck, your cock… it’s stretching me perfectly. Mr. Reed, you’re everything to me. I will never need more.”
Mr. Reed exhaled with a hint of shock. Smiling as he pistoned harder into you. Chasing his own high. Such a young, beautiful girl. Dedicating herself to him.
“I want to feel you cum inside me,” you whined, wrapping your legs around his waist. Forcing yourself to meet each thrust causing him to penetrate deeper than before. Sound of your skin smacking together echoed against the dark walls.
Mr. Reed’s breath came out broken. Hitching higher than any other noise he had released. Jaw hanging open as he looked into your eyes. Unable to resist kissing you. Moaning and grunting morphing together.
His hips rutted. Groin pressed flush with yours. Feeling of his cock twitching inside you clued you in. Hot ropes of cum decorated your insides. A load larger than he had ever came before. Completely full of his seed.
One of his hand caressed your cheek. Gentle and romantic. Mr. Reed was panting above you, sweat glistening along his brow. Your eyes fell shut as you leaned back into the pillows. Mouth agape as you tried to catch your breath.
You kissed him. Slow and intimate. Fighting off the urge to thank him repetitively for showing you a taste of heaven.
“Aphrodite herself must have blessed you,” Mr. Reed muttered, “Never has there been a woman as divine as you.”
Your face flushed. Beautiful words washing over your body. Never had you been complimented so eloquently. Someone praising you as if you were the newest, hottest religion.
There was a click.
His bedside lamp now illuminated the room. Harsh comparison to the candle flame. You squinted, hand coming up to shade your eyes. Sucking your teeth to fake pain.
Mr. Reed laughed, “Ah. We have left the dark ages once more.”
You relaxed your body, glaring over at the lightbulb. Ruining the moment you were having. Intimacy fizzling out with the return of electricity.
You sighed, “Guess that means I should get out of your hair…”
Defeat clear on your tone. You smiled up at him, beginning to shift under his body. Cheeks hot and hands shaking.
“I would love for you to stay,” Mr. Reed interrupted.
Your eyes widened up at him. Heart flourishing with emotion for him. You were no nuisance to him, but a being which he wanted to cherish and learn more about.
“You know I don’t wish to impose—“
“Hush. I’ll make us some dinner.”
~~~
[END]
// Thank you for reading!! This was an extremely fun story to write and I feel like I could have kept going with all the religious imagery and allegories, but then it would have taken forever to get to the fun stuff ;) As always, my inbox is open! If you want to be tagged in any of my future Fics, shoot me a message! Comments and Reblogs are greatly appreciated! //
<tagged by @venus-vault, better late than never oopsie ✨️>
Last Song Listened To:
Favourite Colour: Black 🖤🎥🐈⬛️
Last Book Read: German National Cinema by Sabine Hake. (Big non-fiction head, perhaps surprisingly)
Last TV Show Watched: uhhh I think I rewatched two seasons of Hannibal months ago.. I'm famously bad at watching TV, I'm much more of a movie person, so the TV I do watch, I like very much.
Sweet, Savory, Spicy?: Savory in the broad sense, but i love a sweet or spicy treat
Relationship Status: Single :))
Last Google Search: "study with me" I love an ambiance.
Looking Forward To: The end of the semester! Classes are done the first week of April and exams mid-April. Can't wait to hop on my summer reading list
Current Obsession: Forever and always letterboxd. I'm so deeply addicted to that app, holy shit 🟠 🟢 🔵
Baron Zemo, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (2021)
Roland Gumpert, Race for Glory: Audi vs. Lancia (2024)
Eric Bouchard, The Franchise (2024)
Heinz Wittmer, Eden (2025)
p.s. I was going to add a poll here, but the option limit is only 15 max, so just sound off in the comments or the tags who your favorite Bearded Brühl is—or don't 🤷♀️
Synopsis Part 2/? - After a particularly engaging class, you look forward to the semester with your new favourite professor.
Paring: Mr. Reed (Heretic) x fem!reader (gender neutral pronouns used)
Words: 2.6k
Warnings: MDNI, professor au, age gap (reader is in early twenties), power imbalance, masturbation, first-time fic writer
a/n: thanks for all the love for the first part! I'm so humbled. Hope y'all enjoy this one too <3 lmk if anyone wants a tag in the inevitable part 3
The first two weeks of class flew by, and with each lecture that passed you had been sneaking closer to the front row. The course had absolutely surpassed your expectations, you'd even begun to look forward to it more than the classes for your major. Hard to blame you though, the prof makes the class.
Your participation in lecture wasn't just for your mark either, engaging in intelligent conversations with him was such a treat, he had such an alluring way of speaking and presenting himself, but still- you needed to keep yourself in check. You were avoiding getting too close to him, even in the front row of class, you wouldn't want anything to get awkward or weird, trying to conceal your crush the most you could. But here you were, with a burning question essential for the first part of your assignment and class had already been canceled once this week due to “personal reasons,” via Mr. Reed's email. Although, he noted he'd still be holding his office hours. Who wouldn't want to be in a small enclosed office with this man? Might be difficult but you just told yourself you should get over your silly nerves and be a professional academic; professor and student, nothing up with that, just office hours.
With a pit in your stomach, you type up the email requesting a meeting during his office hours and hit send. Why does it feel like you just sent something dirty? He's just a man- just a professor.
The day comes along and you spend longer than usual picking out your outfit, yet another grandpa knit sweater called your name. Skirt or pants? You never think about these things this much. You opt for the skirt with some warm leggings to keep your outfit weather-appropriate. The winter boots come on and a cute scarf topped off with a jacket.
-
After your trek to campus, you find the building and get into the elevator. Third floor. You’ve never been nervous to go to the third floor before. You quickly press the button and shove your chilled hands back in your pockets. The elevator dings and you take the brave step out, looking to the signs on the wall to navigate the rooms and hallways that, with a clearer mind, would have been familiar. You find yourself in front of the large brown door, looking at the number beside the door, 333. Ironic.
You glance into the window beside the door, the glass is hazy, likely for privacy. After a deep breath, you raise your fist to the door and gently knock. You see a figure move up from behind the desk and make its way towards the door. You hold on to your bag strap as if it will ground you from anything that might happen- not that anything will.
Your train of thought is thankfully derailed by the door clicking open, it swings to reveal a familiar face, so warm and inviting. You can’t help but smile. “Ah! Y/n.” he checks his watch, you feel your stomach turn. Were you late? Lost track of time picking out an outfit or fixing your hair in the mirror? “Just on time!” He smiles and you breathe a quiet sigh of relief.
“Oh dear, have you been walking in this snow? Come in, come in.” He moves to the side of the door and raises his hand to gesture you in. You nod sheepishly, “Thank you,” you walk past him into the office, he smells of musk, old books, and something sweet that you can't quite put your finger on. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been this close to him before. “It wasn’t too bad, I don’t live very far.” You start to unravel your scarf.
“Ah. Good.” He smiles and leaves the door open a crack, circling around the beautiful brown desk, and finds a seat in his classy and comfortable brown office hair. He eases back against the leather and gestures for you to sit. “Please, make yourself comfortable.” You remove your coat and hang it over the back of the chair on this side of the desk. It’s a homey little armchair, light brown and smooth leather. You take a seat and cross your legs.
He glances down at the movement, quickly looking back up, as if he was giving himself a swift slap on the wrist, lost in a moment of distraction. This isn’t lost on you, but for the sake of professionalism on your part, you choose to ignore it, you’re probably making something out of nothing. This is your first time getting a real look into this man. His office decor says so much about him. A beautiful desk in the middle of two chairs, which you both currently occupy. Behind him is a wide bookshelf that takes up most of the wall, stocked with a vast selection of academic works with a few religious texts in a handful of languages in the top corner. His desk is clear,
“What brings you into my office today? A question about the assignment, was it?” He pulls his glasses out of the front pocket of his dark button-up, lightly perching them on his nose and leaning forward from his chair to glance at some papers on his otherwise perfectly neat desk. What a beautiful man he is. When he looks back up at you with those piercing blue eyes, you realize you’ve been asked a question. “Oh! Yes, um, about the McDonough reading?” you lean down and quickly rummage through your bag for your notepad and pencil, he waits patiently. “Specifically chapter three, Augustine’s?” His face turns from intrigue to a soft and knowing smile. “Yes! Of course, free will. Fascinating chapter.” He glances at you and rises from his chair as you pull out your notebook at last and your eyes meet. He seems so much taller now.
There’s a beat of silence. He turns and approaches the bookshelf behind him, scanning the options in front of him. He hums before reaching up and plucking a red hardcover from the shelf. He turns to you, book in hand, and it’s annotated to high heaven. “My personal copy.” He places it on the desk and settles back into his chair, crossing his legs, mirroring you. “I’m rather fond of the collection of ideas in such a succinct fashion from cover to cover.” You swallow the lump in your throat and nod. “What would you like to know, dear?” the affectionate nickname falls so easily off his tongue, and by the way he is looking at you, you would think he was fully aware of how it affected you.
“I guess I was just wondering about your thoughts on the subject?.. Whether or not free will comes from good or if it’s good, or if it exists at all for the sake of argument.” You meet his eyes again, holding your pencil and waiting eagerly for his response. He ponders for a minute. “I see.” Another pause. “I didn’t expect anyone to be intrigued about an old man’s opinion, but, I’ll do my best to oblige!” A soft giggle escapes you at his mention of his age as if he was just some old religious coot off the street and not an esteemed professor surrounded by scholarly literature. He chuckles at his own joke before going on. “I should preface, although I wouldn’t say I am a devout catholic, I do think it is good to be religious.” He glances at your neckline, a small gold crucifix ordaining it. You smile and jot down a short note on your pad. “And I must say, it’s been a privilege to consider your insights in class.” You’re taken away from your focus on notetaking to look up at him, surprised at the compliment. “Thank you.” He bows his head slightly and flashes that charming smile, you’ve already forgotten the reason why you came to office hours. “I believe you to be a keen and observant student.” You can’t help but start to blush at the continuous praise. “And for that-” he opens the novel of roughly 300 pages and easily finds the correct chapter, his fingers dance along the pages, so agile and particular. “-because I do not feel comfortable simply spreading my worldview to students, especially in the realm of philosophy and theology. I do, however, feel comfortable lending you my copy to decipher the answers you seek all for yourself.”
You sit nearly slack-jawed at his composure and charm accompanied with compliments about you no less! “Wow- I uh, don’t know what to say.” You stammer out bashfully, to which he sympathetically smiles and shuts the book, sliding it across the table and retracting his arms to his chest, crossing them, then nodding at you to suggest you should take it. You close your notepad and drop your pencil in your bag, reaching out and taking the book in hand. “Thank you, sir.” he winces at the misuse of the name and you quickly move to correct yourself, “Oh- sorry- Mr. Reed.” he smiles, “Well done.” you giggle at your own misstep and he smiles, “I hope you don’t mind the ramblings and incoherent annotations you may have signed up for,” he says sympathetically to your task now at hand.
“Not at all!” you reply enthusiastically.. maybe too enthusiastically. You clear your throat and hold the book close to your chest, your necklace pressing against the hardcover. “I’ll be happy to try and understand your insights the best I can.” He stands up and you follow suit. “I’m glad.” You begin to collect your things, mind racing in an attempt to comprehend the events that had just played out. As you were wrapping up in your scarf, lost in thought, you had failed to notice the professor collecting your coat. Now he stands, holding it for you to help you put it on. You try to conceal the surprise of your facial expression but certainly, the rosy blush on your face gives you away.
You set down the book and turn your back to him, offering your arms to him. He gently slides the jacket on you, coming closer as it comes over your shoulders. You can feel him so close to your back, surrounded again by the scent of him. Quickly, you adjust the jacket so it sits properly and turn slightly to meet his gaze. You swear for a moment you saw something you hadn’t seen before. “Thank you again, Mr. Reed.” he looks down at you and replies, “My pleasure, dear.”
You quickly pick up the note-filled novel and place it carefully in your bag. He follows you to the door, in doing so, placing a gentle hand on the small of your back to guide you. It sends a shiver down your spine. “See you on Monday, y/n.” You turn around to face him, now in the doorway. “Thanks again.” In a second you were down the hall, still feeling his gaze on you as you made your way to turn the corner and now waiting at the elevator. There’s no way this could all be in your head… right?
-
You found yourself back in your apartment, as if you blacked out the whole way home, in a hazy state, your head feeling light. This couldn’t be real, did you even leave yet? You check your watch, and it disagrees with you. You remember the parcel you were carrying back with you. You drop your bag on your bed and rummage through the contents before you feel it, a sleek hardcover. You carefully take it out, handling it as if it were glass. You’ve had this book in your hands before, but never this special edition, his copy. You kick off your shoes and shed your layers. Until your coat, holding it before hanging it up in the closet, it smells like him. You hang it up carefully, keeping it away from other clothing on the hangers. You climb into your bed, book in hand; you had other things to get done for other classes but that all felt so uninteresting with this weight in your hands.
You set the book down and decide it’s time to set yourself up for an afternoon and evening of reading. The blinds are drawn part way, only a little light leaking through, you dig through your candles until a suitable scent makes itself clear, setting it up and lighting it. You forgot you’d put on the kettle when you arrived home, so you make yourself a warm cup of tea. Last and essential step. You lift your sweater over your head, finding its place in the laundry hamper, the rest of your clothes following suit. Your leisure wear for this afternoon is a very light pair of shorts, pulling them up and tying them at the waist, and a large band shirt which you exclusively use to sleep or relax in; although you still listen to Radiohead, it seems embarrassing to wear a highschool phase out in public for everyone to see.
You dig through your bag again for the notepad and pencil you had used earlier, but with so much digging you only manage to find the notepad. It hits you that in your attempt to drop your pencil into your bag, it must have landed on the floor. There goes that lucky pencil. Oh well, the thought of Mr. Reed finding your black pencil on the floor lets you imagine him finding it and thinking of you.
After finding another utensil, surrounded by soft candlelight, a dim bedside lamp, a cup of tea, and a book that holds so many secrets about a man you’ve recently become very interested in. What could be better?
You remained in your hazy state while you made your way through each page of the book that you’d read passively before, but every footnote, every sticky note, and every scribble provided more inspiration to read this book inside out than you’d ever had. As the chapters seemed to fly by and your notes slowly got less detailed, the light through the windows slowly disappeared. It was as if you had a window into his mind, his thought processes, his theories. You felt warm, a similar feeling to the ball of nerves that pools in your stomach every time you see him, but this was more intense; like an itch that needed to be scratched. Your hand finds its way to the waistband of your shorts, your eyes transfixed on his handwriting. Your fingers find your core, already slick; you were so weak for him even in concept, already under his control. You imagined yourself under his thumb, his expert hands knowing exactly how to treat you; your fingers mimic your fantasies. You imagine the things you want him to do to you on that desk. What would he say if he could see you now? Imagining how his tongue would feel filling you sends you closer to the edge. Your eyes begin to glaze over and you give up on reading, shutting the book and holding it against your chest in one hand while your other works to finish you off. Your back lifts off the mattress and your eyes shut while you gasp for air, imagining him performing the most unholy acts on your body.
You take a moment and sit in your filth, chest rising and falling, you turn your head to glance over at your clock; how was it already midnight? Once you get yourself cleaned up and return to the book to find it a home on your desk, you can’t help but be surprised at your progress, you got just over halfway through.
As you got yourself comfortable in bed and blew out your candle, you slept happily, knowing you had your plans all figured out for the rest of the weekend.
Summary: Part 1/? - You’re a third-year university student at a prestigious university, burnt out by the woes of academics, but, more so, balancing a social life at the same time. That is, until a certain class- or professor- comes along that seems to solve all of your problems.
Mr. Reed (Heretic) x fem!reader (gender neutral pronouns used)
Words: 1.2k
Warnings: professor au, age gap (reader is in early twenties), light power imbalance, first-time fic writer
a/n: Hello! As mentioned above, this is my first time writing a fic after years of reading (this is how down bad I am for old Hugh Grant) so I very much welcome any constructive criticism < 3
Nothing seemed to fit in your timetable this semester. You'd think that you would've gotten better at choosing electives by year 3 but clearly, that's not the case. So here you are, sitting in yet another elective- what was it called again?- you glance at your planner; “Is Religion Useful?” you scoff under your breath. Not another sudo-philosophy class of meaningless questions and no solutions in sight, so frustrating to not have a clear answer. You can only hope this isn't as dull as the other few options you have.
Your flow of thought is immediately broken when you can't help but feel a pair of eyes on you. You look around the class, no more than 15 students, typical of a third year course. Quickly, you come to find the gaze that had been lingering on you, belonging to none other than the man at the front of the classroom. Your eyes meet for a moment, before sheepishly look away, down to your blank notepad and fidget with your pen.
The older man surveys the classroom, looking at what you can assume is his attendance sheet and backup. He’s certainly a sight for sore eyes. He had taken off his lovely brown coat and deep red scarf, laying them over the lecturer's chair. He adjusted the collar on his button-down which lay underneath the most gorgeous cardigan, which you can't help but envy- having worn a similar large grandpa sweater today. You can't help but smile at the idea of shopping in the same section of the thrift store as this old man, and wondering what other gems this professor could have in his closet. You're snapped out of your daydream by a throat clearing from the front of the room, requesting our attention in an almost passive aggressive way.
“Hello all; I am Mr. Reed, Professor Reed- if you must, although, ‘mister’ will do the job just fine.” His British accent lingers in your head after his sentence before he continues to rabble on. His small, forced grin reveals the lines that represent years of smiles, and chuckles, likely at his own jokes. Your eyes travel to his well-groomed silver locs, framing his face so nicely. As he discussed the syllabus- which you had already read, of course- he collects a pair of glasses from his front pocket, a light wire framing which he perches on his nose delicately to observe his notes- the glasses make him even more handsome.
Now this is a predicament. Having a hot professor is the last thing you need to distract you and keep you from your highest achievable grades. But on the other hand, quite the motivation to attend a 10:30am lecture. “Now. Oftentimes in theology studies, it seems, the more we know the less we know.” His eyes find you again, which seems to make you hold your pen just a little tighter, this time fighting the urge to break eye contact and maintain a calm outward appearance. He smiles and looks on to address the room again. “How many here are religious themselves? Hm?” The class remains silent. “Oh, come on now, I want to ensure I don’t make a fool of myself too fast this early in the semester.” He grins and waits patiently, “A raise of a hand or blurting out is fine for me.” A few students raise their hands, no more than five, from what you can tell from where you’re sitting. “I see. Good to know. I hope not to offend any of you with my questioning or mad ranting, I do find myself getting carried away from time to time but please stop me if you find that I am wrong.” You smile and make note that he enjoys being challenged, not all profs are so accepting.
“Now! For the most riveting chapter of our session today.” He brings his thumb and index finger to his lips and quickly licks them, separating two pieces of paper. He rambles on about attendance but you can't help but play that moment back over and over in your head, pressing your legs together in an attempt to keep yourself in check. “Y/n?” You snap out of your hazy state. “Y/n L/n?” He looks around the room inquisitively. “Oh- here.” You manage to sputter out. “Ah! There you are. I was beginning to think someone had skipped lecture on the first day, phew!” he chuckles to himself as his eyes flip up and down at you for half a second, not as if you didn’t notice it. “Who would want to miss out on this enthralling content we have in store for us on this fine day.” The projector turns on to reveal the syllabus, the room is ambient with few chuckles for his properly timed punch-line, he seems pleased with himself.
The hour and twenty seems to fly by, filled with similar witty jabs and entertaining commentary, despite the dry nature of the introductory muck. “Alright, it seems from the amount of times I have noticed you all ogling between the clock and window, respectively, that I have kept you long enough, class dismissed.” The shuffle of chairs, zipping of bags, and chatter begins as the class is happily let out five whole minutes early. You’ve made a habit of introducing yourself to your professors at the beginning of each term, as it makes reaching out for questions and inquiries so much easier throughout the semester but you hesitate. You watch as the older man collects his notes, stacking them neatly and finding a place for them in his briefcase. Why would he be any different? Probably just some old kooky religious nut anyway- you tell yourself, getting up the courage as you make your way to the front of the classroom, others passing you on your way to the door. “Hello, sir.” You state very matter of factly, as if to prove to yourself that you aren’t nervous. He looks up from his briefcase which he promptly shuts, snapping the latches closed. You suddenly feel a lot less confident, now much closer and fully under his inquisitive gaze as he looks down at you. “Mr. Reed is just fine, what can I do for you.” There's a beat of dead air between the two of you. You try to muster the most confidence possible, as if to convince yourself you aren't already enchanted with the man. “Uh, yes, I'm y/n, I wanted to introduce myself and say that I'm very excited for your class this term.” you force a nervous smile, hoping the words that came out of your mouth were coherent and in the correct order. “Ah! I see.” he smiles sympathetically, as if to see right through your poorly veiled struggle. “Well, nice to meet you y/n. I'm always excited to see more eager students in the front rows of my class.” he flashes another charming smile as he turns to collect his coat. “Of course!” You feel your cheeks flushing, knowing you need to act fast to keep completely embarrassing yourself on the first day. “Thanks again, see you soon!” You hold on tight to your notebook as if it were a shield and make your way quickly out the door before he can respond. You were certainly in for an interesting semester.
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