Mean ā”ļø Leland Coyle x Fat/Plus Size!Fem!Reader ā”ļø 5.3k Words
A/N: based on the aftermath of Locksock the Warden, shoutout to @arch-b1sh0p for beta reading and being my hype-man ā„ dividers made by me
Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Non-con/Coercion, Canon-typical violence, Oral Sex (M&F receiving), P in V sex, Spanking, Puppy play, Daddy kink, Pissing inside someone, no use of y/n
Archive of Our Own Link
Coyle finds you to be the perfect replacement for his Warden.
The stench of blood and viscera lingers in the air as you stumble through the threshold of the secretary's office bathroom, your lungs burning from the chase. Behind you, the Warden's body lies brutalized on the desk in his office. Your hands shake from the effort it took to beat your way through his stomach.
You tell yourself it's just the adrenaline, but you know better.
Of all the reagents sent in to this trial, you were the one who understood the trial victim the most. Seeing the Warden in the shower room, on his knees for Sergeant Coyle, made your chest ache. Ducking away, you hid your flushed face from your team while they watched. They'd never let you hear the end of it. None of them would get it.
Without your team, the only trials you did solo were either at the police station or the courthouse. You spent hours following Coyle around his domain, listening to him rant about anything and everything.
Not to mention the countless times you let him catch you, just so you'd know what it was like to touch him. Most of the failures on your record were from getting too carried away letting Coyle throttle you.
But now, with Coyle hot on your heels, it feels different this time. You lock the door behind yourself, but it's pointless. There's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The door on the other wall is barricaded, and every hiding place is occupied by junk.
You're terrified to face the prime asset breaking down the door. After what your team just did, there's no way he'd let you leave here alive.
The doorframe splinters at the latch. Leland Coyle crashes through the door like a raging bull. Huffing and puffing, his sights are set on you. His face is flushed and dark, mottled red as sweat beads down his face. Bloodshot eyes stare you down with an intensity that makes you weak in the knees.
Your feet carry you backwards, away from him, until you hit the edge of the half-wall jutting out from the shower.
You're stuck.
"Commie shitbird!"
You flinch and cry out, "Please, I'm sorry!"
"Do you have any ideaā" he roars, pointing at you with his free hand, "how long it takes to train a mouth?"
You know he's not really looking for an answer, so you keep quiet.
"Months! Months I spent trainin' him," he spits, "y'all broke my toy!"
"I'm sorry!" you cry out, throwing your hands up in surrender, hoping any sane part of this man would take over.
"Sorry ain't good enough," he growls around his cigarette.
The rational part of you is telling you to stun him, but your rig is still on cooldown for another minute. Long enough to die. Twice. You press your lower back into the wall and look around, trying to brainstorm.
To your dismay, there's nothing. From the shower to the floorā it's all barren except for some used condoms and trash. It's like someone cleared the room of anything useful before you even showed up.
Coyle advances until he's looming over you, dripping sweat onto your clothes and puffing on that cigarette.
The smell of his tobacco turns a light on in the darkest part of your brain. He never smelled pleasant any time you've run into him, but whatever brand he smokes is smooth. It doesn't make you crinkle your nose and hold your breath; it makes you want a taste.
You look up at him pathetically. He could squash you like a bug and move on to the next reagent without a second thought. The thought makes you shrink down, making yourself a smaller target.
"Take a look at you," he murmurs, anger slowly subsiding as he looks you up and down, "Shakin' like a leaf. Ain't no need for all that, now is there?"
"Uhā Iā" the words get caught in your throat and die there.
Coyle's ungloved hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb dragging across your skin. So many times you've imagined those thick fingers digging into your soft flesh, leaving bruises all over youā¦
But having him here in front of you, all heat and leather, those fantasies seem foolish.
"Cat got your tongue, Honey?" he asks condescendingly.
You nod, and he grins wickedly.
"That's alright. We'll get that tongue workin' in no time," he presses his thumb against your lower lip and you're tempted to bite it off, "See, my Warden knew his place was on his knees, takin' what I give him, and he was grateful for it. Begged for it."
Your reflection in his aviators is blurry, but you can still see the fear in your face as his hand slides down your neck and he rests his palm right up against your pulse.
"Y'all took that from me."
A gulp catches in your throat.
"So, I've decided you are gon' be his replacement. Eye for an eye kind of thing," he explains carefully, patting your neck.
"You don't meanā"
"Well, you certainly got the frame for it. Built for comfort, ain't ya?" he says smoothly, nodding down at your body and chewing on that damned cigarette.
On the outside, your cheeks are burning hot. You don't want him to know how badly he's getting to you, but you can't control how your body is responding.
You're divided. Any other day, you would have crawled right up to him. You would have begged him for the privilege.
Even while you're squeezing your thighs together to quell the tingly warmth, you know this is wrong. This isn't some late-night fantasy while you're alone in your sleep room. It's Leland Coyle in the flesh. A valued Prime Asset; unpredictable, violent, and not afraid of taking what he wants.
All you have to do is figure out a way to get past him and you'd be fine. The rest of your team isn't gone, yet. You could make it to the shuttle if you ran fast enough. There's still time, right?
Apparently not.
"So how 'bout it?" Coyle leans in impatiently, his cigarette threatening to ash over you as he speaks.
You try to nod, but your neck won't cooperate.
"I'm gonna need words, Honey."
You open your mouth and a whole lot of nothing comes out. Coyle graciously waits a few seconds, giving you time.
"See, I can tell by that look," he mumbles, "you're thinkin' real hard 'bout runnin'. That little stun of yours is coolin' down. I know you're just itchin' to knock me in the head with it."
Shaking your head frantically, you stutter, "N-no. I'm not."
"Well then, the next thing I wanna hear outta that pretty mouth is 'yes, Daddy.'"
"Yesā¦ Daddy?" you whisper, looking at him uncertainly.
"Nah. Like you mean it," he pats the side of your neck roughly.
Your heart jumps. You need to do this right.
"Yes, Daddy," you say sweetly.
"Oh, Sweetness," he groans, slipping his thumb around your throat and squeezing with enough pressure to remind you what he's capable of, "you're gettin' me all kinds of worked up, and we ain't even started, yet."
You swallow thickly, letting out a shaky breath. Maybe this won't be so bad.
Coyle lets go of your neck, dragging his fingers along your skin before pulling away. He steps back, pulls the cigarette from his mouth and tosses it on the tile.
Using his cattle prod, he gestures to the floor.
"First order of business, I got to know if you can follow basic directions," he leans back slightly, resting his free hand on his belt buckle, "Sit."
You stare at him, dumbfounded by the command after everything else. Sit? Like a dog?
Coyle frowns at your confusion.
"On. Your. KNEES!" he barks.
You drop.
The tile slams against your knees, but you don't wince. You wouldn't dare. Your heart hammers in your chest as you look up at him, breathing in shallowly. His shoulders relax as you obey, kneeling at his feet like you were made to be there.
"Good girl," he hums, dropping into a squat. His fingers thread through your hair, petting and lightly scratching at your scalp, making your eyes flutter, "You take direction when it's given with the properā¦ motivation, huh?"
Coyle drops his cattle prod to the floor and his gloved hand cups your cheek again. He's turning your head this way and that, like you're livestock at an auction. He rubs his thumb over your cheekbone, around the night vision goggles implanted in your temple, and traces the shell of your ear gently. His touch is methodical, cataloging every inch of you. Determining your worth.
"Open," he commands, bringing his thumb to press on your lip.
Your jaw trembles. You part your lips, and he grunts in approval, thumb pressing against your tongue, groping the wet heat of your mouth. You try your best to ignore the shameful way you lean into his touch.
"Real responsive," he mutters.
His hand slides down from your hair to grip the back of your neck, tightening and testing the give of your flesh. His leather gloved hand moves to your chest, avoiding your ESOP. He feels along the sides of your breasts.
Then lower, fingers spreading across your belly through your shirt as you suck in a breath. He squeezes you, assessing the softness there with undisguised hunger.
Coyle nods, satisfied, "Good weight distribution. Not flinchin' from proper handlin'."
You feel like a show animal, preening under his inspection, desperate for his approval. You arch your back slightly, pushing your chest out, presenting yourself for his evaluation. It's ridiculous and pathetic, but his smile returns.
"Oh, you want me to like you, don't you?" he lets out a laugh and taps the ESOP on your chest, "Let's get this thing off'a you."
He tugs at the straps of your ESOP, leaning in close to reach around and unhook it from the back, then the front. Easily, he pops the cable connecting your night vision goggles and tosses the strappy contraption across the room.
Completely unarmed now, you lean away from him and sit back more on your heels. Being so close to him seems a lot more dangerous now.
Coyle returns to cup your breasts, kneading roughly. Once again, you catch yourself leaning into his touch. You can't remember the last time someone held you like this. Despite the person the hands are attached to, it feels nice. You know you can't deny it as a soft whimper tumbles from your mouth.
"That's better, ain't it? Damned thing seemed kinda tight," he says, cocking his head at you.
"Thank you," you say quietly, sighing from the way his fingers brush across your nipples through your shirt and thin bra.
He smirks, "The way you're actin', kinda seems like you're wantin' me to pick you up and take you home."
You take a deep breath and hum in agreement.
"You'd like that, wouldn't ya? Bein' kept. Fed from my hand, and trained up right so you know exactly how to please a man like myself."
An involuntary whine escapes your throat, and you nod hesitantly. Coyle lets go of your breasts, resting his forearms on his knees as he grumbles something under his breath.
"Ohh-kay, Honey. You'll do," he decides with a curt nod, "Gonna take some work, some real disciplinin', but I'm thinkin' you might be worth the investment."
Coyle pulls his cattle prod from the floor and stands up, towering over you.
"Follow," he commands, turning on his heel.
You scramble to get your feet up under you, knees fighting as you push yourself up. A sharp whistle pierces the air. You freeze, half-crouched, and look up at him.
"Never seen a mutt walk on two legs before," he grumbles, glancing over his shoulder.
Your knees hit the tile again, then your palms. The floor is gritty with grime and sticky with substances you don't want to identify. Something sharp pokes into your right palm, probably glass, but you hope it's just a pebble. You don't stop to check.
You lower your gaze and crawl after him as he strides out of the office area, trying to keep pace with his gait while your knees scrape against the concrete.
Coyle leads you down the stairs, one heavy bootfall at a time, never looking back to see if you're still there. He knows you have nowhere else to go.
The panopticon opens up before you; a vast, circular hell of iron bars and windows. Coyle stops in the center in front of the, silhouetted against the red emergency lights still strobing across the walls. You crawl to his feet and wait, ignoring the chafing of your thighs and tightness in your lungs.
From somewhere behind a metal gate directly across from you, a biter yanks against their chain. They growl inhumanly and bark. Your first instinct is to reach for your stun. You lift a hand to your chest before remembering that you're still unarmed.
The alarms shriek louder, and the overhead speakers crackle to life.
"Ten seconds remaining to reach the shuttle. Nine. Eightā¦"
Coyle grunts, "Sit."
You fold back onto your haunches, heels tucked beneath you and hands resting on your thighs. You stare up at Coyle's face, searching for any hint that he might let you go before the shuttle leaves.
"Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two.ā¦"
He doesn't acknowledge you. He pulls a fresh cigarette from his belt and flicks his cattle prod to life. The electricity pops and crackles as he touches it to the tip, sparking the cigarette to life.
"One. The shuttle is now leaving."
The alarms cut out. The red lights stop their frantic pulsing. Inside your chest, the last bit of hope you had withers. You're not getting out.
You're not going back.
Coyle takes a long drag, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling.
"Y'know, y'all made a pretty big mess killin' my Warden," he says, rolling his shoulders and settling into his stance like a man on his fifteen minute smoke break, "Hell, it's a good thing we came to this here agreement, or else your fine ass woulda ended up as set dressin' for the next trial."
He shifts his weight, grabbing his crotch through his pants and adjusting himself with a grumble. He's acting antsy and impatient, and it's making you nervous.
Shuffling feet catch your attention as a grunt rounds the corner from Block A, pausing when they spot you on your knees. They straighten up, machete snapping up into a ready position, and begin stomping toward you.
"I LIVE HERE!" they grunt, raising their machete high.
You look up at Coyle, expecting him to intervene.
He just sighs exaggeratedly, and winds his arm back. The cattle prod whirs to life as he holds it like a baseball bat. While the grunt closes the distance, you scramble to crawl backward when Coyle swings.
The crack of electricity and metal meeting their skull echoes through the panopticon. Blood spatters across the floor, a few hot droplets landing on your arm. The grunt drops like a sack of potatoes, landing inches to your left.
Coyle shrugs and spits on the floor beside their head, "Can't seem t'keep people from puttin' their hands on what's mine today."
He looks down at you expectantly and cocks his head.
"ā¦thank you, Daddy," you whisper, lip trembling slightly.
"You're welcome, Honey."
He steps in front of you then, close enough that his crotch is level with your face. His bulge strains against the fabric, undeniably hard. He unhooks his battery pack and sets it on the ground alongside his cattle prod, metal clattering against the floor.
"Time for you to show Daddy some appreciation for keepin' you safe," he says lowly.
His gloved hand comes down on the back of your head heavily, insistently shoving your face into the heat of him. You can feel him flex briefly as his cock presses against your cheek.
Slowly, you respond. Your fingers find his belt buckle, fumbling with it until it comes loose. You undo the button, drag the zipper down, and pull his pants and underwear down together.
The stench hits you first. It's a sharp scent of stale sweat and musk. You recoil, fighting back a dramatic gag, and force yourself to push forward.
His cock is thick and veined, covered with scars in various states of healing. A dark bush of pubic hair frames the base, and a tiny bead of precum glistens, drooling from the tip.
"Go on, now," he urges, "Little justice ain't gon' bite."
You extend your tongue, licking the head. The precum is salty, mixing oddly with the tangy sweat coating his skin. You try to keep yourself from gagging again, but it doesn't work.
You pause, expecting punishment, but he doesn't do anything.
One relieved breath later, you take him into your mouth, resting your hands on the sides of his thighs for balance. He grunts in approval above you. His gloved hand curls into a fist in your hair.
Your mouth is dry and cottony with fear, but you try to accumulate what saliva you can. It's been a while since you've done anything like this. Months? Years? You aren't sure at this point. Fortunately, muscle memory kicks in soon enough. You're bobbing on his length without much need for his guiding hand, finding a rhythm that makes his thighs tense under your palms.
"That's it," he groans, "Bein' such a good girl for me."
He releases his grip, opting to pet your hair instead while you move. Tingles rush down your spine as his nails just barely scrape your scalp. You hum around him, appreciating the praise and his oddly gentle touch.
"Gettin'ā¦ kindaā¦ close," he warns you, voice strained.
Already? Either you must still have some skill or he's dying to finish what the Warden started for him. You speed up your pace, eager to please. And eager to end this before your legs fall asleep.
"Hey now," he yanks on your hair, irritation creeping in, "Slow down. Ain't no rush."
You take it slower, drawing back until just the tip rests on your tongue, then sliding forward until your nose brushes against the bush of curly hair at the base. You go as far down as you can until you gag, throat convulsing around him.
Holding yourself there, tears spring to your eyes. Everything in your peripheral blurs, but the way he moans, calling you his "perfect puppy," makes you feel like you would hold yourself there until you suffocated if it meant he'd keep praising you.
Coyle tightens his grip on your hair, painfully. His thighs stiffen under your hands and he stops moving. Above you, he's growling obscenities through gritted teeth.
"Fuuuck. Sweet puppy, takin' meā" he moans, cock twitching in your mouth, "soā ughā damn well."
You force him as deep as you can handle, drool dripping from your lips. Hot cum spurts down your throat while you try your best to swallow around him. You want so badly to make a good first impression, which means wasting none of what he gives you.
When it seems like he's done, his fingers loosen in your hair fractionally, you pull back enough to get a good deep breath through your nose. You smile with him still in your mouth, feeling a sick sense of pride.
Suddenly, he forces your head back down onto his cock, hard.
"I'm real sorry 'bout this, Sweetness. I just can't hold it," he says, flicking his cigarette to the floor and patting your face with his ungloved hand.
You look up at him with wide, wet eyes as warm and salty liquid trickles down your throat, filling your mouth. He grins, tilting his head back. You realize too late what's happening. Bitter and acrid, piss drips from the corner of your mouth as you attempt to swallow as much as you can without choking on it. Your fingers dig into his thighs, but he keeps you still.
Coyle groans while he does it, savoring the moment.
You struggle to keep up with the flow. It's too much all at once. Your lungs burn, screaming for mercy. All you can do is push against his thighs as you cry, protests muffled by his cock.
When he's actually done, bladder empty, he tugs you off of him. You gasp for air, sputtering as piss streams down your chin onto your already ruined clothes. You can't look up at him.
He pulls his pants and underwear back up, buckles his belt, and picks up his battery back and cattle prod. Without a word, he saunters off toward one of the exit doors, leaving you behind.
Before he reaches the doorway, Coyle realizes you're not following him. He whistles in your direction and snaps his fingers.
"Heeere, girl."
The words echo, but your knees feel glued to the floor. You're coughing, aggravating the burn in your throat. Catching your breath seems impossible. You turn toward him, but your eyesight is blurred by leftover tears.
"Don't make me say it again," he shouts.
Your hands find the floor. The concrete is cold, sticky in ways you don't like.
"Last chance," he calls out and you can hear the smile in his tone, "Come here, or I come get youā¦ you don't want me t'come get you."
You spare a glance to the grunt laid out beside you and then you crawl. Even with your knees hurting, palms slipping on the wetness coating everything, you somehow make it over to him. You don't look up. You wait for his next command, staring down at his boots.
-
Time moves on. Days blur into weeks, marked by Coyle's moodsā the times he's gentle and the times he's not.
He keeps you in a solitary confinement cell, deep within the prison. There's a cot with a thin mattress, a bucket, and a heavy iron door.
"It's for your own good," he tells you, like he's doing you a favor.
Like Easterman or the other assets are wolves at the door instead of him being the one who leashed you.
He did eventually bring you your own collar. A heavy, metal thing with one looped ring meant for a lead. It's a little tight around your neck, but Coyle promises he'll make you a bigger one soon.
Sometimes, when the rest of the facility is quiet, he clips a leash to your collar and lets you walk beside him.
He calls it stretching your legs, though you know better than to walk upright. You crawl through the corridors on hands and knees, while he strolls leisurely with his cattle prod swinging at his hip. Coyle keeps you close; close enough that his boot occasionally nudges your ribs when you lag behind. Close enough that he can reach down and pet your hair when you keep pace properly.
"Easterman's been askin' 'bout you," he mentions casually one evening, fingers brushing through your hair and grazing your scalp.
His name makes you cringe.
"Thinks he can take what's mine againā¦" Coyle says angrily, "Ain't gon' let nobody hurt my sweet puppy dog. You belong t'me."
He keeps his promise about training you right. Every morning he drills you until it's instinct. How to sit at attention when he enters your cell. How to speak, or rather, how not to. You're not allowed to use his name, except for the one that he chose.
"Who am I?" he'll ask, standing over you while you kneel at his feet.
"Daddy," you whisper. It makes your cheeks burn every time you say it, especially when he gives you that slow, pleased smile.
"That's right. My good girl."
He teaches you what he expects. Silence unless you're spoken to, eyes down unless he lifts your chin, and immediate obedience without hesitation.
His lessons are enforced with pain when you fail. If it isn't the cattle prod pressed to the chub of your inner thighs, then it's his belt across your ass or his hand across your face and around your throat until you lose consciousness.
But when you succeedā¦ when you anticipate his needs before he voices them and when you crawl to him the moment he snaps his fingers, the rewards make everything feel worthwile.
-
Two weeks in, Coyle comes back after a trial with blood drying under his fingernails and rage simmering on his face. You can tell by how his jaw is set that something went wrong, and he's looking for a place to put that anger.
"On the bed. Face down," he says flatly.
You hurry to obey as your heartbeat thunders in your ears. The bed frame creaks as you position yourself, pressing your cheek to the thin sheets. You hear him unbuckling his belt. As the leather slides through the loops, you flinch before the first strike even lands.
The first hit is agonizing.
There's a half-second of nothing, then white, hot heat crosses the expanse of your ass that makes you cry out into the mattress. He doesn't speak. He doesn't praise or condemn you, and you don't expect him to. You let him work through whatever he's carrying. You let him take it out on you.
By the time he's finished, you're a sobbing, trembling mess.
And then, his belt hits the floor. His hands replace it. Calloused palms smooth over the welts he raised, tracing them gently. You flinch, but push back into it. You hate that you can't help it.
"Easy, Honey," he whispers, "You done so good for me."
Coyle drags his hands over your hips and squeezes. One stays on your hip while the other drifts across your ass again, then lower. His fingers dip between your thighs and he coaxes you to pleasure with the same lack of patience he used to inflict pain. When you finish, moaning and gasping and dripping all over his hand, he tells you how good you did. He says you were brave, pets your hair, and calls you his favorite puppy.
You'd take the belt every day if it always ended like this.
-
Three weeks in, he finds you touching yourself without permission. You're alone in your cell, bored out of your mind, when he unlocks the door unexpectedly. Your hand freezes between your legs, cheeks flushing crimson as he stands in the doorway, eyebrow raised.
"Ain't this a pretty picture," he drawls.
"I'm sorry, Daddy," you stammer, pulling your hand away and closing your thighs, "I didn't meanā"
Coyle steps inside and shuts the cell door behind him, crossing over to stand by your bed. You look away from him, mortified.
He tsks, "Didn't mean to? Or didn't mean t'get caught?"
When you don't answer, he sighs, "Look at me."
His eyes are hidden behind those damn sunglasses, but you look up at them anyway.
"Sweetness, you know what happens t'dogs that stay humpin' things without permission?" he asks.
"No," you shake your head.
"They get fixed," he pauses, "Or they get put down."
"Ohā¦"
"Spread your legs," he demands.
Shame makes you hesitate, but you obey. He looks at you for a beat and then kneels, leaning in to finish what you started. His mouth is hot, his beard rough against the plush of your inner thighs, and he brings you to the edge quickly.
All that, just to pull back just before you're about to explode.
"Please," you whimper, hips chasing his mouth.
"Please what?" he chides.
"Please, Daddy, let meā"
"Let you what? Let you cum? After you been in here touchin' what's mine without askin'?" Coyle smiles at you, eyes hidden by those dark aviators. You wish he'd take them off.
You whine desperately and he laughs at you, genuinely amused. He squeezes the meat of your thighs appreciatively.
"Well, I reckon I can make an exception since you asked so nice," he says, but doesn't move.
He stays kneeling there, breathing against your skin and watching you squirm.
"Thank you," you whisper, "Thank you, Daddy."
"Mmhmm," Coyle hums.
It's not really approval. His thumb presses into the crease of your thigh and drags it along painfully slowly, tracing the width of your leg.
When he finally lowers his mouth again, he's rougher. Your hips buck into the sensation before you can stop yourself. He pins you down with one hand pressed into the softness of your stomach.
"Stay. Still," he growls.
You're babbling nonsense. You know you areā "Please," and "Daddy," combined with sounds that aren't words at all. He adjust his angle, pushes two thick fingers into you, and curls them until your spine arches off the mattress.
Static bursts behind your eyelids as you grip the thin sheets and your body goes taut, but he doesn't stop. He slows down, keeping his tongue on you. The aftershocks hit you until you're oversensitive, whimpering, and trying to clamp your thighs down on his head.
Coyle gets the message and pulls back. His beard shimmers in the light as you pant, chest and stomach heaving. When he looks up at you, he licks his lips hungrily. You hear his belt jingling, coming undone and the whisper of fabric as he shoves his pants down. He's on you in an instant, settling between your legs.
"Gon' fill you up, Honey," he mutters, guiding himself into you with one hand.
He wastes no time sinking his cock inside of you, gripping your hip with his other hand. Inch by inch, your mouth falls open and your eyes roll back.
The way your body yields to him, soft and welcoming, has him setting a harsh rhythm. Possessive, deep thrusts make the cot shake against the concrete wall. Your gasping breaths and his grunts fill the cell.
"Good puppy," he pants, leaning more of his weight on you, forcing your legs onto his shoulders and pressing your knees toward your head, "Such a sweet girl for your Daddy, huh? Takin' me so fuckin' deep, like some cheap whore."
You whine beneath him. Coyle's hitting something inside you that makes your legs spasm. You're back to moaning nothing but nonsense. A broken mantra of "please, please, please."
He speeds up, hips snapping harder as you feel the shift in him. His breathing is ragged as he slides a hand under your hip. He lifts you into his thrusts like you're weightless, arranging you however he wants.
"Gonna cum in you, Sweetness," he groans, "You want Daddy's cum inside you?"
You nod wildly, "Please, Daddyā"
He buries himself inside of you and stills. You feel the pulse of him. His hips jerk involuntarily against you as you feel the heat flooding you. He stays there, pressing you into the mattress with his weight until the tremors stop.
His hand still grips your hip, fingers kneading the soft flesh until you're sure he's going to leave more bruises.
"God damn," Coyle breathes out with a laugh, "Swear you're the tightest little fuckpig I've had in a while."
You feel empty when he pulls out of you, coating your thighs and sheets with cum. You know what happens next. He's going to pull his pants up and leave, expecting you to clean yourself up as best you can.
Before the drop, all you know is the euphoria of having him hereā¦ having him want you. You'd do anything for this feeling. You could endure any degradation he dreams up if it meant more moments like these. If pain is the price, you're more than willing to pay.
I saw the ask of putting coyle in a cuck chair and i need u to hear me outā¦ā¦ā¦.. threesome with the snitch and the warden and coyle having to watch against his will cuz he doesnāt know how to treat em well š¤š¤
I'm all ears, my friend.
tw slightly nsfw, mentions of pet play
I'm literally stuck between the idea of you having them as pets & you taking care of them as you give them individual attention, OR the script gets flipped & you're getting topped.
If he was taking you along with him he had some rules you had to follow.
"Now, you hurt me," Joel says pulling you by your hair, "I hurt you. So no bitin'." He runs the loaded weapon against your face, caressing you with it.
Its heavy weight digs into your skin.
"Lord knows I don't wanna." His eyes narrow, meeting yours, "So don't make me."
Would he really shoot you?
He lifted your chest for a moment, placing his jacket underneath your back.
What was he doing? Was he making you comfortable?
"Now," he placed his fingers in your hair, mindlessly playing with it, "repeat it back to me."
And you did.
"I hurt you. You hurt me."
"Good girl. I really don't wanna. You're too pretty to... damage." Joel fondles your chest.
You illicit a sound that catches his attention.
"So gorgeous is already wet for me," he sighs, "huh? Okay."
He unfastenes your pants, pulls down your underwear but without tearing them. A sort of consideration that wasn't lost on you.
Your body jerks becuase his mustache tickles your abdomen with his soft kisses. Pricking your skin, causing more, what Joel considers, consenting sounds from you.
camp counselor!Joel Miller x f!reader | 3.4K | read on AO3
Summary: Joel Miller, the new head counselor at Camp Happy Trail, makes sure this summer will be one you won't forget.
WARNINGS: 18+ Only! No outbreak AU. '80s AU. Think Camp Crystal Lake vibes w/o the murders. Set in 1980. Mention of another p-boi. Mention of semi-public sex. Accidental voyeurism. Fingering. F!masturbation. Joel is a bully AND has a big š. Kissing. Breast/nipple play. One spank. F!oral. Unprotected piv. Creampie. Mention of pregnancy (not reader). Cheating. Secret fmf threesome (makes sense in context). M!oral. Cum swallowing. Reader is early-to-mid-twenties, able bodied, with breasts and vagina, but otherwise undescribed. Feel free to imagine Game Joel or Show Joel.
Adriana's note: another little thing in my wips for a few weeks, and I really wanted to have it out by the end of summer. This was inspired by a fantasy an idea of Joel in 1980s short shorts (this look should definitely make a comeback)
dividers by @/strangergraphics-archive š
JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST
SUMMER 1980
You love your summer job as counselor at Camp Happy Trail. You love being outdoors, helping the campers with swimming, canoeing, hiking, learning about nature. Youāve looked forward to it every summer since high school.
This year is different. Thereās a new head counselor in town, and heās trouble in the form of Joel Miller.
Heās tall, broad, graying, and stern. His dark brown eyes apprise every counselor in front of him as the group gathers on the campās front lawn two weeks before opening day. He goes over the rules and expectations of all staff members. You pay attention even though itās the same old drill: no fucking around during working hours, make sure the campers are safe at all times, please report injuries and have them sent to the nurses station, et cetera. You could recite the rules by heart.
Only one thing has you concerned.
You raise your hand to speak. Joel glances over at you but continues talking, stressing the importance of keeping away from drugs and alcohol during the next two weeks,Ā especiallyĀ once the campers come on opening day. You know all that. Still, you wait with your hand raised until Joel sighs, giving you time to speak.
āWhat happened to Frankie?ā
Joel tries really hard not to roll his eyes. āFranciscoĀ Morales wonāt be here to help us set up. Heāll be here on the campās opening day.ā He snorts, arms crossed as he eyes you up and down. āWhat, is he your boyfriend or somethinā?ā
āNo..ā you reply, unable to stop the embarrassment from creeping up your spine. Of course you and Frankie hadnāt set any firm definitions about what you are, but the past two years youāve spent here have also been spent by fucking him in the woods during early morning hikes, blowing him in the storage shed, and sneaking him into your cabin to have him go down on you all night.
You have his number, but thereās been no answer when youāve called before driving up to the campsite. You wonder whatās keeping him from being here.
Piper, the girl youāve hated since youāve been counselors together these past few years, shoots a smug look your way as the meeting is adjourned, and she walks off with Joelās arm around her waist. She glances over her shoulder at you, giving you the finger.
Sheās just jealous because Frankie chose you over her two years ago. She hasnāt let you alone in peace since.
Joel is a hard task master. At dawn he has the counselors up and jogging through the trail in the woods and chopping firewood before breakfast. Swim safety is in the afternoon when the heat is at its worst, the air humid with the scent of sunblock and stagnant lake water. At the very least youāre given some time to lay out in the sun afterward, drying off on the warm boards of the dock.
Back at the cabins only two people are unaccounted for ā Piper and Joel. The other counselors make crude guesses as to where they are and what theyāre doing. Youāre elected to go and find them before it gets dark. Piper has dinner duty and Maya refuses to do all the cooking alone.
Slipping on your jean shorts, your towel slung over your shoulders to catch the water droplets from your still-damp hair, you set out in search of Joel and Piper.
The sun is just starting to set when you find them in a thick copse of trees near the edge of the forest, Piper pressed against a tree as Joelās fingering her, his hand down the front of her red bikini bottom as he plunges inside her, head bent close to her ear, muttering dirty things. You stop, half-hidden by the trees as you watch them, your own pussy growing wet just bearing witness. You know you should turn and leave, forget you ever saw this, just tell the others that Piper and Joel are coming back soon.
But youāre frozen to the spot, watching them in the secrecy of the woods, your own hand ghosting over your clothed clit, imagining what Joelās thick, rough fingers must feel like.
Thereās a sharp snap of a twig that echoes in the air, causing Piper and Joel to quickly part. Youāre already hurrying down the path, shame and lust heating your cheeks.
Everyone is split up in pairs, the counselor bunks only small enough to house two comfortably, and unfortunately Joel assigns you and Piper together. You tell yourself itāll just be a couple months and most days will be too busy for you to have to deal with her very much.
Piper grabs the top bunk before you have a chance to claim it. But once youāre settled in the bottom, she makes you switch back after she finds a spiderweb too close to the ceiling.
But even your nights canāt be peaceful. Joel sneaks in after lights out, and you have to endure the soft giggles and moans coming from the bunk below you. The entire bed frame rocks with Joelās thrusts as he fucks your bunkmate.
Great, just great.
They make no effort to hide whateverās going on between them. His hand is permanently on her ass, barely clothed in the camp counselor uniform shorts, his entire paw covering her ass cheek. The others donāt notice or donāt care, too caught up in their own romantic entanglements.
It only makes you miss Frankie more. Out here in the woods you have no way of contacting him except through the main office line, but Joel stands right in front of anyone who wants to call home, dials the number on the rotary phone, and waits with arms crossed as the call is made. Nobody does personal calls while heās in charge.
You try to keep yourself busy with helping get the camp ready. The grass near the cabins is maintained, repairs are made to the buildings themselves (which Joel oversees, and you canāt help but to check him out a little while heās fixing the sign above the infirmary ā he looks too good with a hammer), checking that the generators are working properly, and that the electrical system and water pressure are good.
Thereās so much to do that by the time you climb up into your bunk you fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.
The only thing that could possibly wake you is Joel fucking Piper in the bunk below yours.
Joelās grunts and groans, paired with Piperās moaning and gasping, keep you awake. You lose count of how many rounds they go, the entire bed bunk frame shaking with their movements. And at one point you canāt help it as your fingers travel beneath your sleep shorts, finding your wet pussy and tracing your slit. Two fingers fit inside you easily as you lift your legs to get comfortable. Closing your eyes you start fucking yourself on your hand, imagining Joelās fingers inside of you instead of yours.
Youāre trying desperately to keep your whimpering to a minimum but you doubt theyāll hear you over their own sounds. Your fingers match the pace of Joelās thrusts, though you imagine his cock is a lot bigger than your two fingers combined. And the way heās been fucking Piper for almost an hour solidifies the fact that his stamina is good.
Your fingers glide over your clit, circling and swiping, your hips arching up as you chase the friction you so desperately need for your release as you listen to Piperās moans and Joelās increasing grunts. Eyes squeezed tight you plunge your fingers as deep as you can, timing it just right with Piperās final, momentous scream. You try to keep as quiet as possible as your release coats your hand, clit throbbing, legs quaking.
Joel corners you after breakfast the next morning, barring you from following the others to the field where a soccer match was planned. Instead he drags you to the boat shed. You hate it there. Itās dusty and cramped and there are cobwebs in the corners.
āWhatās wrong?ā you ask, your heart in your throat as Joel peers down at you, something unreadable in his deep brown eyes.
āWhatās wrong?ā he mimics you. āYou think I donāt know you were gettinā yourself off to me and Piper last night?ā
The blood drains from your face, leaving you cold. āWh-what?ā
āStop actinā innocent. You werenāt exactly quiet. Piper was laughinā at you, sayinā youāre a lonely little virgin.ā
āIāmĀ notĀ a virgin,ā you tell him tersely.
āReally?ā Joelās voice is full of derision. āProve it.ā
The blood drains from your face. āH-how?ā
āYouāre a smart girl. You know how.ā But just to be mean he explains it in detail. āHow about you bend overāā he slaps the hull of a nearby canoe and puts his hand on your lower back, pressuring you towards it. ā--pull those pretty little short-shorts down and let me check for myself.ā
āYouāre not serious,ā you sputter.
āYou afraid or somethinā?ā he smirks.
Youāre not afraid per se. But youāre definitely wet enough so that heāll tease you if he finds out. āOf course not,ā you stand up to him boldly.
He looks amused by this, and the way he cups his bulge in his own shorts shows heās more than a little turned on. Your eyes drop down to where his thick cock is hardening under the skin-tight fabric.
With determination in your eyes, youāre certain of yourself when you reach up and grab Joel by the nape of his neck, kissing him. His eyes go wide at the initial shock of surprise, but then they close, a deep and satisfied growl in his chest as he kisses you back, his tongue slipping past your lips. Your gasp turns into a soft moan as his large paw on your lower back presses you closer to him, rubbing his hard-on against you.
āI bet this pussyās already soaked,ā he mutters, finally breaking from the kiss to nip at your neck. āBut first..ā he pulls away, a devilish look in his eye. āLift up that shirt, honey, and lemme see those pretty titties.ā
You scoff despite the fact that you are indeed soaked, but youāre already this far in. You might as well go all the way. You lift up your shirt, your white lacy bra on full display. Joelās big meaty hands pull down the cups, palming your tits with his rough bare hands, bouncing them in his palms. āLook at these.. you gonna lemme suck āem?ā
Fuck.Ā This isnāt going how you expected but you canāt complain. You nod and he immediately pulls you close, picking you up and pinning you against the canoe as he takes your nipple in his mouth, groaning, using his free hand to pinch your other nipple. āSo sweet,ā he groans, releasing off you with a wet pop before sucking on the other.
āJoel!ā you gasp, a fresh wave of wetness seeping through your underwear.
āDonāt worry, Iām gettinā there,ā he mumbles, helping you shimmy out of your shorts and pressing you forward against the boat. He lands a quick spank across your ass cheek, chuckling at the way your flesh jiggles and the sound of your yelp. Then he spreads your cheeks wide. āLook at that.. pretty as the morninā dew..ā He kneels down and laps at your honey, making you moan. Almost too late you catch yourself, muffling your own sounds with your palm.
His large, rough hand trails down your spine, keeping you in place as the thick head of his cock slides through your folds, collecting your wetness and teasing you as he slides between your cheeks. You mewl in protest as he chuckles. āMaybe youāre right, maybe youāre not a virgin. Not the way youāre actinā so greedy for my cock. Well darlinā, take it..ā
He eases into you, using shallow thrusts and you canāt help but exhale, the rush of breath leaving you in surprise before he angles you down, sliding in to the hilt. āYouāre full of me now,ā he grunts out, holding steady to your hips. āGod damn, tighter than a nunās asshole.ā
Your walls flutter around him with each stroke, your hands bracing you against the smooth wood of the upturned canoe. You whimper in time with each smooth thrust. Each time Joel bottoms out you feel it deep in your belly, probably deeper than anyoneās ever gone.
āWish you could see how youāre soakinā me,ā Joel grunts, giving a few quick thrusts to let you hear the sound of your sloppy pussy. āHow do you like it, darlinā? You want me to make a mess of you inside, or do you need me to pull out and shove this cock down your throat so you can swallow my load?ā
āI-inside,ā you pant. āI have an IUD.ā
āThatās a relief,ā Joel mutters, speeding up, one big hand wrapping around your front to tickle your clit. āCāmon, baby, need you to come on my cock before I bust inside you..ā
He slows down just enough for you to work your way up to it, the heat building in your belly and your core, moaning at the way he lifts your hips to meet each thrust, sweat gathering at your temples. āJoel,ā you whine, thinking of nothing but the way heās fucking and filling and stretching your cunt. With an expertly angled thrust home you fall apart, moaning his name as you squeeze around him, and he picks up the pace, slamming into you until he swells inside you, his hot cum painting your walls. His cock is still twitching in the aftershocks when he finally releases his grip on your hips and pulls out of you. You quickly shove your underwear and shorts back on to catch his leavings already starting to leak out.
āSmart girl, beinā on birth control,ā Joel mutters, stuffing himself back into his own shorts. āI wish Piper was responsible like that.ā
You school your features into nonchalance after you pull your shirt back down. Thereās a little stab of guilt when you realize youāve just fucked your bunkmateās boyfriend.. even if she is a bitch. āWhat do you mean?ā you ask innocently.
He reddens, as if he shouldnāt have spoken. āYouāre sworn to secrecy, alright? Piperās pregnant.ā
āWhat?ā Joel immediately clamps his hand over your mouth. He still smells like sex.
āShut. Up,ā he warns. āIf I find out you told anyone else youāre packinā your bags and goinā home. Understand?ā
You nod and whisper āYes,ā when he removes his hand. āItās yours?ā
He scoffs. āShe says so. Stillā not a peep. Got it?ā
Piper becomes grumpy when Joelās visits make an abrupt stop. But sheās no bitchier than usual, likely trying to get back into Joelās good graces. Little does she know heās only stopped coming to her because heās taken up fucking you instead ā in the storage shed, in the empty cots in the infirmary, the walk-in pantry in the kitchen. He maintains the position that he doesnāt like you very much while youāre in front of the others, sometimes giving you tasks you have to complete on your own ā with the sole purpose of finding you to hook up.
The last night before the campers are due, everyone lets loose. Couples sneak off into the woods with sleeping bags and sinful intentions, some stay on the pier by the lake, drinking and laughing.
Youāre the only one whoās made it to your bunk at an appropriate hour, wanting a full nightās rest before the big day. But your sleep is interrupted when Joel and Piper come in, slamming the door behind them, all over each other, kissing and giggling. With a silent groan you put your pillow over your head, already expecting to drown out the noises theyāre about to make, which are going to keep you up all night.
Theyāre in the bottom bunk, a little quieter now that their mouths are busy. But soon thereās that familiar rocking rhythm and the sound of Piperās moans and squeals, coming to a crescendo. Once again Joelās stamina is off the charts. Youāre in the middle of pleasuring yourself, two fingers shoved as deep as you can go, when everything stops and you hear Joel murmuring. Thereās a creak as he gets out of the bunk, and Piper giggles as he positions her facing away. Now Joelās eye level with your bunk and you gasp as you come face to face with him. He winks at you.
āWhat do you think youāre doing?ā you whisper as quietly as you can.
āShe caught up with me. I couldnāt shake her,ā he explains just as softly. āDonāt leave me hanginā, sweetheart. Bring that pretty pussy to my face.ā
Without hesitating you lift up your nightdress, scooting to the edge of the bed, thighs spread around Joelās face as he fucks into Piper ā oblivious to everything going on ā in the bottom bunk. Heās got his dick buried in her while heās eating you out. Youāve never experienced anything hotter.
You hear Piperās staccato cries as Joel pounds into her from behind, his own moans humming through your flesh, heightening your arousal, your clit standing at attention between Joelās lips, his mustache tickling your soft skin. You already know youāre going to come when your legs start shaking, toes curling at the waves of pressure building up in your very core.
āJoel!ā you try to whisper as softly as possible. āJoel!.. Iām gonna come!ā
He only smacks harder into Piper, her own cries louder than yours. āCome for me,ā he whispers back, the tip of his tongue giving one teasing swirl around your pearl before he dives back in. Your back arches off the bed, lightning shooting through your veins as your cunt pulses, drenching Joelās mouth as you come. He groans, licking up every drop, watching you through his lashes. āGood girl,ā he whispers, backing off when you become too sensitive, his lips warm on your inner thigh, stubble scratching at your soft skin as he pulls off of Piper, turning her around so sheās sucking him off.
You hear her moaning and sighing, gagging on his cock. Meanwhile Joel lazily fingers you, scissoring his digits inside your sloppy pussy, his eyes black and glossy while Piper deep-throats him. Your fingers card through his hair as you ignore the softening of your heart in seeing him so tame and vulnerable.
Your name is on his lips but he moans Piper just in the nick of time, his breaths growing unsteady as he comes close to the end, getting ready to bust in Piperās mouth. You take his head in your cupped hands. āCome, Joel.. give her what she wants,ā you whisper. He groans, his thrusts getting sloppy as he fucks his girlfriendās throat, stilling at last, his features tensing then relaxing as Piper gasps softly, swallowing his thick load.
The next day Joel treats you the same as he always has. Everyoneās minds are on the Opening Day festivities ahead, even if some of the counselors look like theyāve only had a couple hoursā sleep. Youāre bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, not just because of last night, but because youāre genuinely excited for summer camp to officially begin.
The campers hurry out of the stuffy buses and onto the rolling green grass, toting duffel bags, wearing the gold and blue camp tees and ball caps, eager for their summer to begin. Everyone is assigned to a counselor, and as soon as your group is ready you start to lead them to their cabin. You have a full day ahead: a quick icebreaker so everyone can become acquainted, a scavenger hunt that will enable the kids to work as a team, then a game of capture the flag, then lunch. You have your day cut out for you, and in the back of your mind you wonder if youāll cross paths with Joel again..
Your thoughts are interrupted by someone shouting back at the buses. All the counselors turn to look, surprise written on their faces as they find one more latecomer to Camp Happy Trail.
Frankie Morales, adjusting the Standard Oil cap on his head, dark curls already sticking to the sweat on his neck, hurries off the last bus. His royal blue camp tee clings to his torso like sin, accentuating his broad frame. Youāre speechless when he reaches you, putting his arms around you and lifting you off the ground before landing a big kiss on your lips. The campers are grossed out, giggling and making faces.
When he pulls away, cupping your face in his hands, you can feel everyoneās eyes on you, just as shocked as you are to see him finally arrive. āI missed you, babe,ā he says, planting one more kiss on your forehead. āSo what have I missed?ā
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Title it pretty self explanatory, no X reader since these are just general HCās for coyle while yall wait for chapter 2 of Pick Yourself Up
But until then, have some HCās for Coyle! And like always, my requests are OPEN!
TW: this set of HCās has mentions of blood, violence, sexual themes and drug usage, reader discretion is advised, and a couple HCās are a little NSFW
Police Station
ā¢Whenever he patrols the police station, coyle has a bad habit of trying to talk to the mannequins like theyāre his colleges, and has even gone as far as to give them all their names
ā¢He canāt whistle, so thatās why he sings instead. If he could, he wouldnāt need to smoke, thatād be all he does wandering around
ā¢Sometimes he likes to pretend the grunts are delinquents so he can arrest them (he lets them go if theyāre not combative)
ā¢If he notices the lipstick on any female mannequins scratched, heāll look for a body and use some blood to replace it
Courthouse
ā¢He often finds himself having conversations with the judge and when theyāre over he feels stupid for having such a civil conversation with a woman
ā¢Aside from the judge, the only woman he respects properly is lady justice, and he always tips his hat to her when he passes her statue
ā¢Sometimes heāll loiter around in the courtroom and pretend heās court security so that if a reagent wanders by he can say theyāre in contempt of court
ā¢He never has a cigarette lit when walking by the judge or lady justice, again out of the massive amount of respect he has for the legal system he so often disappoints
ā¢He likes to write little messages in the black light rooms in blood so they show up for reagents, and theyāre never serious. But theyāre barely legible so most reagents ignore them
Prison Farm
ā¢Like in the trailer, he likes to let his cattle prod follow along the cell bars behind him as he walks through the cell blocks
ā¢If heās feeling nice, heāll toss a bone to the biters around the map, very literally
ā¢He yells slurs at the mannequins whoāre posed sexually in the prison farm more than the police station because the prison farm has way more
ā¢Speaking of that, itās also where he feels both most comfortable and most ashamed of himself
General
ā¢The disease that affected his face is like chemical borne but has a lot of other symptoms on him, like breathing issues, also I think he would get a lot of stomach bugs for some reason
ā¢He really likes mints, not even for the fresh breath, he just loves crushing on mints like theyāre teeth.
ā¢Obviously he likes fat men with tattoos but I also think he likes men and women with tramp stamps, especially if theyāre themed after him (the warden has a tramp stamp where itās like handcuffs with a scale hanging off them with the words āLittle Justiceā across the top)
ā¢Very touch starved but hates being touched, like you donāt touch me, I touch you and if you touch me, itās because I either demanded you to or I will kill you type mentality
ā¢Subtly feminises his male partners out of shame. If there is a hill I will die on, it is this one. I am a firm believer that Coyle feminises his male partners because of internalised homophobia
ā¢Most bisexual man to exist, undoubtedly, but he has a male preference Iād say
ā¢Itās not just pistachios he likes, theyāre just his favourite kind of nuts, he also likes walnuts and salted peanuts, heās also like a crunch on those mixed nuts you only find in bars, like store bought ones donāt do it for him, they have to be dive bar mixed nuts
ā¢He treats all criminals the same but he treats people who hurt kids in any way like 1000 times worse stemming from his own trauma
Domestic/Modern
ā¢Loves body cam channels (this is a stolen HC, I unfortunately forgot the user but full credits to them for this)
ā¢Talks major shit on pred catching channels but cont stop watching and laughing at them (laughing at the preds)
ā¢Would either live back in Oklahoma to resume his police work or move close to an electrical plant
ā¢Would also like true crime channels, listens to em like podcasts while he does stuff around the house (nothing)
ā¢His house is always clean but youāll never catch him cleaning. Maybe he just never needs to clean? Youāll see the odd dish or a bit of dust, and the house never smells all that good, but itās clean at least
ā¢Expanding on that, thereās a cross next to his door, he mostly just nods at it but if heās having a rough one, heāll kiss his fingertips and press it to the cross
Prime Time
ā¢He likes Mother Gooseberry the most
ā¢He likes to play into the father role he was given and dances with Mother Gooseberry
ā¢Wants Mother Gooseberry, the Warden and the Snitch to all smother him
ā¢Franco often makes fun of his cigarette belt
ā¢As much as he hates the baby thing, Coyle has a weird urge to just ruffle Francoās hair
ā¢If he looses sight of a reagent, Coyle smacks Franco upside the head
ā¢Coyle respects both Otto and Aurora but respects Otto more. Finds them both weird though
ā¢He has a much easier time talking to Otto because they both have a history of corruption
ā¢But heās had a few good conversations with Aurora about science, and itās just them yapping about electricity and chemicals
ā¢He only really likes Liliya for her respect for religion (at least thatās how he sees it)
"Daddy's Special Attention" - A Leland Coyle Birthday Special
AN: IT'S MY BIRFDAY!!!
This is my first birthday that I'll be spending in the Outlast fandom. God I've been obsessed with this game for like 6 months now? Something like that. So I'm making a little gift for myself :3
This is gonna be a headcanon bullet point style post, so it'll be written in the "you" style, but it's going to be INCREDIBLY self indulgent because it's my birthday, I do what I want.
Of course this was going to be about Leland, what did you expect? I'm finally home from vacation and his new trial has me acting some type of way. I gotta get it out of my system.
I missed him so much ;b
Premise: It's your birthday. Easterman hasn't been taking it easy on you lately. Trial after trial after trial, each more brutal than the last. But a certain someone decides to make a special request to get his favorite reagent in the PA Sleep Room for one special day...
CW: NSFW CONTENT! MINORS DNI!
Gender not specified, but reader has female anatomy. Typical dom!Leland shenanigans. Starts out nice, gets mean later. Teasing and degradation/humiliation (calls you stupid, pathetic, tells you to shut up), sub/dom dynamics, slight size difference stuff, biting (maybe draws blood), plays with your nipples, he's eating you out like he's devouring an ice cream cone, p in v, choking, dacryphilia, cream pie fuck yeah, call him "Daddy" cuz that's what he is.
Headcanons under cut~
Let's be so real, I think if your birthday was approaching, Murkoff probably wouldn't give you any grace. In fact, things might get worse
The blood drive, the new trials, and dear god, the Biters
It's been a lot, to say the least
But maybe someone noticed, someone you happen to spend a lot of time with...
Now, we all know Leland's ego is through the damn ROOF with his new trial environment. Like oh my god I'm pretty sure he's gonna implode and take all of Murkoff down with him, he's so excited
Obviously, Easterman is gonna put you through Leland's new trials, not just to deal with him, but also the new Biters
Evil ass Biters
Now, just because you're Leland's favorite reagent doesn't mean he takes it easy on you
He'd probably never admit it unless under specific circumstances, but he likes the chase, the games you two play in the trials
Sure he knocks you out and gives you a good zapping every now and again, but he'd never hurt you too terribly much
Got a reputation to uphold and whatnot
Ohh but I think things might change juuuust a bit if he finds out it's your birthday
Maybe he catches you bitching and mumbling to yourself about the fact you're running around through grime and blood on what's supposed to be your special day
Doesn't really matter how he finds out, all that matters is maybe he pulls a string or two and gets you in the PA Sleep Room with him
He's already kinda in Easterman's good graces, maybe Easterman throws him a bone, not really expecting that it's a bone for you as well
You've been in the PA Sleep Room with Leland before, you typically know what to expect
But this time it's... a little bit different
He's... almost sweet? Almost. Not quite
"S'pose even a pathetic little thing like you needs something... special every now'n again"
He's always a little mean, but maybe he's prepped something for you
He's not completely selfless, but I think if he could gift you anything, he's gifting you a spare leather jacket
Oh and it's definitely too big for you
He can't help it, he likes how small you look in it
Maybe he's extra protective too during this time in the PA Sleep Room
Other Prime or Ex-Pops looking at you funny? "Are you lookin' to get yer bits FRIED TO HELL AND BACK?! GIT THE HELL OUTTA MY SIGHT BEFORE I TURN YOUR ASS INTO A FUCKIN' CRIME SCENE!!!"
He's loud and kinda obnoxious, but it's probably nice not being the one being yelled at for once
Not exactly pampering you, but staying real close as you kinda just go about your day in the Sleep Room. Guard dog type shit
Maybe even indulges you in some of the games available in the Sleep Room. Not normally one for games, but hey, it's your birthday
And you know what that means...
End of the day rolls around. Of course you're winding up in his room. This ain't your first rodeo with him
But once again, it's just a little bit different, a little less mean
He'd normally jump you like a wild animal, but this time, he waits
It's lights out, dark, and just you two, much much too close in his bed
That's when he starts talking
"Darlin', I know that sonuvabitch doctor puts you through too much... I'd cook him from the inside out fer ya if I could..."
Again, weird, but still kinda sweet?
You're up against his chest little spoon style shit yeah and that's when he'd start nuzzling you, holding you even closer, little kisses on the back of your neck
"You've been doin' so well... So well in the trials fer me~"
This man wants to jump you SO BAD but he's holding back just for once in his life
You ask him why, why is he acting like this now? Not that you're complaining necessarily, but why?
"Hmm... It's yer special day. Don't you want Daddy's special attention?"
UGUGUFHFHHFHHFHHUUHH
I'm fine, I promise
It feels almost wrong, but of course you want his attention like this. It really wouldn't take much to give in like this
Once you're rolled over to face him, his lips find yours immediately
Doesn't matter that the room is pretty much pitch black, he knows how to find you in the dark
Dude probably tastes smoky like cigarettes but honestly who cares, he's too fucking fine
Starts out slow, but quickly ramps up
He's growling into your mouth, biting you, holding you still with his hand on the back of your head, trying so hard to not just pull your hair and flip you over for him to enjoy
He's not one to stay put for long, he's absolutely heading for your neck and collarbone next
This man knows how to BITE let me tell you
Just based on the way you're gasping, he can zero in on what parts of you are sensitive enough to leave a perfect mark on
That man is latching on and is not letting go till he's almost breaking skin
"Mmmm... Still taste just like honey, sweetheart"
And that's just from your skin dude, this guy is gonna go insane
By now he's absolutely grinding against you, probably has been for awhile now, and I know for a FACT that it would be fucking raging
Like even through his boxers, that thing is stabbing against your thigh, he is the definition of bricked up he's that hard
He's lifting your shirt and making his way down, biting, kissing, on your chest, your breasts, your hips, your thighs
Oh also this man is finding exactly how to tease your nipples to get them all perked up for him so it's just that much more sensitive for you
Freak likes to play with the little joysticks, what can I say?
"Christ Almighty, yer this excited fer me already?" as he's twisting your nipple just so to get you to squirm and arch against him. "Shoulda just begged me to treat you like this ages ago, sweetness~"
This man will TEASE THE FUCK OUT OF YOU once he reaches your underwear
This freak is juuuuuust within reach, biting and kissing your inner thighs, probably teasing the lip of your panties with his fingers, but not actually doing anything yet
He's torturing you, laughing at you as you grab at his shoulders, silently asking him to go down on you
"Since when did you call the shots 'round here?"
He wants you to beg, maybe do him a favor first like you've done time and time again, but then you remind him it's your birthday
Pretty please, Sergeant, with big puppy dog eyes
I don't care how much of a hard ass he is, he melts just a bit for puppy dog eyes
Rolls his eyes and tells you to sit on the edge of the bed
Now he may be getting down on his knees, but he's still gonna remind you that he's in charge, just a little bit
He lets you take your panties off as much as he'd rather rip them off himself with his teeth, but once you're exposed and ready for him OHHHH BOY
He still can't help but tease a little bit, leaning in to breathe slow and heavy, his lips just out of reach
Just as you open your mouth to tell him to quit teasing you, he's locking his arms around your thighs, holding them open and he is DIVING IN
I want this man dead but goddamn it I know he gives amazing head
This freak seems like the type of dude to put his whole mouth on you, he is eating that shit up
He's not just kissing and licking at your sweet folds, when I tell you he's diving in, his tongue is inside you
It's like he's licking an ice cream cone, each lick just gets deeper and deeper and he's taking his sweet time with it
Even if he had hair you could grab at, no amount of pushing or pulling is getting him to stop
Every time you feel like you're gonna lose your mind from overstimulation and you tell him to give you a break, he just laughs and- listen I know his voice would cause a real nice vibration down there
His beard tickling the inside of your thighs just makes it worse
When you finally do cum, he's not the type to stop. He probably just grabs your legs tighter and groans into your pussy as he licks up the sweet taste of you
This man is so fucking hard at this point and does not give you a moment to breathe
I feel like he wouldn't even give himself a moment to breathe, he needs to get his cock out NOW
You try to lay back to relax afterwards and he's already hauling himself on top of you. "Oh no no no, I ain't done with ya yet~"
Not sure when exactly he whipped his cock out, but he's holding you down and grinding, throbbing against your legs
"I was good fer you. Now you gotta be good fer me" he's growling as his grinding brings him closer and closer to your hole
Once again, he does not give you a moment to process anything. One moment his cockhead is just sliding between your legs, and the next he's all the way inside you
That man would leave anyone feeling stuffed, I know he would, he told me last night
Remember when I said it seemed like he was holding back? Yeah he's not anymore
Dude pounds like crazy. Fast, hard, each thrust is knocking the fucking breath out of you
Holding you down by your wrists the whole time, kinda wishing he handcuffed you first to make sure you really couldn't go anywhere
Absolutely loves the way you're whining and gasping and whimpering, but still has the audacity to tell you "Shut yer mouth, this ain't about you anymore"
I hate this guy I want him inside me
"What's with yer yelping, huh? Fuckin'- hng~ ...Fuckin' s-stupid. You wanted Daddy's special attention, didn't you? Well... hrrm~ This is what you fuckin' get!"
Doesn't even care if you're gonna get off a second time while he's fucking you, he already did his part, now it's time for you to do yours
If he's not degrading you, he's back to biting your neck and collarbone, panting against your skin like a wild animal
Probably draws blood, probably fucking you so hard you're crying, but can't help but hold onto him for dear life
Y'all think he throbs crazy style inside you? Like you can probably feel that shit going insane as he gets deeper and deeper inside you
When he gets close, he's biting your ear and growling into it. "Who's yer Daddy, sweetheart? Who's giving you his special attention now?"
Does not give a fuck if you actually manage to say it as he's not giving you a chance to catch your breath. Not that it matters anyway, because the second you make a noise, he's grabbing your throat and squeezing
Absolutely obsessed with how you feel when you can't breathe and you start fighting for your life
Clawing him, hitting him. Doesn't matter, he's not letting go and he's too big for you to push off anyways
Suffocating you from every angle
I'm going into heat, someone help
His own words start slurring, maybe you catch a "Oh fuck, oh sweetness" but it eventually just devolves into animalistic snarling as he starts painting your insides white
Does not stop thrusting, he keeps fucking himself into you as he cums
Your head is spinning and you can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears by the time he finally lets go and lets you breathe
Lays on top of you and does not pull out for awhile, you feel good under him and he's exhausted, let him catch his breath
When he does pull out of you, you're probably feeling something spill out, this man did numbers on your insides
Leland ain't one for aftercare, but he probably at least holds you just to feel you up against him
Still panting a bit, he's gonna have a damn heart attack
You probably have bruises on your insides now, probably not gonna see a trial for a few days
Which means you're stuck with him!
:3
"Happy birthday, darlin'. Better've enjoyed that, 'cause when my special day comes 'round... Well, just know it's gonna be so much worse for you then. I guarantee it~"
Living with Joel meant getting used to the long nights. Patrols were just a part of his life, something heād insist on doing no matter how many people told him to slow down. You understood why. Jackson needed people like him. Still, understanding it didnāt stop the worry that crept into your chest every single time he left. The house felt far too quiet without him. You sat curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your legs as the TV hummed softly in the background. A glass of wine rested comfortably in your hand, and you took small, absent minded sips while your eyes remained fixed on the front door more often than the screen. Every creak outside made your heart skip, only for disappointment to settle in when it wasnāt him. Eventually, your gaze wandered to the clock across the room.
9:34 p.m.
Your brows knit together. He shouldāve been home by now. You exhaled quietly, chewing at the inside of your cheek as your imagination began filling your head with every possible scenario, none of them good. āCome on, Joelā¦ā you whispered to the empty house.
A couple more hours slipped by.
You couldnāt just sit around anymore, so you wandered into the kitchen and started making a pot of stew for when Joel got home. It gave you something to do with your hands, something to keep yourself from going insane. The broth simmered quietly while you chopped up a few vegetables, stirring the pot every now and then. Every few minutes, though, youād stop what you were doing and glance over at your phone sitting on the counter.
Still nothing.
You picked it up for what had to be the tenth time that night, hoping thereād finally be a message waiting for you. There wasnāt. You frowned, typing out another text before immediately turning your phone off again. āJoel, where are you?ā A sigh slipped past your lips as you rubbed your forehead. āThis man is gonna kill me somedayā¦ā Normally, you wouldnāt panic if he was running a little late. Patrols didnāt always go as planned. But Joel wasnāt the type to leave you wondering if he could help it. Even if it was just a quick āBe home soon,ā heād usually find a way to let you know. The longer the silence dragged on, the harder it became to convince yourself everything was fine. You stirred the stew again, though your mind was miles away, and found yourself glancing toward the front window every time you heard the wind. Thats when you heard the front door open and a grunt. finally your man came home safe, you walked out of the kitchen rushing to him. "joel! you didn't reply to any of my messages! i was worried sick!!" you said to him upset before standing a few feet away from him, he looked up at you putting his bag down before stepping in front of you. "what? so you dont have anything to say!? joel i was worrying about you the whole time and-" before you could finish your sentence joel pulled you in for a warm kiss. your anger and worried faded away instantly feelings his warm lips against yours. his beard scratched against your skin beautifully. as he pulled away you couldnt help but let out a small whine before resting your head against his chest. "i missed you alot.. your always gone.." joel kissing your forehead, "i know babygirl.. shits been gettin outta' hand. but i still love you" he said pulling you closer. you inhaled his scent before leaning your head up pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. "i made some stew.. and i also got some malt liquor.. i was thinking we can have a glass hehe!" joel chucked pulling away slapping your ass playfully. "y'do that baby.. ima take a shower" he said as he began to walk away. you went back to the kitchen, grabbing 2 bowls as you filled the bowls up with stew.
Joel came back a few minutes later, his hair still damp from the shower, an old gray T-shirt clinging to his broad shoulders. The familiar scent of soap mixed with cedar drifted through the kitchen as he walked over. āSmells good in here,ā he muttered, pulling out the chair across from you.āTold you itād be ready.ā You slid the steaming bowl toward him before sitting down with your own. Joel scooped up a spoonful of stew, blowing on it before taking a bite. āDamn,ā he mumbled around the food. āThink this might be your best one yet.ā You grinned, trying not to look too proud of yourself. "So thatās a compliment?" āSāpose it is.ā You laughed, reaching for the bottle of liquor and topping off both glasses. Joel raised his toward you. "To makinā it home.ā You clinked your glass against his. "To you actually answering your messages next time.ā He snorted into his drink. āCanāt promise that Doll.ā āJoel.ā you whined āIām kiddinā, baby.ā You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. The two of you ate in comfortable silence for a while, occasionally stealing glances at one another. Every now and then your knees bumped beneath the table, neither of you bothering to move away. When the bowls were nearly empty, Joel leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. āYou keep feedinā me like thisā¦ā he said, swirling the last sip in his glass, āā¦Iām fuckin you on the table.ā you giggle shyly "joel.. stop that!" āI mean it.ā His voice was quieter this time, more sincere. You reached across the table and took his rough hand in yours, tracing absentminded circles across his knuckles. āI just like having you home all to myself ya know.." Joel looked at you for a long moment, his expression softening āCāmere.ā You stood and walked around the table. Before you could say anything, he gently wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you between his knees. āThere she is,ā he murmured with a tired smile. Your fingers brushed through the curls at the back of his neck as you leaned down, pressing a slow, gentle kiss against his lips. It wasnāt rushed or desperate just the quiet kind of kiss that said everything neither of you needed words for. When you pulled back, your foreheads rested together. "I missed you,ā you whispered. Joel smiled, rubbing his thumb against your hip. āI know, babygirl.ā He kissed your forehead this time, lingering there for a second before letting out a content sigh.
30 minutes later you and joel cuddled on the couch, You buried your face in the crook of his neck kissing and sucking the skin. he groaned before patting your butt affectionately. "Baby.. dont do that, continue and see what happens." you whined softly "but.." joel covered your mouth. "shh.. calm down.." you bit the inside of his hand gently, then thats when you felt his growing bulge against your ass. you whimpered a bit, your hands gripping his shoulders. joel reached down to touch your damp panties. "yeah.. you want it badly dont you baby..?" you nodded frantically "nuh uh baby.. words use your words for daddy" joel said rubbing your pussy through your damp panties. "y-yes daddy.. please.."
after all the teasing and grinding, joel had you in a doggy style position on the couch. your undergarments and his undergarments were on the floor as he pounded you from behind. your pathetic little whimpers filled the room. "jo-joel! go slower please..!" joel complied to your wishes and went slower. "yeah.. you like that baby..? you like when daddy fills you up.. you want my babies..? yeah.. atta girl.." your hands gripped the couch weakly with your toes curling. "m-mhm! fill me up daddy..~! g-get me pregnant! i want your babies.. mm.." his pace picked up pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail. "yeah.. make u ugh- make u a mommy.. is that what cha want darling huh..?" you moaned loudly. exactly what he liked, he then flipped you onto your back fucking your pussy harder then before beginning to fuck you silly, you couldnt make out words anymore, all you did was babble and whimper as tears fell down your eyes. his hand reached up to wrap around your neck squeezing faintly making you see stars. "fuck- baby.." he panted "your so tight.. gah.." you whimpered pathetically as your walls clamped down on his lenght. "jo-- close..! jo-! ah!!" you said as you squirted allover him, your legs shaking for a split moment. joel never felt so turned on in his life, he leaned down to kiss and wrap his arms around your waist ramming into you harder. "hold.. hold onto me baby.. yeah? hold onto daddy.. oh-oh shit!" he came deep inside you painting your gummy walls in his sticky hot cum. he collapsed ontop of you afterwards, oh how much you loved joel..
Javier's trying to get ready for work. You're trying to convince him he doesn't have to leave just yet. One thing leads to anotherā¦ and somehow getting dressed stops being a priority.
Listen... I saw that S3 bathroom scene again. You know the one. Shirt, tie, getting ready for work... and my brain went: "Yeah, he's not making it to the embassy today muhehe." So... I wrote this instead. I regret absolutely nothing š¤Ŗ
Pairing: S3 Javier PeƱa x f!reader
Warnings: nsfw, domestic smut, horny idiots in love, established relationship, teasing, handjob, breast play, javi has a huge and hard cock (of course), precum mentioned, kissing, oral (f!receiving) ā pussy licking, sucking, tongue fucking, javi eats her like he's starving, fingering, unprotected p in v (no condom), morning sex, dirty talk, praise, female+male orgasm, pull-out method, cum on her stomach, aftercare, cuddling
w/c: 2.5k ā¢ javi fic masterlist ā¢ taglist form
"Baby? Want me to pour you some coffee into your travel mug?" you called from the kitchen.
Javier was in the bathroom getting ready for work while you packed his lunch. He hated it.
You didn't care. You refused to let that man survive on nothing but cigarettes and bad coffee.
No answer.
"Javi!"
Still nothing.
You smiled to yourself. Figures. Whenever Javier disappeared into his own head, the rest of the world stopped existing. And ever since you'd come back to Colombia, he'd been doing that more and more.
You walked into the bathroom.
He didn't even notice you. He was leaning over the sink, rinsing his face. After shutting off the faucet, he kept his eyes closed while reaching around for the towel.
You grabbed it before he could. "Looking for this, agent?"
One eye cracked open. "You spying on me?" he mumbled, taking the towel from your hand and drying his face.
"Obviously. It's not like I've got anything better to do."
He snorted quietly before hanging the towel back up.
"I was asking if you wanted coffee for the drive. In a travel mug. You didn't answer, so I figured I'd better check you hadn't drowned while brushing your teeth."
"A travel mug?" he grumbled, already reaching for his tie. "CariƱo, Iām not climbing a mountain." He looked exactly like he always did at this stage of getting ready. White dress shirt. A tie you never would've picked but he somehow always managed to like. And boxers. The pants, for reasons you'd never understand, always came last.
"You say the same thing about the lunch I pack you every day." You stepped closer, gently moving his hands aside so you could fix his tie yourself. "And yet you still take it."
If Javier was terrible at one thing, it was tying a tie straight. "Feistl never lets me forget that lunch box," he muttered, letting you take over.
His aftershave hit you first. Then the smell of clean laundry. And underneath bothā¦ just Javier. Whatever that smell was.
"Maybe Feistl should remember you're his boss and shut up." You tried to sound casual. Not easy when the man smelled unfairly good. "Oh, and you've got water all over your tie again." You laughed. "Seriously, I'll never understand why you wash your face when you're basically already dressed."
"Don't question my system, cariƱo." He grinned. "Or the lunch stays here."
"You wouldn't dare. I'll make you take the coffee too."
He groaned dramatically. "Please don't. We've got coffee at the embassy."
"Yeah. Coffee you complain about every single day." You stuck your tongue out before smoothing his tie one last time. "There."
"Thanks," he said quietly. Almost like he still wasn't used to someone taking care of him.
"For fixing your tie? You know I'd always do a better job than you."
"Not just for that."
You looked up at him. Being so much shorter had one very specific advantage. Every time he hugged you, your face ended up against his chest, close enough to hear his heartbeat. Worth every sore neck. Your eyes met his. Brown. Warm. And suddenly your stomach flipped. Jesus. Ovulation really was dangerous. You reached up, brushing a few stubborn strands of hair back off his forehead. "You've been working way too much lately..."
He let out a quiet laugh. You couldn't tell whether he actually found it funny or if he was just exhausted. "Someone's gotta do it." His thumb brushed gently across your bottom lip.
"Mhm..." Your hands wandered down his chest. Over his stomach. Stopping just above the waistband of his boxers. You could already feel him starting to get hard beneath the fabric. "What if..." you murmured. "What if you just... went in a little later today?"
You didn't wait for an answer. Your palm started rubbing him through his boxers. Slow. Firm.
There it was. He was already getting hard. That didn't surprise you. Javier had never exactly been hard to turn on. His body always gave him away.
He leaned down and kissed you. Soft. Warm. His lips still tasted faintly of mint toothpaste. "I can't," he murmured against your mouth. "Crosby's gonna kill me if I'm late." Even so, he made absolutely no move to stop your hand. If anythingā¦ he leaned into it.
You smiled against his lips before kissing him properly this time, slipping your tongue into his mouth.
He kissed you back immediately, his tongue finding yours without a second's hesitation.
The bathroom fell quiet except for the wet sound of kissing and the soft little moans slipping from his throat while your hand kept stroking him through the fabric.
Godā¦ you loved hearing him moan. Honestly, Javier's moans were one of the sexiest things you'd ever heard. Your grip tightened just enough to pull another one from him.
"CariƱo..." He pulled back with a sigh. "You're gonna be the death of me one day."
You laughed.
His hands found the belt of your robe, slowly undoing the knot.
At the same time, your fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers, trying to tug them down.
"So impatient," he murmured with a grin. His eyes immediately dropped when your robe slipped from your shoulders.
Nothing underneath. Not even panties. Not because you'd planned it. You just slept naked and hadn't gotten dressed yet.
And judging by the look on his faceā¦ he definitely wasn't complaining.
You, however, were having a hell of a time getting his boxers off. He was already so hard that trying to pull them down with one hand was nearly impossible.
"Need some help, cariƱo?" Javier grinned, amusement written all over his face. For the first time all morning, he looked... lighter. No stress. No embassy. No work. Just him.
You loved seeing him like this. "No." You didn't break eye contact. You brought your other hand up, grabbed the waistband with both hands, and yanked. The boxers slid all the way down to his ankles. "There," you said with a smug little smile.
"That's my girl," Javier murmured. Now he was standing in front of you wearing nothing but the dress shirt and the tie you'd spent the last few minutes fixing. You already knew you'd be fixing it again later. He was already hard. Very hard.
"Mmm..." you teased, your eyes dropping briefly. "Good morning, sir." You kissed him again, wrapping your hand around his cock.
Godā¦ he was hot. Thick. Heavy in your hand. Your fingers barely fit around him.
Your thumb brushed over the head, already slick enough to tell you exactly how badly he wanted you.
A low moan melted into the kiss. Almost without thinking, his hips rolled into your hand, slowly fucking your grip while you kept stroking him. One hand slid up to your breast, giving it a slow squeeze before his fingers found your nipple.
The touch sent heat rushing straight through you.
His other hand settled on your ass, pulling you flush against him until there wasn't even the slightest bit of space left between you.
Your hand kept stroking him. Slow. Lazy. Your thumb glided over the head with every pass. "Javi..." you whispered against his lips. "Take me."
That was it.
"Fuck..." He breathed the word against your mouth, whatever restraint he'd had disappearing in an instant.
Your hand slipped off him as he hooked an arm under your thighs and lifted you like you weighed nothing. A quiet laugh escaped you as your legs wrapped around his waist automatically.
The bedroom was only a few steps away. It still felt too damn far. With every step, the head of his cock brushed against you, making you squirm in his arms.
He shoved the bedroom door open with his foot and walked straight to the bed. A second later, he was setting you down on the edge of the mattress.
Your feet found the floor again. Your ass barely stayed on the bed. You already knew exactly what he was about to do.
Javier dropped to his knees. His hands slid up your thighs before gently pushing them apart. "So... morning to you too," he murmured, his eyes fixed shamelessly between your legs.
You leaned back on your elbows. You wanted to watch him. You always did. Watching him settle between your thighs was almost enough to make you lose your mind before he even touched you.
Then you felt it. The very first flick of his tongue against your clit. Your head fell back instantly. "Oh... Javi..." The sound slipped out before you could stop it.
He'd barely started. Barely. But just knowing he was right where he loved being... and God, you knew how much he loved it... already had every muscle in your body tightening.
The teasing didn't last long. Within seconds, slow little kisses turned into something much hungrier. Much needier. Like he'd been craving you all morning. His fingers tightened around your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wanted you while his mouth got to work.
Wet, filthy sounds filled the room as his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking just hard enough to make you gasp.
"Fuck... Javi..." Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer without even thinking about it.
He didn't seem to mind. If anything, it only made him groan against you.
Your free hand grabbed a fistful of the sheets. Godā¦ he was so fucking good at this. He never rushed. Not once.
His tongue stopped focusing on just your clit. Instead, he dragged long, slow strokes through your slickness from top to bottom before doing it all over again, each one making your hips lift helplessly off the mattress.
A quiet hum vibrated against your skin.
"Nuh-uh..." His voice was rough. "Stay still, cariƱo." Then his mouth was on you again. He tasted you like he couldn't get enough. Like he'd happily spend the rest of the morning between your thighs. His tongue slipped inside you, fucking you in slow, deliberate strokes before pulling back to lick you again.
Every lick. Every suck. Every stroke.
Closer. Closer. Closer.
And right when you were sure you couldn't take another second...
His tongue slipped away. His lips found your clit again. Then, without warning, two fingers slipped inside you.
"Oh... fuck..." Your whole body jolted. "Javi... slow down... don't stop... fuck... right there..." You weren't even sure what you were saying anymore. The words barely made sense between broken moans.
His mouth. His fingers. The way they worked together. It was too much. And somehow still not enough.
You were so close. Instinctively, your hips lifted, chasing his fingers, trying to take them deeper. The second you moved...
He pulled them out. His mouth left you too.
"Jesus... fuck, Javi..." The frustrated sound that escaped you was almost a growl. You'd been right there. "What the fuā" The words died in your throat.
He already knew. He'd felt how close you were. "I wanna be inside you, cariƱo," he groaned. He didn't wait for an answer. Didn't need one. He got to his feet without taking his eyes off you.
You started scooting farther onto the bed automatically, already making room for him.
"No." One hand stopped you. "Stay right there." His palm settled against your hip, keeping you exactly where you were. "Good girl." A crooked smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "I wanna fuck you like this."
His hands slipped beneath your hips, pulling you all the way to the edge of the mattress. Just enough. He lined himself up with you before dragging you down onto him in one hard thrust. No warning. No easing you into it. He filled you completely.
A cry broke free before you could stop it.
The head of his cock found that spot inside you instantly. The one he somehow always managed to hit. "Fuck..." he breathed. "You feel so fucking good." For a moment, he didn't move. He just stayed there, buried deep inside you, enjoying the way your body squeezed around him.
Then he started fucking you. Long. Deep. Pulling almost all the way out before sliding right back in. Slow enough to make you feel every inch. Then fast enough to leave you breathless. Then slow again.
The room filled with the sharp sound of skin meeting skin.
You'd already been hanging by a thread. This was all it took. "Javi... I... I'm gonna..."
He eased you the rest of the way back onto the mattress and came down with you. His body covered yours completely. One hand found yours. Then the other. He laced your fingers together above your head and held them there while he kept thrusting into you. His mouth found your neck. Little bites. Slow kisses. Dirty words whispered against your ear.
Every single one made your stomach tighten even more. You didn't have a chance. The orgasm hit you all at once. A broken moan spilled from your lips as your whole body went tight around him. Your back arched. Your legs trembled. One wave crashed into the next until all you could do was gasp his name.
The way you clenched around him was enough to snap the last bit of control he had left. "Fuck..." He fucked you through it, chasing his own release, driving into you a few more desperate times before letting go of your hands. He braced himself on the mattress and pulled out.
The sudden emptiness made you whine before you could stop yourself. Your body was still fluttering around nothing.
"Sorry, cariƱo..." he breathed.
You only smiled.
Neither of you had even thought about a condom. This was just how you did things. Kids weren't part of the plan. Not yet.
His hand wrapped around his cock, stroking himself a few quick times. A low groan rumbled out of him. The first hot streak landed across your stomach. Another followed. Then another.
You stayed exactly where you were, breathing hard, still shaking from your orgasm as you watched it spread across your skin before slowly slipping lower. Godā¦ that was so fucking hot. A tired little shiver rolled through your body.
Javier gave himself another couple of strokes, working out the last few drops before finally letting go.
Still trembling, you scooted farther onto the bed to make room for him.
He didn't need to be told. He climbed in beside you and immediately pulled you against his chest. He couldn't have cared less about the mess. Not on your stomach. Not on the sheets. He buried his face against your neck and let out a satisfied little sigh. "So..." he mumbled. "Pretty sure Crosby wouldn't buy this as an excuse for being late."
You laughed, running your fingers through his hair, now damp with sweat. "Yeah... maybe don't test that." The last aftershocks were still rolling through your body.
He laughed quietly, the sound rumbling against your skin. Then he wrapped his arm around you a little tighter, like he wanted to keep the rest of the world as far away as possible, and pressed one slow kiss to your shoulder. "Mmh..." His lips brushed your skin. "For now... Crosby can go fuck himself." He closed his eyes, letting you curl even closer against him.
Yeah. He'd be late for work. Neither of you cared.
2.6k | painter!Reed Richards x f!Reader & Alex Serian
ā¢ Summary: You went to Reed's art reception and grew closer to the person behind the paintings.
Tags/warnings: none. fluff. maybe second-hand embarrassment. I don't know painting terms. no y/n. not proofread. not beta-ed.
a/n: This is a direct continuation to the painter. It was quite well received, and I also enjoyed writing for this pairing, so here's a sequel! With an addition of Alex Serian as a third wheeler because I'm already obsessed with him. Like the first one, I didn't take the writing aspect very seriously. It was a fun quick write while I take a little break after today's exam before I continue studying for the next. It's a bit rushed, so I'm sorry for any mistakes. I hope you'll enjoy this one!! <3
part 1: the painter
The gallery was already crowded with people within its first hour of opening. The atmosphere buzzed with excitement and anticipation, particularly outside the closed exhibition hall for which the very event you were here for will be held.
Your heels clanked against the hardwood flooring as you approached the growing queue. Aside from you, everyone here seemed to have been long aware of the reception.
Your hand reached inside the small bag hanging over your shoulder and you fished out the ticket you had received yesterday. Your eyes perused over the letters printed on the thick rectangular paper over and over again.
Just what, was your luck?
Your feet unconsciously moved with the line until you finally reached the staff in charge of the event admission.
"Madame? Your ticket, please." The staff's voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you looked up to find him looking mildly annoyed at your lack of focus.
"Pardon." You extended your hand to lend him the ticket, but instead, he only blinked at you as if you just offered him illegal money. "Is there a problem?"
"We use digital tickets, Madame."
Confused, you glanced over to the person behind you who looked just as impatient. The woman, whom you guessed was about your age, held up her phone to show you her ticket.
You turned back to the staff. "But this is still a ticket, no?ā"
Before the staff could deny your entry, the faint sounds of chatter and camera shutters grew in your ears. Youāand everyone elseāwhipped your head in the direction of the noise to see a group of people swarming a moving subject.
The actual reason you're here.
Reed Richards.
From the distance, you could see him flashing a polite smile as he answered questions thrown his way from the journalists. But your gaze didn't get to stay long on the man because the staff once again called you.
"I cannot let you enter yet, Madame. I have to consult my manager to make sure this ticket is valid."
Sighing, you let the woman behind you through as you stood next to the line, wondering if you should give up and leave, or give this manāin a boring, plain black blazerāa good headbutt so he could perhaps see better. Do you look like you'd scam your way inside with fake tickets?
Your patience was running thin as you watched the other visitors pass through. After calling someone over with his in-ear piece, a bald man, presumably in his mid 50s, rushed over. You assumed he was the manager.
They discussed the issue, and he took hold of your ticket, examining it like a lost artifactāand you had to physically hold yourself back from rolling your eyes.
"Mademoiselle. You made it."
The familiar soft voice shook your train of thoughts. Your head swiftly turned to find the artist himself standing next to you with hands shoved down the pockets of his trousers.
The paparazzi had left him alone, finally; the ones invited for media coverage already heading inside to get the best views and set up their tools.
"H-hi. You." You stammered, unsure on how to react after your encounter yesterday. It brought a chuckle out of the man.
"I believe I told you it's Reed." He smiled, showing off his dimples. "Though, I haven't had the pleasure of knowing yours, yet."
You swallowed as you stared into his eyes and told him your first name.
Reed repeated it. Your name sounded light on his tongue, like a brush on a canvas.
"That's a beautiful name."
He tore his eyes from yours and briefly glanced down at his watch. "The event starts in twenty. Best to get seated now."
"That's the thing.."
"Excuse me, gentlemen."
The two gallery staffs stopped their chatter to look at Reed. Their eyes widened at the unexpected presence.
"Monsieur!" The manager placed his hand over his chest and bowed curtly, and the staff followed suit.
Reed brushed off the greeting and went straight to the point. "Is it true that you're not the letting the owner of this ticket inside?" He pointed to your ticket that the manager was holding.
"Uh, yes. We're informed that all tickets are in digital form."
"Well," Reed gently took the ticket from the manager's hand. "This one is legit. I personally gave it to my special guest. So if you will.." He smiled; the kind that made the gallery employees shudder.
"Right away, Monsieur!"
"Merci bien." Reed nodded in satisfaction.
The staff quickly allowed you in. You thanked them, feeling relieved that the spectators of your earlier predicament no longer looked at you like a fraudster.
You caught sight of Reed already heading off to the back entrance reserved for staffs, but he turned his head in your direction and sent you a quick wink.
You have to thank him later for saving your dignity.
You immediately frowned at the thought your mind had conjured up.
No. HE got me into this trouble.
You shook your head to shrug off the debate arising in your head and went to find a seat; somewhere at the end of the row where you wouldn't be attracting anymore unwanted attention.
When you had finally settled in your seat and calmed down, your ears finally registered the sound of cello filling the room.
At first, you thought it came from the speakers. But then you craned your neck to look between the heads sitting in front of you and found a man in a suit playing the instrument, live.
The bow glided over the strings purposefully, and his loose curls swung over his forehead with matching intensity. You recognised the melody, Andante Cantabile by Tchaikovsky. It sounded wistful and tender, perfect for the atmosphere inside the hall.
The opening performance ended and you softly clapped along with the other guests. As the cellist stood, you managed to get a better look of the talented man. He held his cello and bow in one hand and bowed, smiling gratefully.
At the same time, Reed emerged from the white partitioned wall that displayed his artworks, and the claps only grew louder at his appearance. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of him.
You spot the cellist's smile breaking into a grin as he gave Reed a little bow. He was about to leave with his cello, but Reed stopped him, placing a hand on his arm. The cellist, wearing a suit with a black bow tie was caught off guard as Reed led him to the center of the room.
"Please. Another round of applause for my good friend, Alex Serian." The room erupted with applause, and the man, whom you now know as Alex Serian, bowed again, this time with a slightly embarrassed smile.
You found Reed chuckling at his bashful response, which you had to admit, was adorable. Finally, with a pat on Alex's shoulder, he disappeared behind the same wall Reed came through.
"Thank you all for coming." You attention again shifted towards Reed, now standing in front of everyone with his artworks displayed behind him. He talked about how his latest works came about with bright eyes and the same excitement as you witnessed yesterday; when you shared your thoughts about a painting that was apparently his.
The memory had you biting your lower lip to suppress the embarrassment that had been plaguing your mind. You barely had any sleep last night thinking of how you must have made a fool of yourself.
Despite it all, you couldn't miss the chance to see Reed Richards's other masterpieces before the general public does. So here you were.
"Thank you again for coming, and please, help yourselves." Reed gestured towards the lines of frames holding his paintings after ending his speech.
Everyone started leaving their seats, thrilled to see his works up close. The media on the other hand, was quick to approach him for more questions, shoving mics into his face.
You took your time with each painting, observing the colours, the intentionally asymmetrical shapes, the brush strokes, the similar art style to the painting you saw yesterday. You found yourself smiling, finding joy in seeing patterns and seeing what makes each painter unique.
Your feet halted before a painting placed on the other side of the room. There were only two main colours. Black for the background, and orange for the subject. At first glance you thought it was mars. But no, it was a fox; curled up into an almost perfect round. The painting took your breath away, partly due to your love of foxes.
You lost track of time studying the fascinating artwork, and before you knew it, you were one of the last few visitors left inside the exhibition room.
"You've stared at this one for a while. I didn't expect the fox to receive most of your attention." A pair of heels softly clanked against the hardwood floor before stopping right beside you. "I'm almost jealous."
Your head whipped in his direction, and you found Reed smiling at you. You instantly mirrored his smile. "It's really beautiful."
"I'm glad one person thinks so."
"I'm serious."
Reed chuckled before playfully bowing with a dramatic flair. "I appreciate your kind words, Milady."
"Stop it." You gently slapped his arm without thinking, chuckling in embarrassment, as you caught some visitors' eyes on both of you. "We're in public." You continued in a hushed tone.
Reed only smiled and watched the twinkle in your eyes as you laughed. "So you won't mind if it's in private?"
His question made you stop, heat suddenly creeping up your cheeks as your heart thumped against your ribs. What the hell is happening?
"I don'tāNot like that!"
Reed laughed. "Apologies, love. I was merely teasing." He placed his palm over his heart to show how sorry he was; but the way he bit his lower lip to suppress another chuckle told you that he relished in seeing your reaction.
Just then, another set of footsteps approached you. You both turned to find the man who played the cello earlier, looking slightly... disheveled. He smiled at Reed before sparing a glance at you.
"Alex." Reed tugged his sleeve to pull him over. Alex smiled as Reed introduced you both to each other, and you shook his hand with a polite smile.
Alex then turned to his painter friend and leaned close to whisper in his ear; which you could somehow still hearāvery clearly. "Will you stop dragging me around?"
You had to bite the inside of your cheeks to stop yourself from laughing. This man sure didn't appreciate being the center of attention.
"Where were you anyway?" Reed gave his friend a look. Alex's lips parted but no words came out.
"Just went to get some drinks." He said after a beat of silence.
"Right." Reed smirked. You watched their exchange in amusement.
"How did you two know each other?" You asked, redirecting the conversation to something that wouldn't keep pushing Alex to the corner. The man gave you an appreciative look.
"We met in art school." Alex nodded in confirmation. "He made me do his painting assignment." He then added bluntly. The cellist snapped his head towards his friend in betrayal.
"No I didn't."
"Yes, you did. How else did you get an 'A' for that class when all you did was play cello andā"
"Fine, alright?"
Reed grinned in victory at his surrender, forcing the chuckled you had tried to contain out of you. You could tell they'd been friends for a while.
"Come on, dinner's on me." Reed said, voice turning softer as looked at you.
"Me?"
"Yes, and us." He jerked his head towards Alex.
"It's alright," Alex said, "you two can go together. I'll get something on my way back to the hotel."
"Absolutely not. I owe you for that performance."
"You don't owe me anything though." You interjected, feeling almost bad that you might be getting in between their plans.
"It was a mistake on my part that the gallery staffs almost didn't let you in because iof the ticket I gave you. So I do owe you a proper apology." Reed looked at you hopefully. For a second, you thought his eyes looked rounder, like puppies. And it made you want to give in.
"You sure?"
"Very."
Alex watched the whole thing like a tennis game. Reed's eyes on you didn't waver, and he then added,
"Please."
At that wordāand the way he said itāAlex's eyebrows raised in surprise, but he didn't say a word.
"Alright." You finally gave in. "I guess I'd enjoy some company for tonight."
The implication that you rarely had company at night had Alex curious. "Why? Are you single?" He inquired, which earned him a jab from Reed.
"Uh, yeah. I am." You answered with a sheepish smile.
Alex's eyes sparkled with mirth and he glanced at his friend with a grin.
"Don't mind him." Reed said, subtly glaring at the man next to him. "Come. I know a place."
The atmosphere of the restaurant was warm and cozy. The three of you ate your meals and filled the silence with lighthearted conversations. You hadn't felt so happy talking to people in a while.
"You haven't shared your thoughts on my paintings yet today." Reed pointed out as he wiped his mouth clean of his tomates farcies.
"It wouldn't matter. I'm no art critique."
"That's exactly why it matters. My art are not for critiquesāthough they are, unfortunately, important for PR. But ultimately they're for myself, and for the people who find joy and comfort in it."
You sighed, knowing that aside from fine arts, Reed Richards was a master in the art of persuasionāor at least you couldn't seem to resist him.
So you talked, and talked, and the two men listened without cutting you off.
Alex looked at you before his gaze landed on his friend who was listening intently to everything you had to sayāand a small, almost fond smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
You finally arrived home after midnight, thanks to Reed and Alex who made sure you got back safely.
You felt your heart fluttering the whole time as you recalled your conversations. The way Reed valued your opinions, the way he listened to you without interrupting, the way his voice would get softer whenever he talked to you.
You wondered if you'd ever get to see him again.
Reed and Alex walked down the dimly-lit pavements back to their own hotel after sending you back.
"You should've gone to that dinner without me." Alex said, breaking the silence of the night.
"What? Why?"
"Because clearly, you didn't need me there. It could've been a date."
"But it wasn't supposed to be a date." Reed looked at him in confusion.
Alex's lips parted in disbelief. Before he could stop himself, he grabbed Reed's neck, holding it in a headlock. "Do you even know how to pick up a woman?"
"Ow! Let go, idiot! I'm not like you."
"You're the idiot! You're literally in love with her!" That immediately shut Reed up.
Alex let him go with a shove, sending the man stumbling on his feet. "And yeah, I'm a ladies man." He shrugged. "So if you don't make your move, maybe I will."
Reed gasped, and his hands suddenly itched to wipe the smirk off the menace he unfortunately called friend's face. "Don't. You. Dare."
"Try me."
Sensing the warning signs in Reed's eyes, Alex instantly took off, with the man in glasses chasing after him into the night.
Deep down in his heart, Reed knew Alex was right.
When he looked at you, he saw a woman who spoke his languageāa woman who could interpret the strokes on his canvas.
And Reed knew he had fallen. Hard.
Thank you for reading!! Hope this made your day/night :) reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I would love to know your thoughts <3
taglist: @shadowqueen2024 @harriedandharassed @bardot49 @madpanda75 @billionairecowgirl (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed)
Dating Alex Serian Headcannons (both of you play instruments)
- Alex would serenade you on the cello. Every evening, he picks out a new song to sight read and he plays it for you. Thereās a lot of eye contact involved that makes you bite your lip. The sweetness of the vibrato is enough to make you want to crawl in his lap.
-You attend his concerts front row and center. You enjoy when he has solos and clap the loudest when heās done. It takes a lot not to cheer in the middle of the performance but youāre the first one on your feet.
-When Alex struggles to communicate, he pulls out his cello and starts playing. If itās in a minor key, heās stuck inside his head. When itās in a major key, he has something to say but doesnāt know how to say it
-You play violin and often get a little mark on your neck due to your chin rest. Alex loves to massage it and always leaves little kisses on your neck. You also happen to be ticklish and happen to giggle every time he kisses it. Meanwhile, the cello gives him calluses on his fingers so you give him hand massages.
-The two of you are dueting at home after rehearsals. Youāre not as confident as him but you two make beautiful music. When you mess up, he gently helps correct your stance to hit the right notes. Playing together is one of your many forms of intimacy and you wouldnāt have it any other way.
-Sometimes itās rainy after performances and both of you giggle as you run to his car. Both you know instruments are not supposed to get wet so you two basically perform stunts tryna get his big cello in the car.
-Being the prodigy, Alex books more gigs than you and sometimes you find yourself jealous. You love him and wish you were as talented but you support his success. And he really does appreciate it. And sometimes when you get jealous, he lets you give him a private performance to feel special. He makes sure not to give notes since itās your moment to shine.
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