joeloverture - Tumblr blog

joeloverture · 7 days ago

Text

Disruption Pattern

I watched Fantastic Four and I'm obsessed so this is 9,000 words about reader getting wrecked by Reed Richards. Enjoy :)

Contains: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering (f receiving), breast play, dirty talk, objectification, degradation, power imblanace, implied age gap, professor/student, praise, dom/sub dynamic, control kink, mild dubcon (in the beginning), possessiveness, brief crying during sex, overstimulation, size kink, lab sex, aftercare

Wordcount: 9,371

Masterlist

"Hand me those tweezers, please."

"I need the lens."

"Gloves, please."

You came after every single request and demand, hurrying around Dr Richards lab until you were breathless. But even then you continued, handing him his tools with a bitter taste in your mouth.

This wasn't him.

For weeks you had been lying to yourself, had been ignoring the ache in your stomach to convince yourself that there wasn't a problem. But when you hadn't been able to fall asleep at nights, turning from one side to the other while thinking about how effortless and easy your relationship had been in the beginning, you had felt sad.

The moment when Dr Richards had asked you to help him with something in his lab after class had truly been one of the best in your life. You, of all the people, were important enough, smart enough to help one of the most renowned and intelligent scientists in the world with his work. You almost hadn't been able to take control over your shaky hands at the start and had feared that your teacher might throw you out again because you were useless.

But you had gotten a grip on yourself and soon developed a friendly and productive relationship with the professor. You enjoyed working late with him, looking over his shoulder as he taught you about quantum physics, teleportation, and mutation theory. You simply got along well, so it was always the perfect balance of peaceful, quiet work and passionate discussions about hot matters.

Until… two weeks ago.

You weren't able to point out when it had started and neither did you know why.

On a random day, Dr Richards had gotten cold. Unattachable, distant and quiet. He barely even greeted you when you entered his lab, he just set a glass of water on your desk, gave you a forced smile and then hunched over his workspace.

When you asked him a question, he answered, but not with the usual passion behind his eyes, but as if he was uncomfortable or annoyed by your curiousity. He seemed irritated now, whereas before, you had felt like he appreciated your eagerness to learn.

That's why, at some point, you had stopped asking him unnecessary questions, and then you had stopped smiling at him and then you had stopped even just looking at him. Nowadays, you felt like his assistant. Dr Richards commanded you around the room, asked you to bring him the stuff that he needed, but barely exchanged a word with you aside from his requests.

And you felt terrible.

Not just because of the rejection, but because there was an unspoken tension in the room, the question of what had changed lingering in the air aggressively, but neither of you said it out loud. You had spent hours thinking about what you might have done wrong, but couldn't think of anything. You hadn't made a mistake, nor had you destroyed any of his projects or put him back many steps by messing up. You hadn't offended him neither, not that Dr Richards was the kind of person to be hurt by something someone said. In fact, nothing had changed. For you, at least.

You had even come to ask your best friends what you were supposed to do, but unfortunately had received various answers.

Louise had told you to confront Dr Richards because she believed it was always best to clear up misunderstandings before they cut into relationships too deeply. However, Tina had advised you not to say anything because the position at Dr Richards's lab was apparently too important to risk losing by getting into a fight with him. What if he threw you out and you had to live without researching and learning from him?

At first, Tina had convinced you more and you had promised her not to listen to your emotions and keep your distance - if that was what he wanted. But the more days passed, the longer your heart stung in his presence, the more you wavered.

You liked this man, sure he was strange and a little awkward and clumsy when it came to human relationships, but he was still kind and had a good heart. He was a science guy after all and didn't always realise that approaching emotions and feelings in a rational way wasn't necessarily the best way. But you had gotten used to it and had genuinely enjoyed the hours you had spent together in his lab. And now… Now you just wanted to know the truth, at the very least. You wanted to know what you had done wrong and why he seemed so mad at you.

You were tracing along the edge of the desk, waiting for Dr Richards to give you instructions. This was also something that would have been unthinkable three weeks ago. You had never waited for him to ask you to get something before. Most of the time, you had stood behind him, peeking over his shoulder and watching with wide eyes while he showed you something. You were too shy to approach him yourself, so nowadays you often felt bored while leaning against your desk, waiting for him to raise his voice.

"Dr Richards?" you suddenly spoke, driven by an internal force that was working too fast for your brain to catch up.

"Mhm?" he groaned, absent-mindedly observing a sensor.

"Did I do something wrong?"

He froze in the motion, so you knew you had gotten through to him. You had reached through the cloudiness of his mind that protected his massive brain from the outside world. Good.

"What?"

You swallowed and crossed your arms in front of your chest, looking a lot more confident that you felt.

"You're different. I – I've been trying to ignore it, but – but you must've noticed it too. You don't… you talk to me differently. Treat me differently. And I was wondering if I made a mistake or – or insulted you without noticing it."

He still didn't look at you, but you could see his brain working behind his temple. His hands gripped the sensor tightly, but he didn't pay any attention to it anymore. Then he suddenly turned around, brown eyes roaming over your face and for a second you wondered if you had imagined everything. That was until he gulped, adam's apple bobbing in his throat and forehead furrowing.

"No… you haven't. You haven't done anything wrong."

He looked irritated and a little concentrated, as if he was still trying to figure out what was going on between the two of you.

"But – But you must've noticed it?" you asked, voice gripped by panic. You had expected an explanation, or at least an admission that his attitude toward you had, in fact, changed. Dr Richards turned around, leaning with his back against the edge of his desk and crossing his legs. Then he put his hands in his front pockets.

"Yes. I did. And I… I need to understand it."

You frowned, blood rushing in your cheeks at his intense stare.

"You – You don't know why? You just… became cold, but you don't know why?"

He took a step toward you, face tense and jaw locked. He looked… angry, but why? You had thought that this man was easy to understand and deal with. A scientist devoted to his work with physics being the only thing on his mind. You had believed that he didn't even have the time or energy to deal with this kind of drama.

You flinched when he took another step forward, only two or three feet separating you from him now.

"Why?" you breathed again.

Why did you feel so flustered all of the sudden, why was the air so thin? You felt like taking a massive breath to calm your ragged breathing and get a clear head. His eyes sparkled, but he was yet to give you an answer. Wasn't this what he was here for? Having an answer and explanation to everything? Why couldn't he open his mouth and explain things to you just like he always did?

Another step forward and you unconsciously took one back.

"Because you've been driving me insane. And I need to figure out why."

A crease deepened between your brows, breath hitching in your throat as you felt the edge of your desk cutting into your flesh.

"What," you managed to say under breath when Reed suddenly pressed his lips on yours.

Your eyes automatically sprung open, heartrate picking up so fast, you felt like your chest was about to implode. You grabbed his shoulders, simultanously digging into his flesh and pushing him away, but his strength made it impossible. When he eventually withdrew, it was his doing.

"I…," you stuttered, bottom lip trembling and cheeks painted with a bright pink.

"Do you want me to stop?" he said, face inches away from yours. You felt like he was staring right into your soul, his brown irises lingering between your eyes and lips.

"I don't… No, I don't," you whispered, fingers loosely holding on to his lab coat.

You didn't know what you were saying and why you were saying it, but suddenly you were driven by an internal desire to explore whatever this had just been. You had felt terrified and panicky in the beginning, but feeling your professor's lips pushing against yours, devouring you like a hungry animal, like a man possessed by the devil had done something to you. It had stirred up a strong desire in you to let him claim you. You had felt wanted and somehow you couldn't help but wonder what else he could make you feel.

"You don't?" Dr Richards asked again, gently cupping your chin and watching your face like you were one of his scientific experiments rather than his assistent and student. You shook your head as you looked up to him, eyes rounding when he softly traced the outline of your lips.

"Good. Because you've been making me mad these past weeks and I need – I need to figure you out."

He sounded almost desperate, which caused you to scrunch up your nose.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I couldn't concentrate and focus around you, that I – my mind was elsewhere and now I need to understand what this is. What you are."

You should have been scared by those words, but there was something about his hoarse tone that made your lips curl.

"You need to understand what I am? I'm your assistent, your student. You know me, Professor."

He audibly gulped, eyes softening as he skimmed from your face down to your neck.

"I don't know this. These feelings of mine that are haunting me, that – that are distracting me from work. So I need to act. Take off your clothes. Jacket and shirt."

Your jaw dropped in the same moment as your brows raised.

"Just like that? You're not gonna do it yourself, like… gently and slowly."

He had stepped away from you, fingers fondling with the buttons of his coat that he one by one opened.

"If you prefere it that way, okay. But I would like to get this over with as quickly as possible because I have things to do."

Now you were stunned, speechless and utterly perplexed.

"Wow," you made, hands hovering over the hem of your jacket. "I thought… No, I mean, I'm in, okay? I want this, Professor, but I… I don't wanna be a test or – or some experiment."

He turned toward you, his expression so friendly and genuine that you wouldn't have been able to be mad at him, even if you had wanted to. He looked confused and even a little worried.

"No? Then what do you want this to be, good gracious lord?"

You scoffed, biting down on your lip as you crossed your arms in front of you.

"I don't know."

With a sigh, he released the last button and ran his fingers through his hair.

"C'mere."

He tapped on the desk next to him, gesturing for you to approach. You did so, feeling like a puppy who had just destroyed his favorite vase, but were unaware of where these feelings came from.

"Sit here."

You turned around, planted your palms on the edge, and pushed yourself up until you could comfortably sit on the desk with your legs dangling in the air. Reed stepped in front of you and supported himself on one hand that he had placed next to you.

"I didn't mean to hurt you. I generally don't mean to hurt people, but it happens from time to time. Because I – I can't always… I sometimes get so caught up in my head and I talk and I talk and I don't see, you know? I don't see what I'm doing or what I'm making people feel, but – you are a sweet girl. And you don't deserve me treating you like this."

You felt nervous bubbles in your stomach, heart thundering up your throat as you lifted your hand to scrape over his beard stubble – you just couldn't help yourself.

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I messed up and I'm sorry. It's just that this has been bothering me for weeks now, you showing up here and making my head spin and it was so distracting and – and bad for my projects. But I obviously didn't wanna throw you out because you certainly don't deserve that either and so I thought ignoring you might work and it did for a while, but it's not the solution. And today when you brought it up, I lost it. I'm sorry, I didn't know what I was thinking. You're not an animal and you're obviously not a test object that I get to toss around."

Your mouth and lips had dried up at his speech, so you briefly wettened your lower lip with your tongue.

"I understand," you whispered, looking down to where the tips of your shoes were poking his thighs.

"But I wasn't saying that I'm not interested, you know? Because I am. I just didn't want you to rush it, because… I don't have so much experience. I mean, I'm not a virgin, of course, but… you know, there just haven't been this many."

Reed nodded in understanding, eyes scanning your face that was twisted with nervousness.

"I can't change who I am, but I can try to be better. So that means if we're gonna do this, you need to talk to me and tell me when I'm making you feel uncomfortable."

You grinned, legs slightly parting, so your professor had the opportunity to come closer – which he did.

"Okay. But maybe I also want you to lose control."

His face was expressionless, except for the faint cloudiness in his eyes. For Reed, that was remarkable because the only time his eyes lost their passionate sparkle was after spending 12 straight hours or more in his lab. Even he had to admit to his tiredness then.

"You're always biting down on your bottom lip when you're nervous. I noticed that the first time when we took a look at the spider I brought in and you were scared of it. But now you're doing it because of me."

"I wasn't scared of the spider," you murmured, hands reaching to fist the fabric of his coat.

"You were, I think. You broke into sweat, your pupils dilated and your voice dropped in pitch. Of course there could be other explanations for your behavior, such as extreme anticipation or sexual arousal, but considering the circumstances – "

"Reed," you said, bringing a finger to his lips and urgingly lifting your eyebrows. Something in his face shifted and he clenched his jaw.

"Sorry."

Then, as you withdrew, his gaze dropped to your lips and he leaned in to kiss you. Softer and slower this time, like he actually wanted to savour the moment instead of rushing it. His mouth moved against yours with a delicacy that you hadn't known he was capable of, but it was so intruiging, you quietly hummed into the kiss.

You barely noticed his hands grabbing your waist, even though his touch was firm and deliberate. Again, something that amazed you. You had always thought of him as someone who was too caught up in his head and too devoted to his work to even feel any sexual attraction toward anyone and now here he was, pushing you closer against his broad upper body.

You purred, lashes fluttering as he began to palm your waist through the two layers of clothing. Then he slowly moved to the buttons of your jacket, opening them one by one while not stopping the kiss, but you just had to avert your gaze to look down to where his large, veiny hands worked on your clothes. He kissed along your jaw, beard stubble grazing over your skin while your heartbeat picked up at the sight.

"Reed," you moaned, reaching for his wrists and shoving the sleeves up his arms to get more of him.

"Mhm?" he made and opened the last remaining button.

"I want you."

"I know. I can see that. And hear that."

You rolled your eyes, but chuckled while he peeled off your jacket.

"You're doing it again."

"I know, I'm sorry."

Seeing you in just your white tank top seemed to ignite something larger, something more passionate in him, because your top left your body just a few seconds later. You weren't wearing a bra, which came as a surprise to Reed, who flared his nostrils and settled his hands around your waist again.

"Jesus, girl, you know what you're doing, don't you?"

"Please," you begged, arching your chest toward him, so he could finally do something about your pusling blood and the uncomfortable heat gushing in your center. And your nipples… they were impossibly stiff and aching with the need to be touched. And wasn't Reed the perfect candidate to do something about your despair? He knew the human body better than anyone else after all…

"You know that the human body has 11 pressure points that cause extreme sensitivity and physical reactions such as trembling and elevated heartrate? I'd like to find them all on you."

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, amazed by the fact that his scientific talk was able to turn you on like that. There was something about the way he saw your body as something he had to study, something he had to watch and search for reactions. As long as he studied it well, however…

"Yeah?" you moaned, rocking forward to find something to rub your clit against, but Reed didn't seem to want to lose his grip on the situation.

"Stay still. We'll get to that part when I'm done here," he almost absent-mindedly muttered, eyes taking in your bare chest.

"You're pretty. And warm," he said as he cupped your breast, jiggling your flesh in his palm and loosely brushing with his thumb over your nipple. It was like this man didn't even know what he was doing to you – he did, on a rational level by precisely analyzing your physical reactions, but he couldn't understand it on a meta level.

"Please," was all that you could choke out, clinging to his shoulders like your life depended on it.

"Shh," he hushed you, not even looking at your face because he was too busy tracing and kneading your chest. "I'll take my time, you said you wanted me to. I'm gonna see all of you, touch and taste all of you to understand you. And understand how you react to me."

It was truly torturous. His hands were hot on your body, radiating an indescribable heat that transferred to your skin like molten fire, searing through every nerve ending. And yet, it wasn't enough and you were afraid it would never be enough. And so you pressed your lips together to stop yourself from pleading, even when he lowered his head to kiss the swell of your breast. He testingly explored your skin, kissing and applying pressure to watch for your reaction and then spending more time on that very spot when he felt you squirm or twitch.

Reed soon found your sensitive skin right below your collarbone, and he discovered how much you enjoyed it when he kissed the space between your breasts. Meanwhile, his fingers were twisting your nipples, circled the little nubs or massaged your flesh, which made you question how he was able to multitask like that. You were just glad if a guy you hooked up with was able to do something you liked with either his mouth of hands and Reed was giving you so much more right now.

He seemed to be everywhere, his scent in your nose, his flaming hot skin on your body and his voice and labored breath in your ear. You didn't know where to focus your attention. But it was Reed Richards after all, and you should have known that his intellect had influences on his skills in bed too. You didn't even want to think about his stretching powers because they would officially make you feral.

"Reed," you whimpered again, already too messy to rememeber his last words. "Fuck, Reed, please."

He sighed, raised his head, and looked at you more like a teacher than he had in weeks. Disapprovingly, disappointedly, almost.

"Baby, shh," he cooed, cupping your face, so your frantically moving pupils would settle on him.

"Shh. If you want me to stop, you tell me now. I don't know if I'm gonna be able to if we continue. I know it's a lot, but you're making this really fucking hard for me and I – I just can't think normally. It's making me mad."

"I don't want you to stop," you whined, bottom lip trembling and chest heaving.

"Okay. Okay, babygirl, but you communicate with me either way, okay? I need to know how you're feeling, even though it's gonna be hard for me to stop."

You gave him a soft nod and then gasped loudly when Reed continued his study on your chest. Returning to the spots he had learned were particularly sensitive and responsive, giving extra love to your nipples and sharpening his ears to each moan and sigh. At his point, Reed was so hard in his pants, you felt him against your inner thigh and you just couldn't help yourself, slowly and unsteadily opening and closing your legs with the sole purpose to stimulate him through his pants. Helping him get rid of some of the pressure.

But it didn't seem to be what he wanted.

"Goddamn it, sweetie, I told you to stay still, didn't I?"

You whined, face drawn with hurt at his harsh words, but Reed just brushed along your cheek with his knuckles.

"I can also tie you down, you know? Then I could take all the time in the world with you and wouldn't be bothered by your wriggling and squirming."

You pouted, eyes blown and glossy, but Reed just smacked his wet lips and then dragged kisses down your front until he was right above the waistline of your pants. He opened them with the deft and skillful hands of a scientist, yanking them down until he needed you to lift your hips in order to get them off and softly slapped the side of your ass.

"Hips up," he ordered and helped you get off the desk, so he could pull them down all the way to your ankles.

Then he made you hop back up on the counter and adjusted you to his liking, legs slightly parted and butt right on the edge of the desk. Still fully dressed, he stepped between your legs and then caressed the top of your naked thigh.

"You're shaking, babygirl. Fascinating…," he groaned, hands running up your leg until they loosely brushed over your panties. You presented him your chest, still so taken by the way his hands had felt upon your chest that the memories consumed you to the whole, but it seemed like Reed wanted to take things further now. He grabbed your hips with two hands and then dragged them down to the waistband of your underwear. Then he rolled the fabric between two fingers as if he wanted to test it and suddenly ripped it. You shrieked, jerking backward at the sudden motion, but Reed's grasp on your hips was tight, so he was quick to pull you to the edge again.

"You stay right here… I'm not yet done with you."

He peeled the ragged pieces off your trembling body, knee between your thighs to prevent you from closing your legs. You flinched again when Reed stroked your belly and then down to where your torso and legs met – it was a particulary sensitive spot and so he noticed. Writhing and rolling your hips, you moaned quietly, both cursing and worshipping his touch. Your arms draped around his neck, and Reed seemed to allow it as long as you didn't obstruct his actions. His thumb drew pattern on top of your skin until he finally reached between your legs.

Dripping wetness welcomed him, pussy tightly clenching around nothing just from his index finger dragging a line from your clit down to your hole.

"Reed," you cried out, head dropping forward, but he put an end to it quickly.

"You're gonna look at me. At all times. I need to see how you're reacting to me, don't I?"

You whimpered, but nodded, using your whole strength to straighten up while Reed teased and toyed with your cunt. The pad of his thumb pressed up against your clit, traces of delight on his face whenever you twitched or whimpered his name.

"I like those noises you're making… Let's try that again."

With these words he applied more pressure, rolling slow, but forceful circles into your clit until your teeth sank down hard on your bottom lip. It was too much and you were losing it. Your heart was beating so fast, you began to believe that it was unhealthy. Your toes curled, but you almost weren't aware of it and now your body cringed at the immense pleasure Reed was causing you.

"Reed," you pressed, head surely red like a tomato by now, but he just traced your flush cheeks and made your lip snap with his thumb.

"I can almost hear your pulse, sweetheart. You're responding so well to me, better than I thought."

Suddenly, without warning, he slid two fingers inside you, curling them up instantly and pressing the base of his hand against your clit in order to drown your broken cry in a whine of pleasure.

"Shhh," he made and actually had the audacity to silence you by pressing his free hand over your mouth.

You couldn't explain why, but tears swam on your waterline as you stared up at him, muttering something that was almost completely muffled by his palm, but you came to believe, that it would have been incomprehensable even without the gag. Your hands were still free, though, and you used them to hold on to his strong arms that seemed to breathe under his lab coat. The fact that Reed was still fully dressed while you were naked as you were born both drove you mad and aroused you. You felt vulnerable, delicate and weak, but in a way that made your pussy drip and your clit desperately throb.

"Please," you yelped, a little more audible now, but he still ignored you. His grip on your mouth became firmer and at the same time his two fingers inside of you started to move. Slow, circulating motions that knocked the air out of your lungs. It wasn't just the way he curled his fingers at the exact right angle, driving the tips along your spongy walls and petting the most sensitive and itchy spot of them all, but his thumb that didn't neglect your clit at all. He hadn't forgotten about the aching little nub and made sure to pay an extra amount of love to it.

Reed truly worked on your body like it was his next big project and the deep and concentrated crease between his eyebrows only supported your thesis. He touched you with a remarkable prescision, both using exact knowledge about your anatomy and learning during the process. He seemed to listen to your gasps, intensifying the pressure or picking up the pace whenever you flinched or became louder and pushing to see how far he could go before you jolted away in discomfort. This way, he soon figured your body out, knowing exactly how fast he had to move. He discovered the magical combination of pumping his fingers in and out of you while tapping against your walls every now and then. He learned that you preferred eight-shaped circles on your clitoris compared to plain circles and he also noticed that you liked it when he kissed the left side of your neck but not so much the right.

In other words – Reed had you wrapped around his finger, completely at his mercy and although he didn't test it or seize the opportunity, he knew that you would do anything he asked of you right now. You were a panting mess, sweat soaking your hairline and dripping down your temple and at this point, Reed didn't even warn you when you slouched on the desk. He let you clutch to the edge and his shoulders in turns and only lifted your chin at times when you forgot to keep eye contact.

"I'm gonna cum," you breathed, lids so heavy that Reed couldn't see the white in them.

"Already? That's 8 minutes, 39 seconds then. Which is a lot below the average of 16 minutes and 43 seconds."

You cried out when Reed added a third finger, cunt pulsing and tightening around his digits, which made him groan lowly.

"Take it. All of it, c'mon. You said you could and now you're gonna prove it."

Your blood shot in your head and when you eventually reached your high, you hugged his fingers so firmly, Reed hissed through gritted teeth.

"Jesus, baby…," he growled, slowly riding your orgasm out while you trembled on the desk, sprawled out and struggling for breath.

"That's it. Let go and allow it to take over. Just the way we want it, baby, yeah…"

Your heartbeat echoed throughout your body, pulsing in your ears and even down to your toes. The heat in your core imploded and flooded your system. Now, it beautifully poured into your thighs, lingering lightly beneath your skin like a soft piece of music—effortless and gentle. You were shivering – even as Reed dragged his fingers out of you to take a close look at the glistening wetness coating his skin. He smelled it, paying no mind to the way you blushed in embarrassement, and licked them clean with no hesitation.

"Sweet and a little salty. You're producing a lot of wetness and that's good. PH – value is good too."

"You're doing it again, Reed," you couldn't help but whisper. Your body was pliant on the desk and you would've collapsed on the surface, if it wasn't for his arms holding you up, but you had to grin at his analysis.

"I know I do. But I can't help myself. You're much too fascinating not to analyze."

You frowned, brow wrinkled and nose scrunched.

"What do you mean fascinating?"

"The way you react to me. Your spots. How well you listen."

You uncertainly glanced up to him because was this a compliment? Was this a Reed way of saying that he had enjoyed you so far. Without really having an answer to all of that, you softly smirked, but averted your gaze to look at his chest. Then you stretched your arms to the last closed button of his coat and opened it with some struggling. He looked almost pitiful as he watched you take off his lab coat with so much difficulty, and then allowed you to let it drop to the floor.

His precious, clean coat.

Reed only wore a white button-up underneath, which elicited a frustrated groan in you. More buttons. Fortunately, he helped you this time, swift fingers that had done this a million times already fumbling with his shirt until he could slip his arms out of the sleeves and reveal his broad upper body.

His chest was hairy, dark, thick hair garnishing the space between his collarbone and belly button and you almost began to drool at the sight of his muscular arms. Those were the arms of someone that was working hard all day, but still you came to wonder if Reed might exercise after a long day in his lab. Arms like this didn't just appear out of nowhere. Perhaps you had stared a little too long because your professor grinned, a corner of his mouth lifting in the most gorgeous and elegant way.

"You have a preference for arms and hands. I could tell so earlier when I took off your shirt. You stared at them and I saw you gulp."

He reached for the side of your face. "And you twitched. Right here."

You dropped your lids in shyness, but Reed would have none of that. He just stroked your skin, right where a muscle next to your eye tended to switch every time your body was gripped by arousal. Then he leaned in to kiss you, your lips swollen and sensitive at this point, but you moaned into the kiss as he settled his hands on your hips.

"Are you gonna let me fuck you, baby? I've seen this pussy, I've tasted her and I've fingerfucked her, but I haven't felt her squeeze my cock yet."

Your breath caught in your lungs at his words, the divine mixture of his clinical, scientific precision and the obscenity of his words eliciting an intoxicating heat in your belly.

"Yeah. I want you to fuck me."

He suddenly stretched his arm at your words, doubling it in size to reach a drawer a few feet away from you. You could barely blink with your eye before he had already opened it and grabbed something that turned out to be a condom. You clenched around nothing.

"We don't have to…," you murmured against his neck, too shy to look upon his face. "I'm clean. And I'm on the pill."

Perhaps you weren't fully aware that it was Reed Richards you were talking to. Dr Richards, the correct and cautious professor who always chose the safest options and had a grip on everything. He grabbed your neck, pulling you backward until he forced you to meet his gaze.

"You're gonna look at me when we talk about important matters like this. Do you tell your little boys that too when you let them in your bed? Do you tell them that you're clean and that there's no need for them to wear a condom? Do you know how irresponsible that is, young lady?"

He had his eyebrows lifted and now more than ever, reminded you of the teacher you had met a year ago, heart pounding in your chest as you had learned that you would have the great honor of taking lessons from him. But now you shook your head and ran your hands over his toned chest.

"I don't take many boys in my bed. I've only had one boyfriend and we were always safe. Please, Reed, please just – I promise, I'll be good."

"Did I say you could move?" he barked, gently, yet deliberately grabbing your wrists and pinning them down on your lap. Nevertheless, he casually placed the condom on the counter next to you and wouldn't give protection another thought for the rest of the night.

He moved forward until his clothed manhood pressed against your inner thigh, your cheeks flushed with boiling blood and his hands searching the zipper of his pants.

"Don't look away, babygirl. I want you to see what you do to me. Look at him, look what effect you have on him."

You propped yourself on your hands planted behind you and watched as Reed rocked himself against the softness of your thigh, his dick hard beneath the fabric. Then he freed himself, pants and briefs falling down until they were around his ankles and he could step out of them. Your eyes visibly widened at the view and you had to swallow hard.

He was thick, that was the first thing you noticed. Prominent, plump veins grazed his massive shaft and seemed to pulse as Reed pumped himself a couple of times.

"Flustered. Shy. Just the way I imagined it," he whispered and then moved forward, guiding his leaking tip to your clit. He rubbed his precum into your throbbing bundle of nerves, ignoring the way your knees buckled, and then finally aligned himself with your hole.

"You look like you wanna say something," Reed commented your slightly parted lips and traced the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

"Just need you. Need you inside me," you choked, body tensing with anticipation.

"And I need you to relax in order for me to do that. You need to let me in, baby. Deep, slow breaths through your nose. Focus on your heart and look at me."

You pinched your eyes shut in frustration. What you wanted was right in front of you and still, Reed wouldn't give it to you. Perhaps it was a test or a way to see –

You gasped, pupils hectically skimming over his face. His tip prodded your entrance, slowly circling it as if to see whether he could push in.

"Please," you moaned and moved forward to make it easier for him, but it wasn't what Reed wanted.

"I know. You said it quite a few times and I know what you want, but you gotta learn to have patience."

You cried out at his words, unpatiently jerking your hips toward him, but his grasp on your hips was too firm anyway.

"I know, pretty girl," Reed hushed you and petted your bicep like you were an angry, hot-tempered child. But before you could express another complain, he suddenly entered you slowly, graciously giving you enough time to adjust, but it still took your breath away. You could only stare at him open-mouthedly, brow and palms sticky with sweat, whereas your throat was dry.

"Reed," you whined, swinging your head to the side as a way to release the pressure in your body, but you didn't succeed. It was only him, who could take it away and god he knew it.

"You're tight," he noticed, but it sounded like a observation, rather than a compliment. "You're gonna cum for me again, sweetheart. So hard, I wanna see your arousal drip down your leg."

Again, no praise or a compliment, but a cold demand. One that wasn't supposed to heat your body up the way it did. He was inside you to the brim now, walls stretched to the absolute limit, but not for one second did you think about stopping him or asking him to withdraw. It was the contrary, Reed had awakened something primal, something filthy and hungry in you. Something that had barely even started.

"Reed?" you panted, meeting his deep thrusts and hissing through your teeth as your walls sucked his large dick in.

"Yeah," he replied, holding you down by your hips both for leverage and to keep your squirming body still.

"Do you ever – do you ever use your powers to – to, you know…"

For the most parts, your initial shyness had left your body the moment Reed had inserted himself inside you – he had literally fucked it out of you – but saying it out loud wasn't possible for you, even in that state. You didn't have to, though. Reed cupped your chin and flashed his eyes at you with a new kind of lust.

"I have, pretty dove," he purred, eyeing you with a desire that made your head spiral and your heart skip a beat. Never, and you meant never had you felt so sought after, so wanted.

"Use them. On me," you whimpered, almost desperately clinging to his big arms. Those arms that could probably bend and throw, toss and stretch you to his liking, so he could use you just the way he wanted to.

"No. You're barely even able to take me like that. You're much too tight for that, baby."

You cried out in refusal, eyes tearing up and lips forming a pout.

"No. Please, Reed, please, I can take it."

"I believe you when you say that, but you just don't know. Your DNA is not altered like mine is and you don't know what kind of powers you're dealing with here. But I do. And I know that you wouldn't be able to take it."

You hummed in disapproval, but decided not to fight with him. You would only risk losing his touch on your body. Therefore, you were satisfied with his forceful thrusts, which pushed you up on the desk and would have made your body hit against the wall, if it weren't for his unyielding grip on your hips.

"Do you feel that?" he grunted, coming to a stop deep inside you only to deliver another sharp that reached impossibly far. "That's me, that's how deep I am inside you."

You wailed and felt your legs, which were draped around his hips, slacken. You were about to collaps, that much was clear, but Reed wasn't done with you yet. Feeling your body become pliant under his slams, he grabbed your waist, took a step back and flipped you over on your stomach.

For a moment, you jolted away as your front came in contact with the cold surface of the desk, but Reed had a secure hold on the small of your back. He kicked your legs apart with his foot, spread your buttcheeks and wasted no time burying himself inside you again. The angle offered a whole new level of pleasure, your head embraced by a dense, hazy cloud that blurred all your senses. Your hands uselessly laid next to your head and at this point you really felt like a toy for Reed. He could have done with your body however he liked, and you would have thanked him. You were spread open, body welcoming him inside and he surely took advantage of it.

Now that he didn't have to put so much effort into holding you down, he slipped a hand between your thighs to rub at your clit, holding on to his promise of making you cum a second time.

"Pretty, pretty, girl… So ready to be ruined by me. Perhaps I'll use my powers on you next time, mhm…?" he growled, one hand in your hair to tilt your head and make sure you were properly listening to him.

It wasn't that part, though, that made your pussy flutter. Next time. There would be a next time. He wouldn't throw you out of his lab after this, dump you and never see you again.

"Would you like that?" he snarled and combed through your hair with a tenderness that was surprising to you. "You said you'd like it. Would you like to cry on this dick? Be ripped apart by me? Until all you are is a ruined, worthless mess?"

You couldn't even nod. You didn't have the strength to do so, but Reed had surely studied your body for long enough to read it like an open book.

"I thought about this far too often," he whispered, towering over your body and leaning down to speak into your ear. His voice was a mixture of unwavering dominance and pure filth.

"I thought about this when I should've concentrated on my work and forget about your presence in my lab. And I thought about this even when you weren't around. I thought about you pinned down beneath me, pounding your pussy and watching you react to me. And I couldn't figure it out, I couldn't figure out why I couldn't stop thinking about this. I still don't. Perhaps I just need to fuck you so many times until it's gone. Until I'm able to forget you. Until I've – I've fulfilled this fucking desire in me and I can work normally again."

His large palm took a handful of your hair, turning your head to the side, so he could meet your gaze.

"You're gonna let me do that, aren't you? You're gonna let me ruin this cunt over and over again, dump my seed inside you until these feelings are gone. Until I'm me again. Until that moment, you're gonna let me use you like a little fucktoy. Always ready and at my mercy to be wrecked."

"Y-Yes. Yes, Reed," you moaned, body cringing at the way his finger worked on your clit.

"I'm gonna – I'm gonna cum, Reed, fuck," you cried out, a single tear resolving from your lower lashes and running down your face.

"Yeah, that's it. I know, cum for me and let me see how much you love this. Just breathe and let it happen, jesus – "

He stopped mid-sentence, his dick squeezed so tight by your walls, he held his breath for a moment and then followed you over the edge. Reed uncontrollaby spilled inside you and in this moment he couldn't have felt more relieved about the fact that you had offered him to go raw. Nothing could compare to this. Exploding inside you, feeling his large manhood twitch inside you, hitting the very back of you and filling your tiny cunt up. His cum immediately leaked from your pussy and dripped down your thigh – it was simply too much. Yet, he still kept you close, not pulling out just yet in order to enjoy the pleasure of fucking his cum back into you.

There wasn't a lot you could do about it anyway, body wrecked and exhausted and your hole still fluttering around him as if to ask for more. Reed panted heavily, chest rising as he watched your pussy suck in his seed and his hips delivering slow and steady thrusts into you.

"That's a good fucking girl… Oh lord… Look at that. It was too much for you, wasn't it? Way too much cum to take it into your tiny pussy. And now it's dripping all the way down to your feet."

Your hands laid flat on the desk, a single finger lifting, which was – aside from your high-pitched whimpers – the only proof of your consciousness. Reed inhaled and exhaled a few times, deep breaths in order to ground himself. Then he drove his flaccid length out of you and stroked up and down the back of your thighs.

"Good girl. You did so good. I didn't expect your body to react to me like that. To produce those noises and yearn for me like that. But this helped me quite a lot to understand you… Not why I have these feelings, but what turns you on…"

He seemed to talk to himself, which was of no surprise, since you lay flat on the desk like a lifeless shell. But then Reed gently tapped on your cheeks and brushed the hair out of your face so he could watch your profile.

"Baby. Let's get you cleaned up, mhm?"

There was no reaction, which made him frown. Your eyes were open and he could see your throat move as you gulped, but you made no attempt to get up.

"Sweetheart. C'mon, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

The analytical professor was awakened again, forehead wrinkled as he scanned your body for any external violations. But that couldn't be possible, he hadn't used his powers after all and surely hadn't taken things too far.

"No," you finally whispered and even allowed Reed to assist you in lifting yourself from the desk. He made you turn around until you were in your previous position again, sitting on the edge with your legs hanging over. Reed noticed the way you flinched as your sore pussy touched the hard desk and soothed you by cradling your head.

"All good?" he asked, caressing your bare thigh, but still wearing a worried expression. You seemed sad and whiny, which wasn't exceptional after sex, yet he still couldn't ignore it.

"Yeah," you said so quietly, it was almost drowned by your heavy breathing.

"Baby?" Reed insisted on a truthful reply with raised eyebrows and then smiled as you finally looked at him.

"Are you gonna throw me out now?"

You simply couldn't help it. Reed had told you 5 minutes ago how this wouldn't be the last encounter between the two of you, and you had believed it. Perhaps it was your post-orgasm horomones that now made you doubt everything and anything. The moment Reed had pulled out of you, you had waited for him to pick up your clothes, make you put them on and then guide you to the door. The fact that it hadn't happened yet, didn't exactly soothe you, but only made you more nervous. Part of you knew these fears were caused by the way he talked to you while inside you. In the moment, his degrading words had heightened your lust, but now... now you were unsettled, clinging to him with your eyes like a hurt bunny.

"What?" Reed breathed, voice quiet and incredibly tender. His expression softened up as well, mouth curled into the faintest hint of a smile.

"Are you gonna throw me out now?" you repeated, suddenly captivated by an unreasonable anger.

"No… No, of course not, little dove, why are you thinking stuff like that?"

Well, why did you? You sniffled and locked eyes with him.

"I don't know," you whispered, much less confident.

"C'mere…," Reed murmurated, wrapped an arm around you and briefly held you against his chest. Then he grabbed your face with both hands to make sure he had your attention.

"I'm not gonna throw you out. If it were up to me, I would get you to the bathroom now, take a bath with you, put you into a pair of my pajamas and let you sleep in my bed."

A muscle next to your eye twitched. That very muscle he had noticed earlier. It seemed to flinch whenever you were dealing with heavy emotions or were deeply concentrating.

"With you?" you asked with big deer eyes.

Reed smiled and nodded after briefly wrestling with himself. He didn't want you to get too attached after spending a night with him, but at the same time he couldn't deny you this. The costs of it would reveal themselves later, but for now he would take care of you while risking having you grow affectionate with him. That would be a matter for another day, Reed thought as he suddenly picked you up from the desk, holding you under your arms. Your weak legs instinctively wrapped around him. Then, as if it took no effort at all, and as if he hadn't just used up all his strength fucking you, he carried you to the bathroom. Lowered you onto to the carpet, opened the water tap of the bathtub and tested the temperature until he found that it was warm enough.

Reed once again slipped his arms around you – one underneath your knees and the other around your shoulders this time – and carefully heaved you into the tub all while whispering soothing phrases.

"There you go… You tell me if you want the water to be warmer or colder."

He soon followed you inside, sitting down behind you with his back against the wall of the tub and pulling you snug against his chest. You purred like a content cat, curling up into a ball in his lap and darting up at him with happy eyes as he began to rub patterns on your bare back. Numbers, letters and eventually even physics formulas, which made you giggle.

"What's wrong?" Reed chuckled and continued without paying attention to the vibrations of your body.

Then he took all the time in the world as he grabbed a bottle, poured shampoo onto his palm, and kneaded it into your hair. He spent a generous amount of time massaging your scalp, carefully grazing over your skin with his nails until your eyes fluttered shut. It had gotten late and you could feel your exhaustion in every bone of your body. But of course Reed didn't want you falling asleep in the bathtub, so he was quick to wash your hair, caress your shoulders and neck to make you stay awake and then left the tub to dry his body and grab a towel for you. He offered you his hands and helped you out, careful not to let you slip and wrapped you in a large, fluffy towel. You smiled and let Reed dry your body with his hands, but you giggled again when he pulled a hairbrush out of a drawer.

"What?" he accusingly lifted his eyebrows and brought it to your damp hair.

"Nothing," you laughed, turning around to give him better access.

"I just didn't expect you to be good at these kind of things," you murmured in the end, closing your eyes while he combed through your hair, strand by strand.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I thought this isn't your world."

Reed softly chuckled. "You thought science is the only thing I can understand."

"Maybe. Yes."

He was done now and put the brush aside.

"You'll be surprised then."

Reed stepped away for a moment and left the room without letting you know what he was doing. You waited, patiently chewing on your bottom lip while feeling hugged by a warm, steamy veil. Your eyes were heavy, but a smile remained on your lips when Reed returned with a pair of checkered cotton pajamas under his arm. He helped you put them on, let you wait for another minute while he got dressed too, and then looked you up and down.

"You need anything else?" Reed wanted to know, but you shook your head.

Then, without any warning, he picked you up once again, carrying you through his lab and into his bedroom like it wasn't a big deal. Frankly, you were relieved because you couldn't imagine walking all these steps with your wobbly knees. Your heart felt light as a feather when Reed cautiously laid you down on his four poster bed, careful not to bump your head against the headrest.

Then, he tucked you in, making sure the blanket was right under your chin so that no cold air could brush your skin. Reed glanced at you for a moment, taking in your wet hair and the tiredness around your eyes and then climbed onto the bed himself.

The knot in your stomach resolved because for a moment you had feared that he had given you false promises and would leave you now. Once he was comfortable, too, you immediately hugged his arm that was lying at his side so he couldn't leave even if he changed his mind.

And Reed let it happen and even slipped his other arm around your back, pushing you closer to him.

"All good?" he asked into the darkness, muscles relaxing at the sound of your steady breaths.

You didn't even have to answer. He knew you and your body after his studies today.

You were good.

"Yes," you replied, pressing your face against his muscular bicep. "So good."

Reed smiled.

Just for him this time. Not to reassure you or emphasise the softness of his words directed at you. You couldn't even see it.

And yet, it lingered on his lips for a few more minutes until he fell asleep.

Just for himself.

#tbr

701 notes · View notes

joeloverture · 7 days ago

Text

on the anatomy of love-making | r.r./f!reader

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: reed richards / f!reader 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: reed needs to cool down after a long day spent in the lab. leave it to the smartest man alive to make it into a scientific crash course. 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙨: 18+ minors do not interact , 2.4k words , smut , love-making basically , reed is a workaholic , reader is sunshine and loves her man , sue is nowhere to be found in this sorry sue , f!receiving oral , light praise , pet names , sex & science yay , relatively straightforward 𝙖/𝙣: my first request! thank you anon for requesting this and i hope you enjoy it!

The digital clock reads 3:02.

For the past ten minutes, you’ve been watching the pulsing red numbers flick upwards. No more. You roll off of your side of the bed, visibly yours only by the rumpled comforter and fluffed pillow. The other side is more untouched than freshly dry cleaned hotel linens. With a stretching yawn, you push your feet into your slippers.

Reed said he’d be in bed by 3:00.

In all fairness, he usually does. That doesn’t make his estimations right.

Reed would work himself to death if you didn’t have a say. He’d run himself ragged, a horse on an infinite race track, until he broke a leg or two and the firing squad was the only option.

You rub some of the clingy sleep from your eyes as you mash the button of the elevator. The doors part like two panels of ice, welcoming you into the silver cylinder. When you press the button to get to the lab, you only press it once.

The ride takes a handful of seconds. When the elevator dings, you’re moving through the door immediately.

He’s exactly as he was when you last saw him. Pacing the endless length of his curved blackboard, chalk in a stretched-out hand. His murmurings are nonsensical and imprecise to all but himself.

You clear your throat as you pad forward.

“A moment, dear,” he says.

He cranes his neck — which, for him, is more of stretching it like a spring hard at work. He scribbles out a final symbol and makes a disgruntled noise.

“Reed,” you deadpan.

“I’m working.”

“I can see that. But it doesn’t look like you’re getting anything done.”

He sighs, arm boomeranging back into place. He sets the chalk down and turns to face you. There are deep eyebags settled under his brown irises. It’s… disquieting, to see him so ill-composed. “I was,” he says. “Before you arrived.”

His lips twitch at the sides after he says it. He didn’t mean to let that one escape.

“Any more work tonight and that big brain of yours is going to start leaking out of your ears. Come to bed. Relax. Please?” You half-pout at him.

Perhaps he feels bad for his slip-up. Perhaps he doesn’t and has just well and truly exhausted himself. He walks towards the consoles and taps a few buttons, leaving the lab powered down for the evening. He fits his hand into yours and follows you back to the elevator.

The ride upstairs is done in silence. His thumb brushes against the lifeline that arcs across the span of your palm, a furrow in your skin traced by his own.

He heads to his wardrobe immediately, but you land a hand upon his lapel. “Let me take care of you, Reed. You can shut your brain off.”

“I can never shut it off,” he says as if you meant it literally.

“I know.” Your voice is soft as you drag your hand upwards to cup his chin. You give him a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and usher him towards the edge of the bed. “Sit. I’ll pick out your pajamas.”

He almost laughs. “I’m not a child.”

“You need a bedtime. Close enough, by my count.” You rummage through his dresser and come up with a striped top, some loose pants, and a change in briefs.

You fold the clothes on the bed next to him and take pause when you catch how he looks, illuminated in a thick sliver of moonlight. It’s almost mist-veiled, how gorgeous he looks this late in the evening. When he’s so worn down by his own thoughts and been reduced to debilitation. There’s that small curl of brown hair that swoops across his wrinkled forehead. The pale white stripes at his temples shine even brighter in this lighting. His eyes get darker, softer. Less wary.

You stand in front of him and work your thumb into the knot of his tie, working it loose.

“You failed,” he rasps, voice scarcely loud enough for you to pick up on it. “I’m thinking rather hard right now.”

Your brows crease as you look down at him. “Sorry?”

“The hypothalamus,” he continues as you tug his tie loose. It slinks out of your palm and onto the floor like a snake with a mind of its own. “receives chemicals from the nerve signals implanted into our brains. It reacts to those chemicals, helps us manage. It’s how we determine what we need. It’s responsible for many things; body temperature regulation, when we need to sleep, our moods, how hungry we are. And… sex, of course.” You blink. “See, if you were to move your hand slightly to the left, you’d feel my heart racing. That’s because my hypothalamus is releasing dopamine—”

You bend at the waist and cup his jaw, tugging him upwards for a kiss. He rumbles against your mouth, lips parting eagerly. You swipe your tongue across his lower lip and he happily grants you more access as his hands wind around your waist, tugging you forward. You kick your slippers off haphazardly: they go flying somewhere behind you. You don’t care. Not when he’s holding you like you’re porcelain but kissing you like you’re a ripened fruit.

“You could’ve just said,” you gasp between kisses. “you were—” You fumble with the buttons of his shirt. “horny.”

“No fun in that,” he says. His abdomen tightens as you untuck his shirt fully. He unravels himself from the shirt and tosses it to the right.

You giggle against his lips as you feel his fingers tickling at the neckline of your camisole. He stretches his arm easily enough to yank it off of your torso.

“Hi,” you exhale against his mouth.

He doesn’t answer. Just brings his palms from your waist up to the undersides of your breasts, thumbs flicking eagerly at your cold-hardened nipples. You exhale, hips jerking downwards against the hardened bulge in his pants.

“That,” he says as he kisses down your jaw, nipping at you as he goes. His fingers continue to work circles against your swollen buds. “is also the hypothalamus. More specifically…” He pinches one of your nipples. You gasp, head falling backwards. “The preoptic area. It regulates physiological behavior. Makes arousal…” He intentionally rolls his hips up into your crotch, the bastard. “a physical state instead of just a mental one.”

He raises his brows at you, inquiring. “I bet yours is working rather hard, too. These hard, pretty nipples…” He drags his tongue across your breast. You jerk with a shudder.

“Reed,” you whine, hands bundling into his curls.

“Easy, baby,” he whispers. “I gotcha.”

“That wet little pussy you’ve got pressed against my bulge…” he continues as if he’d never stopped. “How you clench around me when I stretch you out. That’s allll your preoptic area. You have it to blame for how famished you are for me.”

“I think that’s—” He draws another gasp out of you, this time tonguing your opposite nipple. “all you, baby.”

“There’s also the insula,” Reed says. “Which is why when I do this,” he bites down harder than usual on your breast. You squeak, swatting at the side of his head. He lets out a breathless chuckle against your warm chest. “you feel that. The insula is for sensory processing. Some people see it as the fifth lobe…”

“Your facts are nearly as impressive as your bedroom prowess, Mr. Richards,” you tease.

He raises a brow in your direction, glancing up at you with those heated eyes of his. “The former informs the latter,” he says decisively. “Now, about facts; you are, in fact, overdressed for the occasion.”

He pushes you back this time. Your heels dig into the mattress as he kisses down your torso, tongue briefly slipping out to leave a trail in his wake. He shimmies your shorts off of you and discards of them just as quickly. “Mmm. These are pretty. New?” he asks. He flicks the bow at the center of the waistband that curls outward into a thin lace hemline.

“Yeah,” you say.

“That can’t be right,” he shakes his head, tutting at you. “They already look stained. What a shame.” He presses his thumb hard between your folds. Your hips rock into his thumb as you let out a rattling gasp.

“Reed— Reed.”

He swirls his thumb around the patch of wetness soaking through the gusset of your panties. They stick to your folds by the sealant of your own arousal. “Nucleus accumbens,” he says. “The real dopamine release. It’s your own internal rewards system. When you do something your body likes… it tells you to do it again. And again. And again. When you eat, hit a really good high, or when I rub this gorgeous clit of yours…” He makes a point to draw this rub out, leaving you shuddering against the duvet. Your hips keep jerking sloppily into his hand. “It makes you do that. Makes you chase it. Want it.” He kisses beneath your ribs. “I’d ask if you want it, but I do think I already have an answer to that.”

He dips his head and drags his tongue through your drenched, clothed folds. You half-shriek, hips not sure quite where to go to get that reward your brain so desperately wants. The fabric crimps under his heavy tongue as he groans into your pussy, licking at the fabric.

You whine, bucking into him. “Reed! Reed, fuck– just like that, keep… keep going, please don’t stop, I want—”

He stops.

“Bastard,” you whine, kicking. He holds you down by your thighs, giving you a rare, cocky grin.

“That’s also your nucleus accumbens. It’s what has you feeling so disappointed. It’s what makes you crave that sweet release.” He leans up, kissing at your sternum. “But what I really want…” He grinds his cock into your inner thigh, breath stumbling between his teeth at the sensation. “is to feel your orgasm when you’re wrapped around my cock.”

“Yeah,” you rasp. “We can— we can do that.”

The rest is methodological. You practically go about tearing his pants off of him. His shoes are lost somewhere in the fray, too. You’re kissing up the bridge of his nose and then against his temples. Your hands anchor themselves at his biceps, squeezing for purchase as he thumbs through the mess you’ve made.

“I think I’ll keep these on,” he says to himself as he plays with the hem of your panties. “They’re already goners, I imagine.”

He taps his tip against your clit and tugs your panties out of your folds. His cock is red, leaking at the tip, and it twitches when he eyes the beautiful mess you’ve made. “Fuuuck. Look at that…” He smiles down at you. “Messy little pussy. She needs it, doesn’t she? You’re practically leaking down your legs for it, sweetheart.”

You keen, back arching. “Put it in, Reed. You’ve done enough teasi–”

If only because he knows you can take it, he thrusts all the way in in one deep go.

You arch with a gasp. Your legs lock around his hips, begging to draw him deeper in. “Reed!” you whine, rolling your hips in tandem with his.

He used to be a lot for you to take. He still is, now. But he can get away more often than not without stretching you out on his fingers. No, that’s saved for his cock. He loves to empty his balls inside of you, twitching and panting against your limp body as you both fall deeper into being thralls of pleasure.

He draws his hips back and slams into you. You yelp, arms tracing his flexed muscles in his biceps and bracing at his wingspan. “ReedReedReed,” you pant. “God, I love your cock. Feels so— so fucking good—”

“I know, baby, I know…” he breathes. He kisses and bites and nibbles at your neck as he lets himself pound into you. With each thrust, he groans headily against your skin. A particular, grizzled noise he makes has you tightening around him in a way that makes his thrusts falter. “Goddamn. Yeah, baby, you keep that up. Best pussy I’ve ever had, I swear.”

You nod brainlessly, bucking up into him with what little strength you have left. Your hands wind into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging his lips to yours. You kiss each other desperately, swallowing down each other's moans. You hear the headboard thunk against the wall behind you as an especially damning thrust has his tip nudging at your cervix.

He forces a hand between the two of you, cupping your mound. Your wetness drips against his palm. Sweaty, your bodies push into one another as his thumb starts to circle your clit again. You cry out, eyes brimming with pleasured tears.

“The cerebellum,” he says, voice vibrating against your neck. He gives a particularly hard thrust. You buckle under him. “activates your orgasm. So go on, baby. Give it to me. Let me feel that pussy coming around my cock.”

He rolls his hips in and then you’re thrown over the edge into a downward spiral as you soak each of your thighs. Visual snow floats down your vision, obscuring Reed as he fucks you through it, thumb moving round and round your clit. You whine as he grunts into your neck. He reaches for your hips and holds you at an angle that he can thrust deep, deep into you, working himself towards his own.

“Fuck,” you moan. “Fuck, Reed, please, fill me up, I wanna feel it, give it to me, I want—”

You feel him twitch deep inside of you, nestled up against your cervix. His cum shoots inside of you. He sprawls out on top of you, kissing gently up and down your jawline. “There’s my pretty girl,” he rasps.

“There’s my pretty boy,” you throw back, running a hand through his sweat-slick hair. You groan as you tilt your head to check the clock. 4:05. “Dammit. I wanted you asleep by now.”

“Mmm, I just wanted you,” he says.

You stay like that for a while. Only when you’re about to tell him to pull out does he say, “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

You’re still under him, judgmental as you stare upward.

“The orbitofrontal cortex,” Reed murmurs softly. “lowers inhibition. Decreases anxiety. Makes you let your guard down.”

You soften. Pliant.

“You calm me down,” he breathes.

“I love you too, Reed,” you say, playing with one of his curls absently.

Your only answer is how warm his smile feels against your neck.

#tbr

586 notes · View notes

joeloverture · 7 days ago

Text

Observed Behavior

pairing: Reed Richards x Fem!Mutant Reader

summary: 6.5k words. Dr. Reed Richards doesn’t pay you much attention. You’re just another intern in the lab—quiet, efficient, always taking notes. But you’re also a telepath. And Reed has no idea you can hear every filthy, unspoken thought he has about you.

rating: E. dirty talk. no infidelity, I promise! rough piv sex. oral (fem receiving). mind reading. mutual pining. semi-public sex. come on face.

a/n: omggggggggggggg I loved writing this. I only saw Fantastic Four: First Steps yesterday but I feel like I've been obsessed for months already. I actually wrote this before seeing the movie, but held off until today to post. hope you like it!!!! 💙

You don’t like Reed Richards.

You tell yourself this the moment you meet him. He barely acknowledges your existence. He doesn’t shake your hand. Doesn’t even make eye contact.

You say something polite—something like, "Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Richards."

He says, without glancing up from the display in front of him, "The data’s unstable. Did you notice the gravitic skew in quadrant six?"

Oh.

Okay. That kind of guy.

Later, you categorize him like you’re filing a report: Brilliant. Socially stunted. One of those too-smart-to-be-nice types who treats human interaction like a necessary evil.

It makes your job easier. You’re not here to be liked.

You’re here to assist with the joint-mutant initiative. Quietly. Professionally. Keep your head down, do your work, keep the mental channel muted unless someone explicitly asks for help. Your mutation makes people nervous. Not everyone wants to know what they’re broadcasting.

But Reed Richards?

Reed Richards is broadcasting filth.

The first time it happens, you think you’ve misread. You’re across the lab, checking output from a cracked containment dome, and his thoughts slip past your mental wall like a hot breath on the back of your neck:

God, what those lips would look like around my cock.

How tight she’d be, wet and warm and surprised.

Bet she tastes sweet. Fuck, I’d drag it out. Make her beg.

She wouldn’t beg. She’s too proud. I’d make her anyway.

You jolt. Your pen jerks off the page. A shaky line across your log sheet. You don’t dare look up. You’ve never heard him speak like that. You’ve barely heard him speak at all. Reed is curt. Precise. Dismissive, even. But now you hear it in his head, like it’s on a loop, layered with vivid images — your thighs spread across his desk, his fingers prying you open while he murmurs clinical observations that make your cheeks burn.

She’d be wet already. I’d test her reaction time. Graph her pulse. Hypothesize what makes her shake.

You swallow, shift in your seat, force your hands to stay still. You should block him out. You usually do. No one wants to hear what people are really thinking. It’s invasive, and it’s dangerous, and it’s too much to carry.

But this? This is—

“Is something wrong?” His voice cuts across the room. Crisp. Flat. Like he doesn’t have his hand buried in your imaginary cunt.

You look up. Just once.

He’s watching you. Eyes sharp behind his glasses. No heat in his expression — none of the filth you just heard. He looks the same way he always does. Unreadable. Detached.

“No,” you say. Too quickly. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Reed nods once and returns to typing, but his thoughts don’t stop.

I wonder if she’d moan when I touch her or bite her lip to stay quiet.

Bet I could break her composure. Bet I could ruin her neat little posture.

You grip the edge of the counter until your knuckles ache.

You’ve made a huge mistake.

Because now that you’ve tuned in, you don’t think you can stop.

The worst part isn’t how filthy it is.

It’s the contrast.

Reed Richards — Dr. Richards, to everyone — never even swears in conversation. He refers to the human body like it’s a schematic. He’ll say “pleasure response” instead of orgasm, and you’ve heard him refer to Sue’s divorce attorney as “a challenging presence,” which you think is his version of calling someone a dick.

So the first time you hear him think the word cunt, your brain short-circuits.

Bet it’s tight. Warm. Slick around my fingers. Her cunt would grip me like it knows me.

You grip the edge of the lab table.

Reed hasn’t moved. He’s still typing, back straight, posture annoyingly perfect. A model scientist. The embodiment of control.

But in his head—

I’d stretch her out with my tongue first. Just to taste. Just to make her shiver.

Then I’d fuck her open with two fingers. Maybe three. Just to see how much she could take.

You feel your face flush hot.

His voice in your head is the same one he uses when he’s narrating quantum anomalies. Methodical. Fascinated. Detached.

Like your body is a phenomenon he wants to understand. Just for the data.

She’s got sensitive tits, I think. Would need a gentle mouth. Then a rough one.

I’d chart how many licks until she breaks.

You turn away before he can see the expression on your face. Not that he’d be looking.

Reed doesn’t look at you.

Not unless you speak first. Even then, his gaze usually lands near your shoulder or just past your head — like you’re a part of the room’s architecture. Necessary. Functional. Forgettable.

Which is why you can’t fathom the sudden, overwhelming specificity of his thoughts.

Would she come if I sucked on her nipples and slid my thumb over her clit?

Or would she need to be fucked?

Deep. Slow. Me inside her while she tries not to cry out.

You have to leave.

You mumble something — “back in ten” or “need a break” — and Reed doesn’t respond. He doesn’t glance your way. Just lifts a hand absently in acknowledgment, still facing the board, still immersed in whatever algorithm or image his mind is chewing on.

Except now you know that algorithm is you.

Your wet heat. Your thighs. Your pulse as he imagines pressing his mouth to it and whispering, “Come for me. Let me see.”

You flee to the hallway, breath stuttering in your throat, shame and heat and disbelief running a relay race in your chest.

You’ve heard dirty thoughts before. You’ve had them.

But never from someone so composed. So quiet. So far removed from the possibility of ever touching you.

And that’s what makes it dangerous.

He has no idea you can hear him.

And worse — he’s not trying to stop.

The rest of the day, you try to block him out.

You build mental walls. Steel-plated. Brick-layered. Reinforced with every ounce of discipline you’ve learned since puberty, when people’s thoughts started bleeding into your skull like background noise you couldn’t shut off.

But Reed’s thoughts don’t bleed. They pierce.

They stab through.

You’re elbow-deep in diagnostics when it happens again — no warning, no break in his typing cadence, no shift in posture.

Just a whisper inside your head like a hand between your thighs.

She’d come so pretty if I rubbed her clit just right. Not hard. Just enough to make her beg.

Your knees go weak.

You drop the calibration tool.

It clangs against the lab floor and rolls under a counter.

Reed doesn’t turn around. He never does.

But in your head:

Imagine her on my desk, shaking. Panting. Just a little ruined.

Would her thighs tremble when I pull out, or when I sink in?

Fuck. I’d edge her until she sobs.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Grip the counter. Count backward.

Ten. Nine. Eight.

It’s not enough.

I wouldn’t even fuck her the first time. I’d make her ride my face. Learn how she moves. What makes her lose rhythm.

You suck in a breath and drop to your knees, fumbling under the bench for the runaway tool. Your fingers shake as you grab it.

You’re burning from the inside out.

He’s just standing there — chalk in one hand, the other curled around the lip of the console, muttering numbers under his breath.

As if he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you, like he isn’t narrating how he’d make you come.

You crawl out from under the counter, wiping your palms on your lab coat. Try to focus. Try to breathe.

But the thoughts keep going.

She probably moans softly. Gasps, maybe. One hand on my wrist, the other gripping the sheets.

Would she let me come on her face? Or just in her mouth?

Your hand slips on the console. The system glitches — an alert flashes red on the screen.

“Everything okay?” Reed says, without turning.

His tone is bland. Neutral. The same one he uses when he’s asking about error margins or component failures.

You force your voice to steady. “Fine. Sorry. Just bumped the interface.”

“Run the sequence again,” he says.

You do.

But your fingers tremble the whole time. And every time you glance up, you see the line of his spine, the tension in his forearms, the methodical tap of chalk against board — like he’s not thinking about bending you over the lab bench and pressing his mouth between your thighs.

But he is.

And now you know.

It’s not supposed to be a social thing.

You’re huddled in the lab with Reed, Johnny, and a visiting biophysicist from MIT who talks with his hands and keeps spilling his coffee. It’s late afternoon. The conversation’s circling around particle harmonics and neural feedback delay — nothing you haven’t heard before.

Reed, as usual, is silent. Focused. His back to the room, one hand scrolling equations, the other holding a piece of chalk he hasn’t used in fifteen minutes.

You think maybe you’ll survive the day without hearing anything from him. You’ve built the walls again. Brick by brick. You’re not letting him in.

And then Johnny goes, “I still don’t get why you didn’t just read her.”

You blink. “What?”

Johnny laughs. “Come on, don’t play dumb. You could’ve. You always say that trick comes in handy when people lie.”

Your blood goes cold. You look up slowly. “Johnny…”

“Oh shit. Was that not public knowledge?” He raises both palms in mock defense. “Sorry. I mean, I thought everyone knew.”

They don’t. Not everyone. But Sue, Ben, Johnny — they do. Reed, you’d assumed… maybe. But not definitely.

Until now.

Because Reed goes still.

Not visibly. Not to the average eye. But you see it.

His hand halts mid-scroll. The chalk pauses just before touching the board.

He doesn’t turn around. Of course not. He never does.

But the entire current in the room changes.

The MIT guy, oblivious, whistles low. “Telepathy? That’s incredible.”

“Yeah,” Johnny says, grinning. “She’s like a human lie detector. Except it’s not like she goes digging, you know? She just picks stuff up.”

The scientist nods. “Is it active or passive?”

“Both,” you say, voice light, controlled. “Depends on the day. And the person.”

“Must be fun.”

You shrug. “Sometimes.”

Johnny leans on the console. “Sometimes not, huh?”

Your eyes flick briefly to Reed’s back. His hand is still frozen in midair, like he’s been caught in amber.

You look away.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Sometimes… not so much.”

The conversation moves on.

Someone cracks a joke about lab gossip being unsafe around you. The MIT guy asks a question about psi-shielding. Johnny starts talking about that one time you ruined a poker night by knowing someone’s cards.

But Reed doesn’t speak, doesn’t move.

For the first time in days, his thoughts are silent.

You feel the absence like a blow.

No whispers. No fantasies. No wondering what your cunt tastes like or how you sound when you come. Just—

Nothing.

A void. You should be relieved. Instead, you feel like you’ve been locked out of something you didn’t know you needed.

Behind Reed’s still frame, you can sense it — the slow, dangerous coiling of tension.

Not shame, not guilt. Only awareness.

He knows, and now he’s thinking about what you’ve heard.

You don’t sleep that night.

You lie in bed with your mind reeling, blankets too heavy, your chest too tight. The silence in Reed’s head echoes louder than any of the filth that came before. You didn’t realize how much you’d come to expect his thoughts. Not want them — not exactly — but… count on them. Like a metronome. Like proof he was human under all that restraint.

Now?

Nothing.

No late-night fantasies. No secret hypotheses about your body. Just a wall — colder and more deliberate than anything you’ve ever put up yourself.

He knows.

And now you’re waiting for the fallout.

You think about packing.

You think about going to Sue and getting ahead of it — telling her you’re sorry, you didn’t mean to listen, you never asked for the thoughts to come in like that, you tried so fucking hard to block them out.

You think about how Sue would tilt her head, lips pressed together in that gentle, unreadable way of hers, and say, “I’ll talk to Reed.”

That thought alone makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

You don’t go to the lab the next morning.

You call in sick — stomach flu, maybe food poisoning.

You spend the day in your apartment, curled on your couch with a half-drunk mug of tea and the soft buzz of muted news. You try to distract yourself with papers, textbooks, even an old simulation of Mars terrain scans.

None of it sticks.

Because the only thought that plays on repeat is this:

You’ve ruined it.

You had one shot. One internship. One thread of hope that could’ve led to something real — something bigger than the lab, bigger than Earth.

You’ve wanted space since you were old enough to name constellations. You were supposed to be part of the next crew rotation. If you did well, if you impressed the right people, if Reed thought you were worth keeping—

But now all he sees is a liability. An intruder. A mind he can’t trust.

Maybe he’s already filed a report. Maybe by Monday you’ll be reassigned to inventory. Or security compliance. Some corner of the building where they can keep you out of people’s heads and off the launch manifest.

You curl tighter. You don’t cry but your throat aches like you might.

You’d rather he shouted. Rather he confronted you. Rather he called you invasive or perverse or unprofessional.

Instead, he just disappeared.

That silence — the absence of his voice in your head — feels like the worst kind of punishment.

You come in early the next day.

Earlier than usual. Earlier than anyone else should be there.

Except he’s already in the lab.

You hear the soft click of the console keys before you see him. The low whir of cooling fans. The faint scratch of chalk across board.

When you step inside, Reed doesn’t turn.

He’s where he always is — back straight, eyes forward, sleeves rolled, a shadow of stubble softening the sharp lines of his jaw. His body is still, but his mind—

His mind is deafening.

F=ma. ΔS = Qrev/T. Entropy is always increasing. Entropy is always increasing. Entropy is always increasing—

You press your hand to the doorframe.

It’s not that he’s shut you out.

It’s that he’s replaced the thoughts. Stuffed the filth back into its cage and barricaded the door with math. With precision. With the cold comfort of numbers.

But it’s loud. So loud.

Equations loop over and over, like static, like punishment, like he’s trying to drown himself in calculus and thermodynamics until there’s no room left for want.

You don’t say anything.

You just take your seat. Log into the console. Pretend the silence is normal. That the walls haven’t shifted. That this isn’t your fault.

But then, after twenty-eight minutes of stillness—

He turns.

Slowly.

His eyes meet yours for the first time in days.

And then, like the flip of a switch, the equations stop.

The noise cuts.

And what follows is even worse.

“I owe you an apology.”

The words land like glass.

You look up — stunned, unsure you heard him right.

Reed continues, voice stiff, almost formal. Like he’s reciting something practiced.

“I was unaware that my thoughts were… accessible. To you.”

He swallows. His gaze doesn’t waver. “If I caused any discomfort, or crossed any boundary—”

“You didn’t,” you say, too fast.

But he doesn’t stop.

“I understand if you wish to leave the internship. I will personally ensure a neutral letter of recommendation and full academic credit, if you—”

“No.” You shake your head, your throat tight. “I don’t want to leave.”

Silence.

Your breath trembles in your chest.

“I’m not upset,” you say, softer. “I never was.”

Reed stares at you.

You’ve never seen him look so unsure.

“I should not have allowed those thoughts to form,” he says, quieter now. “I certainly shouldn’t have repeated them.”

You offer a breath of laughter — too hollow to be real. “You didn’t say them.”

He blinks. “I thought them.”

You nod. “You did.”

A pause.

Then you add, “But I heard more than what you thought.”

His brows draw together. “Meaning?”

“I heard how hard you tried not to.”

“I’m truly so, so sorry,” he says.

The words sound foreign in his mouth — like he doesn’t quite know how to say them aloud. His voice drops as he says it, too, like he wants to bury the sentence somewhere low between you.

“It was unprofessional.”

You blink. It hits different when it’s said that plainly — not just the apology, but the weight of the word.

Unprofessional.

He means it. You can hear it in his thoughts now, the edge softening — shame curling in the quiet corners. He’s not just sorry you heard him. He’s sorry he thought it at all. Sorry he let himself want. Sorry his discipline failed.

“Reed,” you say, gently. “It’s alright.”

He doesn’t move, he doesn’t breathe, for a second.

It’s not the kind of apology that’s waiting for forgiveness. It’s the kind that assumes none is possible.

“I should have—” he begins, but the sentence crumbles.

You step closer before you can think better of it. Not too close. Just enough to catch the tiniest flicker in his eyes — a shift, like he’s bracing for something more than your words.

“I’ve heard worse,” you say, lips twitching in the ghost of a smile. “You just think very… graphically.”

His mouth parts — just slightly. For the first time, you see something almost human flicker behind his usual impassivity.

Embarrassment.

He opens his mouth to speak again, but nothing comes.

You reach for the console behind you, just to give your hands something to do.

“If you’re wondering whether I was offended,” you say, “I wasn’t.”

His gaze lifts to yours slowly. “You weren’t.”

You shake your head. “I didn’t say it wasn’t… surprising.”

Something changes in the set of his shoulders. The faintest drop. Like a gear slipping in a machine.

You can hear it again, too — faint, fainter than before, but real: She’s not angry. She’s not leaving.

You lean back against the edge of the table, arms crossed loosely. “I’ve had these powers my whole life, you know. You hear people think things they’d never say. Half of them wouldn’t even admit it to themselves.”

Reed doesn’t respond. But you feel the shift. The stillness that isn't emptiness anymore — it’s presence. It’s him, fully here, not hiding behind data or circuits or chalk.

“It can be fun sometimes,” you admit. “Other times…” You trail off. “Not so much.”

His fingers flex slightly where they rest at his sides.

You almost expect him to end it there. To nod, turn away, retreat to the board, drown himself in equations again.

But instead, he says, quietly:

“I didn’t mean for you to feel like an object.”

Your chest tightens.

You meet his gaze.

“I didn’t.”

You watch him for a moment, unsure what to say next.

The lab is quiet. Still. The hum of the equipment blends into the background like white noise. Reed hasn’t moved since his last apology — hands loose at his sides, eyes lowered just enough that you can’t quite tell if he’s looking at you or through you.

You shift slightly on the edge of the table.

“Are you okay?” you ask, softly.

It’s the gentlest question in the world. You don’t expect much. A nod, maybe. Or the barest deflection.

Instead, he huffs a laugh.

Short. Quiet. Almost self-deprecating.

And so out of place coming from him that it draws your eyes back to his face immediately.

He still doesn’t smile. Of course he doesn’t. But there’s a flicker at the corner of his mouth, like he might have once, in another life, remembered how.

Your chest eases — just barely — and you smile at him. Tentative. Careful. The kind of smile you give a wounded animal when you’re holding out a hand.

Reed blinks, and this time his gaze meets yours without hesitation.

He doesn’t say yes, or no, or I will be.

But he doesn’t look away.

He doesn’t turn back to the board.

You take that as enough.

The air between you settles, not warm exactly, but less charged. Less sharp.

You glance down at your tablet, then back up. “Do you want to… work on the gamma dispersion scan?”

A pause. Then he nods.

It’s quiet again as you both fall into rhythm — screens blinking softly, files opening, measurements calibrating. For ten minutes, it almost feels normal. Like none of this happened. Like your body hasn’t been the subject of his private curiosity. Like you haven’t heard, in his own voice, the words tits and cunt wrapped in awe like he’s discovering a new element.

But every so often, you catch the stillness in him.

The way he doesn’t quite type as fluidly as before. The way his thoughts — no longer loud, no longer obscene — hover just out of reach. Reined in. Scrubbed clean.

Control, you hear him think, a little later. Keep control.

You bite the inside of your cheek.

Because now that you’ve forgiven him — now that you’ve stayed — he’s afraid he’ll slip again.

He’s afraid of wanting.

Of letting you hear it.

And maybe, more than anything, he’s afraid you won’t look at him the same if you do.

You wait until the next lull. After the data finishes compiling. After you both fall into quiet, careful work, pretending the air isn’t thick with everything unsaid.

Then, without looking up, you ask:

“What are you really thinking?”

The words slip out like a whisper. Not a demand. A coaxing.

You hear him stop breathing.

His fingers freeze on the console.

You look up.

He’s staring down at his hands like they belong to someone else. His brows twitch — the smallest knot of conflict pulling across his forehead.

You don’t press. You wait.

He swallows hard.

“I—” His voice is rougher than you’ve ever heard it. “I don’t think I should say.”

You nod slowly. “I know.”

There’s a pause. The kind that feels like a coin balanced on its edge — waiting to tip.

Then, finally, Reed lifts his gaze to meet yours.

It’s not a sharp glance. Not a command or a calculation. It’s vulnerable. Raw.

“Are you sure?”

You nod before your brain can stop you. “I’m sure.”

Your heart hammers against your ribs.

The silence that follows isn’t heavy. It’s charged.

And then—soft, almost reverent, like he’s saying it for himself more than for you—his thought brushes your mind.

She’s the most astonishing thing I’ve ever seen.

You don’t move.

She’s smart. Composed. And when she smiles at me like that, I want to get on my knees and put my mouth on her cunt until she forgets every name but mine.

Your breath catches.

Reed’s eyes are still on yours. Steady. Honest.

I want to see her fall apart. Hear her. Feel her thighs around my face. I want her to let go with me. Just once. Just to know what it’s like to make someone like her come.

You’re frozen.

Flushed.

His thoughts echo again, softer now, barely there:

I would be gentle. At first. I’d learn her rhythms. I’d listen.

You part your lips, but no sound comes out.

Reed doesn’t look away.

You see the tension in his jaw. The restraint. The ache he’s too careful to name aloud.

But this time, he’s not hiding.

He’s giving you the truth.

And your whole body sings with it.

The silence stretches, but it doesn’t break.

Reed watches you like he’s waiting for you to flinch. For you to run. For you to laugh it off or look away or say no.

You don’t.

Your breath is shallow. Your pulse pounds behind your ribs like a warning, like a promise. But you don’t move.

You stay.

Reed’s fingers flex slightly at his sides. A twitch. A tremor. And then—carefully, like he’s unsure the ground will hold—he takes one slow step forward.

Your heart leaps.

He pauses.

Then another step.

Still watching you.

You straighten, knees brushing the edge of the console. Your hands—useless at your sides—curl instinctively into the hem of your coat. You feel like a held breath. Like one word might shatter you.

And then he’s close enough that you can see it in his face—the nerves he’s trying to hide. The deep ache folded into his silence. The apology still lingering beneath his restraint.

But also the want.

So much want.

You reach out.

Just a little.

And that’s all it takes.

His hand lifts—slow, hesitant—and finds yours midair. The contact is gentle. Barely there. Your fingers brush his palm and his thumb curves awkwardly over your knuckles, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

But you link your fingers with his.

You squeeze.

His breath shudders.

You’re close now. Not quite touching chest to chest. Not yet. But his body radiates heat like a solar flare, and your joined hands hang between you like a thread you’re both afraid to tug.

He doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t have to.

His thoughts are quiet, but open. Not graphic. Not filthy this time.

She’s here. She’s still here.

You lift your other hand—slowly, carefully—and touch the crook of his elbow. His arm tenses for half a second, then relaxes under your touch.

His hand in yours tightens. Just a little.

You smile at him. Tentative. Like before.

And this time, Reed exhales like it breaks something loose inside him.

You lean in slowly.

No rush. No sharp breath or whispered question. Just instinct. Trust. The press of his fingers wrapped in yours.

Your lips find his.

A soft, fleeting brush.

So light you could pretend it didn’t happen.

But it does.

He stills.

For a heartbeat, maybe two.

Then something inside him snaps.

Reed surges forward—still silent, but no longer hesitant. His free hand lifts to cup your jaw, fingers spanning your cheek with a trembling kind of reverence. His mouth crashes into yours again, firmer this time, open, hungry.

You gasp, and he takes it.

Takes you.

His lips drag over yours like he’s starved. His body leans into yours, chasing heat, chasing breath, chasing something he’s kept buried under equations and silence for too damn long.

You kiss him back, matching his pace, your fingers gripping the front of his shirt just to stay grounded.

It’s not perfect. It’s messy.

Teeth clash once. Your nose bumps his. He exhales sharply against your mouth, and you laugh, surprised and dizzy.

Reed groans low in his throat like it drives him wild.

His grip shifts—hand sliding to the back of your neck, the other pressing firm at your waist, tugging you closer. There’s no more distance now. You’re chest to chest, breath to breath, his mouth working yours like it’s a formula he’s been dying to solve.

You reach blindly for something—anything—to anchor yourself.

Your fingers find the edge of his belt.

Not teasing. Not intentional.

Just need.

A way to keep your feet on the ground while the rest of you unravels.

You clutch the leather and kiss him deeper.

And Reed—God, Reed—moans softly into your mouth like he’s the one overwhelmed.

His thoughts flood through you again, all barriers down now.

So soft. So warm. She kissed me first.

I want to lift her onto the desk. Get my hands under that coat.

I want to taste her. Right now. Right fucking now.

Your knees buckle slightly, and he catches you with both arms, tugging you flush against him, the hard press of his belt against your stomach making your skin spark.

You don’t speak.

Neither does he.

But you kiss like you’re telling secrets. Like you’re breaking rules. Like every second is borrowed time.

Reed drops to his knees.

It happens fast. One second his mouth is pressed to yours, the next he’s sinking down like gravity’s claimed him — like he’s meant to be there. At your feet. Between your legs. Worshipful and wild.

His hands slide up your thighs, warm and unhurried. He lifts your skirt like he’s unfolding a secret he’s only ever dreamed of touching. You brace one hand against the console behind you, the other tangled in his hair, fingers trembling.

He doesn’t speak.

He stares.

Like your thighs are a formula. Like the space between them holds the answer to every question he’s never let himself ask.

Then his hands slide higher, thumbs brushing the crease of your hips, and he leans in.

He kisses the inside of your knee. Then higher.

Your breath catches as his mouth moves up your thigh—soft, open-mouthed kisses dragging heat across your skin. He hums low in his throat, like he’s cataloging every inch, and you feel it all the way to your core.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your head tipping back.

Reed doesn’t stop.

He kisses just beside the place you want him most. Once. Twice. Then his hands shift—firm on your hips—and he nuzzles against your panties, dragging his nose along the damp fabric like he needs to breathe you.

And then—his thoughts, finally, finally back:

She’s soaked. God, she’s so wet. All for me.

Your legs shake.

He pulls your panties aside and exhales softly at the sight.

Perfect.

And then his mouth is on you.

You cry out—sharp and helpless—the sound echoing off the walls of the lab. He licks a slow stripe through your folds, groaning like he’s tasted something he’ll never recover from.

You grip his hair harder.

Reed doesn’t stop. Doesn’t hesitate. He licks you like he needs it, tongue dragging up to circle your clit, then back down to press flat against your entrance. His thoughts are a blur—lust, wonder, obsession—louder now, less composed.

You whimper.

She’s so sweet. Want to keep her like this. Want her coming on my tongue.

He moans against you, the vibration shooting through your whole body. His mouth moves faster, more deliberate, like he’s testing responses, building a pattern. Every flick of his tongue is data. Every gasp from you is a new variable to study.

Your knees threaten to give, and he only grips your thighs tighter, pulling you closer, mouth never leaving you.

“Reed—fuck, I—”

You shatter.

Come for me, he thinks, right as his lips wrap around your clit and suck.

Your cry rips through the air, your body spasming against his mouth. He doesn’t let up. He holds you through it—tongue coaxing, soothing, tasting every twitch and shake as you come undone.

And when it’s over, when your chest is heaving and your thighs are trembling, he looks up at you.

Mouth wet. Eyes dark.

Ravenous.

He stands, slow and steady, hands dragging up your thighs as he rises. When he’s eye level again, you see it—his mouth slick with you, his chest rising hard like he’s been holding his breath the whole time.

He doesn’t say anything at first.

Just pulls you in and wraps both arms around your waist, pressing his face into your neck. He inhales deeply.

And fucking hell, he smells like you.

“Are you alright?” he murmurs, voice low and gritty in your ear.

You let out a breathless laugh, your chest still fluttering. “You’re seriously asking me that?”

He lets out a sound — not quite a laugh, not quite a groan — and you feel it more than hear it, vibrating against your throat. His hips are right against you now, belt biting into your lower stomach. He’s hard. So fucking hard.

You push against him, mouth near his jaw. “Reed.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you. And when he does, your hands come up to frame his face.

Not tender. Hungry.

You drag your thumb across his bottom lip. His eyes flick down to your mouth like he’s about to lose it.

“What are you thinking?” you ask.

A pause.

Then his gaze darkens, and the answer bleeds out of him—wordless but clear.

I want to fuck her right here. I want to bend her over this table and hear what she sounds like when she’s cock-drunk.

Your knees go weak.

And he sees it.

You don’t say a word.

You just drop your hand from his face, trail it down between your bodies, and reach for his belt.

Reed doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t even blink.

He watches, jaw tight, as you tug the leather loose, then work open the button and drag the zipper down. The metal teeth part with a low rasp, and he exhales sharply when your hand slips inside.

You wrap your fingers around him.

Hot. Heavy. Hard as hell.

“Jesus,” you murmur under your breath, stroking him once, slow and deliberate.

Reed’s head tips back.

His hips jerk forward slightly, chasing the friction, but he still doesn’t touch you. Just lets you have him, your hand moving over his cock like you’ve been thinking about it for weeks.

(You have.)

His thoughts are a mess—fractals of want, raw and unfiltered.

You squeeze a little tighter.

She’s touching me. She’s—fuck—she’s got her hand on my cock. I’m not going to last.

His breath catches.

“You’ve been thinking about this?” you ask, voice low, thumb swiping the head.

“Every goddamn day,” he grits out.

You jerk him faster.

He growls.

And then—too fast to brace for—he grabs your hips and spins you around.

Your palms slam against the console. You gasp, but you don’t stop him—not when you feel him crowding up behind you, not when his hands drag your skirt back up to your waist, not when he rips your panties down your thighs in one fluid motion.

One hand slides up your spine, pushing between your shoulder blades until your chest is flush to the table.

The other guides his cock to your entrance.

“Say you want this,” he breathes out, the head of him nudging against your slick folds.

You push back into him.

“Reed,” you pant, “just fuck me already.”

He groans like it’s ripped out of his throat and then he slams into you hard.

Your gasp turns into a choked moan as your body jolts forward from the force of it. One of his hands clamps tight around your hip, the other braced beside your head on the console. His cock drives into you again, again, again—deep, punishing thrusts that make your breath stutter with each slap of skin on skin.

The sounds echo off the lab walls—your gasps, his ragged breath, the obscene wet suck of your cunt taking him over and over.

“Fuck,” Reed growls, hips snapping, “you feel even better than I thought.”

Your eyes flutter shut.

His mouth is right at your ear now, breath hot and filthy.

“I’ve been thinking about this since the day you walked in,” he pants. “That face. Those sweet thighs. Wanted to bend you over this table and fuck you stupid.”

You cry out—high, breathless—when he grinds into you just right, cock dragging over every swollen nerve inside you.

“I knew you’d be wet for me,” he growls. “But this?”

His fingers slip down, find your clit, and rub fast, hard, cruel.

“You’re soaked. So fucking messy.”

You brace yourself on trembling arms, the pressure building fast—too fast. He’s everywhere, filling you, touching you, whispering things he should never say out loud.

“You gonna come for me, pretty girl?” he grits out, voice tight and close.

You whimper, legs shaking. “I—fuck, I think I—”

“You’re close,” he hisses. “I can feel it.”

His pace goes brutal. He fucks into you like he wants to break you, the slap of his hips against your ass echoing over every surface, every panel and beaker forgotten. Your cunt clamps down, fluttering, and your voice breaks into a cry as your climax rips through you.

You don’t just come. You gush.

A warm burst sprays out of you, splashing down your thighs, hitting the tile with a wet splatter. You cry out, humiliated and wrecked and still twitching, your walls milking his cock in desperate aftershocks.

Reed groans like he’s dying.

“God damn,” he breathes.

You can’t speak. Your cheek is pressed to the console, mouth open, panting, whole body slick and trembling.

He doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it, harder now, more ragged. You feel the way your slick coats his cock, dripping down onto the lab floor with every brutal thrust.

You feel ruined. Your legs give out.

There’s no warning. No graceful slide. Just the quivering collapse of overstimulated muscles, your knees hitting the tile with a soft thud, skirt bunched around your waist, panties still tangled around your thighs.

You don’t care, you don't think you could.

Not with your cunt still twitching from the last orgasm, your thighs sticky, the lab floor glistening with the evidence of just how hard he made you come.

Reed groans above you and you glance up.

He’s flushed and wrecked, shirt untucked, cock still slick with your arousal as he strokes himself, fast and frantic, hand gliding over the mess you left behind.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You look—Jesus.”

You open your mouth, just slightly.

Not coy nor innocent, but ready.

You brace yourself on one arm and tilt your chin up, eyes locked on him. The unspoken invitation hits him like a punch.

His grip falters. He bites down a moan. You see his whole body jerk with restraint.

“Please,” you whisper, voice hoarse and aching. “I want it.”

That does it.

He grunts, cock twitching in his hand. “Fuck—fuck—”

He steps forward, the tip of him flushed and slick and angry-looking, and you hold steady even as your thighs tremble. His breath goes wild, chest heaving as he pumps himself harder, faster, your name breaking on his tongue like a prayer.

“Gonna come,” he pants. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

Thick, hot ropes paint your cheek, your lips, your chin. One lands across your chest, the rest splashing across your flushed skin. You close your eyes as the first drops hit, lips parted as you gasp at the heat of it.

He moans—deep, guttural, undone.

You feel it drip down your neck, cooling already.

When you blink up at him again, his hand is still wrapped around his cock, his chest still rising like he’s run a mile. His eyes meet yours—dark, dazed, hungry—and the raw possessiveness isn’t there.

There's only you.

His gaze drops to the mess he’s made of your face, and then to your mouth.

You swipe your thumb across your bottom lip, tasting him.

His breath stutters again.

“Holy shit,” he whispers.

You smile, slow and blissful.

#tbr

2K notes · View notes