Masterlist

Gideon the Selkie; M Selkie x Plus-Sized F Human, NSFW

“That brings us to the end of another episode of Local Thirty Eight. I’m your host, Gideon Greysquire, and on behalf of our entire team at OtariDay Productions, I want to thank you for spending your time with us. If you’d like to support this show and others like it, please visit our list of sponsors. Until the next time, remember that every place has a story.”

You sighed as the podcast’s theme music played out the host’s deep baritone, rising in volume until the eerie instrumental was all that was left. The podcast investigated local landmarks, ferreting out legends and lore—murders and crimes and paranormal happenings—and you enjoyed hearing about the history of your favorite haunts around town…but that wasn’t your only reason for listening. 

The host’s voice was magnificent. Deep and dark with a touch of roughness, listening to him was like wrapping up in your coziest blanket on a cold winter’s eve, and you found yourself replaying older episodes as you went to bed each night, letting the rich voice settle around you in the darkness.

“Can you bring this batch down to the basement?”

One of the librarians appeared out of nowhere, glasses perched on the tip of her nose and a harried expression on her face, shaking you from your reverie. You beamed back exultantly, pushing down your internal grumble. The Starling Heights library had recently taken over a building which had once been a Miskatonic-esque lodge and before that a law office, one of the remaining crown jewels of the pitifully small historic district, and the move had been a lot. You knew the full-time staff was feeling the burnout blues, and were happy to do whatever you could to mitigate their stress during your part-time shifts.

That didn’t mean you enjoyed lugging a full cart of books down the rickety steps. Because of the building’s historic nature, your choices were loading the books onto the old dumbwaiter and pulleying it to the lower level, walking downstairs to unload the books and repeating the process half a dozen times to clear a single cart; taking your chances on the ancient, cage-style elevator that required someone to pull by lever at the information desk—an option you avoided after getting stuck in the contraption twice; or else tipping the overloaded cart off the first step and bracing it with your own body as you carefully shuffled your way downstairs, aided only by a collapsed cardboard box under the cart.

Neither option was ideal, but sunny optimism was your signature.

“Sure thing! And make sure you get some of the cookies I made before Finn eats them all!”

You opted for the precarious cart tilt, thinking that at least you were sturdy enough to support the cart’s weight, and at least you’d not be pink-faced and huffing, as you tended to be after a dozen trips up and down the stairs to empty the dumbwaiter. 

You’d just slipped in your ear buds, ready to queue up another podcast episode, when a flash of movement caught at the corner of your eye: a patron of whom you’d been previously unaware, crouched before a shelf, and you jumped in surprise. 

There was something about the library’s new home that raised the fine hairs on your neck, certain corridors that were always a touch too cold, hallways that made you feel uneasy. As a result, any unexpected movement had a way of making your heart leap to your mouth. To make matters worse, the entire building was fitted with little nooks and private corners, blind spots everywhere, concealing hidden bodies and shades, and the basement level was no different. At closing time, you’d need to literally go searching for people, ensuring that no one would be locked into the old building overnight. 

Relax, it’s just a patron. You’re listening to too many ghost stories! 

The voice in your head was right, but you weren’t about to let it stop you from enjoying the sexy deep voice of your favorite show’s host…but you hated appearing as though you weren’t available for questions to patrons. Even though it technically wasn’t your job to interact with people—you were a part-time page, you reshelved books and cleared tables, neatening shelves and emptying the return bins—you didn’t like giving the appearance of being anything less than professional. Later, you thought, quickly stashing your earbuds. Taking a moment to steady your breathing, you turned to acknowledge the patron.

Your lungs wheezed, the air they had been sucking vanished once more.

He was rising from his crouch as you turned—ludicrously tall, impossibly wide, the breadth of his shoulders seeming to fill the room. His glossy hair was secured at the nape of his neck, and as always, an expensive-looking pair of noise cancelling headphones sat atop his head, precluding all possible conversation. 

You didn’t know his name, didn’t know anything about him, but he was exactly the type of guy you crushed on, and you’d been crushing hardcore since the first time you saw him sitting before the stacks several weeks earlier.

There was an unfortunate double standard in being a plus-sized girl. Bigger guys, like this one, still got plenty of attention, from both males and females alike, while being an overweight woman sometimes rendered you invisible. You were certain this handsome stranger had scarcely even taken note of your existence, as though you were another library ghost, like ones you were certain inhabited those cold hallways. You’re being ridiculous, he’s a patron. He’s here to work, not chat up the part time workers. 

If nothing else, you thought, his focus on the laptop before him gave you ample time to drool.

He had the kind of hair people spent a small fortune in salons to achieve: thick and shiny, a rich brown shade no colorist could have achieved artificially, brushing past his wide shoulders. It was streaked with silver at his temples, despite his youthful face: not something you were normally into, but somehow it was wildly attractive on him. You had gone to school with several orcs, so guys with a substantial height difference weren’t completely foreign to you, but you’d be lying if you pretended it didn’t make your stomach bunch in excitement every time this patron loomed over you as you passed. He had a bit of a paunch, and you’d bet a week of your small library paycheck that he had a sweet tooth. He’d probably love your caramel pecan brownies. His broad face was always turned down, buried in a book or focused on his laptop, but you were certain his eyes would be dark and his smile kind, if only you had a chance to see them directed at you.

Tall and cuddly and exactly your type…but you had work to do.

Realizing the cart of books wasn’t going to put itself away any time soon, you shifted your attention back to the books and away from the handsome patron. 

Nearly a half-hour had passed before you needed to pass by his table again, and to your shock, his head lifted. You weren’t prepared for the smile that split his face as he nodded, for the dimple in his full cheeks, the way his dark eyes crinkled. You felt the moment you rolled the cart over your own foot, too stupified by the lovely smile beaming in your direction. The headphones stayed in place and you weren’t willing to be the one who broke the silence, but you returned his acknowledgment with a smile of your own, feeling your cheeks heat. Being seen never failed to send a riot of butterflies move through your chest.

You wondered, as you finished emptying the cart, if you’d need to come back downstairs at closing time to gently interrupt his focus, perhaps be graced with that smile again, maybe even getting the chance to hear him speak!

“Let me give you a hand with that.”

The voice that rumbled behind you was a deep, robust baritone, reminding you of a decadent dark chocolate as you spun in surprise. Your head snapped up, your jaw dropping until you practically felt it pop. Your handsome patron had come up behind you as you began the awkward maneuvering of the cart at the base of the marble staircase, your progress halted by the heavy hand suddenly holding it firmly in place. Your attention refixed upon that hand—huge with thick fingers, he could have palmed your head as easily as scooping up an orange—before your chin swung upwards once more. You were obliged to crane your neck back to see his face, but he beamed down with that big smile once more, adorable dimples directed (impossibly!) at you.

“Oh! That-that’s so nice, but there’s really no need…”

“Are you going back up the stairs?” he questioned in the same deep, toe-curling tone, to which you could only nod dumbly in response. There was something oddly familiar about his voice, which was patently absurd as this was the first time he’d ever lifted his head from his work to notice you, but his deep rumble seemed to settle around your shoulders like a cozy blanket of comfort. “Then please, I beg you—don’t make me witness you pulling this thing on cardboard again. Every week I hold my breath waiting for it to flatten you, wondering if this will be the time I’ll have to rescue you from certain nonfiction-filled doom. Please, I can’t live with this anxiety anymore.”

You stepped aside as you laughed, sending up a prayer that your cheeks weren’t as red as you feared as he finished his dramatic monologue. He actually noticed you! Like, for real noticed you!

His laptop bag hung across his body, his dark jacket stuffed beneath the strap, and he ignored your halfhearted protestations as he lifted the heavy cart, hoisting it easily, as if it were a toy.

“I’m sure I’ll see you next week!” he grinned down in the same deep rumble, leaving you and your cart at the top of the staircase, freeing the jacket and folding it over his arm before glancing back with another one of those dazzling smiles.

You fairly floated through the rest of your shift, smiling even wider than you normally did, your head filled with his bright smile and his deep voice, rumbling even after you’d left the library to head home for the night, keeping you company as you walked home. The library’s new historic home was more than a bit creepy and you would not be at all surprised to find out it was haunted, but it was close to your apartment. An easy walk past the waterfront, brightly lit with its restaurants and bars, and you loved the quiet time to decompress after a long day. 

The barking of seals coming from the harbor interrupted your daydreams, and you paused to peer into the darkness, hoping to catch sight of their dark brown heads, but the water was black, no moon overhead to illuminate the lapping waves.

He’s so handsome…maybe this week you’ll actually find out his name, you thought to yourself, replaying the brief interaction in your head.

It wasn’t until you were home, dinner made and consumed as you worked on a short story you were writing, doors locked and dishes washed, showered and tucked into your bed, that you realized why he seemed so strangely familiar. You’d just settled into bed, pulling up your podcast app on your phone before settling against the pillows, eerie instrumental filling the space of your small bedroom.

When darkness falls do you know what lurks in the shadows? Join us as we discover the secrets and mysteries of our very own local thirty eight.

You sat up in your bed, gaping across the darkened room. It couldn’t be.

I’m your host, Gideon Greysquire, and we thank you for joining us for another episode of Local Thirty Eight. Tonight we’ll be visiting the Broke Neck Brewery on Twenty-Ninth Street, whose name gives us more than just a hint of its sordid past…

The sound of the podcast was drowned out by the thudding of your heart, as you replayed the earlier conversation once more.

Are you going back up the stairs? When darkness falls do you know what lurks in the shadows? I’m sure I’ll see you next week! I’m your host, Gideon Greysquire.

You weren’t sure how it was possible that you didn’t immediately recognize the voice of your favorite host coming from the mouth of your secret crush, but one thing was certain: it was going to be a very long week until you returned to the library.

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.

You’d been in the alley behind the library’s new building at least a dozen times at that point, bringing trash out at the end of your shifts, but it had never seemed as bone-chilling as it did at that moment. Situated between Thirty-first and Thirty-second streets, the alley was a clearly defined space, a finite length, broken by crossroads at either end. You reminded yourself of those pertinent facts for the dozenth time since you’d entered the darkened tunnel-like alley, ignoring the fact that it seemed to stretch for miles without end.

“Isn’t this fun?!” 

You glanced up to your companion’s cheerful mien, his overly-long canines bright white in the darkness, completely at home exploring the shadows, and choked out a laugh. It was fun, being with him, and you couldn’t complain.

It had started the week after that first time he’d spoken to you, when he carried your cart up the winding marble stairs. You had opted to use the treacherous elevator after listening to Bernice, a middle-aged librarian with the countenance of a badger who had slipped down the slick basement staircase, wrenching her ankle. He had been there, headphones on as usual, but unlike all of the other times you’d passed him with your head down, you offered a bright smile which he instantly returned, pulling the headphones off.

He was researching the library building’s history, you learned, which was evidently long and bloody.

“I’m not surprised to hear that,” you’d laughed, “this place creeps me out. There are all sorts of cold spots and hallways that just don’t want you there.”

His eyes were huge, dark saucers, wide and luminous with an almost silvery sheen, and they somehow widened further at your admission, dark brows shooting up. “Sit!” he insisted in that lush, dark chocolate voice. “I want to hear everything!”

“Can I ask a question, at the risk of sounding like an idiot?” Heat had flamed your cheeks as the words tripped out, hoping you weren’t about to make a fool of yourself. “Are-are you the host of Local Thirty Eight?”

You were treated to the sight of every one of his teeth, his smile stretching hugely, and your breath caught at the sight of his sharp canines. “I am! Do you listen to the show?”

You’d gone home feeling giddy and starstruck, eager for the coming weekend. He’d been excited to hear your stories of being in the old building, eager for the help you offered with research, and you’d made plans together to meet at one of the waterfront pubs later that same week. Since then, you’d met with him regularly outside of the library, in addition to seeing him there while you worked. 

He’d majored in history at the university in a neighboring town and lived in the area, you’d discovered, and did the majority of the research for your favorite podcast himself. He’d wanted to hear about your own degree program and was keenly interested to hear about the stories you write, something you insisted you just did for fun, but he brushed off your minimizations. “But it’s something you care about,” he argued back with that wide smile, “that’s enough to make it important. Besides, any creation is good creation.” 

He’d gotten into the habit of walking you home after your shifts each week, loitering around the building’s exterior until you clocked out, and you’d learned more history of the downtown’s thirty-eight blocks than you ever could listening to the condensed story versions of the podcast. You were completely smitten and there was no denying it, but you were unable to tell if he was interested in you as anything more than an information in, or if his gregarious personality had eclipsed his probable disinterest.

Now you found yourself with him in the dark alley behind the building, watching nervously as he counted off the paces between the alley’s entrance and the library’s back dock. Once he was satisfied with his notes, the light from the street beckoned, and you couldn’t hold in your sigh of relief.

“Sorry,” you laughed sheepishly once the halo of light from above bathed you, chasing away the alley’s shades. “I-I know it’s silly, I just—” 

“Stop apologizing,” he ordered with that same wide smile, reaching down to push your hair off your face and effectively silencing you. “You don’t need to apologize. The whole reason I started the podcast was to be an unrepentant geek about stuff I’m interested in, there’s no room for making people feel bad for not being as into it. I wouldn’t have half of the information I do without your help. Besides, do you think I’ve ever had such a pretty assistant?! Ha!”

His loud bark of laughter seemed to carry on the wind, joining the chorus of barking seals at the pier, and something shivered up your spine. He was something other than human, you were sure of it. Living in a multi-species area, it was impossible to tell, but there was something in the sharpness of his smile, something in that silvery sheen in his eyes…

“There’s an amazing diner on the waterfront that serves the best cheesecake you’ll ever have. Fancy joining me for dessert?”

He leaned down swiftly, pressing his warm lips to your cheek before weaving his fingers with yours. 

Who cares what he is? He’s handsome, smart, funny, and he wants you to eat dessert! Don’t overthink things.

The unseen seals barked their agreement as you clung to his arm, disappearing into the night.

.

.

The little pub was noisy and crowded, a bit too much of both for your liking, and you pushed through the crowd with an apologetic look plastered on your face, wishing you had the same confidence as the willowy girls elbowing their way to the bar without a moment’s hesitation. Another double standard, you thought, watching a huge-bellied worgen shoulder his way to the bar while you attempted to take up as little space as possible. 

Gideon’s deep chuckle rolled through the crowd as you maneuvered your way towards it, spotting his broad back and sleek, sable hair. 

He had finished all of the research work for his episode on the library building, but to your surprise and delight, things hadn’t changed much. He’d still come by to walk you home on the nights you worked, holding your hand and filling the space between you with his rich, rolling voice, kissing you softly in front of your building. Things hadn’t progressed beyond that, and you were self-conscious that they never would, that you needed to be funnier, wittier, thinner. Don’t be stupid. He’s just a gentleman…maybe he’s waiting for you to make the next move.

The familiar dark jacket rested along the back of the high-top chair he stood a short distance from, and you kept your eyes trained on it as you approached, not wanting to bring too much attention to yourself. He was surrounded by a small group, keeping them enthralled with some story of the pub’s murderous history no doubt, the ebb and flow of his deep voice mesmerizing the crowd. You wished, not for the first time, that you possessed even a tenth of his confidence as you neared, apologizing as you edged through the crowd. 

Ahead, an unfamiliar hand landed on the back of the chair, over the jacket, and your pulse quickened. He’d never come right out and told you what he was, but you’d been turning the possibilities over in your mind, thinking about it for hours on those nights when he left you at your doorstep, and your felt like your educated guess was pretty spot on. His eyes were too lustrous to be human, his teeth too sharp, his rough, bark of a laugh too reminiscent of the sound which came from the harbor each evening. 

It would not do for his jacket to be manhandled or go missing.

“Nathan is this it?” brayed a nasal-voiced woman, her hand closing over the collar of the supple leather, unnoticed by Gideon and the group surrounding him. The pub was too noisy, too crowded, bodies shifting and churning in the tight space, making you feel trapped in a human ball pit, but you were not going to allow this woman to apprehend the jacket, Nathan be damned.

“That’s not yours,” you called out sharply, pushing yourself a bit more forcefully through the throng of people, ignoring the dirty look shot by a willowy, lavender-skinned elf. Your hand landed over the shoulder of the jacket as the woman struggled to pull it from the chair back, keeping it in place. “This doesn’t belong to you.”

“Actually, my friend left behind—”

“This isn’t yours,” you cut her off, feeling your ears heat, “he must have left it somewhere else.”

The slight commotion had caught Gideon’s attention at last, his face blanching slightly when his shining eyes dropped to see the object with which you were playing tug-of-war with this stranger. “That’s mine.” His voice was friendly but final, leaving the woman no room to argue, and no need as the missing Nathan materialized at her side.

“What are you doing? I left it outside the bathroom and now we’ve been looking for you for ten minutes, c’mon.”

You turned slightly sheepishly to him once the bickering couple disappeared into the throng of people, regretting interrupting his conversation. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Your breath stuttered as thick fingers gently gripped your chin, tilting your face up to his. One of his dark brows arched, a small smile playing at the edges of his wide mouth, and you exhaled, returning a small grin of your own. His great size made you feel impossibly dainty, and you squirmed, wanting to press yourself closer. “I mean…I’m glad I stopped her from taking your jacket. I know it’s important to you.”

Your heart quivered as he leaned down, pressing his lips to your forehead, giving you a chance to breathe in the warm, spicy smell of him. “Good girl,” he rumbled, low enough to be for your ears only, and this time the quiver could be distinctly felt between your thighs. “Let’s get out of here in a minute.”

Turning back to the crowd, his bright returned to his face, ever the showman. “You have the great honor of meeting the architect of one of our upcoming episodes,” he announced, introducing you to the group. You might have been self-conscious being the center of attention normally, particularly in front of a bunch of strangers, but all you felt in that moment was a giddy rush, the weight of his arm heavy and warm around you. 

When you exited the pub a short while later, the cool air nipped at your cheeks, but you were still warmed by his body, his arm still draped around you, holding you close as you headed for the waterfront walkway.

“You know, I’ve never had anyone else be so concerned over my jacket before,” he began conversationally, tossing a mischievous look to you from the corner of his eye.

“Well, I know how important it is to you. I would feel terrible if anything ever happened to it…I wasn’t going to let it get stolen on my watch.”

He chuckled lowly, slowing as you neared the break wall. There was a stone ledge there, and he lowered himself to it slowly, threading his fingers with yours and turning you to face him. The wind was sharp without the protective cover of his arm, and you longed to burrow against his bulk. “Some people might say it’s just a jacket, just a material possession.”

The bark of seals could be heard coming from over the water, clustered along the jetty beyond the glow of the lights, and you considered his words. The wide pad of his thumb traced over your exposed wrist, and your shiver had nothing to do with the cold. “Some people might,” you agreed slowly, “but some people don’t pay attention.”

His lips were impossibly warm against yours as he pulled you flush against him, bracing you from the chill with his arms. Sharp canines nipped at your lips before the heat of his tongue, wide and hot, pushed against your own. He was solid and warm, and you didn’t ever want the moment to end.

You lost track of how long you kissed in the darkness, his mouth moving from your lips to your ear, sharp teeth pulling the lobe gently before working down your neck. The sound of the seals in the inky distance was broken only by your occasional gasps and his low growls against your skin, all thoughts of the chilly night forgotten as you were consumed by the slow-burning fire of lust. His meaty hands had been roving slowly over your clothes, one having settled on your generous hip, the other on your ass, and you pressed to his front, shuddering out a breath as you ground against the hard bulge you felt there.

The wind kicked up at that moment, an uncomfortable chill, and he gently pushed you back, staggering to his feet. “It’s cold for you,” he rumbled, draping the jacket over your shoulders, a distinctly intimate gesture, you thought. “Let’s get you home.”

You weren’t sure how you made it the several blocks to your apartment, nor how you tripped up the steps, falling through the door, but somehow you managed, pulling him along. You were quiet and self-conscious, but he made you brave, made you feel beautiful, and you weren’t willing to apologize for your existence and send him on his way.

“I want you to stay,” you announced with as much confidence as you could muster, pushing him to the bed, grinning when he willingly bounced down. “Do you, um…need to get your coat back soon?”

“I think I’ll be okay for the night,” he murmured, pulling your face to his once more. Clothing was shed in a blur, and you gasped at the when he pulled you to straddle his wide hips, unused to being on top in intimate situations. Another plus-sized double standard, you thought fleetingly before rolling your hips, grinding against his considerable bulge, feeling a ricochet of pleasure rattle of your spine. 

Hooking your fingers in the waistband of his snug boxers, you held your breath and dragged them down, revealing the fattest cock you’d ever seen. Swollen and hard, with a network of thick veins moving up the shaft, your fingers were barely able to span half its circumference when you lifted it, giving it a slow pump, the foreskin pulling back to reveal his slick, pink head. Back and forth, up and down, you marveled at its heft as you stroked him.

“You’re entirely overdressed,” he groaned out, stilling your arm and tugging you forward until he could remove the last vestiges of your modesty. You don’t need to be self-conscious! You were once again in a position to grind against his cock, and the friction against the slick folds of your sex were too good to deny. Rolling your hips, you dragged your clit against his turgid length, settling into a rocking rhythm that left you gasping.

“Do-do you want me to—” you questioned shakily, lifting yourself slightly.

“No,” he interrupted, pulling your hips back to repeat your grinding motion. “No, that’s something we need to work up to…I don’t want to hurt you.”

He was already leaking a salty line of precome when you moved to lick a broad stripe over his cockhead, pulling the foreskin back completely. Your tongue explored the deep slit at his tip, the thick band of skin at the base of his head, puckering your lips around its flared edges before smiling at his deep groan. “What about this? Is this okay?”

You were reminded of that very first night at the library when you watched his giant hands lift the heavy cart. One of them settled on the back of your head, pushing through your hair and cupping it easily. “Suck.”

You wasted no time.

You sucked as deeply as you were able on his length, pumping his fat shaft with both hands, feeling it swell further. When the base began to inflate, a thick knot forming, you nearly choked. A deep rumble shook through him when your fingers moved over it, stroking it in tandem with his shaft until he began to pulse, the first burst of his hot release hitting the back of your throat. He groaned as he came, deep and rich and sonorous, as appealing as his voice was on the podcast, and you couldn’t help the giddy thought that the other listeners would never get to hear him like this.

There was no time to gloat further, for, despite his size, you were flipped to your back with surprising speed, hot tongue and sharp fangs licking and nipping over your skin, sucking your nipples to stiff, aching peaks before moving lower. It didn’t matter that you weren’t svelte in that moment, as his lips moved over your belly and hips, finding soft flesh instead of a concave abdomen, but it didn’t matter. His thick fingers were already working between your legs, coating themselves in your slick and rolling over your clit, round and around until they were replaced with his lips, fastening over the swollen bud and sucking. You wondered if the seals in the harbor could hear your high-pitched moans from the slightly opened window, rising in intensity and pitch as you barreled towards your peak, wondered if they would know you were being brought to such dizzying pleasure by one of their own.

When you came against his mouth, thighs quivering and shaking, you forgot to feel self-conscious, forgot about everything but the pleasure lighting up behind your eyes until you went limp.

He was just as cuddly as you’d suspected, when he tucked you against his broad chest, wrapping you in his heavy arms. 

“Prettiest assistant in the world,” he rumbled into your hair, squeezing you tightly. “Breakfast tomorrow, ‘kay? Then you can walk me back to the pier. Let’s go somewhere nice this week, on your night off.”

You thought of the jacket he’d deposited in your living room, heavy and warm and lined in sleek fur, wondered what he’d look like in his other form, if you’d get to see it. Somewhere out beyond the breakwall, the seals were barking into the mist.

“That sounds perfect.”

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