my brain likes to focus on strange things

ft. eva stratt x f! reader — project hail mary

╰₊✧ smut!! 18+) thinking about sneaking around with eva around the facility┊0.7k words

Yeah, I'm talking to you!

I refuse to hear you talk down about yourself for loving a fictional character.

i refuse to listen to you shaming yourself for thinking that your F/O wouldn't love you.

Stop making excuses to throw yourself under a bus. Selfshipping gives you the creativity to do WHATEVER WHAT YOUR HEART DESIRES

Wanna get married to them? Go have a big wedding, put that wedding dress/suit on!

Wanna have a big celebration for their birthday? Do it! Buy that cake, decorate that room of them!

You wanna gush about how you love them? Speak loud and proud about it!

What's holding you back? NOTHING. You have the whole power to whatever YOU want.

Now, raise your head up And let your F/O know how much you love them! Be kind to yourself! That's what your F/O wants! life is way too short to care about what people think, the only thing that matters is that you do it in a healthy manner but also use it to pick yourself up.

Yeah, we have those days and stuff but you gotta realize that you control how they feel about you. Use a healthy mindset to let them love you.

Selfshipping can be a wonderful thing if you let it be. You got this and go let people know how much you love your F/O ❤️

cw : older bf x younger fem!reader (reader is in her twenties & ryland in his thirties), nsfw!! ⋆˚࿔ smau | this is the type of humor that only i find funny <\3 omg this is so cringe!! and english is not my first language and i did not proofread ANYTHING so 😭 yeah chaotic all around 👍🏻 tell me if you want more or a specific situation!!

Your one shot was *chef’s kiss* 🙂‍↕️ and I’m kindly asking for a part two if possible 🫶🏼

(18+).

pt. 1 is here.

—

“Together. I wanna come with you.”

Ryland shook above you, his forehead falling to your shoulder as you pushed your knee up and in between you both, dragging it along the hard outline in his pants. His breath was hot against your bare skin.

“You don’t…that’s not why I…”

Ryland groaned deeply then, your hand replacing the pressure of your knee, cutting off his already weak attempt at forming words. You squeezed his cock, hard. The sensation was still muted through the denim he wore, but the way your fingers cupped him, molding to his length, exploring the way it was trapped against his thigh. It felt you were stroking him right through his jeans.

Ryland didn’t know what to do. It felt too good and it was hardly nothing. Some heavy petting over his pants? The majority of his brain had turned to static. The last conceivable channel of it screams at him to touch you again, so he does.

He raises his head, meets your eyes, your mouth. You are still so fuzzy, riding the endorphins of your last orgasm. So you laugh when he kisses you, again and again. Still soft, but quick, peppered, like he’s impatient to make you feel as good as you’re making him feel.

The fingers of your other hand are threaded through the hair on Ryland’s nape, playing with the strands mindlessly. You just keep caressing him there, holding him and staring up at him, smiling a little drunkenly, eyes bright. They flutter shut when Ryland slips two fingers back through your pussy.

He groans softly, getting a feel for how wet you still are. He plays with your clit again for a moment, before his fingers slip down, and for the first time, pushes them inside you.

You gasp, your back curving off the desk, your mouth falling open. Grace licks into it, tongue tracing your lips. He lets out his own whine, the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his fingers, the heat. He pumps them slowly, breathing against your open mouth, “Suppose to be about you. Yeah? Let me…let me take care of you.”

You blink at him, real slow like, and just when he thinks you’re too far gone to do anything but agree, your tongue is meeting his, out in the open. You lick at him, his lips, his chin. You pull him in by his hair. Grace feels his cock throb. He knows you felt it too by the way you squeeze him in return.

It’s when you sink your teeth into his bottom lip and tug, that Ryland lets out an honest to god whimper. You let go, breathing hard, you say, “You will take care of me. You’ll make me come again. When you fuck me.”

The warmth of your hand on his cock is gone then, replaced by the feeling of your fingers over his belt. He feels you fumbling one-handedly, finally getting a grip on it, but then you pause.

It brings Grace back. He was already looking at you, his mind just racing, but now he’s focused again and you’re staring up at him. You have the sweetest look on your face, almost vulnerable. You whisper, “Is that okay? We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

“My god,” Grace exhales hard, letting his forehead fall to yours, “of course I do. I want to.”

You swallow, voice still a little shaky like you’re not convinced, your fingers still paused on his belt. “Yeah?”

Grace leans in and kisses you firmly, sealing his mouth over yours. He slips his fingers from you and brings both of his hands to your face, cradling your jaw. He kisses you until your lungs are burning, and pleading for air.

He pulls away panting, voice low, “I just wanted to make you feel good…if my cock is what you want, it’s yours.”

It’s like it flips a switch in you, hearing him say that, those words. You whimper and then turn your head, slipping the fingers Grace had inside of you into your mouth. He groans, watching you taste yourself. It takes a minute before he realizes the clawing at his belt. Both of your hands now, frantic, pulling at the leather.

He doesn’t try to slow you down this time. At least, not yet. The mere thought of relief, of just getting his cock out has Ryland reaching down to help you. Together you manage.

You pop the button and pull at the waistline so the zipper practically rips down. Grace is the one to reach back and push them down over his ass, and then they’re falling down his thighs. It’s then that he hears your giggle.

His eyes snap to yours, and you press your lips together hard, trying to suppress your smile. Your own eyes are on his lap, his boxers more specifically, fingers lingering on the tops of his thighs, his hips.

Grace lifts an eyebrow, his voice dipping into that teasing tone, “What? You don’t like them?”

“I didn’t say that. They’re cute,” you say, barely getting the words out before laughing again. Grace looks back down. His boxers, briefs actually, are navy blue. There’s little doodles all over them though. Science doodles. Beakers. Elements. Cells.

Grace laughs too, straightening up to his full height. His eyes are still taking in his own silly science themed underwear, thumb snapping the band as he teases, “I’ll have you know, they’re very comfortable.”

It takes Grace a moment to realize you’re not laughing anymore, but your eyes are still locked on his underwear. No. Not his underwear, not anymore. He didn’t realize, but standing up gave you the best view of him you’ve had so far.

And there you are, staring, eyes intensely tracing the line of his cock. Ryland feels himself flush deeply. He’s tenting the fuck out of his dorky boxers, still wearing his fucking button down and tie, and you’re staring at him like he’s a piece of meat.

He’s not ready to unbox why that alone makes him so hot.

You don’t really give him the chance to. Grace would be more concerned with how fast you stood up, clamoring off the desk, if he wasn’t currently concerned with falling backwards. His ass barely meets the chair before you’re crawling into his lap, your mouth on his again.

You kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him, and Grace can barely keep up. He eventually doesn’t try to. You take control, fingers in his hair, on his tie, tilting his head this way and that. His mind keeps tripping over itself.

You’re in his lap, naked. Completely naked.

It feels different. It feels like more.

He can feel just how warm you are. Every inch of your skin, he touches it. Where your tongue swirls with his, Ryland’s hands sweep over your entire body. He sighs into your mouth as he runs his palms along your bare back. You pull away when you feel him stop, his hands settled right above your ass.

You smile down at him now, from where you’re straddling his lap. Your lips are all swollen and puffy. “You know you are allowed to grab it, right?”

Ryland huffs, blushing still, and then he does, slowly. He lets both hands slip from the small of your back, down to your ass. He’s stoic, as much as he can be when he squeezes, watching you bite your lip and smirk.

His voice drops low again as he keeps kneading, gently at first. He hears the hitch in your breath when he spreads your cheeks though.

“Technically…technically I’m not allowed to do any of this to you, but…is touching all you’ll let me do to it?”

His own cheeks burn like hell when he says it, and he watches yours do the same. He spreads you again, letting the cool air of the classroom hit your bare pussy, your asshole. He brings the tips of his fingers to your slit, and traces it from behind.

“Dr. Grace,” you whine, voice trembling.

He pictures it, the same thing you are. Fucking you from behind like this. Taking you that way. It feels different, being touched from this direction. He slowly pushes two fingers inside, and feels the way you clench around him.

“How do you want me to fuck you?”

You blink at him, cheeks red, eyes glassy.

“My pussy or my ass?”

The back of Grace’s head hits the chair. He has to close his eyes for a second and breathe. “Oh my god, no. Forget I said that. I’m not—.”

“I’d let you.” You say it so bluntly, but it sounds so sweet. Grace feels his cock kick in his boxers.

“Fuck. Don’t,” Grace physically shakes, “Do not say that. Just tell me how you want it.”

“Can I ride you?”

“Oh my…yeah…yes.”

Your fingers, trembling, start unbuttoning Ryland’s shirt at lightening speed. You don’t even take it off completely, or his tie. It’s just left loose and hanging around his neck. You push open the fabric, and run your hands, your eyes, up and down his torso.

You honest to god feel him up, tracing the lines of his faintly defined abdominal muscles. You play with the slightly darker, dirty blonde hair that starts just below his navel and disappears into his underwear.

The way you’re staring is obscene. Like you have him under a microscope. It makes him feel like he’s being studied, like he’s a science project of yours, and Ryland has no idea why that makes his cock start to leak. He can feel it, the stickiness starting to drip out of him.

“Aaah.” He’s ripped from his mind by the pull of your fingers. In your exploring, you’d gone back up. You roll one of his nipples gently, using your short nail to press into the other.

You look into his eyes then, assessing, searching. You pinch one a little harder to gauge his reaction. “Do you like it?”

Grace chokes a little, and he nods quickly. His fingers have long slipped out of you by now, in the name of partially undressing, and letting you do this. Letting you play.

It’s so stark to how you started. Too fast, too quick.

You still got excited. Jumping his bones into the chair, pulling and pushing at his clothes frantically. But when it came to your bodies, you were slow. Intrigued.

You smiled softly, if not a little proud at the way Grace sounded as you played with his nipples. They were sensitive. Pink, and hard now. He could feel them throbbing as you pinch and release, blood rushing and pooling there.

Grace should’ve seen it coming. It was followed so quickly by the tilt of your lips. The cutest, devious little glint in your eyes flashing, before you leaned down and sucked one into your mouth.

Grace’s back arches. His hand shoots up to cradle the back of your head. He lets out a series of whines, and grunts as you flick your tongue back and forth. It’s been so long since anyone’s touched him there.

His other hand slides around to your front, cupping your chest in return. He kneads one of your tits gently, just feeling the weight of it in his palm. And that’s all it is, for the next few minutes at least. The both of you, softly groping each other, your mouth switching to his other pec.

Your sharp teeth sink into the fatty flesh. Grace’s hips lift involuntarily, rolling beneath you. It jostles you in his lap, removing your mouth, and seemingly reminding you of what you’re sitting on. His cock is throbbing, the fabric of his briefs a darker shade where he’s soaked through.

“Please,” Grace mumbles, eyes heavy. He brings his own thumbs to the waistband. Before he can do it himself, you’re pulling, grasping at the material and yanking them down. He barely raises his hips in time.

He knows. Grace knows. He feels himself burning, and blushing like crazy, all the way down his chest. It’s not something he ever goes around boosting about, but it’s undeniable. He watches your face intensely.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t tell before. You could see he was big, but when his cock springs free, bare, it slaps audibly against his lower stomach. It sounds heavy.

And Grace is just a man. A man whose cock you’re staring at, and swallowing so hard at, he can see the way your throat works. He groans, unbelievably turned on and impatient, but equally in no mood to make you rush.

He just watches you, lazily, breathing hard, body sunken into the chair. He watches you stare at him, or his cock at least. He makes it jump. His cock jerks between you, lifting away from his navel as his muscles contract. It swings softly, pulling at a shiny string of pre that connects from his tip to his stomach.

A tiny smirk pops onto his face at the way your eyes blow wide. It disappears just as quickly though, at the way your body starts slipping out of his lap. To the floor.

“Where - what are you…”

It’s like his voice is the only thing to bring you back. You’re already halfway kneeling on the cold floor, naked, before your eyes lift and leave his cock. Grace feels like he’s loosing it. The sight of you on your knees in front of him. It’s too much. You’re too close. Almost face level with his cock. It wasn’t what he promised you.

His voice is wrecked, hands still holding onto your arms, ready to pull you back up. He licks his lips. “This is suppose to be about you. You don’t…you don’t get anything from this.”

The look you give seems almost offended, and then it morphs. You scoff, and roll your eyes. You practically melt the rest of the way onto the floor, settling between his legs.

Your eyes never leave his. “And if I told you I did? If I told you I not only like it, but that it gets me wet? That I love it…”

Grace can’t breathe. His face burns and his eyes sting but he refuses to blink. You lean in, bracing your arms across his bare thighs, running your hands up his body, dodging his cock.

His voice is shot, jagged and rough when he ask, and he can’t believe he ask, but he can’t help it. “You’re telling me you like sucking cock?”

“Mmh, I do.” You laugh so smugly. Breathlessly, beautiful. Grace feels like he’s been punched in the gut. Your warm breath breezes across his skin. It fans over his balls, his cock.

“I like watching too, but I think you already knew that.”

Your voice sounds like velvet, and if Grace thought the best thing you could do was to start touching him next, he thought wrong. You punctuated your sentence by grabbing one of his own hands, and leading it between his legs.

Ryland was already shaking his head, your smile growing wider as you curled his own fingers around his cock, and then you repeated the words he said to you earlier. “Show me.”

It was wrong. It was so, so filthy. This wasn’t even you sucking his dick. It would be him, jerking off right in front of your face. Grace feels his whole body cave a little, his chest, his stomach. He searches your face, and then slowly, bashfully strokes himself once.

You beam up at him, eyes bouncing from his face to his cock. Grace lets out a shaky exhale. You track the way his fingers tighten, how they spread and how his wrist moves.

“When was the last time you…”

Your voice trails off, distracted by the new wave of pre that starts leaking out, trailing over the back of his knuckles.

Grace knows what you mean. He strokes himself again, and pushes anyway. “The last time I what?”

Your eyes flicker up to his. You smile. “Jerked off. I told you about mine…and my toys. Do you have toys?”

“Oh my…” Grace groans at your unbothered tone, your playfulness, letting his head fall back. He hears you laugh.

“Well…”

You prod teasingly, and Grace guesses you’re right. It’s only fair. He breathes heavily through his nose. “Day before last, and no. No, just my hand.”

You hum, and Grace isn’t sure if it’s meant to be a reward for his answer or not, but he chokes outright when he feels it. His fist tightens and stops mid stroke. Your tongue drags against the back of his knuckles, lapping at the tacky pre-come.

“Oh my god,” he calls out, his eyes rolling back a little.

He feels the curve of your mouth against his hand as you smile, your lips glistening in the low projector light.

“Keep going, and here.”

You pull at his hips. Grace goes. He sinks a little further down in the chair. It allows his legs to spread more, and it pushes his crotch outward, towards your face. He feels so stupidly drunk. You’re right there, your mouth. The only thing in the way is his hand, but you don’t let him stop.

You lean in, positioning your mouth right at the tip. Grace’s breath stutters in his chest. With each stroke, the head of his cock brushes your slightly parted lips, leaving them wet.

“C’mon…I want you to do it,” you whisper.

Grace whines, sweet and desperate, “Do what?”

“Take charge again…I told you I wanna suck your cock, so make me. Take care of me like you said you would.”

He lets out a sound he’s not sure he’s ever made. Something keen, something broken. You know, can see clear as day how bashful he is, how much the dirtiness of all this gets to him. You want that. Both. To watch him blush and squirm but also make you take it.

Grace’s hand shoots out to cup the base of your skull, tilting your head. He finally stops stroking himself. His fingers stay loosely wrapped around the base, just enough to swipe his cock back and forth. Dr. Grace actually paints your face now. Not gentle, teasing brushes. He fully rubs the head of his cock across your mouth, your chin, your cheeks, leaving behind trails of wetness.

“This is what you wanted?”

You whine and nod like hell, licking your lips clean.

“Open your mouth.”

Grace doesn’t take his hand from the back of your neck. He just lets his thumb come forward, resting at the hinge of your jaw. He pushes there, knowing you’ll have no choice. What he doesn’t anticipate is the way you hold your tongue out. Expectant.

His cock throbs, knowing exactly what you want. He whimpers. His whole body feels too fucking hot. He feels like he could cry.

He takes his cock and slaps it on your tongue.

It’s so filthy, degrading. Grace feels his tummy swoop. The way you’re whining for more. He slaps your cheek with it next, and then the other, watching you chase it with your mouth.

That makes something in Grace snap. Suddenly both of his hands are on your face, cradling your jaw on either side, and the next second he’s shoving his cock into your mouth.

“Mmph!” You choke in surprise.

Grace whines.

His hips are moving, thrusting. It’s not dominant, or overpowering. If anything it’s desperate, pathetic. Sloppy and shallow. He’s not using you. He’s giving you exactly what you wanted.

Grace too. It’s like you’re letting him borrow your mouth.

His white converse are planted solid on the floor, thighs trembling, his whole body pulled taunt. You keep your eyes and your mouth open, staring up at him.

Grace cries, gasping as he fucks up into your mouth. It sounds nasty. You get lost in it. That warm fuzzy headspace settles over you. The familiar spark relights between your legs too.

You reach up, gently touching his balls, hoping to push him farther. He groans, and unintentionally puts a little extra behind the next roll of his hips. His tip punches the back of your throat. It’s still so gentle, but enough to make you gag.

“Oh! I’m sorry, ‘m so sorry,” Grace starts apologizing immediately, pulling his cock back. He’s cut off by the moan you let out around him. He shivers at the vibrations, and then stares down at you in disbelief.

He stares at the way your eyes are watering from the intrusion but how you still want more, and then he spots it, your hand moving between your legs. Your fingers are playing with your clit, all because he made you choke on his cock.

All the air leaves his body. He barely gets out the words out. “Are you…”

Grace’s cock is gone. His hands, his warmth, the cold tile floors too. A wave of dizziness hits you hard as you’re lifted into the air too quickly. He picks you up completely, and slams you back down onto his desk, pinning you beneath him.

“I need to fu—.”

“Now. Now Grace,” you start begging, demanding, before he’s even finished.

He’s hovering over you, out of breath already, sweating. His shirt is still hanging off his shoulders, tie swinging between you. Hell, his shoes are still on, jeans around his ankles.

He loops his arms underneath your knees, and leans almost all the way down, pressing them to your chest. His hands clasp behind your neck.

You’re practically bent in half, folded open for him. Forehead to forehead, nose to nose. You growl impatiently, your hands sliding against his slick skin.

“Okay, okay,” Ryland shushes you, and the teasing is done.

He starts pushing in, the head of his cock spreading your pussy open. Grace isn’t teasing anymore, but he still goes slow, feeding you inch after inch of his cock.

The stretch makes you feel high, and full. So so fucking full. You try to remember to breathe. It comes out like a choke.

“I know, I know,” Ryland whispers. It only makes you whine again, the sound of his voice causing you to clench around him. He gasps at the feeling, his hips falling forward.

He sinks inside your pussy completely.

It feels like you both stop breathing for a moment. Frozen still, adjusting. You’re the first to move though. Ryland’s face stays hidden in the curve of your neck, his body locking up hard. You can hear his unsteady breathing, feel it.

“You can move,” you whisper, coaxing Grace. It’s like he doesn’t even hear you though, and the unmoving pressure of him inside you is becoming unbearable.

Your muscles flex and fight, pushing against the iron hold he has you in. With his head still tucked into your neck, you move your palms to his ribs, his abs…and you hit him.

You smack him, again and again, his own muscles coiled tight. The sound of your hits, they echo, like tiny thumps as you sob. “Dr. Grace, please…please you have to move. You have to fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck m—.”

He punches the air out of you with one thrust. Pulling out before you could finish, and pushing back in. A sob of his own racks out of him.

He trembles, his voice cracking, “Slow. We go slow.”

It is slow but deep. He’s so fucking deep. It feels like he’s in your stomach, your chest, poking between your lungs. You’re scrambling, hiccuping, hands sliding all over his body, nails digging in.

“So pretty like this,” he chokes out.

You whimper. You’re barely hanging on, eyes slipping closed. He doesn’t let you. Won’t. He grips your jaw harder, and angles your head down. It’s a stretch.

He smacks your cheek softly. “Open. Open your eyes, baby.”

You do. You see his cock, visibly wet, and shiny. You watch in awe as it disappears, and reappears, as Grace softly bullies it into you. Your pussy looks obscene. Raw and puffy. It opens, forced to swallow Ryland’s cock every time he pushes in.

“You said you like watching. Watch us. Watch me fuck you.”

He sounds so far gone. His words are so filthy but the way they’re spoken, it sounds like he’s the one begging.

The angle changes then, and Grace slows down even more, but there’s more pressure. He’s grinding now. He’s dragging his cock along your walls, searching for that spot.

You hiccup, weakly pushing at his chest, “So, ‘s big. Ryland!”

“Bigger than that fake you got stashed at home beneath your pillow, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. Sweetheart.

You’re not sure if it’s him taunting you about your dildo, the way his cock catches on that ridgy spot in your pussy, or the sweetheart of it all that sends you over the edge, but you go regardless.

You come hard. Your ears fill with a rushing, whooshing sound. Everything goes muted. Everything but the endorphins exploding and spreading through your body. Everything but Dr. Grace and his cock.

He never stops. He fucks you through it, and you know he’s talking, saying things to you, but they sound far away.

You come back enough to realize he’s babbling, a mix of you come so pretty, that’s it, and see, you can come, you did it, ‘m so proud of you.

You think he might be crying. No. He is crying.

You try to blink your way back, just enough to make out Grace’s face. His eyes and cheeks are wet, and his whimpers are another constant stream now.

It melts you. The look on his face, the way he’s staring at you like you’re something special.

Your fingers slide into his hair as you lean up, brushing your mouth along the tracks of his tears, over his eyes. You even swipe your tongue across his cheek.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your own voice breaking. You let it. Your own tears come as your arms loop around his neck. His thrusts become sloppy.

“Thank you. Thank you…thank you for taking care of me.”

You ramble, hiccup, crying into his shoulder. You pepper more kisses all over his face. His eyes, his nose, his mouth. You kiss him deeply, and with your words and the taste of you and himself, and salt on his tongue, Grace comes harder than he ever has in his life.

He buries himself balls deep. Your pussy pulses around him. He feels his balls contract hard, pumping you full of his come. Fuck. Fuck, he just came inside his student. His best student.

You’re still licking into his mouth, in a very much one sided kiss. His jaw is slack. He just hums and lets you. It’s not until his arms finally give and the real weight of him settles on top of you, that you laugh, right into his mouth. Grace smiles.

“OoOh,” his voice cracks when he finally speaks again, like a pre puberty kind of crack. The pitch gets stuck in his throat and goes all wonky, and it only makes you laugh harder.

Something that should be so far from a comfortable silence, but isn’t, settles around you. It’s sweet and warm, gentle. You comb your fingers through Grace’s hair, holding him as you both come down. What you ask next, it’s laced with shyness. “That was…it was…good, right?”

Ryland’s eyes find yours, and he looks almost shocked that you even feel the need. “I think you broke me.”

It makes you snort, but you roll your eyes and look off to the side like you don’t believe him. He slowly brings his hand to your face, taps your jaw with his thumb. Your eyes find his again immediately. “No. I’m…I’m serious. That was…”

He trails off. There’s no word for it, for you. From the moment he saw you sitting in his lecture hall, something about you seemed inevitable. Grace hadn’t even considered to run from it. If anything, he’d always wondered, calculated when not if.

The look you’re giving him right now lets him know you’re not just looking for reassurance about sex, but for him to put his last chip out there. To lean into the inevitable.

He leans in and kisses you. The purest you’ve shared today. “You were perfect…can I make you dinner sometime?”

—

(This became a lot longer than I anticipated. If there’s any mistakes it’s because I have a killer headache. Tag your favorite part! Mine is when he tells her he’s proud of her for coming on his cock 😮‍💨 I would’ve died.)

(18+)

The dry erase marker squeaked, loud and crudely. Your hand was flying across the white board, but it lacked conviction, your usual confidence in writing out equations. Just as Ryland walked back in through the door with coffee for the both of you, you stopped abruptly, hand and marker hovering. With a genuine growl and another obnoxious squeak of the marker, you swipe through your work, erasing bits, scratching through others.

“Hey, hey,” Dr. Grace exclaims softly, occupied hands raised. He sets the coffees down, wearing a worried expression. Your free times had aligned and he was gracious enough to let you use his classroom to work on your thesis, and help as much as he could.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you sigh, bringing your palms to your eyes and pressing in. It’d been a long week. Late nights, too many exams, and something extra. Something that lingered.

“What’s wrong? If this is about your thesis, you’re doing perfectly fi—.”

“It’s not. It’s not the work.”

You’d cut him off. You didn’t mean to sound so snappy, so irritable. It wasn’t your work that was the problem. You knew. God, you knew what was, and you sure as hell couldn’t tell your professor.

“Well, then what is it?”

You turn to finally look at Ryland Grace, his hip pressed into the corner of his desk, arms folded. He’d ditched the blazer and rolled up his sleeves a while ago. The tie he wore was still there though, if not a little loosened.

He was stubborn. As sweet as Dr. Grace was, he didn’t have the reputation that he did for nothing. He looked insistent, eyes locked on yours over his glasses. He looked good. The light in the classroom was low, bathed in a soft burnt orange from the setting sun outside. The glow of the projector casted light and shadows over the room as well.

You laugh gently, leaning down to pick up the marker, to find something to do with your hands. Shaking your head you tell him the only thing you can, “It’s nothing. Just something I’ve been…having trouble with.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing. I mean, I’ve been watching you all week. You’re here but you’re not. You’ve been quiet during lectures, unfocused.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

You try to apologize, try to explain and brush it all away. Ryland Grace doesn’t stop though. He keeps talking, and he starts walking closer, stepping right into the glow of the projector with you, your back to the board.

“You’ve been frustrated. You’ve missed questions that are like child’s play for you. You’re taking it out on my whiteboard,” he rambles, huffing a little laugh.

You know he means well, know he’s not trying to be an asshole, but it pushes you, that hair trigger you’ve been so quick to pull all week. It doesn’t help that he’s so close now. The way he looks, the way he smells, that pushes you too.

“I can’t come.”

Your words are blunt, and heavy. They’re immediately followed by the sound of Ryland choking. His eyes widen, in part confusion, part shock. When he realizes he didn’t mishear you, his cheeks turn pink and you fully expect that to be the end of it. You’d laugh if you weren’t so pent up, maybe even find his flustered state cute if it didn’t add to the pressure wedged between your hip bones.

“What? What do you…mean?”

You don’t expect it. The follow up question, the way his voice drops a little, to a soft whisper between you both. You don’t think it’s meant to be sexy, but rather…inquisitive? He’s not being suave. He’s not making a move. He’s gentle, albeit a little awkward.

The frustration kicks off again. It’s like when you said it, it took the lid off, and now you can’t put it back on. You grumble, voice raising slightly, falling into a ramble, “What I said. I can’t fucking come! All week, no matter what I do, what I’ve tried, I can’t get there and it’s driving me absolutely insane!”

“Hey, hey,” Ryland says again, even softer this time, sweeter. He rushes closer to you, his body dipping down to your height, trying to catch your gaze, but you’re frantic at this point. He unlatched the gate and now you’re twisting and turning on your feet, your fingers tangled in your hair. Ryland’s hands land on your shoulders, planting you still in one place. You keep talking though, hot tears starting to sting your waterline.

“I mean, I just can’t relax and my brain, my brain won’t shut up, and I get all tense and shaky and my chest starts hurting, and then I get anxious…I feel like I’m broken.”

Something in Ryland’s chest squeezes when you say that last part, when your glassy eyes finally find his. The words are out and you seem to deflate now that they’re gone. You lean back against the whiteboard, his hands still firm on the upper, outer part of your shoulders.

Grace softens his voice, tries to find the perfect tone so that you’ll hear him. His thumbs move gently, back and forth, soothing when he speaks.

“You are not broken. A lot of people…struggle with that. You’re young. You’re figuring out what you like, what you don’t. God, even outside the classroom, you’re so hard on yourself. Stop doing that.”

You just stare up at him, feeling defeated, exhausted, and the next thing you do is definitely blame worthy. You blame on it your lack of sleep, lack of sanity, and orgasms. You’ll blame it on a million other things too once you got home tonight.

None of that stops you from leaning in though, from pushing off the whiteboard, the tiptoes of your shoes scuffing against the floor. Your lips press against his. Warm, gentle, closed mouthed. Ryland doesn’t move. From nerves, shock, or if he’s just trying not to hurt your feelings. You’re unsure.

It’s not until you move again, relaxing your jaw and leaning in harder, your lips actually parting his, that he pulls away.

“Help me,” you whisper, cutting him off before he can say anything. His grip tightens on your shoulders, fingers flexing. You reach out and grab his tie, gently. Your voice wavers again, “I can’t fix it on my own, Dr. Grace. Please. Help me.”

You’re kissing him again. Small kisses, pressed to his lips, the corner of his mouth, his nose. They’re peppered between your broken words, your pretty pleases and his name. His fucking name. You pull on his tie, needy, pathetic. He can’t stop himself.

Your back collides with the whiteboard, his larger fingers coming up to frame your jaw. You have no choice but to open up for him, his thumb pressing in at the hinge, spit pooling across your tongue. The kiss is consuming. Not in a dominant way, or an aggressive way, but like he’s trying to breathe you in.

It’s slow, and deep. The sweep of his tongue against yours pulls a whine from your chest. He groans in response, almost standing to his full height, his grip still on your face, making you scramble farther up onto your toes. You bow off the whiteboard, and then slam back into it with a thud when he pushes you back again.

It trips something inside you, the way he handles you. That hunger, that need you’ve felt all week. You feel desperate, reaching out to grasp at his other arm. You pull at him, tugging, your fingers clasped tight around his wrist, shoving it down towards the hem of your jeans.

He rips his mouth from yours, and halts your rushed movements. His hands slip into your hair, pushing back the flyaways, and he shakes his head, forehead pressed to yours.

“Slow,” he whispers, “we go slow.”

You know he’s right. It’s been part of your issue. The longer your problem kept persisting, the more your impatience built. Your movements every night turned too fast, too much, chasing instead of feeling.

Dr. Grace doesn’t give you a chance to agree. You’re pulled into another kiss, and pulled, and pulled, across the tiles of the floor. Eventually you feel the edge of his desk, bumping into it. He lifts you, stepping between your knees.

His voice is low and broken, “Tell me. Tell me what you’ve tried. Hmm? How’d you try to make yourself come?”

You physically shiver at the question, your mind spinning at the reality of having this conversation with your professor. Ryland. Dr. Grace, who’s standing between your legs, whose desk you’re currently sitting on. You take a deep breath, “Um, my fingers, and then…toys. They didn’t…work either.”

“Fuck,” he breathes. “What kinda toys?”

You whimper, your cheeks burning. “A vibrator, and a…a dildo.”

Embarrassment floods you, every limb. Your skin feels too hot. You let out a groan. You swear you can feel him physically shake where he leans into you, and you wonder if he’s picturing it, you using it on yourself.

His mouth is on yours again, slow and prying, licking deeply inside. He pulls away, his voice sounding like gravel, his chest heaving. “And what do you want from me?”

“I want you to make me come,” you whine.

He squeezes your cheeks between his fingers. “No. What do you want? How?”

You freeze, swallowing hard. You hadn’t thought that far ahead, your brain too foggy, mind racing too fast. This was your problem. You felt stuck. Overwhelmed.

You feel the tap of his thumb against your jaw, your eyes refocusing. He was looking at you, hard and gentle all at once. “Don’t do that. Wherever you just went…don’t. Focus on me.”

He kisses you again. Softer this time, like he’s just trying to give you a moment to settle. You can’t help but stare when he pulls away. His lips are kiss bitten, and red. You reach up, trailing the tips of your fingers over his bottom lip. You don’t expect it, when he leans in and takes the three of them into his mouth. It’s so warm, and wet. The feeling of his tongue swirling around each one makes your eyes start to roll back.

He has an honest to god smirk on his face, watching you like he’s not the one sucking on your fingers. He looks so sexy, so dirty. He pulls off your fingers with a pop. “Is that what you want? My mouth?”

“Oh god…yes, please.”

He only hums. You hear the hooking sound of his shoe catching the desk chair, pulling it towards him. He sits.

The height difference is intimate. He’s close. Your legs are spread wide for the chair, his arms around your waist, your hands in his hair. You remember from earlier. Slow. Slow is better. So you don’t try to rush him. His face is level with your chest, and he just leans in, breathing deep, nuzzling.

His glasses slip down his face, and then he’s kissing your chest through your shirt. It feels so juvenile, but not. Not really. It feels good. So good. You just want his mouth for real, not the teasing.

He rubs his face across your chest again, over the top swell of your boob, and then he sinks his teeth in. Hard. You gasp, curling the fingers you have buried in his hair. He moans when you tug at the strands a second time. It spurs him on, but not enough to give up teasing you. He reaches up to yank your bralette down beneath your shirt, still keeping you covered.

You’re confused, until he pinches one of your nipples through the fabric. He keeps teasing, rolling them and tugging. Eventually you feel the warmth of his mouth, still through your shirt, but your pussy clenches anyway. He sucks on your nipple, soaking the fabric with his spit.

It’s not until you hiccup, your arms shaking, unsure if you wanna push his mouth away or pull him in, that he finally relents. He shoves your shirt up, and starts all over again.

His mouth is hot, and wet against the bare skin of your chest. He doesn’t rush. Grace uses every part of his mouth to torture you. His teeth, his lips, his tongue. When he’s not sucking dark marks into the fatty parts, he sucks on your nipples, so slowly, and softly you think you might scream. It’s like he’s savoring it.

“Dr. Grace. Dr. Grace, oh fuck, please. Please. I need more,” you cry, your voice actually wavering as you claw at him.

The next few minutes are filled with soft shuffling, a foot precariously balanced here and there as Dr. Grace pulls your jeans off. All your nerves float to the very top, painting your skin in little goosebumps. He notices. Of course he does. How couldn’t he with the way you’re sitting awkwardly on the edge of his desk still.

With a soft smug smile, he places a hand to the certain of your chest, and pushes you to lie back. You catch yourself on your elbows, keeping your knees pressed together.

Dr. Grace gives you a look, an amused one, his eyebrows quirked. He simply leans back himself, unbothered. He settles into the chair, and drops his voice. “Show me.”

Your cheeks burn, and Ryland only gives you those puppy dog eyes in return. “C’mon, baby. How can I make it feel better if you don’t show me?…Show me your pussy.”

It’s startling. Not just the sound of his voice, but hearing those words come from his mouth. Dr. Ryland Grace’s mouth. The professor that wears glasses and cardigans, and converse sneakers. He just told you to show him your pussy, so he could make it feel better. It’s filthy. It makes your nipples harden, and somewhere between your legs pulse.

Slowly your knees start to part, and all the cockiness slips from Grace’s face. You swear his eyes darken. Along with his cheeks. The cool air hits your pussy, and you can feel how wet you are. Dr. Grace must see it, with the way he reaches down to squeeze himself through his pants. His eyes flutter shut, and a soft, “fuccck,” leaves his mouth.

“Dr. Grace, please…please make it feel better,” you beg.

And that’s all he lets you say before he’s grabbing you, dragging your bare ass to the edge of his desk. He slips your legs over his shoulders and lowers his face.

You almost ask him to put his glasses back on, the mental image of him eating you out while wearing them popping into your head. You don’t get the chance though, before his mouth is on your pussy, and it’s like he knew. Your thighs instantly clench around his head, your back bowing, muscles tightening. You would’ve crushed his frames.

Any and all teasing Dr. Grace had in him was gone. He eats like he’s starving, his face buried, jaw working. The burn of his stubble is just on the right side of painful, dragging up and down your pussy as he licks you open. His lips wraps around your clit, sucking it into his mouth.

It’s not too long before you feel it. That pressure in your back. It feels off though, like it has all week. It’s too heavy, too hard. The muscles in your legs start to burn, and not in a good way. You feel the sole of your left foot start to cramp, but it’s still close. It’s still something. So you push towards it. You hold your breath.

Ryland feels it, all of it, and pulls away.

“Uh-uh. Breathe,” he pants softly against your pussy, “breathe for me baby.”

You gasp, growl, and then whimper. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

A frustrated groan bleeds from you. You feel like crying again, the tears stinging your eyes. It’s Ryland’s hands that ground you, that slide up from your hips, up and over your belly, your ribs. The feeling of his hands on your body helps, some of the tension melting away.

He does it until your legs fall open again, a little more, a little easier. It’s so intimate. Ryland’s just there, his head resting on the inside of your thigh, face inches away from your bare pussy. His eyes are on yours though.

“You are trying too hard,” he says softly. He brings his thumb to your pussy, spreading the wetness all around, circling your clit lightly. “Don’t chase it. Let me give it to you.”

His hands don’t stop. They run up and down your body, his fingers finding your nipples again, playing with them gently. His mouth comes back to your pussy, slower this time. He kisses it so messily, his face soaked, his tongue running through you, nose brushing your clit repeatedly.

He zeros in on it, drawing these tiny figure eights with the tip of his tongue. Over and over again. You feel it then. Your hips lift, pushing up into his mouth. Ryland’s arms come down immediately, folding over your hips and your tummy, not hard, just there. He keeps the pace. His tongue swirling, and swirling.

That spark, the right one. It catches, and you feel like you could cry. You actually do. It’s a choked out sob. Broken and pathetic. “R-Rylan—.”

Your fingers slide through his hair, and you try, you do. You try so hard to keep your hips down, to not tense up. It’s building fast though. A warm heat right where Ryland’s mouth is, and at the base of your spine. You can’t help it.

Your thighs tighten around his head, and your hips start raising off the table…only for Ryland to slam you back down. His arms lock like steal across your hips, pinning you.

That’s what sends you over the edge.

Your brain gives you one crucial piece of cognitive advice. Don’t scream. You’re on campus property, currently getting your pussy eaten by your professor, and coming harder than you ever have before. Do not scream.

You don’t. Scream out loud that is. Your orgasm rips through you though, hard and deep. You feel it in the bottom of your feet, tingling, your toes curling. Your eyes roll back.

It feels like an instant high. Your limps go all floaty, and heavy. You’re trying to remember how to start breathing again while Ryland’s mouth is still working between your legs. Softer now but he keeps going, licking you through it, cleaning you.

It’s not until you cry out again and tug at his hair that he pulls away, slowly standing from the chair and draping himself across your body.

You kiss him. His face wet with spit, and your juices, your come. It’s so fucking hot. You lick into Ryland’s mouth, chasing the taste. He groans deeply, his voice wrecked.

“Yeah? You like the way your pussy taste, baby?”

You moan, letting your head fall back against the desk. He laughs. You do too. He kisses all over your face, your neck, while you slowly come back to him. Your eyes are still a little fuzzy when he says, “I wanna make you come again…can I?”

You run your fingers through his hair gently. That’s when you feel him for the first time. He’s hard, and still wearing his jeans completely buttoned. You swallow, and press your knee up into his cock. His breath catches, head falling to your shoulder.

“Together. I wanna come with you.”

—

(Might do a pt.2 where they fuck. 🫶🏼)