Vincent!!

I’ve dug out a one shot draft that I had 80% completed and I’m going to finish that off first - not to spoil but it basically looks like:

Ryland : so you’ve never…?

Reader: no. I mean. I don’t think so…

Ryland: oh, you would know. Like you would really know…

Reader: well… yeah in that case…. 😕

than anyone in the fucking world.”

He'd mutter under his breath, two hands wrapped around the skinny twig of a willow tree prepared to snap it in two. He sounded half-joking as he spoke the wish, embarrassed that he's desperate enough to try wishing for your love instead of asking you out like a normal person.

But if there was even a slight chance it would work, he'd do it. He'd do anything for you.

A snap. The 'one wish willow' broke apart in his hands. Two smaller pieces now in his grasp promising him that his wish would come true.

─────────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ────────────

“baby, we don’t have to do this you know.” your words were soft, nothing more. mark panted as his legs shook from earlier, how you’d made him cum by jerking him off while fingering him. he’d never felt so much pleasure before, not even when he would fuck you. mark grayson was introduced to being a pillow princess, and he was enjoying every second of you attention.

mark didn’t think he’d be in the arms of an angel, but he also didn’t think he’d be into these types of things. before he got his powers, he never had any interest of being dominate or being in control of a relationship. he saw how his parents acted together, as it was very clear his mother was the one who wore pants in their relationship. mark grew comfortable quickly with sexual intimacy, allowing you to be in control, to the point where you began asking if he was comfortable. sex was something normal between you both, a way to connect each other by being inside each others bodies. mark was used to letting you ride him, how he’d whine and leave bruises on your hips in order to guide you. yet you had an entirely different idea when it came to intimacy, and mark was willing to let you do anything to him.

“oh, oh my fucking god.” the words flew out of marks mouth like a prayer, his cheeks mushed into the fluffed pillows as you sinked into him from behind. his whines were muffled, embarrassed for you to hear him so vulnerable and vulgar, the curses leaving him. you went slow, allowing mark to adjust to the size he’d picked out personally, but he didn’t realize how large 8 inches truly was until it was inside of him. the length was the issue, watching mark struggle to take all of you. the width wasn’t too bad in his opinion, not to thick but just the right amount that he can feel every rubber vein pressed against his stomach. mark could feel the stress of being invincible, being there for others, saving countless lives without a thank you leave his body as he leaned against your strap. he smiled and looked behind him, giving you the signal to continue on with your thrusts and to ruin him.

the sound of skin slapping together could be heard miles away by any hero, yet mark didn’t seem to care in the moment. all he wanted was for you to dig deeper and deeper inside his tummy, to push down and feel your cock inside of him. the thought alone could make mark come in seconds, but he tried so hard not to be a one pump champ. he wanted to last for you, yet you didn’t make that easy for him. your fast pace caused mark to see stars, it was adorable how his expressions would twist. he was absolutely breathtaking underneath you, how he allowed himself to relax and let you take over.

…

“f-fuuuck! make me your fleshlight!”

summary: out of sheer need for a place to stay, you decide to move in with a friend of a friend. considering you're sort of attracted to ryland makes your living arrangements a little complicated. (part 1/???)

pairing: ryland grace x gn!reader

word count: 4.5k

tags: (set in grad school, ryland and reader both in their early/mid-20s!) fluff and humor, domestic fluff, mutual pining, roommates-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, developing feelings, rom-com logic, reader partially nude (body type unspecified), will they/won't they, really bad flirting if you can even call it that, unresolved romantic tension, cocky!ryland, gn!reader

cross-posted to ao3

He’s not a complete stranger. That’s an important distinction, because if you were looking to room with a complete stranger, you’d be a lot more hesitant to sign the lease agreement. But, Ryland is a friend of a friend, which conceivably makes this more okay. You’ve gone out to dinner with him when he’s tagged along with your going-out group; you’ve seen him at the local bar five minutes out from campus—great at trivia, especially in the pop culture and science categories. You’d even be brave enough to say that you’ve noticed Ryland walking around campus and from afar watched him walk with his brown-leather shoulder bag and his morning cup of coffee.

The roommate talk had only begun in the last couple of weeks or so, when you’d been asking around for anyone who was looking to fill a room. Your first few attempts to secure an apartment—in time for the beginning of the next academic school year—had been a bust. There’d been a lead on a cheaper studio that never followed up, a four-roommate situation that ended up signing somebody else, an option for a dorm room (you’d opted yourself out of that choice)… To say you’d been desperate to find a room is an understatement.

The text you sent Ryland—number acquired from your mutual friend—had read: “hey! heard you were looking to fill a private room. keep me in mind if you haven’t found anyone yet :)” And Ryland’s simple response, “Let’s go for coffee. Free tomorrow?” was what sparked that initial, albeit premature belief, that you might make good co-habitants for one another. And his offer was simple. $1000 a month, flat-rate, for your own private room in a two-bedroom apartment. His apartment, which used to be occupied by both him and his old roommate, who’d left the state in pursuit of a good job with the CDC. It made sense. He had an empty room and you needed a place to stay. You’ve both said “hello” and “see you” in passing enough to call each other acquaintances.

So, now, you’re rooming together and have been for the past week. It's a decently sized place, certainly big enough for the two of you save for the tight hallway leading to the bedrooms. It’s perfect, really. It should be perfect. It was perfect when Ryland helped you bring all your cardboard moving boxes up the stairs of your complex and into your private bedroom, glasses askew and arms given a decent pump from the heavy lifting. And it was perfect when Ryland showed you around the apartment for the second time—with his tidy, two-bookshelf living room and his almost lab-esque arrangement of a kitchen. It was proving to be a perfect setup.

—

The second you start to worry about your rooming situation is at the end of the first week. You have reason to believe that Ryland will be out working at his summer research lab, on something related to microbial ecology. When he explained it all to you the first time, you hadn’t been completely able to understand him; there was a lot of theoretical jargon that he hadn’t cared to parse out for you. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him to slow down, considering how passionate he was getting just talking about the research.

It’s a series of shower thoughts that carries you to think about how attractive Ryland is when he’s talking about his research. There’s something fiery in the way that he talks science-y. He wants to be right. It might piss you off a little, how right he wants to be, but it’d piss you off more if you were his colleague. It isn’t like he’s trying to prove you wrong. He’s just passionate. It’s a little hot. You twist the shower knob quickly, and the water begins to trickle out of the showerhead. You just moved in; you can’t be thinking like this. His shampoo and conditioner and his body wash are in front of you on the shelf. You look away.

Once you’re able to grab your towel off the rack and wrap it around you, you’re in a hurry to get out of the shower. You’re already starting to get that cold, wet feeling on your back, and you’re dying to get into your bedroom to change into a fresh set of clothes. The sun’s starting to go down and you’re just about ready for dinner—so you’re stepping onto the bathmat and making a run for the door, and out the door into your room.

That second-long sprint from the bathroom, down the hallway to your bedroom, is when you realize the apartment isn’t empty. You nearly drop the towel, hands all shaky, when you realize that Ryland’s sitting on the couch, a good few feet ahead of you, reading through a stapled stack of papers. His faded red 49ers shirt stands out bright against the gray couch. You were just thinking of him, and now he’s here, and you’re here with almost nothing on. He jumps at the sound of you shouting a soft “Fuck!”—and you don’t know how much he sees before you’re able to pull the towel into a more solid wrap around yourself. He’s looking at you over the frame of his glasses, eyebrows raised.

Ryland Grace x Reader

You decide to start nude modeling for your universities art program for some extra cash. You never had an issue with standing bare in front of others, until it was Ryland Grace.

Or Grace is told to draw you nude and loses his mind! then yall bang about it <3 (AFAB Reader btw)

Enjoy!

In your defense, you had no clue he would be taking this class. You were simply a broke college student looking for some easy money. Last week your roommate mentioned that the arts department was looking for live models for $20 an hour and that 20 dollars is 20 more towards eating this week so you jumped on it.

You stood inside the changing room, fiddling with the long rope tie on the robe given to you. Yes you signed up for this, but it is still nerve wracking to bare yourself nude to a room of strangers. You looked down at your shaking hands and willed some air into your lungs.

“You got this, you got this! You have never seen these people and you will never see them again.” You reassured yourself, “just assume they all think you are super hot and it will be easy!”

You couldn’t even believe your own words, but you left the changing room anyway. Looking around you don’t recognize anyone, minus the art teacher of course. Releasing a sigh of relief you moved to the center table before being interrupted by the person you least expected to see here. Ryland Grace.

“Hey! It’s odd to see you outside the lab huh?” He said, “I’ve never seen you in this class before, why are you here?”

You knew he was talking but honestly you weren’t paying attention. The gears in your head were turning while you took in his outfit. A messy white t-shirt with a cheesy science pun about electrons and dark brown corduroys that fit his form well. The most damning evidence was the graphite and charcoal marks all across his outfit and arms.

This was his class. He was here to draw a nude model. You are that nude model.

Fuck.

You stammer to try and respond, “ W-well I can’t always carry you through titrations can I? And I could ask you the same thing, why are you here?” You deflected the question back onto him in a poor attempt to delay the inevitable.

He looked at you with a curious look and a head tilt that was oddly similar to one a dog might make. “Hah! Rude, but touche. And I mean, this is my class. I know I don’t look the part but I enjoy the traditional arts from time to time.” He smiled at you in a hopefully endearing way and it worked.

Pushing through the embarrassment you try to explain. “Well Grace, I’m in a figure drawing classroom in nothing but a robe. What do you think I’m here for?” You tease, “Careful! You might need to think through the scientific method to figure this one out.”

His brow wrinkled in confusion and he opened his mouth to speak before he stopped himself. You could visibly see the conclusion form in his mind by the way a pink flush climbed his face.

“You?! But it’s- it’s nude-” You cut him off.

“Wow Grace, you could at least pretend to be excited to see a girl naked.”

He quickly tried to retract his statement while his face became more and more rosy.

“That's not what I meant! I would be the luckiest guy in the world to see you like that!”

Now it was your turn to blush while he continued to make a fool of himself. Once he noticed the implications of his words he panicked further.

“No I didn’t mean that– I mean I wouldn’t mind seeing that but I more was trying to say-” He floundered to defend himself until you cut him off.

“Calm down Grace, I’m teasing you. I am flattered though.” You looked up at him while speaking and were able to notice the hitch in his breathing with your gaze.

It was always so fun to tease him. You two are lab partners in chemistry where you both playfully tease while working together seamlessly. You are a bit ashamed to admit but you have fostered a slight crush on the man. His mind was just a wonder, you swear you could spend hours just listening to him ramble about anything. Grace understood new concepts and equations like he knew them in a past life, and it never failed to amaze you.

All that's not to mention his looks because goddamm look at him. His hair seemed to always be askew in such a handsome way you could swear he was blessed by the hair gods. The way his arms always fit the sleeves of his stupid science shirts with just enough tension that his biceps could be seen flexing through the material drove you crazy. And those disgustingly charming glasses, Jesus Christ. They could never stay in one spot for more than a minute and by the end of a lab they would be literally diagonal across his face. How he actually saw anything surprised you, but you could be told he discovered aliens and you’d believe it.

You never imagined this classroom crush to actually go anywhere but here we are. In roughly a minute you are going to remove our robe and pose nude in front of him for an hour. An entire hour of Grace gazing at your body in an attempt to recreate it on paper. No matter how much you tried to calm yourself, it didn’t work. Unfortunately though, you are too stubborn to leave now so you walk to the center of the room to wait for further instruction from the teacher.

Grace watched you walk away and tried to call out for you but was interrupted by class starting. Everyone quickly shuffled to their seats and pulled out the necessary supplies. Noticeably, Grace was stiff in his chair and his gaze solely on you. His neighboring classmate had to nudge his shoulder for Grace to remember to pull out his materials.

The teacher moved forward and spoke, “Hello everyone and welcome back to another figure drawing lesson. Today one of your peers decided to offer their help so please give your thanks.”

The students murmured a collective ‘thank you’ while the teacher nodded in your direction. There’s your cue.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly untie the knot around your waist. Despite your eyes focusing on a wall, you can’t help but notice all the reactions that are coming from Grace. As the collar fell to your shoulders his jaw tightened. You shuffled as the sleeves slipped off your arms, leaving you truly nude. Moving quickly you fold the garment and strike a simple standing pose. Left hand resting on your sternum and right hand hanging limp to your side. The direction you chose let you look upward at artwork on the wall and sneak glances at Grace.

One quick look told you far, far too much about his current state. His face was completely flushed while he kept looking at you and back to the floor in rapid concession. His hands were firmly gripping his thighs, knuckles turning an off putting white shade.

Instead of suffering for an hour, you chose to zone out and change the position every 10 minutes. You can cry about your crush looking at you naked later because you have a job to do. Every few minutes you sneak your eyes towards Grace and notice how his expression changes from pure embarrassment to some sort of pain and finally, a concentrated and focused expression. Unfortunately for him, he was unable to zone out like you.

His mind was unable to stop running and in that moment he wished he knew how to step on the breaks. All focus continued to escape his mind no matter how hard he tried. He knew he was supposed to be drawing but how on earth could he try to replicate a masterpiece? Every little curve and scar on your body stood out to him like stars in the night sky. Beautiful in a way that deserves to be studied and revered. If only he could do that without getting extremely turned on.

He has hidden his crush on you since the beginning of the school year but this was otherworldly. Even in his most humiliating masturbation sessions he had never thought about you like this. You were something sacred and free in his mind, something that he couldn’t taint with crude, horny guy thoughts. Only when his mind went blank and his self control had checked out did he moan your name while alone. Quickly he would trace your curves with his mind, recalling how your perfume drove him up a wall.

Of course Grace would always feel immense guilt following these moments of weakness, but now those are child's play.

With the ability to view all of you, his mind ran completely wild. Grace could not stop imagining how it would feel to kiss you, draw out the sounds he craves the most. He would leave kisses and marks as he moved down your body. Caressing and practically worshipping every inch of your body, he would make sure he took his time pleasuring you.

Would he choose to keep moving lower to devour you senselessly or would he dip his fingers inside? How would you taste on his lips? What sounds would you make if he had you take his cock in your mouth, or what about your cunt? Are you a beggar or a demander in bed? Would you be casual or into complete roleplay? How would you look when you cum?

Grace could barely keep his head straight while trying to tamp down the intrusive images of bending you over and taking you. In a final attempt of control he gave himself a pep talk internally.

C'mon Grace! You are stronger than this. You have an assignment to do and by gosh will you do it. Just make it through this hour and you can explode back at home. Just please don’t mess this up.

With a deep breath, he picked up a pencil and began.

…

“Ok class, that's an hour! Please thank our lovely model on your way out and remember to have those value sheets by Monday!”

Everyone quickly began to pack up and stash away the nude portraits they had just created. You quickly moved to cover yourself up with the robe and moved to the changing room. The moment the door closed you let out a sign of relief, finally it was over. You can go back to your dorm and tell your roommate the absolute nightmare you just lived through due to their recommendation.

Once you changed and heard most of the students leave the classroom you exited and made a move for the door, but of course it couldn’t be that easy. Grace just wasn’t like that.

“Hey!” He called out for you. Oddly enough it was just you two in the classroom, even the teacher had already left.

Grace continued, “Look, I know that was probably as uhm- awkward for you as it was for me-”

“Understatement of the century.”

“C-Can you let me finish?” He huffed out. You motioned your hand for him to continue.

“I- I just wanted to apologize for my behavior at the beginning.” This was not what you were expecting, but you still let him talk out of curiosity.

“This is super embarrassing but uhm… I think you are really pretty. And normally I can kinda keep those feelings under wraps but uh-” Grace visibly hunched his shoulders and started to pick at the hem of his shirt.

“This thing today? My- my mind went a bit wild and I am extremely sorry I know we are lab partners, maybe even friends, but I-”

His mind went wild? You never thought he could see you like that, but now? With the way he’s mumbling and flustered like a middle schooler? Maybe you and him are more alike than you thought. Against better reasons you decide to play into it. What's the worst that can happen? He sees you naked? Already did.

You portray a reaction of confusion, “What do you mean your “mind went wild”? What were you thinking about?” With this you take the slightest step closer and are rewarded by seeing his shoulders tense up.

“You gotta be joking right?” He responds shocked. “I mean- you don't know what I was-” He stops himself before speaking with renewed energy, “Well then I guess I don't gotta explain! Ok then see you later ok bye!”

With unprecedented speed he makes a break for the door, but you won't let him off that easily. You quickly grab his hand to stop his escape. He tenses up and whips his head around to look at your touching hands, his face still flushed.

It's now or never so with a deep breath, you go for the kill.

“Were you turned on by seeing me naked? Were you unable to stop the thoughts of what you wanted to do to me?” You stare him down with an air of confidence you didn't think you could pull off until now. Grace's eye flew wide open, jaw opening in complete shock.

He cannot believe you just said that, all the wind being drawn out of his lungs. He wished he could pretend you didn't just affect him with those words but it was stupid to deny the massive boner in his pants anymore. He was extremely turned on and you could 100% tell. He suddenly pondered on every life choice he made to get to this point, wondering if there was anything he could've done to get out of this situation.

Truth be told though? He was right where he wanted to be.

Grace mumbled, “I was trying to apologize for that ok? It- it won't happen again. Promise.” His eyes were glued to the floor, an air of shame surrounding him. Well that wouldn't do for your newly conjured plan.

“But… what if I want that to happen again?” You ask in a hushed tone.

You swear you've even seen a man go through so many emotions in a second before but Grace is always good for surprises you guess.

“What? You must not fully understand what you're implying, right?” He spoke aloud to you and to himself. Grace was simply in disbelief at the implication. There was no chance you were coming onto him. No no way, nuhuh.

You realize that you will just have to show him in a way he can't deny. Dropping your eyes into a half lidded stare you take a step towards him. He steps backwards in response.

“What do you think I am implying Grace? I know you are smart enough to figure it out.” You take another step forward. Grace stilled and fumbled with his hands, unsure where to place them.

“Well I- oh jeez uhm…” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I think you're trying to say youwannadostufftogether.” His voice dropped and sped up at the end.

This is more of what you want from him, but not enough. “I didn't catch that last part. What was it?” You now step into his personal bubble. Grace attempts to step back but it ends with him being against the wall. The flush on his face seems permanent now, and you'd be sad to see it gone so soon. Got to keep going strong.

“Oh oh my gosh you do know what you're saying holy moly…” Grace says more to himself than you. His hands find a place to rest on his face, covering all that cute blush that has accumulated. Well that won't do, will it?

Gently, you grab his wrists and move them to your wrist to have him feel your pulse. It's pumping like you ran a marathon. His breath catches.

“Look Grace, if you don't want this, that is completely ok. I could've totally read this wrong and if so I am extremely sorry, but in all honesty? I like you a lot.”

With that admission you could feel a weight leave your chest, though Grace still looked like The Scream with the level of shock on his face.

You continued, “I have liked you for a while, and I would like to take this farther than friends. If you'll have me of course.” You cast your eyes downward, anxiety beginning to creep back up on you. You let go of his hands to fiddle with your bracelet or your hair tie or nails. Literally anything to keep you from looking that handsome man in the eyes.

You would continue to fidget and prepare to backtrack this entire conversation until you feel a tough but gentle hand cup your face. Your eyes snap upwards to find Grace gazing at you with a look of confidence you have never seen on him before. It's oddly attractive, and you hope that look means what you think it means.

His voice is now a bit lower when he responds, “Can I kiss you?” and you slowly nod your head in response.

With a final glance asking if this is ok, Grace leans forward to kiss you. It's chaste, sweet, and not nearly enough to satiate that desire in your gut. Your hand moves to cascade through his messy blonde hair, scrambling around for purchase. His hand on your face remains while the other snakes around to lightly rest upon your waist. He is still acting extremely gentle, as if you would shatter at the smallest infraction.

You pull back slightly to mutter against his lips, “Grace, you can touch me. Please touch me.” He didn’t need to be told twice.

He meets your kiss again but with renewed fervor, both hands shifting to grab your waist. You moan into his lips at the touch, and accidentally pull his hair in response. Before you are able to pull back and apologize, Grace fiercely deepens the kiss and hums against your lips. You realize that he liked that, a lot. So much in fact that when you shifted your knee in-between his legs you discovered just how much he liked it.

“Woah there what's a bit-” Grace spoke breathlessly, “I don't know if you really wanna-”

Cutting him off you ask,” I do want to touch you Grace. Can I help you feel good?”

Your gaze practically destroys all restraint left in his body, knees shaking in weakness. He was slack-jawed in shock and could only muster a simple head nod.

You begin to kiss him again but now with one hand in his hair and the other slowly working its way downward. Grace kept making little breathy sounds into your mouth, and during one chance you slipped your tongue against his. He made a very muted noise of pleasure but you could still tell his true feelings by the way his hands started to move up and down your back.

Your hand started at his collar bone and smoothly to his chest. Out of curiosity you decide to feel for a nipple, you want to know his reaction to every little thing. Once you find it you give it a tiny pinch and Grace rewards that with a high pitched moan into your mouth. You note that in the back of your mind, hoping you'll get another chance to do this again.

Brushing downward you were able to learn that Grace was actually well defined, a pleasant surprise for you. You hum into his lips as a question.

Grace lightly pulls away to respond, “I bike a lot ok? I don't have money for a car.” He looks a bit ashamed until you respond, “It's a delightful surprise Grace, good to know you have some stamina.”

His face flushes even more than before which you thought was impossible, but this is Ryland Grace. He always knows how to amaze you even without trying. Though before you could continue the kiss, he quickly switched your positions. You were now trapped against the wall with Grace looking down at you.

“You don't get to say things like that and expect me to not-” He meets your gaze and loses his words. “Oh god.” He mumbles into your neck before leaving little kisses there. In between each little kiss he continues to talk to you.

“Do you understand how-” A kiss under your jaw. “How much you drive me crazy?” A kiss into the crook of your neck.

“Just getting to look at you-” A lick down your neck, drawing a whimper from you. “I almost had to leave to take care of myself.” A bite above your collar bone that turned into a sickeningly sweet suction.

You whined and let your head fall back against the wall. “Fuck, Grace that's so hot.” He gave your hip a little squeeze as thanks before his hands moved upwards to undo your shirt buttons. God of course you wore a button up on the day you actually end up getting laid, but it seems like Grace is loving the anticipation.

Each button undone is another step closer to seeing you nude again, but this time it's all for him. It's selfish but he is ecstatic that this magnificent view is for his eyes only. During that hour of delightful suffering he studied you like a statue. A work of a famous sculpture, displayed next to David and the Venus de Milo.

In that moment he knew that you were the most beautiful work of art he had ever seen. And come hell or high water was he going to get you to see that as well.

Grace finally undid the final button and pushed your top off your shoulders and onto the ground, forgotten. Gently, he cupped your chest like it was what he'd been missing his whole life.

“You are simply gorgeous. I cannot get enough.” Grace whispered while grasping your chest.

He then moved to adorn your breasts with chaste little kisses as his hands reached around to unclasp your bra. In a moment he let you free, but only so he could take a nipple into his mouth and take the other between his fingers.

You let out a moan of surprise and pleasure. Never have you thought he would be one to take charge, much less like this, but you are not complaining. You quickly place your hands back into his hair, pulling occasionally.

Despite his little sexual experience, Grace knew his way around a feminine body. He was studying microbiology, sure, but he had to fully understand human biology before he could focus on the micro world. By god is he thankful for those awkward classes because he would practically explode in fear otherwise.

Skillfully switching to suck the other tit and teasing the other, he worked you up quickly.

“Grace p-please, I need more.” You huffed out. He looked up at you while sucking your tit and you swear you would've fell down if you weren't against the wall.

“Good. Get on the table, ok?” He spoke softly but in a tone that demanded you listen to him, so you did. With a drunken wobble you sit on the top of the desk. You were unsure what he was planning until Grace got on his knees and started to unbutton your jeans.

Oh my god Ryland fucking Grace was going to eat you out. You start to panic, what if he doesn't like it? What if he thinks you taste gross? You move to push his face away when he notices the smallest little damp spot on your jeans. It takes him a moment to understand why it's there but when he does he lights up like a kid on Christmas. But if the presents were a bunch of sex toys.

“Are you- are you so wet it went through your jeans?” He looks up at you with such raw sexual desire it burns.

You mutter out a response, “I- I'm sorry, you probably want to stop now right? My god I'm-” Grace cuts you off with arguably the most effective method you have ever seen.

He kisses you through your jeans and inhales your scent. Despite all your anxieties, his stare darkens as he moves to remove your jeans and underwear.

“Love, this is the hottest thing I have ever seen and probably ever will. I wouldn't stop for the world. I mean, unless you want to.” He tacks that on at the end more for kindness than anything. He is pretty sure you want this but consent is extremely important to him. Luckily for you, asking for consent is actually a bit of a turn on so this goes right to your core.

“God Grace, I want this more than anything.” You say with a heavy breath.

“Good! Now can you lift up your hips for me please?

He asks and again it's with that sexy tone of demanding and still holding an air of kindness. Your hips snap up from the desk immediately so he can drag the rest of your clothing off.

Once he tosses them to the side he finds his spot back between your thighs, and opens them so he can properly see you.

“Good, and my god look at you. You are the prettiest thing I have ever seen.” He moans in between your legs. He wastes no time and quickly peppers kisses up your thighs. Each peck overflowing with so much purpose and emotion you swear you'll be able to feel them forever.

Every time he would travel close to where you wanted him, he would back off and resume kissing your thighs. It was maddening.

“Grace come on with it, you're such a tease.” You ask him, but to no response. You try again.

“Grace? I'm gonna explode if you don't touch me.” Still no response, it seems he is having a bit too much fun with this. You then decide to shift the power dynamic a bit and grasp a hunk of his hair at the root and pull.

“Ryland. I swear to god if you don't get on with this I will get dressed and leave.” Now that got his attention. With a look that was both apologetic and mischievous, he finally moved upward.

“Well when you ask like that, who am I to deny?” Grace sarcastically asks. Though whenever you try to say a funny quip back is when he decides to lick a strip up your cunt. Immediately it draws a sharp gasp from you. That sneaky bastard, you silently vow in your head to get him back later.

Despite his lack of physical experience, Grace was actually quite good at eating pussy. More than anything, he was a fast learner. He went at you like a problem to solve, memorizing every response and variable until he could recreate the result without fail. Each tug on his hair let him know you liked it, and it had the benefit of also pleasuring him. Your breaths told a tale of emotions that he read like an open book.

It almost made you mad that he was this good at learning what made you tick, but that was part of the reason you two clicked so well in the first place. You just never thought he'd use the skill to suck on your clit but here you are.

After Grace discovered all the sounds he could draw out with his mouth, he added his hands into the mix. While he slowly circled your clit with his tongue, his middle finger started to dip inside you. There was embarrassingly little friction but it made sense considering you have been raring to go for the better part of an hour now. It still felt amazing to have something solid in you, slowly working in and out.

“Fuck, you don’t know what you are doing to me.” Grace moaned, gazing upward at you while he kept up with torturelessly meticulous attention towards your cunt. Barely giving you a moment of respite while he spoke, he quickly went back to using his mouth on your clit.

You were slightly taken by surprise with his wording. “Was that a curse from you? Mr. I never will curse ever?” you tease him in hopes for a witty response. You get that but physically, not verbally. Grace withdrawals his finger, causing a whimper to rise from your mouth before he reenters with two.

The stretch is slightly painful but only in the way that it feeds into your growing pleasure. Grace responds with a sarcastic tone, “I am literally finger fucking you right now. I am not going to censor myself while I’m doing this, while I’m doing you”.

His words send another wave of heat to your core, pressure building more with each second. With a gasp you realize that if Grace keeps this pace up, you will not be lasting long. His hands are annoyingly good at locating that soft spot whenever he curls his fingers, each touch drawing a moan from your lips.

You grab his hair harshly and move him away from your pussy. His whine of confusion is unfairly attractive and you curse whatever god made him like this, and secretly thank them at the same time. Before Grace gets a chance to question your action you speak.

“If you keep that up- fuck” you sigh, “I will be cumming way too soon.”

Your confession quickly brings a look of pride to his face, but he was still confused. He questions, “Wow. I mean jeez thanks but… isn’t that the whole point?”

You flush as you answer him, “I… I want to finish with you inside me.” You take a deep breath before continuing. “And you don’t have to if you don’t want to of course. I just- I just think it would feel really good and I’m on the pill so we don’t have to-” You are cut off by Grace whimpering and bucking his hips mindlessly into the air, searching for friction.

“Fuck I would love that, but are you sure?” He asks, making sure he has extremely informed consent.

You smile softly at him, “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want this Grace.”

“Ryland. You- you can call me Ryland. Please.” His voice was soft and filled with a mixture of awe and devotion, like he never thought he would meet someone as perfect for him as you.

“Of course, Ryland.” Just saying his first name has the man biting his lower lip to muffle a moan. He has never heard someone say his name like you did and Grace is sure no one will ever say it better than you do.You shuffle off of the desk and get onto your knees. You want to return the favor a bit before you enter the ‘closing act’ of sorts. A bit impatiently, you quickly move to unbutton his pants. His breath hitches, one hand coming to his mouth to quiet himself.

“Is this ok Ryland?” You ask, looking up at him from below. You don’t really need a verbal response because his clothed cock twitches with your words, but you wait for them anyways.

“Oh god please yes- I want you so much.” Grace says with a wonderful blend of love and lust in his voice. You don’t wait any longer, your patience extremely thin.

You swiftly drag his pants down to his ankles and allow him to step out of them before you look back up at him and lord almighty what a sight. His cock is clearly straining against his boxer briefs. You look closer and even notice a small damp spot around the tip of his dick. He must’ve been ready for this for a while but focused on your pleasure first. The thought of that is even more attractive, fresh waves of desire rolling downward. But those can wait, it is his turn.

You palm his cock while you press kisses up his thighs. His whole body stiffens at your touch, a deep groan slipping from his lips. You pepper his thighs with kisses and little bites, occasionally stopping to leave a hickey. You want him to see the marks you left on his body. One hand continues to lightly stroke through the fabric and the other makes its way to the waistband, nimbly slipping inside. You have the other hand join in the effort to remove his final layer, pulling them down slowly. Grace’s breath has gotten increasingly quicker and deeper while you teased the man.

Eventually you remove the boxer briefs and look up to find a beautiful cock in front of your face. Flushed and leaking precum, it was a sight to behold. Finally giving him what he wants, you lick the slit, tasting salt and sweat. Continuing, you take his head into your mouth and slowly begin the process of working all of him down your throat.

You would say Grace was slightly above average but that didn’t matter, you knew it would still be a hassle. A sexy, delicious, stupidly perfect hassle. You remind yourself to relax, each bob of your head allowing more of him in.

Grace was simply in pure bliss. His silly attempt to quiet his moans became futile the moment you took him inside. Each flick of your tongue creates a burning heat in his core. Whenever you look up at him while taking him he cannot hold back the whimper that escapes him. It’s an odd internal fight for Grace. He wants to make sure you are feeling good but he also wants this to never end because god. You make him feel like there is nothing else in the world but you and him.

With time you are able to fit all of his cock inside, your nose brushing against soft curly hair. Grace moans and grabs your hair in an attempt to ground himself. You softly start to move completely off his cock before quickly returning back to the base. You repeat this motion, gaining speed with each bob of your head.

You look up and notice Grace looks absolutely wrecked. His eyes are blown, a bright flush coating his face and neck.

His blonde hair is flicked around every which way, glasses somehow crooked and jammed into the mess of hair upon his head.

With noticeable effort, Grace uses your hair to guide you off his dick. You gasp, finally given a moment to breathe. You didn’t think you were on him for long, so you ask.

“Close already, Ryland?” You question more as a joke but you quickly realize that that is the truth. Grace looks away and ever so slightly pouts, his bottom lip poking out.

“Hey! I ate you out and then did this! You would be close too!” He tries to defend himself, and it works. You have to admit that you are also still quite close. Even without physical stimulation on your vagina, sucking Grace off was a massive turn on.

“Hey don’t be ashamed, I am close too.” You admit bashfully. His eyes snapped back to you with surprise, but it quickly turned into his confident expression from before.

“Well then, get up.” He commands and you follow immediately. You feel like if you don’t have his cock in you in the next minute you will die. You sit back onto the desk and reach out for Grace to pull him into a heated kiss. His lips melt against yours in such an intoxicating way that you would believe he was an angel and sin itself mixed into one being. He sparked a feral desire that teetered on primal instinct. You needed him like you needed to eat, to drink, to breathe.

Grace breaks your kiss to slide his cock between your folds and fuck does it feel good. You both moan at the touch, your slick reducing any painful friction into pure pleasure. With a deep breath, he pushed the head of his dick into you. It stretched you lightly, but not painfully so. He filled you up so perfectly that you could swear it was a drug.

It was clear that Grace was restraining himself from just shoving you on his cock, ever the gentleman. But you have waited long enough. Your hands grab his biceps to anchor you, giving you enough control to slam yourself fully onto his dick.

Grace made a delicious sound, a harmonious blend of a whimper and moan and your name at the same time. It was so erotic and yet so authentic to him that it made you clench around the man, receiving another groan in return.

“Grace please just fuck me, I can take it.” You plead, “I want you to destroy me.”

Logic and shame has completely left the conversation at this point. Only desire and truth remained, and you craved more.

Grace looked you in the eye and responded, “Ma'am yes Ma'am.” He wasn't going to say no to that.

His hands took a firm grasp on your waist as he slowly pulled out of you, just to quickly plunge back in. He quickly set a brutal pace, hitting that sweet spot inside you every time. Your pleasure began to build quickly, his previous efforts not going to waste. You quickly sneak a hand down to circle your clit. Fresh waves of pleasure rise, your legs locking Grace against you on instinct.

“Fuck, you feel so good” Grace moaned. He bit his lip in an attempt to quiet his noise so he could focus on yours; and Lord Almighty were you making a lot of noise.

Each thrust would punch an involuntary whimper out of you, the pressure on your clit only adding to the volume of those sounds. The two of you together made such vulgar and sensual sounds that only added to your arousal.

His hands tighten around your waist while his thrusts become more erratic.

“Oh god I'm close- I'm close-” He stuttered out. His eyes fought between staring at you and rolling back in pleasure.

Your legs tighten further around him, “In me Grace. I'm on the pill.” You are able to convey that despite your mind being on an entirely different planet, but you really want to feel him finish inside of you.

His eyes close in response to your words as he reaches his peak. Grace's hips stutter before thrusting deep while he finishes. You can feel his cum being released inside you, an odd warmth that pushes you over the ledge.

You clench around the man as you ride out your orgasm, rolling your hips to draw every last drop of cum from his cock. Both of you being completely blissed out, your hands lose tension and Grace lies down on top of you.

It takes you both a minute or so to come back to reasonable thinking, but Grace was a bit faster than you. You come to from Grace pulling out and moving to grab some napkins, leaving you feeling empty yet extremely satisfied. He quickly returned and cleaned the both of you up, leaving little kisses across your thighs while he worked.

You sit up and remark, “So I'm guessing you liked drawing me, huh?” You tease.

His eyes meet yours, a cute mixture of embarrassment and attitude on his face.

“Eh well, I might’ve…” You both laugh together.

Following this you both got dressed and straightened up the classroom, god forbid anyone finds out what happened on that desk. Grace grabbed his bag before turning to you.

“So uhm-” He fumbled with his words. “I really liked this and uh- I'd really really really like it if this wasn't a one time thing.” His hands began to fidget with his bag strap.

“And if you don't want to, that's totally ok! I just- I would like to try dating? If you would be down?” He asked sheepishly, struggling to maintain eye contact.

“Grace, in what world would I not want to date you?” His eyes widened like he wasn't just inside of you 5 minutes ago.

“I'd be happy to date you Grace.” You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers. His smile might just be the brightest thing you've ever seen.

…

You did not expect to leave that classroom with a boyfriend, let alone the boyfriend being Ryland Grace, but you are so damn happy it happened. You walk back towards your dorm after parting ways with Grace, an uncommon pep in your step.

You debate either hugging, kissing, or promising your firstborn child to your roommate for recommending that job.

Thanks for Reading!

also here's a small bit of art I made for this!! oh yeah and this is cross posted on my Ao3 :D

“No, not amaze, what were you thinking!” Grace rips open the air cycle door, pulling you up by your shoulders and shaking you.  You don’t let him finish, ripping off the right glove of your suit and gripping his stupid t-shirt. You pull him down onto you into a frantic, desperate kiss, briefly letting go to rip the other glove off.

Part 2/? of overcast Pairing: Ryland Grace x Gn!Reader Length: 2998 words Summary : Time go Fishing, question? Warnings: canon typical violence, knives, brief scenes in a hospital

Let Go A Little

The Inevitable pt.3 | pt.1 is here | pt.2 is here

Summary: It’s been two weeks since that day in his classroom, since Grace fucked you over his desk and then asked to take you out. The plans are made. He intends to take you on a real date. The problem? Grace is feeling impatient before it can show up.

tw: m/f, (18+), professor/student relationship, needy Grace, jealous Grace, fantasizing, masturbation, sexting/phone sex, Grace is a secret freak and is ashamed but gets off to it, orgasm denial, intense bj, dirty talk, begging, probably more I’m forgetting.

Note: I am so so sorry this took so long. Pls enjoy.

—

Grace had been staring at the same page of his book for the past half hour, having read the same paragraph six times already. He still couldn’t tell you what the author had said.

He wanted to care. For goodness sake, he was one hundred and eighty pages invested, but his brain just wouldn’t work tonight. How could it?

When you flashed through his mind, behind his open eyes. It was like reels of old film. Clips and snapshots of you, repeating and rolling on a loop. Your laugh, your smile. Your mouth.

Grace groaned out loud, slumping further down into the covers of his bed. The book was tossed. It landed somewhere with a thump, the too boring pages snapping shut.

He didn’t know what was wrong with him.

He looked to the ceiling, and not that he felt like he really had a choice anymore, his mind started to drift. To you.

To this morning in the assembly hall. There was a ceremony held for the college’s debate team. Ribbons and a small carved plaque, honoring the regional win.

The memory of you grinning so wide, and waving to your friends in the audience played through his mind. Grace had watched as they placed the ribbon on your shirt, and draped the team’s banner across your shoulders. The bright flash of a high tech camera taking your picture. One Grace was sure was already published on the school’s website.

He’d done his best not to stare too intently, but not too little either. He didn’t want to seem uninterested because that was never Grace before. Before you’d slept together.

Truth is, Grace wasn’t sure how to act now, like he would have before. It was different.

Like this morning, in one of the moments Grace allowed his eyes to linger on you the team, and your eyes caught his in return. All Grace could see was you, spread out on his desk. His mouth devouring your pussy. The way you felt beneath his lips, his tongue. The way you begged him to help you come.

“Uggghh,” Grace groans, squeezing his eyes shut and flopping back onto his pillow. He feels his cock twitch. Feels the weight of it growing heavier where it’s resting against his thigh, still tucked inside his pajama pants.

This wasn’t like Grace. He was respectful, and polite. He was the guy that woman would place in the category ranked farthest away from bad boy, and he’d like to think, dog.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t a man, and didn’t have needs, but it had never felt like this. He had already done things out of order by fucking you first, in his classroom nonetheless.

He should be thinking about your future date, planning it. Imagining the flowers he’ll buy and the dish he’ll prepare.

Not you…bent over…your ass cheeks spread and his—

“Alright, okay.” Grace speaks to no one, to himself, out loud, trying to physically shake the thoughts away.

It wasn’t like jerking off was out of the question. Grace wasn’t against it by any means. It was a regular and healthy part of his routine. Something about tonight felt different though. Like something had its teeth in Grace, and wouldn’t let go.

His fingers itched for his phone. The screen lit up brightly, reflecting back into his glasses. He lazily thumbed through until he pulled up your text thread.

You’d exchanged numbers that day, obviously. There wasn’t much in the thread. A few dorky memes you shared back and forth, and a sweet message confirming the future date.

Grace lays there, staring at the screen.

How could he follow that up with what he wanted to say right now? How was Grace even considering this? Sexting you. Cheese and crackers, he’d never even sent a sorta dirty text, let alone a dick pic.

He wanted to though. He wanted to take his cock out, and stroke it. He wanted to take a video and let you hear what he sounds like when he’s alone and fucking his fist.

Grace looked to the numbers at the top of his phone. They show it’s almost eleven. He wonders if you’re still out celebrating.

After the ceremony this morning, a commingling of students, faculty and families were littered throughout the halls. Grace hadn’t planned on it. Seeing you. If anything, he was sure to miss you in the chaos of the crowd. You hadn’t.

You ended up dwindling closer and closer together, passing through groups of people who stopped to speak and give their congratulations. Eventually, the both of you had ended up in a nook by one of the auditorium doors.

“Congratulations. You guys did amazing,” Grace said, giving a little awkward dip of his head towards your trophies. It wasn’t like you were any better. He watched the blush spread to your cheeks almost instantly. The quiet shuffling of your shoes as you whispered thank you.

“I had a lot of great professors, you know. Mrs. Calloway. Professor Xavier. Dr. Elle…”

You said this with a shrug of your shoulders, your eyes cast to the floor, but there was a teasing, playful lilt to your voice. Grace narrowed his eyes and smirked as you continued with your little list. Naming every one of your professors but him.

You couldn’t hold it in any longer, your smile and giggle spilling over when your eyes finally catch his again.

“Oh, okay. I’ll just go fudge myself then,” Grace laughs.

Your laughter tapers away then, and it’s instant. That spark. Something feline and dark. Something dangerous. Your voice slips lower, just for him. “Only if I can watch.”

It catches Grace off guard, and before he can find his footing to respond, you’re not alone anymore. Another professor saddles up beside Grace, and one of your…teammates?

“Hey, ready to go soon?”

This guy steps in close, his voice light and directed to you. Grace watches as his hand settles near the small of your back. David? Devin? Grace doesn’t remember, but yeah, he’s on the debate team. He’s wearing the same ribbon.

“Going out to celebrate?” The professor to Grace’s left ask with pride and amusement, and that awe only reserved for the youth and the idea of their young antics.

David or Devin or whatever, smiles with all thirty-two of his perfect teeth, this Tom Welling looking motherfucker, and nods. “Yes, sir. Nothing crazy of course. It’s just the team and some friends going out to celebrate the season.”

He actually does slip his arm around you this time, around your shoulder. He pulls you inward, in a playful jest kind of way and you both laugh. The other professor does too. Grace realizes he hasn’t said or done anything.

It’s the last thing he remembers from this morning. The sight of you walking away into the throng of the crowd with that guy. That, and what you said before.

Grace stares at the phone and wonders if you’re still out, with what’s his name especially.

He wonders if you really would like to watch him fuck himself.

Grace finally reaches down and palms his hard dick through his pants. He lets his fingers curl and give a semi stroke.

His eyes flutter shut and he knows he’s losing control already, all the blood rushing from his brain to his cock, because Grace isn’t smart about it. No. He types out the first thing he thinks and hits send before he can think at all.

Do you still want to watch?

He groans to himself. In embarrassment and pleasure, his fingers tightening. What the fuck was he actually doing? Grace had never done this before.

Just before the panic could soak into his body, your number flashes across the screen. He sucks in a sharp, cold breath at the words you sent back.

Oh fuck. Please???

They read desperate. Insistent. Grace’s mind feels sluggish and heated. He’s trying to calculate if there’s any way you could’ve misunderstood him, what he wants.

You seem so sure.

Before he can even think of what to say next, his phone vibrates. Again, and again.

Grace???

Let me see. Can you send a picture??

Wait wait no a video

“What the fuck,” he whispers to himself. His dick throbs, bouncing and pushing against the fabric of his pjs.

They’re shoved off the sharp, lean points of his hip bones and down his thighs before Grace even realizes what he’s doing. He immediately grips his cock and picks his phone back up from where he laid it on his chest. He reads your messages again.

You’d never texted like this before. Persistent. Repeatedly. Given you hadn’t exchanged very many, maybe he was wrong, but something felt different. Your tone. The multiple punctuations. The speed, like you were firing them off.

Regardless, his cock leaks.

Grace successfully late night sexted you, like some horn-dog douchebag frat bro, but you answered, almost immediately, and those second and third messages erased any doubt that you were confused. You typed his name for cryin’ out loud.

No, you weren’t confused. Those messages, they sounded like you were begging, and that thought alone has Grace spreading the pre from his tip to the thick base. He strokes himself fully for the first time.

His other hand holds the phone as he thumbs open the camera app. Grace may have not sexted anybody else before, but he has recorded himself plenty of times. For his own pleasure. Videos of himself jerking off, using toys, fingering himself…

Getting the right angle is easy. Grace knows how and where to hold the phone, but his hand shakes anyway. With the knowledge that this going to you. That you’ll get a video of his hard dick on your screen and watch it, maybe touch yourself to it.

He hits record and focuses back on his other hand, fisting his cock a little slower than what his body is demanding. Grace keeps his grip tight, letting the camera catch the way the head pushes through and peaks out. The light from his bedside lamp is low but it’s enough to catch the shine, the sparkle of how wet he already is.

With labored breath Grace hits send, watching the bar at the top of the screen race across and then vanish. Delivered.

He waits. He teases himself in the meantime, his fingers slipping down to play with his balls. They’re so incredibly sensitive. You barely touched them last time before Grace had snapped. He thinks of your mouth on them.

The second your phone vibrates again, you don’t dare look at it until you’re standing in the bathroom stall. The latch slides closed with a metal on metal click.

There’s an unsteady stream of girls coming and going, laughing too loudly and reapplying makeup in the mirror. It’s a bar after all. If you’d been anywhere else, somewhere a little fancier, you’d second this decision for sure. Afraid of standing out and disrupting the flow of available stalls.

That wasn’t the case here. This was a dive bar and half of them were drunk. If anything, they’d assume you were too, locking yourself in here sick.

You weren’t though. Sick or drunk. That’s not to say you weren’t heavily buzzed. Beer was safe. You’d stuck to that for the majority of the night, until your group lined up the shot glasses on that sticky bar top. It was flowing through you now. Warm and gentle. The burn and the salt sitting in your belly.

You lean against one of the walls, sliding one of your headphones in, thankful they’d been left in the pocket of your jacket. Extremely thankful, as the first second of Grace’s video is filled with a soft whine.

Spit pools across your tongue, flooding your mouth at the sight of Grace stroking his cock. It’s pink and slick, and big. It’s like your body has its own physical reaction too. Your pussy clenching around nothing, whining herself, and remembering exactly what it felt like to have that buried inside.

Your entire body flushes too hot. You watch the video back once more, before flipping to your camera app and propping it up on the toilet paper dispenser.

The angle is atrocious but it works. You lift your shirt, bunching it beneath your armpits, and pulling your bra down.

When Grace’s phone goes off again, he swears he could come from the thumbnail alone. It’s blurry and full of movement, but your tits are out and you’re playing with them.

He mindlessly strokes himself as he presses play. Almost immediately, Grace’s grip is tightening as he realizes just where you are and that you’re doing that, there.

Your back is to some wall that’s decorated with numbers and names and suggestive doodles, overlapping and messy. It’s the noise surrounding you that sends a deep pulse through Grace. There’s voices. They’re muffled but ranging in volume, and completely separate from the show you’re putting on.

You’re still out.

You’re in public, and they’re completely unaware of what you’re doing on the other side of what Grace deduces is just a flimsy bathroom stall door. He chokes out a whine and uses his thumb to rewind the video, his eyes refocusing on you.

The video is at an angle, pointed upwards. You’re taller than whatever you have your phone sitting on and Grace fucking loves it. It gives the illusion of you in his lap again, your chest just slightly higher than his mouth.

He gets the most insane underside view of your tits. The shape and the weight of them and how they sit. His palms ache to feel them again. He gives himself a single tentative stroke, refusing to rush.

Grace watches as you bring your hands to your chest, groping yourself gently and then rougher. He can’t see your face. The frame cuts off just by your mouth, but good grief, he can see your neck and the way it extends back.

You’re either really into this or putting on one hell of a show, leaning back against the dirty wall without a care, thrusting your bare chest towards the camera.

Just in the way you have yourself exposed has sparks popping off in Grace’s veins. It’s haphazard and reckless and it’s exactly what Grace has wanted to do. What he would do to you if he was there.

You pinch your nipples, twisting them and tugging and Grace’s mouth waters. He imagines sucking on them again, soft and lazy, and unhurried. He thinks about waking up first and taking his time to suckle each one slowly, until you wake up that way, crying for him but letting him continue. You let him until they’re raw and puffy and you’re crying for him to fuck you.

“Oh, ffuck…” Grace whimpers, his eyes glued to his phone screen, fantasies racing wild. He barely registers that his hand is moving again. Faster than he’s let himself all night. Too fast. He’s gonna come from the first damn thing you sent him if he’s not careful.

The last thing Grace sees before he flips back to his own camera is you lifting your tits higher, and instead of wetting your fingers, he watches the spit drop from your mouth, right onto your abused nipple. You do the same to the other and start rubbing it in. They’re shiny and wet and ruined.

The next video Grace takes is far less calm and collected. His fist is a slight blur on the screen, and he’s so far from quiet. He recalls your video and the way you couldn’t say anything. In a way, it made it hotter, watching you touch yourself but hearing those other women in the background. Grace’s words start to get away from him but it’s still only a fraction of what he’s truly thinking.

His voice shakes, splintered and husky and mixing with the wet squelching of his strokes. “Are you trying to kill me? You look so pretty baby, so…so..oh fuck.”

Grace wanted to call you filthy, dirty. To call you those things because you were, half stripped and desperate for him in a public bathroom stall. He doesn’t even remember where he ends the video but he sends it and tries to slow down, to hang on until the next thing you send at least.

When Grace’s phone goes off again though, it’s not a video or a picture. It’s not a text at all. You’re calling.

His breath gets stuck in his chest but he’s answering anyway, before he’s even figured out how to breathe again. It’s why his voice comes out like a croak, throat clicking, like a panting, horny deranged frog. “Hel-clk-Hello?”

The first few seconds of the call is pure noise. There’s countless voices, the shuffling sounds of bodies and shoes moving, glasses clinking and music in the background. It’s becoming softer though.

Grace hears the squeak of hinges and the sound of what he could only assume is an incredibly heavy door slamming shut. You’ve gone outside.

Everything is instantly quieter. The background noise is still there, though muted. New sounds lingers. Tires on asphalt, the clicking of a street light changing color, and a dog barking in the distance. Grace can practically see it.

“Hey. Hi,” you breathe into the phone, right into Grace’s ear. Your voice sounds light and airy, a little raspy, like maybe you’ve lost it partly.

“Hey,” Grace says, softer this time to match, and a little awkward. He cringes at the way he’s repeated himself.

It’s chased by the sound of your laugh though, and Grace’s heart skips even in its racing, pounding state. If sounding like a dork makes you sound like that, maybe Grace is okay with it.

“Grace?”

The sound of his name in your mouth, in that hushed tone, it undoes something in him. The video of you is still playing on a loop in his mind. Grace’s hand had never fully left his cock, only coming to a gentle rest when you called. He strokes himself once again though, the feeling tenfold now that you’re on the phone. He takes a ragged breath in. “Mmngh. Y-yeah?”

“Have you…?”

Your voice is tentative. Soft. There’s a million things you could be asking him right now but Grace can imagine that to be difficult, given the topic and your location.

He can picture it. The way you’re mindlessly pacing the sidewalk, back and forth, just outside the bar. The red bricks behind you, one hand in the pocket of your jacket, phone tucked close to your face. Shoulders drawn. There’s neon string lights from the nearby restaurants and car headlights that every so often cast over you.

Grace licks his lips and plays lazily with the tip of his cock, torturing himself. “Have I…what?”

He hears the way your breath hitches. Your voice drops even lower, barely a soft mumble, your glossy lips brushing the edge of your phone because you have it pressed so close. “Have you come yet?”

Grace doesn’t even bother to hold back his whimper. He squeezes his eyes shut, shame and guilt and arousal flooding his body. His tummy burns with it. Those words coming out of your mouth should be illegal.

“N-No. No, I haven’t,” he whispers.

Your response slams into Grace like a train. “Good. Don’t.”

It takes a minute for the words to reach his brain. Even then, Grace isn’t exactly firing on all cylinders here. He barely and very caveman-like mummers half a word. “Wha—?”

You cut him off. “Give me your address. Please?”

That has Grace fully pausing, his hand falling to his sweaty thigh as he sits up a little in bed. He ask again. Clearly this time. “What?”

What Grace doesn’t expect to hear is your laugh.

Soft and sweet, and a little evil. Like a siren’s song in his ear. “Would you rather come in your own hand tonight or in me?”

Grace stops breathing. He’s choking, stuttering. “Wh—?”

“Or on me. Either one,” you cut in again, the smirk evident through your voice.

Grace finally finds his, the rare explicit dragging and scrapping over his vocal cords. “Fffuccck.”

He pants into the phone, cock temporarily forgotten, cheeks blood red. There’s a hint of shyness to his own voice now. “That’s not…you don’t…that’s not why I messaged you.”

“It wasn’t?” You snicker softy, teasingly. “You didn’t text me because you were hard for me? It was for me, wasn’t it?”

There’s a blunt edge to your voice. Grace doesn’t expect it. For you to say all that, so plainly and that forward, standing out on the street for goodness sake. It makes his head spin and his dick throb. The way you seesaw back and forth between sweetly alluring and slightly harsh, like there’s a grain of humiliation in how you accuse him of being hard and texting you in the first place.

Grace whines softly, giving into the whiplash but still feeling the need to explain himself. The guilt and the shame still burning hot. “Of course it’s for you. I just - it wasn’t my intention to get you to come over.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing?”

He shakes his head quickly even though Grace knows you can’t see him. His messy bed hair falls even more across his forehead, into his eyes. “No! No, it’s not. I just don’t want you thinking I texted just for that. To get you here.”

You laugh again. “So phone sex is excusable but an actual booty call is where you draw the line, Dr. Grace?”

His cock twitches where it lays on his belly. Hearing his name, his title, on your tongue again, and without any nerves this time. The way you’re playing a dangerous game saying it out loud in public, in a college town, where anyone could overhear. It only makes Grace feel like he’s losing more and more of his grip. “N-no. That’s not…I just don’t want you to think I’m—.”

You cut him off again. Your voice is steady and solid but with a soft plea layered beneath. “Grace? Your address.”

And Grace gives it. He leans into it. You. The feelings. He gives you his address and it’s not but a moment before he hears tires and a car door, and his address being recited to the driver. Who in return, offers simple pleasantries and a list of his uber accommodations. Water, snacks, music or no music?

The interaction, though brief, still leaves a gap of momentary silence between the two of you. Grace’s mind starts to swirl, and it hits him suddenly. You’re coming here. Here.

It hadn’t really sunken in yet, and frankly still hasn’t, and now everything suddenly feels like it’s dialed up to eleven. Rushed. Frantic. Grace has never felt this turned on this fast before, especially given the last ten minutes of cool down. His cock had never gone completely soft, but Grace wasn’t anywhere close to the edge either.

Until now.

Like the snap of two fingers, or flipping a light switch. That quick and Grace feels like he’s right there again. The thought of you on your way to his place. That all the things he was imagining, he could have again. Tonight.

Without thought or care, Grace spits into his palm and reaches for his dick. The pace he sets isn’t for teasing or drawing this out while he waits. It’s fast and desperate with the intent to make himself come before you get here. It’s audible, even through the phone. Not that that matters because Grace lets out one needy whimper after another.

There’s silence and then your voice again. That sharp edge is back, but almost inquisitive this time, rhetorical, like you can’t quite believe what you’re hearing, and that he’s disobeying what you said before. “Grace?”

A soft cry. An actual cry. Grace doesn’t stop. His cock throbs in his hand, his heels dig into the mattress. He can feel his ball sac drawing up tightly, and a sweet phantom pressure around his asshole, twitching and begging too. For a second, Grace wonders if you would touch him there as well and he cries out again. He hiccups, “I’m - I’m sorry, I can’t help it…”

“I thought I told you to stop?” Your tone is so casual, almost upbeat. Humorous but not really. It’s only for show, to not draw attention from the driver.

Grace starts begging immediately. His voice cracking. “You have to let me come first. I won’t - fuck, I’m too close. I won’t last when you get here.”

“You will, just not before I get there.”

But it’s like Grace didn’t even hear you. He’s babbling at this point, thigh muscles burning, shaking. His brain is fuzzy and warm, his mouth and words flowing free and fast. Maybe a little too free. “I can’t believe you’re on your way. I didn’t plan…I didn’t mean to…are you sure you wouldn’t rather st-stay and hang out with your friend?”

Oh. Uh oh.

Grace didn’t mean to bring that up. Truly. Honestly.

Silence follows but Grace can hear it, the leather snap of your attention, zeroing in and picking up on the cadence of how Grace said it.

Your next words are slow. Intrigued. “And who might that be?”

Fuck it, Grace thinks to himself and he lets his mouth keep moving. “David or whatever the fuck his name is.”

It lands heavy between you, but your response blows even harder. “When I get there, you’ll realize just how ridiculous that statement is. Now wait for me.”

Grace actually yells, something incomprehensible, voice ripping from his throat as he simultaneously rips his hand away from his cock.

He physically rolls over in bed in attempt to prevent himself from touching again, and regrets it instantly. The sheets are a dry rough drag against his dick. Grace’s entire body, every muscle from his head to his toes lock up. Oh no.

He feels the very start of his orgasm breaking, rising up the base of his cock. He grabs himself, squeezing until there’s tears in his eyes and his orgasm is stopped. Just barely.

As Grace’s senses reload from the denial, all he hears on the other end is your smug laugh and the words, “Good boy.”

“Oh, fuck you…”

Grace says it without thinking. He sounds half dead, throat scratchy. You laugh at him again. “Promise?”

He replies weakly, “mmhn, yeah.”

“Good, ‘m here.”

Oh fuck.

Grace gets out of bed on shaky legs, but not before he has a dilemma on how the fuck he should answer the door. Does he just pull his pjs back up and have them ridiculously tented and goofy looking? Does he forgo them all together?

No. Absolutely not. Grace might be a slut, and more kinky than he wanted to admit, but he’s not answering the door with his dick out. 

And by this point, his phone is back on the nightstand. You ended the call, promising to be up in a few minutes. You were. The elevator ride was short and finding his apartment number was easy.

Grace’s heart pounds when he hears the soft sound of your knuckles against his door. He tries to adjust himself one last time, running his fingers through his messy hair and pulling down his sleep shirt in a half attempt to look less ruined.

The door is only halfway open before you’re on him, and in his arms. No words. No hi or hello. Just your lips and your arms around his neck, and then your warm, soft tongue in his mouth. Grace sighs, sinking into it.

Only for it to be ripped away.

He groans. Your warmth evades him, snatched away faster than Grace can reach for you and pull you back. He tries but he feels sluggish and you’re moving desperately. Dropping hard. You’re falling to your knees.

Grace groans for a different reason this time. The sight of you on your knees, and the way you yank his pants down, the cool air washing over his skin. You’re pulling and pushing at him, even on your knees and Grace’s back eventually meets the wall by the front door.

It shoves the air from his body, stealing his breath, and before Grace can inhale again, you lean in, swallowing his cock completely.

It punches Grace in the gut. He gasps.

It’s not like before, like how you were in the classroom, where Grace had shallowly fucked your warm mouth two weeks ago. He couldn’t move his hips at all this time. You had them pinned to the wall, insistently pressing your body’s weight into him.

You bury your face into his pubes, the bridge of your nose digging in and poking his bladder. You stay like that. No bobbing or sucking. Just your throat. Tight and hot and constricting around his dick every time you swallow.

Purely unintelligent noises pour from Grace’s mouth. “Agggnughmf.”

And it was over before it started really. Grace had been so close before and seeing you so hungry for it now. Yeah, Grace was coming. You eventually pull back once, sucking and licking at him as he slides out of your throat. Only for you to fall right back down.

A true single thrust straight down your throat, and Grace sees white. His balls pulsing, pumping.

You pull back just enough to collect some in your mouth and Grace apparently has one last brain cell left to slur, “Don’t swallow. Don’t swallow, baby, please. C’mere.”

He’s already sliding down the wall, part his own volition, partly not. His legs are giving out. You knew what he was asking for though, pulling off and bringing your full mouth to his.

Full of his own come, still warm. You push it from your mouth into his by the sweep your tongue. Some leaks out, smearing, but you both audibly swallow, drinking it down.

The pure filth of it all sends a second wave. Grace whimpers, grabbing at his cock as he comes again. It splashes between you, painting your shirt and jeans a little and the floor too.

Which Grace falls to almost immediately. His bare ass hitting the cold floorboards. You right there with him. Both gasping and catching your breath.

When Grace finally comes back, you’re already looking at him, eyes dark and starry. Your lips are puffy and wet, his come actively drying down your chin. He reaches up and swipes his thumb through the mess, almost apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “For what?”

All of Grace’s fears come back. His voice is soft as he explains. “I don’t know…I haven’t even taken you on our date yet and here I am sexting you and now, now you’re here…”

“So? I wanna be here. I wouldn’t be if I didn’t want to.”

He nods quickly but gently, “I know. I just don’t want you to think I’m a—.”

“What? A freak, Grace?” You laugh sweetly, though your voice is wrecked, undeniably sounding like you were just deep throating cock. Sweet, Grace’s ass.

You shake your head at him and roll your eyes. “You think sexting me or us hooking up is wrong but it’s not. You are and you aren’t like every other dude on the planet. You’re just as horny and disgusting as the rest and that’s okay, because I know it’s different with you. I like the dirty stuff because I know the sweet stuff will follow.”

And just like that Grace feels lighter. He blushes almost bashfully, which is ridiculous after everything you’ve done tonight. “Y-yeah.”

You lean in close, brushing his nose with yours. You whisper against his lips, “I want everything with you. I wanna see all the sides of Dr. Ryland Grace. Especially the ones you keep so locked up. So…let go a little, yeah?”

That last part, it carries differently. Weighted. Like a challenge. A dare. You raise both eyebrows and smirk, and it moves something in Grace. His voice drops into a tone you’ve never once heard come from him, and with it, a single command.

“Strip.”

—

(GUYS, I’m so sorry again that this took so long. But we’re back baby!! One of my favorite things about writing for Grace is finding the balance. He’s really a mix of everything. Sweet and submissive but also far from innocent, and we see him grapple with that. I hope you guys like this part. Next part? Grace let’s go lmaoooo. 🫶🏼 if there’s any mistakes, I’ll catch them later. I just really wanted to post this already lol.)

Let Go A Little

The Inevitable pt.3 | pt.1 is here | pt.2 is here

Summary: It’s been two weeks since that day in his classroom, since Grace fucked you over his desk and then asked to take you out. The plans are made. He intends to take you on a real date. The problem? Grace is feeling impatient before it can show up.

tw: m/f, (18+), professor/student relationship, needy Grace, jealous Grace, fantasizing, masturbation, sexting/phone sex, Grace is a secret freak and is ashamed but gets off to it, orgasm denial, intense bj, dirty talk, begging, probably more I’m forgetting.

Note: I am so so sorry this took so long. Pls enjoy.

—

Grace had been staring at the same page of his book for the past half hour, having read the same paragraph six times already. He still couldn’t tell you what the author had said.

He wanted to care. For goodness sake, he was one hundred and eighty pages invested, but his brain just wouldn’t work tonight. How could it?

When you flashed through his mind, behind his open eyes. It was like reels of old film. Clips and snapshots of you, repeating and rolling on a loop. Your laugh, your smile. Your mouth.

Grace groaned out loud, slumping further down into the covers of his bed. The book was tossed. It landed somewhere with a thump, the too boring pages snapping shut.

He didn’t know what was wrong with him.

He looked to the ceiling, and not that he felt like he really had a choice anymore, his mind started to drift. To you.

To this morning in the assembly hall. There was a ceremony held for the college’s debate team. Ribbons and a small carved plaque, honoring the regional win.

The memory of you grinning so wide, and waving to your friends in the audience played through his mind. Grace had watched as they placed the ribbon on your shirt, and draped the team’s banner across your shoulders. The bright flash of a high tech camera taking your picture. One Grace was sure was already published on the school’s website.

He’d done his best not to stare too intently, but not too little either. He didn’t want to seem uninterested because that was never Grace before. Before you’d slept together.

Truth is, Grace wasn’t sure how to act now, like he would have before. It was different.

Like this morning, in one of the moments Grace allowed his eyes to linger on you the team, and your eyes caught his in return. All Grace could see was you, spread out on his desk. His mouth devouring your pussy. The way you felt beneath his lips, his tongue. The way you begged him to help you come.

“Uggghh,” Grace groans, squeezing his eyes shut and flopping back onto his pillow. He feels his cock twitch. Feels the weight of it growing heavier where it’s resting against his thigh, still tucked inside his pajama pants.

This wasn’t like Grace. He was respectful, and polite. He was the guy that woman would place in the category ranked farthest away from bad boy, and he’d like to think, dog.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t a man, and didn’t have needs, but it had never felt like this. He had already done things out of order by fucking you first, in his classroom nonetheless.

He should be thinking about your future date, planning it. Imagining the flowers he’ll buy and the dish he’ll prepare.

Not you…bent over…your ass cheeks spread and his—

“Alright, okay.” Grace speaks to no one, to himself, out loud, trying to physically shake the thoughts away.

It wasn’t like jerking off was out of the question. Grace wasn’t against it by any means. It was a regular and healthy part of his routine. Something about tonight felt different though. Like something had its teeth in Grace, and wouldn’t let go.

His fingers itched for his phone. The screen lit up brightly, reflecting back into his glasses. He lazily thumbed through until he pulled up your text thread.

You’d exchanged numbers that day, obviously. There wasn’t much in the thread. A few dorky memes you shared back and forth, and a sweet message confirming the future date.

Grace lays there, staring at the screen.

How could he follow that up with what he wanted to say right now? How was Grace even considering this? Sexting you. Cheese and crackers, he’d never even sent a sorta dirty text, let alone a dick pic.

He wanted to though. He wanted to take his cock out, and stroke it. He wanted to take a video and let you hear what he sounds like when he’s alone and fucking his fist.

Grace looked to the numbers at the top of his phone. They show it’s almost eleven. He wonders if you’re still out celebrating.

After the ceremony this morning, a commingling of students, faculty and families were littered throughout the halls. Grace hadn’t planned on it. Seeing you. If anything, he was sure to miss you in the chaos of the crowd. You hadn’t.

You ended up dwindling closer and closer together, passing through groups of people who stopped to speak and give their congratulations. Eventually, the both of you had ended up in a nook by one of the auditorium doors.

“Congratulations. You guys did amazing,” Grace said, giving a little awkward dip of his head towards your trophies. It wasn’t like you were any better. He watched the blush spread to your cheeks almost instantly. The quiet shuffling of your shoes as you whispered thank you.

“I had a lot of great professors, you know. Mrs. Calloway. Professor Xavier. Dr. Elle…”

You said this with a shrug of your shoulders, your eyes cast to the floor, but there was a teasing, playful lilt to your voice. Grace narrowed his eyes and smirked as you continued with your little list. Naming every one of your professors but him.

You couldn’t hold it in any longer, your smile and giggle spilling over when your eyes finally catch his again.

“Oh, okay. I’ll just go fudge myself then,” Grace laughs.

Your laughter tapers away then, and it’s instant. That spark. Something feline and dark. Something dangerous. Your voice slips lower, just for him. “Only if I can watch.”

It catches Grace off guard, and before he can find his footing to respond, you’re not alone anymore. Another professor saddles up beside Grace, and one of your…teammates?

“Hey, ready to go soon?”

This guy steps in close, his voice light and directed to you. Grace watches as his hand settles near the small of your back. David? Devin? Grace doesn’t remember, but yeah, he’s on the debate team. He’s wearing the same ribbon.

“Going out to celebrate?” The professor to Grace’s left ask with pride and amusement, and that awe only reserved for the youth and the idea of their young antics.

David or Devin or whatever, smiles with all thirty-two of his perfect teeth, this Tom Welling looking motherfucker, and nods. “Yes, sir. Nothing crazy of course. It’s just the team and some friends going out to celebrate the season.”

He actually does slip his arm around you this time, around your shoulder. He pulls you inward, in a playful jest kind of way and you both laugh. The other professor does too. Grace realizes he hasn’t said or done anything.

It’s the last thing he remembers from this morning. The sight of you walking away into the throng of the crowd with that guy. That, and what you said before.

Grace stares at the phone and wonders if you’re still out, with what’s his name especially.

He wonders if you really would like to watch him fuck himself.

Grace finally reaches down and palms his hard dick through his pants. He lets his fingers curl and give a semi stroke.

His eyes flutter shut and he knows he’s losing control already, all the blood rushing from his brain to his cock, because Grace isn’t smart about it. No. He types out the first thing he thinks and hits send before he can think at all.

Do you still want to watch?

He groans to himself. In embarrassment and pleasure, his fingers tightening. What the fuck was he actually doing? Grace had never done this before.

Just before the panic could soak into his body, your number flashes across the screen. He sucks in a sharp, cold breath at the words you sent back.

Oh fuck. Please???

They read desperate. Insistent. Grace’s mind feels sluggish and heated. He’s trying to calculate if there’s any way you could’ve misunderstood him, what he wants.

You seem so sure.

Before he can even think of what to say next, his phone vibrates. Again, and again.

Grace???

Let me see. Can you send a picture??

Wait wait no a video

“What the fuck,” he whispers to himself. His dick throbs, bouncing and pushing against the fabric of his pjs.

They’re shoved off the sharp, lean points of his hip bones and down his thighs before Grace even realizes what he’s doing. He immediately grips his cock and picks his phone back up from where he laid it on his chest. He reads your messages again.

You’d never texted like this before. Persistent. Repeatedly. Given you hadn’t exchanged very many, maybe he was wrong, but something felt different. Your tone. The multiple punctuations. The speed, like you were firing them off.

Regardless, his cock leaks.

Grace successfully late night sexted you, like some horn-dog douchebag frat bro, but you answered, almost immediately, and those second and third messages erased any doubt that you were confused. You typed his name for cryin’ out loud.

No, you weren’t confused. Those messages, they sounded like you were begging, and that thought alone has Grace spreading the pre from his tip to the thick base. He strokes himself fully for the first time.

His other hand holds the phone as he thumbs open the camera app. Grace may have not sexted anybody else before, but he has recorded himself plenty of times. For his own pleasure. Videos of himself jerking off, using toys, fingering himself…

Getting the right angle is easy. Grace knows how and where to hold the phone, but his hand shakes anyway. With the knowledge that this going to you. That you’ll get a video of his hard dick on your screen and watch it, maybe touch yourself to it.

He hits record and focuses back on his other hand, fisting his cock a little slower than what his body is demanding. Grace keeps his grip tight, letting the camera catch the way the head pushes through and peaks out. The light from his bedside lamp is low but it’s enough to catch the shine, the sparkle of how wet he already is.

With labored breath Grace hits send, watching the bar at the top of the screen race across and then vanish. Delivered.

He waits. He teases himself in the meantime, his fingers slipping down to play with his balls. They’re so incredibly sensitive. You barely touched them last time before Grace had snapped. He thinks of your mouth on them.

The second your phone vibrates again, you don’t dare look at it until you’re standing in the bathroom stall. The latch slides closed with a metal on metal click.

There’s an unsteady stream of girls coming and going, laughing too loudly and reapplying makeup in the mirror. It’s a bar after all. If you’d been anywhere else, somewhere a little fancier, you’d second this decision for sure. Afraid of standing out and disrupting the flow of available stalls.

That wasn’t the case here. This was a dive bar and half of them were drunk. If anything, they’d assume you were too, locking yourself in here sick.

You weren’t though. Sick or drunk. That’s not to say you weren’t heavily buzzed. Beer was safe. You’d stuck to that for the majority of the night, until your group lined up the shot glasses on that sticky bar top. It was flowing through you now. Warm and gentle. The burn and the salt sitting in your belly.

You lean against one of the walls, sliding one of your headphones in, thankful they’d been left in the pocket of your jacket. Extremely thankful, as the first second of Grace’s video is filled with a soft whine.

Spit pools across your tongue, flooding your mouth at the sight of Grace stroking his cock. It’s pink and slick, and big. It’s like your body has its own physical reaction too. Your pussy clenching around nothing, whining herself, and remembering exactly what it felt like to have that buried inside.

Your entire body flushes too hot. You watch the video back once more, before flipping to your camera app and propping it up on the toilet paper dispenser.

The angle is atrocious but it works. You lift your shirt, bunching it beneath your armpits, and pulling your bra down.

When Grace’s phone goes off again, he swears he could come from the thumbnail alone. It’s blurry and full of movement, but your tits are out and you’re playing with them.

He mindlessly strokes himself as he presses play. Almost immediately, Grace’s grip is tightening as he realizes just where you are and that you’re doing that, there.

Your back is to some wall that’s decorated with numbers and names and suggestive doodles, overlapping and messy. It’s the noise surrounding you that sends a deep pulse through Grace. There’s voices. They’re muffled but ranging in volume, and completely separate from the show you’re putting on.

You’re still out.

You’re in public, and they’re completely unaware of what you’re doing on the other side of what Grace deduces is just a flimsy bathroom stall door. He chokes out a whine and uses his thumb to rewind the video, his eyes refocusing on you.

The video is at an angle, pointed upwards. You’re taller than whatever you have your phone sitting on and Grace fucking loves it. It gives the illusion of you in his lap again, your chest just slightly higher than his mouth.

He gets the most insane underside view of your tits. The shape and the weight of them and how they sit. His palms ache to feel them again. He gives himself a single tentative stroke, refusing to rush.

Grace watches as you bring your hands to your chest, groping yourself gently and then rougher. He can’t see your face. The frame cuts off just by your mouth, but good grief, he can see your neck and the way it extends back.

You’re either really into this or putting on one hell of a show, leaning back against the dirty wall without a care, thrusting your bare chest towards the camera.

Just in the way you have yourself exposed has sparks popping off in Grace’s veins. It’s haphazard and reckless and it’s exactly what Grace has wanted to do. What he would do to you if he was there.

You pinch your nipples, twisting them and tugging and Grace’s mouth waters. He imagines sucking on them again, soft and lazy, and unhurried. He thinks about waking up first and taking his time to suckle each one slowly, until you wake up that way, crying for him but letting him continue. You let him until they’re raw and puffy and you’re crying for him to fuck you.

“Oh, ffuck…” Grace whimpers, his eyes glued to his phone screen, fantasies racing wild. He barely registers that his hand is moving again. Faster than he’s let himself all night. Too fast. He’s gonna come from the first damn thing you sent him if he’s not careful.

The last thing Grace sees before he flips back to his own camera is you lifting your tits higher, and instead of wetting your fingers, he watches the spit drop from your mouth, right onto your abused nipple. You do the same to the other and start rubbing it in. They’re shiny and wet and ruined.

The next video Grace takes is far less calm and collected. His fist is a slight blur on the screen, and he’s so far from quiet. He recalls your video and the way you couldn’t say anything. In a way, it made it hotter, watching you touch yourself but hearing those other women in the background. Grace’s words start to get away from him but it’s still only a fraction of what he’s truly thinking.

His voice shakes, splintered and husky and mixing with the wet squelching of his strokes. “Are you trying to kill me? You look so pretty baby, so…so..oh fuck.”

Grace wanted to call you filthy, dirty. To call you those things because you were, half stripped and desperate for him in a public bathroom stall. He doesn’t even remember where he ends the video but he sends it and tries to slow down, to hang on until the next thing you send at least.

When Grace’s phone goes off again though, it’s not a video or a picture. It’s not a text at all. You’re calling.

His breath gets stuck in his chest but he’s answering anyway, before he’s even figured out how to breathe again. It’s why his voice comes out like a croak, throat clicking, like a panting, horny deranged frog. “Hel-clk-Hello?”

The first few seconds of the call is pure noise. There’s countless voices, the shuffling sounds of bodies and shoes moving, glasses clinking and music in the background. It’s becoming softer though.

Grace hears the squeak of hinges and the sound of what he could only assume is an incredibly heavy door slamming shut. You’ve gone outside.

Everything is instantly quieter. The background noise is still there, though muted. New sounds lingers. Tires on asphalt, the clicking of a street light changing color, and a dog barking in the distance. Grace can practically see it.

“Hey. Hi,” you breathe into the phone, right into Grace’s ear. Your voice sounds light and airy, a little raspy, like maybe you’ve lost it partly.

“Hey,” Grace says, softer this time to match, and a little awkward. He cringes at the way he’s repeated himself.

It’s chased by the sound of your laugh though, and Grace’s heart skips even in its racing, pounding state. If sounding like a dork makes you sound like that, maybe Grace is okay with it.

“Grace?”

The sound of his name in your mouth, in that hushed tone, it undoes something in him. The video of you is still playing on a loop in his mind. Grace’s hand had never fully left his cock, only coming to a gentle rest when you called. He strokes himself once again though, the feeling tenfold now that you’re on the phone. He takes a ragged breath in. “Mmngh. Y-yeah?”

“Have you…?”

Your voice is tentative. Soft. There’s a million things you could be asking him right now but Grace can imagine that to be difficult, given the topic and your location.

He can picture it. The way you’re mindlessly pacing the sidewalk, back and forth, just outside the bar. The red bricks behind you, one hand in the pocket of your jacket, phone tucked close to your face. Shoulders drawn. There’s neon string lights from the nearby restaurants and car headlights that every so often cast over you.

Grace licks his lips and plays lazily with the tip of his cock, torturing himself. “Have I…what?”

He hears the way your breath hitches. Your voice drops even lower, barely a soft mumble, your glossy lips brushing the edge of your phone because you have it pressed so close. “Have you come yet?”

Grace doesn’t even bother to hold back his whimper. He squeezes his eyes shut, shame and guilt and arousal flooding his body. His tummy burns with it. Those words coming out of your mouth should be illegal.

“N-No. No, I haven’t,” he whispers.

Your response slams into Grace like a train. “Good. Don’t.”

It takes a minute for the words to reach his brain. Even then, Grace isn’t exactly firing on all cylinders here. He barely and very caveman-like mummers half a word. “Wha—?”

You cut him off. “Give me your address. Please?”

That has Grace fully pausing, his hand falling to his sweaty thigh as he sits up a little in bed. He ask again. Clearly this time. “What?”

What Grace doesn’t expect to hear is your laugh.

Soft and sweet, and a little evil. Like a siren’s song in his ear. “Would you rather come in your own hand tonight or in me?”

Grace stops breathing. He’s choking, stuttering. “Wh—?”

“Or on me. Either one,” you cut in again, the smirk evident through your voice.

Grace finally finds his, the rare explicit dragging and scrapping over his vocal cords. “Fffuccck.”

He pants into the phone, cock temporarily forgotten, cheeks blood red. There’s a hint of shyness to his own voice now. “That’s not…you don’t…that’s not why I messaged you.”

“It wasn’t?” You snicker softy, teasingly. “You didn’t text me because you were hard for me? It was for me, wasn’t it?”

There’s a blunt edge to your voice. Grace doesn’t expect it. For you to say all that, so plainly and that forward, standing out on the street for goodness sake. It makes his head spin and his dick throb. The way you seesaw back and forth between sweetly alluring and slightly harsh, like there’s a grain of humiliation in how you accuse him of being hard and texting you in the first place.

Grace whines softly, giving into the whiplash but still feeling the need to explain himself. The guilt and the shame still burning hot. “Of course it’s for you. I just - it wasn’t my intention to get you to come over.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing?”

He shakes his head quickly even though Grace knows you can’t see him. His messy bed hair falls even more across his forehead, into his eyes. “No! No, it’s not. I just don’t want you thinking I texted just for that. To get you here.”

You laugh again. “So phone sex is excusable but an actual booty call is where you draw the line, Dr. Grace?”

His cock twitches where it lays on his belly. Hearing his name, his title, on your tongue again, and without any nerves this time. The way you’re playing a dangerous game saying it out loud in public, in a college town, where anyone could overhear. It only makes Grace feel like he’s losing more and more of his grip. “N-no. That’s not…I just don’t want you to think I’m—.”

You cut him off again. Your voice is steady and solid but with a soft plea layered beneath. “Grace? Your address.”

And Grace gives it. He leans into it. You. The feelings. He gives you his address and it’s not but a moment before he hears tires and a car door, and his address being recited to the driver. Who in return, offers simple pleasantries and a list of his uber accommodations. Water, snacks, music or no music?

The interaction, though brief, still leaves a gap of momentary silence between the two of you. Grace’s mind starts to swirl, and it hits him suddenly. You’re coming here. Here.

It hadn’t really sunken in yet, and frankly still hasn’t, and now everything suddenly feels like it’s dialed up to eleven. Rushed. Frantic. Grace has never felt this turned on this fast before, especially given the last ten minutes of cool down. His cock had never gone completely soft, but Grace wasn’t anywhere close to the edge either.

Until now.

Like the snap of two fingers, or flipping a light switch. That quick and Grace feels like he’s right there again. The thought of you on your way to his place. That all the things he was imagining, he could have again. Tonight.

Without thought or care, Grace spits into his palm and reaches for his dick. The pace he sets isn’t for teasing or drawing this out while he waits. It’s fast and desperate with the intent to make himself come before you get here. It’s audible, even through the phone. Not that that matters because Grace lets out one needy whimper after another.

There’s silence and then your voice again. That sharp edge is back, but almost inquisitive this time, rhetorical, like you can’t quite believe what you’re hearing, and that he’s disobeying what you said before. “Grace?”

A soft cry. An actual cry. Grace doesn’t stop. His cock throbs in his hand, his heels dig into the mattress. He can feel his ball sac drawing up tightly, and a sweet phantom pressure around his asshole, twitching and begging too. For a second, Grace wonders if you would touch him there as well and he cries out again. He hiccups, “I’m - I’m sorry, I can’t help it…”

“I thought I told you to stop?” Your tone is so casual, almost upbeat. Humorous but not really. It’s only for show, to not draw attention from the driver.

Grace starts begging immediately. His voice cracking. “You have to let me come first. I won’t - fuck, I’m too close. I won’t last when you get here.”

“You will, just not before I get there.”

But it’s like Grace didn’t even hear you. He’s babbling at this point, thigh muscles burning, shaking. His brain is fuzzy and warm, his mouth and words flowing free and fast. Maybe a little too free. “I can’t believe you’re on your way. I didn’t plan…I didn’t mean to…are you sure you wouldn’t rather st-stay and hang out with your friend?”

Oh. Uh oh.

Grace didn’t mean to bring that up. Truly. Honestly.

Silence follows but Grace can hear it, the leather snap of your attention, zeroing in and picking up on the cadence of how Grace said it.

Your next words are slow. Intrigued. “And who might that be?”

Fuck it, Grace thinks to himself and he lets his mouth keep moving. “David or whatever the fuck his name is.”

It lands heavy between you, but your response blows even harder. “When I get there, you’ll realize just how ridiculous that statement is. Now wait for me.”

Grace actually yells, something incomprehensible, voice ripping from his throat as he simultaneously rips his hand away from his cock.

He physically rolls over in bed in attempt to prevent himself from touching again, and regrets it instantly. The sheets are a dry rough drag against his dick. Grace’s entire body, every muscle from his head to his toes lock up. Oh no.

He feels the very start of his orgasm breaking, rising up the base of his cock. He grabs himself, squeezing until there’s tears in his eyes and his orgasm is stopped. Just barely.

As Grace’s senses reload from the denial, all he hears on the other end is your smug laugh and the words, “Good boy.”

“Oh, fuck you…”

Grace says it without thinking. He sounds half dead, throat scratchy. You laugh at him again. “Promise?”

He replies weakly, “mmhn, yeah.”

“Good, ‘m here.”

Oh fuck.

Grace gets out of bed on shaky legs, but not before he has a dilemma on how the fuck he should answer the door. Does he just pull his pjs back up and have them ridiculously tented and goofy looking? Does he forgo them all together?

No. Absolutely not. Grace might be a slut, and more kinky than he wanted to admit, but he’s not answering the door with his dick out. 

And by this point, his phone is back on the nightstand. You ended the call, promising to be up in a few minutes. You were. The elevator ride was short and finding his apartment number was easy.

Grace’s heart pounds when he hears the soft sound of your knuckles against his door. He tries to adjust himself one last time, running his fingers through his messy hair and pulling down his sleep shirt in a half attempt to look less ruined.

The door is only halfway open before you’re on him, and in his arms. No words. No hi or hello. Just your lips and your arms around his neck, and then your warm, soft tongue in his mouth. Grace sighs, sinking into it.

Only for it to be ripped away.

He groans. Your warmth evades him, snatched away faster than Grace can reach for you and pull you back. He tries but he feels sluggish and you’re moving desperately. Dropping hard. You’re falling to your knees.

Grace groans for a different reason this time. The sight of you on your knees, and the way you yank his pants down, the cool air washing over his skin. You’re pulling and pushing at him, even on your knees and Grace’s back eventually meets the wall by the front door.

It shoves the air from his body, stealing his breath, and before Grace can inhale again, you lean in, swallowing his cock completely.

It punches Grace in the gut. He gasps.

It’s not like before, like how you were in the classroom, where Grace had shallowly fucked your warm mouth two weeks ago. He couldn’t move his hips at all this time. You had them pinned to the wall, insistently pressing your body’s weight into him.

You bury your face into his pubes, the bridge of your nose digging in and poking his bladder. You stay like that. No bobbing or sucking. Just your throat. Tight and hot and constricting around his dick every time you swallow.

Purely unintelligent noises pour from Grace’s mouth. “Agggnughmf.”

And it was over before it started really. Grace had been so close before and seeing you so hungry for it now. Yeah, Grace was coming. You eventually pull back once, sucking and licking at him as he slides out of your throat. Only for you to fall right back down.

A true single thrust straight down your throat, and Grace sees white. His balls pulsing, pumping.

You pull back just enough to collect some in your mouth and Grace apparently has one last brain cell left to slur, “Don’t swallow. Don’t swallow, baby, please. C’mere.”

He’s already sliding down the wall, part his own volition, partly not. His legs are giving out. You knew what he was asking for though, pulling off and bringing your full mouth to his.

Full of his own come, still warm. You push it from your mouth into his by the sweep your tongue. Some leaks out, smearing, but you both audibly swallow, drinking it down.

The pure filth of it all sends a second wave. Grace whimpers, grabbing at his cock as he comes again. It splashes between you, painting your shirt and jeans a little and the floor too.

Which Grace falls to almost immediately. His bare ass hitting the cold floorboards. You right there with him. Both gasping and catching your breath.

When Grace finally comes back, you’re already looking at him, eyes dark and starry. Your lips are puffy and wet, his come actively drying down your chin. He reaches up and swipes his thumb through the mess, almost apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “For what?”

All of Grace’s fears come back. His voice is soft as he explains. “I don’t know…I haven’t even taken you on our date yet and here I am sexting you and now, now you’re here…”

“So? I wanna be here. I wouldn’t be if I didn’t want to.”

He nods quickly but gently, “I know. I just don’t want you to think I’m a—.”

“What? A freak, Grace?” You laugh sweetly, though your voice is wrecked, undeniably sounding like you were just deep throating cock. Sweet, Grace’s ass.

You shake your head at him and roll your eyes. “You think sexting me or us hooking up is wrong but it’s not. You are and you aren’t like every other dude on the planet. You’re just as horny and disgusting as the rest and that’s okay, because I know it’s different with you. I like the dirty stuff because I know the sweet stuff will follow.”

And just like that Grace feels lighter. He blushes almost bashfully, which is ridiculous after everything you’ve done tonight. “Y-yeah.”

You lean in close, brushing his nose with yours. You whisper against his lips, “I want everything with you. I wanna see all the sides of Dr. Ryland Grace. Especially the ones you keep so locked up. So…let go a little, yeah?”

That last part, it carries differently. Weighted. Like a challenge. A dare. You raise both eyebrows and smirk, and it moves something in Grace. His voice drops into a tone you’ve never once heard come from him, and with it, a single command.

“Strip.”

—

(GUYS, I’m so sorry again that this took so long. But we’re back baby!! One of my favorite things about writing for Grace is finding the balance. He’s really a mix of everything. Sweet and submissive but also far from innocent, and we see him grapple with that. I hope you guys like this part. Next part? Grace let’s go lmaoooo. 🫶🏼 if there’s any mistakes, I’ll catch them later. I just really wanted to post this already lol.)

The guy is smart as fuck, but sometimes you wish he would just shut his trap. He was bit of an ass. What can you say? Sigh.

You only became friends because you were paired up for a group assignment. You would never voluntarily approach a guy who once pushed a beaker off the table in a lab out of frustration. Luckily, the beaker was empty and so was the room, but you caught the whole thing through the window while passing by. So yeah, his first impression wasn't exactly stellar.

But the more you saw him around, the more you realised he wasn’t all bad. He had two friends. It was a total shocker at first that he was even capable of keeping them, but you eventually saw that he was loyal. At least, from the distance you witnessed it. He made them laugh and always had their backs. Everyone has different sides, and that applies to him as well, you suppose.

When your group assignment first started, you two barely spoke. Then, another guy in the group expressed a slightly different opinion on a section of the topic, and Ryland went bonkers. He called the guy names and stated he’d rather work alone than with someone who lacks basic scientific knowledge. Before the argument could completely blow out of proportion, the rest of the group intervened.

Later, you found Ryland alone, shoving books into his backpack while his pens and papers kept scattering all over the floor. You silently started helping him pick them up. He suddenly muttered a soft, "Sorry". "You had to deal with a tense environment" he added, pausing, "but..."

And just like that, he dived right into a lecture on why the guy was wrong, going off about every single scientific fact related to the topic. He didn’t even give you a chance to breathe, let alone speak. Okayyyyy, you thought, this is brand new.

"People are allowed to have their own opinions, you know" you finally said after he had ranted for God knows how long.

"They are" he surprisingly agreed, before continuing, "only if their opinions aren’t absolute crap". There it was. But when you burst out laughing instead of calling him an asshole, you could see the tension drain out of his shoulders.

After that, everything changed. You started talking more, walking to class together while debating the daily lecture topics, and grabbing coffee between classes. You called each other whenever either of you got stuck on a formula, only to end up talking about completely random things later.

The more time you spent with him, the more you realised he is a genuinely good guy. He just comes with terms and conditions. He’s funny in his own dorky way and surprisingly understanding, except for the rare times you question something he considers fact. Even then, he has never snapped at you. You quickly realised he actually controls his temper when he cares about the person. He is helpful. No ifs, ands, or buts.

And he’s cute. Not that you would ever admit that to his face. His blue eyes crinkle behind his glasses when he smiles at you, and those dirty blonde strands he constantly pushes back are just as stubborn as he is, always falling right back over his forehead. Then there's his style. The guy is clearly always freezing, he wears a long-sleeved undershirt, a T-shirt over it, and a hoodie or jacket on top. Flannels over tees, oversized sweatshirts - you name it. Yet, when his nose isn't buried in a textbook, he's oddly relaxed.

Eventually, he dragged you along to a party his friend mentioned. You didn’t really know what to expect, but it sure as hell wasn't Ryland drinking like it was his last night on Earth. He looked like he was having the time of his life, so you just shrugged and grabbed another drink for yourself.

By the end of the night, you found yourself trapped against a wall. Ryland’s body pressed into yours as his lips dragged a wet trail up your neck to your mouth. When he kissed you, the lingering taste of his rum invaded your mouth, blending with the flavor of your own drink. It was a sloppy, messy, desperate kiss, fueled by the alcohol buzzing in your system. He was vocal, too, letting out low hums, groans, and quiet moans against your lips.

After that night, it became a regular, unspoken thing. You’d always end up all over each other post-party, only to go right back to being friends the next day. Neither of you dared to address the lingering feelings.

That is until his friend finally grilled him about how he really felt about you. Which leads to right now. Sitting in a crowded campus cafe, trying to enjoy your morning coffee while Ryland stares at you.

"I can’t focus" he groans, rubbing his temples.

You take a sip of your coffee, "That sounds like a you problem"

"It’s a you and I problem" he fires back instantly.

You just stare at him over the rim of your cup, raising an eyebrow.

"I-I like you" Ryland says, his face turning a shade of pink, "as more than a friend. I can’t focus because I keep thinking of you, and the thought of you being with someone else someday ruins my entire day"

You freeze, your cup held mid-air.

"If you’re gonna reject me, do it quickly" his knuckles turning white as he grips the edge of the table.

"No" you simply state.

"Not so quickly!" he panics, his eyes widening behind his glasses.

You burst out laughing, the tension disappearing, "No, I’m not gonna reject you, Ry"

He blinks, taken aback for a few seconds, "Oh"

Anyway, uni boyfriend Ryland is an absolute experience.

Time Will Tell

1. A Couple Minutes

pairing: baby daddy!Ryland Grace x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

summary: You had fallen in love with Ryland, all before his whole life came crashing down due to a heated exchange at a certain conference. You break things off, only to learn that you’re having his baby. Things between you and him improve when your child is born, but the lines between what you two were and what could be are still blurred.

tags: fluff, angst, mentions of pregnancy and childbirth, co-parenting, domesticity, depictions of smoking, mutual yearning, unresolved feelings, eventual smut in future chapters

now playing: A Couple Minutes - Olivia Dean

series masterlist / main masterlist / cross-posted on ao3

———

“Only have a couple minutes, it already kinda feels like

Back on your sofa / Of course, I still care

Love's never wasted when it's shared”

———

Ryland Grace was the love of your life.

You first met him through a mutual friend’s PhD graduation party. Your friend knew that both you and Ryland were single, so she introduced the two of you to each other and left so that you could chat with him in private. You quickly fell for his dorky jokes, incredibly handsome looks, and his exceptionally brilliant mind. Unlike the other snobby scientists you had met before, Ryland never made you feel dumb if you didn’t know about something that he knew. He always patiently explained it to you, breaking the concepts down into simpler terms if you were still struggling to understand. 

After a year of dating, he asked you to move into his small apartment in San Francisco, and you agreed. You happily lived with him for two more years, working tirelessly at your 9-to-5 job to support the both of you while he was finishing his PhD. Ryland successfully defended his thesis that year and graduated with a Doctorate in Molecular Biology. Not long after, he found a prestigious post-doctoral fellowship position in his field.

Because let’s be real, Colt doesn’t even attend the same university as you and Ryland. So what the hell is he doing here?

The blame lies on Ryland. He had cancelled their dinner plans, claiming he "had to go to a party". So, Colt took that as an open invitation. After all, what kind of fun could Ry possibly be having without him? That curiosity is what lands him here, standing in a room full of normally uptight, intellectual students finally letting loose.

Colt is currently drinking his third beer of the night, having still not spotted his brother. He isn't sweating it, though. He’s just been chilling, grooving to the music and trying (and failing) to flirt with a few people.

“There you are!” a voice cuts through the music, approaching him. Colt turns just as you slide into his space, a wide smile on your face. “Hey, where’ve you been?” you ask.

Colt looks over his shoulder to see if you are speaking to someone behind him. You let out a soft laugh, your eyes crinkling “Such a dork”

Before he can answer, your fingers slide into his. Your other hand holds a plastic cup, which you raise to take a slow sip. At this point, Colt’s brain is filled with questions. Who is this? Why are they talking to me like we know each other well? Wait, do I know them, or are they just drunk?

“Hey, stranger” he finally manages, offering a crooked smile and hoping his voice reaches you over the music. Either the bass drowns his voice out, or you simply don’t care, because you lean closer. Your eyes blink, trying to force your hazy, alcohol-induced vision to focus on his face.

“What’s this?” your voice softens. Your hand leaves his, your fingertips rising to gently brush the skin just below a tiny cut on his right cheekbone. Before he can even process the touch, you step closer, tilting your face up. “Did you get hurt in the lab, babe?” You frown, your warm exhale hitting his jaw.

It takes a lot to paralyse Colt, but a beautiful (drunk) stranger gently investigating a scratch he didn’t even know he had, at a party he shouldn't even be at, does it. “S’okay” you murmur, staring into his eyes with a sleepy, soft smile, “I’m sure you sanitized it. I’ll kiss it better”

Suddenly, all the pieces click together in Colt’s mind. Oh. Oh, no. They think I’m Ry.

But the realisation confuses him further. Since when was a gorgeous person calling his brother “babe”? And more importantly, since when was Ryland receiving spontaneous kisses at parties? Ry hadn’t mentioned a single word about seeing anyone. Colt is so baffled by his brother's secret life that he doesn't even register you leaning in until he feels the soft pressure of your lips against the cut on his cheek.

Twins must truly share a sixth sense, because Ryland chooses that exact, moment to appear from the crowd.

“Colt, what the-?” Ryland’s voice cuts through. His eyes are wide behind his glasses as his gaze darts back and forth between his identical twin and his partner.

To make matters worse, Colt takes a defensive step back from you, looking like a man who just got caught red-handed.

Startled by the movement, you blink and turn your head toward the voice, then look back at Colt. Your foggy brain finally registers the glasses sitting on the newcomer's face.

“Ry!” you exclaim in glee. You lung forward and clutch his arm, your drunk mind having already forgotten that a mere two seconds ago, you had just kissed the face of a different man.

Ryland stared at his twin, “You wanna explain, Colt?”

“Bro, I swear I am innocent!” Colt raised his free hand, “they literally cornered me and attacked my face with their mouth! It was an assault, Ry. A beautiful assault”

You blinked, your head tilting. You squinted at Ryland, then looked back at Colt, “Wait...why are there two of you? Did the drinks catch up to me?”

"No, babe. Actually, I’m not sure about that because I don’t know how many drinks you had” Ryland sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and adjusting his glasses, “this is Colt. The twin brother I had mentioned long back, who apparently has nothing better to do than drive all the way here to crash my university party”

“Excuse me, I don’t need invitation!” Colt defended himself, crossing his arms and smirking, “and for the record, your partner definitely had too much to drink because they called me a dork. I guess I should’ve figured it out then”

You looked at Colt’s messy hair. Then you looked at Ryland’s (also messy) hair and the frames of his glasses. The horrific realisation finally set in. “Oh my god. I just kissed your brother” You gasp.

“You kissed his cheek” Ryland corrected instantly, his tone carrying a hint of jealousy. “Oh yeah, why didn't you step back before the lips made contact, bro?” He asks Colt.

“Hey, my hands were tied!” Colt grinned, enjoying his brother's irritation, “A gorgeous stranger corners you and kisses your wounds better? You don't say no to that, Ry. It’s called basic manners”

You buried your face against the fabric of Ryland’s jacket, “Please tell me I’m hallucinating”. Ryland wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you against his side.

Colt chuckles, taking a slow sip of his beer. “So” Colt starts with a grin, “you’ve been hiding your gorgeous partner because you knew they’d realise I’m the better choice, obviously”

“I haven’t been hiding anyone!” Ryland grumbles, “we only got together recently”. He looks down at you, then snaps his gaze back to Colt, “And they wouldn’t prefer someone who calls falling down the stairs ‘The Big Bang’” he mutters.

Through the embarrassment of mistaking your boyfriend’s twin for him, you couldn't help but huff out a laugh.

Colt doesn’t even blink, being immune to his twin’s attitude. "Mmhmm, sure, whatever, nerd" Colt teases, stepping closer to gently pat Ryland’s shoulder. He paused, pointing at his right cheekbone as he looks at you, "For what it's worth, babe, the cut does feel a lot better!"

"Get out!" Ryland snapped, though his cheeks were now flushed. Colt winks at you before disappearing into the crowd.

Pilot detected 😏

Chapter 1: Zoodles and Coke Bottles | word count: 7.5k | Chapter 2 | all chapters | playlist

Multi-chapter fic reposted from my AO3 (completed at 40/40 chapters) word count: 273k

tags: slow burn, waitress! reader, childhood friends to lovers, reader has an abusive husband, abusive parents, domestic violence, panic attacks, dream sex, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, angst/fluff

Synopsis: You have known Adrian Chase since middle school and you now work together at Fennel Fields. There has always been a spark there, something unspoken between the two of you.

But unfortunately there has always been a major hurdle in the way of exploring your relationship any further, namely your abusive husband.

While Adrian is none the wiser believing the lies you've been feeding him that you are happy, now that Chris and the crew are starting to stir things up in Evergreen, they begin to bring some things to light about you and Adrian...

Fennel Fields was a dead-end job, but you were currently living a dead-end life, so it was a good fit.

Waitressing there barely paid the bills for the rundown house that you barely lived in.

More so you crept in, skulking around like an unwanted guest while your husband sat glued to his recliner screaming at something on tv be it the game or the news and you prayed that he wouldn't unleash that anger onto you.

Most nights he did, others he collapsed red in the face drunk before he got the chance. Those were far and few in-between and last night had been a doozy.

It was like you were a spectre when you looked into the bathroom mirror in the morning, trying to get ready for your shift waiting tables just to go home and wait on a man who had beaten your face black and blue.

Today it wasn't as bad, you lied to yourself. At least you could cover it up with concealer.

ryland grace x alien!fem!reader | [previous episode]

—established relationship, kissing lessons (?) reader is starfire-like.

THE skittles incident begins during what should have been a completely ordinary afternoon. which for ryland, is usually when the most interesting conversations happen.

you’re in one of the ship’s common work areas together. rocky is elsewhere, probably doing something useful and productive. ryland is technically working, he has several screens open, there are charts, data, calculations, things that are very important.

imagine Grace as a professor who loves using chalkboard

He makes reader write and rewrite "I would listen to you from now on" over and over again cause reader went against his wishes to do something stupid

He pushes them face first into the board to make reader beg for forgiveness

(Forgive me for being like this obv don't write of don't like ily xoxo)

never apologize for speaking your truth, this is SO GOOD.