Jealous Ryland is incredibly pouty, his bottom lip jutting out a little as he watches another guy try to make moves on you. He keeps sighing dramatically, practically begging you to notice his irritation. Throughout the night, he refuses to leave your side, marking his presence with subtle touches - his palm resting warm against your lower back while you converse with others, his fingers tightly intertwined with yours whenever you walk, and his fingertips tracing slow, abstract patterns on your thigh beneath the table while you sit. He is oddly quiet. Then again, he can never truly stay silent, he only speaks when absolutely necessary, which is entirely out of character for a man who is usually a total rambling machine.
When you finally lean in and whisper, “Ry, come on. It’s nothing. I don’t care about whatever he said or is trying to do. I’m here with you, and I’m leaving here with you” the tension leaves his shoulders. It soothes him just enough that he starts talking a bit more, not fully back to his usual energetic self, but getting there.
The second the front door clicks shut at home, he is all over you.
“You only love me, right?” he murmurs, his breath hot against the sensitive skin of your neck.
“He can't trigger the supply of oxytocin to your brain like I do” he claims, practically pressing the words against your lips.
“You’re mine, aren’t you, baby?” he asks tenderly, breathless after absolutely devouring you.
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Which immediately sends Stratt into a stressful spiral because she thinks her lead project scientist is about to become a father on a timeline meant to save the world.
Cue Ryland frantically tripping over his words to explain that he meant an astrophage baby, not a human baby.
All the while he is turning beet red because now the image of a real, actual human baby with you is firmly stuck in his head and his brain is short-circuiting.
Some of Ryland’s middle school students overheard him address the person on the other end of a phone call as “baby” and they immediately screamed, “Ewwww!” Ryland is still trying to make them understand that one day, they will love someone so much that they will call them cute names. In response, the kids countered, “Baby isn’t cute, Mr Grace. Bae is” leaving Ryland questioning everything he has ever known.
One day, you go to the school because Ryland forgot something, and you have the time to drop it off. Even though you are both acting completely casual, the kids see you together and immediately put two and two together. That you are Mr. Grace’s “baby”. Once you leave and Ryland goes back into being the science teacher, the class wastes no time. They instantly start teasing him, with one student asking, “Mr Grace, how did you bag such a baddie?” Ryland is left completely stunned. Before he can even say that their comment is entirely inappropriate, another kid exclaims, “Mr Grace is in loveeeeee!” which causes the whole class to join in on the teasing.
In that moment, he wishes the ground would just open up and swallow him whole. Yet, despite it all, he still loves this chaotic bunch of kids who make his life so difficult sometimes, but also because they are entirely right. He is deeply in love with you.
“Just need to-” Ryland grunts before continuing, “just need to put slight pressure on the carotid arteries.” His index and middle fingers, resting on one side, and his thumb on the other, press into the skin over the arteries on either side of your neck. Your breathing picks up. You immediately feel the restriction in airflow, your eyes fluttering shut as his hips push forward. His eyes are practically sparkling as he watches you under him in marvel, his gaze roams from your neck, currently covered by his hand, to your wet lips parted as you breathe, and finally to your eyes, which are screwed shut.
“The esophagus-” he’s panting now, “is not to be crushed as it’ll obstruct the windpipe.” He does this with precision. As he mentioned, the portion of his palm between his thumb and index finger resting over your esophagus is just sitting there, not pressing down like his fingers on either side. You gasp, feeling lightheaded from the restriction mixed with the sensation of his length pushing deeper into you. The rest of his fingers that aren’t pressing onto your carotid arteries caress the skin at the base of your neck, a soothing action that distracts you momentarily from the fact that your brain is experiencing a temporary lack of oxygen.
He lets out a throaty whimper, feeling your walls squeeze around him. “The carotid arteries supply oxygenated blood to the brain. So pressing on it doesn’t stop breathing, rather results in lightheadedness” he gasps at the feeling of you and the way your body is reacting to him and his scientific ramble. “You feel that, baby? Do you feel woozy? Feel the pleasure heighten?” His hips ram into you deeper with each question, making you whine. His lips drag over your jaw and cheeks. “M’ close. Are you, baby?” he rasps.
In response, you can only moan, caught in the blinding pleasure. You feel him smile against your cheek at this. Your hands move from his hair to his bare shoulders, fingers pressing into his skin. Your hips arch to meet his as you finish. He gasps, feeling your release around him. He releases his hold over your neck, and thrusts a few more times before finishing with a groan. As you both recover and breathing returns to normal, he presses kisses over your neck where he had been holding you.
Ryland is always mesmerised by the way his cock enters you. His blue eyes stay wide and unblinking, looking down to watch your tight entrance expand just to take him in, watching as your slick, warm walls flutter around his length as he pushes deeper. No matter how many times he has been inside you, he gets enthralled every single time. He looks like one of his middle school students who watch in fascination whenever he’s about to show them a cool experiment. Usually, your nails digging into his shoulder blades, your fists pulling his hair, or you pulling his head up to kiss him are the things that snap him out of his daze. He cannot help but wonder how he gets to experience this with you. He feels like the luckiest man in the universe.
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Ryland calls you while he’s tipsy late at night just to tell you he misses you, a slurred, “Jus’ missin’ you”.
You hear some shuffling and creaking, followed by a high pitched “Woah! Sorry” from his side. “The placement of these chairs is not ideal” he mutters, you’re guessing he’s talking to himself right now.
He continues to tell you random trivia, “Y’know, alcohol doesn't make you forget anything. When you get blackout drunk the brain temporarily loses its ability to create memories” Wow. You didn’t know you signed up for a 101 Facts from your boyfriend while his head is hazy but here you are laid on your bed, your sleep completely wiped off. “That’s interesting, Ry”, you chime in just because he lets out a happy hum every time you say it.
After some more rambles, he gasps, “Mmh cold”. You guess a chilly breeze just hit him. “You okay, baby?” you ask. “Mhmm” he hums, “wish you were here with me right now”. His voice is low and sincere despite the alcohol flooding his system making your heart clench in adoration. Before you can say something sweet to him, he speaks again, “Y’so warm, honey. Especially when I’m inside of you”.
Just like that, your sweet thoughts vanish. Your heart rate spikes. “Is that so? Are you wishing I was there to warm you up by letting you stay inside, Ry?” you whisper into the phone. Just as you expected, he lets out a soft whimper. You smile, knowing you have him right where you want him. “Baby” his voice strains, “wanna have you on my lap, feel you clench ‘round me”. Your thighs press together involuntarily. There goes your peaceful night, not that you mind. You never mind when it comes to him and his needy side.
Ryland is always cold. He loves sliding his arms or fingers beneath your clothes and against your skin, using your body heat to calm the chill he constantly feels. He loves when you drag your lips down his neck, your hot breath fanning his skin and causing heat to spread through his body. He loves resting the side of his face against your chest, his ear instantly warming up against your soft skin to the steady thudding of your heart. He thrives on kissing you, the proximity of your face and the warm puffs of your breath make him let out a soft, breathy moan of relief. He loves burying his face between your thighs, pressing deeper and tasting the warmest part of your body as his fingers grip the back of your thighs.
Ryland is literally the kind of boyfriend who refuses to give his hoodie to you when you are out and feeling cold, saying, “But then I’ll feel cold”. But the moment you’re like, “Please, Ry” suddenly you’re wrapped in a fluffy hoodie that’s filled with his warmth and scent.
The need of the hour: a breathless makeout session in a secluded library aisle with Ryland. Getting pinned against the wooden bookshelf, feel the firm line of his biceps shifting beneath his shirt. Swallowing each other’s low moans by kissing deeper, his fingers sliding to your jaw as he tilts your head back to find a better angle. You find yourself completely surrounded by his warmth and the comforting scent of old books. By the time you are done, both of your lips are slick and flushed, his hair is a mess courtesy of your fingers, and a faint mark blooms at the base of your neck thanks to Ryland’s mouth.
Ryland who tastes of coffee when he kisses you every morning before leaving for school. You savor the lingering bitter, slightly smoky flavor of his morning brew as his tongue slides against yours.
Ryland who tastes of a different flavored Skittle each time you kiss after returning home. The tangy, synthetic fruit flavor invades your taste buds as your tongue swipes against his bottom lip, challenging you to guess which color he had last.
Ryland who tastes of minty toothpaste when he joins you in bed and gives you a goodnight kiss. His fresh breath mingles with yours, momentarily clearing your sleepy daze as his lips press lazily against your own.
Ryland who tastes of Rocky ;) Road ice cream when you kiss him just to prove your point after he insisted that his choice of ice cream flavour is better than yours. The sweet chocolate and saltiness of roasted nuts from his scoop mix with your own flavors as your tongue brushes against his cold one. “Mine’s better” you claim once you pull back, the rich creaminess still lingering on your tongue.
Ryland who tastes of you when he pulls up to kiss you after eating you out. The heat of his mouth forces you to taste your own release, combined with the warmth of his saliva, making your head spin.
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A fresh tear trailed down his cheekbone, getting lost in his stubbled cheek. His gorgeous blue eyes were hidden behind his eyelids, squeezed shut as more tears rolled down his face. When he opened his eyes and looked at you, the sight of him was so heartbreakingly beautiful it made you want to give into his pleas. His chest heaved in an effort to regulate his breathing after being denied another release. You patiently waited, your fingers reaching out to catch his tears.
“Puh-please” his voice strained, his fingers clutching the sheets beneath him. “Please what, Ry?” you asked softly, your palm cradling his stubbled jaw while your other hand gently squeezed his length. A smile bloomed on your face when he whimpered due to sensitivity, his eyes fluttering.
“Please let me mmm-” His sentence broke into a throaty moan as your nails dragged down his length. Wiping away another tear that escaped his eye, you prodded, “Let you what, baby?”
You knew full well what he wanted. He had been desperate for it since the moment you touched him, bringing him to the edge with your hands and mouth just to deny him. He had held it together well the first time. However, after the second denial, he was reduced to begging, his voice cracking more with every word. You would have given in much earlier if he didn’t look absolutely breathtaking with tears streaming down his face, wanting nothing more than for you to grant him his release.
“Please let me cum, honey” his voice soft, as he sniffled and leaned into your palm. His stubbled cheek scratched your skin before his soft lips brushed the lines of your hand.
Your eyes raked over his face. His forehead glistened with a thin layer of sweat, his lashes were wet, his eyes and nose were flushed red, and his lips were puffy from biting them. Your gaze caught a stray tear escaping the corner of his eye. Looking at him made your heart race, knowing that all of this vulnerability was for you.
You leaned in, your lips a breath away from his. Your breath hitched as his teary blue eyes locked onto yours. “So pretty, Ry” you breathed. His breath caught in his throat at your praise. His hands moved to your waist, fingers digging into your skin in desperation. You tasted the saltiness of his tears when your lips finally met. He let out a muffled whine into the kiss as your fingers stroke him.
“I-I’ll do whatever you want, baby. Just please” he panted when you pulled back. Pressing a tender peck against his lips, you move where your hand is. “As you wish, Ry” you finally gave in.
You tell Ryland about your day, both of you tangled in bed after calling it a night, his face rests in the crook of your neck. He is completely relaxed as your fingers run through his soft strands, having already finished talking about his own day.
Your lips occasionally brush against his forehead as you speak. Every few minutes, you feel the gentle vibration of his hum over the pulse of your neck, letting you know he’s paying attention.
You pause mid-sentence, feeling his teeth trace your skin, followed by a light press of them. “Mhm? Why’d you stop talking?” his words muffle against you, “M’ listening”. Blinking a few times, you continue talking as his steady breathing hits your skin.
A few seconds later, you feel the gentle pressure of his teeth again. This time you ask him, “Ry, what’re you doing?” He freezes, pulling his head back an inch, he whispers, “Uh sorry, baby. Didn’t realise” making you smile.
You’ve seen him mouth the end of a pen and the handle of his glasses several times while reading, planning lessons, or just lost in thought. Realising he is stimming while focusing on your words, you assure him, “S’okay, Ry. I don’t mind” soothing his hair down.
His lips press against your skin again. You feel his exhale of relief as you pick up right where you left off.
Can I very quietly just like beg and plead on my knees for you to make that headcannon of Ryland Grace and reader with the glasses sliding down? I think you know which one I’m talkin’ about 😏
Preferably a male reader but just GN or even female with very little mention of actual femininity- I just- I need to read smth like that rn- exams are kicking my butt.
If not, that’s totally fine and I’d be more than happy with you just having a good day/ Evening or night and I hope I gave you a giggle at least with the idea of this head cannon again. Cause he’d be so down bad for that type of thing- I can imagine him like, just after reader pushing them up he decided fuck it throws them wherever and just like goes to fucking town.
Anyways- yeah. Please have a good day or night though most importantly and keep up your awesome work!! :)
-L
Hii!!!!! Thank you so much for sliding into my inbox lol! I’m not a good writer by any means, but since you asked so nicely (there is absolutely no need to beg hahaha), I tried to write a little bit 😊 It’s not much, but I hope your exams go easy on you :) All the best and thank you for being so sweet. Please have a nice day/night!
Ryland (Sliding Glasses) Headcanons
Since the day you met Ryland, the way he handles his glasses (or the lack thereof) has been a marvel of its own.
You’ve seen those glasses slide all the way down his nose until they are balancing on the very tip. You’ve seen them dangle wildly from a single ear. You’ve even seen them resting below his chin, with the handles taking full support of both ears. Half the time, the glasses are buried deep in the messy, tangled in his dirty blond hair. They are quite literally everywhere except framing his vision and sitting over his eyes. To you, it’s chaotically endearing.
Most of the times, he tilts his head down and stares at you right over the top frame of the glasses as they slide down the bridge of his nose. Pushing them back up into their proper place has become a total instinct for you. The action is so familiar now that your hand moves on its own before you even realize it. Ryland loves that feeling. He leans into the familiar, gentle brush of your fingers against the tip of his nose every single time you fix them.
You’ve lost count of the number of times he frantically searches for his glasses while they are resting right on top of his head. “Baby, have you seen my glasses? I swear it was right here a second ago...” he’ll ask, sighing in frustration as he shuffles through the papers and heavy books on the table. You just chuckle, reach up, and gently free the glasses from his messy golden strands. You slide them right back down to the ridge of his nose and smile at him. “Right here, Dr. Grace” you whisper. His vision clears up, and as he looks at your smiling face, he thinks about how he loves you.
Your fingers push his glasses back in their place seeing them almost fall off his face because of how passionately he’s ranting about his students using meme language, “And I nearly lost it when they said ‘our planet is cooked’! I mean wha-“ his rapid words come to a halt at your touch. His blue eyes blink at you in confusion as you pull your hand back, waiting for him to keep talking. But his professor fury is gone. He is completely distracted now, his entire attention zeroed in on you.
When you’re riding him, his fingers clumsily try to tug on the frames to pull them off. But you place your hand right over his, stopping his movements and causing the glasses to slide right back up his nose. “Let them be, Ry” you gasp out, your breath catching. Just the knowledge that you love seeing him in his glasses causes his breath to hitch. He lets out a deep groan, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he bucks up into you with a new wave of desire.
The sight of him on his knees in between your legs, looking up at you with his gorgeous blue eyes hazy with desire and love over his frames, makes him look more beautiful than he already is.
The edges of his glasses knock gently against your face when he’s kissing you. His glasses fog up because of your shared breath whenever you’re making out. His vision blurry when his eyes flutter open when you pull back for air. In moments like these, the messy sliding of his glasses is actually very helpful. He just lets them drop lower so he can peek over them and see your flushed face clearly.
You instinctively fix them, the air between you heavy. Your fingers slowly slide down from the frames, tracing the tip of his nose all the way down to his wet lips. Your thumb stops there, giving his bottom lip a soft caress. He lets out a breathy sound that sounds like a broken moan. His mind short circuits, his fingers leave the grip of your hair momentarily to yank the glasses off, discarding them God knows where, he’s not bothered about it right now. Not giving you a second to process anything before diving in, claiming your lips with his again. To hell with a layer in between, he thinks.
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*clears throat* random thought with Ryland’s glasses always sliding down his nose -
Pulling back from the kiss, your heavy breaths mingling, Ryland’s gaze drops to the thin string of saliva connecting his lips to yours as his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose. Your fingers reach up to push them back into place. That gentle, familiar habit of you fixing his glasses only fuels his desire. His gaze snaps to yours, his control breaks, and he crashes his lips back onto yours, letting out a low whimper against your mouth.
