Having this idea for a Ryland x reader fic where reader is like a best friend who gets smashed and admits she thinks about Ryland when she touches herself and she doesn't remember it the next day and he drives himself crazy over it and touches himself thinking about her touching herself over him and eventually they fuck about it
But I have too many on the go at the moment already so someone else please take it 🙏
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HELLOOO i saw u post asking for asks and i cannot get holland march out of my mind i love that man FUCKKKKKKKKK
thinking about playing strip poker or any stripping game with holland and it lasting so much shorter than expected because holland is a weak weak man <3
Strip Poker
(Holland March x reader)
The motel room stank of whiskey, smoke, and the faint (but definitely toxic) damp smell that came complementary with every place Holland and Healy had the budget to stay in. You had accompanied March and Healy on this case; Healy was on a stake-out and said he'd call with any updates. To pass the time, you had begun a game of poker— it was now 2am, and it had devolved into a game of strip poker.
A half-empty bottle of bourbon sat on the nightstand, and the radio played something low in the background. You were sitting cross-legged on the bed, smirking as you watched an already half-naked Holland lose yet another hand.
“Fuck me,” he groaned, staring at his terrible cards like they'd personally betrayed him. “You’re a goddamn shark.”
“You’re the one who suggested strip poker,” you said. “So... strip. Don't be such a sore loser.”
"I'll be naked before your shirt's off at this rate," he grumbled. You blinked at him unsympathetically; he let out a dramatic puff of cigarette smoke and tugged his tie off, tossing it dramatically across the room.
He was already down to his shirt, socks, and boxers; you, on the other hand, had only lost your jeans so far. He was failing miserably to get you naked. The problem wasn’t his poker skills— though those were questionable: the problem was that Holland March was a weak, weak man when it came to you.
Every time you leaned forward, every time you slowly dragged your tongue across your lower lip while thinking, every time you stretched and arched your back just a little… his eyes would glaze over and his mouth would part like he’d forgotten how to breathe, until his cigarette fell onto his leg and burned his calf.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” he accused, swigging Bourbon from the plastic cups you'd picked up on the way.
“I have literally no idea how to cheat in this game,” you said, dealing the next hand.
Three minutes later, Holland lost again.
“Goddammit,” he muttered, standing up and shrugging off his shirt, once crisp, now crumpled and stained with whisky. His chest was surprisingly toned for a man who drank like a fish and exercised exclusively by running away from danger. He tossed the shirt behind him and sat back down, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide.
You raised an eyebrow, his taut boxers being revealed by the lack of shirt to cover them. “Are you... hard?”
Holland didn’t even try to deny it. He just let out a pathetic groan and dragged a hand down his face.
"Christ, Holland, already? I'm still dressed!" You laughed.
“Look, I’m not proud of this, okay? You’re sitting there looking like... that, and I’m only a man! A very horny man!”
You laughed softly and dropped your cards in front of you. You crawled across the bed toward him, Holland’s eyes tracking your every movement like a starving man.
“We’ve only been playing for fifteen minutes,” you teased, straddling his lap as he sulked against the headboard. You could feel exactly how affected he was through his pants. “I thought you’d last longer than this, March."
“Yeah, well,” he hurriedly exhaled the last puff of his cigarette and stubbed it out on the nightstand, hands immediately sliding up your thighs, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since Healy stepped out the door— before then, even. I had a hard-on on the drive over just thinking about being alone with you.”
You laughed and flopped forward onto his chest, legs still pinning him either side. "You're something else, mister." You raised your head, serpentine, to brush your lips against his ear. “Why don't we do something you're good at?”
Holland made a broken sound in the back of his throat — half groan, half whimper — and flipped you onto your back so fast you actually gasped in surprise. His smoky mouth was on yours a second later, bitten lips messy and desperate against yours while his hands roamed everywhere.
“Fuck that stupid game...” he mumbled against your lips, using one arm to swipe the cards off the bed whilst grinding against you. “I forfeit. You win. I lose. Whatever. Just let me—” he groaned as you palmed him through his boxers, already damp with precome and straining dangerously.
You grinned, threading your other hand through his messy blond hair and tugging. “Can't even handle a little teasing?”
Holland groaned, burying his face in your neck as he yanked your underwear down your legs with no regard for grace.
“I am a weak man,” he admitted shamelessly, voice muffled against your skin. “And a man who’s been thinking about this for weeks. Now shut up before I come in my pants like a fucking teenager.”
You laughed again, but the sound quickly turned into a moan as Holland finally stopped talking and put his mouth to much better use.
do you guys think eridian clothes are made out of a sort of sound proof/sound muffling fabric or is it more like a fashion statement to hear the different layers. like is the point covering up their carapace in some way? i'm trying to figure out if movie rocky's penchant for being naked is more "this is a sort of social faux pas" or "if you weren't the savior of erid you would be arrested for public indecency"
ME PERSONALLY, I believe they are polite to wear but not necessary. But highly encouraged. And for partial sound muffling, so you are less likely to hear others internals/digesting/etc or possibly to muffle your own hearing, like to make yourself less overstimulated in a crowded place? with the bonus of having utility (pockets, etc).
But I say choose whatever is funnier. So please arrest that rock for public indecency.
kiss me — ryland grace x f!reader ; u and ryland and a very heated makeout session turned more while rocky is still asleep (1.0k words)
18+ !!!! mdni !!!! this is smut .. like full on !!!! well it starts as making out & dry humping but it escalates fingering, riding, kissing ur boobs
(note. idc yes i am freak. yes they are supposed to be watching rocky sleep but likeee come on they gotta make use of the time . Also this is my first time writing smut so don’t make fun of the messenger)
Ryland Grace is so kissable.
Extremely kissable with the red hue on his cheeks, and the way his blonde hair is so disheveled from the stress of pulling, and the way his glasses are falling from his face.
He makes no effort to fix it, though.
His focus is entirely on you, and how his fingers feel buried into the dip of your bare hips after he’d hiked up your shirt quite a while ago, and your swollen lips.
You’d give anything to continue pressing your lips into his for the entirety of your life. And if not for the rest of your life, then at least for a couple more hours while Rocky is still asleep.
You’re supposed to be watching him. In your defense, you still are, just with the major distraction of Ryland and his eager mouth despite his shy smiles. One thing led to another, and now here you were on his lap, making out with him for what seems like an hour while Rocky remains unaware just in the distance.
One of his hands moves to your jaw, readjusting himself so he can continue to devour your mouth. You laugh a little at his desperation.
“Been wanting to do this for so long.” He’s muttering, moaning into your mouth.
“But Rock’s always listening.” His words are slurred, and he whines when you pull at his hair, when your fingers tangle into his messy tufts. “Never get the chance to have you like this.”
Finally, he pulls back, parted mouth and glazed eyes flickering from your shirt to your face. “Can I take this off, baby?”
There’s a tug on your shirt when he asks, and Ryland is eager to throw it away when you nod your head at him. He places his hands back where they’d been on your hips, then slowly, he runs his hands over your stomach and your tits.
“So beautiful.” He says, breathy, lips parted and staring unashamed. “Couldn’t believe it when I first woke up.”
He presses his lips back on yours, quiet groans and whines leaving his lips, and he’s completely unrestrained because he can finally be loud. His lips start following a trail down from your mouth, to your neck, before latching onto your breast.
You moan out at the sudden feeling in his mouth, at how his tongue moves over your nipple, at how he sucks so well. He switches to the other, giving each breast equal attention. “Such pretty noises. Wanna hear more.”
The way he mumbles against your tit sends vibrations all over your body, makes you clench your thighs around him, makes you roll your hips against his when you feel a persistent poke on your thigh from where you are atop of him. And the more you move, the deeper and drawn out his moans start to become.
He’s hard and harsh on any skin he can latch his mouth onto, the sensation of you dragging yourself against him feeding him enough to continue pressing kisses on your collarbones, your neck, your chin, your ear.
He’s gripping your hips tighter the more you grind on him.
“Fugggg—“
His eyes are shut close, and he’s squeezing your hips to slow down your movements because he’s afraid he might come already.
He doesn’t want to yet.
“Want your fingers in me. Please.” You pull your lower lip between your teeth, and you’re ill-prepared for the way his hand slips through the fabric of your bottoms, one finger tracing over your wet cunt before moving to rub slow circles on your clit.
You squeeze your eyes shut as he slips a finger inside of you, and then two, until you’re grinding on his fingers, head lolling back and forth as his fingers continue to fuck you until you’re shaking and whining from the sensitivity. “Fuck, yeah, just like that. Ryyyyy.”
Rocky is still asleep, so unaware of the way you’re moaning and panting and fiddling with his hair with your back arched. It’s such a filthy sight.
“More, more. Want you.”
“Want me in you?”
“Mhmmm… mhmm. Please.”
He’s so obedient, so eager to fuck you. Because in less than a second, your bottoms and panties are discarded, way too close to where your friend lays motionless, and Ryland moans louder than he ever has when he slips the head of his cock inside of you.
It’s immediately overwhelming. He was already having a hard time lasting when you’d fucked with clothes on, but with his cock inching and pushing into you as you sink down on him, he doesn’t think he’ll last more than a minute. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to hold off.
As soon as his entire length is in you, Ryland feezes because fuck, he’s already so close to cumming. If he moves even just the slightest, he’s going to release. It’ll be game over for the poor man.
“Baby, ‘m not gonna last. Fuuuuuh, you feel so good. Wait, wait, wait.”
Ryland has to take his time, build a bit of confidence before he finally starts to move. Deliberately slow, for his own sake, before allowing you to take control and move at a steadier pace.
He’s moaning and chanting your name, staring at how your tits bounce as you’re progressively moving harsher and harsher, and suddenly he’s fighting a losing battle against the pleasure that’s creeping into him.
Ryland doesn’t let the overwhelming feeling of his nearing orgasm stop his hand from reaching down to finish you off, hands working hard and rubbing on your clit so he can hear you finish. So he can see the way your face clenches.
And when you do, when you moan out his name, he finally lets himself unravel.
“Baby, baby, pull out. ‘M gonna cum, uhgh. Baby.”
He’s desperately warning you, face scrunching as he whimpers. There are tears forming in his eyes from the pleasure. His legs are shaking when you remove yourself from him, and his hips stutter one final time before hot white shoots everywhere.
It’s a mess, even coating a bit of the xenonite where Rocky is still peacefully sleeping.
He will wake up a few hours later with no clue as to what had just transpired.
cw: fluff-smut, MDNI‼️, domestic fluff, established relationship, pet names(Ryland calls her Baby), explicit sexual content, soft!dom! Ryland, Ryland curses, desperate and needy reader, lots of whining, alcohol intoxication (reader), dubcon(?), drunk sex (reader initiates), unprotected sex, semi-public sex (car), voyeur, being watched on act, protective Ryland, jealous Ryland, aftercare, emotional vulnerability.
summary: very concerned boyfriend Ryland tries so hard to be responsible, but his aggressively affectionate girlfriend had other plans.
“Hey uh—Ryland?”
An unfamiliar voice comes from the phone.
“Yes? Is everything alright?” Ryland stands up immediately. “And who is this? Why do you have my girlfriend’s phone?”
On the other end, he can hear music blaring, people shouting over each other, bursts of laughter echoing through what sounds like a very packed club.
“Right! I’m Nicole, one of her friends.” The woman laughs nervously.
“It’s Maddy’s birthday and, well… everybody got a little carried away. It’s absolute chaos here, there are way too many people for me to keep track of, and she’s one of them.”
A muffled commotion follows.
“YOU KNOW, RYRY IS SOOOO PRETTY ESPECIALLY WHEN HE’S—”
“Oh my God.”
“His nose? perfect. His eyes? oh i’m gone.” You continue somewhere in the background. “The little frown he does when he’s concentrating? UGH.”
Nicole groaned. “Yeahhh, yeah whatever.”
“I am forever, looking respectfully!” You defended yourself.
Ryland buries his face in his hand.
“Anyway, you heard her,” Nicole continues, sounding exhausted, “she’s drunk and she won’t stop talking about you, so I figured I’d call the responsible adult.”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
“Perfect.”
The call ends.
For a moment Ryland simply stares at the screen.
Then he moves.
He grabs the first coat hanging by the door, nearly dropping his keys in the process, and mutters a quiet curse beneath his breath. He is not panicking.
Just concern.
There is a difference.
Or at least that’s what he tells himself as he fumbles with the lock and heads for his car.
Nicole is guiding you towards the front lobby when the glass doors slid open.
Ryland steps inside.
The flashing lights and pounding music felt foreign now. It has been years since he’d willingly enter a place like this.
Then you spot him.
Your entire face lit up.
“MY RYLAND!” You point at him, shaking Nicole’s shoulder in excitement as you jump around, pulling yourself away from poor Nicole’s hold.
The moment Nicole lets you go, you stumble forward with all the coordination of a newborn baby deer.
“Oh thank God. You’re his problem now.”
You practically launch yourself at him.
Ryland barely has time to brace himself before you collide to his chest.
“Hi, Sugarpie~” You slur, grinning as you boop the tip of his nose with your perfectly manicured finger.
“S-sugarpie…?” He repeats weakly, sounding personally attacked as he visibly short circuits at the nickname, the tip of his ears flushes pink. Before he can respond any further, you cup his face between your hands and kiss his cheek.
“Mwah!”
A giggle escapes you.
Then another kiss. “Mwah!”
Another giggle.
And another.
“MWAH!”
The exaggerated kissy sound makes Nicole wheezes.
You only giggled harder.
Meanwhile, Ryland is rapidly turning red. “Okay, okay.”
“Alright.” His arms wrap securely around your waist before you can tip over, only to simply lift you off your feet altogether.
You gasp. “Oh my God.”
“You can barely stand.”
“I CAN stand.” Your legs kick uselessly through the air.
“See? Standing.”
Nicole snorted so hard she nearly doubled over.
“You’re enabling her.”
“I’m preventing a concussion.”
“Fair enough.”
While you remain occupied attempting to steal yet another kiss from his cheek, Nicole hands over your purse and helps drape your jacket over your knees.
“How did this even happen?” Ryland asks.
“A challenge happened and—”
“You should’ve come with me.” You say out of nowhere, pouting, cutting off Nicole’s explanation.
“I invited you.”
“You did.”
“You said no.”
“You told me it was girls’ night.”
“It’s just event details. Everyone else’s boyfriend is here.” You complain, giving him your best sad face as you trace little circles on his chest.
Nicole nodded solemnly.
“She’s got a point.”
“You’re supposed to be helping me.”
“I am helping. So next time, come suffer with the rest of us.”
Ryland laughs quietly despite himself.
“Yeah. I’ll come next time.”
Your eyes immediately widen.
“Really? Really? Really?”
“Really.”
“I LOVE YOUUU!” And there goes another kiss to his cheek. Nicole makes an exaggerated gagging noise at that.
“Okay, that’s enough. Take your boyfriend home.”
“Bye, Nicole!”
“Bye.”
“Love you!”
“I know.”
“Love youuuu!”
“Please leave.”
Still carrying you with ease, Ryland shook his head and headed toward the exit.
Halfway through the lobby, he looks down on you, finding you no longer paying attention to anything happening around you.
You are only staring at the chandelier overhead with complete wonder.
“Ry...”
“Yes?”
“Look, the ceiling looks beautiful.”
He follows your gaze.
“It is.”
“Not as beautiful as you though.”
Ryland nearly walked into the door, making you giggle and his cheeks burning.
With you squirming in his arms and insisting you won’t be any trouble, he finally makes his way toward the parking lot. But, the moment he reaches his car, Ryland freezes, he pats the side of his pants once, then again. Nothing.
“You have my keys.”
You blink at him. Then smile. “I have your keys!”
“Yes”
“I’m helping.”
“You stole them.”
“Borrowed.”
Ryland sighs.
After a brief negotiation involving three kisses, one attempted bribe, and you insisting his keychain is really pretty, Ryland finally manages to retrieve his keys.
“You’re lucky you’re cute.” He mumbles as he settles you into the passenger seat.
“I know.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“It sounded like one.” It absolutely is.
As he reaches over to fasten your seatbelt, you immediately complain.
“I want to sit with you.”
“You are sitting with me.”
“No.” You frown. “I’m sitting next to you.”
“Yes. That’s generally how cars work.”
“NO.” You point at him accusingly. “I want to sit with you.”
A laugh escapes him despite his best efforts.
“You can’t, baby. I need to drive.”
“Hmph.” You slump back into the seat, arms crossed dramatically over your chest.
For a while, the car falls quiet.
Then your gaze fell to your side, to him. “Pretty.” You mumble.
Ryland glances over, meeting your eyes already on him, heavy-lidded beneath fluttering lashes.
“I said you’re pretty,” You insist, reaching out to cup the side of his face, your thumb brushes softly over his cheekbone, earning a faint hitch in his breath.
Then, before he can gather a response, you’re already reaching for your seatbelt, unbuckling it and scrambling to sit into his lap.
“Wait—”
Ryland catches you immediately, one arm holding you in place. “You can’t do that.”
“I can.”
“That’s not how laws work.”
You stare at him, he stares back.
Then you pout.
“Baby.”
“No.”
“Baby. It’s dangerous.”
You only wiggle out of his hold, somehow managing to settle yourself comfortably on his lap. The triumphant giggle that leaves you tells him this was your plan all along.
“Absolutely not.”
“It worked.”
“It did not work.”
“It did.” You beam, Ryland pinches the bridge of his nose.
“You need to go back to your seat. Come on, baby. This is dangerous.”
You immediately shake your head. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“You can drive just fine.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Ryland realizes this is a battle he’s not going to win through reason. With a resigned sigh, he pulls over to the side of the road, stopping to return you to your seat.
Apparently it doesn’t matter.
Because the moment he tries to move you, your arms immediately lock around him. Like a koala discovering its favorite tree.
“Baby.”
“No.”
“Baby.”
“No.”
“You have to let go.” And you cling tighter.
Ryland tries again.
And again.
At one point he even gets out of the car and attempts to physically relocate you back into the passenger seat. He tries bribing you with food. He even tries shaking you off, which only has you laughing so hard that Ryland starts laughing too.
He is sure he could move you if he really tried, like actually peeling you off him. The problem is that he doesn’t want to risk the force hurting you.
So the two of you remain stranded on the side of the road.
With you straddling his lap, tracing every feature of his face as if he is the prettiest thing ever.
He is pretty, you love pretty.
Each touch is followed by a soft kiss, one after another, giggling and smiling ear to ear at just how gorgeous your boyfriend is.
Ryland is trying very hard to pretend like this is a normal situation.
It’s not.
Not when every few minutes you glance up at him fluttering your lashes before announcing an observation.
“Pretty.”
“I’ve heard.”
“So pretty.”
“Thank you.”
“The prettiest.”
A fond smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
You kiss that smile away before burying your face in the crook of his neck, earning a shaky breath from Ryland .
“B-baby…”
You begin pressing open mouthed kisses along his jaw, nipping and licking playfully down his neck, leaving marks that will definitely be visible later.
A whimper escapes him on each kiss, his hands gently trying to guide you away, but not because he dislikes it, quite the opposite actually. He’s starting to enjoy it far more than he should, he needs to get the two of you home.
“Baby, l-let’s not—Oh~” His words cut off at the roll of your hips.
Your hands drift across his chest, softly rubbing on them, you hum softly as you let your lips linger just on top of his, making him chase the kiss before finally giving it to him, moaning into his mouth as you continue grinding on his already forming bulge.
Slowly drowning in your touch, Ryland’s hands not shying away, softly caressing your waist whilst holding you steady. He is struggling to remember why he pulled over in the first place, with eyes tightly shut, his hips start bucking up helplessly, matching your movements.
Then he feels your cold hand snaking under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin, clumsily trying to push on the shirt he is wearing. And he remembers.
The position you’re in.
The situation you’re in.
The reason he stopped the car.
Quickly catching your wrist, he jerks back off the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours and forcing himself to calm down.
“I-i’m sorry Baby, but let’s n-not—” It’s painfully hard for him to say that, only for his words to be cut off by your whines.
“No~” You eagerly try to lean back in for the already heated kiss, but Ryland turns his head away at the last second. Making you frown sadly at his response.
He saw that, the dejected look.
“Hey, hey,” One hand comes up to cradle your face, just holding you there, keeping a sliver of distance between the two of you as he tries to calm your increasingly distressed state.
You grab that hand and pull it down to your chest.
“Touch me…”
His fingers squeeze on them out of reflex, he can’t even stop himself, the sensation drawing a soft moan from you and Ryland instantly chokes on his own breath.
“Shit—“
His other hand shoots up and grabs his wrist, pulling it away as if it might betray him again if left unattended.
“No…no…” He squeezes his eyes shut.
WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? -He thought to himself.
“Baby, please…” His voice cracks slightly. “D-don’t do this to me.”
“I want you to.” You quickly reply.
His hand goes back to your face, thumb brushing gently across your cheek.
“I know Baby. I know what you want,” The words come out softer this time. “But not now. You’re drunk.”
“No~ i know what m’doing.” You nuzzle into his palm, displaying your sad sad eyes.
The gesture nearly breaks whatever resolve he has left.
“I’m not rejecting you, okay?” He murmurs. “That’s not what this is.”
Your head tilts, resting fully against his hand, eyes remain fixed on him.
Waiting.
Wanting.
“Then why not?” The question comes out small.
Honest.
Ryland lets out a heavy sigh. “Because I care about you.”
“I know. So take care of me...” You frown.
He presses a kiss to your forehead.
“I know what you mean.” A strained laugh escapes him. “And trust me, you’re not making this easy for me either.”
That earns the faintest huff from you, pulling another smile from him.
“But I need you to tell me that again, once you’ve had some sleep, some water, and yell at me for being annoying.”
You grumble under your breath, making Ryland laugh.
“If you still want me after that…” He pauses for a moment, swallowing the thought of it. “then we’ll talk about it.”
The promise hangs on you.
You are unimpressed.
Beautiful.
Ryland nearly groans again.
“Please don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Too beautiful, like you’re trying to kill me.”
A laugh escapes you.
“There she is.” Ryland closes his eyes in victory.
“You have nice eyelashes.”
“Thank you.”
“You should let me borrow them.”
That earns an actual laugh from him, a quiet one, the kind that makes your heart flutter.
Eventually your words become slower, the pauses between them grow longer as your head grows heavier against his shoulder.
Finally silence takes over.
Ryland looks down.
You’re asleep. Still clinging to him, one hand still holding onto his jacket. Still wearing the tiniest smile.
Ryland can’t help smiling back.
For a moment, he simply sits there, watching you. His fingers gently combing through your hair, only when he’s sure you’re sound asleep does he carefully move you back into the passenger seat.
This time, you don’t protest, you merely curl deeper into the jacket draped over your shoulders. Ryland reclines the seat and adjusts your seatbelt, making sure you are comfortable, and finally starts the car.
The rest of the drive home passes in silence.
As the car stops, you stir in your sleep, as if knowing that you’re home.
Ryland glances over, seeing your sleepy eyes slowly fluttering open.
“Hi.” He smiles, the back of his hand brushes gently against your cheek.
You push yourself upright, blinking away the remnants of sleep. For a moment, you simply stare at him, then your gaze drops to his hand resting on your thighs.
Warm.
Without a word, you climb over the center console and settle onto his lap, wrapping your arms around him before burying your face in his neck. Again.
Ryland lets out a quiet sigh, not surprised in the slightest. One arm circles your waist while the other reaches for the bottle of water.
“Here. Water first.”
Reluctantly, you allow him to help you drink a few sips, once he’s satisfied, he sets the bottle aside.
“Let’s go.”
His hand is only centimeters away from the door handle when you practically collapse onto him.
All your weight and determination, arms looping around his neck as you cling to him shamelessly, effectively pinning him back into the seat.
“What is it?”
You only hold on tighter, giving him your best puppy eyes.
Ryland studies your face for a moment.
The stubborn pout.
The way you’re clinging to him like letting go would hurt.
A smile threatens to break through his face.
“You are impossible.”
“No.”
“No?”
You shake your head, then you pull on him, capturing his lips in yours. Clearly not forgetting what you want, and this time you’re determined to make sure you’ll get exactly what you want.
Ryland bites on your lower lips, more like holding them still to not kiss any further, his action makes you pull back with a small whine of annoyance.
“Stop being annoying.”
A laugh escapes him. “I’m not. Come on, let’s get inside.”
“No.” You protest, immediately grabbing onto his face.
“I want you. Here. Now.”
“H-here?”
“Yesss, let’s do it here.” You quickly reply, then pushing on his shirt again, wanting it off him so badly.
“Wai—what are you—“
“You promised.”
“You said we could do it after I got some sleep, some water, and realized you’re annoying.” You remind him, already frowning.
“You actually said that.”
Ryland pinches the bridge of his nose. “I did.”
“But I said we could talk about it.” He did.
“No. No. No. No. No...” You shake your head frantically, horrified that he might actually deny you again.
Every attempt he makes to create distance is immediately undone as you cling to him again.
“Wait—You’re drunk—“
“I’m NOT!” Coming out louder than intended. “Not as drunk.”
“But—”
“I know…I know, I am drunk, but I…I-i’m…” The words die in your throat, frustratingly difficult to explain, because the feeling isn’t logical.
You know you can have him tomorrow.
You know there’s no rush.
You know the two of you have all the time in the world.
And yet you still want him. Now.
“I just…I really need you…”
“Baby—”
“I NEED YOU TO FUCK ME. NOW!” Clasping your mouth with both hands as soon as you realize the outburst is nearly as overwhelming as the desire behind it.
Ryland blinks at that, gulping once before parting his lips to say something but not a word comes out, clearly affected by your demand.
“Please…” You beg, voice so small now.
“I know what I’m asking for.” Your fingers tighten around his shirt, crumpling the fabric between them.
Ryland’s expression softens immediately.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke, just eyes holding each other’s gaze, romancing silently, settling into the warmth that your hearts always knew.
You trusted him completely, he would never hurt you, never take more than what you meant to give.
Ryland searched your face one last time, not for permission, he’d already heard that, but for hesitation. He refuses to become the reason you questioned that trust tomorrow.
Doubt. Confusion. Uncertainty. Anything that suggests you might not actually want this, none.
Then he lets out a slow breath, his hand comes up to cradle your cheek, you nuzzle into his palm again, immediately, eyes sparkling with silent whispers of asking him to come closer.
Inviting as it is, you land a soft kiss in his palm.
“Such a tease...”
The words come out more like a groan than a scold. He brings your face closer to his, close enough to see the detailed streaks of his beautiful blue eyes.
“Just for you.” You say, softly batting your lashes in innocence, making him bite down a smile.
The smile he gives you is helpless. “Yeah?”
Completely. Hopelessly. Fond.
And you know that look.
You know exactly what it means.
He caves in.
A subtle click of the car locking could be heard. The hand on your cheek slides to the back of your head, pressing your lips flush against his.
The movement is immediate, intense. Starved.
Hours of restraint snapping under the weight of your persistence, he’s been holding himself back all night.
Too long.
His free hand settles at your waist, kneading on them softly as he pulls you even closer.
A pleased hum escapes you at the push of his tongue, hearts pounding with anticipation at how he is kissing you like his life depends on it.
The already short dress now rides up to your hips, revealing the thin soaked fabric of your panties, letting your still clothed heat graze on his bulge at every restless squirm. You start grinding on him for more, probably leaving a wet patch on his jeans from how wet you are, gasping out his name every time he answers to your movement.
Your hands fumbling down his coat, tugging on the hem of his shirt, almost whining at him to take it off in your impatience. And he did, pulling them off before playfully tossing them into the backseat, you giggled at that, making him smile more into the kiss.
Fingertips tracing the firm lines of his body, gliding down his chest, following the contour of his stomach. “Mine~” You mumble, it almost sounds possessive.
He definitely hears them, cause you can feel the smile against your lips widens. “Mhmm? Yours.” He murmurs, sounding far too pleased with himself.
Every breath he takes brushes against your lips, colliding with your own, fanning across his skin.
The air inside the car feels warmer now,thick with warmth and unspoken wants. With the windows sealed shut, every breath exchanged trapped inside. Thin layers of fog begin to blur the glass.
Outside, the world grows more distant.
Inside, the space feels smaller.
Closer.
He reaches for the lever beside his seat, reclining them until he’s almost lying flat beneath you, his other hand smoothing over your thigh then up to your waist.
An invitation.
Come here.
Staring up at you before pulling you down to him, the look in his eyes is so tender, so lovingly mismatched with the situation both of you are currently in.
His touch feels so intoxicating in your senses.
Maybe it’s the alcohol in you.
Or maybe just because it’s Ryland.
You can’t stop your giddy fits of giggles, even when they keep dissolving into breathless moans against his mouth, all at the same time.
Not when he’s finally kissing you back.
Not when he keeps pulling you closer.
Ryland pulls off the kiss with a grunt, he guides both of your bodies up again, his hand finds the zipper running down the front of your dress, eagerly pulling them down.
The zipper slides down so easily, you silently thank yourself for choosing this one.
For a moment, Ryland simply stares and he instantly regrets staring.
Beneath the dress is a front clasp bra.
Lacy.
Of course it’s lacy.
“hnngh…” The whimper slips out under his breath, closing his eyes shut just to open them again in a second. He closes them once more, trying to convince himself that looking away is still an option.
It isn’t.
Poor Ryland is so far past saving himself.
Because unlike the zipper, the tiny clasp sitting at the center feels more dangerous. He knows exactly how the clasp works, understanding the mechanics perfectly.
One motion, that’s all it takes.
A single motion.
Pulse racing so violently as he reaches closer.
When his hand finally hovers over the clasp, he breathes so heavily, then he abruptly abandons the whole mission. He folds forward and wraps his arms around you, hiding his face on your chest.
“W-wait.” His voice cracks.
“Wait…”
Taking in a long breath, then another.
Neither helps.
“G-give me— gimme a minute.”
He is actively system failure-ing. Trying and failing to gather whatever remains of his self control.
You watch him quietly.
The bright red ears.
The disastrous breathing.
And the way he’s currently hiding his face on top of the problem rather than solving it.
A smile spreads across your face, somewhere between fondness, absolute adoration and mischiefs.
You should probably feel bad for him.
You don’t.
So while he is having his existential crisis, you unclasp them yourself with him still hiding his face on it.
“Y-you can’t just—” Cuts off, by a kiss on his cheek. “You were taking forever.”
He immediately looks away, biting back his embarrassment.
Unfortunately, he looks back at you.
“Ryland, you’ve literally touched them before.”
He had.
Countless times, actually.
“I k-know…” Of course, he’d never forget how they feel.
That was part of the problem.
He should have been used to this by now, but no amount of familiarity seemed to dull the effect you had on him. It’s the opposite.
Still overwhelming.
Still hopelessly smitten.
Still wondering how it was possible to love someone this much.
Every time you let him this close, he falls a little more in love with you.
Your hands slip between both of your bodies, fumbling with the button of his jeans before trying to tug them lower.
The movement finally pulls him out of his trance.
“O-okay. I’m not… holding back?” He seems to be asking himself as much as he’s asking you, making sure that it’s actually okay for him to.
You lean forward, biting softly on his ear. A gentle warning to stop asking for permission.
Stop thinking.
Just kiss me.
Either way, he gets the message.
Questions abandoned, and Ryland is shoving down his jeans all together with his brief, suddenly moving so quickly, too quick even.
He helps you out of your underwear before laying himself back, cock already standing tall in his hand, grunting softly as he pumps himself ready, taking his sweet time.
“Put it i-in…” You whine, running out of patience from how he is keeping you still, you’re trying to rock your hips forward, but Ryland keeps gliding his length over your entrance, lathering himself in your slick, intentionally not pushing inside, teasing you and himself.
“All pretty for m-me...”
He actually considers, on making you wait a little longer, a little charmed by how adorable you look, how you keep looking at him like every problem you’ve ever had would be solved, if only he’d just take you now.
The longer he looks at you, the harder it becomes to hold his ground.
And honestly? Who is he to deny you now?
Finally, he lets you sink down on him, letting out a strangled moan at how effortlessly he slid right in, his whole body is shuddering at how your wetness engulfs him fully.
“S-so desperate aren’t y-you?” He mutters, shaking his head.
You yelp at the intrusion, pulling up slightly to lessen the pressure, only for him to thrust right up, the movement almost knocks you over, your hands behind you pressed down on both of his thighs to hold yourself up.
His grip feels almost bruising around your hips, holding you still against him, letting you adjust for a while before he starts moving.
“Couldn’t even w-wait till you sobered up properly.”
You nod, agreeing with a stupid grin as he starts picking up the pace, you too start bouncing on him, chasing for more as your body starts remembering him.
The skin slapping sounds filling the car, followed by you moaning even louder. Completely blissed out from the way he stretches you, so full, so good.
Under the streetlights, the car rocks every now and then, swaying along with whatever is unfolding inside. Hard enough to catch the attention of anyone passing by and answer the questioning look before it’s even asked, making them walk away faster immediately.
He reaches out to grab his glasses on the dashboard, farsighted Ryland doesn’t want to miss any little detail that’s playing out in front of him.
Usually, when he works with glasses on, he looks so composed, so put together. But now? It makes him look so wrecked, all sweaty, moaning, and panting under you.
A totally irresistible full course meal, serving himself right in front of you.
“Ry…M-more~” You mewls, pressing yourself onto him harder, trying your best to push him deeper in you, but it’s just not enough.
You pull yourself off him, whining at the emptiness once he slips out.
“Baby—why are y-you—”
Before he could complete his sentence, you flip yourself back facing him, sitting on your knees between his legs before you arch down and hold on to the steering wheel.
Presenting yourself, all for him to devour.
“You—” He exhales shakily. “You’re trouble…”
If anything, he sounds impressed.
“H-hurry up,” One of your hands went across your side pulling on your cheeks apart. “Here~…put it b-back..”
Just the sight to end him, so obscenely beautiful, killing whatever coherent thoughts he has left.
“F-fuck…”
With embarrassing haste, he guides himself back to your entrance, a sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan escapes him as he pushes into you again. One of his hands travels to your breast, palming on them as he pulls you up, and his other arm wraps around your waist, keeping you pressed firmly against him.
Your hands settle over his, needing something to hold on as he starts pounding into you again, and with your head resting on his shoulder, you’re making just the perfect space for him to leave trails of love marks on your neck.
As promised, he doesn’t hold back, he takes complete control of the rhythm, moving your pliant body however he wants. A rare occasion where Ryland loses himself, and you absolutely love it.
There’s something unexpectedly comforting about surrendering the moment to him.
Not because you’ve lost your voice, but because you know he’ll never stop paying attention to you. It lets you relax in a way few things ever do, and with the alcohol still warming your system, everything seems magnified.
All you can feel is the pleasure of finally getting what you’ve been asking for all night.
“hahhn—Yes…y-yes…Ry~”
Failing again and again to keep your mouth shut from all the embarrassing sounds.
How wrecked you sounded only makes him rut into you harder.
Until he catches you hissing softly.
“Hey—” His thrust falters immediately, concern flashing across his face. “What is it?” His hands are quick to check on you.
“Did I hurt you?”
“N-no…” You whine, of course it’s not him. It’s just that your knees are starting to ache from constantly rubbing against the leather seat, but you keep pushing through it.
The position is just too good to give up.
At least until it starts hurting you.
Ryland notices the source of your discomfort immediately
“Must be your knees.” The words leave him in a soft murmur, his hand is already sliding down your leg, careful and reassuring.
“Baby…” Your hesitation confirms it. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Still you don’t answer him.
Not because you don’t hear him.
But you’re too focused on finding a way to not stop any of this, eyes skimming across the cramped space around you.
There has to be one.
There simply has to be.
Then you turn halfway and place a hand against his chest, giving him a gentle push. “Lay d-down.”
“W-what?”
“Lay on the seat…hurry…hnhh—”
“But the front—” Ryland glances toward the windshield.
Unlike the rest of the windows, it isn’t as tinted and judging by the look you’re giving him, he already knows exactly what you’re suggesting.
“I d-don’t care…please~” You plea, nudging him backward with your own weight.
He lets out a strained grunt, glancing toward the windshield again, visibly unconvinced by your complete lack of concern, but the way you look at him makes whatever argument he was preparing die immediately.
With a resigned sigh, he halfheartedly complies, laying himself back with you on top of him.
Once the both of you are settled, you spread your legs open, hiking them on the dashboard.
Ryland immediately panics at your action. “NO—”
At the same time, he does know this position lets him in deeper and it angles him better.
Exactly hitting your spot.
“Fuck—Baby d-don’t—” Ryland is halfway through the protest when it abruptly falls apart at the way your walls flutter. His own body betrays him, hips jerking up into you, completely forgetting that he was trying to argue.
“There—yes y-yesss.”
You guide his hand to press just below your navel, letting him feel the outline of his own length every time he plunges in.
“So g-good…Ry—anhhh” Struggling to form any word as he fucks into you harder.
Ryland is still wary about both of your surroundings, but at the same time he can’t help the way his cock is twitching at how you’re clamping and sucking him in.
He is so close.
If only his eyes didn’t land on the shadow behind the windshield.
His bubble of pleasure bursts.
Mark.
Of course it’s Mark.
Because apparently the universe has decided Ryland has not suffered enough tonight.
Oh he knows that look.
The one that Mark has been giving you ever since you moved in with him. He’s been painfully aware of it.
Ryland hates his guts.
“No… No. NO! He saw!” He cries out, it almost sounds pained.
But you only whine in frustration at how he is stopping so suddenly.
“Ry…hnngh—don’t stop!” The words come out absentmindedly, you’re too lost in the moment.
“Baby, that jerk is ahh—”
Now you’re annoyed at that guy.
Offended, even.
“I-i don’t care...” You grab his hand, holding it against your fold, wanting his attention back to you.
“Ry! Focus on me….”
Impatient, you start writhing over him, clumsily moving his hand to circle your clit, clenching on him harder, nibbling on his ear, jaw, neck. All.
Anything for him to start moving again.
But Ryland is hopelessly stuck in his thoughts.
“hngghh—He s-saw you like this,”
“I-i hate it…” Ryland is visibly bothered by it, babbling out his thoughts as his eyes keep flicking toward the windshield, as if glaring harder at Mark might make him disappear.
He doesn’t.
Which only makes Ryland more irritated.
Mark is seeing something Ryland never wanted anyone else to see.
“They can watch or…w-whatever...hmm.” You pant out as you continue kissing the underside of his jaw.
“Only you—only you get to t-touch.”
That breaks his thread of thoughts.
Ryland forgets what he was angry about, a pleased grunt escapes him at your words.
Because that?
That he likes.
He starts thrusting into you again, harsher in a way that’s just perfect for you.
Your gaze drops down to where you both meet, there lies a sight that gets you whimpering helplessly, a creamy ring forms around the base of his cock.
“Y-yeah?…” He breathes out heavily.
“You’re mine.”
His voice drops lower, driving into you harder and harder, emphasizing his statement.
You nod obediently at him, moans pitching higher when he playfully pinches on your clit, rolling them between his fingers.
“Only you—hnnhh~” Your voice wavers.
“Only y-you can…make me f-feel this way Ry…”
It’s the last full sentence that you manage to say before you feel yourself getting closer, anything after that are just cries of his name.
“I know…I-i know Baby,” His other hand comes up to your chin, turning your face until your eyes meet his.
“Stay with me hmm...”
Eyes so hungry yet so loving, unmistakably tender.
“Let me feel you…p-please.”
That does it, you’re done for.
The look in his eyes and the way he said them.
Your thoughts scatter completely, you cum so hard that you can actually hear…not see, but hear whites, losing awareness of your surroundings for a second.
Your legs fall off the dashboard, clamping on his hand between you with him still buried inside.
He follows right after, gasping with shaky moans as he fills you up full of him, he keeps thrusting slowly, pushing his cum deeper in you as he keeps looking at you through it, savoring every contort of your pleasured face, whispering praises before kissing you again, muffling any sound from you.
He glances back toward the windshield, just in time to see Mark chuckling and raising both hands as he slowly backs away, as if to say, I get it. She’s yours.
His gaze tears away from Mark when he hears your muffled giggles, pulling away from the kiss as he sat the both of you up.
“Shit— are y-you okay?” The post nut clarity got to him all at once, whatever haze he’d been in vanishing in an instant. Hissing a little as he gently pulls out, he turns you to face him, searching your face with worried eyes.
“Hey… look at me.”
Before he can ask anything else, your hands come up to cup his cheeks. Your thumbs stroke across his skin with lazy affection.
“How are you always sooo good~” You slur with a sleepy smile.
Ryland blinks.
Your eyes are heavy, cheeks rosy, smile impossibly soft. You’re still undeniably tipsy, from all the drinks before, from the overwhelming night, and now him.
“You’re still…drunk” He whispers, the words leave a bitter taste in his mouth.
A knot of guilt settles quietly in his chest, Ryland feels like he took advantage of you in some ways.
“I really liked it…” You giggle to yourself. “We should—no.” Shaking your head with exaggerated certainty.
“We will do this again.”
Then you press a lingering kiss on his cheek.
Ryland lets out a quiet laugh, the one that sounds warm but tinged with worry.
“I shouldn’t be doing this to you…” He says quietly, almost to himself.
He pulls you closer into his embrace, resting his forehead against your shoulder as he holds you a little tighter.
He’ll talk about this later, when your head is clear.
“m’sleepy.” You mumble, curling into him with a satisfied sigh.
Ryland quickly covers you with your jacket before carefully carrying you inside.
Everything afterward is gentle.
Washing you clean.
Finding you something comfortable to sleep in.
Then tucking you in bed.
He lies down beside you, watching your peaceful sleeping face, fingers softly caressing through your hair.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers again,
He pulls you into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
The words catch in his throat.
He swallows hard.
It doesn’t help.
His eyes sting anyway, and he lets out a small, shaky sniff before resting his forehead against your hair.
He knows you won’t hear him.
He knows you asked for it.
And he isn’t sure whether he’s apologizing to you, or trying to convince himself.
The guilt lingers long after.
The morning after, you wake up sore all over and the headache doesn’t help at all. You let out a small groan before instinctively burying your face against Ryland’s chest.
Your movement stirs him awake, his eyes blink open, the moment they find you, his concerns kicking away all traces of sleepiness.
“Are you okay?” His hand is already caressing over your hair. “Wait, I’ll get you some water and—”
He quickly scrambles to get up, only for you to quickly catch on his wrist.
“No…stay here” You mumble. “Cuddle me.” You return his hand to your head, silently asking him to continue.
He smiles faintly.
Gently massaging your head, exactly the way you wanted.
For a few quiet moments, neither of you says anything.
Then Ryland’s smile fades.
“Did you…” He gulps. “Did you r-remember what happened?”
You only hum in response.
His heart sinks.
“Baby…” His voice barely comes out. “I’m sorry. I… I shouldn’t have—”
Nuzzling even closer, your muffled grumble cuts him off.
Slowly, you lift your blushing face from his chest, making him a little shocked at how flushed you look.
You are embarrassed? Shy? Or maybe warm from sleep? Ryland can’t tell.
Either way, the sight steals the rest of the apology from his lips.
“No…” You mumble, avoiding his eyes for only a second before blurting it out. “You… you do me…well, so very well.” Followed by a tiny, embarrassed noise as you hide your face against him again.
“I…” He blinks once. Twice.
Ryland has absolutely no idea how to act with that, blushing himself as he hugs you even tighter.
“Th-thank you?”
You snort at how unsure he sounded.
“I meant it, I loved it, always” You mumble softly, smiling into his chest.
“I love you.”
Whatever guilt he’d been carrying slowly subsided, replaced by a quiet warmth and fuzzy bloom in his chest, you caught him off guard all over again.
“I love you so much.” He blurts at once.
“I—I just—I...” He continues just as quickly, stumbling over his words as it refuses to come together.
His cheeks flush pink, and the corners of his brows lift ever so slightly, making him look impossibly smitten.
“I can’t believe I did all that…” You laugh, equally embarrassed and amused of yourself.
“Was I—uh…hot?”
“Are you seriously asking me that?” Ryland lets out a disbelieving laugh. “I wish you could’ve seen yourself.”
The adoration is clear in his voice.
“You’re… everything.”
Your smile, so wide your cheeks start hurting.
“We should do that again.” You bite your lower lips at the thought, mischief already sparkling in your eyes.
“No.” He blurts out.
“WHAT!? Why?”
“Just no.” His expression sours as he remembers what happened with Mark.
“Whyyy? Why? Tell me…” You whine, shaking him slightly even though he doesn’t budge.
“Not telling.”
“Oh come on.” You huff out in disappointment, pouting at him dramatically.
Unable to resist, he steals a quick kiss on your pout, quickly trying to get off the bed.
Your eyes widen as you gasp, leaping off the bed to koala cling him.
“More~ Kiss me again.” You wrap your arms around his neck tightly, making a kissy face.
He keeps on looking away teasingly, making you shake him again.
“Quick, my head is hurting.” The excuse works instantly. Ryland turns right back around, he gently puts you down the bed in worry.
Only for you to catch him by the collar and pull him into the kiss once he’s close enough.
“Bad girl.” He mumbles against your lips, before continuing to kiss you.
That got a hum of approval from you.
The rest of the morning is well spent with kisses and laughter, the kind of comfort that makes neither of you want to leave the bed.
Never does Ryland manage to get anything done that morning.
Every time he fusses over your hangover or tries to do something, you’re already tugging him back for one more kiss, one more cuddle, one more excuse to keep him there.
And Ryland doesn’t mind one bit.
afterwords: i know this might not be everyones cup of tea, but do tell me what you think about it, I WROTE THIS WITH “the more he respects me, the more i’ll let him disrespect me in bed.” IN MIND, idk bruh maybe this is far too self-indulgent, but in my defense i do think Ryland is this type of man y’know, respects you a lot, loves you too much, smitten and all AAAAA IDK BRUH I’M CRAZY, SHE’S LITERALLY ME, BLIND FATE ON RYLAND GRACE.
English isn’t my first language, so there might be a few awkward phrases or grammar mistakes here and there. If you spot any mistakes, feedback is always appreciated.
Thank You so much for reading this -actual Grace❤︎
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HELLOOO i saw u post asking for asks and i cannot get holland march out of my mind i love that man FUCKKKKKKKKK
thinking about playing strip poker or any stripping game with holland and it lasting so much shorter than expected because holland is a weak weak man <3
Strip Poker
(Holland March x reader)
The motel room stank of whiskey, smoke, and the faint (but definitely toxic) damp smell that came complementary with every place Holland and Healy had the budget to stay in. You had accompanied March and Healy on this case; Healy was on a stake-out and said he'd call with any updates. To pass the time, you had begun a game of poker— it was now 2am, and it had devolved into a game of strip poker.
A half-empty bottle of bourbon sat on the nightstand, and the radio played something low in the background. You were sitting cross-legged on the bed, smirking as you watched an already half-naked Holland lose yet another hand.
“Fuck me,” he groaned, staring at his terrible cards like they'd personally betrayed him. “You’re a goddamn shark.”
“You’re the one who suggested strip poker,” you said. “So... strip. Don't be such a sore loser.”
"I'll be naked before your shirt's off at this rate," he grumbled. You blinked at him unsympathetically; he let out a dramatic puff of cigarette smoke and tugged his tie off, tossing it dramatically across the room.
He was already down to his shirt, socks, and boxers; you, on the other hand, had only lost your jeans so far. He was failing miserably to get you naked. The problem wasn’t his poker skills— though those were questionable: the problem was that Holland March was a weak, weak man when it came to you.
Every time you leaned forward, every time you slowly dragged your tongue across your lower lip while thinking, every time you stretched and arched your back just a little… his eyes would glaze over and his mouth would part like he’d forgotten how to breathe, until his cigarette fell onto his leg and burned his calf.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” he accused, swigging Bourbon from the plastic cups you'd picked up on the way.
“I have literally no idea how to cheat in this game,” you said, dealing the next hand.
Three minutes later, Holland lost again.
“Goddammit,” he muttered, standing up and shrugging off his shirt, once crisp, now crumpled and stained with whisky. His chest was surprisingly toned for a man who drank like a fish and exercised exclusively by running away from danger. He tossed the shirt behind him and sat back down, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide.
You raised an eyebrow, his taut boxers being revealed by the lack of shirt to cover them. “Are you... hard?”
Holland didn’t even try to deny it. He just let out a pathetic groan and dragged a hand down his face.
"Christ, Holland, already? I'm still dressed!" You laughed.
“Look, I’m not proud of this, okay? You’re sitting there looking like... that, and I’m only a man! A very horny man!”
You laughed softly and dropped your cards in front of you. You crawled across the bed toward him, Holland’s eyes tracking your every movement like a starving man.
“We’ve only been playing for fifteen minutes,” you teased, straddling his lap as he sulked against the headboard. You could feel exactly how affected he was through his pants. “I thought you’d last longer than this, March."
“Yeah, well,” he hurriedly exhaled the last puff of his cigarette and stubbed it out on the nightstand, hands immediately sliding up your thighs, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since Healy stepped out the door— before then, even. I had a hard-on on the drive over just thinking about being alone with you.”
You laughed and flopped forward onto his chest, legs still pinning him either side. "You're something else, mister." You raised your head, serpentine, to brush your lips against his ear. “Why don't we do something you're good at?”
Holland made a broken sound in the back of his throat — half groan, half whimper — and flipped you onto your back so fast you actually gasped in surprise. His smoky mouth was on yours a second later, bitten lips messy and desperate against yours while his hands roamed everywhere.
“Fuck that stupid game...” he mumbled against your lips, using one arm to swipe the cards off the bed whilst grinding against you. “I forfeit. You win. I lose. Whatever. Just let me—” he groaned as you palmed him through his boxers, already damp with precome and straining dangerously.
You grinned, threading your other hand through his messy blond hair and tugging. “Can't even handle a little teasing?”
Holland groaned, burying his face in your neck as he yanked your underwear down your legs with no regard for grace.
“I am a weak man,” he admitted shamelessly, voice muffled against your skin. “And a man who’s been thinking about this for weeks. Now shut up before I come in my pants like a fucking teenager.”
You laughed again, but the sound quickly turned into a moan as Holland finally stopped talking and put his mouth to much better use.
⋄ tags: bf!driver x gender neutral!reader, NSFW 18+ (duh my blog is only for adultsss!) afab, drive is dom cause... im a slut for doms, use of word pussy, fingering with gloves on, mention of spanking, sensory?? aspects, NOT beta read and y'all know my ass adhd as hell so excuse mistakes.
⋄ a/n: erm, a little quick drabble supposed to be bullet fic thingie. anyway i been tryin' get back in my groove so ya know sdjhdjhasjdhasjdhasd and so I guess we are back😳
𐙚 summary: driver decides to test run his new gloves on you.
The idea to buy Driver gloves comes after he takes you on a ride out to his favorite spot and you notice his brown leather gloves are getting a bit worn. You figure maybe it would be nice to give him some new ones. Maybe he could rotate them. The thought of him having a little reminder of you like that makes you happy.
You order them from a nice high-quality company online and even get them engraved with little scorpions next to the latches. You're so excited and can't wait to give them to him.
You hold off until the next time Driver has a free night and after a lovely quiet dinner at the small table in his living room, you present them to him.
Under the table, your leg is restless and your heart races. It's the first real gift you've given him since the two of you started seeing each other. So, it means a lot and you hope he likes it.
You placed them in a simple elegant black box wrapped in a white bow.
Driver seems so shocked. He kind of points at himself questioning and watches you carefully.
You nod and say, "yes it's for you, just a little surprise."
So, Driver gingerly takes the gift as if he has never received one before. Maybe he hasn't. You haven't celebrated each other's birthdays yet or a major holiday, but you hope to get there with him.
Driver unwraps it carefully and after taking a deep breath, opens it to see the brand new gloves. You went with black leather since he already had brown and you think these will suit him too.
You watch as he picks them up and has this look of awe across his handsome face. His blue eyes are noticeably smoldering and he looks at you as if searching for something important.
"Thank you, I'll treasure these." He says seriously. His response may be short, but you know he genuinely means it.
The two of you continue the night happily, just enjoying each other's company. You chatter on from Driver's small couch and he places the gloves on the coffee table infant of him.
You tell him how stressful college has been lately and other worries on your mind. He listens well, always giving you his undivided attention.
Eventually, words run out and it's just comfortable silence. But as always, mood turns heated and before you know it, the two of you are kissing, softly at first until it turns into something more.
He presses you back into the couch cushions, taking the lead just the way you like. One firm hand is at your waist whilst the other cups your cheeks as he hungrily tastes you.
You think soon he'll ask you to head into the bedroom, but instead he pulls back from you. Wordlessly, he grabs the black leather gloves off the coffee table and begins putting them on.
He does it methodically with focus and flexes his fingers as he adjusts to the brand new leather. The fit is snug and just right on his large hands. It briefly occurs to you the man could be a hand model. You've never noticed another person's hands before, but goddamn his are attractive.
Still, you raise an eyebrow at him. "Driver? Are you heading out?"
He chuckles low. "No, baby. I want to give these a test run."
As he speaks, his eyes rove over your figure in a way that causes heat to pool between your legs. "Undress for me. Now.”
At Driver’s command your cheeks warm and the meaning of his words hits you fast. You're standing and pulling your clothes off before you can think. And the minute you sit back down he’s leaning over your nude form and catching your lips once more.
You're completely his.
One arm wraps around his broad back while the other grips the couch underneath you. He smells good and you can't help but to pull him closer.
Driver finally lets you breathe again and he watches you as the cold leathers presses against your core. It's so different from his warm digits and makes you shiver. Your eyes squeeze shut as he tenderly runs a finger up and down your pussy, spreading your lips.
A moan leaves you as he starts to rub you until he hears you whimper and beg enough for him, just the way Driver loves. He takes his time, letting you adjust to his gloved hand before he finger fucks your pussy.
You never thought that your sweet present would result this. Driver touching you with his leather gloves, watching your face with those intense blue eyes of his, drinking in your every reaction.
He acts as if you're the sexiest most beautiful sight he's ever seen. As if every sound of pleasure that comes out of you is the most erotic symphony.
You can usually hear the slick noises your body makes when Driver uses his nimble fingers, but now it's even louder. That seems to urge him on as he quickens his pace.
It's almost shocking to you now that he's never used his gloves to touch you. And it adds another layer of excitement, as you wonder how else he can use them on you. Maybe next time he might spank you with them. The thought of that alone makes you shiver with delight.
Your little moans and breathy whimpers fill his small apartment as your breaking point approaches. He never says much during these passionate moments and he doesn't need to.
The intense focus of Driver's actions and his expression are more than enough to stir you up. It's the same way he looks when he's behind the wheel, stern, and wholly dedicated.
Eventually, your climax can't hold off on any longer and you look up at him, silently begging for permission.
Driver nods once, his lip twitching in amusement. "You've been so good me. Cum, baby."
And with his approval the overpowering sensation rushes through your body and causing you to moan out his name.
Driver slowly slips his finger out of you as body stops quivering. He observes his newly gifted gloves with newfound reverence and interest. The black leather is coated in your wetness and his cock twitches in his pants at the lewd sight.
Fuck, you've got him so bothered.
You watch with wide eyes as he brings a finger up to his mouth and making eye contact the entire time, his tongue darts out to taste you once more. He doesn't stop there either. He slides one finger into his mouth until he's satisfied, addicted to your unique flavor.
Driver stops after a moment and you notice he looks very smug. "Yeah, these gloves will do just fine."
You swallow thickly, knowing you are not the only one imagining using the gloves again. After that, Driver never uses the gloves to drive his car, but anytime he puts them on... You know he's about to take you for a wild ride.
"Dr Ryland Grace was wrong in his paper and all life is water based as proven by astrophage" hm ok but there's more than that.
"Dr Ryland Grace was right actually as proven by the Eridians who are basically rock" nope nope nope.
"Dr Ryland Grace was wrong because the Eridians *are* water based as stated in the novel" well yes but that's not all.
*
there's two parts to Grace's original argument:
1. there's nothing special about hydrogen and oxygen, other elements and chemical reactions could also serve as the basis for life. (remains unproven even at the end of the book since all the lifeforms e.g. taomoeba, astrophage, eridians are water based)
2. The Goldilocks Zone is For Idiots, aka, life could evolve outside of the commonly accepted temperature range. (proven true by the existence of Eridians who inhabit a planet with a tempterature over 200 degrees Celsius)
*
In conclusion:
Dr Ryland Grace was *partially* correct in his paper because while Eridians *are* water-based/carbon-based beings, they do not inhabit the Goldilocks Zone at all.
not to derail the original point of this post, but the funny thing abt the whole water-based/Goldilocks argument in the book vs real life is that... the scientific community is kinda already in agreement that we know next to nothing abt the basics of life? like, the concept of "life" outside of Earth biases. scientists have been studying and theorizing about universal biology for a while now (or "lyfe" as I've heard some ppl refer to life outside of Earth-centric understanding). essentially, the abstraction of biology that isn't based purely on the elements/molecules we're most familiar with
so I never rly understood why Grace's opinions were treated like some radical nonsense. my assumption is that Weir exaggerated Grace's "excommunication" from the scientific community so there'd be a narrative reason for a genius teacher to become a part of this huge, planet-spanning project, but like. scientists already KNOW we know very little about universal life, but they're trying very very hard to keep their options/opinions open to any theoretical possibilities. and the Eridian/Human/Astrophage section of space is still infinitesimally small compared to the wide open universe. anything is possible out there
In the book he straight up just wrote it to insult everyone personally AS an exit; he was not excommunicated for his opinions, he was rebuffed after an extended campaign of being insufferable imo. Just sort of generally. Like, we saw that he was really knee-jerk reactive to Lokken. Sure she came at him with bad vibes but he flared up instantly, no flinching no regrets. he was probably getting into it with everyone and completely unable/unwilling to deescalate back then too. Add his grudging attitude to admin tasks/soft skills and he imo straightforwardly soured people on him enough that he finally got into enough of a feedback loop that he flounced.
His skills were never in question. His opinions were never the problem. He just sucked. (imo.)
ohhh ok ok that's an interesting take. I'd have to close-read the book again to see those scenes (I've only read it once, so I don't have a strong memory of exactly how they were worded), but that honestly makes sense. there was just so much emphasis on the water-based/Goldilocks thing even AFTER the fact that I thought it was a real, academic beef in the scientific community of the book, but maybe it rly was just Grace's forced fixation on it...
it’s literally just him imo. Book and movie guys both think back to getting into it with their peers, and are palpably STILL stuck on the technical contents of the argument(s), and they’re totally insensible to their own like immediate noxious energy turn/how unpleasant they get/got to other people in the arguments.
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march in the cuck chair.. healy in the cuck chair..
no. ME in the cuck chair.
it was all holland’s fault. it was his stupid dare that had gotten you in trouble!!
now you were handcuffed to the bottom left bedpost- watching jackson fuck holland silly from where you knelt on the floor (bad dogs don’t get to come up on the bed- march’s words not yours).
your jaw was clenched, your lips seemed to be in a permanent pout- every grunt or moan had you shifting in your spot. Yet you were determined to be good.
so you sat and waited. not even discretely clenching your thighs for relief despite the growing damp spot in your underwear.
eventually (since healy isn’t evil like someone else..) he unlocks your cuffs and pats the bed next to holland’s spent form.
he’s sure to reward you for going along with march’s antics (letting him be the “good boy” for once) by making you cum on his fingers, whispering gentle praise in your ear- before collapsing in a heap beside holland, one heavy arm slung over your body keeping you trapped with the two lovable idiots you called your partners. <3
notes: inspired by this post by @sipofchai. i saw it, i had an idea, i ran with it. hope you like.
description: you and ryland are seniors in undergrad and have been friends for years. then, ryland mistakenly leaves you a not-meant-for-your-ears voicemail. oops.
pairing: ryland grace x f!reader
rating: mature
word count: 1,461
"Hank, I'm home," you call out into your apartment as you kick the door closed behind you, unceremoniously dropping your backpack against the wall and toeing your shoes off. Your fat grey tabby, Hank, is already waiting at the end of the hallway. He wastes no time in attempting to lead you to his pitifully empty food bowl, screaming the whole way.
"It's not dinner time yet," you inform him, which earns you another raspy scream. "Sorry buddy, you gotta wait a little longer." Your feline companion musters one more attempt at convincing you, but when you head for your couch instead of his precious food bowl, he seemingly gives up. You're left to check your phone in pointed silence while Hank glares at the back of your head from where he's sat next to his bowl.
You flop on your back onto your beat-up thrift store couch, grunting when the timeworn cushions fail to properly catch your landing. The stiff wooden frame digs into your middle back as you shift around in a futile attempt at comfort.
As you pull out your phone you shoot a glare at the armrest your feet are now propped up on, as if your couch might somehow understand the depths of your loathing. Honestly, you had never hated an inanimate object more than you hated this couch, but it was cheap and it was small enough to fit your cramped aparetment and it was what you could afford on your shoestring budget. You tried very hard not to think about the mystery stain that you had tried - and failed - to remove from the (what was now the) bottom of the left cushion.
You unlock your phone and see you have one missed call and one text from Ryland, both from a half hour ago. It's Friday, so you figure he's calling to make sure you're still on for your weekly movie night tomorrow. He's called or texted you nearly every Friday afternoon for the past three and a half years to ask the same question, and you've given him the same answer nearly every time. This semester you've been particularly looking forward to these weekly get-togethers after spending all week listening to Professor Maynard deliver the driest lectures on Biochemistry you've ever heard.
"Pick up, nerd," the voicemail starts, Ryland's tone somehow firm and teasing at the same time. You snort and roll your eyes, but the amused quirk of your mouth belies the exasperation in your expression. A brief pause, then Ryland's voice resumes: "Ugh, fine, I'll text you instead."
You press the home button on your phone, the voicemail screen banished to the background as you pull up your texts. Sure enough, there's one from Ryland: still on for tonight? There's no need for him to ask your place or mine because you both know you'll end up at your place - it's nicer than Ryland's, if only by the most minuscule of margins, and has the added benefit of being home to Hank. Hank and Ryland shared what you could only describe as an interspecies bromance. You tried not to be jealous of Ryland. Or Hank.
You tap out a quick yep, see you at 7 and send the text on its way. You glance at the clock - Ryland's always early, so you estimate you have about fifteen minutes till he comes knocking.
You're going to check your email when you realize you're still connected to your call. Huh. A quick swipe pulls the voicemail window back up. It's still playing, but there's been nothing but 30 seconds of silence. Curious, you listen for a little longer. Thirty more seconds pass with nothing but Hank's heavy breathing filling your ears. Then, a noise from your phone's speaker: a sigh, a metallic clink, and the rustle of what you think might be fabric.
There's a beat of silence. Then, a breathy "fu-uck."
You freeze.
What. The hell. Was that?
You clutch your phone tightly in your hand as you stare at the screen, watching the seconds on the voicemail tick by. One, two, three… another breathy noise meets your ears. A sigh, you think, that seems to take the shape of your name. Your fingers tighten around the edges of your phone, your mind spinning. Was Ryland-? Was he really-? No, he couldn't be. But then: another bitten-out a curse, followed by your name - for real this time, there's no mistaking it - that tapers off into an airy moan.
Oh. He definitely was.
You're still immobilized, stuck between throwing your phone clear across the room or bringing it closer to your face. Your fingers begin to ache with how hard you're gripping it, fingertips turning red under the pressure. No doubt matching the blush that has stained your cheeks and crept its way up to the tips of your ears. You should hang up. Yes, that would be the correct thing to do. A good friend would respect the privacy of their peers, even if that privacy apparently included fantasizing about you. Especially if that privacy included fantasizing about you.
Besides, this was Ryland. Ryland. The person you'd met at freshman orientation and forged a bond with over late nights at the library and shitty cafeteria coffee before a 7am class. He was your go-to lab partner, your Friday night movie buddy, your shoulder to lean on when things got rough. He was your best friend. And for as special as he was to you, he'd never been more than that: a friend. And that was great, you recognized how blessed you were to have someone like Grace in your life. You were happy, thrilled even, with just being friends.
Still, you'd be a liar if you didn't admit you'd had less-than-platonic thoughts about him. He was attractive, you were grown enough to admit that to yourself. He had beautiful blond hair and striking blue eyes and the pinkest lips you'd ever seen and so what if you had, on occasion, thought to yourself, 'I wonder if his hair is as soft as it looks' or 'I bet his lips would feel good on my-'
Nope. Nope. Nuh-uh. You stop yourself there, determined not to board that particular train of thought. You realize, belatedly, that the salacious voicemail is still playing. The timestamp indicates you've been listening to Ryland get himself off to you for the past three minutes. Another moan, louder than the others, makes its way from your phone to your burning ears. If you listen very closely (which you totally aren't), you think you can hear the slick sounds of his hand on himself, the tempo increasing at the same steady pace as the cries of pleasure that are flowing freely from him now.
Mindlessly, you rub your thighs together. You're wet - you can feel it soaking the gusset of your panties, the slide of fabric against your clit sending a shiver sliding up your spine. 'Hang up, hang up,' you think to yourself, but you can't bring yourself to. Ryland's moans and pants and sighs are growing in frequency and he's begun to babble on, his voice pitched down the most delicious way.
'Fuck, you feel so good,' you hear him groan to fantasy-you. A whimper bubbles from your throat and gets caught behind your lips. You can picture him there, his hand wrapped tight around his cock, his head thrown back and his pretty pink lips parted around a deep moan. A frisson of excitement crawls along your skin. You shudder and clench your legs together in search of friction.
The timestamp reads five minutes and seventeen seconds. You're seriously considering riding this out and seeing how long it takes Ryland to finish. And maybe how long it takes you to finish as well. You're just giving in to temptation, your free hand sliding down your stomach and slipping towards your waistband, when a knock at your door interrupts you.
With an undignified squeal you smash the end call button and throw your phone to the opposite end of the couch. Then you pick it up again and check the time. 6:47pm.
Fuck. Ryland is at your door. The same Ryland who just unknowingly left you the most delicious, debilitatingly erotic voicemail you've ever gotten in your entire life (not that there have been others). A voicemail that could have the power to ruin the friendship you two had treasured with one another for years. A voicemail you could never, ever unhear. And now you had to look him in the eye and sit through two and a half hours of a movie about some guy stuck on Mars, and somehow act normal about it.
Right. You could do that. You could totally do that.
Grace who’s meeting Courtland after finding out his brother isn’t dead: oh my god holy frick how are you.. and what— Court how are you—
Courtland who hasn’t gone by Courtland much less Court in decades and has seen himself as less then human for so long that if he hears Ryland call him Court again he will start balling: It’s Six… I’m Six
Grace who is a gen z middle school teacher and has had many a child come to him with an interesting new name all through out the years: Ok yeah that’s totally ok um.. and pronouns?
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I was thinking Lars getting hard from something really small, (we know for a fact he doesn’t touch himself, he chops wood instead, as a mean to repress any sexual tension) like a touch of the knee or something, and while their first time, since he’s never touched himself, he lasts for approximately 1 minute lmfao. I guess he’s overstimulated, and overwhelmed, and can’t form a thought after. I don’t know, I trust you!
Well anon, this sure did something to my brain because I wrote something closer to a fic than an imagine!
Content: nsfw, gn!reader, hand holding, handjob, first time, praise and dirty talk, premature ejaculation, in the car (Karin may be snooping but don't worry she can't see what's going on inside the car), mention of mutual masturbation, Lars doesn't masturbate (don't worry that's about to change)
∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘
‘May I hold your hand?’ you ask gently, while Lars is driving.
‘Oh! Sure,’ he smiles, still loved up from the way you rested your head on his shoulder while you watched the sunset over the lake.
Shakily, he lets one hand go from the wheel and waits for yours to join it. He’s never held hands while driving and isn’t really sure where to put them or what he's supposed to do.
But as always, you know what to do when he’s unsure, and bring your clasped hands down carefully to rest just above his knee.
Lars feels a bit hot. You’re touching his hand, skin to skin, but also his leg. It might be over fabric but it’s pleasantly warm and tingly all the same.
The car jolts over a bump in the road then, and your hands slip a little at the gentle impact. They slip further up his thigh.
He silently prays that you won’t notice how flustered he’s getting. His breath heaves, he can feel the heat of his cheeks powdering bright pink, and he’s not sure how long he can stave off the little groan that’s clawing to escape from his throat at the way his trousers are tightening around him.
You make no effort to slide your hands back up toward his knee, quite content and Lars is frozen, barely even able to concentrate on driving so he focusses all his efforts on that.
Luckily, he’s home and he can probably find a way to disguise this unfortunate situation until it goes away, even if he has to hide out in the bathroom for a while.
Parking the car up outside, he just stares forward for a moment, unsure how to play this. Does he let go first? Does he kiss you? Will a kiss make his situation even harder to navigate??
He shuts his eyes tight.
‘Lars?’ you whisper from beside him, and he winces. ‘It’s okay. Do you want- I mean, I can touch you. I’d really like to, if you want me to.’
He turns to you then, watery blue eyes glinting in the moonlight, filled with panic and desire and hope.
‘I’ve thought about it,’ you go on, carefully, ‘quite a lot actually. I wasn’t sure if you’d be ready yet. And it’s okay if you’re not! I just thought… well, since you’re-’
‘How do I know if I’m ready?’ he asks, voice low, his brow pinched as he tries to breathe through it.
‘Oh, um… I guess you don’t really? It’s more about what feels right to you in the moment, I suppose. If you feel like you want to.’
Lars nods, averting his gaze, considering. Processing. The tent in his trousers still painfully evident.
‘I- I think I want to,’ he tries.
‘If you want we could just try it first to see how you feel. I can stop anytime.’
His hand feels clammy in yours now and his other hand is gripping the steering wheel so tight you're surprised he hasn't snapped it in two.
‘Yeah. I want to try it,’ he says, voice cracking a little half way with shame. He's certain though.
‘You’re sure?’
He nods. ‘I’m sure.’
‘You can guide my hand if you-’
‘I trust you,’ he blurts, surprising even himself, ‘more than anyone, I trust you.’
'Yeah?'
'Yes!'
You feel your own cheeks warming up.
‘How do you like it?’ you ask, and Lars feels his cock throb with heat.
‘I... don’t know.’ He swallows hard.
‘That’s okay. We can figure it out. Together.’
You squeeze his hand and he squeezes back, letting out a little whine. He’s aching so much for you now; this is the longest he’s ever entertained the thought — and then before he can stop himself, he lets out a little, ‘Please.’
Gently, you slip your hand out of his, and place your palm over the bulge in his trousers.
He bucks his hips involuntarily, it’s partly surprise, partly instinct.
‘You’re so hard for me,’ you coo, ‘and so big-’
Lars is glad it's the dark because he knows he must look desperate, and he can’t bring himself to look at what you're doing either. It's one thing that he wants it but to be faced with it completely, he may combust.
‘Can you spread your legs for me?’ you ask gently.
He shifts a little in the driver’s seat to accommodate your request.
‘That’s it, baby. I’m going to unfasten your pants now, okay?’
He nods, eyes shut tight again, head tilted back against the headrest in an attempt to ground himself.
‘If it’s too much, just say so, or push my hand away and I’ll stop. Got it?’
‘Yes-’ he whines.
You slide your hand into his underwear and Lars sucks in a sharp breath. It feels heavenly, like all the touch he’s spent a lifetime avoiding is concentrated together in this one caress, but it feels... good? So good he can't think of a way to explain it.
Your fingers curl around his length and you begin stroke slowly, softly, watching his face contort as he adjusts to this sudden sensation of touch being not only tolerable, but something he can't get enough of.
The moans that fill the car as you glide your fist over his cock are obscene, and if Lars wasn’t so enraptured, he’d be fiercely embarrassed about them.
It’s like he’s floating above existence and sinking into pleasure both at once. He wants this sensation to last forever and yet, he feels this unavoidable pull to chase it.
‘F-faster,’ he groans, ragged and breathless.
You do as he asks, pumping your fist a little harder, feeling him throb in your grip.
‘I- I can’t- I’m gonna-’
Lars can’t get the words to come out quite right, but you don’t need him to. You can feel it. It's quick, but it must be so intense for him and honestly nothing is hotter than a man who can't help but immediately fall apart at your touch.
‘Cum for me, baby, I want you to cum all over my hand, you’re doing so good.’
Heart slamming in his chest, he spills thick and hot and fast, rutting up into your fist. His back arches and guttural sobs tear from his chest before he slumps forward and the horn sounds, no doubt alerting Karin who you’re vaguely aware is peering out of an upstairs window.
Theres a lot, enough to make you wonder when the last time was that he touched himself.
Lars flops back into the drivers seat when the waves of his pleasure subside, panting and whimpering and trembling.
You keep stroking him with gentle little swipes of your thumb to keep him grounded with you as he softens in your palm. Only then do you slide your hand out and zip his pants back up.
He’s still catching his breath, working through it all, so you just sit beside him, praising him with whispers and carefully tucking his hair back into place where it’s come loose in thick strands, stuck to his damp forehead.
‘How was it?’ you ask when he’s recovered enough to open his eyes.
Lars turns his face to you, cheeks streaked with tears. ‘Overwhelming,' he sniffles. 'It was like every good feeling I’ve ever experienced, all at once.’
You smile back at him.
‘Is that how it always feels? Is that what I’ve been missing out on?’
‘Maybe not always. There might be some things you don’t enjoy as much, and there might be things you like more, but you only find out by trying them, if and when you feel ready.’
‘I want to try all of them,’ he says, dead serious, and you can't help but giggle. It feels kind of naughty somehow.
‘Me too. With you,’ you say.
A gentle smile pulls at his lips for a brief moment.
‘I didn’t mean to get so turned on just from the touch of your hand… I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be, I liked it,' you grin. 'Lars, when was the last time you… y’know?’
‘Oh I don’t touch myself,’ he says simply. It feels easier now you've taken this step together. ‘But if I’d known it could be so-’ he whistles out a breath, ‘I should have taken it up a long time ago.’
He’s joking around, you know he is, but you decide to take a chance and push it.
‘There’s no time like the present.’
Lars raises his eyebrows at you, wondering if you're serious, and if his legs are still too shaky to get inside yet because if you are, he's not sure how long he can wait.
‘Let’s go make a start shall we? We could do it together?’ you smirk at him playfully.
The prospect of seeing you pleasure yourself for him is enough to send him to an early grave, but his legs sure are feeling better all of a sudden.
