velcro boyfriend!reiner braun sfw and nsfw headcanons ˚.✦
velcro boyfriend!reiner braun who literally cannot function if he’s not touching you in some way, so the second you walk through the door after a long day he’s already scooping you up into those massive arms and burying his face in your neck like he has been waiting years instead of hours.
velcro boyfriend!reiner braun who follows you around the apartment like a lost puppy, arms wrapped around your waist from behind while you try to cook dinner. he keeps nuzzling your hair and mumbling how good you smell, his big hands sliding under your shirt just to feel your skin because being away from it for even a minute makes him restless.
velcro boyfriend!reiner braun who gets annoyingly pouty when you try to sit on the couch without him. before you can even get comfortable he’s pulling you onto his lap, chest pressed to your back, chin on your shoulder, whispering “stay right here, baby. need you close” in his deep voice.
velcro boyfriend!reiner braun who wakes up in the middle of the night and immediately reaches for you. if you have rolled even a little bit away he’s dragging you back against his chest, throwing one thick thigh over your legs to keep you trapped right where he wants you, pressing sleepy kisses to your temple until you both drift off again.
velcro boyfriend!reiner braun who gets super needy the moment you try to study or work. he’ll sit next to you for five minutes max before he’s tugging you onto his lap, hands wandering under your clothes while he kisses your neck and whispers “just a little break, yeah? i missed you so much today.”
velcro boyfriend!reiner braun who loves carrying you everywhere. grocery shopping? you are in his arms. laundry day? he’s got you on his hip while he folds clothes one handed. he says it’s because he wants you close but really he just loves feeling your thighs squeeze around him.
velcro boyfriend!reiner braun who gets stupidly turned on just from cuddling. you’ll be innocently spooning on the couch and suddenly you feel him getting hard against your ass, his breath hot on your ear as he grinds slow and needy. “can’t help it when you’re this soft against me, baby. please let me have you.”
velcro boyfriend!reiner braun who’s so annoying and sweet when he’s horny. he’ll follow you into the shower just to press you against the tiles, dropping to his knees so he can taste you with water running down his broad shoulders, moaning like he’s the one getting spoiled while his strong hands keep your thighs spread open for him.
velcro boyfriend!reiner braun who fucks you like he’s scared you might disappear. deep, desperate thrusts, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked on your face so he can watch every little expression you make. he keeps whispering “mine, mine, all mine” between kisses, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks he’ll kiss better later.
velcro boyfriend!reiner braun who refuses to pull out after he cums. he stays buried inside you, holding you tight to his chest while he catches his breath, lazily rocking his hips just to feel you clench around him a little longer. “don’t move yet… need to feel you like this for a while.”
velcro boyfriend!reiner braun who gets all blushy and shy after sex but still will not let you leave the bed. he tucks you against his side, one arm locked around your waist, the other stroking your hair while he tells you how much he loves you.
velcro boyfriend!reiner braun who sends you ten texts in a row if you’re out with friends for too long, each one getting needier. “baby i miss you” “come home soon” “the bed feels too big without you” until you finally walk in and he’s waiting by the door ready to lift you up and carry you straight to the bedroom so he can remind you exactly how much he needs his girl.
intox kink and dumbification with grad school boyfriend ryland, anyone?
sitting on the bed in his cramped little bedroom with the tv on in the background, but neither of you is paying attention. ryland, back against the headboard. you, legs tangled with his, half-draped across his lap. you're wearing comfy shorts and a t-shirt you stole from him, and after the week you've had, you're more than happy to cuddle up with your boyfriend and relax.
he feeds you an edible or two, fingers lingering on your lips just a little longer than necessary, and as it slowly begins to kick in, his hands start to wander. innocently at first, playing with your hair, resting on your waist, sliding down the small of your back until one of them slips under your shirt.
"can i...?" he asks, and you murmur your confirmation into his neck, breathing in the familiar, woodsy scent of him.
your brain feels packed in cotton, making you as pliant in his arms as warm wax. when his fingers slide past the hem of your sleep shorts, your legs just fall open for him. his fingers work you open leisurely, almost like he's not even really thinking about it, just trying to keep his hands busy.
you can practically hear his smug grin in his voice when he says, "i bet i could do just about anything to you right now."
and he could. honestly, even if you were stone-cold sober, there's probably very little he could do to you that you wouldn't enjoy, simply because it's ryland. so you're more than happy to let him maneuver you onto your back and take off your shorts and underwear.
"you're lucky to have me. you're practically helpless; a worse guy might take advantage," he tells you just before he finally, finally thrusts into you.
he fucks you lazily, too, sloppily grinding his hips against yours and mouthing hot, wet kisses into the skin of your neck. his glasses are sliding down his nose, but he doesn't seem to notice, and you can't be bothered to mention it, because your thoughts are pleasantly sluggish and you're so fucking full of his cock. the stress of grad school life just falls off your shoulders - here, you don't have to be smart and articulate, you don't even have to think, you just have to lie back and make pretty little noises while ryland uses you like the pretty little toy you are. <3
telling childe he looks like he doesn’t know where the clit is
it’s an offhanded quip—a premature bite that isn’t hard enough to break flesh.
given the amount of liquor flowing at the event, you suppose it was only a matter of time before the conversation (whatever you were initially speaking about is now lost on you) turned sexual.
childe—your younger, overly confident, annoyingly handsome coworker—has you cornered outside, alone. you tune out at least half of what he says, but your ears perk up when he makes a casual remark about something that “women like.”
you can’t stop the way your eyes roll or stifle the mirthless chuckle that rattles your throat. “yeah, right. like you know where the clit is.”
it would be a lie to say that you knew exactly how he would react. but you expected an outburst, at the very least: irritation, anger, an immature fit that would end in him stomping away and leaving you the hell alone at this insufferable work function.
so you’re bewildered when his azure gaze freezes, sharpening into ice-capped waves. his freckled lips curl, almost predatory; like he knows something you don’t (he does), like he knows your cool exterior hides a soft, embarrassing truth (he does).
eyes never leaving yours, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out his wallet, and empties it of cash—an entire month’s pay in cool, crisp bills.
“wanna bet?”
-
the following afternoon, you wobble up to your apartment door, dragging your aching body inside, day-old clothes covered in wrinkles and mysterious stains. you try to not think about the previous night...or this morning...or ten minutes ago on the ride home. you orgasmed more times in 16 hours than you have in your entire life; you’re shocked your clit hasn’t fallen off.
his tongue, his fingers, his cock—childe proved that he is intimately aware of the clit’s location, as well as how to stimulate it. and, when your phone buzzes and you see who just messaged you, all you can think of is how much trouble you and your clit are in.
your popular ex-boyfriend gets off to your pictures
satorustoe2 and 1.2k others liked your post 'throwing a party 2nite 😜'
he hurriedly swiped away the notification with his thumb, other hand eagerly wrapped around his cock. the screen was now fully encompassed by a picture of you, one that he himself had taken last month.
you were bent over in your flimsy polka dot bikini, tits spilling out as you rummaged through your picnic basket. your flyaway hair was billowing in the direction of the breeze, pretty eyes locked and focused on your task. he'd taken this picture sneakily, hot in the face from the sight and ignoring the pack of girls staring and pointing at him.
a glob of spit fell from his lips and landed on the sensitive tip of his cock with a thwack! his hand sped up, delightful friction warm against his achingly hard erection. he'd had dreams of you like this, bent over while he rammed into you from behind, making you gasp and moan while clutching the headboard for dear lif-
hot ropes of cum spilled out from his tip, coating his fingers and the lower half of his abdomen. sighing, he looked at your pixelated face one last time.
(Making out with Ryland Grace YAY)// from this ask// sfw??? (its only making out but Ryland is like basically naked so idk probably mdni// OP has read the book and seen the movie but I don't know if either of those characteriztions fit into whatever this is// just have fun with it okay// OP was slightly intoxicated while she wrote this I cannot promise anything of quality// I wanna make out with the scientist but so do you so dont look at me like that
cw/ um making out a lot/ 2.2k words/ established relationship/ fem reader/ Ryland is the top and the bottom here somehow/ they don't actually fuck its just kissing/ Ryland is only wearing underwear/ Ryland just needs a kiss after a long day/ hes a little submissive... just how I like him (who said that ??)
It had been a bad day. Well, not for you it hadn’t. Your day had actually been completely average. Answering emails, a couple cold calls to some people who hadn’t been responding to your emails, etc. But you knew Ryland must’ve had something go wrong with the way he wasn’t responding to your texts. Most of the time he responds to you in between classes or at lunch at the very latest, but you had heard nothing from him all day, even when you asked what you should pick up for dinner. Since he hadn’t responded you went to the grocery store, grabbing odds and ends to make into a quick pasta sauce. Carb-heavy meals always made him feel better, and you had no idea what you were going to come home to.
You unlock the door to your apartment with two bags of groceries in your non-dominant hand, and enter to hear the shower running. You know you’ll need to have a conversation about his day, but you figure a conversation over dinner will probably be more pleasant. About five minutes into this endeavour though, Ryland comes out of the shower.
It’s one of your favorite looks on him. His hair still damp and falling into his eyes, his skin pink from the steam. It of course helped that he didn’t care for things like wearing a shirt… or pants. Which is the state he arrives in the kitchen in, as you’re filling a pot with water to boil, rubbing the excess moisture from his hair with a towel in only a pair of briefs.
“Hey sweetheart, glad you’re home.” He sounds tired, even if the shower washed some of the stress off him. You turn the faucet off as he leans in to kiss you, body still radiating heat. The kiss is brief, more so than usual, but you still smile as he pulls away.
“You’re so warm,” you mumble, setting the now heavy pot onto the counter so you can pull Ryland into a hug. You’re still in your work clothes and honestly in need of a shower of your own, but you know he won’t mind. And as always, he absolutely melts into you, resting as much of his weight on you as he can without pushing you over. He smells of body wash and conditioner and that scent that’s just him, and it makes you fall for him all over again. You run your fingers through his damp hair and scratch lightly at his scalp in the way you know he likes, his arms squeezing you tightly around his waist. He pushes his face into your neck, breathing you in.
“Fuck, baby. I missed you so much today.” You hardly ever hear your boyfriend swear, and it would make you chuckle if he didn’t sound so serious. Before you can ask what went wrong though, you’re being picked up by the waist. You yelp unhappily at the sensation, but he doesn’t put you down. Instead, he starts walking out of the kitchen.
“Hey! I was in the middle of something over there,” you cry, but now he’s sitting down in his desk chair, situating you on his lap.”Ryland, what are you doing?” You ask, exasperated, but he’s only smiling in response. You’d bet money it was the first time he had smiled all day.
He finally releases you from his grasp, but it's clear to you that if you tried to move he would stop you. He’s got you straddling him in the leather chair he grades assignments in, fully clothed while he was almost entirely naked. He gives you another boyish smile, hands going to grope your thighs. “Making my day better,” he says, as if that answers anything. You don’t have the chance to ask anymore questions though, because his mouth is on yours again.
You’ve known since your third date with Ryland that he was a very good kisser. But he is first and foremost, a gentleman. He asked you over and over again if you were okay with what was happening, as if you hadn’t been imagining it since the second you met him. Right now, however, he would’ve had you fooled. His go-to strategy of short, chaste kisses that gradually tapered into his tongue behind your teeth was apparently too time consuming for whatever emotions he was having. This manifests in him almost immediately biting down on your bottom lip to get you to gasp into his mouth. Once he succeeds in this, he kisses you like he hasn’t seen you in months. He moans into your mouth relentlessly, chest already heaving as he breathes frantically through his nose. His hands roam up and down your body like he’s starving for it, fingers grazing the bottom hem of your shirt to feel your skin. You had never felt so breathless before, and your hands on Ryland’s bare chest betrayed his pulse was erratic under your palms. Although this was slightly out of character for your boyfriend, you figured he probably did really need it, so you let him have his way with you… until you literally did need to come up for air.
Your hands on his shoulders now you push him back, turning your mouth away from his to catch your breath. He relents after realizing what it is you’re doing (he’s still a gentleman, after all), but his face immediately falls into a pout. “Why’d you stop?” he asks, disappointment obvious in his tone. Your hands find their way back into his hair to console him. His lips are swollen and slick with saliva, his head leaning back into your touch. You ponder idly on how you got so lucky with him before realizing he actually wanted an answer to your question. You huff in amusement,
“Lack of oxygen, Ryland. And maybe while we’re here you can tell me what the hell happened today that’s got you acting like this?” You raise an eyebrow at him accusingly, but he doesn’t take the bait. One of your hands falls from his hair, pressing back against his chest so you can feel his heartbeat start to even out.
“Is it not enough that your boyfriend wants to make out with you right out of the shower?” He’s pouting again, words coming out in a sigh. He knows you’re not going to complain about his appearance right now, and he’s using it to his advantage. But you don’t want to give in just yet. You know there has to be something more than this.
“Ryland,” you can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous the situation is, “I’m still in my work clothes. Why don’t we go eat-” he cuts you off, grinning,
“Wonderful observation, sweetheart. You are wearing too many clothes, it's not fair.” And his hands are quickly back under your shirt, tugging it gently over your head and dropping it onto the floor. You frown at him, how unlike himself he’s acting. His hands find your hips, and you can tell he’s very pointedly not trying to take off your bra, even though you know he could do it one handed. Finally, he concedes, rubbing a hand dramatically down his face,
“I’m fine, I promise. I had a bad day at work, and I left my phone here so I couldn’t even talk to you and I was very upset about it, okay?” He’s fidgeting as he talks, thumbs rubbing circles into your hip bones, and you’ve never found him more endearing. “But you came home and you look so pretty and the only thing that’ll make me feel better right now is if you let me continue what we were doing earlier. That’s all I want, please.” He looks defeated as he finishes, like his desire is embarrassing to him. But you think you’re getting it now. You know you’re going to have to take a little bit of control. You’re playing with the short hair at the nape of his neck in a way that he’s told you drives him crazy. His eyes flutter shut momentarily at the sensation and you peer down at him, so so smitten.
“Does this mean you were at work all day thinking about kissing me?” His eyes snap open in apparent shock at the question, but his dilated pupils give away his feelings. His ears are now pink with bashfulness, and he nods.
“Yeah- I was. You don't understand what you do to me, baby. I don’t go a single day without thinking about kissing you… if I’m being honest.” He trails off at the end, mumbling the rest of the sentence. His blush has spread to his cheeks, and you want to swallow him whole with how he looks. Which… means you're on about the same page now. His hands are still on your hips, gently massaging them above the waistline of your pants. The hand not still in his hair circles his bicep, and you grin at him.
“Well thank you for that perfectly romantic confession, but does this mean you want my pants off too?” His eyes flick downward, but he shakes his head.
“No, you’d have to get up to do that. I just want to kiss you again, if I’m allowed.” You lean in, but stop just short of his mouth, pressing your foreheads together.
“Now you’re asking for permission? You didn’t do that earlier.” You want to keep teasing him, but he moans pathetically at how close you are, how he can feel your breath on his lips.
“Please, I’m begging.” You finally give in.
His mouth is immediately open, unabashedly sucking on your bottom lip to get you to make noise. Your hands are tugging at his hair now, and his whining into your mouth gives you an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. Whatever romantic air he had about him just a second ago has completely vanished as he licks into your mouth like a starved man again. You push him fully back into the chair, feeling his length through the black briefs he was wearing. You drag a hand down his chest, intending on helping him with his quickly growing problem, but he catches your wrist in his strong grip, still kissing you.
“Absolutey not.” He grunts out in between your mouths. You whine in confusion, but move your hand upwards so he’ll release your wrist. He doesn’t and instead guides your hand under his chin, urging you to cup his face in your hands. You obey, immediately being rewarded as he sinks into your touch.
You gently pull away from his mouth, moving to kiss all over his face. He soaks up the attention like a puppy being doted on, the stress finally fully leaving his pretty features. You mumble praises to him in between kisses,
“You just needed some attention, huh? So much drama when I got home when all you needed to say was you wanted a kiss.” He protests in the form of a high-pitched noise in the back of his throat, but you shush him. “I know, I know. It’s my fault for not catching on sooner, baby. You’re doing so well, holding on for so long while you were explaining it to me.” You move further down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his throat. His flushed skin shivers under your delicate touch. Your hands move up and down his shoulders, trying to get his posture to fully relax. “You sure you don’t want me to help you out, baby?” With the way he was reacting to your touch you thought he was going to agree, but he was apparently very against this. He blinks rapidly, obviously trying to regain focus.
“N-no. Not yet,” he whines, pulling you back up to his mouth. You give in, but only in the form of short, closed-mouth kisses, trying to slow him down.
“What do you want, Ryland?” Your tone borders on condescending but you know it’s what he needs, lashes still fluttering while he tries to focus on you. Your hands move feather-light up and down his toned arms. “You just wanna make out for what- the rest of the night?” That finally gets him to answer,
“Yes.” He swallows hard as he nods, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat with the motion. “Yes, that’s exactly what I want.” You nod pensively, like you’re weighing the pros and cons. You can still feel his desire in between your legs.
“Can we eat dinner first?” Your tone has gone from condescending to formal, exactly how you talk at the office. You start tracing the lines of muscle on his stomach, and he honest to god whimpers. He shakes his head,
“No. That- it’ll take too long.“ He looks up at you with all the awe of someone who believed you must’ve put the stars in the sky. You had him in the palm of your hand.
“Fair point. Can we move to our bed at least? These pants are pretty uncomfortable, and if you carry me like you did earlier I can kiss you while you walk.” His eyes widen, and before you know it you’re being carried quickly out of the room.
You have to get him to re-buy your groceries the next day because he never gave you the chance to refrigerate them.
teasing ryland throughout the day while he’s at work and when he comes home he doesn’t even have time to undress before he fucks you dumb
I HAVE THIS LINK SAVED ON ALL MY TWITTER ACCOUNTS IM SOO OBSESSED WITH IT 😩.
Ry finding you in just panties tummy first on your bed and you FREEZE.
Eye contact for 20 seconds and then he's bolting and you're scrambling to find a shirt and run off into the apartment knowing you're SO FUCKED.
Ryland picking you up and shoving you ont the bed with a grin while you're nervously giggling and he pauses and leans forward between your legs and plans a gentle soft kiss to your cheek and goes.
"A reminder i love you and would do anything for you before i do this."
And you're like... "Huh?"
And then your panties are ripped in half.
And then you end up folded in half naked while he fucks you fully clothed, making you feel small, exposed, and vulnerable while he fucks your brains out (or what little you have with him anyways).
You’d been sitting on Satoru’s lap for what felt like forever—probably half an hour, maybe more. The moment he got home, you didn’t even give him time to hang his coat.
You hooked your hands around him and practically demanded. “Sit down.”
Satoru blinked like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “Whatcha’ up to now?”
Before he could answer, you climbed onto his lap and made yourself comfortable like you belonged there. He froze for a second—then his hands hovered awkwardly, unsure whether he was allowed to touch you yet.
“Hey—Why are you acting so—”
He didn’t get to finish.
You grabbed his blindfold and ripped it off his face with reckless confidence.
The movement was so random Satoru barely had time to react. His hair fell into place, and then—those bright blue eyes were there, fully uncovered.
For a moment, he looked almost startled.
Then his expression softened, concern creeping in. “Baby…Did I do something?”
You didn’t answer. You just stared—steady, intense, like you were really inspecting him. Like you were checking something important.
Satoru swallowed.
“No,” You finally said, voice quiet but certain. You leaned closer, meeting his gaze like a promise. “Have I told you how much I love your eyes?”
His shoulders loosened and you could almost see him realize he wasn’t in trouble. He let out a small laugh, then tried to grin like everything was normal.
“Yes,” He said gently, looking at you like he adored you. “Yes, you have, sweetheart.”
Ryland Grace isn't the type of man who will choose between boobs, thighs or ass, he simply loves everything about you equally. Give him a chance to have any of those and he'll be the happiest man in the universe...
When you're riding him, his hands will run all the way up to your breasts, If it's not the hands, it's his mouth; preventing Grace from embarrassing himself by saying something stupid. His eyes simply can't look at other things when he has such a beautiful sight, occasionally alternating between looking up at your face and then back at your boobs like he can't simply focus on the two things at the same time; having many pretty things to look at with only one pair of eyes.
And then, when he's fucking you from behind, body bent over under his. Grace will be totally head over heels for the curves of your waist and ass, looking down to watch you; with both hands over your hips, his fingers pressed against the warm skin like it's as a way to reassure himself he wasn't dreaming about it instead. And if he's not paying attention to the view of your body, he'll be distracted watching the way your needy cunt takes him just so perfectly, along with the sound of your moans (and his too).
There's also the times when all he needs is to feel the warmth of your thighs right over each side of his head. His hands resting on your thighs, feeling the soft and warm flesh against his fingers while his tongue works restlessly on you.
Ryland, being such a giver, could never choose any other thing to do other than spending hours savoring the sweetness of his lover. He's a mess and he loved it, running his tongue from the bottom up and then giving full attention to the sensitive bud. —And on all the times, he would be looking up at you, glasses starting to get foggy or out of place in his face; eyebrows slightly furrowed for the dedication.
Therefore, Ryland Grace is a man who loves everything, at anytime when it comes to you; there's no way to choose only one thing forever.
A half asleep Ryland coming into the kitchen on an early Saturday morning. He's got one arm above his head, rubbing the back of his neck and slightly musing his golden hair that shines for a moment as he passes by the window in his small living room, his other hand is on his stomach, under his shirt and splayed against the skin there while a big yawn tears from his mouth and echoes against the plaster walls.
You can hear him as he slowly patters his way down the hall.
He's wearing a pair of dark navy sweatpants hanging on his hipbones just right and you get an eyeful of the 'v' of his lower abdomen, a tiny trace amount of his happy trail, along with a faded t-shirt, 'UM - the element of confusion'.
That tugs a sleepy smile to your face as you watch him plop his tall body into the too-small wooden chair next to you at the even smaller kitchen table that barely fit through the front door of the apartment when you moved in.
There's early morning sunshine shadowing against his pretty face and turning his beard into a mish-mash of darker blonde and throns of gold that surrounded his perky pink lips perfectly.
Ryland's half-lidded eyes spare you a tired glance, the luminance causing parts of his irises to shine a remarkable azure before he squints, cresting the rounds of his eyes with wrinkles as he leans in and presses a very lazy kiss to your forehead.
He shifts just a bit as you reach a hand up and tuck it into his stubly beard, his mouth drifting upwards and tucking into your hair.
"Thought we agreed to sleep in on Saturdays." His voice is thickly laced with sleep. There's no motion made to clear it away and it's pulling at your mind in the best way possible.
You scratch your fingers against the side of his cheek earning you a huffed laugh as the handsome man shut his eyes, arms moving to case you in an embrace and in one fluid motion, you were out of your chair and straddling him in his without much thought put behind how much weight the chair legs could handle.
"I did sleep in. It's 7:24. I usually wake up at 7." You debated weakly.
Ryland chuckled at that, the air moving your hair as he snuggled his arms around your waist. "Hm... I can't argue that logic. M'brain's still not awake enough."
"Shoulda stayed in bed then, sleepy-head." You teased.
"Imagine my disappointment waking up all alone." Ryland muttered, languidly dragging his face to the crook of your neck. You could feel the blanket of heat against the shell of your ear before his lips barely coasted a kiss along your pulse. "I needed to come find you..."
"Well, you found me." You tucked your fingers into his hair, letting them trudge deep enough to massage his scalp.
"Hm...." Ryland smiled lazily against your hot skin, drawing circles on your hips as he pushed the shirt you were borrowing from him up your torso. "Want to go back to bed and try waking up again?"
"You don't want to have breakfast first?" There was a draw of suggestion in your voice that he caught hold of in his half-awake state.
And still, Ryland had to buffer that innuendo as he shifted beneath you, the cascade of warmth between your legs escalating and the hardness in his sweatpants more than a minor inconvenience that couldn't be quashed with rational thinking, only physical touch.
"Why not have it in bed?"
“Sign of the Times” thought: Ryland wordlessly pulling his fox cardigan off and draping it around your shoulders, pulling you flush into him until you’re tucked against his chest, swaying together to Stratt’s singing.
summary: grace hurts his back, you give him a massage to help him feel better.
tags: loosely related to coma beranices (ie same pilot!reader) but you don't need to read that to understand this, female reader, hints at a past something between ryland and reader, coworkers to lovers, ryland whimpers and groans, fair warning
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While trying to build Rocky’s enclosure and system of Xenonite tunnels, Grace hurt his back. You noticed it the moment it happened. He bent over to pick up a large, see through panel, lifted it maybe a few inches off the ground and groaned. Halting all moving and clamping his eyes shut against the pain.
“You good?” you asked as you helped Rocky weld the pieces together.
“Yep, super,” Grace replied, setting the panel back down and pressing the heel of his palm into a spot on his back. “Super duper.”
“Grace hurt, question?” Rocky asked, leaning around you in his ball so he could see him properly.
“Nope. Nope. Just…Tweaked my back s’all.”
“Don’t know word.”
“Tweaked is just another word for hurt,” you chimed in as you set down the welder and got to your feet. “Question is, how bad.”
“It’s fine,” Grace insisted, still not standing up straight and still holding his spine. “Just need to lay down, take some ibuprofen. I’ll be fine in an hour.”
He was, in fact, not fine in an hour. He hadn’t made a peep since he disappeared to the dorm, and you imagined if he was actually feeling okay at some point he would have come back and worked through the pain. That was just how he was. You let another thirty minutes slip by working with Rocky on a few more panels, then you couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to make sure that he was okay.
Rocky insisted on going with you at first, but after several minutes of debate and slightly childish arguing, he agreed to stay and keep working while you checked on Grace. And you were glad that the alien decided to stay behind, because Grace was pitiful once you found him. Laying face down in his cot, death gripping his pillow like that might eliviate the pain. He heard you come in and slowly turned his head to look at you, glasses ditched somewhere and agony clear as day in his eyes.
“Oh, Grace,” you sighed, walking further into the room.
“Okay, so, it might’ve been more than a tweak,” he admitted, eyes trained on you as you came to stop beside his cot. “‘Cause this hurts like a buttcheek on a stick.”
You chuckled softly, resisting the urge to thread your fingers through his hair like you had done so many times before. “Can I do anything to help?”
“Heat? Or cold? Something with temperature,” he grumbled, face down into his pillow now.
“How about um — how about I give you a massage?” you suggested tentatively, “Then I can get you something with temperature.”
Grace peeked out at you from the crook of his elbow. “You sure?”
“Yeah. Gotta get my scientist back in tip top shape. Plus Rocky would lose his mind if you were hurt any longer.” You smiled fondly. “He kept going Grace okay, question? while you were gone.”
“Oh, Rocky,” he sighed.
Then you put a hand on his back, watched as the muscles there rippled as he jumped slightly. “Where does it hurt?”
“B-Between the shoulder blades.”
“Okay. You tell me if I’m going too hard or something.”
“Yes, captain.”
You grinned at the nickname then got to work. Massaging lightly with your fingers into that spot between his shoulder blades. He seemed to react fine to that, so you pressed down a little harder. Ryland Grace whimpered, back trying to arch away from your touch as he banged his fist into the side of his cot. But he didn’t tell you to stop, so you kept going. Switching up your fingers for the heel of your palm.
“A-ah!” Grace gasped quietly and reminded you of a different lifetime.
“Do you want me to stop?” you asked, pausing the motion of your hand.
“N-No. I think it’s helping,” he panted back, “Hurts good.”
For another ten minutes you massaged that spot between his shoulder blades, Grace whimpering and groaning nearly the entire time. You had to bite your tongue to keep back an apology, or sounds of your own. Once he called it, you stepped back instantly, afraid that you were going to take things too far when he barely even remembered you.
“Thanks, captain,” Grace mumbled.
“You still want…Temperature?”
“No. Think I’m just gonna take a nap.”
“I won’t tell Rocky. He’ll wanna watch you.”
Grace grinned, all sleepy eyed and adorable. “I actually don’t mind someone watching me sleep.”
You left the dorm to keep yourself from saying something you would regret. About so many nights cramped inside a Navy issue bunk where you couldn’t sleep and watched him instead.
Heavy Handed Science Lesson. ( Ryland Grace x Fem! Reader, NSFW, 18+ Oneshot )
*lays this at your feet because i have no where else to put it *
Title: Heavy Handed Science Lesson.
Pairing: Ryland Grace x Female!Reader.
Rating: M, 18+. ( MINORS DNI. Heavy mentions of anatomically correct phrasing, P in V, no condom ( let's make responsible choices here guys ), Ryland discovers a certain..... something really gets him going. )
Words: 2.6K.
Summary: Ryland Grace tries his hand at Dirty Talk. It works. Maybe a little too well.
Ryland Grace Masterlist.
The familiar stretch of Ryland as he shifted slightly under you was a perfect and grounding presence as you moved, trying to time your motions with his own to form a rhythm that made your toes curl. Your room is quiet, save for the soft pants between your mouths, the occasional tangling of the tongues and the hard sounds of bodies meeting.
Ryland moves his large hands from your back where he had been holding you against him, to your hips to let you rise and quite frankly - ride him into the mattress like your life depended on it. His grip was slightly sweaty, but endearing earnest as he tried to guide your erratic movements. He gets it just right, and a moment later, the poor scientist has his head thrown back against the plush pillows, his eyes falling shut and his mouth slightly open as he lost himself in the slick sensation you were giving his cock.
“Ryland…” You moaned and earned another shift from his hips rising to meet yours as your hands rested on his chest to keep yourself steady as you bounced, or more or less, grinded.
He’s mumbling under his breath, a pretty common occurrence as he was very much trying to keep it together, but slowly, his eyelids flutter open and his blue eyes meet yours. Your breath hitched as Ryland tightened the grip on your hips and drove upwards, bruises on the horizon for your hip bones. There was barely any color left around his irises, they were completely pupil-blown and flickered with a clouded desire that you could feel your stomach clench in that sort of pre-orgasm ride you were seeking.
But… There was something else there, too. A gaze of… Analytical curiosity.
“You’re just so…” He panted, chest rising and falling rapidly as you drew your fingertips against his soft pecs, slightly perked from the attention they were suddenly receiving. Quickly, Ryland lost his train of thought when you rolled your hips, a particularly practice move you had skilled that made him whimper under you, his teeth sharp and biting down on his bottom lip to keep it mildly sedated.
“Ohhh… Baby… That’s…” He sucked a hard breath in through his teeth. It was painful, but it mixed with the pleasure of your hot walls hugging his swollen cock. “The… friction… Variable… Less than I projected.”
You groaned quietly, rolling your head back and letting his words really sink into you. Ryland was not… a dirty talker, but when he did, it came out in absolutes. Scientific phrasing. The things that made him comfortable and over the times you had been together, it became incredibly sought after and even sexier than other dirty talk you may have had.
“Your… ha---!” A sharp sound left Ryland’s mouth that tapered into a stagnant groan upon feeling you clench him purposefully. “Your natural lubrication is uh… exceptionally… efficient at… at…”
The cute blonde under you trailed off, his hips bucking up involuntarily, making both of you gasp as you braced your hands against him a bit harder. The smile on your face couldn’t be helped, it was slow and lazy and it made Ryland whimper again as you leaned down, changing the angle for just long enough to kiss him. All this, your movements never faltered and you relished in the absolute mess your boyfriend became at the new position and its offerings.
“Is that what y-you’re thinking about right now? Friction coefficients, Dr. Grace?”
That jilts him. Darkened eyes meet yours, wide and surprised at the use of his professional name and then dropped to your chest, bouncing delictably in front of him as a grin spread across his expression.
“Oh…” Ryland’s voice dropped an octave as rubbed your hips in his hands, feeling the skin react to his touch perfectly. “Oh you s-shouldn’t have don-done that…”
He was a mess, his blonde hair spread against the pillow, his mouth swollen from the makeout session that led to this situation, but the next words come out loud and clear, “That activates my methodological rigor.”
A.K.A, that turns me on. A lot.
His hands tighten on your hips, trying to take control of your rhythm and leaving you to bite at your bottom lip to stifle the loud moan that threatened to come out. Ryland… Took that personally and now it was his mission to get you louder. "Okay. So. The stimulus-response relationship. For every... for every unit of force you apply... um..."
There is a moment of lapse in his words when you clench around him again, this time as you bounced up and the sensation was more focused around the head of his cock and then down the length as you came down, almost sitting. "F-force. Like... like that..."
The clever scientist tired to push up to meet your next downward stroke, but unfortunately, he was not very good at… Timing beats. There is a mid-judge in the situation and he slipped out, leaving you empty.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry…” He groaned as he reached down, grabbing himself and fumbling to guide. He could blame the dim lights, but he could very well blame the fact that he had his pretty girlfriend sitting on him, eager for more and he was just… Not smooth. “Let me… Gah… Re-calibrate trajectory here.”
That made you laugh, a soft blush playing at your cheeks as you reached down, cupping his hand and helping out as best you could. He teased you for a moment, letting the swollen head of his cock play against your clit before he slid right back in, filling you up and earning him another roar from you as you tossed your head back. “Ryland…”
He sputtered, trying to regain some of the authoritative demeanor, though his face is bright red and he’s once again staring at your bouncing chest. Not staring. Oggling.
“A-As I was saying… For ev-every unit of force applied…” You did just that, moving your hips forward and sliding down him, a bit rougher than before. “Th-... F… Fluffer…” He squeezed his eyes shut, “Ther… M…”
You felt so good, words seemed so far away but he forced them, “There’s a corresponding… cascade of… Mh… Neurochemical stuff.” He hated that word. ‘Stuff’ when you could just be specific.
“Dopamine,” He raised his hips and your breath got caught in your throat in a violent motion as you came crashing back down on him, “Oxytocin…” Another raise of Ryland’s hips, this one got you to see stars, he was using incredible force, his knees coming up and it was clear that leverage was his best friend.
You came tumbling down, dropping your forearms by his head and instead of exerting intense bouncing, you resorted to hard grinding and occasional bounce when you got your hip to rise enough.
Ryland moaned at that, meeting you down and letting his mouth fall onto yours to swallow a few of your sounds without shame. Having your mouth landing on his already open, he was appreciative as his tongue swept against yours and you drew back, bringing Ryland’s bottom lip between your teeth for a second before letting go.
“God… Your pupils baby…” You bit your bottom lip this time, letting your nose bump against his, “They’re v-very dilated… Tex-textbook example of arousal.”
You nodded, resting your forehead against his as Ryland took control, despite you still being on top of him. With his hands still on your hips, he drove into you with a very steady pace that told you that he wasn’t over yet, he wanted to stave off as long as it took for this little… Spontaneous little science lesson to come to a natural close.
“And the anatomy?” He laughed breathlessly, but his voice was low and thick with lust, letting his eyes take pleasure in peeping at where you two were joined.
“God, the anatomy. D-do you feel how your… internal muscles are contracting?” You barely managed a nod at that and moaned softly against Ryland’s mouth as you kissed him.
“It-it’s called a peristaltic wave… It’s an… involuntary…” You clenched him purposefully again, “Hn…. Spasm designed to… to…” He twitched.
The words are lost to Ryland, his mind clearly short-circuiting from the abundance of pleasure. What better thing for science than an example, “To do that to me.” He forced himself to finish, his voice strained at how tight you felt. “It’s s-so… perfect…”
Ryland moved to guide your hips, eager to change the angle and hit that spot deep inside of you. He pushed you slightly forward, but overestimated the force needed and nearly sent you tumbling headfirst off the bed.
“Woah!” You yelp, unfortunately not out of pleasure. “Easy there, Dr. Grace. No need to give me a concussion in the middle of our experiment.”
He laughed under his breath. He liked that you were referring to it that way as he softened his hands as your hips. “Sorry, sorry. Calculation was flawed. Let’s… Let’s try…” Ryland moved you more gently. Carefully, having taken those notes all scientists needed to in order to make adjustments. “Angling your pelvis… Posteriorly.”
Your hips moved back a bit, angling a bit awkwardly at first but you caught his drift. Ryland though, demonstrated by wiggling his own hips which felt good as he was still inside of you, but it was almost a motion so absurdly cute that it made you giggle. You followed his clumsy instructions, shifting your hips ever so slightly and suddenly, his next thrust upwards hit that spot perfectly. You cry out loudly, your back arching in response as goosebumps flooded your skin. Rolling your head back, Ryland watched the tense nature of your neck as you let out almost inhuman sounds from the back of your throat.
“There we go.”
He seemed a bit more rampant, bringing his hips into yours as you came down on him, floating hard but sinking slowly. There was a breathless smile on his face as he watched your reaction with intensity. You were so… so… pretty…
“That’s the uh…” Ryland struggled for the scientific term. “Anterior fornix. Or- I-I guess you know it by the G-spot.” Hearing him say something crudely tangled with the fact that he was abusing that body part with the force behind his thrusts from below sent you spiraling.
“I-I think based on yo-your reaction, baby…” You moaned louder when Ryland went that much deeper. “This is a highly e-effective stimulation point.”
You’ve had it. With his words still floating in the air, you take control back over and press your hands hard onto his chest, using your body weight against him to keep Ryland from moving and he was more than willing to comply as his knees came down and you happily moved one of the hands from his chest back to rest on his knee. You tilted above him just a bit.The pace that is set is frantic, chasing that feeling that only he gave you.
Ryland's lecture devolved at that point turning into breathless moans and extremely fragmented observations. “T-the pressure is… building,” He panted, tossing his head back before forcing himself to look at you as you rode him. “It’s a po-positive f-feedback loop…” His words felt jumbled together as you tightened around him, “The more you ride me, the more I feel and the more I want.”
Ryland lost it there for a few moments. His hands roamed from their safe place against your hips upwards to your breasts where they grasped desperately, though he was hoping to go for… experimental. “Th-the secondary s-sexual characteristics like-like to be played with, huh?” He was getting dirtier. Losing what little control he had left. “Yeah?” He squeezed them hard. “They lik-like tactile stimulation.”
You nodded wildly, grinding your hipbones into your boyfriend’s hard. It was then that whatever was holding Ryland back just… Snapped. His babbling became just as erratic as your hips, a testament to how truly overwhelmed he was.
“I-I’m so close…” He gasped, his voice a ragged whisper and eyes locked on your face as it was twisted in pure ecstasy. He liked the way you looked. So sickly entwined in the desire for his cock inside of you, begging with just your body and sounds that you wanted him to cum deep inside of you. “A-are you close? B-because I t-think I’m g-go… My sy-sytem is… about to overload.”
You had to hand it to him. When he went into lesson mode, he went all in.
Those words are your metaphorical and physical undoing. Hearing Ryland’s voice so strained and so deep in his chest, rumbling and rough, combined with the absolutely relentless pleasure, sent you over that crested edge. You yelp out his name uncontrollably as your orgasm crashed through you, a blinding and searing wave that made you scream his name again. And then again when he lifted his hips to meet yours.
Your body convulsed against his, your back so arched and ridged as he squeezed your breasts harder than he meant but it seemed appreciated as you moved against him. Your inner muscles clamped Ryland’s hard cock, uncontrollably spasming against him and giving him only a sensation your pussy managed to exude in him.
“Oh, god.” Ryland’s voice was hoarse from over excretion. The sound of his skin literally slamming into yours sounded in the room as you were more than willing to let the handsome scientist use you like a piece of lab equipment. His cock twitched, you could feel it against your walls as he moved rapidly. “I… F… I’m c-cumming…”
With a final, clumsy thrust upwards, Ryland felt relief to follow you over the edge, spilling into you with a series of shuddering, guttural moans as he tensed under you, hands sliding roughly down to grab your hips and keep you down on him. Your name was chanted over and over again, his head throwing itself back against the pillow once again as he thrashed it, eyelids squeezed shut that the corners of his eyes wrinkled from pressure.
Every pulse of his hot cock pumping you full, every spasm the organ gave as he emptied himself and helped ease your orgasm, you were able to feel to incredible precision.
“Ry…” You whined softly, rolling your hips in the seated position as Ryland held you to him like a magnet.
Without much energy left, you collapsed onto him, your chest crushing against his and in any other circumstance, you’d have readjusted for comfort but you just didn't have it in you and let Ryland wrap his arms around you, holding you to him as your breath exploded onto the side of his neck, pressing a hot kiss against his heavy jugular. In return, Ryland nuzzled his face into your hair and drew in a deep breath, trying to collect it in his series of pants.
Your hips were still making small circles, trying to ease both of you back down without completely crashing. The room now was silent, except for the sounds of your hard breaths against each other's skin. Ryland traced your scapula with the tip of his finger, sweat having built up in the energy used and you felt sticky against him. But it wasn’t uncomfortable, and in fact, it was a deeply intimate moment.
After a long moment of you two trying to recollect some sense of self, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Conclusion,” He murmured against your hair. “The… hypothesis was… Correct. The results, in my professional opinion, are highly significant and we should uh…” He raised his eyebrows, “We should definitely run the experiment again… For… Data collection.”
You lifted yourself up against him a bit, Ryland giving you a bashful and goofy smile as if he did not just rail your brains out. “For science?”
warning ladies !! do not spit in gojo’s mouth unless you’re ready for him to nut instantly!
“c’mon baby,” he whines, voice all breathy and cocky, his blue eyes sparkling looking greedy. “i’ve been good. spit in my mouth, please?”
you laugh, because this six-foot-whatever menace who can literally warp reality is pouting like a brat because he wants your spit.
“you’re so fucking weird, toru.”
“you are weird,” he corrects instantly, tongue already poking out a little. “now c’mon.... i’m dying here. my dick’s so hard it’s bout to file a complaint.”
you roll your eyes but lean in anyway, gripping his jaw with one hand, thumb pressing into the soft skin just under his bottom lip. he opens wider, eyes half-lidded, that signature gojo smirk twitching at the corners because he knows exactly how nasty this is.
you gather it slow on purpose, letting him watch, then spit directly onto his waiting tongue. thick, warm, right in the center.
the sound he makes is downright criminal. a broken little moan-groan that vibrates straight through his chest and into yours.
“fuck— again,” he gasps, “do it again. spit like you mean it.”
you do it again, messier this time, letting some of it miss and drip down his chin. he doesn’t even wipe it. just lets it slide while his eyes roll back.
“you’re actually getting off on this, huh?” you tease, grinding down slow on the massive bulge straining against the fabric. “big bad strongest and all it takes is a little spit to make you stupid?”
“shut up and degrade me properly,” he whines, but he’s grinning like an idiot, tongue still out. “call me a nasty little slut or sum. i’m literally leaking for you right now.”
you laugh again, i mean you can’t help it. before you do the request, you reach down and shove his sweats just low enough to free him. he’s flushed dark at the tip, already dripping down the shaft.
“open wider, pretty boy.”
he obeys instantly, loving every second of being absolutely humiliated by you.
you spit again, then lean down and lick into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue while you sink down onto his cock.
satoru’s whole body shudders. he moans into your mouth, hands scrambling on your hips, already babbling.
“more!! fuck— spit on me while you ride me. please baby i’ll do anything. i’ll buy you a country. i’ll cancel infinity for the rest of the night. just keep spitting in my fucking mouth—”
summary: ryland has always taken things slowly, but that changes the moment he realises his sweet girl isn’t nearly as innocent as she seems… and that he rather enjoys it
warnings: 18+ smut, p in v, graphic description of sex, submissive ryland supremacy!, begging, glasses stay on during sex, desperate ryland, kind of humiliation?? (forcing ryland to talk dirty), dom-ish reader?? creampie, porn with semi-plot
Ryland had always been an early riser.
It wasn’t down to a specific discipline; it was just how his brain was wired. He woke before alarms, before the sun had fully shown itself. He liked being up just that little bit before the world had fully begun.
Years of teaching only sharpened the habit. He allowed himself to enjoy his morning coffee on the balcony, relished in the quiet of the classroom before the chaos started, allowing himself to just sit in peace for a little while longer. Quiet, he decided, was a luxury he would welcome, even if it came intermittently.
And today was Sunday.
It was a soft morning, lacking lesson plans and half-marked papers, no rushing to beat traffic or coax half-awake teenagers into caring about cell structure. Gentle sunlight poured in through the gap in the curtains, having nowhere it needed to be, much like him for a change.
You were still curled up next to him, still asleep, your breathing slow and even. He daren’t move an inch.
His arm was starting to tingle slightly, and he was itching to reach for his glasses on the bedside table, but he remained still. He could see you well enough like this—soft around the edges, a tad blurry. It was almost like a photograph on film, one that had not quite come into focus. It was an image that would be burned into his brain for mornings to come, and afternoons, and evenings, for that matter.
He feared that if he moved to sharpen the image, it might break the moment entirely. He remained still.
You’d probably tell him off, catching him in the act. He would probably think it was odd if the roles were reversed, watching one sleep, but he couldn’t feel guilt if he tried.
His attention always seemed to bend toward you; the rest of the world would have to wait a while.
The sunlight caught your face just right, tracing along your cheekbone, softening at the curve of your mouth. You were wearing one of his old t-shirts, and it swallowed you slightly, slipping off one shoulder as he tried not to stare at the bare skin.
He thought, not for the first time, that you might be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Which, scientifically speaking, was ridiculous. He could list a dozen scientific phenomena that objectively outclassed a sleepy human in borrowed clothing. Mitoses. Photosyntheses. The rings of Saturn.
But you being here was slowly dismantling his entire sense of scale on the matter.
He exhaled slowly through his nose, careful not to shift the mattress, as he recalled the previous night.
The previous night.
He had been so damn nervous.
Months of careful courting, getting to know you piece by piece and always eager for more. Shared dinners that stretched far too long because neither of you wanted to leave. Walking you home under streetlights, where conversations continued to flow so easily.
Sometimes you let him steal a kiss—or three—with him always pulling away at the last minute, insisting that he wanted to take his time. He wanted to do it right.
He was old-fashioned—not in the way people tend to mean now—but in that he believed in taking his time.
You just mattered to him. More than he cared to admit. That, tied with the fact that he was years out of practise, meant that this was even more rare.
He could not mess this up by rushing anything.
Not when the first girl he had the guts to ask out in years laughed at his terrible jokes, let him ramble through every scientific theory that caught his interest, not when your cheeks warmed at his soft compliments—especially not when his did the exact same.
He was a goner from day one. Every time he got home, he felt like he was floating. In high school all over again, with the pretty girl deciding to sit next to him in class for a change. You didn’t shy away from his personality, didn’t shrink. The knowledge that he had not ruined anything by just being himself.
He knew how easily it could happen. It had before—people brushing him off as distant, too lost in his own head to be taken seriously. He’d be damned if he let you slip through his fingers, not when you understood him so effortlessly.
So he hadn’t rushed, hadn’t pushed. There was no assumption of anything physical, no reaching for more than you were willing to give. But he couldn’t stop last night, not when you had been so certain, so soft.
It was natural with you, easy in ways intimacy never quite came to him.
All the nerves he had been holding in his stomach seemed to quiet. How could he be nervous when your legs pulled him deeper? Looking up at him with those eyes of yours as you asked him so nicely?
He knew he would give you anything you asked for in that moment—everything, actually. He’d be a fool not to.
You shifted then, barely more than a breath, but it pulled his attention back instantly. Your hand slid across his chest, fingers curling slightly in the fabric of his shirt as you turned, instinctively, toward him.
He froze, every muscle going still on instinct, like any movement might break whatever delicate, unconscious decision you were making. He could feel your weight against him, solid and comfortable. Like this wasn’t new for you, even if it was for him.
He hoped that, in time, it would no longer feel so novel to him. The fact that you were still here come morning was all the reassurance he’d done his job right.
You moved slightly against his arm again. Though it wasn’t like before, your unconscious shift still shrouded in sleep. Now you move with purpose, slowly stretching your limbs as you surface, waking in layers. Your hand slid across, your body pressing a little closer as you relaxed, settling into him once more.
He was perfectly still, not wanting to disturb you further.
Your eyes blinked open, still heavy with sleep. It only took you a few seconds of looking at him before your expression softened.
There you are.
“Hi,” you murmured, almost shy, not fully awake just yet.
“Hi,” he echoed, just as soft.
His eyes traced your face again, before he finally moved his hand. His fingers traced gently along your shoulder as you began to focus on him. Your gaze sharpened slightly as you assessed him. He seemed far more cognizant, and your lips curved into a gentle smile.
“...were you watching me sleep?”
The question, entirely fair and completely reasonable. The answer, however, deeply incriminating.
“…no?” he tried, failing miserably.
You uhuffed out a sleepy laugh, barely more than a breath as you nudged him with your foot, your smile widening. “Liar.”
You got him there.
He offered you a helpless shrug before leaning over, trying to salvage his dignity. He reached blindly for the bedside table before his fingers found his glasses. He slipped them on, pushing them up the bridge of his nose, the soft image of you coming in a little clearer. Both were equally lovely to wake to.
“Well,” he said, “in my defence—you weren’t exactly in focus.”
You laughed properly at that, your nose scrunching as you gave up on berating him. You curled yourself into his collarbone, forehead brushing lightly against his skin as you nuzzled closer to him, still amused. His arms enveloped you as they were itching to do all morning.
“Did you sleep okay?” you asked, voice slightly muffled.
“Perfectly,” he replied, although to him, it was a silly question. Even if he’d barely slept, the simple act of you being right beside him would have been perfection.
“Good,” you hummed.
Your body pressed more firmly against his, your leg sliding up just enough to tangle with his, your hand tracing absently along his chest in the soft morning glow
His breath hitched.
The warm feel of you, the way your soft thighs slide higher between his, the press of your breasts against his ribs under that oversized t-shirt…
His mind was already dipping into the memories of last night.
Images flickered behind his eyes in vivid flashes: the way you’d pulled him in with your legs wrapped tight around his hips, the breathy little sound you’d made when he finally sank into you, the way you’d looked up at him with those same sleepy, trusting eyes.
He’d tried so hard to be gentle, to take his time as he’d promised himself, but you’d been so warm and wet and eager, rocking up to meet every careful thrust until his control had frayed at the edges.
He needed to get his mind out the gutter—fast. There was no way you’d be up for that so early, but his mind circled back to your skin in the pale moonlight.
Your draping over him was not helping the situation; his body was reacting faster than his brain could. His cock stiffened fast, thickening against the soft give of your thigh, the thin fabric of his boxers doing nothing to hide how quickly he was hardening for you.
Oh, come on—seriously?
He tried to distract himself, but you felt it immediately. He knew you did, because the corner of your mouth curved against his skin in the tiniest, most wicked little smirk.
Whatever he was in for, he didn’t know, but that expression didn’t put him at ease at all.
Your lips brushed his jaw first—deliberate kisses that trailed down to the sensitive spot just under his ear. Then lower, along the line of his collarbone, slow and open-mouthed, like you were tasting the morning on him. When you pushed your knee up even higher, pressing right against the hard line of his cock, he twitched visibly beneath you.
A helpless sound slipped out of his throat before he could stop it.
You breathed a quiet laugh against the side of his neck, warm air ghosting over skin, and it did terrible, wonderful things to him. His hips jerked once, involuntarily, chasing the pressure of your thigh; he couldn’t help himself.
“Excited this morning, hm?” you teased, voice still husky with sleep but laced with mischief.
This was cruel.
He huffed, but it melted straight into a groan when your mouth found the side of his neck again—this time harder, lips and teeth and tongue working over the same spot until his toes curled against the sheets.
“I—it’s biology,” he managed, voice rough, “waking up in bed next to a pretty girl, it’s not—”
Your teeth sank gently into his neck, right where his pulse hammered, and the rest of the sentence shattered. His arm shot out across your back, hand gripping your shoulder hard.
In one smooth movement, you swung a leg over and straddled him, settling your weight right over the aching ridge of him. The thin layers between you doing absolutely nothing to dull the sensation.
You looked down at him, all doe-eyed and teasing and absolutely loving how flustered he was getting. You were still laced with sleep, but your lips curled as you knew exactly what your were doing to him.
“You think I’m pretty?”
God, you were gonna be the death of him.
His head was so foggy as you grinned down at him, loving the reaction he was giving you. Last night was all chaste kisses and whispered words.
Now, you were looking at him like you wanted to devour him.
All he could do was nod up at you, glasses slightly crooked, hair a mess against the pillow.
“Sweetheart,” he breathed, voice wrecked already, “like you—like you even have to ask.”
The flush that bloomed across his cheeks was beautiful and your grin grew even wider. You wasted no time in rewarding him with a slow drag of your hips against his, rubbing along his full length through the fabric, the friction pulled a sharp groan out of his chest.
You took the opportunity to lean down, lips brushing the shell of his ear.
“Ry…” you teased as you rocked against him again.
His hips bucked up into you, trying to chase the heat and pressure like his body had a mind of its own.
He could barely think when your thighs pressed against his hips so deliciously. He didn’t trust himself to speak clearly, worried his voice would crack further.
“T—top drawer,” he managed, his words stumbling out between quick breaths.
You pulled back with the proudest smile, clearly pleased with yourself. You pressed a gentle kiss against his lips as you leaned over to grab your reward. You stretched toward the bedside table, letting the hem of his t-shirt ride up your thighs, allowing him the devastating view of your bare skin.
You chuckled when his breath hitched at the display. He was far too easy to rile up—you loved it.
The drawer slid open with a quiet rattle. You reached in, fingers closing around the familiar box of condoms before giving it a small shake.
His stomach dropped.
Goddamn it.
He groaned, cursing himself repeatedly in his head. This was mortifying. One hand dragged down his face as reality hit him.
After so long without anyone, he barely touched the damn things. Not like he was getting anything close to action these days.
He should have remembered—there had only been two left yesterday, and you’d made such sweet, perfect use of both of them last night. You’d asked so sweetly if you could say, if that was alright, and then one thing led to another in the glow of the bedside lamp.
He should have been better prepared—god, if only—but he had been selfish last night. He gave in. He wanted to memorise every sound you made, every way your body fit against his, every breathless call of his name that was suddenly flashing through his mind once more.
Now, he would be facing the consequences.
“I–I’m sorry,” he started immediately, voice thick with apology, eyes wide behind his glasses. “I should have—I wasn’t expecting—I’m an idiot, I—”
You shushed him gently, stopping his rambling. You leaned down close again, forehead almost resting against his.
You didn’t look upset, which was a good thing?
With a gentle voice, so filled with affection despite its teasing edge, so much so that he never would have guessed the filthy words that left your mouth.
“I’m protected, Ry,” you placed one hand on his jaw, keeping your lips to his ear. “If you want… we can still…”
Surely you didn’t mean….
It took every single scrap of willpower not to combust right then and there. His brain scrambled as he caught your insinuation.
He’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about it—of course he had.
He was a man, and he was stupidly, helplessly in love with you. And, at the end of the day, biology was biology. Late at night after those long dinners, goodnight kisses that left him aching in his car, his mind wandered to the most primal thought: what it would be like to feel you. All of you.
No barriers—nothing. Just the soft and slick feeling of your skin against his.
He’d always shoved the thought away, called himself delusional, told himself it was far too big of an ask to impose on anyone, let alone you.
He’d never done that before. Not once. Not with the handful of careful, cautious flings he’d had years ago. Nothing this intimate. Nothing that held like handing you every last piece of him.
But you were offering it so willingly. Sitting all pretty on his lap like it would be a pleasure for not just him. His cock gave a helpless throb against you at the mere idea.
You chuckled at his reaction, you knew the effect you had on him.
He was nodding before he could stop himself—quick, frantic bobs of his head, glasses struggling to stay still, mouth dry.
You smiled that little smile and placed two fingers under his chin, tilting his head and forcing his dazed eyes to meet yours.
“I need words, Ry,” you whispered as your thumb brushed his bottom lip. “Can’t do it unless you tell me yes.”
You were going to be the absolute death of him.
“Yes,” he rasped, voice cracking. “Yes, I want—but only if you do. Please don’t feel as though—I would never—”
You quieted him with a kiss to the corner of his mouth, cutting off the rambling before it could spiral.
“I want to,” you murmured against his lips. “Wanna feel you everywhere.”
The groan that tore out of him was completely broken and involuntary. If that’s what you wanted, that’s what he’ll give you. Gladly.
“I’m gonna be on top, okay?” you ask, but it isn’t really a question.
He forces himself back to reality, to the fact that you are going to be on top of him. That the fantasy of you riding him is unfolding right in front of his eyes. You give him a second, a small window to object as you pull your underwear down slowly—like you think he might. Like that’s even remotely a possibility right now.
You smiled down at him as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, eyes locked on his, a knowing smile playing on your lips that made his stomach flip.
He watched, utterly transfixed, as you tugged the fabric down his hips with aching slowness. His cock sprang free, painfully hard and already leaking at the tip. The cool morning air hit his overheated skin, he hissed through his teeth.
“Eager, hm?” you murmured as your fingers brushed against his thigh.
He opened his mouth, some half-formed protest already forming, but your hand wrapped around him before he could get a single syllable out. The sudden pressure of your palm stole every thought. His hips jerked up into your grip on instinct, and all that came out was a broken, breathless babble.
“Never—never done it like this before,” he managed, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Not—not bare, I mean—”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, your expression softening in a heartbeat.
Your hand stayed right where it was, stroking him, thumb circling the slick head in a way that made his vision blur at the edges. For one terrifying second he thought you were going to stop, that the weight of being someone’s first for something this intimate might be too much.
That maybe you’d decide he was too much.
But your cheeks flushed darker, your eyes gleaming with something possessive, and your fingers tightened just a fraction around his shaft.
“Does this mean… I’m the first?”
The thought was dizzying. You were going to be the first one to give this to him, the ultimate trust. The idea sent a jolt down to your lower belly, your breath getting heavier in your lungs as you looked at his dishevelled expression.
You stroked him again, base to tip, torturously unhurried.
“Y–yes,” he nodded. “You’re the first.”
He could barely get the words out, your hand distracting him from anything coherent.
“Hm,” you hummed, low and fond. You leaned over him until your breath ghosted over his lips. Your hand never stopped its slow, devastating rhythm on his cock.
“Better make it worth it then, don’t I?”
He was gone.
Helplessly gone.
A wrecked sound tore out of his throat and his hands flew up to grip your thighs, fingers digging. His cock throbbed hard in your fist at the words, another bead of pre-cum sliding over your knuckles. He couldn’t even form a reply—just nodded frantically, cheeks burning crimson.
You sat up and peeled his old t-shirt up and over your head in one smooth motion. It dropped somewhere off the side of the bed. Ryland’s eyes went wide, pupils blown behind the lenses as he drank in the sight of you—bare, soft, perfect—straddling his hips. His mouth went dry. He stared at the swell of your breasts, the way your nipples had already tightened in the cool air, the gentle curve of your stomach, the place where your thighs pressed warm against his.
You caught the way he hesitated, his hands hovering like he was afraid to ruin the view, and you laughed again.
“You can touch me,” you said, voice warm. “I want you to touch me.”
Gladly.
His hands found you instantly, reverent and greedy. Palms sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts, then cupping them, feeling the goosebumps rise across your skin.
He leaned up on his elbows, mouth following the path of his hands—open-mouthed kisses pressed to your sternum, your ribs, the soft underside of one breast before he dragged his tongue over your nipple and sucked gently.
It was clumsy with his adrenaline, but you still sighed, arching into him. Your hand threading into his messy hair and scratching at his scalp in that way that made his eyes flutter shut.
He kept going, lost in the taste of your skin, the little sounds you made, even as his cock ached and leaked against you.
He could have stayed there forever, worshipping every inch of you, but you gently tugged his head back by the hair. He hissed at the sting, glasses fogged and crooked, eyes dazed and glassy as he stared up at you.
Please, do that again.
You cupped his face with both hands, thumbs stroking his flushed cheeks.
“Lie back.”
He obeyed quickly, falling back against the pillows, hands still locked on your hips.
He almost felt bad, the way you took over so easily. Surely he could be doing more, giving you more. But the thought faltered under the weight of the look in your eyes.
There was something in your expression that made his stomach flip, something that felt almost dangerous in the gentlest way. Like you were about to take him apart piece by piece.
The moment he was flat, you wrapped your fingers around the base of his cock again and gave him one long, torturously slow stroke.
“Please—” he squirmed beneath you, hips twitching.
You smiled down at him, wicked and sweet.
“If I’m the first one to have you like this, Ry,” you purred, stroking him again, even slower, “I gotta take my time.”
The look on his face must have been devastating, because your eyes darkened with pure satisfaction. He whined when you kept teasing him, thumb pressing right under the head on every upstroke, spreading the slickness until his cock glistened.
“This is cruel,” he gasped, voice cracking, head tipping back against the pillow. His thighs trembled under you. “Sweetheart, please—I can’t—”
He needed to feel you—now.
You took pity on him then, because he looked so desperate, so beautifully wrecked beneath you.
“Only because you asked so nicely.”
Thank God.
You shifted your weight, guiding the flushed, angry tip of his cock to your entrance. The first brush of wet heat against him made his breath stutter.
“Oh—God—” he choked out as you started to sink down.
The slide was slow, deliberate, and devastating. Nothing between you. Just slick, perfect heat enveloping him inch by inch until you were seated fully on his cock, your ass flush against his hips, nothing separating you at all.
“Baby—I—”
He could feel everything. Every flutter of your walls, every tiny twitch and clench as you adjusted around him. The way your body welcomed him completely, hot and wet and so tight it made his head spin. His hands spasmed at your sides, fingers digging into the soft give of your hips. He watched, transfixed, as your eyes fluttered and rolled back for a second when you rocked your hips experimentally, your walls rippling around his bare cock.
“You feel that?” you asked, voice husky, one hand braced on his chest as you rolled your hips again, taking him even deeper.
“Yes—yes, I feel it,” he gritted out, the words ragged. “I feel all of you—it’s—”
Every nerve in his body was lit up, oversensitive and raw. Nothing could have prepared him for this.
All those nights he was alone, his cock in his hand as he felt guilty about what he was doing. Images racing through his head of you like this, raw, so beautiful on top of him.
All those half-hearted imitations didn’t come close to this bliss.
“I need you to move,” he begged. “Need you to move, sweetheart, please—”
He sounded almost pathetic as he pleaded with you.
You began to ride him, rising up until just the head of his cock kissed your entrance before sinking back down, taking every thick inch again. The wet, filthy sound of it filled the quiet room. His head fell back, a moan tearing from his throat as pleasure exploded behind his eyes like fireworks. Sparks shot down his spine, pooling hot and heavy in his gut.
He watched you through half-lidded eyes, completely blissed out—your head tipped back, lips parted on soft little gasps and moans that made his cock throb inside you, the way your breasts bounced with every roll of your hips, the way your thighs flexed as you rode him like you owned him.
And you did. In that moment, you absolutely did.
“Fuck, Ry,” you breathed, leaning forward so your hands braced on his chest, nails digging in just enough to sting. “You’re so deep—”
Fuck, he knew. He could feel it.
Every thick inch of him buried to the hilt inside you, the slick, velvety drag of your walls hugging him so perfectly with nothing between you. It was overwhelming, obscene, the wet heat of your pussy swallowing him whole and clenching like it never wanted to let go. His hips snapped up on pure instinct, chasing that devastating friction, but you were the one in control, grinding down slow, making sure he felt every single flutter.
You picked up the pace then, rising and sinking with purpose. He whimpered, the sound punched out of his chest as pleasure coiled tighter in his gut. His glasses were completely fogged now, the lenses useless, but he didn’t care. He could barely see straight anyway, too lost in the sight of you above him: flushed cheeks, lips parted.
You looked like sin in the morning sunlight, and he was helpless beneath you.
“Does it feel good?” you teased, voice breathy but dripping with satisfaction as you clenched around him on purpose, a rippling squeeze that made his cock throb hard inside you. “Can you feel it?”
Can he feel it?
You were killing him.
He didn’t know where this new, wicked confidence had come from—last night you’d been soft and sweet and letting him set the pace, but now you were riding him like you owned every inch of his body.
He wasn’t complaining. Not even a little. If anything, the contrast made his head spin faster.
“Yes—yes, god, yes,” he babbled, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “Feels so good—been thinking about it for weeks—”
The confession slipped out before he could stop it. Your movements slowed instantly, dragging to an aching crawl until you were barely rocking on his cock, just enough to keep him throbbing and leaking inside you but nowhere near enough to satisfy.
You looked down at him, one hand sliding up to cup his jaw, fingers firm as you forced his blue, glassy eyes to meet yours.
“Weeks?” you echoed, voice soft but edged with pure delight.
He was panting, chest heaving, sweat already beading at his temples. He nodded frantically, too far gone to lie. His cock gave a helpless twitch inside you at the way you were looking at him—like you wanted to devour every filthy secret he’d ever had.
You leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear as you rolled your hips with excruciating slowness.
“Come on, don’t be shy now,” you whispered, voice dripping honey and sin. “How much have you thought about this? Be honest.”
This was mortifying.
He groaned, cheeks burning hotter than he thought possible. This wasn’t fair. This was cruel. You were sitting so pretty on his cock, pussy wrapped tight around him, and now you were pulling dirty confessions out of him like it was nothing.
He wasn’t good at this—words always tangled on his tongue around you at the best of times, and now, with you clenching around him on every slow drag, it was torture. Pure torture.
“I—I don’t know, I just—ugh, please move faster,” he begged, voice cracking, hips twitching uselessly beneath you in a desperate attempt to get more friction.
You stopped moving completely. Just sat there, warm and full of him, smiling down at him with that innocent little tilt of your head that did not match the filthy way you were keeping him buried inside you.
“I’m not moving until you tell me,” you said sweetly, like you were asking him about the weather instead of demanding he spill every desperate fantasy he’d had about filling you up bare. "
His brain short-circuited. The contrast—your soft, almost shy tone against the way your pussy was still fluttering around his aching cock—was going to end him. He was so sensitive, every tiny shift of your body sending sparks shooting up his spine, his body drawing tight with the need to cum.
“Ah—okay—since the second date,” he gasped in a humiliated rush. “Just—please, honey—don’t stop—you’re killing me here—”
You had the nerve to giggle, the sound vibrating through your body and straight into his length. For a second, he thought you were going to lean back and finally ride him properly, but you just stayed there, smiling down at him like he was the most adorable thing you’d ever seen.
Just take pity on him already.
“Long time, huh?” you murmured, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, now we can do this whenever you want, Ry. Just gotta ask.”
Whenever he wants?
Christ.
He swore he was going to die. The casual promise in your voice sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through him.
You owned him. Completely.
You finally took mercy and started moving again, you rode him with purpose. You moaned his name, and he could barely contain himself.
He was so sensitive, every drag of your pussy around his bare cock sending him spiralling higher, the heat of you with nothing between you driving him out of his mind. He could feel everything—the way your walls squeezed, the slick slide of your arousal mixing with his, the way your thighs trembled against his hips.
“Fuck—” you groaned, voice so gone it broke him. You leaned down, pressing your forehead to his, eyes locked on his as you kept riding him deep and perfect. “Please, Ry?—Wanna feel you.”
The polite little plea combined with the filthy request shattered what was left of his control. He came with a shattered cry of your name, hips jerking up hard as he gripped your waist.
“Baby, I'm—”
The words tumbled out, even as his cock pulsed and throbbed, spilling thick, hot ropes of cum deep inside you. Wave after wave, more than he thought he had in him, flooding you until he could feel the slick mess of it already starting to leak out around where you were joined.
His whole body shook with it, oversensitive and wrecked, glasses slipping down his nose as his head tipped back against the pillow.
You kept moving through every pulse, milking him for everything he had, whispering soft praises against his mouth until the last weak spurt finally faded and he was left trembling beneath you, spent and panting and so full of love and lust he couldn’t even form words.
Slowly, the world came back into focus. His heartbeat thundered in his ears while the rest of him felt loose and heavy. You were still straddling him, full of him, but your movements had gentled into lazy little rocks that sent aftershocks rippling through his oversensitive cock. He was still buried deep inside you, the mess of his release already starting to leak out around where your bodies were joined, warm and obscene and impossibly intimate.
Your lips were on him, sweet kisses scattered across his flushed face. One to the corner of his eye where his glasses had slipped, one to the bridge of his nose, one to the corner of his mouth that was still parted on a shaky exhale. You kissed his forehead, his temple, the flushed shell of his ear, murmuring little nothings between each press of your lips.
He was still floating somewhere outside his own body, chest heaving, but the sweetness of it pulled him back down gently. His hands, which had been locked in a death grip on your hips, loosened and slid up your back in a dazed caress.
When his eyes finally fluttered open, hair a complete disaster against the pillow, he looked up at you with pure, raw apology written all over his face.
“I’m so sorry,” he rasped. “I’m so sorry, I—I didn’t mean to—”
You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.
“What?” you asked, genuinely confused, one hand brushing damp strands of hair off his forehead. “Ry, I asked for this. I wanted it. There’s no need to apologise.”
He huffed out a half-frustrated groan, and let his head fall back against the pillow. His cheeks burned hotter.
Of course you’d say that. Of course you’d be sweet about it. But the guilt still twisted in his gut like a live wire.
He’d come so fast. Like a damn teenager who’d never touched a girl before. He hadn’t even lasted long enough to get you off, and that was the part that stung the worst.
He was supposed to take care of you—had promised himself he would, after all the careful, patient months of waiting. He was the one who was supposed to make you fall apart, not the other way around.
He’d spilled inside you like he had zero control, like the bare feel of you around him had short-circuited every rational thought he’d ever had.
Pathetic.
He could already feel the scientific part of his brain cataloguing the humiliation: refractory period probably shot, ego thoroughly demolished.
“What about you?” His voice was still shaky, but the concern was there.
You blinked down at him, all innocent again, like you hadn’t just ridden him into oblivion.
“What about me?”
“You didn’t even—” He gestured vaguely between you, cheeks flaming. “I didn’t get you there. I couldn’t even last long enough to—”
You chuckled, as you slowly lifted yourself off his cock. The wet drag pulling off him made him twitch hard, a broken sound escaping his throat as the air hit his oversensitive length. You flopped down beside him on the mattress, curling into his side, one leg sliding over his thigh.
“Well,” you said, propping your chin on his chest and looking up at him with sparkling eyes, “we have the rest of the day. I’m sure you can make it up to me later.” Your smile turned just a little wicked. “Or maybe in the shower?”
He groaned, already turned on again, and pulled you closer, arms wrapping around you.
You were unbelievable.
The way you could go from filthy and commanding to soft and playful in the space of a heartbeat left him dizzy.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” he muttered against your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head even as his body still hummed with aftershocks.
You laughed softly and tilted your face up, catching his mouth in a deep kiss that tasted like morning and sex and everything he’d been dreaming about for months. When you pulled back, your lips brushed his one last time.
“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” you whispered, voice warm against his mouth. “You’re more than welcome to join me.”
You slipped out of bed and he watched as you padded toward the bathroom. His eyes dropped to your thighs, where the evidence of what you’d just done together glistened in the sunlight: a slow, shiny trail down your skin. The sight hit him like a punch to the chest, possessive and so fucking beautiful it short-circuited whatever was left of his brain.
He was out of bed in an instant, nearly tangling himself in the sheets in his rush, cock already half-hard again just from the sight of you. You glanced over your shoulder and giggled and he followed without a second thought, trailing after you like a man who had already accepted his fate.
Yeah. He was definitely going to make it up to you in the shower.
a/n: im ovulating idk i think i blacked out when writing this. two people have asked me about creampies and this is where my mind immediately went
also sub ryland is real to me and i'll do anything to write about him being pathetic <3
hopefully you enjoyed and i will hopefully have something else written by next week so keep a lookout ;))))
