hiiiii for colt: he comes home after a day of shooting and he's all sweaty and desperate for you bc he's been thinking about eating you out all day :) important that he's sweaty and messy and perfect for you
anon...i'm rubbing my hands together like a fly thinking about this...LOOK AT HIM, he’s so dirty, i want to lick him clean 👅
masterlist
⋆˚꩜｡c.w. afab!reader. established relationship. smut (MDNI!). oral (f receiving). needy colt. dom!colt if you squint.
“honey, i’m home!” you hear your boyfriend tell you from the front door. “in the bathroom! give me a sec.” you don’t know why you bother, honestly. given how he struts into just about any place of the house like he owns it— which, he does.
predictably, he walks right into the bathroom. hugging you tight from behind while you wash your hands. you smile at him through the mirror, only to be found with him smelling your hair profusely. and if you weren’t so used to him, you’d be a bit creeped out.
you notice his usual loving gaze has contorted into a lustful one. you let out a laugh under your breath. “why are you laughing at me?” he asks while pushing your hair back to kiss your cheek, neck, shoulder, anywhere he can reach, basically. “colt, you just got home. you’ve just seen me, how are you turned on already?” and if as punctuation, he presses harder against your back, letting you feel him. and your laugh turns into a small gasp he doesn’t leave unnoticed.
“you smell so good, and you look so pretty,” he explains, kissing your shoulder. “i’m so tired, i just want some lovin’” he whines. grabbing your chin to turn you towards him and kiss you.
he wastes no time to slide his tongue into your mouth, smiling to himself when you let out a soft moan. only breaking the kiss to spin you around and grab you by the waist.
he walks you to your bed. you let out a huff when he pushes you to lay down. he’s quick to kneel before you, spreading your legs to get between them. “you’re gonna let me relax, hm?” he asks, already tugging your pajama bottoms and your underwear down.
had he been anyone else, you might’ve questioned how eating you out helps him, but you know your man, so all you do is bite your lip and nod.
“oh, honey,” he starts, in fake pity. “you’re already wet and i just got home.” he teases your teasing. and normally, you would roll your eyes at him, but he wastes not a second to dive in. making you gasp and hold on to his hair.
your legs try to close around his head. without looking, he throws one of your legs over his shoulder, pushing the other one open and keeping his hand there, fingers pressing into your skin.
“oh, my god.” you moan, staring at the ceiling. knowing that if you turn to see the lewd view in front of you, you’d come immediately.
he licks a stripe from bottom to top, zeroing in on your clit. giving it one, two, small licks before closing his lips around it.
you let out a loud moan, your legs threatening to close again, only to be found with colt’s death grip. he slaps your thigh. “don’t.” he chastises.
he lets his tongue wonder, licking into your folds. he practically makes out with it. you moan again, threading your fingers on his hair, only to be met with his dirty hair. your hips push off the mattress at the feeling.
he lets his tongue focus on your hole. you finally lean forward to see him. he makes eye contact with pleading eyes. you’re not sure what he’s asking for but you’re willing to give it to him.
he thrusts it into you, taking note on how you bite your lip. he smacks your thigh again, a not-so-gentle reminder that he wants to hear you. you mutter an apology and let the loud noises come out of you.
he licks another stripe again, making sure to give special attention to your clit, seeing how that got the bigger reaction. he licks it rapidly, his eyes fluttering shut and letting out a groan when he feels you tug at his hairline. the sounds that that feeling elicits out of you are ungodly. “oh, my god.” he gets lost in your body. head completely empty except from the way you writhe beneath him in pleasure.
“keep going, fuck, just like that, colt,” you ask him. “suck—suck on it, please.” and he’s so obedient for you, you have to break eye contact otherwise you’d come just from that.
your hips thrust into his mouth, and he groans again. you keep janking at his hairline.
your legs try to close on their own but you don’t let them, pressing your heel into his back. but when you feel how sweaty he still is, you’re almost on cloud nine.
his jaw is starting to ache, but that’s the furthest thing from his mind when he knows you’re already on edge.
“‘m fucking comin—” you interrupt yourself with a particularly high-pitched moan.
your breathing becomes shallower by the second. panting to let oxygen come into your lungs. you throw your head back and he knows he’s got you. “oh, my god, colt.” you try to say. “fuck, yes.”
your hips jolt at the overstimulation.
“it’s too much, honey.” you try to tell him between pants. pushing his head away from you, and he whines. he reluctantly pulls away, but not before kissing your core one last time.
while you try to regulate your breathing, he lays besides you. turning on his side and stroking your arm lovingly while you come back to reality.
you turn to see him. “hi.” you say, with the biggest grin known to man. “hi, baby.” he says with a soft smile, and that’s almost enough to get you going again.
“god, you stink.” you laugh when he leans in for a kiss. he hums. “didn’t seem to mind before.” you smack his arm. he laughs.
“i’m gonna take a shower,” he tells you while standing up. “join me?” he turns to see you, his eyes traveling to see you’re still spreading your legs, forgetting about the fact that you’re naked. you spring up. following him to the bathroom.
Ooo would it be okay if I send in a request for Holland sometime?😍
YES! he’s my sweet little princess and i LOVE to write him but honestly id like to give priority to lars or colt rn, but you can send the ask any time and ill write it!!!
⋆˚꩜｡ c.w. afab!reader. smut (MDNI!) under the cut. needy march. p in v. no protection.
"oh my god, shit, fuckin' squeezing me, you're so tight, fuck—" march really can't and won't help the way he babbles, bitches and moans having you like this. "shut the fuck up, holland," you try to tell the man currently squirming beneath you to no avail. he's so loud. and while you absolutely do not mind, you're pretty sure your neighbors a block away can hear him.
"i can't help it, sweetheart," he whines. "fuck, i swear, this pussy was made for me." he squeezes your waist with both hands, hard.
you stop moving, shooting him A Look. his eyes snap open, looking down at where you're connected. "no, no, no. don't stop, please, please, i'll be good, i swear, doll." he's whimpering and pleading. and what a pretty sight for sore eyes and ears that is.
"do you swear, march?" he nods furiously. and although normally he doesn't like you calling him march, he'd do anything at all to get you to roll your hips again. "fuck, i'll pinky swear if you want, baby," he pants. "please? can you move?" then he makes you move by grinding you down on him. and although you want to teach him a lesson, you can't really help the loud moan that erupts when he manhandles you. you let him set the pace.
march throws his head back when he hears that, catching the hint that you liked it. he keeps his hands at your waist with enough strength to bruise. moving it back and forth until you feel the familiar knot forming on your lower stomach. he knows you're close, with the way you bite your lip and lean forward on his body.
and he keeps true to his word, not uttering a single sound. and you miss it terribly, but admitting to that, would elicit a relentless teasing from his part. which is, ironic, since he was begging mere seconds ago.
so, with that irony in mind, you plead, "holland, let me hear you," and he whips his head down to see you, a smug grin already forming on his face, which immediately contorts to one of pleasure when you squeeze him tight—he lets out a loud moan.
"i said hear you, not leave me deaf, fuck." you try to get smart even in your ecstasy. and normally, he'd roll his eyes or huff, but with the way you look, all he can do is hum and pant.
he stills your hips from moving in order to thrust upwards. and he can tell he's seconds away from releasing into you. "i wanna—let me see you come for me, please, hm?" if you weren't so turned on by the way he says that with an almost pained tone, you'd realize that even in his request, he's still pleading. he'll take anything you give him.
with one hard thrust, you come undone on top of him. screaming out his name, moaning, whimpering, panting. and that's all he needs to combine your moans with his, spilling inside of you. "jesus christ, doll, you're so— i can't believe you let me—oh, my god." he can't really form a single thought, which translates into a whole lot of babbling nonsense praise.
he stills. you lay your whole body weight on top of him, unwilling—or, unable—to move. it's only when you feel him run his hands through your hair and kiss the top of your head when you come back to reality, trying to get out of his grip and lay next to him, but he keeps you in place.
"stay like this" he murmurs against your hair.
🎧 a/n: anon with the detective/bartender!reader rq, ik you can hear me...this one's for you
✮ c.w. reader is a woman, although no physical description. fluff. slow burn? a bit suggestive.
✮ summary. march doesn’t want a new partner, but if his new partner is a very pretty, very competent detective, maybe he doesn’t mind as much.
✮ word count. 4.1k
✮ author’s note. this is for the anon who requested march x bartender on the side!reader, i LOVED the whole yk what with his drink…🫣, it was such a weird way to find some new things about myself…shoutout anon, tysm for the rq. i hope u like this <3. also, sorry for the constant change in participles…i have no excuse i’m just dumb.
this is the song i picture march heard, ik it’s from the 80’s, hush
“what? you can’t just up and leave me!” march whines. “i’m not leaving, you dumb fuck. i’m fuckin’ injured. the little stunt you pulled broke my leg, if you hadn’t noticed.” healy retorts over the phone. oh, right. that. holland thinks.
“look, march. i’m leaving you in great hands. i’ll be gone a month, two, tops. and she’s the best in the field. it’s you i’m worried about.“ march furrows his eyebrows, although healy can’t see him over the phone. “i’m afraid you’ll scare her off with your weird antics, or your…” healy thinks for a second. “stupidity.” “what?” holland responds, high pitched.
“i don’t know this person! what if she’s weird? or what if she’s hot as hell and i can’t focus?” holland hears healy sigh. “this. this is what im worried about. fuck, if it were up to me, i’d pair you with your daughter, march. that way at least i’d have the piece of mind that she’s used to your fuckass plans. don’t be a baby, and don’t fuck her.” he hangs up. “hello? hello?!” holland sighs loudly, placing the phone back to its place angrily.
he couldn’t help but pout at the knowledge that he’d be paired up with some woman he doesn’t even know. and he’s kind of used to turning to healy whenever he’s in doubt, and he did not want to become a sort of mentor to you. much as healy tried to explain that you were the best in the field, he wouldn’t believe it unless he saw it himself.
and did he ever.
as soon as you strutted into his office, introducing yourself, showing him your business card, he was mesmerized. probably not in a good way. he thought back to his conversation with healy the day before; ‘what if she’s hot as hell and i can’t focus?’, yeah well, he curses himself for accidentally manifesting that.
he can see your lips moving, sure. you’re probably going on and on about how you’ve been in the field for god knows how many years, how you were a big part of catching a serial killer everyone was talking about, but he couldn’t seem to listen.
it’s like a love song began playing on the back of his mind. and everything after happened in slow motion. you tucked a little stray strand of hair behind your ear, and that was his undoing. he couldn’t really form any thoughts afterwards.
“mr. march? do you have any questions for me?” you ask, waving a hand in front of him, seeing how he stopped listening. “yeah, uh, how long are you going to be joining us—well, me?” he inquires, coming back to reality. you sigh. “like i said, approximately five weeks. is that all? don’t you, want to know anything else?” you ask again. dumbfounded by how little he had to say.
“yeah, you got a boyfriend or something?” he catches you off guard. making you laugh in disbelief, which he misinterprets as sign you’re amused, smiling at you. “uhm, i’m not sure how that’s relevant, but, no i do not.” you tell him. “oh, but it is relevant. we wouldn’t want you getting distracted by a significant other during a case, would we?” that’s the best he can come up with. and hey, if you weren’t such a professional, you might’ve been delighted by his silly excuse. nonetheless, he’d be your partner for the next month and a half. so you really can’t fall for it. not yet, at least.
but you’re a detective, so you can’t miss the fact that he is wearing a ring on a chain around his neck. you furrow your eyebrows. “wouldn’t you get distracted too?” you point to the chain. he’s quick to cover it with a hand. you almost laugh. “no, no, this is a— this is a keepsake. no wife in sight.” he shakes his head. you suck air between your teeth. “okay, then. i’ll be in healy’s office if you need me.” you begin to stand up. and without really thinking, he stands up too. “do you, uh, do you know everybody? should you introduce yourself?” he asks, heading for the door, opening it for you.
“everybody as in…you and your secretary? i’m sure i’ll get acquainted with everybody soon.” you giggle. “oh, yeah, right,” he mutters. “i’ll be right here, shout if you need anything, sweetheart.” he tells you before closing the door. he smacks himself in the head and sighs loudly into the empty office. okay, well, he was going to drown his surrows eventually. why not start sooner.
given you’re used to never staying put, you’re pleasantly surprised when you find out march didn’t have a lot of open cases. and most of them where fairly simple. like, a wife looking for her missing husband, and coincidentally, she got a life insurance payout. why she hired PI’s to get herself discovered is beyond you. but okay. you guess.
it’s all going technically according to plan. of course, you can’t look past the fact that march has developed a little crush on you. you saw him comb his hair in the office’s bathroom one morning. and he even went as far as stepping out to smoke, instead of smoking anywhere he pleased. what a gentleman. hell, he even showed up on time, working over the open cases with you at his desk, looking at you out of the corner of his eye when you knit your eyebrows in concentration.
also, march thought you were really, really nice. which was honestly surprising to him, given healy had put you up for the job, he didn’t know why he expected a female version of him. but he’s thankful you’re not.
you wouldn’t say you’re nice, though. polite, maybe. but truth be told, you didn’t go out of your way to be nice. but you couldn’t help but be amused by his efforts. like when you and him were at a stake out, and he sneakily mentioned a place nearby that served amazing lobster. “well, i’ve never tried it, that’s too fuckin’ expensive. but they do say it’s delicious.” he told you. making you laugh. “how can you say it’s delicious when you haven’t tried it, holland?”
oh yeah, that too. he’d corrected you every time you called him by his last name, opting for the best, less annoying option, you began calling him by his first name. although he couldn’t really help but to shower you with nicknames approximately every two sentences. not that you minded, really. “my daughter told me about it. she said one of her friends’ parents took her.” he lights a cigarette. you’ve come to realize it’s impossible to get him to stop smoking during stakeouts. you reprimanded him that it draws attention, but he retorted that not smoking is what really drew attention, encouraging you to smoke too, although you never took him up on that. much as you sometimes needed it.
you liked march. well, maybe not as much as he seemed to like you, but he was a good guy. albeit his lack of detective-esque skills, he was proving himself to be a good partner. and you were thankful he wasn’t one of those macho types. truth be told, you were a bit scared to be paired up with a man his age. it’s honestly rare to find men who don’t care about women working in ‘male fields’.
and, unrelated, but he can really hold his liquor.
you had to follow a perp at a party, telling march to disguise himself with the crowd. he wasted no time to get to the bar, ordering himself a scotch, neat. in turn, you were looking at every face there, sitting next to him. “he’s here, doll. don’t worry, we’ll catch him,” he reads your face. have a drink with me,” he raises his glass. you sigh. accepting his proposition.
it was no secret he was quietly pining. and he swore up and down he’d ask you out eventually. you know, when you’re not his partner. he thinks it might be a little bit weird. what if it doesn’t work out and he still has to see you every day?
“oh, there he is,” he finishes the rest of his drink in one go. “showtime, baby,” he murmured. you follow closely behind him.
he couldn’t kid himself, you were a better partner than healy. you were smarter, had better strategies, and you were pretty, too, that was important to him. and truth be told, he didn’t want you to leave. although he felt awfully guilty thinking that, what, with his rightful partner injured because of him.
but he couldn’t help but to be hypnotized while you beat the perp, wondering if he should help you or continue staring at you like he was. opting to help out, not that you needed it, that’s another thing he really liked. he felt more like your side-kick than your partner. you figured out any major breaks in every investigation, and while he was annoyed when that happened with healy, he thought there was, probably nothing, you could do for him not to like you.
your time with him was coming to an end. and you had to admit you were having fun working with him. you’d only worked solo before, and having him encourage and praise you every time you cracked a case, really helped— technically, that is. because honestly, he didn’t do much when you were around, he handed you the reins with ease.
“only one more week and you get your partner back, holland.” you tell him while he was closing the office. he insisted on walking you to your car every night. that was nice, too. he groans. “ugh, don’t remind me,” you laugh at that. “i’ll never hear the end of how i caused this,” he explains. “‘fuck you, dumbass, you broke my leg’ blah, blah, blah.” he puts on what was probably the worst impression of healy. “oh yeah, what happened? healy told me about it but he didn’t say how you did it.” you inquire, deciding to ignore the way you’d already reached your car.
he hesitates. “i don’t wanna bore you with the details, sweetheart,” he tries to get out of explaining. changing his mind when he sees the silent plea on your pretty face. he sighs, “i, uh, might’ve accidentally…stepped on his leg while falling from a two story building…” he admits, sheepishly. he’s offended when you cackle. “oh, my god. you did not,” you say. he nods. “i thought maybe you tripped beating a guy or something, what the fuck, holland?” you continue to laugh. “shit, i should’ve said that, right? now you’ll think i’m a numb-nuts.” you mutter, “i already think that.” he raises his eyebrows, containing a laugh.
“is that so?” he crosses his arms, still trying not to laugh. “god, i’m gonna miss you,” he admits out loud. you stop laughing entirely.
truth be told, you’d miss him too.
“hey, we don’t have to completely disappear from each other’s lives, you know that right?” you try to console him, not missing the way his eyes light up. “no?” he murmurs. oh shit, he’s staring at your lips, you realize. “nope, but uh,” you look for your keys in your purse. trying to escape. “we still have one week of partnership to go. after that, who knows? maybe i’ll kill my neighbor or something.” you joke, finally opening the door of your car. he steps out of your way, putting his hands on the knob once you get in.
he can’t shake the feeling you mean something else.
“okay, then,” he clears his throat. “see you monday, doll.” he closes the door for you, beginning to walk to his own car.
you have a change of heart. “holland?” you get out again. he turns to see you. “i’m uh— i’m meeting some friends later, do you— do you wanna come?” you hesitate. you don’t really know where this is coming from. maybe, he’d won you over without realizing. the way he walked away, a little defeated, made your chest hurt. “are you…” he begins, unsure whether to ask if you’re sure. what if you say no? what if you say ‘never mind’? “alright, let me, uh, let me tell holly, sweetheart, i’ll be right back.” he walks to the office again, opening the door in order to inform his daughter.
what are you doing? you ask yourself.
technically, it wasn’t a lie. you were meeting some friends later. but you failed to inform him that they’d hang out while you worked your second job. bartending. yay— sarcastic yay. being a single female detective did not pay the bills. and the bar had seen you grow up, literally. you started working when you were of age, and ever since, your manager— and mostly everyone else for that matter— had failed to see you as a serious detective. he joked that you’d need to hold on to the job, just in case. just in case? in case of what, exactly, mr. berg? you hate to prove him right, but you still find yourself bartending every other night just to keep your shitty apartment.
you didn’t tell march, you didn’t want his pity. and you know he has a nice place. he showed you a picture of his daughter, talking on the phone on his couch— a very nice couch—, and you couldn’t get over the fact that he had what you could only perceive as a mansion.
through your inner dialogue, he comes back. “ready?” he asks, rubbing his sweaty palms on his pants. those were some awfully tight pants. his ass looks so good— “yeah, ready.” you snap back into reality. “should we—do you want me to drive you? i could take you home.” he offers. you shot him a look. “holland, it’s a bar. and am i wrong to assume you’re going to drink? if anything, i’ll drive you. i’m not drinking anyways.” he furrows his eyebrows. he keeps getting closer to your car. “why? oh shit, are you—are you sober?” he panicks. you laugh again. “no, i’ll, uh, be working,” you press your lips together. he’s still confused. “i’m a bartender there, my friends just want free drinks.” you explain.
he nods, understanding. “do i get free drinks too?” he asks, mostly joking but also not. you roll your eyes. “yes, you too. now get in, it’s getting colder.” you don’t miss the way he mutters ‘yes, ma’am’ while getting into copilot’s seat. deciding against calling him out, you get in your car again.
once you get there, your friends are already sitting at the bar. and you can’t quite get pass the way they ogle march. deciding to shove that little pang in your stomach away. you introduce them to him. “this is holland march, my temporary partner.” he nods his head their way, as a silent greeting. “oh, this is march?” one of your friends ask.
shit, you’d forgotten you told them about his little crush on you. that, and how you were surprised when you saw how jacked he was one time on accident. he was running late, like, 10:30 a.m late. and he entered the office half dressed, only wearing a wife beater and his usual tight pants, shirt and blazer on a hanger. he poke his head into your/healy’s office for a quick ‘good morning! i’ll be right with you’ and you couldn’t help but notice his biceps. and boy, were they big.
you hope they don’t say anything. but the way they’re already smirking is not a good sign. he turns to see you, and you hate the way you blush when he seems smug. you’re sure of what he’s going to say. “awh, you talk about me, doll?” he rethorically asks, bringing a hand to his chest. and before you can answer, one of your friends answer for you. “yeah, she does.” and he’s smirking.
you’re grateful to your other friend, who completely changes the topic once she sees neither your friend or march are letting it go. “so, catch any bad guys today?” she turns to see you. you begin putting your little bartender vest on, stepping behind the bar to put your things away. “yup, caught a perp running in the woods, he beat him up good, didn’t you march?” you look to see him, trying to ignore the way he’s eyeing you up and down while you button your vest. “uh-huh. got him good.” he answers, peeling his eyes off you to turn to your friends with a smile.
both your friends and march get visibly excited once you pour and serve them their first drinks of the night. they all clink their glasses. and you’re unsurprised when holland downs it without even grimacing or wincing. your friends laugh, and in turn he smiles shyly.
even if you’re busy bartending and serving everyone, you don’t miss the way march is constantly following you with his eyes. not really following conversation with your friends. you’re a bit smug, you must say. he was sitting at a bar with two hot girls and all he could do was watch you serve drinks. you carried that around all night.
you urge him to lean forward on the bar counter, “you know, you don’t have to stay. if you need to get home, i could call you a cab—“ you shout in his ear. “are you kidding me? i’m having the best time of my life, sweetheart. i get free drinks and i get to see you work, what else can a guy ask for?” he interrupts. shouting in your ear in turn. clearly, he’s a bit intoxicated. granted, he’s been drinking since noon, and he’s five drinks in. normally, he wouldn’t flirt so boldly. yeah, he flirted but he always had some excuse.
you giggle at that. looking the other way when a regular calls for you. you try walking towards him, but holland stops you with a hand to your shoulder, he’s still leaning over the bar.
you turn to see him, confused. only to be taken aback when he presses a quick kiss to your lips. you suppress the little noise of surprise when he does so. in the back of your mind, you can hear your friends cheering, but you pay them no mind. “i’m sorry, i couldn’t help myself.” he says in your ear. he doesn’t look so sorry, actually. you laugh, still caught off guard, but not mad. at all.
if you thought he was following you with his eyes before, it doesn’t even compare to the way he was fixated on you now. not even bothering to pretend he was paying attention to your friends. you serve them what would be their final drink of the night. you informed them as much before handing it to them. they whine. not march, though. he was still staring at you with what can only be described as a lustful gaze.
as he said, he thought there was nothing you could to for him not to like you.
“what? no ice?” he jokes, you turn to see him. “oh, i’m so sorry about that!” you tell him. placing his drink in a shaker with some ice, stirring it twice or thrice while looking at him. you’re aware your friends are staring, but you don’t mind. they watch in awe, as if they’re watching one of those soap operas they love so much.
you grab march’s glass again. pouring the drink, you extend your hand, pretending to hand it to him, only to pull a fake-out on him. you bring the glass to your lips, letting the liquid sit in your mouth. his jaw drops, staring at you in shock while you giggle, before spitting it back into the glass, and handing it to him.
you’re both a bit grossed out and, honestly, turned on, when he drinks it without breaking eye contact. you see the way your friends’ bring a hand to their mouth, completely speechless by the move march pulled. you laugh in disbelief, you’re not sure why that worked for you, but it did. and he still has the audacity to wink at you.
and you still had to drive him home. that’d be a long ride.
and in fact, it was. your friends were quick to get away from the bar after the little show march put on. pulling you in to whisper how now’s your chance. you’re not sure what they mean.
but when your shift is over, you dutifully drive him home without uttering a word. not that you were uncomfortable around him, but it was 4 a.m and you didn’t really feel like talking. you were exhausted. and he promptly fell asleep two minutes in, so, win-win.
up to this point, you honestly didn’t even think about anything happening with march. yeah, sure, he was very obvious to have taken a liking to you, but he never made a concrete move. and you thought that maybe, like you, he was just waiting for your partnership to be over.
but you still don’t like the reminder that you still had a week to go, you’d pretend nothing happened. for the sake of the cases.
which is, sadly for march, exactly what you did. of course he remembered everything. of course he remembered you. how could he not? he saw you in your vest and he didn’t think he ever felt more intoxicated, which is ironic since he’s intoxicated like 83% of the time. but you didn’t bring it up. not on monday when he first saw you after the bar, not on tuesday when you were both locking the office and he walked you to your car, and not on wednesday when you had to follow a perp across town, it was radio silence from you. and it was excruciating.
you didn’t really have anything to say, actually. you weren’t upset with him, but you were a tiny bit disappointed when he didn’t address either the kiss or the little stunt he pulled.
which is why, without really meaning to, you pulled away from him. and he felt it, hard.
he was well aware you only had one more day to go, so he thought it was now or never.
he peeks into your office, a little shy, you notice. “can i talk to you?” he asks, running a hand on his hair.
you nod, “is it about the smith file? i’ve got it right here, i just have to—“
“no, it’s not about that, it’s about the, uh,” he clears his throat. “about the bar,” you can’t really escape, he’s standing in your office, willing to address the elephant on the room.
“and before you say anything, i know i have a reputation, i know people see me as this drunk who can’t have serious conversations, but,” he inhales.
“but i stand by what i did. i mean, the kiss. not the— not the other thing—” he shakes his head. wincing at the memory, and you have to stop him there. “i liked that” you murmur, and he throws his head forward, chuckling at your admission.
“of course you did, pervert,” he mutters, and in turn, you laugh too.
“i know you’re leaving like, tomorrow, and uh, i just wanted to tell you that— just wanted to say that i’ve enjoyed having you here. more than i care to admit, actually.” he confesses.
it was probably the most serious conversation he’s had since he was at his wife’s funeral, he realizes. and he’s very uncomfortable with how he didn’t joke even once for two consecutive minutes.
“okay, thanks for telling me, holland,” you bring him back to the present.
“now, what you have to do is grow a pair and ask me out, maybe.” you tell him, crossing your arms. he chuckles. “well, in that case, would you like to go out with me, sweetheart?” you nod, going around your desk, getting closer to him. he takes the chance to place both his hands around your waist, and in turn, you place yours in his neck. he pulls slightly.
this time, you don’t feel like running away from him when his eyes drop to your lips.
he lowers down, little by little, until he’s a breath away from your lips. he places a hand in your jaw, pulling you in for a kiss.
ik you requested smut but im sorry i thought this was already too long 😭 ill post a blurb following this one shot some time this week, i swear!!!
⋆˚꩜｡ c.w. established relationship. afab!reader. lars calls reader gorgeous. smut (MDNI!) under the cut. it's more lovemaking than anything, tbh. p in v. no protection.
"oh, god," lars pants. you can tell he's trying his hardest to be gentle. and even if you're okay with getting a bit rough, you're not sure he'd be up to that right now. "sweetheart, are you okay? does that feel good?" you nod.
now, you don't want to be too crude, but you're sure as hell hung up on the fact that he has a...generous size, so to speak.
to be honest, you expected that. he was a big, strong man, after all. and if the size of his hands were any indication, which, they were, you're not surprised to find yourself feeling a little too full of him. the momentary burning only making you ache for him even more.
even before, when he'd hold your hand, you couldn't help but be fixated on the way his hands swallowed yours. that, and the fact the rough texture of his hands helped shape that sharp edge that was hidden from the rest of the world.
and it's like he read your thoughts, with the way his right hand slide into yours, pining you to the bed. his other hand occupied supporting his weight besides your head. you bring your hand to his jaw, delighted to feel the stubble forming there.
god, he just shaved this morning and there was already a beard forming. you don't know why but that turns you on more, squeezing him subconsciously. and he whimpers. you think this is the prettiest sound you've ever heard in your life. better than any record you've ever played. even better than hearing him call you sweet nicknames, you had to admit.
you pull him in, hoping he gets the hint that you want to kiss him. he does so with great effort. he kept missing your mouth, seeing as he was mainly focused on thrusting slowly into you.
he takes his hand away from yours, and before you get a chance to protest, he starts sliding it south, stopping at your clit, rubbing circles with his middle finger. you moan into his mouth, and you swear you can feel him smirking.
"that feels so good, please don't stop, lars..." you plead. you know how important it is for him to receive praise. and you give it to him—pun intended—unprompted. "you're so gorgeous, i love how you say my name," he tries to tell you between thrusts. you kiss him again as a reward. and he really wants to kiss you back, but he's basically unable, so he settles for kissing your forehead. "i love you, so much," he murmurs.
"i love you too, lars." you tell him. and he doesn't miss the gasp erupting out of you after you say, what was probably, his favorite words.
he thought nothing came close to hearing you say you love him. but to be honest, he was wrong.
nothing would ever even touch the moment in which you let go for him. with a silent moan, mouth agape, you feel your release overcome you. you're panting and babbling about how much you love him and about how good he makes you feel.
"jesus christ, lars, shit, i'm gonna—" you interrupt yourself with a moan. and in turn, he feels his orgasm incoming too.
truth be told, he thought he could come just from the view. but you were nice enough to let him do this. you loved him enough to let him be pleased by your beautiful body.
he moans, feeling the way your legs trap his waist, not letting him get farther from you. he stills his hand on your clit in order to intertwine it with yours again. he squeezes his eyes shut. and, while biting his lower lip, he's letting you know he's right on the brink of his release. and although you're a bit disappointed he mostly stayed silent, you think that's something you both can work on.
"you're close, right?" you ask him. "mhm, yeah" he breathes. and even in your post-haze, you ask something of him. "baby, come inside".
that's all he needs to spill inside you with a moan he swallows.
you encourage him to fill you, pressing little quick kisses wherever you could reach. his jaw, his cheek, his shoulder, his hand currently holding yours. he stays put on top of you—or rather, crushing you, you don’t mind—catching his breath.
"i can't wait to do this forever with you." he whispers into your skin. and in turn, you play with his hair, kissing the top of his head. "me neither, sweetheart." you tell him.
🎧 a/n: i had to try writing smut for my beautiful babygirl…ik he’s a freak in the sheets but i can’t really do that rn im too emotional i need to hold him and tell him he’s doing a great job
✮ c.w. afab!reader. grace calls reader girl twice. smut. MDNI! oral (f & m receiving). fingering. cumming in pants (m).
✮ summary. what was supposed to be a first date at a work christmas party turned out to be a way more fun event.
✮ word count. 4.1k of mostly smut lol
✮ author’s note. this is part two of this charming man but can be read as a stand-alone!!!
those three following days were, in a few words, excruciating. given that now, there was no doubt of his interest in you, but you still couldn't really do anything about it. not wanting to draw any more attention to you than you already had, you continue business as usual. you don't shy away from conversation with him, but also you don't make it known just how giddy you were at the realization that something had shifted.
him, on the other hand, was beginning to change, loudly, you realized. if you caught him staring, instead of quickly turning away and clearing his throat like he used to, he'd just smile or smirk. the bastard. if you told him something about either yourself or your students, he'd listen to you with a soft smile plastered on his face. oh, he was smug. and, unbeknownst to you, even his students knew about you, well, kind of;
“oh, come on, mr. grace! give us a hint!” one of his students implored during class one day, completely ignoring the work sheet before her. “regarding…?” he feigned ignorance, furrowing his eyebrows and looking at her through his glasses as if he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. she rolls her eyes at him. “you know what. are you dating or not?” she pressed, and he shrugged, for godsakes. “hmm…dating? i’m unfamiliar with that word, i’m sorry, sienna,” he continued his acting, tapping his chin with a finger as in deep thought. “did you finish the sheet?” he asked, crossing his arms, seconds away from reprimanding her. she shakes her head and sighs, grabbing a pen from her pencil case.
the thing is, he really, really doesn't want to waste any more time. he's awfully aware of the fact that you'd be leaving in a few months. that, and also he doesn't want to give you a chance to change your mind.
he doesn't really care that teachers are speculating. he doesn't really care about the students whispering in the hallways about how mr. grace and the sub are making googly eyes at each other, he's amused by that, actually.
the christmas party was, actually, a snore. or, it would've been, had you showed up. you were well aware that ryland didn't have a car, so you'd offered to pick him up. and after a small back and forth, he agreed.
truthfully, that was one of the few times grace was ashamed by his lack of money to buy a car. he wanted to walk to your door and knock. he wanted to be taken aback by your outfit —and nobody should remind him that the christmas party was, actually a business casual affair—he wanted to open his car door for you and stare at your beautiful face at the red lights. but, sure, he can do all of that later on, he hoped.
you knock on his door half an hour before you'd agreed. he was still not ready. ryland didn't think himself a sharp dresser, but it was, after all a date. and his closet was half science pun t-shirts and half button ups. and for what was probably the first time ever, he didn't know what to wear. usually, he'd just throw on whatever was closer, or, clean, for that matter.
he opens the door in sweatpants and one of his t-shirts. a cats the musical t-shirt, to be exact. you didn't peg him for a theater kid, but there was still a lot you didn't know about him.
like the fact that his apartment was messy. messy in the sense of feeling like you walked into an apartment of a single parent taking care of at least three children. there were clothes everywhere. there was a mug sitting on his coffee table that you were sure had been there at least, a week. there were books scattered all around. one on a kitchen counter, on top of his fridge, for some reason, and three on the kitchen table. and all of that was at first glance, mind you.
"i'm so sorry, i wasn't expecting you so soon," he looks around. "come in, make yourself comfortable. sorry about the mess," he apologizes again. grabbing whatever piece of clothing he could find, running to his bedroom to place it there. “wow, you look so pretty.” he stops in his tracks and admits with a chuckle, before grabbing some more clothes to hide. although he doesn’t see the way you feel warmth creeping up your chest, making your neck flush. "i'm sorry about that, i got anxious i'd be late, i thought i'd take longer to get here. and i would've waited in the car, but—" you try to explain, he interrupts.
"oh, nonsense! that's okay. are you thirsty? hungry? i could make you something, maybe a, uh," he steps in front of the fridge, only to notice there's nothing there except…"peanut butter and jelly sandwich, maybe?" you snort. you look around his place, deciding to sit down on his couch. watching his every move. the way those sweatpants looked on him was very, very present in your mind. "no, i'm good, thanks" you tell him. he's a bit jumpy, you analyze. "water?" he offers. "uh, sure, water would be nice," you say. not wanting to decline again.
he was nervous, and when he got nervous he moved a lot. it's not every day he has the girl he's currently smitten by sitting on his couch, surrounded by all his mess, looking very pretty, might he add. he excuses himself to go finish getting ready in his room, telling you that you can do whatever you want. he hands you the tv remote, and although it is an interest proposition, you decide snooping is way more entertaining.
you slowly walk to a bookshelf besides the tv console. grabbing one framed picture he has with, who, you assumed, used to be his students. he looks significantly younger, posing awkwardly beside them, while they all smile and he looks like he's mid-sneeze. you laugh to yourself. you notice he doesn't have any pictures of any family members. you hum at that realization.
you hear a phone ringing, startling you slightly. you follow the noise. it's his phone, tucked under one of the cushions on the couch. you grab it and knock on his bedroom door. when he doesn't tell you to come in, you wait a second. then two. "ry? your phone's ringing" you cringe at the nickname, up until now, you'd only called him that accidentally. he does not mind. not one bit, actually. "who is it?" he asks behind the door. "it's a mr. garcia" you tell him, reading the caller ID. you hear him shuffle behind the door. moments after, he's opening it, his cats the musical t-shirt replaced by a red misbuttoned shirt. "mr. garcia?" he asks, grabbing the phone from your hand, fingers brushing.
he takes the call outside his room, pacing around the living room, finally standing still in front of the couch. you stay in place. he left his bedroom door open, you see all the different outfits he has laid out on his bed, surrounded by other crumpled up clothes. you hear his call. "yes, sir. i'll—" he interrupts himself, presumably to listen to mr. garcia. "okay. i'll see you monday morning. thank you, sir." he sighs loudly.
"it's max's dad. he's getting suspended every week, i need to talk to—" he stops in his tracks when you get closer to him, unbuttoning his shirt in order to button it correctly. you look up at him, encouraging him to continue. he swallows.
"to his parents," he glances at your hands, they feel cold against him. and he's sure you can feel his heartbeat under his shirt.
"they, uh, promised to call me before four, and it's six thirty, so," he clears his throat when you finish buttoning his shirt, running your hands up his chest to adjust his collar. "i couldn't miss the call." he finishes his thought with maximum effort.
you really don't know where this is coming from. your objective wasn't to fluster him. but if you touching him slightly gets him all squirmy, then that's an added bonus. "there you go," you murmur.
"you, uh, you think you can be ready in ten? we're running a bit late" you ask him. he realizes he was leaning into your touch only once it's gone. he shakes his head, and you laugh. "maybe we shouldn't go" he mutters. you suppress the smirk threatening to form in your face. "why?" you tease, knowing exactly why.
"our first date shouldn't be some lame christmas party." he stares at you, waiting for a reaction. "no? and where should it be?" you ask. looking up at him. "i mean, wherever you want. maybe a nice restaurant, or a museum, there's this great exhibition right now on—do you like picnics? we should have a picnic sometime.” he's quite cute when he rambles. "or, right here. now, you've got a nice apartment" you tell him. you notice the way his gaze keeps dropping to your lips. he nods. "yeah, right here is nice too—can i kiss you?" he asks. finally, you think.
you don't miss the way he tentatively places a hand on your waist. you run your hands up his chest again, liking the reaction you got the first time you did it. his other hand holds the nape of your neck, pulling you in.
given his state, you think he would've been a bit desperate, so you're surprised when you feel his lips kiss you so, so softly. you slide a hand into his hair, running your fingers between the blond strands. he takes his time. getting familiarized with your scent and your taste. his hand that was previously on your waist travels upwards and settles just above your breast. he doesn't dare touch you just yet. and he really wants to savour the moment.
without deattaching yourself from him, you place your hands on his shoulders and push him until the back of his knees hits the couch, urging him to sit down. he does and you straddle his lap. making sure to leave a little bit of space between your groins.
he's still not changing his pace. but you're, honestly, a little overwhelmed by him. the way he was quick to fluster with a little touching, the way his abs flexed under your hands when you buttoned his shirt correctly, his smell. you weren't sure if that was his cologne or just him, but it was intoxicating.
you pull away only momentarily to remove his glasses, placing them behind you the coffee table. he squints, getting used to not having his glasses. and then he pulls you in again.
you were beginning to grow a little bit restless. hell, he was the one squirming, how come he's so calm now? his hands squeeze your waist. clearly getting reckless, too. you absentmindedly grind down on him, making him groan. you feel the growing bulge in his sweatpants. he pulls away. “hold on, sweetheart," he pants. "it's— it's been a while for me. can we go slow, hm?" you honest to god whimper. and he thinks it's the prettiest sound he's ever heard. nonetheless, you nod. not really wanting to, but respecting his wishes. you lift a little bit, making sure to leave space again.
"atta girl." he whispers. not knowing how much that affected you.
one of his hands travel to your lower back, placing it under your shirt. he's so warm. you put a hand on his jaw, feeling the way it moves beneath you when he kisses you. you're sure you're colder than him, but he doesn't seem to mind. he lets his hand on your lower back travel upwards, rubbing your back so delicately you're not sure you mind taking it slow anymore.
but he squeezes your waist once more with more strength when he accidentally brushes your bra clasp. he wants this just as much, but he's sure he won't last long, having you sat so prettily on his lap.
this goes on for what feels like an eternity. in reality, it's probably just a couple minutes. but you can't help the little sounds coming out of your mouth and into his when you feel his hands roaming on your body. and he can't help the growing tent that's continuing to form in his sweatpants. he accidentally thrusts upwards, overcome with need.
this time, you really feel him. gasping in turn when you feel just how hard he already is. and he mutters something along the lines of sorry. but you really, really don't mind. you lick into his mouth, tentatively deepening the kiss, turning it a bit sloppy. he groans again.
deciding enough is enough, he puts both his hands on your hips, keeping you in place while he thrusts upwards again. at the same time, you grind down on him. you abandon his lips in order to nip his neck, he guides you to continue grinding. "fuck," he breathes. you realize this is probably the first time you've heard him curse. "can i take your shirt off?"
he asks, hands traveling underneath your shirt once more. you hum. leaving his neck alone for the time being. "take yours off too?" you ask in turn. he nods. finally, his hands tug at your shirt. you lift your arms. silently thanking yourself for wearing a loose button-up today. he throws it behind you. he's quick to attach his lips to the valley of your breast. making your back arch towards him. you hold the nape of his neck securely with one hand, the other hand trying to unbutton his shirt. you accidentally brush his hard-on doing this. eliciting a moan out of him.
"you're so pretty," he whispers again. looking up at you with nothing but love. you smile at him. you tug on his shirt to get him to help you get rid of it. he does so with ease. he takes it off and throws it behind him. you're surprised to find so much muscle underneath his shirt. now it's your turn to let your hands wander. running a hand down from his shoulder, to his arm, his abs, and finally, his navel. you tug at the elastic of his sweatpants, looking at him, a silent plea.
although his mouth is agape, and he can't control the little sighs and huffs escaping his mouth, he shakes his head, and you're sure you could cry. "it's really been a while. i meant it." he explains. although you're not sure why that matters. "so?" you ask him. and he's sure he's never seen such a pretty, doe-eyed look before. "i—i won't last. i wanna make you feel good, first." he answers. and you can't help but to grind down again at his words, making him moan again.
"sweetheart, sweetheart, fuck," he stops your movement with firm hands. "let me make you feel good, hm? you want me to?" he asks. he grabs one of your breasts, squeezing slightly, you moan.
"yes," you answer. he frees your chest of its confinement with ease, one hand traveling to your back, unclasping your bra. you let it slide down your arms, getting lost in the the way his gaze becomes fixated on your now naked breasts. one hand travels to one of them, rubbing two of his fingers on your nipple, while the other one travels down to your hip. you keep looking at him, waiting for his next move. he turns to see you and gives you a warm smile, before pulling you in and leaning into your other breast with his mouth.
you grab ahold of the back of his head. keeping him there. his hand on your hip squeezes when he hears you moan again. letting it travel inwards, and resting it right over your mound. "ry, can you—" you pant. he's willing to give you whatever you ask for, if you keep calling him that, he thinks. "please touch me" you plea. not missing the way his lips curve upwards around your nipple. he unbuttons your pants, only parting from you to help you stand up to take your pants and underwear off. he's immediately nudging you to sit on his lap again. he stops a moment, having you completely naked before him. what a sight for sore eyes, he thinks— and, not to be funny, but his eyes are actually sore, what, with not having his glasses and all.
he has a change of heart. he grabs your waist with both hands and places you laying down on the couch. urging you to scoot up so he has space between your thighs. "can i taste you?" he asks, thumbs rubbing circkes on your inner thigh.
"yes please" you kind of want to tell him no. now that you know he's afraid of not lasting, you want to put that to the test. sucking him off, counting the seconds mentally, to see if he really meant it. but all thoughts vanish once he lifts your leg over his shoulder. you see the way he stops right before diving in. you wonder if he’s memorizing your every inch. “i can’t believe you’re letting this old man do this to you,” he half-jokes, eyes going from your face to check your reaction— which showed pure need— to your pussy. “you’re gorgeous, sweetheart.” he presses small kisses to your inner thigh, before licking into your folds. you grab his hair. not tugging just yet, just keeping him in place.
you hook your other leg over the back of the couch. not wanting to crush his head. he gives a experimental lick, deciding to focus on your clit. mouth closing around it. "fuck, ryland," you feel your whole body jolting at that.
“add your—add your fingers, please." you ask him. he obediently does so. rubbing circles with his index and middle finger right over your entrance. he turns to see you.
whole countries would pay good money to see the view before you. the most puppy-eyed look you've ever seen. you nearly want to come just by the way he looks at you.
he pushes his index finger in, rutting into the couch and closing his eyes once he hears the sound your pussy did, your head drops back. he stops his attack on your clit in order to give it small licks.
you don't see it, but you feel his free hand to touch your breast again. running his thumb over the nipple. one of your hands leave his head to place it on top of his.
you grind into his mouth, and he groans into your core once you do so. eliciting a moan out of you from the vibrations. he moves his finger deep inside you. back and forth until he feels you're wet enough for a second one.
slowly but surely, he adds his middle finger. taking them all the way out only to slide them in again. his tongue attaches to your clit once more, and your body jolts again, accidentally tugging at his hair. he moans against you.
he can feel and hear how wet you are. and he doesn't know whether to look at your near-orgasm face or to close his eyes from how good it feels. you lift your head to see him. his eyes find yours in an instant. you squeeze his hand in yours, which was still on your breast. he gets the hint and squeezes himself. you could scream from the feeling. the way your slick is wetting his fingers making his eyes flutter shut. you feel him deep inside you, his fingers feel so thick.
you feel your tell-tale signs of your orgasm. face contorting in pleasure. he locks eyes as he continues to hit that spot inside of you over and over again with his fingers. you glance at his hand, getting fixated on the way they pull in and out of you. and the muscles on his hand flex over and over.
"ry, i'm gonna—" you moan loudly. "yes, oh god, don't stop, please don't fucking—" he groans again, you hadn't noticed the death-grip you had on his hair. you pant in increasingly shallow breaths. he's stills, looking at you. your legs shake, and you're in cloud nine.
"oh, my god," you catch your breath. only after a few seconds, do you notice he's right on top of you, kissing your chest and neck. you turn to kiss him. you taste yourself on his lips. subconsciously grinding on his leg between yours. your hand travels to his dick, not bothering to ask for permission. but you're surprised to feel a small damp patch on his sweatpants.
"did you—" you furrow your eyebrows. he gives you a sheepish look. he nods. "i didn't even touch you," you think out loud, regretting it immediately, with the way he shies away from you. "that's the hottest thing i've ever seen in my life," you admit, he snorts. "me coming in my pants is the hottest thing you've ever seen?" you nod, pulling him in for another kiss.
"come on, old man, are you gonna let me make you feel good now, huh?” he huffs at the nickname— although, to be honest, he started it. “how do you propose we go about that?” he asks, glancing at the little problem eating you out caused him. “sit back down,” you tell him, pecking his lips. he does so.
you follow soon after. peeling his sweatpants and boxers off him. he lifts his hips to help you, hissing at the way you run a hand over his dick. you straddle his lap once again, only this time, completely naked. he keeps his hands secure in your waist, helping you grind down. he kisses everywhere he can reach. stopping only to look at you in between kisses. his loving gaze is overwhelming.
in record time, he’s hard again. you wrap one hand on his dick, and he throws his head back, the view intoxicating you. you attack his neck, leaving open-mouth kisses and sucking on a specific spot, licking over it once you see the red hue forming. his hips thrust upwards, and he moans at the feeling. you keep stroking at a slow pace. you really can’t get over the fact that he’s on the brink of coming again, and you decide you want to hear and see him when he does. but he stops your hand with his.
“stop— shit, stop, sweetheart.” he stares at you, hungrily. not able to suppress the way you’re making him feel. you smile at him and begin sliding down, knees settling in the carpet. you look up at him, he can’t really say or do anything. his eyebrows knit together when you stroke him again, he lets you do so, taking the hand on top of yours away in order to grab your chin. “you want to see me wrecked, don’t you?” he asks rethorically, biting his lip when you nod, all doe-eyed, feigning innocence.
he slides his thumb into your mouth, moaning when he feels you sucking. you run a thumb along the head of his dick, feeling the little droplets of precum gathering there. you pull away from his finger, and he whines at the loss. but you direct your attention towards your movements over his shaft. looking up once more before asking, “can i suck you off, ry?” and he nods furiously, “i don’t think i’m gonna—“ he gasps when he feels the way you take him into your mouth. “oh, god,” his hips involuntarily thrust into your mouth, muttering an apology when he hears you gag.
he places one hand on top of your head, fingers threading in your hair. his other hand rests on the armchair of the couch. much as he tries, he can’t look away, the way your head bobs at a annoyingly slow pace. he’s biting his lip almost to the point of bleeding. you pull away, with a wet pop. “let me hear you” you raise your head to see him, and he whimpers again.
he guides you towards him again. and with his newfound freedom, he doesn’t waste energy trying to suppress his moans. shuddering slightly and muttering how good your mouth feels on him, how good you’re to him, and how he can’t wait to be inside you. you clench around nothing but air hearing the promise of having him completely. and, the thought he left unfinished is true. he feels himself on edge already. alerting you between pants, “i’m gonna— sweetie, fuck, i’m gonna cum,” he tries to peel you off him, and you groan around his base, hoping he gets that you simply won’t pull away.
you increase your speed, wanting to feel him come on your mouth. you look up to see him, and that’s the final push he needs. with a loud moan, he’s spilling at the back of your throat. you savour the taste. “oh, my g— you’re so pretty, i swear, i can’t— a pretty young thing like you, on your knees for me, huh?“ he babbles. “you’re gonna swallow, yeah?” he asks, trying to regulate his breathing. you’re still attached to him, and you nod. you feel the way he’s starting to go limp against your tongue. but you don’t mind it as much, seeing how his arms and legs are covered in goosebumps, and how he throws his head back once again. “atta girl,” he praises again.
“‘s too much,” he begins, tugging at a strand of your hair. you suppress the moan around his dick, not wanting to overstimulate him. “too much, sweetheart.” you finally pull away. your hands run up and down his thighs, caressing him. and feeling the way they twitch under your touch. you stand up, and sit right beside him.
he’s still catching his breath when he turns to see you. satisfaction written all over his face, you can tell by the way he smiles softly at you. you place a hand on his jaw, encouraging him to get closer. his eyelids threaten to close, suddenly feeling exhausted. and you can’t help the way your heart flutters when you see the pretty fucked-out expression he wears. he scoots closer, pressing his lips to yours.
you don’t waste the chance to slide your tongue into his mouth, letting him taste himself. in turn, he groans again. with a peck, he pulls away. “good first date, huh?” you joke, making him laugh and nod. “can’t wait what you come up for the next one” he says. yeah, you still want to fuck the shit out of him, but that’s more of a second date plan, you think.
a/n: super short, not proofread, probably bad but it's okay
It was about 12:37am when you woke up. You body was hot. You felt restless.
You twisted your head, looking to see where you husband was. He was not beside you.
That's when you realized the shifting underneath the sheets.. and then the heat between your legs.
A sudden lick through your cunt told you everything you needed to know. You whimpered softly, hips bucking without your consent.
"Ry-?"
"Mm..?" A hum vibrated through your skin, causing your body to tremble.
You lifted the comforter only to find your husband between your legs, staring up at you.
"Ryland what're you doing, baby?"
His cheeked flushed a little.
"I... can't figure something out.. I need to relax."
You laughed sleepily.
He had just gotten home. You were asleep then. He was helping out with the whole astrophage problem so that meant coming home late and working from home sometimes.
It was one of those nights.
He must've been exhausted. That being why he couldn't figure out whatever he needed to figure out. His outlet was always eating you out.
When he did, his brain completely relaxed. He could let go and think freely. Plus he knew you liked it.
"I'm sorry I.. I didn't want to wake you up. I just.. need to let me brain relax..."
"Baby, come here.." You said, looking down at him sympathetically.
He pulled back from your legs reluctantly and settled beside you. Lying by your side.
You pressed a hand to his cheek.
"You're working yourself too hard, baby."
"I know.. I just.. I want to help."
You nodded. "I know, honey, but you should be asleep right now... not worried about something you can figure out tomorrow."
"You're right.." He said. "This thing just.. particularly stumped me. I want to figure it out or.. I probably won't sleep at all."
You sighed. "Oh my sweet boy." You pressed a kiss to his lips. "Always so hard at work."
He nodded, humming as he pressed his lips to your temple.
The two of you were silent for a moment.
"I missed you today.." He said, brushing your hair behind your ear.
"I missed you too..." You looked up at him. "I wish you'd take just one break. I know this whole astrophage thing is serious, but.. so is your mental health."
He nodded. "I will. I already talked to Stratt about it. I need some more time with you."
You smiled. "That's good."
He nodded again and sighed.
"Hm?" You asked. The sigh sounded like it was from frustration.
"Still stuck on that problem."
You laughed softly, shaking your head.
"You're such a silly man."
He pouted. "What, for needing a little help to relax? Needing to have a little bit of a stress reliever?"
"Not the fact that you need a stress reliever, but the fact that your stress reliever can sometimes involve eating out your wife who is in a deep slumber."
He shook his head. "Don't judge me."
You giggled softly. "I'm not judging you.. just observing."
He hummed against your head. Silence settling over you two as you had your own silent thoughts.
"So..... Can I..?" He asked.
You looked up at him. "Can you what?" You asked, teasing.
"Finish what I was doing..?"
"And what was that?"
He groaned. "Babyyy."
"Hm?"
"Don't make me say it."
"You woke me from my sleep, Ry. I think it's fair."
He groaned again, but sighed. "Can I finish fucking you with my tongue? Finish this problem?"
His sudden boldness made you shiver. But you nodded, of course. "Yes, you may.."
"Mm thankyouthankyouthankyou" He mumbled, moving to lay on his back now, however.
"Please, come sit on my face." He asked.
"Ry-" You had only done this once before. You were terrified of suffocating him.
"Please." He asked, looking at you.
You sighed. You had to admit the thought aroused you. So, you sat up and sectioned yourself on top of his face.
He was quick. The second he felt your warm, wet pussy on his face, he started making out with it.
You whimpered, hips bucking into his face, causomg his nose to bump against your clit.
His glasses were beginning to fogging as he devoured you. His tounge now sliding in and out of your hole.
"Mm-" he mumbled something. It was inaudible, of course, just sending a vibration through your pussy.
You held onto the headboard in front of you as you rose his face, feeling every little thing.
"Oh my god-" You moaned.
Ryland took that as a sign and he continued doing exactly what caused the sound to spill from your lips.
He seemed to be spaced out, but in a good way. Probably pussy drunk. The one thing that helped him the most.
Even though he was very set on figuring out what he needed to, he couldn't focus tonight. The sounds you were making drove him wild. It was causing his pants to tighten.
He whined into you, it making you shiver.
Your legs began to squeeze against his face, so he wrapped his arms around your thighs and held them, continuing his relentless licking and sucking.
He mumbled again, something along the lines of "Yeah that's it baby-" and "Good girl, ride my face, use me."
You were trembling.
"Ryryry-" You whimpered. "I'm gonna cum-"
He nodded. One of his arms moved from your thigh to your surprise. He slid it down his body, only to shove his hand under his sweatpants.
He began to stroke himself. Already whimpering as if he had already reached his climax.
"Ry-!" Your hips twitched.
You came, eyes rolling back.
He didn't stop.
He kept fucking you through your orgasm, but kept going anyways.
You didn't know what he was doing behind you. Didn't know why he was whining so much.
He just kept fucking you with his tongue, sucking your clit, swiping through your folds. Everything.
He began to moan into you, and only then did you feel the soft jerking of his hand.
The fact that he got hard from simply eating you out drove you crazy.
You only reached your next orgasm after a minute or so after, him groaning into you as you slid yourself back and forth on his face. He came, making an absolute mess in his pants.
The two of you were panting softly, but he quickly switched into aftercare mode. He helped you off his face, helping you lay down before pulling you into his chest.
"R'you okay, sweetheart?" He asked.
You nodded, now more exhausted than before.
"Get some rest.." He said, brushing his hand gently through your hair.
The two of you fell asleep together, completely a mess.
✮ c.w. fem reader. fluff. age gap—23 and 41. no astrophage AU.
✮ summary. you’re pleasantly surprised when you find yourself becoming friends with the older teacher, who’s, coincidentally, incredibly handsome.
✮ word count. 4.3k
✮ author’s note. i love ryland so much. he’s my beautiful princess with a disorder.
"fresh meat?" you heard one of the teachers ask in the break room. "uh, no, actually, i'm just subbing for mrs. clark, you know, maternity leave." you respond as you pour yourself some luke-warm coffee. what, with it being past 7:15 and all. the hot, nice coffee was long gone.
"oh, you're the teacher, teacher, right? you got your bachelor's in teaching", okay, first day and apparently everyone already knows you. that's not intimidating at all. "yeah, i got my degree in k-12 teaching." you nod. "but you're awfully young, aren't you? you must've just finished." she assumes, furrowing her eyebrows. "oh, sorry, i'm asking all about you and you don't even know my name, i'm sheila, i teach math to the eighth graders." she extends her hand to you. you shake it. at least you started right. not that it was at the top of your list of worries, but you weren't sure how you'd fit in with your new colleagues.
anyways, you figured as much, given she was wearing her ID around her neck like a medal of valor. her lanyard was very cute, too. a bunch of sanrio characters. you wondered if she had any kids or if she was one of those very nice teachers all the kids love and give her presents. either way, you were sure you'd become friends in no time.
"have you met anyone yet?" she asks again.
"well, i talked to the principal, of course. he's very nice." you sip on your coffee, grimacing at the strong flavour, given there weren't any packs of sugar left, either. sheila nods. "oh, also i met mr. johnson, he's nice too. and uh- apart from that, you, i guess." you smile. silently hoping she'd stop asking questions, but those hopes came crashing down when she offered to introduce you to everyone in the teacher's lounge. you wanted to tell her you'd eventually get to meet everybody, but alas, you didn't want to be rude to this very nice lady.
"so, the two ladies sitting in the back are olive and sarah, they both teach the eighth grade, too," she scans the room. "and david, or, mr. johnson, you already met him." she tilts her head towards the man sitting by the vending machine. "oh, then there's james, the guy by the window. he teaches the seventh grade, he's in my prayers everyday" she jokes. you don't think right now is the time to remind her that you, too, would be teaching the seventh grade.
"oh, ryland, late again?" she asks the blond man who'd just walk in. "i couldn't find my helmet anywhere" he explains, huffing at his colleagues teasing. "how are you? did daisy finally tell you what she wants for christmas?" he asks her, marching right towards where you were. you realize you're standing right in front of the coffee machine. he's up for a bitter surprise, quite literally. you get out of his way, and he smiles at you. oh, he's quite handsome, you realize.
you almost miss the double-take he does. almost being keyword. "yeah, she says she wants one of those labubus, i don't understand kids, you know? what is she going to do with that? it's a keychain!" she complains, making the man laugh. "well, you know kids and their trends." he offers. you take this opportunity to introduce yourself to him, although sheila beats you to it.
"ryland, this is mrs. clark's sub, oh dear, you'll be teaching seventh grade too!" she realizes. the man who has now been identified as ryland, sucks air through his teeth. "good luck, you're gonna need it." he tells you as he's pouring himself the last of the coffee in a mug that read 'world's okayest teacher'. and you're sure he's being nice, playful, even. but you can't help but to feel nausea. this is your first ever class, after all, and to know these kids have their teachers wishing you luck and wincing at the knowledge, only makes you more nervous. or, you know, terrified.
"oh, right. ryland teaches science to the sixth grade, i think your homeroom is right next to hers. right?" sheila turns to him. he nods. "yeah, mrs. clark and i sometimes brainstorm ideas to kind of— control her little hellraisers." he cringes at himself for the word he chose. "so, don't hesitate to come to me for any advice or questions, okay?" he sips his coffee, grimacing just like you did minutes ago.
you take his word. coming to him thrice on the same day, asking him if he knew where mrs. clark kept the lesson plan, if he knew how to turn the AC down, and, more importantly, if he could help you calm the kids down. you could've had all the training in the world and still, that wouldn't have prepared you for the way these kids paid absolutely no mind to what you were saying. when you walked right through the door, they stared at you, figuring out if you were a threat to their conversations, and when you'd informed them you'd be subbing for mrs. clark for the rest of the school year, they all but threw their books at you.
"mr. grace, i'm so sorry, i— these kids—" you tried. he glances at you through the rim of his glasses. in the short, short time you've known him, you realized he does this a lot. "i don't know how to get them to pay attention," you admit. "it's like i'm not even there" you laugh dryly. cursing at yourself for thinking it'd be easy, and for wasting mr. grace's time. hell, he was peacefully grading papers at his desk. you hated to be intruding like this.
"oh, don't worry about it," he must've read your thoughts. "you're new, they are going to hate you, it's a rite of passage," he laughs, standing up. "let me talk to the demons." he walks to your homeroom. you, being amazed by the way the kids calmed down as soon as they saw him.
"guys," he starts, crossing his arms. and you couldn't really help but notice the way his biceps stood out under his suit. "i know you all miss mrs. clark, but c'mon— hey," he interrupts himself when he sees two students talking. giving them a stern look, and in turn, they immediately quiet down. and it really, really shouldn't work for you as well as it did. "your teacher really wants to get to know you, okay? be nice to her." the kids exchange looks, oohing and aahing, mr. grace waves a dismissive hand, laughing to himself before adding, "just—play nice, okay?"
he gives you a nod that you take as a silent 'you're welcome' weirdly combined with a ‘i'm sorry’, given the way his lips press together. he walks back to his classroom, looking over his shoulder before settling.
"you accused us with your boyfriend, miss?" one of the more extroverted kids asked, making the whole class laugh. and you swear you can hear one of them singing that teasing song 'the sub and mr. grace sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g’, okay, so, it's crystal clear now that they're not making this easy for you. that's a nice treat. "guys, please! mr. grace just asked you to play nice," they ooh again, well, that's it for ever mentioning mr. grace in front of them.
you dismiss their teasing and finally, begin teaching class. with approximately fifteen minutes left of class, oh well. it's a start.
during break, you busy yourself going through the lesson plan for what felt like the thousandth time since you were hired. not wanting to accidentally skip over anything mrs. clark has planned. you hear a knock on the already open classroom door.
"hey, you know it's lunchtime, right?" he chuckles. he was carrying a star wars lunch box. so, he's single, you conclude. not really wanting to think about why that made you a little relieved. "oh, yeah! i just— you know, first day jitters, forgot my lunch," you playfully smack yourself in the head. he tsks. "well, there's a subway nearby, if you're hungry, he grabs a hold of the doorknob. you look at the clock at the back of the classroom, mentally calculating if you still had time to go. "you don't—you don't have class until after the kids return from P.E, you still have time." you're a bit taken aback by him knowing your class schedule, but you're quick to realize he must've spent a lot of time with mrs. clark. "yeah, i might go, is it too far?" you ask. "uh, no, it's like a five minute walk. i could—" he clears his throat. "i could take you, if you'd like" he offers.
"oh, mr. grace, that's—" you begin. "oh, please. call me ryland," he interrupts. "just, not in front of the kids, maybe" he chuckles again, and so do you. "okay, ryland, that'd be nice, thank you," you try calling him by his first name, it felt a little bit weird, to be honest. "if—if you don't mind, that is." you tell him. he shakes his head. "oh, no, no, i don't. i haven't been there in a long time. i always bring my own food," he raises his lunch box. "but, i'm like, so sick of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches." he emphasizes.
he's nice enough to ask questions about you on the way to the subway. how'd you get here, how long you've been in the field, if you're from around, "so you're an actual teacher? wow, putting us all to shame." he jokes. "oh, so what did you study?" now it's his turn to answer questions, you decide. "i, uh, i have a PhD in molecular biology." he feels himself flushing, he's very used to everyone interrogating him about teaching middle school, what, with his doctorate and all, so he's thankful you don't point that out. "oh, that's not intimidating at all," you sarcastically state, making him snort, it's nice that you decided to teach the young kids, they couldn't have it any better," you swear he blushes at your praise.
yeah, he decided to teach, that's a way to put it. he thinks. "so how long have you been teaching here?" you ask again. "well, uh, about eight or nine years? i think. wow, i'm old" he says, getting a laugh out of you. you finally reach the fast-food restaurant, ever the gentleman, he holds the door for you.
"you're not that old, you're, what? like thirty-three, thirty-four?" you ask him at the line. "uh, ballpark" he simply says. "you're not telling me?" you laugh, he shakes his head. "you're gonna think i'm ancient when i tell you." he laughs, too. "oh, c'mon! no i won't. how old are you?" you push.
"add seven more years to your calculations." the line moves. you quickly do the math. "forty-one? that is objectively not ancient, ryland" you laugh. he tries his hardest to ignore how much he liked hearing you say his name with such ease. "no? how old are you, then?" he turns to see you. only then do you realize how blue his eyes are. you shrug. "oh, so now you're not telling me?" he chuckles. you're about to respond when the subway employee asks what you want in your sandwich.
after you both paid, you begin walking back to the school, lunches secure in the bag that he's holding. "twenty-six?" he guesses. "ballpark," you retort, copying his answer. "no, i'm twenty-three." you finally answer. "what? no way. when you were born i was a senior in high school. you're a baby!" yeah, that's what you expected. only you hadn't really realized the prominent age-gap. it felt easy, talking to him. he wasn't this old mentor type, he felt more like talking to someone your age, and you guess his young-ish demeanor had something to do with it.
ryland thought he'd be uncomfortable with that knowledge, but he couldn't pretend you hadn't caught his eye since he first saw you today. yeah, eighteen years is a lot. but he wasn't above a little flirting if it wasn't harming anybody. not that, he'd do that, not yet at least. he met you five hours ago, for godsakes. either way, he was sure this could potentially be the beginning of something. and he wasn't wrong.
and as time passed, you began to be closer and closer to him. looking for any and all excuse to join him in the teacher's lounge or his homeroom, making sure not to let the kids see, given they teased you about it since day one, you didn't want to hand them more ammo. you try your best not to think about the fact that you'd soon be leaving for christmas break, because it made you a bit sad, truthfully. in the short time you've come to know the kids, you've really connected with them. ryland insists that's partly because they see you as an equal.
"i am not that young!" you'd tell him, over what had become your weekly routine of going to subway together. "yeah you are. you're practically the same age as them," he jokes. cursing at himself immediately after. he didn't want you to think he saw you as a child. and the way your face dropped a bit when he said that, is not lost on him. "i mean, that's a good thing. you're of their same generation, you kinda get along with them cause of that, but—but also, you're a great sub. they're lucky to have you" he tries. you give him a warm smile, and he's a bit dumbfounded when he finds himself thinking that he wants to see you smile like that again.
it was absolutely no secret you got along great with ryland, the fact that every teacher briefly looked at you whenever you'd both come back with subway bags and a big grin on your faces, was a clear indication of everyone thinking there was something else happening. but, so what? you're a sub. it's not like you're actual co-workers. and also, why waste time focusing on hypotheticals? if he was interested, he'd ask you out. and so far there is no indication of that happening, but you're allowed to dream, you think.
and hey, he actually was of great help. he was the one who basically taught you how to quiet the kids down, and he'd always be happy to help. and no, that wasn't just a thing he said, you could see the way the corners of his lips lifted upwards whenever you approached him with a question.
you're confronted by sheila, who intercepted you at the teacher's lounge one day after class. "is it true?" she asked, sighing when you feigned confusion. "just tell me! i swear i won't tell on you." you continue to act like you're confused, even though you know exactly what she means. but it's not like there's much to tell. so you spend all of your free time with him, does that automatically mean you're in love with each other? "i don't know what you mean—" she interrupts. " i think it's kind of romantic, actually... and i've never seen ryland spend this much time with another teacher before. and i've worked here for longer than he has, so trust me." you can't help the way your face shows hope. and of course, she notices.
at first, you thought you'd become closer to sheila than anyone else, but you were pleasantly surprised when ryland took that place with great honor. like, when he sent you an email with videos you could show your kids, after a lengthy conversation during break one day regarding them not doing so great after a quiz, complaining that you didn't know how to make them understand how to correctly do a sentence diagram. you didn't think much of it, you thought you were just complaining about that for complaining's sake, but your heart kind of fluttered against your will when you received that email halfway through cooking dinner. and not that it matters, but he had sent it from his personal account. and yeah, objectively, you met him about a month ago, but you know that feeling when you feel like you've known a person forever? that's what it felt like with him.
your conversations’ topics did not only include lesson planning and complaining about your students' or parents' behavior, but you'd also grown to know and like him. like, you'd find out from him that he lived alone in an apartment downtown, or, like accidentally memorizing his subway order, or knowing, with certainty, that he was indeed single. you joked one day about his missus not liking it when you and him had to stay behind because of a fight between one of his students and one of yours, forcing you to stay an extra hour to talk to the parents. "oh, no, no missus waiting for me, yet." he told you. and he didn't miss the way you bit your lip to suppress a smile. but that's probably due to him looking at you whenever he has the chance. "no boyfriend waiting for you, then?" he asked in return. you shake your head. "no, not yet, at least."
and, he was being mercilessly teased by his students who usually have lunch with him in his classroom, given he'd excuse himself to go to your adjacent classroom, asking if you're ready for break. he almost let it slip that he, indeed, liked you to his students. you walked by, waving at him. and when his students saw the way his eyes softened and he gave you a little wave mid-lesson, all hell broke loose. "ooh, mr. g's got a crush!" one of them said, eliciting giggles from the rest of the kids. "do you?" another student asked, seeing how he didn't deny it. he hesitated for a small, fraction of a second. that was his crime. "no. focus, guys, we're almost done. you want to get home soon, right?" he tried to distract them to no avail. he loved his kids but, were they tiring.
you felt mesmerized by the way he thought about his kids. talking about them with great pride. "i just...love that look in their eyes when they understand something" he'd tell you once while exchanging stories about his kids along his years teaching. not that, you had much to tell. up until this point, you were basically working towards becoming a teacher. and you confided in him that your plan was to become principal. almost melting by the way he encouraged you. "i think you'll be great, i mean, you'll have to work really hard to get there, i won't lie to you. but i admire your ambition" he said.
but, you had to be realistic. your subbing days would soon end. yeah, you still had a good six months to go, but you're sure they would go by as quickly as the first month had. and, without your permission, you thought back to him. feeling a small pang on your chest when you were reminded that you wouldn't be seeing him everyday anymore, and maybe, at all, for that matter. you push back that thought and just try to focus on your conversation at the moment. you realize you still hadn't answered sheila. oops.
you scan the room. thanking that there was only one other teacher present, and he busied himself on his phone, earphones in. you respected that. a parent-teacher conference was not for the weak, and it would soon be your turn, too.
"honestly?" you whispered, sheila leaned in, mouth watering at the promise of workplace gossip. "i don't know, sometimes i feel him staring at me when he thinks i'm not looking," she giggles. "but you know, i'm just a sub, i'm not going to be here for long. i don't think we'll be in contact once mrs. clark comes back." much as you tried, that was the cold, hard truth.
"you still have six months to go, and who knows? i heard from olive that she might not come back" she shrugs. "what? why?" you ask her. "well, it's her fourth child. and she told me once before that she really wanted to spend more time with her kids. it's not unreasonable. and not to be mean, but i really, really hope she doesn't come back," she laughs to herself. "don't get me wrong, i like her, but i like you better. and i always heard the kids complaining that her class was too hard. and i haven't heard that since you showed up." sheila confesses.
it's hard not to be corny and say something about ryland being of great help in the matter. he'd advised you not to try and completely finish the lesson plan for the week at first, given the students needed to get used to you and your way of teaching.
you shrug. "i don't know. i mean, i would absolutely love to stay here. i love those kids, even with their relentless teasing. and did you know they also think me and ryland are dating?" you raise your eyebrows at sheila. she nods. "well, can you blame them? they see you together all day, every day. and they're middle schoolers, they're going to start rumors, it's in their nature, she makes you laugh. you shake your head. "but, do you like him, though?" she asks. oh, she went for the kill.
you nod shyly, she giggles again. "then what's the hold up?! he clearly likes you too." you resist the urge to ask her if she knows that for sure. "i don't know about that. i mean—he's like, eighteen years older than me, don't you think he thinks i'm a child? i mean, he practically said so." you confide in her, still weirded out by his earlier comment.
"sweetie, he's a man. he's going to be attracted to a younger girl. that's in their nature, too," she makes you laugh. "and to be honest, i don't think he'll make the first move. ever since i've known him, he's only had one serious girlfriend. and i know for a fact she made the first move. he told us at the christmas party last year. i think he was a bit drunk," you're surprised.
either there had to be something deeply wrong with him that you don't know yet, or maybe he's just oblivious. you decide the latter. you'd been witness of a single mother boldly flirting with him at subway one day. they bumped into each other and got talking while you ordered your sandwiches.
you saw out of the corner of your eye, the way she ran a hand down his arm, and how she laughed at everything he said. you remember thinking he wasn't that funny. now, you're wondering if that was just jealousy talking. he didn't comment on it. maybe he was embarrassed, maybe he didn't even notice, or maybe he was simply not interested. and if that was the case, how did he show interest then? you wondered. you hear sheila talking again.
"maybe you'll need to make the first move, or you know, just observe him. if you say you've caught him staring at you, that's not nothing, dear." she finalizes. walking away with a grin and a pat on your shoulder. you have almost no time to think about what to do, when, who should walk in, but him.
he's quick to greet you with a smile. he walks past you to get a snack from the vending machine. but he's unwilling and unable to stay silent around you.
"three more days til christmas break," he excitedly reminded you. he didn't know you were a bit sad about that, so you let it slide. that, and he's cute when he's excited, too. "are you coming to the christmas party?" you almost laugh in his face, given sheila had told you just a minute ago how he got drunk last time. "i don't know if i'm invited to that, grace. i am just a sub. you keep forgetting." he pretends to be surprised by that.
"oh, are you? i'm sorry, i thought you were already the principal. i haven't seen you since lunchtime, things change, you know," he jokes, making your heart flutter at his sneaky praise.
"i think us teachers get a plus one to those parties. you know, it's technically for spouses but...if you want to come, you can be my guest. literally." he chuckles. eyeing the items before him, deciding what to buy. and yeah, this doesn't help the accusations. but you don't care. and if mrs. clark is coming back, you don't want to miss the chance to go to a grover cleveland party. you nod. "okay, i'll be your date, then"
date? did you just say date? has your subconscious played a trick on you? boy, what a terrific moment to have a freudian slip. and if you weren't too busy panicking, you'd notice the irony of sheila telling you you'd have to make the first move. your eyes grow bigger, thinking of a way to take it back. you have nothing.
ryland, who was currently busy placing a 1 dollar bill on the vending machine, is absolutely stumped. truth be told, up to this point, he had no doubt in his mind he had taken a liking to you, but he decided against it, seeing as you were young and single, he thought you had better options out there. or maybe you'd even left a trail of broken hearts along the way. god knows he'd be glad to be one of them. so this catches him completely by surprise. in a good way, in the best way, actually.
"okay." he says, looking at you through the rim of his glasses—a habit you've come to really enjoy—and smirks.
you barely suppress the giggle forming in your throat when you hear his answer. feeling like there's nothing left to say, you mutter a goodbye and leave the lounge. silently screaming and kicking your feet mentally.
can i js say i cant stop picturing lars accidentally manhandling reader…like she’s laying in the middle of the bed probably reading or maybe half-asleep and he wants to lay down too so the easiest thing is, obviously, to just reposition her…like maybe he grabs her hips and kinda drags her towards him or like to the side…yeah this awoke something in me ngl
Oh this would awaken something in him too.
Imagine you’re laid out, dozing a little, right in the middle of his bed with a book in your hands, all cosy and relaxed. Lars kinda wants an early night so he’s in the bathroom brushing his teeth and keeps peeking out the door to look at you because every time he does his stomach feels all fluttery and warm. You just look so soft and comfortable and peaceful.
When he comes out of the bathroom and switches the lights off, he doesn’t have the heart to wake you to ask you to move over for him, so he just slips his big bear paw hands over your hips and ever so gently guides you down and to one side. Like it’s easy, because to him, with those strong wood-chopper’s arms, you weigh nothing.
As he shifts you, you stir, having not been fully asleep yet, and accidentally let out the softest moan at the way he’s handling you.
Lars freezes, eyes immediately blown wide, trousers too tight, breath heavy. Oh.
You feel so light in his big strong grip and he could just pick you up. He could just hold you there and fuck into you and feel you shake with pleasure beneath him…
.✦ c.w. afab!reader. kinda mean!reader. smut (MDNI!). masturbation (m). fingering. p in v. holland calls reader bitch once. pain kink (slapping & biting). drunk sex. it might feel a tittle rushed i'm sorry
.✦ summary. march finds out something new about himself when you walk into his life.
.✦ word count. 4.7k
.✦ author’s note. this goes out to that anon who was nice enough to share their oc with me! i hope i did her justice. writing this i kinda realized i need to work on my enemies to lovers LOL i hope its not complete shit
see, the problem wasn’t that you were spending 24/7 cooped up in a little office downtown. the problem was the people there. yeah yeah, uncle j was nice enough to offer you a job, and yeah sure, at first, you thought it would’ve been fun. now you can’t really picture leaving even if you wanted to, cause honestly, how would these guys survive?
“‘m sorry, sweetheart—” first of all, why. march knows your name. he knows you don’t like nicknames. you’ve grown awfully tired of telling him not to call you that, so all you do is sigh every time a ‘sweetheart’ or a ‘doll’ comes out of his stupid, stupid mouth. and what’s even more infuriating is the fact that you don’t like him at all. you wonder how your uncle even found him in the first place. you picture march accidentally breaking into his house and healy keeping him like an alley cat. he’s incompetent, stupid, or, very stupid, actually.
very stupid as in accidentally leaving sensitive case information in his desk. which, obviously, you had to deal with. because quite honestly, not only were you your uncle’s assistant, but also kind of like a miracle worker. the one who picks up after both men, the one who accidentally lets out a groan when they’re discussing how to solve a case, muttering under your breath how obvious it was. the one who is sat out front like a goddamn receptionist, as if you didn’t do like 70% of their jobs for them.
“have you seen the larsen’s file?” march asks you, making you come back from your inner ranting. you sigh. standing up without a word, and walking to his office, where you last saw it. he follows behind. “i swear it’s not here. i looked everywhere—“ he interrupts himself when you pull it out from the last drawer in his cabinet. he never looks there.
you shove it into his chest and walk back to your own desk. “oh, here you have it, march!” he imitates your voice poorly. making fun of the way you almost never talk to him. this makes you roll your eyes, although he doesn’t see you.
you busy yourself with organizing the files they don’t seem to be working on right now. when you hear someone approach you. “hey, you can take off. we don’t have any open cases right now and you seem tired.” healy tells you. “my car’s in the shop, j. and the bus won’t come by for another hour. i’m okay right here.” you tell him without looking at him, still organizing the files on your desk. “march will drive you” he states. “i’d sooner rather wait one whole hour under the sun at the bus stop, thanks. and why can’t you take me? you’re my uncle.” you tell him, finally looking at him. “don’t be fuckin’ rude. he lives right by you. and you know your apartment is out of my way. take it or leave it, i don’t care, we’re both leaving anyways.” he tells you. going into his office to collect his things. yeah, he has little patience of your little aversion towards march. sometimes you wonder if they’re secretly lovers, what, with the way he defends him and all.
“so?” you hear march’s voice. and there he is, standing right in front of you. you arch your eyebrow. “am i takin’ you home or what? healy said—“ “healy asked me and i said no, thank you very much. i’ll just wait for the next bus.” you interrupt. he scoffs. “don’t be a fucking baby. c’mon, grab your things.” he tells you, heading for the door.
on one hand, having to ride with him would be hell on earth. but your uncle’s right, you are pretty tired and the bus would be burning hot and it would take you at least one more hour to get home. you hum. silently grabbing your things. you try your hardest to ignore the smug grin march wears.
after you lock up, because of course, somehow, you’re tasked with also doing that, he opens the copilot’s door for you. “thanks” you mutter. he makes a stupid, stupid face and goes “wow! i didn’t know you were capable of showing gratitude, sweetheart.” he retorts. making you roll your eyes, once again.
you try really hard not to start conversation during the drive. but of course he has something to say. “are you doing anything later?” he asks, lighting a cigarette. you hate to admit it but he looks awfully hot driving with one hand on the wheel and smoking out the window with the other one.
why he wants to know your comings and goings is above you. “why?” you simply ask. “jesus christ, can’t i just be nice? i don’t want to know, i could care less.” he’s aggravating. “you couldn’t care less, dumbass. if you could care less it means you care.” he sighs loudly. deciding to shut up for the rest of the ride. after he parks in front of your apartment, you get out without a word and thank him under your breath half-heartedly, not really wanting to hear him go on about how surprised he is you can say that word.
to think he’d leave you be is wishing for too much. “you’re welcome! i’ll pick you up before work too. unless your car is ready?” you furrow your eyebrows momentarily. the car wouldn’t be ready for at least three days. and sometimes he does have the ability to shut up. “8 sharp, march.” you simply tell him. turning on your heal and heading for your door.
“ungrateful little shit.” he says to himself. three whole days of this. he can manage, he thinks.
he can’t help but wonder when this whole ‘hating each other’ thing would end. but honestly, he didn’t mind. not to be self-deprecating but he was used to people calling him stupid. hell, even his own daughter did. but whenever he heard you groan or saw you roll your eyes, he really couldn’t help his imagination running wild.
wondering if you made those same looks and those same sounds in bed. you were healy’s niece for godsakes. but that didn’t matter when he found himself stroking his dick while showering, thinking about how mean you are to him. thinking about how you say ‘jesus christ, march.’ in a low, disappointed, tone. thinking about having you on top of him, riding him for all he’s worth, telling him exactly what to do. and when he pictures you slapping him when he doesn’t do what you ask of him, he comes, with a high-pitched groan, covering his mouth with his left hand, to keep from fucking screaming.
that’s new. he thinks. up until now, he didn’t see himself getting off to a mean, ungrateful, and fucking hot bitch.
and of course, march isn’t there at 8. you don’t know what you expected. but because of this dumb fuck, now you’ll be forced to walk a few miles to the nearest bus stop. as you begin walking, already sweating two minutes in, you hear someone honk behind you. you know it’s him. even his car is obnoxious for crying out loud. “you couldn’t wait two fuckin’ minutes?” he asks, slowing down right besides you. you shot him a look. “get in. you’re already sweating, jesus christ.” he tells you, turning the AC to the max. “fuck you.” you snarl. getting into his car. you’re not sure if you heard him right, but you think he mutters ‘gladly’, although the AC on full blast made it impossible to tell.
now, to say you hated march is exaggerating. although evidence shows otherwise. you didn’t hate him. you were just…aggravated by his presence. ever since you began working there, his childish and unprofessional attitude made you form a bad impression on him, only worsening with time. but you couldn’t really deny how funny it was to push his buttons. he’d get all red in the face and you could tell he wanted to scream at you, restraining himself only because he knew healy would take your side on any and all arguments.
you notice he’s weirdly quiet today. by now, you were sure he’d tell you how he burnt his breakfast or how badly he slept. and not that you really mind the silence, but it was not a comfortable one. you turn to look at him. making note of how quickly he diverted his gaze when you made eye contact. opting to light up what would be the fourth cigarette of the day. at 8 a.m., mind you.
what you didn’t know was that he was completely embarrassed by his little…fun time yesterday. he couldn’t really look at you and not remember the mental image he concocted yesterday. and the fact that every time he thought of that his pants tightened a bit, which he didn’t want you noticing.
against all odds, you speak to him. “somethin’ on your mind?” you ask him, looking out the window. he clears his throat. grateful of how you’re not holding eye contact anymore because he was sure the tent in his pants was beginning to grow against his will. “yeah, uh, just this case we’re working on. it’s very hard— the case, it’s very hard.” he takes a drag of his cig. you hum. didn’t your uncle say you didn’t have any open cases? “healy told you you weren’t working on anything at the moment.” you think out loud.
shit. he didn’t know you knew. “well, it’s not an open— open case, per se. it’s like, this case that was really hard to figure out.” he quickly says. trying to come up with whatever gets him out of this situation. out of all days you could’ve chosen to talk to him, you had to pick today. he eyes you, sees the way you’re thinking about the stupid thing he just said. “okay, then.” you say.
so, he’s lying. obviously. you wonder if it’s got anything to do with healy. maybe he was working on a case by himself. boy, would that be a mistake. you know he used to work alone before, although you weren’t sure if his stories you heard him tell healy were true. he’d paint himself this sherlock holmes type, although the time you’ve known him, he’s done nothing but drink himself to sleep.
the day goes by rather quickly. you busy yourself all day with color-coding the files. once again wondering what march is hiding, given that there are absolutely no open cases. just like healy said.
not that you expect march to tell you he’s driving you home again, but you kind of do.
he’s drinking. surprise, surprise. and although he insists he can drive you, you aren’t willing to risk your life over a middle-aged man drunk driving. “fuck off, you shouldn’t leave, either.” you tell him. “it’s like you don’t even know me, doll. i’ve been doing this since my prime. and i only had one glass of scotch, big deal.” he shrugs. “oh, only one glass of 40% alcohol? that makes me feel so much better. you’re not driving. i’m leaving.” you tell him. quickly grabbing your things and heading for the door. but you stop yourself. “if i leave you’re still going to drive?” you turn to him with an exhasperated sigh.
he shrugs again. “yeah, probably.” unbelievable. he has a whole ass daughter, doesn’t he care? “do you have a death wish, march?” his face contorts in what can only be a smile. you’re confused. “awh, are you worried about me, sweetheart?” his head tilts to the side. full-on grinning. you roll your eyes again. “yeah, keep doing that, see what happens.” he mutters. what the fuck?
“is that a threat or are you hitting on me?” you ask. standing in your place, astounded by his audacity. “i’m not going to answer that.” he says, heading back to his office. you’re actually too dumbfounded to move. “i’m leaving.” you say, more to yourself than him. fuck it if he dies behind the wheel. that’s his business.
but you don’t move. you slowly realize it’s way past the last bus. shit. it’s either walk all the way home, or wait until march sobers up. you were less inclined to walk forty minutes than to stay behind with march, much to your dismay.
you sit down at your desk again. soon after, march shows. “i thought you were leavin’, you are worried, huh?” he says, sipping on another glass of scotch.
truth be told, march did not care a single bit about driving home. holly has been spending all her time locked in her room. and he doesn’t like the reminder that he’s by himself once he gets home. and it’s probably the two glasses of scotch talking, but he can’t seem to care about hiding his intentions from you. and the fact that you stayed behind, only encourages him.
“there aren’t any buses anymore, genius. maybe i’ll take a cab, i don’t know.” you tell him. he places his drink on your desk. “i think you’re worried. i think you don’t want me to die.” he grins.
“and that makes it special? march, you have a daughter. i can’t believe you don’t care.” you tell him. “she’s used to her old man getting home drunk, and she probably hasn’t noticed i’m not there yet, i’m not in a rush. i could take you home, though.” you shake your head. “you’re unbelievable.” you mutter. “why do you hate me so much?” he blurts out. you furrow your eyebrows. a moment passes.
“s just that, i don’t know, you’re very mean to me.” he all but pouts. chugging down the last of his drink. “don’t get me wrong, i like it, but i didn’t know i liked it, til’ you showed up, that is.” he continues. at this point you’re too amused by his babbling to interrupt. “you’re here every day, with your cool clothes and your cool jewelry— where do you get that, anyways?— and you’re nice to healy but you’re mean to me, i get he’s your uncle but i don’t think i’m too bad myself, am i?” he swallows. “say something.” he says.
you laugh to yourself. he doesn’t even sound drunk. this is just his normal self talking. “have a drink with me.” you try to say no, but he’s running to his office to get the bottle and another glass. he comes back, serving himself another drink and serving you one, too. “cheers.” he clinks your glass, which is still at your desk, and chugs all of it.
you hesitate, but he looks awfully vulnerable and you’re afraid he’s going to insist, and also the scotch does look good. you grab it and take a small sip, without looking at him because you’re sure the grin is back on his face. he eyes you up and down while you drink. feeling surprised by how fuzzy you feel, only half a drink in.
“are you just going to watch me drink?” you ask him. “beats drinking alone.” he says. “‘m sorry to have sprung all of that on you.” he clears his throat. “i’m just a bit confused as to why you seem to have a problem with me.” he lowers his gaze. “march, i don’t have a problem with you. and didn’t you just say you liked that i was mean to you?” you try, not really letting him off the hook so easily for what he admitted.
“yeah, i do.” he mutters. “kinda turns me on, your whole goth demeanor.” he can’t seem to shut the hell up. and it’s not like he can attribute it to the drinks. he’s not even tickled by the alcohol. you laugh. and he can’t seem to tear his eyes from you. “are you laughing at me?” he asks, laughing now, too. “yes!” you tell him, making him scoff like he’s offended.
you chug the rest of the drink and pour yourself a second. hell, if you’re not leaving might as well get drunk.
“are you, really?” you turn to ask him, he’s still hovering over your desk, daring to get closer, he sits on it. honestly, he was a little bit afraid of you until he heard you laugh. now the whole mean thing just seems like a ruse to him. “am i really what?” he turns to see you. “turned on? that whole me being mean thing?” now it’s your turn to eye him up and down. and you can’t really blame the alcohol for the warm sensation forming in lower stomach. he smells of alcohol and smoke, he’s such a guy.
“well, obviously. whatever little show you’re doing, it’s working.” you’re confused. “show? no. you’re just an incompetent detective. i can’t deal with incompetence.” you tell him. “hard as it is to believe, i can be competent. when i really, really want.” he says.
“oh yeah? and when do you really, really want to? so far i’ve never seen you work.” he shakes his head with a smile. “like when i can figure out you’re turned on right now. your cheeks are all red and you keep squeezin’ your thighs.” he catches you by surprise. you hadn’t even realized you were doing that. you try to come up with something to say, but words don’t come to mind. “yeah, case closed.” he retorts. serving himself yet another drink.
“where’d you come up with that, march? can’t i just enjoy conversation?” you try to say, although it comes out a bit more shaky than you want. “with me? no dice, doll. you don’t speak to me unless it’s to insult me. i don’t mind.” he shrugs.
holland can’t really tell where his confidence is coming from. maybe it’s knowing you’re both a bit drunk and alone. maybe the scale simply tipped over and he can’t really hold it in anymore. or, you know, maybe he’s just as turned on as you are.
you sip the last bit of your drink, a small droplet sitting on your lips. he tentatively runs his thumb along your lower lip. and when you don’t object, he smiles to himself.
honestly, you could’ve pictured this night going any way, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the way his hand slides from your lip to your arm, yanking it to make you stand up. and when you do, he wastes no time attaching his lips to yours. you suppress the small gasp of surprise coming out of you. not wanting to give him the satisfaction. you’re quick to kiss him back. placing a hand on his thigh, squeezing slightly when he slips his tongue in your mouth.
he moans. and what a pretty moan he has. your head becomes flooded with wanting to hear more of that. he puts his hand that was previously on your arm on top of yours, moving it towards his crotch. you hum into his mouth when you feel just how hard he already is.
to say this is surprising is an understatement. never in a million years would you have thought you’d be rubbing holland march’s dick through his clothes on your desk. it’s a nice surprise, honestly. it’s not like you can overlook how attractive he always looks in his tight pants and his overgrown mustache.
“you’re so fucking hot.” he thinks out loud. briefly stopping your full-on make out to attach his lips to your neck. you involuntarily let out a whimper, feeling him smile against your neck. “don’t be so smug.” you tell him. he stops what he’s doing to look at you. “you’re letting me do this and i can’t be smug?” he asks. placing a hand on your neck. suppressing the grin that fights to form in his face when you briefly close your eyes at the feeling. he lightly squeezes and you press harder on his dick. yeah, he can be smug, he thinks.
“sit down on the desk, sweetheart.” he tells you while standing up. without really thinking about it, you obey. sloppily taking your pants off. fuck it if he thinks that’s too forward. he sets between your legs. his hand returns to your neck, lightly squeezing, while his other hand grabs ahold of your thigh. you subconsciously make space for him, opening your legs, in response, he puts his middle and ring finger on your underwear. looking at you intently, as if asking for permission.
you take a play off his book and grab that hand to place it on your clit, making small circles with it. “kiss me.” you tell him. he obeys immediately. it’s like a back and forth of dominance.
he puts your underwear to the side, running his fingers down your core. he wants you to ask for it. beg, even. that’s just not happening. he doesn’t have the upper hand. you could just get up and leave. but damn it if it doesn’t feel too fucking good.
“what’re you waiting for, march?” you break the kiss to ask him. in turn, he slides his middle finger in you. you try not to squeeze him in to no avail, and he bites his lip, turning towards the obscene scene in front of him. “if you can’t take a single finger how are you gonna take my dick, sweetheart?” it’s quite weird to you to hear him dirty talk. but the need to shut him up, to erase that stupid grin on his face is only making you wetter.
“bet i’ve taken bigger than you.” you try to provoke him, only to have him laugh in response when he slides another finger in and you gasp.
you don’t think you could do anything but moan and gasp when he gets you right on edge, only to entirely stop his movements. fingers still deep inside you. “why’d you stop me?” he asks you, you notice how black his eyes look right now. any and all color gone. only to be replaced by pure lust.
“take— take your clothes off.” you tell him, one hand tugging at his shirt. he stops all movement and wipes his hand on his pants. he unties his tie and unbuttons his shirt, not bothering to take it completely off.
he begins to unbuckle his belt, but you stop him. he turns to you with a panicked look, only to realize you want to do that part. you take his belt off and slide his pants down to his thighs, unable to tear your eyes off the prominent tent in his boxers. oh, he’s big. you weren’t expecting that when you said you’ve taken bigger. that’s why he laughed.
in turn, you also take your clothes off, feeling very smug when you feel his eyes linger on your chest. he’s quick to kiss down your neck, until he’s sucking on one of your nipples. you arch your back towards him, and he places one hand on your waist, slowly laying you down until he’s practically on top of you.
he takes his hand off your waist momentarily to free himself. feeling relief once his hard dick is out. without warning, he’s sliding those two same fingers in your pussy, moving them back and forth and gathering your slick and rubbing your clit once more. you tear him from your nipple and kiss him again, this time licking into his mouth.
you’re on the brink again, equal parts not wanting him to stop and wanting him to just finally put his dick on you. your hips involuntarily lift from the desk when you feel your orgasm reach, moaning into his mouth, only making him smile in return. “yeah?” he asks, oh he thinks he’s so funny. you want to nod, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.
you reach down and grab his dick, aligning it with your entrance. a silent plea, so to speak. “you want me to fuck you?” he pants. you don’t react. not uttering a single word or nodding. but he sees the goosebumps cursing through your arms and legs. he is a detective, after all. “say it.” he whispers. you won’t budge, no matter how much you’re squirming. “please?” he pecks your lips. “hm, sweetheart? can you say it?” another peck.
you shake your head. “c’mon, darlin’ i know you want to. you want me to fuck you, right?” it’s more of a plead than a rethorical question. you groan. this is taking far too long and you’re too far gone to keep your pride. “yes, holland. fuck me.” you quickly tell him, almost coming from the whimper that comes out of him. his first name on your lips intoxicating him.
“yeah, doll— i’ll fuck you. you want me to, right?” what is it with this man and his questions? he slides in, finally. moaning loudly and dropping his head to your shoulder from the feeling. “oh my fucking god, you’re so— jesus you’re so tight, hmm fuck.” he blabs. your hands slide to his hair. petting it as a silent thank you, for finally having him where you wanted to the most.
he’s big. the stretch burned momentarily. he stays in place. only moving once he knows he won’t cum right then and there. he starts with small thrusts, not daring to pull out. “christ, you feel good, hm?” he pants. in turn you tug on his hair to kiss him again, otherwise you’re sure he’s just going to keep talking.
one of your hands travels down to your clit, rubbing circles on it to enhance the feeling, only to be slapped away by him, replacing your hand with his.
you moan into his mouth, and he can’t help but to be just a little disappointed you weren’t as mean as you were all the time. he still thought about his little fantasy of yesterday, where you slap him. he stops kissing you, only to whisper into your mouth. “can you— can you slap me?” he asks. had he not been balls deep inside you, you would’ve laughed. but since he was making you feel so good, you obliged.
a quick, almost painless slap. he didn’t even feel it. “c’mon, didn’t you hate me like, yesterday?” he pants. still keeping his thrusts short, but deep. you hit him again, and it made your hand hurt. you’re afraid it might’ve been too much until you hear him groan and pull all the way back only to thrust back with more force than he had before.
"you like a little pain, march? didn't peg you for a masochist." you try to tell him without your voice shaking, made impossible by his deep thrusts. "i think you put a fuckin' spell on me, doll.” he pants. his hand returns to your neck, squeezing a bit more than he had before. relishing in the way your eyes roll back and you squeeze his dick. his rythmic thrusts become sloppy, signaling how close he is. but he doesn't want to come just yet. he wants to savour the feeling, in case you don't let him do this again.
he turns to kiss you once more, feeling smug again of the way you can barely kiss him back. he takes the opportunity to bite your lower lip, hard. tugging it and licking it afterwards as an apology.
"you like that huh?" you nod. letting go of any restraint you still had left. seeing how he reacted when you slapped him, you tentatively bite his shoulder. and really bite. "fuck- oh christ." he arches his back towards you. he ruts against you. you feel him so deep, it's all you can think about.
your face scrunches up, feeling your second orgasm incoming. you moan loudly, and in turn he whimpers again. “not so tough now, huh? fucked the mean out you, didn’t i?” he asks. and when you come, so does he. unable to keep his mouth shut about how good you feel. “i’m gonna— fuck, oh my god— sweetheart, you’re—“ he moans.
catching your breath, you feel him going limp inside of you. his whole body on top of you, catching his breath, too. only bothering to move once your breathing has regulated.
he tucks himself into his pants and buttons his shirt again. giving you your clothes back and sitting besides you. as you’re dressing up, you can feel the stickiness of his cum between your legs. oh well, that’s a problem for future you. he gives you a shy smile. almost as if he didn’t just fuck the shit out of you.
“am i allowed to be smug now?” he asks, and in turn you roll your eyes. “don’t get so used to this, march.” you tell him, noticing how his whole face drops. oh, you didn’t mean not get used to…you know, fucking. “although i do have some notes for next time.” you’re quick to say.
his whole face brightens again. “oh yeah?” he laughs. “i’ll have to hear all about it. c’mon, let me take you home. i’ve definetely sobered up now.” you sigh, only giving him a little nod and gathering your things.
he hopes to god healy never finds out. he doesn’t think he can take another beating from him. that’s a problem for another time, he thinks.
i spent like an hour watching lars edits and i cried because i miss my beautiful babygirl…
masterlist
lars can’t really describe himself as confident. he’s comfortable enough in himself to acknowledge he looks good in a certain piece of clothing, like this particular sweater he likes, he thinks it’s lucky. every time he wears it he receives compliments. that and also the way your jaw slightly drops is not lost on him.
but there’s only so much he can see in himself. he can’t quite grasp how attracted you are to him. he gets awfully shy whenever you go crazy over him.
“oh. my. god. lars, you’re insane for this, actually. you look so freaking handsome, jesus what if someone steals you from me?” you’d tell him after getting ready one day for work, not really sure of what you mean. he did his usual routine, and he’s sure you’ve seen him wear this exact same outfit before, what’s the big deal? he’d ask with a laugh.
“you’re crazy, you just— you look, and you smell amazing. well now i’m actually nervous…maybe you shouldn’t go out looking like that.” you joke. he feels like a kid getting a picture taken, all he can do is stay in place and smile at your (not-so) quiet admiration. “come here.” you instruct him, he obediently follows.
you wrap him in a tight hug, nuzzling your head on his neck, quite literally breathing him in. “is that a new cologne? are you trying to kill me?” your questions come out muffled. “no, sweetheart, i could never.” he answers. kissing the top of your head.
“you look very very handsome, i’m serious.” you leave the comfortableness of his neck to kiss him. in turn, his eyes flutter shut, kissing you back softly. you part begrudgingly, telling him he’s going to be late for work. “come back to me in one piece, okay? don’t let other girls see you.” you kiss his cheek.
he’s positively floating the rest of day. not sure of what he did differently today to receive such kind words from you.
a/n: the people deserve to acknowledge how handsome he is. yeah he’s cute but he’s also hot 🚬
