ryland grace knew his brother was friends with all sorts of troublemakers and constantly surrounded himself with bad influences. but maybe not all of them were that bad after all—not when he was friends with you.
pairing: ryland grace x f!reader
status: ongoing
tags/warnings: strangers to friends to lovers. university au. coltland twins + older brother gentry au. blended smau. inconsistent posting schedule. hurt/comfort. rocky is a bernese mountain dog. kys/kms jokes. suicidal but as joke but not as a joke. mentions of partying/clubbing. alcohol use. smoking. suggestive at a certain level. lots of cursing. everyone here is ooc lowkey. no beta we die like the sun. warnings may change as the story progresses. mdni.
taglist: open, reply to be added
INTRODUCTIONS: colt has skid marks | group 5 gen chemistry ii
PROLOGUE: fuck you and fuck your apologies
CHAPTER ONE: wtf is a ryland
CHAPTER TWO: pathetic, good for nothing, wet cat loser
CHAPTER THREE: etsy witches, get him!
CHAPTER FOUR: easy, white chocolate
CHAPTER FIVE: you're such a fat fucking chud
CHAPTER SIX: wait im bored, delete my number rn
CHAPTER SEVEN: my sleep paralysis demon's twin
CHAPTER EIGHT: maybe that means he's into little girls
CHAPTER NINE: a hello kitty pajamas girl or a goth femboy?
CHAPTER TEN: the living conditions of a poor victorian man
content: 5 times ryland grace left a mark on your life +1 time you left a mark on his. angst! the creation of a doomed relationship from the start bc of the outcome of PHM. r is a teacher. some fluff in memories <44 probable inaccuracies and spoilers! be kind pookies
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1.
Grief was a peculiar thing.
You had experienced it, as most people living a life had. You’d felt it over the loss of a family member, a friend, the old neighbour across the road and even the orange cat you used to pet every morning on the way to work, that you had found on the road after being hit by a car.
Every casket, every phone call through the night, every goodbye post on social media. You had felt the gravity of grief and the immediate loss that came with it. To say grief was like glitter was the ultimate understatement.
Until you had met Ryland Grace.
You’d ask yourself, how does someone grieve someone that wasn’t ever dead?
(That’s what you had naively presumed. Hoped, even.)
The first speck of glitter was found in the second drawer of the desk within your classroom. The typical culprit of the day—a lanky boy called Tucker—had miraculously forgotten his pen. In fact, he had forgotten his whole backpack at home and it took all your adult willpower to maintain a stoic impression without flaring your nostrils too much at the kid. After all…you never truly knew what someone was going through at home.
“Just…give me a sec.” You held a finger up to the student’s longwinded excuse, chair rolled back to make room to open the drawers up.
Now, you had promised yourself to clear out those drawers for three months. Cluttered—or littered would be a better definition—and jamming whenever you cracked them open to throw in pencil shavings, or a crumpled up to-do list on a sticky note, or…
…Or the dried up apple core that Ryland had left on your desk.
You weren’t keeping it as a keepsake. That would be blatantly dipping into the waters of a level of creepiness you wouldn’t ever want to swim in.
No. You remembered the day so vividly in the back of your mind. The sunrise bled through the cracks of the blinds in your classroom, making the most appealing orange hue across the newly decorated room. You stood on your tiptoes atop of a rickety ladder, tongue poked through your lips in concentration as you balanced yourself to try pin the last paper chain against the back wall.
It was a fickle thing, being a perfectionist that is. And, the way the large, pastel paper chain draped across your wall deeply mattered to you in ways you couldn’t explain to the principal if she asked. Part of you hoped when she saw it, she would compliment your artistic ways on the drapery of some late night arts and crafts without overtime pay for a bunch of teenage kids; and not scrutinise the time wasted on something that mattered so little in a classroom.
Either way: first impressions were important to you. Especially ones that made you feel like a safe space to a handful of teens that were going through their most impressionable years to date.
“Knock, knock.” Your foot slipped when you jolted with fright, teeth bitten into the tip of your tongue as you yelped but thankfully saved yourself a trip to the Emergency Department with an ankle fracture. The voice—a male one you gathered—spoke at a higher octave, “Are you OK? Oh god, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
When you looked over your shoulder, brows furrowed out of mild annoyance, it took all your might not to raise them up to your hairline at the male standing before you. His hands held out in front of him as if he would’ve caught you from four metres away, a half eaten apple pinched between his forefinger and thumb, the male blinked up at you with all the worry he felt spread across his features.
Handsome. Was your initial thought.
Mussed blonde hair, glasses that were slightly askew, pretty blue eyes to match the prettier face. Yeah. Whoever the morning intruder was…he was handsome.
“Hello.” You managed to mumble out, hands still planted against the wall to pin the paper chain. “Can…I help you?” Is what you said when the man stood gawking at you like a fish out of water.
He scratched at the back of his head. “Yeah. Well, no, I don’t need help.” The blonde looked to your door to make sure the exit was still a real, tangible thing and then back to you. He chuckled, “I’m Ryland. One of the teachers—Science teacher—here. Ryland Grace.”
It wasn’t hugely awkward. But, still enough for him to wince at his terrible fumble of an introduction whilst you bit back the amusement of a smile.
You exchanged your name in return and Ryland waved at you, because he wasn’t sure what he could do with his hands, until he decided to use the intellectual part of his incredible brain and steered the conversation in a different direction; much like times found in his classroom when his eighth graders got off topic.
He gestured to the wall you were leant against after taking a bite from his browning apple.
“Do you need a hand with that?”
His question made you look to your paper chain dangling sadly. “The last part just won’t pin correctly. It sounds stupid but—”
“No! No, not stupid. Here.” Ryland was quick to place his half eaten apple on your desk, rushing to your side with a hand out to grasp your elbow as you made your way off the step-ladder backwards. He offered you a warm smile before stepping on, “I—Uh—Studied molecular biology in college, not that, that has anything to do with gravity. But…”
“You know about gravity too.”
“Yes.”
You nodded with a hum. “So, you’re a doctor?” Suddenly feeling less equal to your peer.
“Yeah, but who’s counting?” Ryland joked with a grunt as he stretched his arm to pin the paper chain with the perfect amount of dangle. He cleared his throat, “There. Perfect use of gravity.”
“Thank you. Really. It was driving me nuts all morning.” You said with a sigh of relief that the headache of something so minimal had wafted away in an instant.
Ryland stepped off the ladder and admired his work before he turned his attention to you. (Not missing the way his blue eyes did a once over your whole frame in a subtle, and almost respectful manner.)
“Nervous?” He asked.
Were you supposed to say no? You felt like you could be honest with him already, and it had only been a five minute conversation and one pin in a wall.
You put it down to the fact that he hadn’t made fun of your colourful arts and crafts. In fact, he completely glossed over it.
“Is it bad if I say yes?” You looked to him and Ryland shook his head which let you breathe a little more. You continued, “I’ve taught kids before. New ones are scary, and in a pack…they can smell fear.”
Ryland laughed at that.
“You’re right.” He paused, “They’re great kids, though. Minimal amount of teasing on a good day.”
You pulled a face, “From experience?”
“Yeah.”
You hummed and nodded, thinking of where you could possibly take the conversation next but the morning bell rang and it felt more like a bucket of ice had just been thrown over your head. All at once.
Noticing your rigidness, Ryland squeezed your shoulder sympathetically before he began to weave through the desks set out for the kids to take his leave. As much as his company was appreciated, you understood the quickness of his exit due to the nature of middle schoolers and their incessant love for gossip about teacher’s love lives; even if they had just met.
That and he couldn’t possibly trust his own students to be left unattended in his classroom down the hall.
He wished you a heartfelt ‘good luck’ as he walked out of your classroom with his thumbs up, his half eaten apple abandoned on your desk, never to be eaten. It was only when the kids filtered into the room with heavy eyes and a lack of enthusiasm to be in school, did you snatch the apple from the desktop and toss it into your second drawer with the mental note to rid of it during recess.
“Miss?”
You were brought to the present tense with a pop!
Tucker—your student—stared at you with some impatience behind his expression.
You blinked.
“Sorry, Tucker. Here.” You handed the pen over and the lanky kid mumbled a ‘thank you’ as he returned to his desk, leaving you to stare at the dried and shrunken apple in your drawer. It took you two seconds to slam the drawer shut before looking up at your students, “Alright. Please turn to page forty-eight.”
2.
The second time you had noticed the glitter was when you stepped into the staff room.
Tupperware of a sad excuse for lunch in hand, you scanned the area for an empty table, only to be waved over by your colleague—and shoulder to cry on—Beverly Greer. Bold coloured hair and clothes to match, she was the embodiment of an enthusiastic art teacher with the passion to drive kids into their more creative tendencies.
She grinned when you sat down next to her, her attention drawn back to the newspaper in front of her. Something you liked about Beverly, she never encroached on personal time if she sensed the mood was not on the more socialising side.
As you opened up your lunch, you peered at the paper Beverly had been scribbling on. “Crossword?” You asked.
“Yup. Want to do one?” She looked up at you with all the cheerfulness one could muster.
“Uh…no, thank you though.”
Suddenly your lunch didn’t look as appetising. Something as simple as a crossword could project you into a memory you had attempted to bury somewhere deep inside of you, never to see the light of day again.
The truth was…you hadn’t even looked in the direction of a crossword since, well, since the last time Ryland Grace had been working on one.
You had walked into the staff room, just as you had done when Beverly called you over, and saw Ryland sat with his ankle resting upon his thigh whilst it bounced, there was a wrinkle between his brows which you had come to notice was something he did when he was in the depths of concentration.
Things had been going well for your blossoming companionship with Ryland Grace. He visited you in the mornings before the bell, sat with you—when you wanted—during lunch, and sometimes on the rainiest of days, you’d drive him home after some bartering and acknowledgement that yes, you knew his yellow raincoat was meant for the rain, but you’d still like to drive him home in such terrible conditions.
Although, one time you had to stop by your house before dropping him and his beloved bike off, and Ryland had timed the whole route from the school to your house. You were mortified.
(Neither of you addressed it. For the time being.)
“Crossword?” You queried when you sat next to him on the couch, fingers popping open your lunch.
“Yeah.” Ryland responded before he began tapping the pencil against his lips. His eyes shifted to you and then back to his paper. He readjusted his glasses as he spoke, “What is the greatest love song ever written?”
This had you frown. “Huh? That’s in the crossword?”
“It could be.” Ryland lowered his tone and curled the newspaper so you couldn’t find the number where it asked that. When you didn’t respond, he prodded you again, “Well?”
“Oh. Let me think…Unforgettable by Nat King Cole.”
Ryland nodded along as he wrote down your answer and you let out a laugh that made the corner of his mouth quirk at the noise.
You watched him for a moment until he realised you were staring openly at him.
“Well? Was I right?”
Ryland shrugged, “Yeah.”
“I didn’t know crosswords were so opinionated these days.” You answered and sat back, shoulders brushed against Ryland as you stabbed at your homemade lunch. “What would you say?”
“Me?” Ryland thumbed at his chest and when you nodded, he mulled it over with his eyes to the ceiling. “Let’s Get It On by Marvin Gaye, maybe.”
You grinned. “That’s pretty cliche, Dr. Grace.”
“OK, Miss. Not Mainstream. It’s called variation. Diversity in music.” He teased back with a stern look over the rim of his glasses. Before he could add to the banter, he was beckoned by the principal like a child caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. Ryland provided you an apologetic look, telepathically telling you he wanted more time with this conversation before he stood, leaving the newspaper on the coffee table in front of him.
Once he had left the room and you had eaten half your lunch, bored by the lack of stimulation the staff room gave you; you finally plucked the newspaper from the coffee table to inspect Ryland’s attempt at the daily crossword in the local newspaper.
Your eyes narrowed to try find the question regarding the love song question he had thrown so flippantly to you, only for it to not be within the numbers of the crossword.
Huh.
It hadn’t been in the crossword, but you found your answer under a corner of the newspaper that had been dog-eared, Ryland’s handwriting scribbled in faint pencil.
You placed the newspaper back and thought nothing of it aside from the fact that Dr. Ryland Grace was terrible at crosswords.
3.
On Friday it rained.
You were meant to take the cleaner route to work, which meant leaving your car stationed outside of your apartment whilst you connected your headphones and opened up a Spotify playlist that allowed you to stop overthinking for the entirety of the walk.
And then, you stepped out and decided one more day polluting the air with your car wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
The day had passed quicker than any other usual Friday, which you were grateful for. You loved your job, loved the kids, loved Grover Cleveland Middle School, despite the severe lack in a good and liveable wage. But, you were excited to see the back of it until Monday came round.
You got into your car around 6:30PM. The sky was beginning to darken, and the rain hadn’t stopped hammering against the roof of your car which made perfect background noise for the silence within the vehicle.
It was once said—by your therapist—that there was no difference in listening to music in the car than listening to it on a walk with your tangled headphones stuck in each ear.
(You begged to differ.)
Some would say it was pathetic. This repetitive insistence where doing simple things such as listening to music in your car, was the equivalent to running the Boston Marathon. Or something along the lines of a strenuous activity that required enough emotional perseverance to pull through.
You called it rolling with the grief you had been gifted with. Baby steps were still baby steps, no matter how long it took to take them.
Ryland Grace had ruined that precious time in the car for you.
It was a Friday. As it always was. He had popped his head into the doorway of your classroom with an innocent but layered with mischief smile upon his pretty face and told you it was meant to rain that afternoon.
You had taken that as a not so subtle hint that he required a ride back to his house so he could miss out on drenched socks and a soured mood.
When he sunk into your passenger seat with a grunt after tossing his belongings in the back, you started the engine and cringed at what you were about to ask of him.
“What?” Ryland straightened up.
“Is it OK if I run by my apartment really quick?” The embarrassment from his previous time-keeping when this last happened lined your voice with worry.
Ryland’s mouth pulled into a frown. “Uh…yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”
Oh good. You hadn’t thought of the explanation for that. You went for the latter and shrugged, “Always courteous to ask.”
“Can I play my music?” Ryland asked which made you feel that your playlist had been inadequate during the times he had spent in your car. Nevertheless, you disconnected your phone and Ryland awkwardly mumbled a ‘thanks’ whilst fidgeting in his seat as he queued up his music.
The rest of the drive was peaceful, aside from the fact that Ryland was unable to sit still next to you. There wasn’t many times that Ryland and you ran out of things to talk about, which was nice in the grande scheme of things. It was just unfortunate about the growing feelings you had stewing in your chest whenever he was within close proximity, because you couldn’t bear the idea of addressing it and being so kindly rejected by the man who had a PhD in molecular biology.
(You’d get over it. But if you didn’t acknowledge it, there was nothing to get over!)
The topic of conversation began to die down as you pulled into your driveway, the anxiety from the last time began to creep up the back of your neck and it made your gaze flicker to Ryland’s phone. OK. You let out a subtle sigh of relief when you didn’t see the stopwatch in his clock app timing the whole thing.
You cut the engine. “I won’t be long.”
“Actually—” Ryland dropped his phone from the sheer force in which he jumped to stop you from exiting your vehicle. His head bumped with the console as he reached for his phone beneath his feet, a sharp noise elicited from the back of his throat as the music began to skip. Ryland began to protest when he retrieved his phone, “No. Ugh. This wasn’t meant to happen. Just give me a second.”
“Are you OK?”
Ryland rubbed at the reddened spot on his forehead where he had bumped it. “Yeah. I just—Fuck it. I’m sorry. I had this whole thing planned out down to the second, where—where I tell you everything that’s been on my mind, and, and how I hoped you might feel the same way and amongst all of this, your favourite love song began to play. I had it queued up amongst all the other music and now I have egg on my face.”
His sudden word vomit stunned you into oblivion. If it were a snake, it would’ve bit you.
But time slowed, just as much as your brain attempting to process his words did. You clutched your steering wheel to ground yourself to the moment; because what did your Nat King Cole have to do with any of this?
Sensing your quietness, Ryland glanced at you from his peripheral and shook his head. “I—Uh—I really like you. Actually, I like you so much it’s kind of distracting. And, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or—or have read the signs incorrectly. But…I had to let you know because it has been eating me up since the first day you started at Grover.”
Oh. Oh!
Ryland paled whilst you processed his profession.
“Wow.” You breathed, looking out to your apartment in a daze. Ryland grimaced. You nodded, “Is that why you timed the drive from the school to my apartment a couple of weeks ago?”
“What—?” Ryland gawked, “Why didn’t you ask me what I was doing?”
“It wasn’t my business!”
“Yes! Yes! That is why! I thought if I timed it, I could calculate the amount of songs it would take to get from Grover to your apartment for it to play Unforgettable by Nat King Cole as we pulled up and I told you.” Ryland pinched the bridge of his nose to try reign in his mortification, “It was juvenile and lame. I know.”
You shook your head with a soft laugh, “No. It’s sweet. I really appreciate that you did all of that just to try confess your feelings. Even with the bump on your forehead.”
“Oh man, so dumb.” Ryland rubbed at the sore spot and chuckled tiredly.
“Hey.” You caught his attention, his eyes peeled open to stare at you, his whole face softening at the sight of you. A smile split across your face, “For the record, Casanova, I like you too.”
“How much?” Ryland perked up, “Like, enough to kiss me right now?”
“Sure.”
Ryland fumbled with his phone, “Wait. I had a song for this. Shit—Give me a second, honey.”
You pocketed the term of endearment for another conversation at another time. Eyes glistening with excitement as Ryland tapped at his phone screen like a giddy child.
Once the song played and Ryland leaned in with a smug grin that had your stomach erupt with butterflies, your lips pressed in a gentle kiss that lasted the entire four minutes and fifty one seconds that the song played—with tongues occasionally making an appearance—you realised that you would never be able to listen to the song Let’s Get It On by Marvin Gaye and not think of that Friday night with Ryland Grace.
4.
Your apartment was a sacred place. You had spent time and whatever energy you had stored away after work, to decorate, and then redecorate the entirety of the apartment until you felt satisfaction in its aesthetics.
A warm glow from multiple lamps, that you’d gawk at the price of your electricity bill later on. A wide array of blankets, cushions and everything in between to make your living room situation as comfortable as possible after spending hours on your feet wrangling in a bunch of eighth graders.
To add to this, you were sentimental at heart. Photos spoke a thousand words for memories that may have been kicked up in the dust of how fast life could go, and you appreciated your keen eye for capturing the best moments to look back on.
(No matter amount of ache in your chest you got when staring at an image too long.)
In your kitchen, toward the back of a shelf, laid a photo stacked beneath a pile of books that you hadn’t taken the time to dust since you planted them atop of the image. There was something metaphorical amongst all of that, you were sure. It was more recent than baby photos, or the one time family reunion that went a little south after the liquor was introduced to the rowdier side of the family tree. In fact, it was so recent, it didn’t deserve the treatment of being cast aside; to never see the light of day again.
The image was of you and Dr. Ryland Grace.
Taken in your living room on the fourth time he had spent the night at your apartment. It was a newfound thing, the whole staying over at each other’s apartments—Ryland preferring yours much more to his—and it also introduced another level of intimacy to your relationship.
It was a little daunting, opening your life up to another person…but Ryland met any resistance with the upmost patience and understanding, that your worries soon melted away by the second sleepover per se.
You were both sat on plush cushions on the floor of your living room, knees knocked as you sat level with your coffee table that had a scatter of developed photos atop of it. One pot of steaming pot noodle to share between you as a last minute idea on the last of Ryland’s pay check, you brought out all the photos you had taken in the last year—plus some baby photos—to invite Ryland further into your world of sentiment and nostalgia.
“And you take them all on this?” Ryland held up a cheap camera that you had bought at the Supermarket on a whim. When you nodded in response, Ryland hummed and turned the camera in his hand, “Does it have film in it right now?”
“Uh-huh. Look.” You leant into him and showed him the little window that showed the number two in it. “Two left until it is out of business.”
With you so close, Ryland took the opportunity to press a chaste kiss to your temple. Another thing you had learnt about Ryland Grace on the steep incline of your relationship was he was a sucker for physical affection. No matter how brief, or how small.
You returned his touch with rubbing the nape of his neck for a moment.
Ryland stared at your camera, “Can we—Can we take the last two? Or are you saving it for a special occasion?”
“This is a special occasion.” You affirmed, “Plus, they only cost like five bucks.”
“OK. I’ll buy you a new one.” Ryland promised with a peck to your lips and a hum from the gratification from it. He tilted his head against yours, signalling for you to do the same as he held the camera at arms length to take a photo of you two together. “Say cheese.”
Click.
Ryland pulled the camera down and began to wind it to take the last photo. He mumbled, “Just one of you now.”
“Why?”
“For me. Obviously.” Ryland stated with a hint of sarcasm dripping from his words, as if it were obvious from the get go. He positioned the camera in front of his face, crows feet prominent as he squeezed one eye shut to focus through the camera to take the perfect photo of you. You smiled at him, partially out of embarrassment, before the camera clicked and Ryland pulled it away with a grin. “Pretty.”
You scoffed. “Thanks. I’ll get them developed tomorrow.”
And you kept that loose promise. Developed by noon the next day, you admired the photos on days you had forgotten about—thankful for your newfound hobby of photography—before plucking the two that had been taken by Ryland the night prior.
The photo of you two together had part of his thumb covering the camera, but you thought that was endearing and you stuck it to your fridge with a sun magnet that Ryland had purchased you on a whim. The second photo of just you was fine, by your standards. You had never been one for using the film for photos of yourself, rather the world from your eye, so you didn’t spend much time picking it apart before slotting it into an envelope to give to Ryland on the Monday at school.
He took the photo with thanks. (Meaning he risked a kiss on the lips on company time in the middle of his classroom.) And, before the bell rang for the morning to begin, he yanked his drawer opened and scribbled on the back of the image.
That piqued your interest at the doorway.
“Are you writing the date on the back?”
Ryland shoved the image into the pocket on the inside of his blazer whilst nodding with enough enthusiasm that it raised some mild suspicion. He huffed out a breath and spoke, “Yeah. The date. I saw you do it on the back of your ones.”
“Copycat.” You pointed a finger at him, “I’ll see you at lunch.”
“See you then, honey.”
5.
The fifth and final time you went looking for it. For closure. Something your therapist had gently coaxed the idea of throughout three sessions back to back.
You peered into Ryland Grace’s classroom. Stuck in time and used for storage until another Science teacher came along and snagged his cushty spot at Grover.
There was something haunting about it all. The dust being collected on the solar system you had helped him make over a shared pot noodle and trash TV after Ryland had mentioned that he could use more of your creativity to make his classroom come alive. The scattered papers on his desk of unmarked papers from—what would be—his last day as the eighth grader’s wonderful Science teacher. You were sure, if the cleaner hadn’t prioritised this classroom, you’d find apple core at the bottom of his bin.
After much thought and consideration as to what you were about to step into, your foot slid across the threshold and, because you weren’t burnt alive, you decided to jump headfirst into the deep end.
It was so incredibly quiet. Eery to you, most likely normal for an abandoned classroom.
You took a breath, inspecting each corner of the classroom you had become so familiar with, until your eyes fell onto his desk; the golden plaque with his name since removed.
Without much thought, you sat in his desk chair.
Huh. Such an odd feeling.
You blinked at the mess on his desk and laughed to yourself. He had been halfway through writing notes on Tucker’s paper—the one that always forgot his pens—and encouraged his work with little notes in red marker and an occasional exclamation point to show his pride in the student.
(Maybe the kid would take interest in your class if you did the same type of marking. You took that as a mental note.)
Then, you happened to open his drawers out of curiosity. Which is where you finally understood the term: curiosity killed the cat.
Within the first drawer of Ryland’s old desk were an abundance of crumpled up pieces of paper that he had been writing on to keep note of things. Such as a grocery list, the time of the meeting on Wednesday, the note he had written to you as an apology for the meeting pushing back your date night, a to-do list for class, and finally…a note about you.
It felt hot to touch, but you burnt yourself anyway. The paper clutched in your hand, you brought it up to read his writing in more detail.
It had your name at the top, and it was seemingly a list of qualities he liked about you. Something he drew one singular line through once he had finished writing it.
It read: 1. Creative. 2. Curious. 3. Intelligent. 4. Stubborn (my favourite thing about her.) 5. Gorgeous. 6. Good driver. 7. Listens to me. 8. Caring. 9. Gorgeous, because once wasn’t enough.
And just below it, he wrote: When you know, you know.
With that revelation, you sunk into the desk chair, bones deflating as you pressed the note to your chest with a deep sigh.
There it was. You almost had it all.
+1
Who am I?
Is what Ryland Grace wrote on the whiteboard upon the spacecraft he had no recollection of boarding. In fact, he had no recollection of what type of person he was, which initiated the curiosity that led him to the zipped bag with his surname written on it.
Whilst the witty science shirts added a little humour to such a grave situation, and the glasses enhanced his vision to almost 100%…Ryland was in search of something more.
Everyone had their own collection of photos of loved ones that listed from moms, dads, siblings, husbands/wives, kids, pets. All people that had mattered to them. Hadn’t Ryland Grace had that too?
He sat cross-legged on the floor, long hair fixed in place by a hat as he inspected some more items from his case. He was about to go back to write on the whiteboard, when he noticed a thin piece of plastic protruding from beneath the ‘I had potential’ shirt.
It piqued his interest, as well as his heart rate as he pulled it from its spot beneath the fabric of his t-shirt.
A ziplock bag with a singular item concealed within it.
A photo. Just one.
Ryland frowned as he managed to unzip the bag, before he pinched the corner of the image and unsheathed it from the plastic, his eyes narrowing at the sight of a woman he wasn’t so familiar with at the moment.
The pad of his thumb smoothed over the speck of glitter that had managed to cling to the cheek of the woman.
From an immediate deduction, the image was taken in an apartment, with a TV and decor in the background. The woman was beaming, eyes bright with a smile that—Ryland supposed—meant something to him at some point in his life. She wasn’t looking directly at the camera pointed at her face, rather the person who had taken the photo.
(Ryland was intelligent enough to presume he had been the one taking the picture. And, when the memory returned, he’d thank himself for that.)
With that, his chest ached.
Evident that she had made an impact upon him for the photo to have made it all this way with him.
Ryland scratched at his brow-bone with his thumbnail as he stared at the image for a moment longer before flipping it over in his hand. The nervous tendency of scratching came to a halt as he saw the writing—his own handwriting—on the back of the image.
Need more of that Stratt, Grace and Reader threesome 😭
- 🦈
don't we all, anon. don't we all.
(nsfw under the cut, minors dni)
resting your head in ryland's lap so he can stroke your head and wipe the tears off your cheeks whole eva pegs you within an inch of your life. you're whining and sobbing and eva is taking all her frustrations out on you, and ryland is holding you, telling you, "it's okay, you're taking it so well. just let her use you for a while, she needs it right now. you like being useful, don't you?"
eva eating you out after ryland came inside you, only to spit his cum back onto your pussy.
i've talked briefly about this before: obedient service sub ryland, bratty sub reader and hard domme eva is also a dynamic worth considering.
eva always praising ryland for doing just as he's told, and then immediately asking you why you can't be just as good.
eva making ryland hold you down while she edges you as punishment, and if she catches him trying to help you out, she snaps at him that he'll be next if he doesn't stop.
CW: smut, pet play, name calling (stupid, useless, pathetic), condescension, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, discussion of safe words
I've been such a good girl, can we go for a ride? I'm on a real short leash, but I like it tight
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Ryland found you there on the rug with your collar already fastened around your neck. He smiled down at you, soft for a moment, before turning into something sharper.
“This what we doing tonight, honey?”
You had lifted your chin, trying to look less eager than you felt.
He takes a step closer, before another.
Now he stands over you, and you hate how quickly your whole body responds to it. How the simple angle of him above you makes your brain go warm and quiet. Your fingers curl against your thighs because you know better than to reach without permission.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Sitting there like you’re being good.”
Your face heats.
“I am being good.”
His eyebrows lift.
“You are? That’s interesting. Because good puppies usually greet me at the door.”
You swallow.
“I was waiting.”
“Mm.” He steps closer, the toe of his shoe nearly touching your knee. “That sounds like an excuse.”
“It’s not.”
“No?” His voice stays gentle, almost conversational, which somehow makes it worse. “You put the collar on all by yourself, sat in here looking cute, and then decided I should be the one to come find you.”
You glare up at him, but it has no real force behind it, causing him to tilt his head.
“Careful,” he says softly.
Your stomach flips.
He crouches in front of you, close enough that you can see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw despite shaving this morning. His fingers hook lightly under the ring at the front of your collar—not pulling, just reminding you of where you belong. Or rather, who you belong to.
“There you are,” he says, quieter. “Hi, puppy.”
Something inside you melts so fast it’s humiliating.
“Hi,” you whisper.
Ryland’s mouth curves.
“Oh, that was sweet.” His thumb brushes the edge of the collar. “See? You can be polite when you try.”
You make a small, offended noise.
He laughs under his breath. “I know, I know. Very mean of me to notice.”
“You’re mean.”
“Not really.” His eyes soften for half a second. “You know I’m not.”
You do, that’s why this works.
Ryland would stop at the first wrong breath. One look, one word, and the whole tone would vanish. He checks in with you before and after, awkwardly earnest and careful in a way that makes your heart ache.
Yet in the middle of it he can be just condescending enough to make you squirm.
His fingers slip from your collar to your chin, tilting your face up.
“What do good puppies do when I get home?” he asks.
You know the answer, although it doesn't make saying it easier as your cheeks burn.
“They greet you.”
“Mhm.” His thumb moves once along your jaw. “And?”
You look away.
Ryland clicks his tongue softly, causing your eyes to snap back to his so instinctively.
“There we go,” he murmurs. “Don’t get shy now. You were bold enough to put yourself on the floor before I even walked in.”
Your thighs press together. His gaze flicks down, then back up. The corner of his mouth twitches.
“That’s what this is, isn't it?”
“Huh?”
“You wanted me to find you like this.” His voice warms, sweet and patronizing. “Poor thing. Just waiting here, hoping I’d know what to do with you.”
You hate the noise that leaves you.
Ryland’s hand stills under your chin.
His eyes search your face for one second, making sure. The moment he sees what he needs, his expression eases back into that fond, terrible amusement.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “That’s it.”
He stands.
You have to tilt your head back to keep looking at him.
“Come here,” he says.
You start to rise when his eyebrow lifts.
You stop.
Oh.
Your face flames.
Ryland waits, patient and insufferable.
“You can do better than that,” he points lazily toward the space in front of him, “Come here, puppy.”
It should be embarrassing, it is embarrassing.
This does not stop you from moving, however.
You crawl the short distance to him, heart racing and all of your skin feeling his eyes on you. He watches, looking as though he cannot look away.
You finally reach him and sit back on your knees.
The first stroke of his hand through your hair is gentle, your eyes flutter despite yourself.
“There,” he murmurs. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
You want to complain. You really do.
Instead, you lean into his hand.
Ryland’s breath catches faintly.
He covers it quickly, but you hear it.
You smile.
His fingers tighten lightly in your hair.
“Don’t look smug,” he says. “You’re the one on the floor.”
Your smile dies instantly.
He laughs, soft and delighted. “That’s what I thought.”
“Ryland.”
“Careful,” he says again, but there is affection threaded through every syllable. “You remember your color?”
You nod. “Green.”
“And if you need me to slow down?”
“Yellow.”
“And stop?”
“Red.”
“Good puppy.”
The praise hits low and hot, which he sees too.
“Wow,” he says, almost wonderingly. “You are easy tonight.”
You groan, covering your face with both hands.
He gently catches your wrists and pulls them down.
“No hiding.” His voice is quieter now. “I like seeing what I do to you.”
You bite your lip.
His gaze drops to your mouth.
For a second, the room changes.
Then Ryland crouches again, bringing himself closer to your level. He holds your wrists loosely, thumbs brushing over your pulse points.
“Can I kiss my puppy?” he asks.
The tenderness of it knocks the breath out of you.
You nod, which causes him to give you a look.
“Yes,” you say quickly. “Please.”
“That’s better.”
He kisses you softly at first, almost sweetly enough to make you forget the game entirely. Almost. Then he tugs lightly at your collar and you gasp against his mouth.
Ryland hums.
“There it is,” he says.
You chase him when he pulls back.
He leans away just enough to make you miss.
“No,” you complain.
“No?” His eyes brighten. “That’s not very polite.”
“Please kiss me.”
Ryland pretends to consider it, which is honestly cruel.
Then he smiles.
“Since you asked so nicely.”
The second kiss is deeper. Warmer. His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers curling around the collar, and the little pressure of it makes your head go pleasantly empty. You rise onto your knees, pressing closer.
Ryland lets you.
…For a moment.
Then he pulls back and taps your nose with one finger.
“Greedy.”
You glare, making him utterly delighted.
“Very greedy,” he corrects. “I give you one kiss, and suddenly you’re climbing all over me.”
“You gave me two kisses.”
“Oh, excuse me.” He strokes your hair again, patronizing and sweet. “Clearly I’ve spoiled you.”
He guides you backwards till you are once again seated, and then moves away towards the bed. You see him seat himself at the end of the bed, spreading his legs and placing his hands on his knees. Sweet and carefree, like he has plenty of time to break you down.
He pats his thigh.
“Come on.”
You hesitate for exactly one second, and his eyes narrow slightly.
“Don’t make me ask twice.”
Your body moves before your pride can object.
You crawl towards him and find yourself between his knees. His hand moves again into your hair, stroking slowly and surely, and you relax into his leg, giving off a gentle sigh.
Ryland’s expression shifts.
The condescension softens around the edges, becoming something aching and fond.
“There’s my sweet puppy,” he murmurs. “You just needed attention, don’t you?”
You press your cheek against his thigh, too far gone to pretend otherwise.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe,” he echoes, amused. “Sure.”
You pinch his leg lightly.
He catches your hand immediately.
“Ah.” His voice drops. “No biting.”
“I didn’t bite.”
“No, but you were thinking about it.”
You look up at him.
Ryland smiles.
“I know that face.”
“You do not.”
“I absolutely do. That is your ‘I want to be difficult so Ryland will do something about it’ face.”
Your mouth falls open.
“That is not a face.”
“It is. Very specific. Very cute.”
“It hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” His hand cups your cheek. “You’re practically wagging your tail.”
The noise you make is mortifying.
Ryland’s thumb drags over your lower lip.
His voice lowers. “Oh, puppy liked that one.”
You couldn't deny it if you tried.
He leans down until his mouth is near your ear.
“My sweet puppy,” he murmurs. “So smart all day. So sharp. Arguing with everyone, correcting my math, terrifying interns.”
You shiver.
“And then you come home and get all soft for me.”
Your eyes close while his fingers stroke under your chin.
“Look at me.”
You do.
His face is unbearably gentle, thumb pressing lightly at your mouth.
Not forcing, but waiting.
Your lips part.
Ryland’s breath catches again, less hidden this time.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “Very good.”
He lets you mouth at his thumb for only a second before pulling it away, leaving you dazed and wanting. He smiles like he knows exactly what he’s done.
“Patience,” he says.
You whine, causing you to cover your face again, but he catches your wrists before you can hide properly.
“No, no.” His eyes are dark now, but still warm. “Don’t be embarrassed. That was adorable.”
“Ryland.”
“It was.” He kisses your forehead. “A little pathetic, maybe.”
You squirm.
His smile sharpens.
“There we go.” He sounds far too pleased with himself. “You like pathetic.”
“I do not.”
“No?” He trails his fingers down the side of your neck, brushing the collar. “So if I said you were being a needy little thing right now, that wouldn’t do anything for you?”
You say nothing, his smile grows.
“I love you like this. All sweet and needy on the floor, pretending you’re not desperate for me to tell you what to do.”
The emotion in your chest drops straight back into heat.
“Ryland,” you breathe.
He hums. “There it is.”
His fingers brush under your collar to draw you slightly nearer to him.
And now when you go into his arms, he allows you to climb onto his lap. And his hands hold on to you right away; one of them grips your back while the other grabs your waist, keeping you near while you hide your face in his neck.
You can smell the aroma of coffee and laundry coming from him.
For some time, he strokes you in silence. Gentle strokes on your hair, words of endearment almost inaudible.
“So good for me.”
“My sweet thing.”
“Look at you, getting all quiet now.”
“Poor puppy. Big brain finally turned off?”
A low noise falls out of your throat as he kisses you and he laughs before kissing you again; this time, he doesn’t pull away from you when you chase after him.
He lets you continue.
Lets you kiss him roughly, lets the noises fall from your lips as you kiss him roughly. You try to grind against him when his hand holds you still.
His lips are flushed. His glasses askew. His eyes warm and dark with pleasure.
“Ah,” he says softly. “There it is.”
You blink at him, breathless. “What?”
“You were being so good.” His thumb rubs a small circle at your waist. “Then you got greedy.”
Your face burns. “I didn’t.”
“No?”
“No.”
Ryland tilts his head. “So that wasn’t you trying to rub yourself on me like a needy little puppy?”
Your stomach drops in the best, worst way.
You open your mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Ryland’s smile turns devastatingly gentle.
“Oh,” he murmurs. “That’s what I thought.”
You hide your face in his neck with a groan.
He laughs softly, fingers combing through your hair.
“No, no. Don’t hide now. You were brave enough to do it.”
“Ryland.”
“Mm?”
“You’re being mean.”
“Am I?” His hand slides slowly up your back, soothing even as his voice stays patronizing. “I think I’m being very nice. I noticed what my puppy wanted, didn’t I?”
You shiver, before nodding.
“Good puppy.”
The words go through you like a spark.
You try to press closer again, but his hand holds you still.
“Uh-uh.”
You whine before you can stop yourself.
His eyes darken.
“There’s that sound again,” he murmurs. “You’re getting very comfortable with that.”
“I hate you.”
His mouth brushes your cheek. Then your jaw. Then the place just below your ear that makes your fingers tighten in his shirt.
“You want attention,” he says against your skin. “That’s all. Poor thing came to me so wound up and needy, and now you don’t know what to do with yourself.”
You swallow hard.
“I don’t know what to do with myself.”
He exhales slowly, like the answer pleases him almost too much.
“That’s okay,” he says. “I know what to do with you.”
Your whole body goes soft.
Ryland notices that too. His smile fades into something tender for half a second, and he kisses you once, gentle enough to ground you.
Then he pats your hip.
“On the bed.”
You move too quickly, because his eyebrows lift.
You stop halfway up.
He laughs softly.
“Excited?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
You crawl back onto the bed anyway, and he watches every second of it with an attentive eye. It makes you feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with clothing.
“Sit,” he says.
You sit near the pillows, legs tucked under you.
Ryland stands, stretching just enough that his shirt pulls tight across his chest. You hate him for that. A little. He catches you staring and smiles.
“Really subtle.”
“Shut up.”
His eyes sharpen.
You realize your mistake instantly.
Ryland goes still, staring at you amused. Oh no.
“Oh,” he says.
You swallow.
He takes one slow step toward the bed. “What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“No, I heard something.” Another step. “Sounded like my sweet puppy forgot how to behave.”
Your pulse jumps.
“I didn’t.”
“You didn’t tell me to shut up?”
You stare at the blanket.
Ryland sits on the edge of the bed, close but not touching you.
“Look at me.”
You do.
His expression is calm. Almost gentle.
“That mouth is getting you in trouble tonight.”
You bite your lip.
His gaze drops.
“Don’t do that unless you want me to do something about it.”
You release your lip.
Ryland’s smile flickers.
“Good choice.”
Now the air is too hot, too dense. The collar rests comfortably around your neck. You feel Ryland’s eyes drift down toward it compulsively.
He reaches out and grabs hold of the leash resting on the bedside table, clipping it to the ring on your collar.
He gives the leash the gentlest tug, barely enough to move you.
“Come here.”
Your instincts draw you towards him and you crawl forward on the bed until you're near enough for him to grab hold.
"That’s better," he lifts your chin with two fingers. "You see how nice it is when you listen?"
Your body melts all over again when he kisses you.
The leash dangles loosely in his other hand, but the mere weight of it causes your head to feel light. The control you've handed him in knowing that he'll take care of you.
The warmth of Ryland's mouth grows hotter as you feel his tongue move against your own. One hand finds its way around your waist, pulling you close until you find yourself straggling him, the chain of your collar yanking lightly when your hands tip into his hair.
As you try to grind against him, he tightens the leash slightly.
He pulls back, tutting, “Greedy puppy.”
He touches your body gently, taking his time. From your waist. Your back. Your thighs, as he settles you in his lap once more. His hands do not tighten around the leash he holds, keeping it in his grasp but always loose enough that you cannot help but drift off into dreams.
“You’re quiet now,” he murmurs against your mouth.
You nod.
“Big difference from earlier.”
You hide your face against his shoulder.
He chuckles. “Oh, that embarrassed you?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
He strokes down your back. “It’s sweet. I like when you get quiet.”
You mumble something into his shirt.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Mm.” He scratches lightly at the nape of your neck, just beneath the collar. Your eyes almost roll back. “Poor puppy. Too gone to argue properly.”
You make a small sound.
His arm tightens around you.
“There you go,” he whispers. “That’s it.”
It should feel humiliating, being read this easily. It should make you defensive. It would, with anyone else. But it’s Ryland.
“You want to lie down?”
You nod against him.
“Words.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
You pull back enough to look at him, face hot.
“Yes, sir.”
Ryland’s smile is slow and devastating.
“Good puppy.”
He eases you down onto the bed with ridiculous care, like you are made of glass and also somehow the most tempting thing he has ever seen. You settle back against the pillows, the leash trailing from your collar to his hand.
Eventually, you find yourself with your shirt bunched up above your rib cage, Ryland moving his mouth at a leisurely pace over your belly that is now exposed to him.
As you bring your hand up to your face, the leash tightens slightly, but not hard enough to hurt.
“No hiding.”
You lower your hand.
He kisses just below your ribs, smiling against your skin. “There’s my brave puppy.”
You’re shaking now from the praise—the teasing and the unbearable patience of him. He keeps you balanced there, right on the edge of too much, watching every breath like he’s collecting data.
“My good puppy,” he murmurs. “I knew you could behave.”
He says it like he’s proud.
Like the entire night was just one big test to confirm what he already knew, that under all your efficiency and edginess lies something tender and desirous, softening the moment he drops his tone.
“You’re thinking too much again.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” His mouth drifts higher, brushing beneath your jaw. “I can practically hear it. Very loud in there.”
You huff, but it comes out weak.
Ryland lifts his head. “Poor thing.”
Your eyes narrow.
He smiles and taps one finger lightly against your temple. “Big, brilliant brain. Always working. Always trying to stay in charge.”
You swallow. His hand slides to your collar, thumb hooking beneath the edge.
“And then I do this.”
A tiny tug, and your eyelashes flutter.
“And suddenly there’s nothing going on up there at all.”
You practically whimper.
The second time he kisses you, there is no pretending that you aren’t starving for this kiss. You wrap yourself around him and sigh softly in response to his kisses while he sets the rhythm and control with a mere pressure on the leash and the gentle touch on your waist.
After some time, he pulls back and positions himself on the headboard, taking you along and resting you against his chest while you are positioned with your back facing him. He holds you gently in his arms, and the leash hangs loosely across your collarbone.
He kisses the side of your head. “You’re very quiet now.”
You hum.
His mouth brushes your ear. “Too much?”
You shake your head.
He accepts it, but his hand smooths over your stomach anyway, grounding and warm.
“Just gone?”
You nod.
His lips curve against your temple. “Yeah. I can tell.”
You should be embarrassed, yet you feel so happy right where you are.
For a while, he just holds you. One hand strokes slow patterns against your side, the other touching the collar now and then, like he still can’t quite believe you trust him with it.
“My spoiled puppy,” he says, the edge returning. “Getting held. Getting kissed. Getting praised. You’d let me keep you here all night, wouldn’t you? Soft and needy and useless in my lap.”
His legs spread yours apart. One hand moves down your stomach, slipping beneath the edge of your shorts, past your underwear.
“Gonna get you ready,” he says against your ear, low and certain. “Then I’m going to bend you over and fill you up. Gonna take my stupid, useless puppy and make sure she remembers what she’s good for.”
You can’t answer. You can only sit there in his lap, legs held open by his, collar snug around your throat, leash loose across your chest while his hand rests exactly where you need it.
“Poor puppy,” he says softly. “I say one mean thing and you just disappear on me.”
You whine,and his fingers press enough to make your hips twitch.
“Shh.” His other hand tightens around the leash. “No. You don’t get to squirm around and make a mess of yourself already.”
His fingers keep working you open with humiliating patience, slow enough that you want to sob, steady enough that you can’t help melting into it. You try to move your hips, just a little, just enough to get more.
Ryland stops immediately.
“No.”
You make a broken sound.
“No,” he repeats. “Greedy puppies don’t get to take. They get what they’re given.”
“Please.”
“Oh, now you remember that word.” His voice is sweet enough to sting. “Convenient.”
“Ryland, please.”
His breath catches.
Only for a second.
Then his mouth is at your jaw, kissing you there like a reward he didn’t mean to give.
“You’re lucky you sound cute when you beg.”
You barely hear yourself answer. “I can be good.”
Ryland stills.
Then he laughs softly into your skin.
“Oh, puppy. That was almost convincing.”
His hand slips out of your shorts, leaving you empty and aching. You whine at the loss.
You twist toward him, desperate, but the leash tightens.
Not enough to hurt.
Enough to stop you.
“Stay.”
You stop.
Instantly.
Ryland’s eyes darken.
The silence is hot and thick and unbearable.
He looks at you like he’s discovered something wonderful.
“There,” he whispers. “That’s what you’re good for.”
You shiver so hard his arm tightens around your waist.
“Listening,” he says, almost tenderly. “Obeying. Letting me make you feel good because you’re too needy and sweet to do it properly yourself.”
Your face feels far too hot, and you double down in the embarrassment with a nod of your head. Ryland’s mouth parts slightly, for a moment, the control slips. Just a crack, enough for you to see how badly he wants this, how much restraint he’s burning through to keep his hands gentle and his voice steady.
Then he pulls himself together.
“On your knees.”
You move too fast, scrambling out of his lap and onto the bed, turning over on your hands and knees before he can tell you twice. Your pulse pounds. The collar shifts against your throat. The leash drags over the sheets.
Behind you, Ryland goes silent.
You look back.
He’s staring.
Glasses crooked. Hair mussed from your fingers. Mouth slightly open.
Wrecked.
The satisfaction that sparks in you lasts about one second before his eyes lift to yours.
“Proud of yourself?” he asks softly.
You freeze.
His mouth curves. “Oh, you are. That’s cute.”
He comes closer, kneeling behind you, and winds the leash once around his hand.
“Eyes forward.”
You obey.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Acting like you weren’t just falling apart in my lap.”
You press your forehead into the sheets.
“No hiding.” A tug.
You lift your head again, breath shaky.
“Good puppy.”
You melt.
Ryland laughs under his breath. “That’s all it takes now? Two words?”
You don’t answer.
He leans over you, chest pressing to your back, mouth near your ear.
“Poor thing,” he whispers. “You really are gone.”
You nod before you can stop yourself.
His hand tightens on your hip.
“Yeah,” he says, rougher. “I know.”
Your waist, your thighs – anywhere where your shirt has risen to – his fingertips travel. He kisses first the space between your shoulder blades, then your neck, then finally the leather of your collar once more.
When he finally manages to get your shorts off your legs, you’re trembling.
He stops, his palm splayed on your back.
“So pretty,” he says, too soft for the role and too honest to take back.
Your throat tightens.
Then, as if realizing he has been kind for too long, his fingers curl around the leash.
“Ask.”
“Please,” you whisper.
“Please what?”
“Please use me.”
Ryland goes utterly still.
Then finally, finally, he gives you what you asked for.
He pushes into you slowly, one hand tight on your hip, the other holding the leash with careful control. The stretch makes your mouth fall open. Your arms shake. A helpless sound tears out of you, and Ryland stops halfway with a curse under his breath.
You try to push back.
His grip tightens.
“No,” he says, voice rough. “You take what I give you.”
Your head drops.
He tugs the leash once, gentle but firm.
“Up.”
You lift yourself, trembling.
“There.” His voice is wrecked now, but still controlled. “Good puppy. You can do that much.”
Deeper and deeper he presses, careful enough to let you feel everything and making the world consist of just his hands, his voice, and the collar around your neck. When he bottoms out, he holds himself there.
Then he lets his hand travel up your back, a gesture that looks like reverence.
“There you go,” he whispers. “Look at you taking me.”
You make a small, broken sound.
His hips draw back.
Then forward.
Slow.
Deep.
Controlled.
Your whole body jolts.
Ryland groans.
“Yeah,” he says, low and mean again. “That’s what you needed.”
Answering is impossible. All you can do is cling to the bed covers while you endure him as he begins to thrust, every thrust deliberate and destructive. One hand remains on the lead, but it is only used to direct you, to ensure your head is kept raised.
“You were impossible all day,” he murmurs. “Mouthy. Sharp. So sure of yourself.”
His hips snap forward harder.
You cry out.
“And now?” he asks. “Now look at you.”
You whimper.
“Can’t even talk back.”
You shake your head.
“No, you can’t.” He sounds pleased. Wrecked and pleased. “My poor stupid puppy. Finally found something to do with that mouth besides argue.”
A strangled moan leaves you.
Ryland’s rhythm falters.
“Holy-” He cuts himself off with a breathless laugh. “You liked that.”
You nod into the sheets, shameless now.
He leans over you, chest pressing to your back, thrusts slower but deeper.
“You like being my stupid puppy?”
“Yes.”
His mouth brushes your ear.
“Say it.”
Your face burns hotter than it has all night, but you’re too far gone to refuse.
“I’m your stupid puppy.”
Ryland’s groan is filthy and helpless.
“That’s right,” he whispers. “Mine.”
The word makes you clench around him.
He curses, hand tightening on your hip.
“Oh, that did it.” His laugh is breathless and unsteady. “That’s the one, huh? Mine?”
“Yours,” you gasp. “Yours, yours-”
“Yeah.” His voice drops into something possessive and tender all at once. “You are.”
He fucks you harder then, still careful, still reading every sound, but with the neat edge of his control finally cracking. The bed shifts beneath you. Your thoughts break apart into heat and pressure and Ryland’s voice in your ear.
“Good puppy.”
“So good.”
“Taking it so well.”
“That’s what you’re good for tonight, isn’t it?”
“Just letting me use you.”
You cry into your pillow, and Ryland lets out a pained sound from behind you. His movements feel as though he’s trying to make sure your entire body serves as evidence of how well he knows you. The leash remains in his grip, slack yet there, pulling on you each time you lower your head.
“Up.”
You lift your head.
“Good puppy.”
Your eyes roll back.
“Jesus,” he breathes, half laughing. “You’re so easy.”
You shake your head weakly, because some tiny, ruined part of you still insists on arguing.
Ryland sees it.
Of course he does.
His hand slips around to your front, fingers pressing low against your stomach as he pulls you back against him.
“No?” he murmurs. “You’re not easy?”
You can’t think.
“Then why do you do exactly what I tell you?”
Your mouth falls open.
“Why do you melt every time I praise you?” His hips snap forward, sharper now. “Why did you crawl across the floor for me before I even touched you?”
You whimper, shaking beneath him.
Ryland’s voice lowers.
“Because you’re easy for me.”
The words land like a hand around your throat.
Not touching.
Not choking.
Just claiming the air.
You nod helplessly.
His laugh breaks into a groan.
“There it is.” He kisses your shoulder. “At least you know.”
You try to push back again, greedy and desperate, and his hand instantly tightens on the leash.
You freeze.
Ryland clicks his tongue.
“Did I say you could do that?”
“No,” you breathe.
“No,” he agrees, almost gentle. “You don’t get to take. You don’t get to decide. You don’t get to make yourself come on me like some spoiled little thing who thinks she’s in charge.”
You make a broken sound.
He presses closer, hips stilling just enough to make you ache.
“You come when I tell you to.”
Your fingers curl hard in the sheets.
His hand strokes down your back once.
Then he grips your hips and starts moving again, harder than before.
You cry out.
“There we go,” he pants. “That’s my good puppy.”
The words ruin you.
His stride isn’t clinical anymore. His stride isn’t patient anymore. He’s still being cautious, still paying attention, but that caution has been stripped down to desperation. He pulls on the lead to make sure that you’re right where he wants you, never hurting, always guiding you until your hands start to shake and your voice breaks.
“That’s it,” he mutters. “Take it.”
You do.
Because he told you to.
Because his hands are firm and his voice is in your ear and your brain has gone syrup-thick and obedient.
“My useless puppy,” he says, panting now. “Can’t even keep still.”
You nod frantically.
“Can’t even answer properly.”
“No,” you sob.
“No,” he echoes, pleased. “Just made to be held down and fucked stupid.”
The sound you make is embarrassing.
Ryland groans, hips stuttering for the first time.
“God, you like that too.” His voice is almost accusing. “Of course you do. Of course my brilliant, insufferable, terrifying girl wants to be called stupid while she’s taking me.”
Your thoughts scatter completely.
His hand slides beneath you again, fingers finding you with devastating accuracy.
You nearly collapse.
He catches you by the leash.
“Up.”
“I can’t-”
“You can.” His voice turns stern, and your body obeys before your mind can. “Come on. Don’t get lazy now.”
You lift yourself on shaking arms.
Ryland makes a pleased sound.
“That’s better. You can fall apart when I say.”
His fingers move against you in time with his thrusts, and the pressure is sudden, exact, unbearable.
“Ryland- sir- please-”
“Oh, listen to that.” His mouth is at your ear again. “Now she has manners.”
“Please,” you gasp. “Please, please-”
“Please what?”
You sob, too far gone to be embarrassed.
“Please let me come.”
Ryland’s rhythm falters.
For a second, he just breathes against you.
Then he kisses the side of your head, almost unbearably tender.
“Good puppy,” he whispers. “Since you asked so nicely.”
His hand tightens on your hip.
“Come.”
You break.
It hits so hard your arms give out, pleasure tearing through you bright and blank. You hear yourself cry out, feel Ryland hold you through it with one arm locked around your waist and the leash loose in his other hand.
He doesn’t stop.
Maybe he slows.
Maybe not.
You can’t tell.
Everything is heat and skin and his voice.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “There you go. Good. Good puppy. Take it.”
You’re useless beneath him now.
Actually useless.
Boneless, shaking, whimpering into the sheets while he fucks you through the aftershocks, his own control fraying with every second.
Ryland gives up his final clean edge as your name leaves his lips, thrusting hard and holding you firmly as he comes undone in back of you. The entire body shakes above yours, hot and weighty and thoroughly human, and for an instant he ceases being condescending.
He remains with you still buried, chest pressed into your back and one hand moving from the reigns to grasp your waist as if he cannot bear to hold any semblance of control anymore. His forehead rests between your shoulder blades.
Neither of you speak for quite a while.
Then, softly, still panting, Ryland says, “Holy moly.”
You laugh.
It comes out ruined and weak and delirious.
He laughs too, breathless against your skin.
“Don’t laugh,” he mutters. “I think I saw God.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re the one who crawled on the floor.”
You groan into the sheets.
There is a pause.
Then his voice returns, quieter.
“You okay?”
You nod, still floating.
Ryland kisses your shoulder.
“Words, sweetheart.”
Your chest warms at the shift.
“I’m okay,” you whisper. “Really.”
His hand smooths up your side, gentle now. Reverent.
“Good.” Another kiss, softer. “I’m going to move, okay?”
You nod.
He pulls away from you very delicately and says an apology to you softly when you hiss. He unclips the leash first, and you feel as if something inside your chest loosens at the clink of its disengagement.
After a moment’s disappearance, he returns and wipes the area very delicately that tears in your eyes once again.
“Don’t,” he says immediately, panicked. “Oh no. Did I hurt you? Was I too mean? I knew I was too mean. I got carried away with the-”
“Ryland.”
He freezes.
You look up at him, exhausted and glowing and fond.
“I liked it.”
His mouth opens.
Then closes.
Then he pushes his glasses up with the heel of his hand, looking adorably, catastrophically overwhelmed.
“Okay,” he says. “Good. Great. Excellent. Love that. Big fan.”
You smile.
After that, he helps you out of your shirt, tucking you beneath the blankets, then crawling into bed with you. And before you even know it, he pulls you into his embrace.
For what feels like forever, he simply holds you close. Just the rhythm of Ryland’s heartbeat against your ears, the movement of his hands up and down your back.
His hand rests at the nape of your neck.
Then, softer, so soft you almost miss it, he whispers, “Mine.”
You smile against his chest.
“Yours.”
_____________________
Note: i watched the backrooms today can we put ryan gosling in there thanks i ended up cutting this down soooo many words im glad though it was bulky i hope its good frowny face
professor!ryland who makes grad student!reader repeat terms back to him while you fuck. because he has to help you study somehow, and physical activity is a wonderful way to help you retain it
ryland grace knew his brother was friends with all sorts of troublemakers and constantly surrounded himself with bad influences. but maybe not all of them were that bad after all—not when he was friends with you.
pairing: ryland grace x f!reader
status: ongoing
tags/warnings: strangers to friends to lovers. university au. coltland twins + older brother gentry au. blended smau. inconsistent posting schedule. hurt/comfort. rocky is a bernese mountain dog. kys/kms jokes. suicidal but as joke but not as a joke. mentions of partying/clubbing. alcohol use. smoking. suggestive at a certain level. lots of cursing. everyone here is ooc lowkey. no beta we die like the sun. warnings may change as the story progresses. mdni.
taglist: open, reply to be added
INTRODUCTIONS: colt has skid marks | group 5 gen chemistry ii
PROLOGUE: fuck you and fuck your apologies
CHAPTER ONE: wtf is a ryland
CHAPTER TWO: pathetic, good for nothing, wet cat loser
CHAPTER THREE: etsy witches, get him!
CHAPTER FOUR: easy, white chocolate
CHAPTER FIVE: wait im bored, delete my number rn
CHAPTER SIX: you're such a fat fucking chud
CHAPTER SEVEN: my sleep paralysis demon's twin
CHAPTER EIGHT: maybe that means he's into little girls
CHAPTER NINE: a hello kitty pajamas girl or a goth femboy?
CHAPTER TEN: the living conditions of a poor victorian man
adrian meets you for the first time, he’s crushing immediately but you’re a little iffy.
warnings: insecure reader, slightly mean reader, reader doesn’t really trust men, adrian’s a bit insecure and nervous too, drinking (takes place in a bar), back and forth between you and adrian’s povs
authors note: please do not interact with my stuff if you’re under 21! you will be blocked!
adrian and chris had been at the bar for at least an hour. it was their regular bar they always met up at after work, usually with the other 11th street kids. but, even with all the hours spent drinking here, adrian had never seen you here before. trust he’d remember that face.
you honestly didn’t look like you belonged there, too pretty, too sweet looking. this dark, dingy bar didn’t deserve to have you in it. he noticed you the second you had walked in. about a half hour ago with your friend, a look on your face that read you’d rather be anywhere else, maybe it was your friends idea to come here, maybe that’s why he’s never seen you. you nursed one drink and chatted causally to your friend sitting across the table from you. adrian, ever observant, didn’t take long to notice a few cute little habits of yours (twirling the same piece of hair, messing with the lemon on the side on your drink, crossing your legs and kicking your foot almost nervously)
“dude, you’ve been staring at that chick for like 20 minutes, it’s getting creepy. when are you gonna go talk to her?” chris’ words snap him out of his daydream.
“what? i have not been staring at her!” adrian tries to defend himself.
“hey man it’s ok! she’s kinda cute. go buy her a drink!”
“first of all she’s way more than “kinda cute”, second of all—“ adrian’s eyes suddenly snap over to chris, who now has a huge grin on his face.
“i knew you were staring at her!” chris laughs, slapping adrian on the back,
“look, i’ve never seen you actually have the hots for a girl before, you need to go talk to her!”
“ew, i dont “have the hots” for her,” adrian grimaces.
“all im saying is if you don’t go talk to her soon….” chris sighs, adrian’s eyebrows pushing together.
“…i’m going to,” he rests a hand on adrian’s shoulder.
adrians eyes go wide.
“please don’t.”
“i’m gonna have to,” chris shrugs.
“no! fine. ugh! i’ll go,” adrian slowly and nervously gets off the shaky bar stool he was sitting on next to chris, reluctantly making his way in your direction.
you saw him across the bar, of course you did. he’s been staring at your friend basically the entire time you guys have been in here. you’re used to guys staring at her, she’s gorgeous.
it’s only a matter of time before he saunters over and cringingly asks to buy her a drink, it happens everywhere you guys go.
you never get hit on and honestly, you don’t really mind. the guys that usually hit on your friend are….unique looking… to put it nicely. and of…. below average intelligence with little to no emotional maturity or respect for women. again, to put it nicely.
you much prefer to be left alone, your distaste for men growing everyday anyway (especially the losers in these bars). it makes you feel bad for your friend even though she doesn’t seem to mind much. ordinarily giving the guy the time of day, for reasons unknown to you.
aaaand here he comes, right on cue!
he’s nervously wringing his hands and adjusting his big silver glasses again and again as he approaches. you stare into your drink, awkwardly stirring the straw as you wait for the usual dorky pick up lines.
“hi, uh, i’m adrian. and i just um…was just wondering if you would be ok with me buying you a drink?” he clears his throat as a beat of silence follows.
god, this guy sounds like he’s never talked to a girl in his life.
the silence drags on and finally, you look over at your friend to see why she isn’t answering him to find her staring at you. with furrowed brows you look up at the man to find him staring at you as well.
you look side to side with just your eyes.
“were you talking to me?” you ask with a monotone voice.
“well yeah,” he gives a small nervous smile and pushes up his glasses again.
you laugh dryly at his response and he presses his hands together again, his shoulders starting to slump, looking like a kicked puppy.
“sorry, this was dumb. i’ll just go.” he mumbles.
“no wait, you’re seriously asking to buy me a drink?” you raise an eyebrow.
“yeah?” his voice shakes a bit.
“why?” you cross your arms.
“why?” he repeats.
“yeah, why?” you stare at him, eyeing him up and down.
“cause…well cause, i think you’re pretty and my friend said that this is what you do when you think a girl in a bar is pretty,” he gestures behind him at his muscular friend who tips his beer bottle towards you with a smile, taking a sip.
you laugh at him again and look him over some more.
he’s actually sorta cute, in a dorky way. he looks like he’d have a comic book collection and unfortunately you’re into that.
“i guess so?” you’re still unsure but you look over at your friend who’s smiling brightly and giving you double thumbs up.
his eyes go wide and his smile stretches across his entire face, “really? sick!” he clears his throat again, “uh, i mean, what would you like? to drink, i mean,” leaning on your table. he’s really trying to be “cool” but it’s not working at all.
you give him your drink order and he shoots finger guns as he turns to make his way to the bar. hitting himself in the forehead with his palm and shaking his head on his way over there.
your friend immediately grabs your hand.
“oh my god! he’s a cutie! and so nerdy! just your type!” she giggles.
you let out a small laugh,
“he’s probably just talking to me cause he was too nervous to talk to you first. 20 bucks says he’ll ask me for your number.”
“what? why would he do that?”
“you think guys don’t ask me for your number?”
her smile falters, “but he seems into you! and he was so nervous, it was so cute!”
“girl, guys are never into me. they don’t ask me out and they definitely don’t ask to buy me a drink,” you tilt your head at her.
“well maybe because you’ve never met this guy! maybe the universe was waiting!” she grips your hand tighter.
“ok that’s a little dramatic for a guy i just met at a bar,” you roll your eyes at her.
“omg he’s coming back! and i “conveniently” have to go to the bathroom,” she winks at you and shoots up out of her chair to leave you alone. your hand extends towards her and you open your mouth as if you’re going to yell at her not to leave you when the man sets your drinks down.
“i’m back!” he smiles brightly at you.
“i see that,” you nervously reach for your drink.
“what happened to your friend?”
there it is.
“what happened to your friend” trying to casually bring her up so he can ask if she’s single.
“i’m not giving you her number. if you want her number you should’ve just asked her, buying me a drink is not—“
“i don’t want her number?” he looks at you like you’re crazy.
“you don’t?”
“no, why would i? am i supposed to? cause i really don’t. i didn’t even notice her there until i walked up to your table, really. why would i ask to buy you a drink and then ask for your friends number, that’s crazy!” he laughs, probably louder than appropriate.
“you’d be surprised how many guys think that works.”
you grab at the stem of the cherry in your drink as he looks at you in surprise.
“is that why you were kinda mean when i asked to buy you a drink?” he asks sheepishly.
“oh, was i mean?” you ask condescendingly, pouting slightly.
“yeah you kinda scared me,” he admits while still smiling at you.
“and yet you still bought me a drink.”
“yeah cause like i said, you’re really pretty. i wanted to talk to you. well actually, to be honest, i didn’t wanna talk to you. i didn’t think you’d talk to me, but my friend kinda made me,” he winces.
“first of all you didn’t say i was “really pretty”, you just said pretty. also it’s great that you’re only talking to me cause your friend made you,” you roll your eyes at him.
“no that’s not why!” he waves a hand towards you.
you stare blankly at him.
“ok technically- if you wanna get technical, that is why. but it’s because he really wanted me to talk to you,” he defends himself, his voice getting a bit higher.
“i wouldn’t stop staring at you and he said it was creepy.”
“you were staring at me?”
“yeah, who else?” he laughs again like you’re crazy for thinking any different.
“it probably was creepy.” you deadpan but then give him a slight smile so he knows you’re joking.
“i wasn’t trying to be!” he whines, throwing his hands up.
you let out a small laugh and then pause for a moment,
“what was your name again?”
“adrian!”
“ok, adrian. what about me is so pretty to you?”
“you want me to tell you what i think is pretty about you?”
you nod, knowing he’s not going to have anything to say and you can prove that he really wants your friend.
“ok…well,” he begins, voice slightly shaky,
“the first thing i noticed was your eyes. they’re so big and pretty, i couldn’t stop looking. i like your outfit too, i don’t wanna sound like a perv but it looks really good on you. also your hair, it looks so soft and shiny. and your um, your lips, they look soft too,” he gets quiet at the end of his sentence but you still heard.
“and you smell good! which i didn’t know obviously until i was near you but still, you smell like a strawberry field!”
suddenly, you can’t look him in the eyes and you can feel your cheeks heating up. good thing you’re wearing blush otherwise he’d be able to see how pink they are right now. you’re not used to people, let alone cute guys, complimenting you.
“oh. well, thank you for the drink,” your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to.
“you haven’t told me your name,” he says after a moment of silence.
“well you haven’t asked, genius,” you cross your arms.
maybe you’re being a bit meaner to him that he deserves but whatever.
“shit sorry! ok, what’s your name?”
you tell him and he repeats it back with a smile.
“did you know penguins mate for life?” he asks suddenly.
“i did know that, actually.” you say, caught slightly off guard by the random animal fact.
“well did you know spiders dance to attract mates?” he leans excitedly towards you a bit.
“so what, are you gonna dance for me?” you laugh and tilt your head at him.
“do you want me to? i can.”
and then he’s out of his seat, next to your table, hands in his belt loops, moving his hips in a circle.
“oh my god stop!” you grab at him, a bit embarrassed, and make him sit back down as you laugh so hard your stomach starts to hurt.
“did it work?” he looks at you with big puppy-like eyes.
“that dance was supposed to attract me?” you’re still laughing so much you can barely get the words out.
“yeah! it’s the best one i’ve got! maybe you need to see it again.”
“please no! it worked, okay! i don’t need to see it again!” you force him to stay in his seat, covering your face a bit with your hand.
“ok i-i’ll stop as long as you don’t cover that…pr-pretty face,” he stutters through that line, trying to flirt but he’s obviously not very good at it, grabbing your hand to move it away from your face.
“ew that was so corny,” you scrunch up your nose.
he smiles wide at you in response. his smile is actually really cute, it’s so big it takes up most of his face and he’s got dimples.
damnit.
“did you know crows can remember faces?” he tells you.
“you sure know a lot of animal facts,” you smile at him because it’s weirdly appealing.
“i know so many! i could probably take a test right now and become like a zoologist or something.”
you giggle because unfortunately his big glasses and nerdy facts are charming you.
suddenly, you feel eyes on you. turning to your left, you see adrian’s strong friend still at the bar but now with three other people, 2 women and 1 super tall man, all staring at you guys.
“do you know them?”
he looks over to where you’re gesturing and sighs.
“yea sorry, those are my best friends and coworkers. we come here a lot but they’ve never seen me talk to a girl before so they’re just being nosey. you can ignore them.”
he waves his hand in their direction as if waving them off but just as he finishes his sentence an absolutely beautiful woman with dark braids starts walking over to you.
“hi! my name is adebayo! i’m really sorry to interrupt cause this is super cute,” she points between the two of you, “but i have to steal adrian.” she gives you a sad look as adrian whines.
“nooooo, seriously? why?”
“look, i wouldn’t if it wasn’t important, okay? we have to go.” she gives him a weird look that he apparently understands and he sighs as he starts to stand up.
“sorry, i actually do have to go. i really liked talking to you though,” he pouts.
“it’s okay, i liked talking to you too,” you stand awkwardly infront of him.
“you did?” he says it like he almost doesn’t believe you but you huff out a small laugh and nod your head yes.
both of you smile at each other for a moment too long before adebayo interrupts.
“but you got her number, right adrian?” she nudges him with her elbow.
“oh shit! i would’ve killed someone if i left here without your number.” he laughs and shakes his head.
weird joke but okay.
he fishes for his phone in the pocket of his jeans that look like a dad from a 90’s sitcom should be wearing. you get your phone out of your purse and you swap, typing your number in as he types his. when you trade back he notices you put a little pink heart emoji next to your name and his stomach does a small flip.
he thanks god for ads reminding him to get your number even though, had he forgot, he 100% would’ve just found you and followed you around a bit to see you again. there was no way he was letting you get away.
“well, we really gotta go! nice to meet you girl, you’re adorable!” adebayo smiles as she drags adrian, who hasn’t taken his eyes off you, away. you give him a small shy wave, wiggling your fingers and he copies you, tripping over his own feet as the woman pushes him away.
he meets back up with the team and they immediately leave the bar, harcourt explaining that she’ll go over the mission on the way there. he steals one more glance at you before he’s shoved out the door and he can’t believe that you were already looking at him, your friend back by your side, a big smile on her face, you two no doubt talking about him.
maybe he should feel too needy about texting you immediately but he can’t stop himself. his fingers hit send before he even has his seatbelt buckled in the back of economos’ van.
adrian 🧜♂️: did you know that if the female spider doesn’t like the male spiders mating dance, she eats him?
why the hell did he save his name with the mer-man emoji? he’s so weird, you think as you smile to yourself.
you: good thing i wasn’t hungry
adrian laughs out loud at your response, making the rest of the team look his direction.
“awwww look who’s texting his girlfriend,” chris teases, tousling adrian’s hair.
“she’s not my girlfriend,” he rolls his eyes and unsuccessfully bites back a smile.
“this is so cute,” ads smiles.
“it’s weird. but anyway you need to focus.” harcourt adds, harshly.
adrian pouts but puts his phone away, already thinking about how when this mission is over he’s going to call you and tell you every manta ray fact he knows.
Hii sorry idk if you’re taking requests but i really like your prof!ryland x student!reader and i wanna request where there is one of the reader’s classmate who has a crush on the reader and finally takes his/her shot (not knowing ryland and her are already dating) and ryland saw it and became jealous like he’s passive aggressive about it hehehehehhe it can be stand alone or sequel to your first work
JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY
Pairing: Professor!Ryland Grace x Student!Reader
Summary: Your professor might have gotten a little too involved with your love life, mostly in the name of looking out for his best student.
Word Count: 4k
Warnings: Mostly none, just fluff; Ryland is still a dork when he's jealous; probably incorrect biology terms (let's all just pretend that my basic biology knowledge is worthy of college level lab courses); intelligence looks sooo sexy on ryland grace; reader is a graduate student and of age (of course)
A/N: Thank you so much for the request! I hope I did it justice and got at what you are looking for! I'm a sucker for the jealousy trope but I feel like Ryland would go about it in his own special way. I also chose to keep their relationship as pretty ambiguous as I enjoy a good forbidden romance lol, so it’s up to interpretation!
GIF from officers-k
Harsh sunlight streamed in from the skylights that loomed above the large science atrium lobby. You blinked away the blinding light as you scuttled your way amongst the crowd of chattering students and disgruntled professors who all seemed to do nothing but get in your way. Today was not your day.
First, your alarm didn’t go off, then you happened to rip the jeans you so meticulously laid out for yourself the night before causing you to upend your careful outfit plan and start anew, then you seemed to hit every single red light on the face of the planet on the way to campus. You were running horribly, terrifyingly, unforgivably late.
Your shoes dug into your heels as you rushed through the halls. Large samples of igneous rocks lined glass display cases that covered the walls leading to the elevators, lit dramatically with placards that signaled their names and areas of origins. As you hurried past, you didn’t stop to read them, you had already pored over them already on your first week here. No, you had more pressing matters to attend to. Like making it to Dr. Grace’s lecture on time. Even though the 8 am lectures were torture on your sleep schedule, Dr. Grace’s class was certainly an immediate pick me up. The subject, your molecular and cell biology lab, was easily the most exciting class you’d taken so far.
On the first day, Dr. Ryland Grace informed your whole class that he had rewritten the entire course syllabus because in his opinion it was “outdated” and “really fucking boring.” His words, not yours. It made quite the impression on you and your classmates, and the rest was history. You personally deemed Dr. Grace your favorite professor from therein out. He was everyone’s favorite professor. Which was why you really didn’t want to be late to miss his lecture today.
You hurried into the elevator and jammed the fifth floor button so fast it stung. You checked your watch. Three minutes until the start of class. No big deal, you could make it. You just had to book it down the hall and to the right and-
The opening of the elevator doors caught your attention. Someone had stuck their hand in, causing the doors to slowly clamor open again and delay your journey by at least another 45 seconds. Seriously, didn’t people have the decency anymore to get the hell out of the way for others that were obviously running late? You made to give the offender a big huff in protest when you recognized the sheepish grin that accompanied the body, also hurrying into the elevator. It was Jacob, your fellow microbiology doctorate student and lab partner in Dr. Grace’s class.
“Oh, hey!” Jacob smiled softly. You returned the gesture but with an ounce of pain in your teeth. You really didn’t feel like small talk. You needed to focus, gear yourself up for battle, in order to eventually weave through even more students to make it towards the lab in time once those fateful elevator doors opened again. Despite your obvious discomfort, Jacob continued.
“Rough drive in today, huh? I felt like the traffic would just never end! I know you like getting in early too so I’m sure this is a great start to your morning,” Jacob rambled. It was true, you did like getting to the lab early, before students started trickling in. Dr. Grace was usually there setting up for the day and you enjoyed talking to him without any distractions.
It had started as an innocent routine, as he agreed to supervise some of your research. You headed in early to ask him various questions about methodology, research techniques, and the like. Then it slowly grew into more of a casual, er, acquaintance-ship, let’s call it. You and Dr. Grace started talking more about your personal lives. Your interests, your hobbies, which you happened to share quite a bit of. It was comforting, knowing there was somebody out there that enjoyed your company as much as you enjoyed his. Plus there was something so warm and inviting about his knowledge, his advice, his voice, his smile…
“...at least that’s what I’ve always thought. Right?”
You swore you physically heard your neck snap up back to Jacob. Dr. Grace had completely taken over your thoughts, as you now realized that you had no idea what Jacob had just said. He chuckled, clearly seeing right through your shitty attempt at refocusing your thoughts back on him. “I get it, focused on getting to the lab. Don’t worry, we can fight the hordes off together to make it before lecture starts.”
You let out a weak laugh. Hey, at least Jacob understood the constant struggle of the microbiology floor. Maybe you didn’t have to brave the horrors alone today after all. The ding of the elevator rang in your ears as the doors slid open. Jacob pushed you forward, his hand placed firmly on the small of your back. You froze at first at the sudden contact, then, seemingly subconsciously, you leaned into his firm hold and pushed your way through the sea of students. Before you knew it, you were at the door of Dr. Grace’s lab with a minute to spare.
Jacob held the door open for you and you nodded your head in thanks as you stepped through. When you looked up, you saw Dr. Grace at his rightful place at the head of the class, jotting down some chemical formula on the whiteboard, not paying any attention to his students that were seated and talking amongst themselves at this point. Today he donned a dark pair of jeans, much like yourself, with his signature tweed suit jacket covering what you can only assume was a button-down in one of the many colors of the rainbow that he owned. You had basically memorized his everyday attire by now. You had even teased him about it once.
“Do you even own anything other than jeans and tweed, Dr. Grace?” you laughed, working across from him at a lab station. This had been one of the many mornings you decided to head in early to meet with him, for no reason other than help with one of his assignments…of course.
Dr. Grace looked up from the papers he was grading and feigned offense, making to clutch his nonexistent pearls. “You’ve got a lot of nerve as a student critiquing a professor’s fashion sense,” he said without an ounce of venom in his voice. “I happen to be one of the only professors in this entire university that wears tweed with pride!”
You sighed. You really did miss your chats with him today. You made a mental note to set your alarm even earlier next week so you got here on time. Dr. Grace had finished writing at this point, capping the marker and turning around to place it back on his desk. As he turned, he caught your eyes. His whole demeanor seemed to brighten at your entrance, giving you a small wave and a knowing smile as he returned his markers to his desk. You almost started walking up to his desk to apologize for missing this morning when Jacob spoke again.
“You coming?” he asked, gesturing to your lab table. Your chest panged as you realized you probably didn’t have time to talk to Dr. Grace this morning at all. Your smile that you had just given to Dr. Grace faltered as you nodded to Jacob. “Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.”
-
“Alright guys, listen up,” Dr. Grace’s professor's voice was on full display this morning booming loudly, as the students automatically quieted down on their lab stools. Dr. Grace walked steadily over to the front of his desk and plopped his full body weight down on top of it. He never was the stuffy lecturer type, most of his classes were taught from the comfort of the top of his desk or sitting with his students as they worked at their lab stations. The laces of his converse swung in the breeze created by the wiggling of his feet back and forth as he spoke.
“Today is no different from last class, we’re going to continue working on the identification of the prokaryotic and eukaryotic cell samples you were working with last time,” he went on. “Everything should be as you left it from last time, providing none of you snuck in here to get a head start over the weekend,” he looked at you pointedly with a smirk. He may have caught you once or twice coming into the lab to get in some extra study hours before an exam. Instead of other professors, who may have just kicked you out, Dr. Grace stayed behind to help you fully understand the material which you greatly appreciated. His one on one tutoring always made you feel better, like you could conquer any formula he threw at you with ease.
“You and your partner should grab your kits from the back, along with your scopes and start working, you’ll have the full 90 minutes today to finish up the lab reports you’ve been working on,” he clapped his hands together and slid off the desk. “Those reports aren’t going to write themselves, people! You’re free to start” Dr. Grace shouted.
You and Jacob had a system at this point. He would grab your guys’ supplies while you opened up the lab document on your computer. He would analyze the sample and report to you his findings, you would check his work as well and, providing you both agreed, you would type up the report. You both had found it just worked better this way, writing wasn’t necessarily Jacob’s strong suit. It made you wonder what state his dissertation was in at this point. As Jacob slid off his stool to grab your things and you opened your computer, a broader, more solid frame took his place on the stool across from you.
“Now, how do you think I was supposed to get all the formulas written out for today without the help of my best student, huh?”
You looked up from your notes to see Dr. Grace looking at you from his gold-rimmed glasses, a light tone to his words that jarred you from your reverie. You laughed, relieved that he wasn’t upset and maybe disproportionately eager that he had sought you out after you couldn’t make it this morning.
“I don’t know, Dr. Grace. You’re the one with the PhD, not me. Don’t you think you should be able to do the formulas in double the time without me slowing you down?” you giggled.
Dr. Grace’s hand came up to scratch at the invisible dagger you had lodged into his heart. “You wound me. You’re just as bright as I am, if not brighter. Plus in two months time, you too will have those fancy little letters gracing your email signature, same as me,” he replied.
You tilted your head in a joking question. “Is that all a PhD is to you? An email signature add-on?”
Dr. Grace looked up, as if weighing his options. “I guess you’re right. It also awards you the prestigious honor of constantly being mistaken for a medical doctor, earning you the constant disappointment of family, friends, and strangers alike.” He looked back at you with a smile.This was one of anticipation as he sat, almost on the edge of the lab stool to see if his joke had earned him the pleasure of your familiar laugh in response. He breathed a sigh of relief when you returned the laugh that he was hoping to win from you. Your banter was, unfortunately, cut short as a throat cleared itself from behind Dr. Grace. You looked up. Jacob was back, carrying the heavy kit and microscope.
Dr. Grace shot up from the stool, making way for Jacob to set everything down with a huff. He clasped his hands behind his back, almost hiding them, as if talking to you was something secretive that he should wash his hands of as quickly as possible. He rocked back on his heels. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it, just shout if you have any questions.” Dr. Grace left your table and began making his rounds with the other students that were already raising their hands, in need of assistance.
You and Jacob fell into your routine, him analyzing, you taking your ever-diligent notes. About a half hour had passed in the class period and you had finished with your second sample. One of the small merits of being the note-taker was that you didn’t have your nose in a microscope so you were free to follow Dr. Grace with your eyes as you typed. You were transfixed on him, the way he glided around the lab with ease. Smiling at his students, getting just as excited with them as they finally understood a concept, pointing out their strengths and how far they’ve come in their work. He truly was a fantastic professor. He was pretty easy on the eyes as well, which must be the explanation for why your eyes seemed to immediately fixate on him whenever Jacob looked down at the microscope in front of you two. Dr. Grace was in the middle of helping another lab pair when his eyes met yours as he spoke. He smiled absentmindedly at the two students whom he was speaking to, the gesture clearly meant for you in disguise. You made to smile back when Jacob’s voice drew your attention back to him.
He had looked up from the microscope entirely, now staring at you, expectantly. You froze again, much like the position he had found you in the morning as you realized this was the second time that you had completely zoned out when Jacob was speaking to you. You had to get better at this. “Wh-what did you say Jacob?” you asked.
Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind. With a short laugh, he repeated himself. “I asked what you were doing after class today.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion. “What am I doing after class today?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I figured if you weren’t doing anything, maybe we could grab a coffee together? Talk about the exam next week or something?”
Your brows furrowed even further, if that was even possible. Surely, Jacob couldn’t be asking you what you thought he was asking you, right? He seemed to sense your unease.
“Look, to tell you the truth, I really love working with you here, and I admire your research!” Jacob said emphatically. “I read your proposal for the reunderstanding of the biology of basic nucleotides and it was some seriously impressive stuff. I figured, maybe, if you’d want, we could get to know each other better, like on a-”
Jacob didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence before you noticed Dr. Grace’s hand, which had shot out to place itself on the microscope that was between you and Jacob. Where did he even come from? His arm was directly in between the two of you now, forcing each of you to back up a few steps. Dr. Grace’s back was turned to you though, creating the impression of an almost impenetrable wall between you and Jacob. Your cheeks grew hot from embarrassment. Hopefully Dr. Grace hadn’t heard you two getting too off topic.
“How’s it going over here guys?” Dr. Grace asked.
Was his chest puffed up a little? His shoulders seemed straighter…
You could barely see Jacob over Dr’ Grace’s mop of blonde hair and squared shoulders. Nevertheless, you made out his response that was just within earshot anyway. “Uh, it’s going great, Dr. Grace…”, you heard Jacob say. He looked over Dr. Grace’s shoulder at you in apology.
Dr. Grace cut in before Jacob could say anything more. “Really? That’s totally awesome, Jacob, totally great and awesome and uh, can you show me what you guys have found so far?” Dr. Grace seemed to lose track of his own sentence before he finally stuck the landing. You crossed your arms from behind him and moved to join in on the conversation from the other side of the table, since Dr. Grace had made eye contact with your lab partner impossible over his broad frame.
You stretched out your hand to move the microscope closer to you. “Sure, Dr. Grace,” you added, nudging your way back into the conversation. This was your chance to prove what you had learned so far. “So, Jacob and I found…”
Dr. Grace’s hand again shot out to place itself on the microscope. Except, this time his hand covered yours completely. You quieted immediately at the contact. Dr. Grace’s hand was impossibly warm, heat seeming to radiate off him in droves, you almost needed to fan yourself with your other hand. Had somebody turned up the temperature in the lab or something?
Dr. Grace stopped you from sliding the microscope over to you any further. “That’s alright,” he looked at you pointedly. He turned back to Jacob with a smile that looked more like a wince from where you were standing. “Jacob, why don’t you show me? You’ve been the one I’ve seen examining the samples the most, let me see whatcha got.”
Jacob turned towards the microscope slowly and peered into the lenses. “Okay...sure,” he said warily. Jacob placed his hands on the adjustment knobs and began rattling off information. This was a new slide that Jacob had placed in, you hadn’t seen it for yourself yet.
“Looks like basic prokaryotic cell makeup. Nucleoid DNA appears to be intact in the cytoplasm, slight bunching of the flagellum that you can see in the upper right hand corner of the lens.”
Dr. Grace hummed. Whether it was in distaste or agreement, you couldn’t quite tell. Jacob looked up nervously. You had never seen him so unsure before. He seemed to tremble under Dr. Grace’s gaze. You had to admit, having never seen what you can only assume would be Dr. Grace’s more serious side, it was kind of intimidating. After having so many light-hearted talks with him, you forget that Dr. Grace is a powerhouse in the field of microbiology research.
“Remind me again Jacob, what the purpose of the flagella is?” Dr. Grace questioned.
Jacob looked to the floor, racking his brain for an answer. “In prokaryotes, the flagella is used for movement, also for things like adhesion, formation of biofilms, and exportation of proteins,” Jacob was regaining his footing now, looking Dr. Grace in the eyes as he delivered his answer. Dr. Grace said nothing, only moving to look into the microscope himself to check Jacob’s work. You hadn’t even answered the question, yet you were waiting with bated breath for Dr. Grace to surface again, either praising Jacob, or sealing his fate.
Dr. Grace removed himself from the microscope and looked back at Jacob. “That’s exactly right Jacob,” he said. Jacob exhaled heavily. You felt yourself doing the same.
“Or it would be, if that wasn’t a eukaryotic cell that you were looking at,” Dr. Grace stated simply.
Your heart dropped. You couldn’t believe it. That was a rookie mistake. An undergraduate-level mistake. An absolute embarrassment of a mistake from Jacob. If that was you, and you had delivered that answer to a professional molecular biologist, you might as well drop out of the program and flee the country.
Dr. Grace stood up even straighter, backing Jacob against the table. “Firstly you mistook the eukaryotes endoplasmic reticulum for a prokaryotic ring DNA molecule. I can only assume you had guessed that that was what it was after landing on the sample being a prokaryote instead. After that, the microvilli might have led you to believe that it was flagella? Not sure how you got there though because they look nothing alike. Looks to me like the only correct identification you made was the cytoplasm. Which are, after all, present in both cell types anyway.”
You almost wanted to shrink away, yourself. You had never heard Dr. Grace scrutinize a student that harshly before. Normally he was much gentler with his critiques, focusing on the positives his students put forth rather than the negatives. This time you could tell that each word from Dr. Grace’s mouth broke Jacob down further and further, until he was forced to sit back down on his lab stool, looking up at Dr. Grace like a puppy that had been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.
Dr. Grace looked back at you and you almost flinched. You could tell his words were meant for Jacob, though he never seemed to tear his gaze away from yours.
“Do me a favor and turn in your lap reports separately, please. I just want to be sure that neither one of you are relying too heavily on your partner’s write ups.” He smiled, back to good, old, Dr. Grace once again, in the blink of an eye. You looked back at Jacob, his wide-eyed stare signaling that he might not be as confident in his ability to write up this report after all.
Dr. Grace walked back up to the front of the classroom but you stayed rooted to your spot, too shocked to say anything to Jacob. Dr. Grace now addressed the class as a whole now, rather than picking on you and your partner directly, which was a relief.
“That’s about time, you guys. Great work today! Go ahead and email me your lab reports before we meet next so I can make sure to get you some feedback for next class, alright? I’ll see you all next week,” Dr. Grace nodded at his students, his informal way of telling them all they were free to go.
As your classmates started packing up, Jacob looked over to you finally. “Uh, sorry about that. I have, uh, I have no idea why my brain just blanked like that. I will,” he coughed. “I will make sure to write up what I have and send it over to you if you could, maybe, check it over?” Jacob was now pleading with you as opposed to casually suggesting as he was doing earlier. You nodded wordlessly.
“Oh and uh, about that coffee-” Jacob began again. You had totally forgotten about that. It seemed a little silly for him to now bring it up again, after Dr. Grace completely humiliated his microbiology knowledge. You had no idea if you could talk to him about your work seriously now. Jacob just looked so…juvenile.
As if the science gods themselves were hellbent on making sure Jacob never got to finish a sentence today, the taps of Dr. Grace’s shoes silenced him once again. This time, Dr. Grace sidled up next to you, on the other side of the table. He seemed to get impossibly close, speaking barely above a whisper so Jacob was sure to not hear.
“Mind staying behind today to help me disassemble everything?” Dr. Grace said lowly, leaning down to match your height. His voice seemed to burst right through your chest and grab directly at your heart strings, holding them in a vice-like grip so it was impossible for the organ to beat for anyone else.
“Sure,” you said, dazed. Dr. Grace softened. “Great,” and he was off once again. Your heart fluttered, whether it was because Dr. Grace’s voice had released its hold on you, or because the hold was ever there in the first place, you weren’t sure.
You turned back to Jacob, maybe with a little too much excitement. “I can’t make it to coffee today. Maybe another time?” you smiled sweetly. Jacob was already packing his bags. “Sure, another time,” he mumbled. He trudged through the lab door, not bothering to help you put any of your experiment supplies away as he left.
You turned back to Dr. Grace as the you heard the door click back into place. The two of you were now completely alone in the lab, your professor erasing his work on the board with his back turned to you.
“I wonder if we’ll see him back next class period,” you wondered aloud. Dr. Grace turned to you and crossed his arms, leaning his back against the whiteboard.
“Not sure,” Dr. Grace answered honestly. “Between you and me, that was a long time coming, his reports are atrocious without your writing to cover it up,” Dr. Grace said, making his way back over to you. You had started to pack up your kit and return it to its rightful place in the lab cabinet.
“Mm. Well I think you might’ve scared him into at least B+ territory. He might even surprise you with an A minus!” You laughed to yourself and turned to look at Dr. Grace again. You started slightly, realizing he had snuck up right behind you as your back was turned again. He was looking down at his hands, picking slightly at some threads that had come loose on his suit jacket.
You continued with a gulp. “You know, I’m lucky you came by when you did. I think he was trying to ask me out on a date,” you said incredulously, as if the very notion of a date with anyone, let alone Jacob was warranting national news. Dr. Grace laughed uncomfortably. “Yeah, he’s been checking you out for a while now. I figured it was only a matter of time.”
You nearly dropped the thousand dollar microscope you were holding. How did he know that? You hadn’t even noticed until today. Was Dr. Grace…watching you and Jacob work together? That didn’t make any sense. Dr. Grace seemed to sense your shock as he quickly tried to recover. “From what I’ve seen that is! You know, here. In class. Where I see my students. An equal amount. Not paying attention to any one of them more than the other. Because I’m a fair professor,”he said with a very visible cringe. He scrunched his eyes up as if he was bracing for impact. After you said nothing, simply standing there, rooted in place, Dr. Grace opened his eyes and sighed.
“Look I feel like it’s my job as a professor to protect my students, and I just really didn’t like the way he looked at you, alright? Like you were some prize to be won. He should be grateful. You’ve carried him in so many of his assignments, to be honest, he owes you a lot of passing grades,” Dr. Grace said. He spoke softer now, quieter. This time it was him that looked small, looking down at his shoes, waiting for your approval after his confession.
Your stomach flipped. Dr. Grace thought of you. He thought of you in class, about your work, about your partner, about your partner’s lack of work. He thought you were impressive. Smart, even. You smiled to yourself.
“You know, Jacob did suggest some coffee later and, though I’m grateful for your ‘get-out-of-jail-free card’, I could use some. Do you want to…” you trailed off, hopeful that Dr. Grace would get the hint.
“Let me just grab my briefcase,” Dr. Grace replied with a wink.
Summary: Ryland Grace is your both your professor and your doctoral academic advisor. You are his student. Which meant that being anything more than that was soooo unbelievably off limits. …Right?
Word Count: 7k
Warnings: 18+! SMUT! MDNI! P in V sex; inappropriate use of a microscope; also inappropriate use of biology terms (i definitely got something wrong); shameless use of the professor x student trope through reader is a grad student and very much of consenting age; the glasses stay ON during sex!!
GIF from owenhcrper
“Come on, guys. The final exam is next week and I really don’t want to have to fail anyone this time around…again. So let’s show a little more initiative! Yay, cellular anatomy!”
He lightly pumped his fists in the air in an almost convincing cheer. You think it was meant to be encouraging but, looking around at your classmates, they didn’t seem to get the hint. They returned your dorky professor’s enthusiasm with glazed over expressions and the occasional monotonous click of laptop keys signifying they were likely working on another task all together instead of paying attention.
You couldn’t exactly blame them. Dr. Ryland Grace’s courses were among the hardest in the university’s advanced molecular biology track. Rumor has it that his exams have made students literally drop out of the program before. It wasn’t exactly his fault, the subject was enough to melt anyone’s brain on its own, but Dr. Grace made up for it by being an amazing professor.
He was always incredibly engaged, exceptionally witty, and, overall, just seemed to genuinely care for the material. You couldn’t deny that you definitely felt the insurmountable pressure of the high expectations he placed on his students, but something about his passion just…spoke to you. It was like he breathed life back into the subject that you chose to make your career all those years ago.
Admittedly, you had been a fan of Dr. Grace’s work since you were in undergrad, opting to enroll in this university’s program for even the mere, microscopic chance, that you could study under him. As luck would have it, he was accepting new doctorate students the year you were admitted.
Pursuing a PhD in molecular biology was daunting enough, but you learned fast under Dr. Grace’s caring hand. He made it seem like you were the only student he had ever taught, with the way his eyes lit up at your ideas, doing everything his lab’s budget could afford to make them a reality.
Over the past three years of your thesis study, you were shyly keen to admit you and Dr. Grace had grown fairly close to one another. After all, he strangely decided to stop taking students after he signed on to mentor your study, which meant that you always had his undivided attention He was by far the best teacher you had ever had, which is why it made you feel all the more guilty that you also…had not been paying attention to his question.
“Okay.” Dr. Grace let his shoulders slump in a sigh. He looked as exasperated as his students. He ran his fingers through his messy blond strands and readjusted his glasses. “Tell you what. If someone can answer this last question correctly, I’ll let you all out early. I know it’s almost finals and my exam isn’t the only one you all have to worry about, so you guys just do me this one last favor and we can call it a day”.
Your ears, along with the rest of your classmates, perked up instantly. You heard the faint sounds of students adjusting themselves in their seats as they leaned in, eager to earn this rare reprieve from classes. Dr. Grace smirked and clapped his hands together. “Alright, signs of life! So, tell me, what are the three major types of lipids that make up cellular membranes?”
This time, when you looked around, your classmates were deep in thought. Some of them looked like the act of searching for the information needed to answer the question physically pained them to work through. Not you though. This was something that you had already gone over with Dr. Grace for your research proposal write up. He had coached you through cellular membrane structure semesters ago. You raised your hand, albeit, hesitantly.
Dr. Grace had bitten his lip in anticipation looking around at his students in expectation. When his eyes met yours, his gaze softened. He nodded, waiting for your answer patiently.
“Uh, I believe they are phospholipids, glycolipids, and sterols?” You knew it was the correct answer but you still held your breath, and Dr. Grace’s stare for that matter, waiting on his confirmation. Something about the intense blue of his eyes just seemed to make coherent thoughts impossible, even when it came to material that you knew inside and out.
Dr. Grace nodded emphatically and threw up his hands. “We have a winner! Excellent work! That’s exactly right,” he exclaimed. You heard a few small cheers from your classmates in the back, who had already started packing their bags. Dr Grace retreated behind the lecturer’s stand and started to pack up his things as well. “Okay you all, a promise is a promise, you’re free to go.” The few students who had yet to pack up started doing so feverishly, as if they were afraid Dr. Grace would take back his seemingly merciful act of kindness.
Dr. Grace shouted to the back of the room as students shuffled out the door. “I will see you all bright and early next week for the final. Remember that you will need to know ALL of the protein pathways of the cell membrane to be able to answer the extra credit question! Don’t try to name only one and expect me to give you full points…” He smiled and cast his gaze down to his laptop, turning off its connection to the projector that had his meticulously detailed cell diagram thrown up on the lecture hall’s ginormous screen.
You finished shoving your books into your bag and signaled to your classmates that you would catch up to them later. You had to ask your advisor a question about finalizing a date for your dissertation. It was a little over two weeks away and not knowing all the details was driving you insane. Or maybe it was just the thought of having to present all of your research findings to the very man that basically invented the topic you were researching.
You had chosen to take an experimental approach to Dr. Grace’s hypothesis that life didn’t require water to survive. You had found some pretty compelling evidence in his favor among local bacterial life, but the thought of explaining his own research findings to the man himself had your stomach in knots. Or maybe it was just that Dr. Grace seemed to have your stomach in knots all on his own the last couple of months.
You hated to admit it, but you had developed something of a schoolgirl level crush on your professor. Sure it was somewhat embarrassing, but could anybody blame you? He was unbelievably charming, so ridiculously intelligent it was almost intimidating, funny, passionate, sincere, and…yeah.
He was pretty fucking hot too.
Everytime you walked into his lab, with him in one of those stupid science pun t-shirts that seemed to always be unfairly tight on him, leaving none of his muscular build to the imagination, you felt like your knees were going to give out from under you. Plus, he always seemed to stand right on top of you as he examined your findings through the microscope with you, which was not helpful at all. His forearms would often brush your side as he adjusted the lens settings, sending almost painful shockwaves through your body. Although, it was probably the glasses that sent you over the edge. He always seemed to look straight through your collected exterior you worked so hard to put forth when he peered at you over the rims that delicately balanced on the sharp bridge of his nose.
Who are you kidding? It was definitely the glasses that sealed your fate.
But that was inappropriate! Dr. Grace is your professor, your advisor for fuck’s sake. Nothing more!
……Right?
Yes, oh my god! Jesus, yes, of course he was just your professor. What were you even thinking?
You snapped out of your thoughts and realized that you were soon to be the last student standing awkwardly in the lecture hall. With a grunt, you gathered up your bag full of textbooks and lab equipment and shakily headed up to Dr. Grace, who was still inspecting his laptop up at the lecture podium.
He looked up from whatever he was poring over at the sound of your footsteps. He grinned at you and crossed his arms, leaning his hip onto the podium.
“Hey! There’s my favorite future doctor of microbiology. Got a nice ring to it, huh? Excellent job on that question, by the way.” He stared at you expectantly, though you know this was just another clever ruse to relieve the stress he knows he’s been putting you under. You laughed softly and cast your gaze to the floor at his praise, heat moving impossibly fast up your neck and onto your cheeks.
“You ready for the big day?” Dr. Grace asked, inquisitively, referring to your thesis presentation. His question quickly put out the flame that was building in your core and reminded you of the anxiety-inducing task you had ahead of you.
You met his eyes again. “Yeah! Totally…” you cringed, not even believing your own words. “Well, almost. I was just hoping we could talk about the dissertation date? I know you’re super busy and you’re going to have a lot of exams to grade and probably a lot of undergraduate papers too…and that I’ve technically already finished my research, really just need to finish writing the presentation slides, but I just really was..” the words seemed to spill out of you faster and faster by the second. Somewhere, in the back of your brain you willed yourself to stop babbling like an idiot but that thought never seemed to bring itself out of your subconscious and make itself useful. Dr. Grace looked at you back and forth hurriedly, trying his best to follow your words, before putting his hands on your shoulders and chuckling.
“Woah, woah, easy tiger. Slow down.” His grip on your shoulders tightened, causing you to freeze at the sudden contact. God, his hands were firm. You eased up a bit under his touch.
“Don’t get yourself so worked up. You are going to do fantastic. I know you are. That committee won’t even know what hit them,” Dr. Grace said. As he spoke, his thumbs worked their way up and down on your shoulders, almost as if they were trying to etch his words onto your skin so you would believe them. It did the trick though, you exhaled a bit before Dr. Grace continued.
“I know we have a couple of things to wrap up. Tell you what, I have to run to a faculty meeting in a bit but later tonight, how about you meet me in the lab and we can go over your data one last time, okay? Would that make you feel better?” Dr. Grace had sunk down on his knees a bit to be at eye level with you. His words warmly rushed over you, soothing your worried mind. With your thoughts a bit clearer, you hadn’t even noticed how close the two of you were. He was basically holding your body in place with his hands and his face was so close to yours that you could feel his breath as it fanned over your cheeks. He seemed to notice your close proximity as well as he dropped his hands from your shoulders suddenly and cleared his throat.
You almost sighed at the loss of contact but caught yourself at the last second. Instead you said, “That would be amazing Dr. Grace, thank you.” He lightened a bit at your agreement. “Great! I’ll probably be in there at around 8:00? Feel free to drop by then.” You nodded and waved him off as he exited the hall.
You were definitely in for a long night.
--
You found yourself pacing outside of Dr. Grace’s lab at 8 o’clock on the dot, mentally coaching yourself to go in. Why were you so nervous, even? Dr. Grace was your advisor, you had been working with him for months, this is just an ordinary lab meeting like you’ve done with him countless times before. Before you could lose your courage, you swung open the door and immediately stopped in your tracks.
Dr. Grace was positioned at the centermost lab table, carefully holding up a glass beaker to the glow of the moonlight that was being cast in through the lab’s window blinds. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he transferred a clear liquid into the beaker with a pipette dropper. He was in another one of his classic science t-shirts, his arm positioned almost at a perfect 90 degree angle holding up the beaker, which exposed every curve and vein of his bicep for your hungry eyes to devour. Bright, blue, latex gloves were pulled tight over hands that were a stark contrast to his firm arms, instead, skillfully holding the beaker in place to not spill any liquid. His glasses were knocked slightly askew on his face as he wore protective goggles over his eyes, but to you, that just made him all the more endearing.
Your eyes roved over his form, rigid and unwavering with the confidence of a man precisely in his element. Even though there was nobody else in the room except for you two, his presence seemed to demand attention. His fellow faculty members may have never paid much attention to his work outside of mindlessly recommending his lectures to their students, but, god, would you never get tired of marveling at this genius of a man. Both because he was a leading mind in your field and also because he was insanely attractive while he worked.
Dr. Grace looked up from whatever he was studying as he heard the door close softly behind you. He greeted you with a smile. “There you are, right on time as always. I would’ve expected nothing less. I’m just about wrapped up with this. Why don’t you grab your slides from the back and get set up while I put this away and then we can get started. Okay, sweetheart?”
Your heart felt like it dropped into your shoes. Dr. Grace had turned his back to you as he busied himself with something near the sink which gave you some time to process what you had just heard.
Sweetheart? That was definitely a first. I mean sure, you’ve had teachers call you that before, usually just in an endearing, almost parental way when you were younger. But something about the way he said it left you reeling. It felt…charged. Almost like he was dangling the term of endearment over both of your heads, knowing that there was nothing either of you could do to act on it. You replayed his voice saying it over and over again in your head to convince yourself you didn’t imagine it, when Dr. Grace spoke again.
“You alright over there?” He had now taken the goggles off and was wiping his regular glasses on the bottom of his t-shirt. He placed them back on carefully and put his hands on his hips, his t-shirt tightly coating his broad chest like a second skin. He raised his eyebrows at you pointedly, waiting on your answer. It was then that you finally noticed you hadn’t moved an inch.
You choked out a laugh. “Yeah! Yeah, of course.” His eyebrows drew together in questioning. You smiled weakly and hurried to grab your slides.
--
The next two hours were full of calculations and write-ups that made your brain feel like it was leaking out of your ears. You and Dr. Grace worked silently and diligently, double and triple checking your work to make sure you were prepared for your dissertation. It was honestly impressive, the way the two of you moved in tandem, re-examining slides under the microscope and writing up the conclusions on the large whiteboard at the center of the room. You two seemed to glide in and out of your respective areas with ease, Dr. Grace stopping every so often to check in and make sure that you didn’t need help with anything. Busying yourself with your work did seem to help quiet the distracting thoughts you kept having about your professor. Instead of Dr. Grace making you dizzy, it was the goddamn microscope whose viewfinder just didn’t seem to want to work with you that had your vision spinning.
You groaned in frustration and threw your arms up onto the lab counter, dramatically flopping your head onto them with a huff. Dr. Grace spun around from his designated place at the whiteboard. Your eyes were so weak with exhaustion you could barely keep them open anymore but you were able to make out that he somehow had three different dry erase markers in his possession, one tucked into the top of his ear, one in his hand that he was currently writing with, and one clenched between his teeth. He looked downright sinful as he plucked the marker from his mouth, a few drops of saliva following his fingers from where the marker met his lips. Between the microscope, your report writing, and Dr. Grace’s incessant need to unknowingly drive you crazy with want, you were certain you wouldn’t even make it to your presentation day in one piece.
“Aw, what’s wrong?” He chuckled softly. “Lens settings giving you trouble again?”
“I don’t even know why they make the knobs this sensitive. It’s like the big science companies actually want to cause me anguish and despair every waking moment of my academic career,” you whined sarcastically. Dr. Grace walked over to you, tilting his head with a small smile at your frustrated state. “Do you want me to show you a trick I learned in grad school? It saved my life a couple of times when I was back in your shoes.”
You bobbed your head up and down excitedly. Anything to make your life easier right now was welcomed with open arms. Speaking of arms, your excitement almost died in your throat as you felt Dr. Grace’s hand on the small of your back, guiding you up and back to the microscope ever so gently. He positioned you in front of the microscope with his body directly behind you. There seemed to be only an inch of space between the two of you. One wrong move and your back would be flush with his chest as he caged you in.
You felt like all of the air just got punched out of your lungs.This was too much. It was one thing for you to admire Dr. Grace from afar, knowing that there wasn’t a chance in hell of anything happening between the two of you. It was another when he had you literally locked in place, his rock solid figure giving you no chance of escape.
This was real. This was painstakingly, agonizingly, undeniably real.
It felt like your world was crashing down, your thoughts empty except for your goddamn professor's frustratingly lean body behind you that almost had you wiping your salivating mouth with your shirt sleeve. I mean seriously. A microbiology professor has no business being that toned. Your breath hitched in your throat and you cast your view down to the microscope, trying desperately to focus on the task at hand.
Except, Dr. Grace wasn’t letting you off that easily.
Dr. Grace delicately grabbed your right wrist and placed your hand on the fine adjustment knob. Except he didn’t stop there. His hand remained on yours, his fingers were ghosting your own, guiding them into exactly the right position. You felt a slight pressure in the pads of your fingers as he pressed down, swiveling the knob ever so slightly. He nudged your shoulder with his own, prompting you to take a look into the microscope.
You moved your face down into the viewfinder, placing the bridge of your nose underneath the ocular lens. Dr. Grace followed suit, leaning his head down closer to you so that it was just next to yours. This caused the very top of his chest to connect with your shoulderblades and you tensed. This could not be happening right now.
His words, a deep whisper that was very unlike his typical teacher voice, almost startled you as they were uttered so close to your ear.
“You see, the key is to take two fingers,” Dr. Grace said intensely, “and slowly–”
He lifted your pointer and middle finger along with his own, placing your middle finger on the coarse adjustment knob in addition, and slid his fingers over yours so the knob rolled heavily under the both of you.
“--work both the knobs at the same time,” Dr. Grace finished. He leaned his head back and watched you carefully, making sure you understood his instructions.
You could feel his gaze, hard and unrelenting, so you refused to look up from your slide and meet his eyes. You were almost panting with need now. The lab was usually sterile and cold, but from where you were standing it felt like you were in an inferno. You had never been this physically close to Dr. Grace before and it was setting your insides on fire. Part of you wanted to snap out of his grasp and run into the hall before you did anything you’d seriously regret. The other half of you was dying to find out what would happen if you didn’t. Pushed the boundaries a little bit. Fought fire with fire.
You couldn’t.
Could you?
You scolded your mind for wandering so far away from the task at hand and returned your thoughts to the microscope.Oh, would you look at that, Dr. Grace got the image of your slide looking pristine through the viewfinder on his very first try.
You internally scowled. It also wasn’t helpful that his academic prowess was a major turn on.
You clenched your legs together to relieve some of the pressure that had settled there, all the while, Dr. Grace still kept you in between his arms. His hands were now flat against the table, no longer guiding you. By all intents and purposes, he had absolutely no reason to still be standing so close to you but there he was, trapping you against him.
“See it now?” Dr. Grace questioned. He was referring to the absolutely gorgeous cell that was now blown up in scale through the viewfinder thanks to his help. You had to admit, you never got tired of that feeling. The feeling of staring at actual life, smaller than the tip of your pinky finger, teeming with blues and pinks and purples of the various organelles inside of it.
“I do. It’s beautiful, Dr. Grace,” you admitted. You turned your head around on your shoulder and met his eyes. He really was close to you. Truly, you could step a quarter of a foot forward and your foreheads would be pressed together in a forbidden meeting. Something to never be seen by another’s eyes. Yet, standing here, almost fully enveloped by Dr. Grace, it didn’t feel as wrong as you thought it would.
His gaze dropped down to your lips briefly. It was quick, but you noticed. He met your eyes again and you could have sworn you saw his pupils dilate in real time. The moonlight coming in through the windows earlier was now mixed with the soft glow of the campus lamplights that lined the walkways below the lab floor. The yellow lights mixed with Dr. Grace’s blue eyes, swirled a supernova of color around in his irises.
And him? He looked transfixed on you, as if you had hung the stars in the sky.
Could you do this? No. You were sleep-deprived and not thinking straight. Except your body had other ideas.You leaned in slowly, your eyes trained on Dr. Grace’s soft lips. Your hands had a mind of their own, coming up to almost cup his cheeks, like they knew you wanted this, knew you wanted to cross this boundary from which there was no coming back from.
They were never able to reach their destination.
Dr. Grace jerked back from you suddenly and retreated into the corner of the lab, pacing, his hands thrown up in defeat, folded together to support the back of his neck as he let out a wavering breath.
“Oh my god I-,” He started to spiral. “I wasn’t, I didn’t-”
He caught your eyes and immediately looked away, as if the simple act of looking at you was a punishable offense. You retreated into yourself, horrified that you would even think to act on your feelings. It was a dumb move, so ridiculously stupid, that you were afraid you just cost yourself your advisor, hell, your entire academic career.
But Dr. Grace wasn’t looking at you anymore. He was running his hands through his hair feverishly. “I’m so sorry, god, I don’t know what I was doing I-”
He whispered to himself in a tone barely audible enough for you to hear. “She’s your student, Ryland, what are you thinking?”
You realized this wasn’t about you. This was about him. He was trying to keep himself in check. Not do something he would regret. The thought that he might be having the same ideas you were having, filled you with a confidence you had no business having.
You slowly walked over to him and he flinched when he realized how close you had gotten.
“Dr. Grace?” you whispered.
Dr. Grace stilled as if your voice snapped some invisible thread that was holding him together.
“Your hands are shaking–here let me help you,” you picked up his hands with your own, interlocking your fingers, half expecting him to recoil from your touch, but he didn’t. “I, I don’t know what to say,” Dr. Grace strained. “I’m so sorry, you’re my best student, I have no idea what came over me.” He sounded wrecked. Like you had stolen all of the air from his lungs. It was in that moment that you made a decision. One that was going to seal your fate either for better or for the worst. You took a deep inhale.
In one deadly move, you surged forward and captured his lips into your own. You felt Dr. Grace tense up immediately but melt into your touch as you tangled your hands into his blond strands. His hands fell onto your hips like they were always made to be there. It was a searing kiss, with both of you putting your entire body weight into the other, as if this was the last chance that you were going to get to make this mistake. He pulled you closer to him, pressing his hands into you so hard you were sure he was going to leave a mark.
You broke apart, breathless. Dr. Grace squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his forehead onto yours. He shook his head. “I am your professor,” Dr. Grace choked out. “I’m responsible for you, I could lose my job, my title, my reputation,” It sounded like he was trying to make a list of all of the reasons this was a bad idea but you didn’t care. The only person he was trying to convince at this point was himself. He cupped your face in his hands and scanned your expression.
“I need you to tell me to stop.”
Silence.
“God, I am in so much trouble.”
He drew you into another kiss and you happily reciprocated. It felt like fireworks were being lit off in your chest. Whatever you had imagined, this was a million times better. He was somehow both gentle and rough at the same time, trying to devour you like you were his last meal. He ducked his head down into your neck and took your skin between his teeth, nipping at the soft flesh.
“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me” he breathed out. He was working his way up your neck, kissing the exposed flesh as he went.
“Every time,” Kiss. “You talk,” Kiss. “All I can think about,” Kiss. “Is your mouth on mine.”
He walked you backwards, his mouth never leaving yours. Eventually your back hit the lab counter. It stung a bit but you didn’t care. All you could focus on was getting that t-shirt off of his frame and onto the floor. You were dying to see what was under those stupid science pun prints.
You moaned into his mouth and tugged at the bottom of his shirt, signalling to him what you wanted. He leaned back a bit, arms still encircling your waist, and smirked. “Yeah? You want this off?” he questioned knowingly. You nodded.
“Come on, use your words. You want my shirt off?” he asked.
Oh, he was going to kill you. “Yes, Dr. Grace,” you answered, obediently. Dr. Grace’s eyes almost rolled into the back of his head. He groaned. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?” you asked. “That thing with your voice,” Dr. Grace said. “Calling me doctor all sweet like you do, you know you can call me Ryland.” You tugged on the hem of his shirt once more. “Okay, Ryland. Shirt. Off. Now,” you demanded.
“Yes, ma’am,” he snickered. He made quick work of grabbing the bottom of his shirt and ripping it over his head. He made to pull you back into another kiss but you stopped him just short of contact. You pushed him back slightly, leaning back and drinking him in. You couldn’t even believe what you were seeing. Ryland was fucking ripped.
The evening light highlighted his abs just right, where you could take in every curve and detail, as his muscles seemed to strain against absolutely nothing. You ran your hands down his stomach and he shivered. His stomach intricately curved down into a sharp V that was so defined, you had to do a double take to convince yourself it was real. “Who knew microbiology was such a grueling subject?” you joked.
Dr. Grace laughed. “Hey, I personally think that understanding cellular adaptation and atrophy is more difficult than any workout.” You shook your head and smiled. Even when he was hot and heavy, he still took every opportunity to make a science joke. You wouldn’t have it any other way.
This time it was you who pulled him back into a kiss. He stole your move and tugged on the bottom of your blouse. You untangled your hands from his hair and began to undo the top buttons. Ryland followed your hands with his mouth as you worked your way down the shirt. With each inch of skin that was exposed to him, Ryland placed an open-mouth kiss there, leaving wet patches along your chest. As you reached the last button, Ryland’s mouth stayed on your navel but his arms snaked up to help you abandon the offending fabric..
He looked up at you from where he was perched on his knees, his chin on your stomach, those sweet blue eyes still in awe of you. That this was happening. That you weren’t something out of his wildest dreams. His right index finger toyed with the button on your pants. “Can I take these off, sweetheart?” Your eyes widened. Ryland grinned. “I’m going to take that as a yes with your eyes, now I just need your mouth to tell me the same.”
“Yes”, you rasped. He wasted no time pulling both your pants and your underwear down in one fell swoop, nearly knocking you off balance, but, of course, Ryland was there to catch you as you fell. He steadied you by digging both his palms into the back of your thighs, palming your flesh. He stood up, hands not leaving you for a second, meeting your lips again.
“Jump,” he stated simply. Without a second thought you hoisted yourself up by digging your hands into his shoulders and felt his strong hands grab the underside of your thighs, lifting you onto the lab table. The coldness of the counter was a stark contrast to the heat that was coursing through your body; it almost made you wince. You made to return Ryland’s favor and undo his jeans, but he caught your hands in his.
“Not yet, I want to make you feel good first,” he said, lips now working their way up the side of your face and under your earlobe.. “Is that alright?” he asked. You shuddered as the breath of his words met your skin. His hands had left their spots on your thighs and fluttered over your torso, tracing the outline of your ribs on your skin.
“O-okay,” you stuttered. It felt like your entire body was numb, but also so sensitive to every touch that Ryland gave you, all at once. Ryland leaned back and took your naked form in again. “Thatta girl,” the words seemed to drip off his tongue. He tapped your knees in encouragement and dropped to his knees again, parting your legs gently. He met your eyes quickly, a silent ask for permission which you readily granted.
With that, he kissed the insides of your thighs, working his way inwards from the inside of your knees. As he got closer to the spot where you needed him most, you felt the sharp edges of his glasses rims knock into your inner thighs. Ryland leaned back on his calves. “Sorry, sweetheart. Let me get these out of our way,” he plucked his glasses off of his face and made to place them on the counter before you interjected.
“No!” you startled yourself by how quickly you responded. Ryland looked up at you, puzzled. However, he paused where he was at, glasses still in hand. You sheepishly smiled. “Keep them on. Please.” You internally grimaced, embarrassed by your begging. However, after three years of pining after your professor, you were not passing up the thought of looking down to his glasses-framed face as he fucking ate you out.
Ryland smiled smugly. “Got a thing for the glasses, huh?” He placed them delicately back on his face. “Tell me,” he said, “Is it the daring Clark Kent vibe that gets you going or the wizened academic look that you like more?” He gestured to his face, mostly jokingly, but you could sense there was a genuine question somewhere in there. You leaned down and pushed the glasses further up his nose. “What can I say, I’ve got a thing for hot, nerdy, men,” you replied.
He laughed. “I’ll take it.”
It felt natural, the progression. His kisses felt earned, given with adoration, and he made sure that not an inch of you went untouched. After what felt like a million light years of him paying attention to everywhere except where you wanted, he licked a long, wet, downright disrespectful stripe up your folds. You moaned instantly and threw your head back. You didn’t even have any time to recover before he dove in again, his tongue swirling around your clit and sucking gently.
He didn’t know all of the spots to make you squirm right off the bat, but god was he a quick study. Whenever his tongue brushed a spot that tore a sound out of you, he made sure to hit that spot again. Over and over again. He seemed determined to get as many sounds out of you as he could, and you happily obliged. Not like you had much of a choice in the matter.
Fuck, he was good, you thought.
“Yeah?” Ryland asked from between your thighs. “You think so?”
You hadn’t realized you said that part outloud. You were too overwhelmed with bliss to even care. “Fuck yes, Ryland. You feel so fucking good, oh my-”
A finger being pushed into your folds cuts you off instantly. After that, there truly was no hope for you. He set a punishing pace, pumping his fingers in and out while using his tongue to get to all of the spots that his fingers couldn’t reach while preoccupied. You clenched around his fingers and you felt him tense as he jut his hips forward involuntarily. “Ryland,” you gasped. “I’m gonna-” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before Ryland picked up his pace further, if that was even possible.
“Come on, sweetheart. You can do it, let go,” you heard Ryland say, even though his voice sounded muffled and far away. His mouth returned to your clit, sucking hard, and the coil in your lower stomach finally broke. A loud moan tore out of you and you bit the back of your hand to silence yourself. You were still in the campus lab after all. Euphoria washed over you, from head to toe, and your legs shook with the impact. Ryland’s hand came up to steady you as he slowed slightly and worked you through it.
“There you go, just like that. I got you,” he coaxed gently. You moved the palm that you were biting down your face as the waves subsided. You couldn’t help it, you collapsed back on the table. Ryland resumed his ritual of kissing up your navel, to the center of your sternum, in between your collarbones, and finally, standing up, to your lips. You returned his kiss, although rather weakly.
“You okay?” he asked. You nodded. He paused for a moment, seemingly pondering if he should speak again. He decided on another question.
“You want more?” he asked, his voice deeper this time, lower.
“Fuck yes,” you cursed.
His words invigorated you with a second wind. You sat up quickly, hands rushing to undo the button and zipper on his jeans as he leaned into your hair and placed kisses to your head. As you fumbled with his belt loops, you could feel his arousal underneath your palm. Just to test the waters, you palmed him slightly, earning a whimper from Ryland into your hair. You hopped down from the counter as you finished unzipping his jeans. Ryland took over from there, sliding his jeans and underwear down in one go. Your eyes immediately cast downward and you bit your lip.
His cock sprang forward, rock hard and already leaking pre-cum. You would have never guessed in your wildest dreams that he would be this big. It made your mouth water. You slowly began to sink to your knees to show him as good of a time as he just gave you, but he stopped you with a hand to your chest.
“Please I- I can’t wait any longer,” Ryland searched your eyes. “I need to be inside you.”
Oh.
His words almost made you falter. As if you hadn’t had enough life-altering experiences tonight, here was Dr. Ryland Grace, published scientist, respected research and professor, begging to fuck you.
Ryland seemed to take your silence as a yes, as he grabbed your hips and gave you one last kiss before spinning you to face the lab counter. From your perspective, you could see out the lab’s large windows. The lab was on the second floor of the science building, so all you could see out the window was the tops of the trees on the grounds. Still, all that was running through your mind at this moment was the fact that students could be walking down below, without a clue about all of the filthy things you and your professor were doing in his lab.
Ryland places a hand on the small of your back and pushed you forward, effectively bending you over the lab counter. Your palms hit the counter, leaving an imprint on the black tops. Ryland kissed your back and you felt words muttered onto your skin. “Is this okay?”
“Yes, Ryland, please just-” He didn’t even let you finish. As soon as the word ‘yes’ left your mouth, he was pushing inside you. His cock stretching you out slow and depraved, making you gasp. Ryland cursed behind you, his hands flying to your hips and digging his short nails into your sides. He pushed slowly inside, inch by glorious inch until he was buried completely inside you. You turned your head slightly to see Ryland’s perfect face. He had his head thrown back, eyes closed, as if the act of being inside you was something that deserved a moment of silent reverence.
“Ryland?”
“Hm?” he hummed without opening his eyes.
“Move,” you demanded.
Well, you did ask for it. He pumped in and out of you like a piston, building up a rhythm that had you sobbing. Ryland’s hands never left your hips, you think he needed to hold on to them for his own sanity at this point. “Fuck you feel, you’re-” he sputtered. “You’re so fucking tight.”
His pace quickened as tears squeaked their way out of your eyes and onto the lab counter. You were sure that you had never felt this good in your entire life. You could feel that low simmer in your stomach that you felt earlier. You were close. “Just like that Ryland, I’m gonna cum again”, you croaked. Your voice was gone, all of the air absent from your lungs.
Ryland seemed to sense it too as his once steady rhythm faltered and failed at points. He was losing steam, and fast. “Oh my, oh my fucking god,” he growled. “Come on, cum with me, that’s my girl.”
The praise sent you over the edge. As your second wave rocked your body, you felt Ryland following suit. His hips stuttered as he spilled inside of you with a broken moan. His head fell forward onto your back as you felt his last few strokes, slow and intimate, pushing everything he gave you back inside, not letting a drop of the evidence of both of your choices drip onto the lab floor.
You could barely breathe. It was the best feeling in the world. Ryland stroked your hair and slowly pulled out from you, with you whining at the loss of contact. You rolled slightly on to your side, looking at your professor, a sheen of sweat gracing his gorgeous body, glasses askew on his nose. Ryland leaned back onto the lab table and brushed his fingers through his hair, a deep sigh leaving his cheeks. He turned over to you.
“So professor,” you teased in a sultry tone. You batted your eyelashes innocently. “Does this mean I get extra credit?”
BIGGER THAN THE WHOLE SKY — RYLAND GRACE X MALE!READER
summary. where ryland grace falls for the new english teacher, with secrets of his own.
tags. semi-canon-adjacent, pilot!reader, no mentions of y/n, reader starts out as an english teacher, co-workers to lovers, angst, flashbacks, space dread, hurt no comfort, pre launch to launch day, romantic tension, established acquaintances with stratt, ryland falls first, reader falls harder, awkward ryland grace, full of microtropes, ryland owns a two seater bike because why not, no happy ending.
word count. 2.1k
chapter 1 out of 5
a/n. i do apologize if my ryland grace is very inaccurate to who he actually is. i still need to develop the skills of capturing personalities of fictional people. i am also sorry if the writing is very mid. im rusty as i had not written in a while. other than that, hope u enjoy! and yes thats a t swift title
(not proofed read)
The first thing you notice was the heat.
Which was funny, considering the situation of the star right now.
The bus slowly stills to a stop. You grab your bag that sat beside you with all the rush in the world, thinking the vehicle would move before you got out.
The first thing that caught your eye was the big letters engraved onto the walls themselves—Grover Cleveland Middle School. The smell of freshly cut grass was the second thing that hits you. It was quite a smell you never got around to describe, on why it was so comforting. It was home.
The school hallway was empty. Right. It was a Sunday. Lockers that were painted red were all neatly close, and the floors were clean, devoid of any trash. Sunlight shines through the windows, lighting up the inside with no trouble. A smart move for the fluorescent lights to be turned off right now.
You were only here to take a good look. It was a habit you had developed. Like an itch, almost. That you have to take a look at something—whether it be the stove would be working properly before using it,or checking the locks before going outside…. Or doing a last dry-run of flying a ship before the real thing.
An English teacher left due to retirement. But before leaving, she put in a good of you—said you had all the talent and potential. You vaguely even know this… person, only that they were a distant relative of one of your parent.
You step inside a classroom that a higher-up told you where you'll be teaching at. Yours.
The desks were all arranged neatly. Your eyes unconsciously count the number of it—Four lines and five rows. And at the front was the teacher's desk. And further, etched onto the wall, was a large white board. The white walls were covered with all types of decorations and posters. A specific one caught your eye: Keep calm and check your grammar. You blink at it, and roll your eyes slightly. You make a mental note on what decorations were in need of replacement and what does not need to be replaced.
You walk over to the teacher's desk, pull one of the cabinet. Nothing was there, except a few markers. One red, one blue and one black. They were probably all dry.
You take a step back, and turn around. Ready to leave, when you jump.
There, someone was standing on the doorway. Dirty blonde, glasses slightly a skewed, wearing a t-shirt that was probably a science joke, but you don't bother to try and understand it.
“Jesus Christ, you scared me.” you utter out, shoulders deflating at the aftermath of the shock.
“Right. Sorry. About that—” he stammers. “I wasn't staring. I was just making my way out when I saw this room open, so I went to check and—”
“Alright. I get you.” you interrupt his rambling. “Are you… a staff here?”
He chuckles. “Teacher, actually.” he says. “You must be the new English Teacher, so I heard.” he smiles.
“Right— Ryland. Grace. That's… my name.” he reaches out hesitantly, a hand. Like he was going for a handshake, but also not at the same time.
“Nice to meet you. Mr. Grace.” you nod. Formality was the next best thing right now. Even though this guy was anything but formal right now.
He awkwardly retracts his hand, nodding. “You too. I— uh, already know your name. Don't worry. Heard the Principal talking about it, earlier.”
“So you were spying on him?” you raise a brow.
“I'm— not!” he says too quickly. It was the truth, yet he was nervous. Getting awfully nervous, maybe at the fact he's digging a hole of himself right now. “I was just, you know— passing by.”
You blink. “Alright.” you nod. “Well, I better get going now.”
“Of course.” he says, shoulders deflating slightly. The tension visibly leaving him already. He steps to the side, and you walk out of the room.
“I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Grace.” you say one last time, before turning to the way you entered before.
---
Things were already going bad.
First, you wake up late. It was 6:30 AM, and school starts at 7:00 AM. You set an alarm for 5:00. It didn't alarm for whatever reason. Second, while trying to make your own low-grade coffee on the way out, you spill it on one of your favorite shirt. You change out last minute. Third, the bus you took suddenly had a flat tire halfway to school. So you got out, and ran all the way through.
Despite everything going wrong, the adrenaline felt… good. The rush of it all, it made your body buzz.
You rush inside the classroom. You were greeted by your students, already sitting down on their desks. They were rowdy at first, but quieted down when you entered.
And thus, it begins.
First, you introduce yourself. Did a short icebreaker, just to get to know them, and then teach them about… well, English. On the lesson plan that was given, it was all about Shakespeare, specifically his story Romeo and Juliet. It was easy to get into the flow of teaching, the story was one you know probably word-by word by now. Not because you love it, per say, but because it was basically engraved into your brain of how much times you have read it last night. Just to be sure.
One thing you had learned is that kids were actually interested when you make it interesting. And right now, they were all quiet, and listening intently. You thank whatever gods that existed out there, that they were actually listening.
Before the bell rings, a certain someone walks by the open doorway. “Sir Grace!” they call out in in unison.
He retraces his step, and peeks inside. “Well hello there, younglings.” he chuckles.
“Sir Grace, you're disrupting my class.” you clear your throat.
“Sorry.” he gives you a cheeky look. He waves goodbye, ready to leave, when the bell rings.
Immediately the students rush to stand up and go, the idea of lunch was enticing for them.
He stays at the doorway, greeting them. Even giving some of them a high-five. The kids adore him.
Once all the kids retreated, he looks up at you. “So,” he starts, leaning against the doorway. “How's your first day going?”
You shrug, leaning your hip against the edge of the teacher's desk. “It's been fine, I guess. Spilled coffee on the way, though.”
“I also did that on my first day.”
“Of course that happened to you.” something like a smile tries to reach your lips. But it doesn't. Not fully. A beat of silence, then you speak up again. “You didn't say what subject you teach.” it wasn't necessary a question, just a statement.
“I didn't?”
“No. You just said you were a teacher, yesterday.”
He chuckles again, scratching the back of his head. “Science. I teach science.”
“Interesting.” You didn't intend to say it, but the words were already slipping out your lips. A slip, if you call it that.
His ears slightly redden. It was subtle, the one you had to really look closely to notice.
Silence sits between you two again. You take a look at him, a really good look. This guy was… something else. You couldn't quite put your finger to it.
He clears his throat, awkwardly. It was less awkward than what he was doing yesterday, but still… awkward. “I better get going.” he says, simple.
He pushes himself off the doorway.
---
Golden light spills inside the classroom. All of your students had left already. School was over, for now. And then the same cycle repeats for the next few months. You take a deep breath, already dreading tomorrow.
Fatigue sits on your shoulders. Like someone was actively pressing on them. Hell you'd believe it if someone told you a ghost was sitting on your shoulders right now.
You slid your laptop inside your backpack, and hurl it around one arm.
You step out, the halls eerily empty. It looks like a scene of an apocalypse. Abandoned. Empty. Dread settles on your stomach, imagining a situation that you weren't in—maybe a zombie-type apocalypse? or an ice age type of apocalypse? how would you even survive a situation like that? or what if the sun died? the thought was scary. The news was already talking about it—something was dimming it, and scientists were fuddling for a breakthrough.
But then you see a janitor come out of the supply closet, and it cuts you out of your thoughts. You shake your head, grounding yourself. You count your fingers, they're all complete. You look for a smell—the smell of soap floods your nostrils, gaze going to the squeaky floor. And lastly, you look for something—a poster for cheer-leading tryouts. The colors red and pink pop out the most.
You feel your heart slow down.
You turn towards the doors, but stop. Your foot was halfway to the floor, but a thought popped inside your head.
You had no papers to grade, just yet. No one in particular was waiting for you back at your apartment, and you had no plans for tonight.
You turn back towards the hallway, and began to walk deeper inside the school. Maybe get a layout of the school? or to explore? you didn't know, really. There was no harm in not going home instantly.
All of the classrooms were already closed and locked. You peek inside the small window of the doors—each classroom was decorated differently. One in particular was decorated with pink decorations and ribbons, all over the place.
Then you hear someone curse. Muffled. You look towards the source of the noise, an open door. You slowly make your way towards it, and the first thing that catches your eye was the hanging planets on the roof, attached with strings.
Creative. That was what you thought. Then you look at the person sitting on the teacher's desk.
It was him.
Currently ducked under the table, trying to grab the scattered papers that were all over the floor.
“You shouldn't be cursing, Sir Grace.” you say.
He immediately tries looking up, but bumps his head onto the desk.
“Ouch—” he gasps out, quickly rubbing the back of his head. “You scared me, Jesus.”
“Then I guess we're even now.” you smile. Slightly.
He smiles too. “I guess so.”
You step inside, and grab the remaining papers he had not picked up, then sets them neatly on the desk.
“Thank you.” he says.
You take a quick look around the classroom. Filled to the brim with space-themed decorations. “I like what you did to the room.”
“Hm?” he perks up, tidying the papers on his hands. “Oh. Yeah. Thanks, but it wasn't really me. Half of it was already here.”
“What were the ones you did then?”
He then points at the small globe at the edge of the desk. “That one, and…” he points towards at the roof. “The planets hanging from above. Pretty neat, right?”
“Yeah. It's… cool.” you nod, leaning against the desk, beside him. You cross his arms, and turn your gaze down at him again. He was currently grading papers. He reads them thoroughly, before grabbing his stamp and putting it on the paper. The stamp had a silly design, a small earth with eyes, arms and hands, and some legs.
“An assignment, I assume?” you ask.
“Yup,” he says, eyes on the paper still. His glasses were going down, and doesn't notice. “Lunar cycles. Made them draw a diagram of it.” he elaborates. “You see, the moon is very interesting. One orbit of the moon around the earth takes approximately—”
“I know what a lunar cycle is, Grace.”
“Right.” he immediately stops rambling, and stamps another paper again. You shake your head, amused.
He takes a hesitant look at you, looking up. He adjusted his glasses, pushes it. “Have you, uh—met the other teachers?”
You shake your head again, but this time, to say no.
“You're the first teacher I have met.” you say.
“Ah,” he nods, “Well don't worry about it. A bunch of them are… well— I'm not going to say boring, or mean. I get along with them fairly well, actually, but—”
He stops when he realizes he's rambling again. “They're… nice. You should talk to them when you have the chance to.”
You nod. “Noted.”
You kick yourself off the desk. “Well, I better head home. Have fun grading papers, Grace.”
You don't wait for a reply, already going for the door.
He looks up, gaze fixated on the doorway. Where you had just been.
“Christ,” he mumbles, then turns to look back at the paper.
He doesn't know why he gets so nervous around you.
Summary: You and Mark Grayson were neighbors and childhood best friends, until he has to move away one day for reasons unknown to you. But when he came back, he came back differently, not just as your friend but also as an alien ready to conquer the Earth and its inhabitants. There was just one more stranger thing though, Mark’s undeniable favoritism towards you.
Wc: 7.9k
Requested by anon
He couldn’t help but still remember your face. Your voice. Your laugh. He didn’t know what to think. It was like you haunted every single one of his thoughts. Mark hadn’t seen you in years yet for some reason you still mattered so much to him. Maybe it was because you were his first and only friend before he was brought to the viltrum empire by his father. Whenever he had one of those sleepless nights, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, Mark couldn’t fight reminiscing about your first encounter with him.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
Mark jumped at the sound of a boy’s voice. His head rose to the fence and spotted you, using your arms to just barely hang over the edge. Your hair was messy, and there was dirt smudged on your face, but what else do you expect from a kid.
The day you first talked to him was one of those days where Mark would take a random sheet or something close enough to resemble a cape, and run around his backyard, pretending to be a superhero like his dad. He had to prepare for when he finally got his powers of course.
Sure, it got a little bit lonely playing by himself, but he still knew how to make it fun.
“Hey, are you deaf or something? What are you doing?” Your eyebrows furrowed.
Mark cleared his throat, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Just playing.”
“You look like a superhero.” You tilted your head, looking closely at his makeshift cape. “I like it. I like playing hero too. My parents tell me I won’t get powers anytime soon though.” You pouted but then looked up again with a smile, revealing a few missing teeth. “But it’s fun to pretend. Can I join you? Do you wanna be friends?” You leaned in more, getting even closer to fall of the edge.
“Uhh.” Mark’s eyes looked back and forth. No kid has ever talked to him as eager as you, let alone ask to play with him. Plus, his dad told him friends would distract him from training, but it wouldn’t hurt having at least one friend? “Okay, we can be friends. Do you want to- oh.”
Mark could only stare at you who just fell face first into the dirt and into his backyard.
“I’m okay!” You exclaimed, springing back onto your feet and dusting yourself off.
“You’re kinda weird.” Mark commented.
“At least I’m not grumpy like you.” You thought back to the times you’ve seen him before. When you moved in, you had spotted him. On your way to school you saw him. And it was clear as day he wasn’t the sociable type, more like his dad than his mom. “Come on, let’s do something! I have so many ideas.” You grabbed his hand, walking around his yard for the first time.
From that moment on, you two were what was considered best friends. Each other’s only friends, but still best friends nonetheless.
Your days would be spent with only each other. You two would make capes and masks together, and then get yelled at by your mother for messing up her sheets and getting them dirty. When Mark would come over to your house, you’d show off your superhero action figures, which were a mix of bought and handmade. The both of you would also watch superhero moves together, beg which ever parent was watching over you two to let you guys stay up longer, and then fall asleep in less than ten minutes, resting on top of each other.
But even as you two grew closer, Mark made sure to keep that his father had powers and that he would (hopefully) eventually get powers, a secret. After all his dad told him that as long as he didn’t tell you the truth, he could continue being friends with you. And he would do anything to still be with you.
In fact, Mark seemed to care about you a lot when you were kids. Maybe it was because you were his only friend, or maybe it was because of something deeper than that.
The first clear sign was when you two were playing in your backyard instead of his.
You had brought him over to ‘show him something cool.’ The last thing he was expecting was an ant hill with thousands of tiny ants scurrying around. He couldn’t understand it. They were just ants. They only lasted for a few weeks before dying, and that’s if they die naturally. They couldn’t produce thoughts like you and he could or advance as a society. So insignificant, and yet you were enamored.
You crouched down, letting one of the ants crawl on top of your finger, which you brought close to yours and Mark’s face.
“You know what my dad told me? He said that ants have their skeleton on the outside. Isn’t that crazy?” You looked up at him with an expectant smile, though deep down you knew he could never be as excited over an animal’s anatomy like you.
You moved your hand and arm around, keeping your eye on the ant which was running around your forearm. “I wonder how deep their colony is. Their queen is probably- Ow!” You winced and flinched at the sudden feeling of the ant biting into your skin.
Mark’s eyes widened at the sound of your pain. His hand reached out and wrapped around your arm, crushing the ant that bit you in an instant, and his heel immediately smashing into the ant hill and angrily digging into it, causing the lines of ants to turn into frantic chaos.
“Mark! Stop!” You took a hold of him and pulled him back. Both of you fell to the ground.
“Why would you do that?” You both asked each other in union. Your tone upset while your friend’s tone was frustrated.
“That ant hurt you.” Mark spoke first. “I’m not just going to let it go free after doing that. It and its friends deserved it.” His eyes stared daggers into the destroyed ant hill. “They’re weak anyways.”
“That doesn’t matter.” You frowned. “It was probably just scared or something. It didn’t know any better.” You also looked at the remains of the ant hill but with a more solemn expression, which Mark couldn’t help but notice.
If it were any other scenario, Mark would’ve just left it, no remorse, no regret. The world was survival of the fittest, that was what his father told him anyways.
But with you around, it was different. The sight of you sitting up and holding your knees up to your chest. The sight of you just about to burst into tears, for some reason. Was too much for him.
“I’m sorry.” Mark remembered that his mom told him that was what people say when they make someone feel bad. “We can… rebuild the hill or something.”
You sniffed and rubbed your nose. “Okay.”
As the two of you built the highest hill possible, your smile slowly grew back, giving Mark a sense of relief. As long as you were happy, he was happy. You were his only connection to human life rather than his viltrumite heritage. So it wasn’t surprising he’d mirror you in some ways.
Life was good with you in it. You were like a ray of sunshine he never knew he needed. Things just felt so light with you compared to with his father. Especially when you laughed. Like how you did when he covered himself in duct tape and called himself duct tape man. You, being the good friend you were, stayed with him while his mom carefully removed it from his sensitive skin.
Mark missed those days. Where his only concerns were finishing the food he didn’t like and if you were okay. Now… it was conquering worlds for the viltrumite empire. He understood it was his duty though, his responsibility as a viltrumite. That was just how it was.
Mark opened his eyes at the call of his name and sat up immediately.
His father stood before him. “It’s time.”
Though short, those simple words were more than enough for Mark to understand what was going on.
He was finally going to return to Earth. To you.
“I understand, Father.” He nodded, standing up, his hands behind his back.
“I’ll be waiting outside.” Nolan said before disappearing in an instant.
Mark peeked his head out of his door, looking left and right before going back in and locking it. He looks around his room one more time, just for the feeling of reassurance. Mark crouched to the floor and reached under his bed, pressing a specific tile. A small cube shaped container rose. Mark grabbed the dear object and sat on his bed, examining the item.
A small action figure. Perfect condition, at least the same condition from when he got it. From you to him.
“You’re moving?” You stood at the front door that Mark opened after your constant knocking. “How come you didn’t tell me?” Your tone heartbroken. Who knew finally getting his powers would lead to this.
“I didn’t know how to.” Mark’s voice was quiet. He wanted to tell you the truth at that moment more than any other.
“Will we still be able to play together?”
“… I don’t think so.” How could he still play with you if he was light years away in another planet?
“I’ll miss you.” Your voice cracked. You had tried not to cry but at that point you couldn’t help yourself. You stepped forward and hugged him tight, which Mark reciprocated after settling into it.
“I’ll miss you too.” Mark muttered into your shoulder.
You backed off him and shoved something into his hands. It was an action figure of you two’s favorite superhero from your guy’s favorite show. He hadn’t noticed you holding onto it until that moment.
“I want you to keep this. Use and make other friends, but don’t forget about me, okay?” You wiped away your tears with your sleeve. “And when we see each other again when we’re older, you can give it back to me, and we can play together forever.”
Mark looked down at the toy in his hand and then looked up at you. “Forever?”
You nodded aggressively. “Forever. I promise.” You put on your best smile, the spots where you used to be missing teeth finally filled in with your adult ones.
“Y/n?” Your mom calling your name made your head perk up.
“Y/n?” She said before spotting you. Your mom sighed, walking towards you and gently grabbing your arm. “You shouldn’t be bothering them right now. They’re in a rush. Tell him goodbye and go home.”
Your expression turned sad before becoming confident again. “I’ll see you later, Mark.” You were able to say before being dragged away by your mom. “Bye!” You waved your hand to which Mark, less energetically, waved his as well.
That was the last time he saw you.
His thumb rubbed against the arm of the toy, his eyes focused. Mark was going to fulfill his promise to you no matter what.
After quickly dressing in his attire, Mark joined his father’s side, who was looking over space. They only exchanged a quick nod before flying into the vast galaxy.
And before he knew it, Mark had finally made it back to Earth. He had thought about returning one day, visiting you. But under the threat of his father finding out, and even worse, doing something to you for making him weak, kept him away.
Mark looked over the busy highways and tall skyscrapers as far as he could see. He could hear the sound of the trees bristling against each other from the wind. He took a deep breath in, the air also making his hair sway side to side, and exhaled.
“Mark.”
“Yes, Father?”
“I thought I told you to throw that trash away. It’s holding you back.” Nolan didn’t even bother to look at the item in his son’s hand. He already knew damn well what it was.
Mark’s hand defensively held onto it, his grip tightening, and kept it out of his father’s sight best he could. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
Nolan only clicked his tongue. They had multiple arguments before about it. Why would something as small and as a useless toy mean so much to his son? But after years of fighting, it just wasn’t worth the effort anymore.
What was more important was the mission. That would always come first. To prepare Earth for viltrumite rule, quick and easy. All of those years of constant training wasn’t for nothing after all. And Mark didn’t survive his adulthood ceremony for nothing either.
The first step was dealing with the existing superhero teams. But aftering exterminating everyone in the Guardians of the Globe, everything was easy. Sure some people put up a fight, a few resistances here and there, but kill a few people and they’re quiet. No big deal.
They’ll eventually come around and understand what Mark and his father are doing. They’ll be grateful even. But at the moment, society would have to go through a rough patch.
Mark gazed over the fallen buildings, the fires, listening to sounds of the flames crackling and popping. His fist clenched, crimson blood dripping off of it. Even after being back on Earth, Mark still hadn’t had a single moment to visit his old home as he was still under the intense watch of his father. He had a feeling his father was in fact trying to keep him away from it.
But Mark never spoke up about it. How could he? A good son never questions his father.
“Mark.”
He turned his head around and looked up to see his father slowly descending from the sky.
“I trust you can handle the rest of this?” Nolan gestured his hand at the land beneath them.
His eyes widened but he quickly returned to a neutral expression. “Yes, Father.” Mark straightened his posture and bow his head down. “It would be an honor.”
“I’ll return in a few months then. Make Argall proud, Mark.” Nolan said before shooting into the sky, disappearing beyond the clouds. A gust of wind blew back Mark’s hair.
Mark couldn’t help but feel a little bit surprised. Did his father really just allow him to carry out the mission by himself. He supposed all of that being on his best behavior and obedience really did paid off.
“Just finish the mission.” Mark repeated to himself under his breath as he flew. He looked down and then stopped. When did he start head to his old home?
He looked around once more. There was no mistaking it. This was the old city he used to live in, just extremely destroyed and burning. He guessed his father got to it before he did.
Mark lowered himself back to the ground, gracefully stepping onto the concrete. The memories were starting to fill his head. The time you two would run along the sidewalks as your mother scolded you two to not be so close to the road.
A faint smile creeped onto his face before vanishing at the sound of a terrified man. Probably some high ranking company man based off the suit and tie, and the fact that he was yapping about money for some reason. What use would Mark have for that?
With each step he took forward, the man stepped back until his back was met with a wall.
“You.” Mark paused, asking himself if this was what he should be doing. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way about you, and yet he did. “Do you know someone with the name, Y/n L/n?”
The man, fearing for his life, stuttered. “W-what? Who?” He then realized this might be his only chance at living. “I mean, yeah! I know who you’re talking about my mistake.”
Mark’s brows furrowed as he watched him lie straight through his teeth. Did this man think he was an idiot?
“You’re wasting my time.” Mark’s hand extended in a flash, puncturing into the man’s stomach, and retracted. He flicked the blood off of his hand, an annoyed look on his face.
Not only was he mad at the man for attempting to trick him, but also at himself, for letting himself still be so affected by you. He wasn’t even sure if you were in this area anymore. And even worse, if you were still alive. You were always the weaker one of you two. So who knows if you even made it past day one of his and his father’s arrival.
The thought of you dead extremely upset him. Ruined his whole day. But as long as he never encountered your dead body, Mark would still have a sliver of hope in his heart.
Mark would of course still carry out the mission… but a small side goal wouldn’t change anything right?
Mark pushed off of the ground, rising into the air once more.
But he’s wasn’t sure what to do. What if you moved away while he was gone all of those years? He had no idea where to start looking? Plus, what did you even look like? Obviously, you must’ve grown since he last saw you, but how in the world was he supposed to recognize you?
He shook his head.
He had no right considering himself your best friend if he couldn’t tell you apart from some randoms. So each time he found a large group of people, before killing them, Mark would carefully examine each person’s face.
Mark landed in front of what was left of some college or university building and sat on a surviving bench, burying his head in his hands. His feelings were a mix of frustration, anger, and despair. He had been looking for you for the past three days, and there was still no sign of you anywhere.
He knew what his father would say if he saw him in his current state. Idiotic and pathetic. For both being so attached to you and for being on the verge of giving up.
Maybe if he carried out the mission with all of his effort, he could forget about you and finally let go of his lingering desire for you. Mark leaned back, his face towards the sun and his eyes shut.
Which country should he target first? Maybe he could check out that one country you mentioned you wanted to go to.
Then he heard it. A cough. A shuffle against some rubble. His head snapped towards the source of the noise.
A hand emerged from a pile of wreckage, pushing the ruins to the side. After a few minutes of struggle, the person finally emerged from the debris.
It was you.
Mark rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t just imagining it. He couldn’t believe it, but at the same time he did. Mark felt a sense of relief and a fill in his heart that he couldn’t describe. His body didn’t even move an inch. All he could was watch you from afar like he was afraid of ruining the moment or that you would disappear again.
“Come on, it’s okay. We’re going to be okay.” You mumbled quietly, lifting a cat close to your chest. Mark smiled at the fact you still cared so much about animals. Though he didn’t understand it, it was endearing to him for some reason.
You used your body to shove aside the broken pieces, wincing as you did so. Mark then noticed the tattered cuts all over your body, the torn pieces of your jacket and pants, the bruises and dried up blood.
He frowned.
You seemed so fragile, so close to the edge of breaking.
But no matter. He was there. He could fix you.
Finally making it out of the rubble, you started limping in some direction, which was when Mark decided that he had observed you enough.
He might’ve been a little too excited and flown to you too fast though. The momentum literally made you fall again, causing you to let go of the cat. You saw it run away before turning around and finally facing him.
Mark knew you wouldn’t have the same happy expression as you did when you two were kids when you’d see him for the first time in forever. But it still hurt a little, seeing your eyes filled with fear and your chest quickly rising and falling.
Neither of you said anything for a moment.
Mark was the first to break the silence. “Y/n?” His tone too gentle for someone who killed thousands upon thousands.
“How do you know my name?” You spat, your body too tired and sore to stand. All you could do was shove your palms into the ground and move back inch by inch.
It pained him that you didn’t recognize him. Maybe you were just disoriented since Mark could sense your heart beating rapidly. Or maybe you were scared of him?
“I’m not going to kill you.”
You looked up, confused. Was he toying with you? You knew he was some apathetic murderer, based on what you saw on tv and the aftermath you witnessed yourself. But you didn’t think he would be so sadistic to mess with his victims before killing them.
Mark couldn’t take the hateful glare in your eyes a second longer. “I could never hurt my best friend.”
You weren’t given another second to think or process what he just said to you as he suddenly appeared face to face with you, crouching.
Maybe it was the fact that you had a massive headache, hadn’t eaten for a while, or something, but the look on face in front of you almost seemed… desperate. He wanted something from you, but you couldn’t figure out what exactly he wanted.
You then took a closer look into his eyes. Something was just so familiar, but why?
“… Mark?” Your tone shocked, like you were in disbelief while also finding it ridiculous. There was just no way. No way that your childhood best friend who moved away came back as some powerful alien hell bent on conquering Earth.
Maybe you were on something and just didn’t know it.
You felt a hesitant hand upon your cheek.
Mark’s once concerned expression changed into a relaxed one. “I’m glad you didn’t forget me, because I never forgot you. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t.” He carefully moved your hair out of your face. His other hand caressed your arm, which was covered in scrapes but had one noticeable slash running down your arm, improperly bandaged with a spare piece of fabric. “You’re badly injured. You need aid.”
“Oh really?” For the first time ever, you hated your natural sarcasm.
You thought he was going to punch your head off but instead he just looked at you. “Hold onto me.”
“What?”
“I don’t want you to fall.”
“Wh-”
Mark grabbed you and shot up into the sky. So you instantly wrapped your arms around him, closing your eyes. “Mark! What the fuck!”
“What’s wrong?”
You refused to open your eyes, but you could tell you two were probably hundreds of feet in the air. So that was what he meant by ‘didn’t want to drop you.’
Just too much was happening all at once.
While you were experiencing the worst anxiety ever, Mark’s heart beat a little faster at how close you two were. Should he have been feeling that way? No, never. Was he still going to anyways? Yeah…
Mark looks around in all directions. He wanted to bring you to viltrum and get you healed in no time by their superior health technology, but since you were a human, that would be impossible. And he wasn’t experienced in medicine being raised as a warrior. So Mark made the only choice he could.
He flew in the direction of the last resistance he saw. They would have things that you need. And if they didn’t, he’d just get rid of them all.
You felt the wind against your back, every single sound drowned out by it. Luckily, it only took a few seconds for you to feel the ground beneath your feet again. You opened one of your eyes, trying to look around.
It seemed like some sort of hideout. You were happy for the people who were able to form safety groups. However, you hadn’t been so luckily. Alone since day one.
“What are we doing here?” You tried moving but Mark’s arms wouldn’t budge.
“To get you help.” Mark suddenly hooked his arm under your knees and his other arm on your back. Was he seriously caring you bridal style?
Mark casually walked into the base where people wanted him dead. A lot of them were fully ready to shoot him, but stopped at the sight of you in his arms.
If his memory was correct, this was the resistance with the leader who had powers, something to do with atoms? She actually put up a better fight than most others, but still not enough to defeat him.
Mark stood there, right in the middle, completely silent, until Eve came out.
Mark’s head tilted up. “Mend his wounds, and I won’t kill everyone in this building right now.” His head then lowered. “Try anything, and I’ll make yours and everyone else’s death as slow as possible.”
Eve, knowing better than to question him at the moment, called over the most qualified to help you out while keeping a close eye on him. “Fine.”
Mark gradually put you down as if you’d shatter in an instant and let go of you, who looked back and forth between him and the others as you walked forward. You were guided to sit down on one of those plastic chairs you’d usually see at family gatherings.
Eve walked over to you, looking over her shoulder at Mark and then turned back to you. “Sorry, but I have so many questions. Are you alright? How are you still alive?”
You glanced down at some person’s hands untying the fabric wrapped around your arm. “I wondering the same thing.” You let out a small laugh.
You two kept your voices low, which partially upset Mark but he brushed it off. Instead, he spent his time glaring at anyone who dared to look at him.
“But uh, I think maybe he hasn’t killed me yet because we were friends when we were kids? But he moved away. I had no idea he would return like this though.” You scratched your neck with your free hand.
“Yeah, how could you?” Eve replied. “Okay, brace yourself. This part is going to sting a lot.” She placed a firm grip on your shoulder.
You nodded, mentally preparing yourself, but you still flinched at the burning sensation and biting your tongue.
You then felt a strong gust of wind and blinked.
“Mark!” You shouted, making him stop his tracks. You opened your eyes to see him holding onto the person’s head from behind, just about to crush their skull.
You looked at the person’s terrified face, their body frozen in place. You looked up at Mark with disappointment.
“They’re just disinfecting the cut. Let them go.” As scared as you were, you made sure to keep your tone authoritative.
Mark only grunted in response before releasing them.
Everyone let out a sigh of relief in unison.
“We’re almost done.” Eve said, loud enough for both you and Mark to hear. She held out her hand over your scar. A pink light appeared and then materialized into stitches. You couldn’t help but feel amazed, that childhood love of superhero’s never truly went away.
Once her hand moved away, you gave your arm a test, straightening and bending it.
“Thanks.” You gave Eve and the others your best smile. You looked past them at Mark who seemed to be growing more impatient by the moment. You knew staying there for a second longer was too risky.
You stood up, struggling a little. “They did their part, Mark. Let’s leave them all alone now.” You held onto his arm when you reached his side. The sooner you two leave, the safer those people would be.
Mark hugged you tight, just like before, and shot into the sky again.
It felt amazing having you in his arms again. It was like he found the last missing part of him. And now, there was nothing in your guy’s way, nothing separating you two anymore. Overjoyed would be an understatement to describe Mark. But when he looked down at your face, you didn’t seem to feel the same.
“Did I do something to make you sad, Y/n?” Mark stopped, bringing his hand under your chin and forcing you to look him in the eyes. “Don’t lie to me.”
You sighed. “Well, my entire city and home have been destroyed, and the world is in chaos right now. So yeah, I’m a little upset at you.” You said in the politest way possible. “I don’t want to be conquered by aliens. I just wanted to start college and hate my classes. You know, live a normal life.”
“I can give you a better life though. Whatever you want, it’s yours. I’ll stop at nothing for you.” Mark pouted, the same way he did as a kid, realizing that his words didn’t get rid of the dark cloud looming over you.
An idea popped into his mind.
Mark changed his course, flying in some other direction.
“Mark, where are you taking me?” You asked flatly.
“You’ll see when we get there.”
You stood in confusion when Mark placed you down in front of an ice cream shop.
He hovered close to the ground. “Do you remember this place?”
Your eyes squinted as you read what was remaining of the shop name. “Wait… I do. This was the ice cream place we used to go to every summer.”
“Exactly.” Mark stepped onto the ground and took your hand, leading you forward. “Eating it always seemed to make you happy and you’d smile a lot. I want to see you smile again.”
“That’s… very sweet of you?” You walked through the space where a door should’ve been. The shop wasn’t in horrible condition, but it had definitely seen better days. Some of the lights were busted, some chairs knocked over, and the large windows had become just piles of shattered glass on the floor.
“Come on out now.” Mark moved towards the counter. “I can hear your heartbeat.” Each passing second only made Mark more irritated.
A worker stepped out from the back of the shop, his hands up and shaking. You guessed he must’ve been looking for resources or hiding. Poor him.
“What would you like, Y/n?” Mark glanced up at the menu. “We can share. Just like when we were younger.”
Playing along with him seemed to have worked since the moment he found you, and it seemed like that only thing you were able to do.
“I guess, can we get a number seven? With those flavors?” You pointed down at the ice cream tubs. Almost everything was running on backup power, so to everyone’s luck, things would play out normally.
The guy looked at you with a panicked expression, wondering what the hell was going on, to which you just mouthed ‘Just do it.’
The worker cleared his throat. “Yeah, I can for sure do that for you guys. Just give me a minute.” He lowered his hands, getting to work instantly.
“Come on, we can sit and wait. Over…” Your eyes scanned over the room. “There.” You proceeded to shove yourself into a booth. Mark followed and sat beside you, just a little bit closer than he should’ve.
“So…” You propped yourself with your elbows on the table. “Where have you been for these past years? Never thought I’d see you again.” You couldn’t forget that it was still your childhood best friend you were talking to. There were just so many things you wanted to know, beyond why he wanted to dominate the planet.
“In my duration of knowing you, I had lied to you. My father was a viltrumite, and my mother was a human. But due to the genetic dominance of viltrumite genes, I am close to being a pure blooded viltrumite. So when I ‘moved away,’ I was returning to the planet, Viltrum, for training with my just gained powers.” Mark felt a heavy weight being lifted off of his shoulders. He was finally able to tell you the truth, the full truth.
“So let me get this straight. You’re an alien who looks really human, but you can fly, move at high speeds, and have super strength pretty much?” You listed his abilities off of your fingers.
Mark nodded. “Correct.”
“Can you shoot lasers out of your eyes or something?”
“That would be ridiculous.”
“Right.” You sighed. “And I used to think you were just some regular human kid like me. Way to make me feel like a literally powerless loser.” You playfully scoffed and crossed your arms.
“Why does that matter?” Mark raised an eyebrow.
“Well, it doesn’t, but it also doesn’t change the fact that you can fly and stuff, and I can’t.” You observed Mark’s face, sharper and more defined than ever. He had that same pushed back hair style from when he was younger and the same dark brown eyes. So everything from the neck up would be what you’d expect, but everything under… definitely not. His clothes were pure white, but stained with blood. And why was he so toned? Did viltrumite clothing just give off that look? Or did the clothes just extenuate each and every muscle on his body? It felt wrong to admit, but Mark was scarily close to your type…
“Y/n?”
“Huh, what?” Your eyes shot back up.
“There something I need to return to you.” Mark placed something on the table and slid it towards you.
“What are you talking… no way.” You took a hold the old action figure and brought it closer to your face. “You kept it all this time? I thought you would’ve thrown it away.”
“I would never.”
You looked at him, surprised at how serious he seemed about it. You nearly forgot you had given him the figure of your favorite character. As you got older, that superhero obsession slowly died down, and you matured. You were pretty sure those toys you had as a kid were stashed away in a box in some storage unit after you moved for college.
“I don’t understand though.” You bent the toys limbs like you were checking its quality, which you were impressed by. “Why would you keep it?”
“Our promise. I have no interest in still playing with toys, but I still want to spent the rest of my time with you.”
You choked on air. “If I didn’t know any better, it sounds like you’re trying to marry me or something.”
“What’s that? I already told you I wasn’t going to kill you.” Mark leaned back into the seat cushion.
You placed the toy back onto the table. “You actually don’t know what marriage is?” If it were any other situation, you would’ve laughed out loud. In this case, you still laughed, but only a little.
Mark’s blank stare was more than enough of an answer for you.
“It’s basically when two people make vows and like promise to love each other until death.”
“Hm. How strange.” Mark brought his had to his chin. “Should we get married then?”
You blinked. “What?”
“Your ice cream is ready.” The worker, to be honest you had forgotten about, presented your order with two spoons.
“Ah thanks.” You noticed the man’s hands shaking, nearly dropping the ice cream. He was clearly fearing for his life, and Mark’s intense scowl didn’t help in the slightest.
Mark looked at you and then back at him. “Now leave. I’ll only spare you this once.” He gave a dismissive hand gesture.
That guy ran right out of there as fast as humanly possible.
You relaxed once the worker was out of sight. You then gazed down at the dessert. You had ordered what you used to always get with Mark, since you never were able to finish it on your own but wanted it badly. You couldn’t even recall the last time you had eaten it. You would have really enjoyed eating your former favorite treat if the circumstances were different.
You tried to use the spoon the scoop some up but then the pressure of moving your arm like that painful, forcing you to drop it.
You cursed under your breath.
Mark watched your struggle, and then picked up the other spoon himself. “I’ll feed you it.” His casual tone was just going to kill you.
“Mark, no. You’re not feeding me ice cream. Mark. I’m not your girlfriend.” You turned your head away from him, avoiding the spoon pointed at your face.
“Of course not, you’re my boyfriend.”
“I don’t think you know what that word means.”
“I know what it means. You’re a boy, and you’re my friend. Now stay still.” Mark inched closer to you.
You pushed your hands against his chest. “I’m not staying still. I-” Mark accidentally got some of the ice cream on your cheek, right next to your mouth.
“Damn it, do you think there’s any napkins here?” You half jokingly asked.
“No need.” You felt Mark’s hand grab your jaw, and his tongue against your skin, dangerously close to your lips. Your cheeks flushed, and a heat ran up your neck.
You were at a loss of words. You immediately backed away, wiping away the spot with the back of your hand. “What the fuck, Mark! Did you just lick me?”
“Yes, but you’re clean now.” Mark took a bite of the ice cream with the same spoon he was just trying to feed you with, then took another scoop and pointed it towards you. “Eat it before it melts.”
There was just no winning with this guy. “… Fine.”
For the next thirty minutes, you sat there, begrudgingly being spoon fed by your childhood best friend. Sure, it tasted amazing but that was besides the point.
As you ate, you started to think a little bit harder on how Mark acted towards you. How touchy he was towards you, how he treated you like you were the only thing that mattered to him, how he licked you like it was nothing. Everything the two of you did was just a little too intimate for being best buddies. It was almost as if he liked you more than a friend…
You quickly switched topics in your mind. Now, you were on your phone while Mark was trying to find somewhere to dispose your guy’s trash, after you had scolded him for saying to leave it there.
You texted your few friends and your family, assuring them you were okay and asking if they were okay. And while you waited for their response, you scrolled through your social medias, finding out new information every second. You saw people posting videos of their experience so far, people theorizing what in the world was going on, and people trying to figure out what to do now that Earth was in shambles.
You weren’t all too sure what to do either. Yes, you did basically have special privileges for some reason, but it was like walking on egg shells around Mark now. What would happened if you pissed him off? Pushed him to the limit without knowing it?
“What are you doing?”
You jumped in your seat at Mark’s sudden appearance. “I’m just scrolling. I’m surprised the service still works actually. Ah fuck.” You stared at the black screen with the symbol of the battery empty.
“And I left my stuff at home…”
“I can take you.”
“Oh yeah.”
You felt exhausted anyways, even after consuming all of that sugar. Your whole body still felt like it was on alert, and all you wanted was to lie in your heavenly bed again.
You had finally gotten used to just holding onto Mark as tight as possible and zone out while he was flying. Luckily, your house was pretty close. And even more surprisingly, still standing. It actually seemed untouched? The only defining thing was the your parent’s car wasn’t parked in the driveway. It gave you a little hope they were alright.
You stopped walking once you reached the front door. “Where’d I put my keys?… Don’t break the door open, Mark.”
Mark lowered his fist. “It would be more efficient if I did though.”
“For a moment. And then next thing you know my house is being broken into by strangers.” You shoved your key into the lock.
“You say that as if I couldn’t defeat them all.”
You pushed the door open. “Even so, I just don’t want that to happen. Come on.” You motioned your hand back and forth, signaling for him to follow you.
He hovered closely behind you.
As you were taking off your shoes and setting them close to the door, Mark examined the house he hadn’t been in for years. Not too much was different, just some new furniture and new photos decorated around the living room.
Mark picked up a random picture frame from the shelf under the tv. It was a photo of you (He partially smiled) and some other guy (He frowned). It seemed like a fairly recent picture. You were wearing a suit and tie, and standing close enough to the other guy to make Mark’s blood boil. Why was that guy’s arm around your shoulder?
“What’s this?” Mark presented the frame to you.
“Ugh, I told them to get rid of it.” You muttered, your brows furrowed. “That’s a picture of me and my ex-boyfriend at our senior prom. We broke up about a year ago. I guess my parents just forgot to throw it away.”
“Ex boyfriend?” He raised a brow.
“Means I used to like him romantically, but not anymore… I don’t wanna talk about it.” You looked down.
Your upset tone and expression was more than enough for Mark to already hate the guy.
“You don’t need to.” Mark squeezed the picture frame until it broke, the wood splitting and the glass shattering. And then tore up the image faster than the eye could see. He did it for you of course, but also maybe a little for himself.
You were already half way up the stairs, mumbling something about being tired. Mark naturally returned to your side, unsettlingly quiet.
You entered your room, still the same as you left it. After looking around for a bit, you found your charger and plugged your phone. You internally celebrated seeing it charging.
You looked down upon your clothes, if you would even consider them that anymore. Maybe you could look for a sewing kit later. And they definitely needed a wash too. From how much Mark was clinging onto you, the blood on him stained your clothes. And not to mention the dirt you had accumulated yourself from your little adventures.
You unzipped your jacket and threw it onto your chair. “I’m going to change.” You dug though your clean clothes, not bothering to look over at Mark.
“Okay.”
…
You turned around. “Are you going to get out?”
“Why would I need to? We have the same anatomy.”
“That’s not the issue.” You grabbed a random pillow and threw it at Mark who caught it with ease. “I just don’t want you looking, okay?”
“You humans are so weird. Feeling embarrassed about body parts.” Mark faced the wall, bringing the pillow to his face.
“I think you’re the weird one for being okay with seeing me near naked.” You said as you changed into clean and comfortable clothes. “Okay I’m done.”
You collapsed onto your bed, letting out a sigh. The coldness of the blanket and sheets were just right. Did your bed always feel this good? You opened one of your eyes and sat up.
“Mark, you are not lying in my bed. Back up, right now.” You held your hand out in front of him. “You have blood all over you. It’s a miracle it hasn’t gotten on the floors.”
Mark took a single step back. “But I want to join you. It’ll be like our sleepovers.”
You sighed dramatically before getting up and walking to your closet. “I’ll look for something for you to borrow.”
“Alright.”
“There’s gotta be something your size.” You pushed hanger after hanger. If Mark were any of your other friends, you’d have no problem finding something of yours for them to wear. But for someone with a body like Mark… it was difficult. You finally managed to find a basic large white shirt and gray sweatpants.
“Here, you can wear-” Your eyes were met with the sight of Mark shirtless and just about to undo his pants. Your head whipped around before you could see anymore. So without looking, you extended your hand holding the clothes towards him.
“Give a guy a warning next time dude!” You covered your face with your hands and faced the wall, not only to look away but to also hide how flustered you were.
“But I don’t mind if you saw me.” Mark bluntly stated. He truly did not understand why you were care so much about seeing each other’s bodies. Feeling embarrassment was a weakness after all.
“Well I mind, so just changed already.”
“I did.”
“So you can change into clothes that fast, but not out of clothes that fast?” You looked over at his nested folded pile of clothes on the floor, and then back at him. He actually looked like a regular guy you’d see in a class or in a hallway. So that’s what would’ve been if he was human.
You fell onto your bed again, shifting around to find the best position. You laid on your side, facing the wall. You heard the sound of shuffling behind you and then felt a warm presence against your back, an arm around your waist, and… was he nuzzling into your neck?
“Mark… what are you doing?” You laid there, frozen in place. You were too tired at that point to push him off.
“I’m not sure. It just felt right.” Mark’s face was against your neck, making you feel each breath as he spoke. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”
As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you felt extremely comfortable with Mark hugging onto you like that. And you were already so exhausted. Maybe letting him cuddle you this once wouldn’t hurt?
“No, you’re fine. Just don’t make it weird I guess.” You shut your eyes, moving around again.
“I missed you so much, Y/n.” Mark held onto you tighter.
“… I missed you too, Mark.”
Note: I did it guys. I finally finished this. Idk what the word count as I’m writing this but I know it’s at least 5k words which is crazy. But anyways I just wanted to say I’m so grateful for all of my followers and especially you guys who ask me questions or like request cuz I just love talking to people.
I hope that the anon who requested this prompt liked what I made. I lowkey went a bit crazy. Sorry the ideas just kept on flowing to me. ALSO, I’m always opened to requests for Mark Grayson that fine ass man. OMG I NEED HIM… okay. Calm down.
And if there’s any typos or like weirdly worded sentences… just ignore it… PLEASE
Lets Get Physical! (Adrian Chase x Male!Reader) Part 1/2
word count: 3k | Synopsis: You're Adrian's personal gym trainer, the one who helped him get into fighting form for Vigilante! You've had a crush on him for years but he's completely oblivious, can the Checkmate crew help out?
Tags: male reader, personal trainer reader, pining, gym sessions, misunderstandings, oblivious Adrian, eventual smut, friends to lovers.
Ten years ago at the Evergreen Fitness & Wellness Center.
It was another day opening the gym at 4am, ready to set up the equipment, replace the chalk, put the weights in the correct order, because somehow it was impossible for regulars to put the 20kg in the 20kg spot, set up the front desk and then unlock the main doors.
When you got round to the desk and let in the ordinary gym rats ready and antsy for their lifting sessions and cardio, there was a lanky man who was anxiously standing by the gym doors, fiddling with his old faded Minecraft hoodie.
“Hey there, are you looking to sign up?” You approached him gently, not wanting to scare off the scared deer in headlights.
It took a lot of courage to make your first steps into the gym, and you wanted everyone to feel included and secure in working out at your gym.
“Uh yeah I’d like to. I don’t have a lot of money though, I work as a bus boy and have a lot of expenses. I don’t pay rent though, I live with my stupid mom.” The man explained, pushing his hoodie back, showing off his lovely curly hair and green eyes framed with a pair of wire-framed glasses.
Damn this guy was cute and totally your type.
“First session is free, we’re offering a deal right now if you sign up for a year is 50% off if you’re a student.” You showed off the pamphlet promotional literature, and pointed at the clause where it stated they didn’t check for student ID.
That usually got everyone onboard.
However, not this guy.
“Darn but I’m not a student, I’m a bus boy.” Adrian lamented.
“But you’re a student of life right? Trying to improve yourself?” You laughed when Adrian didn’t get the obvious hint you were trying to get him to just lie and say he was a student.
“I’ll put you down for the bus boy discount then.” Adrian’s eyes lit up at that, signing the contract.
“Woah you really have that?”
“We do now!” You handed him the fob to get into the gym and explained the rules of entry.
“You need to use a towel and wipe down the equipment with wipes when you’re done. Towels can be borrowed and the bin to return them for cleaning is over here.” Adrian nodded at everything you said, writing it down in a little notebook, waddling behind you like a baby duck.
“Hey uh can you help me with a circuit please?”
“Of course dude, first things first what are your goals?”
“Can you make me look like this guy?” Adrian asked, digging into his gym back and showing you a newspaper clipping of an incredibly ripped man wearing a strange super hero outfit like it was Halloween.
The headline read Peacemaker sent to prison for four years. Adrian had pasted it into a small scrapbook filled with different muscle bound men, Peacemaker of course, the old spice ad guy and the terminator to name a few, all with collaged stickers and sparkly washi tape.
The front of his scrapbook was labeled with body goals/inspo with an unholy amount of teal, white and black shiny bedazzling.
“I can help you get fit and feel like the best version of you. But you don't need to or should compare yourself to others Adrian. This is your journey, nobody else's.” You explained, going through the options of workout routines.
He looked disappointed, a frown settling, bottom lip pouting and forehead bunching up. It was pretty cute, all grumpy but without a hint of malice.
“Does that make sense? I'm not trying to discourage you. It's the opposite, I want you to feel encouraged and light a fire under you to become your best self!”
“My best self?” Adrian repeated, staring forlorn in the mirror.
But he had always been the scrawny kid with glasses that got picked last for any team sports in school.
While he had finally found his growth spurt all in at an agonizing 21 years old, he was frail and skinny like a bean pole.
Becoming a better version of himself felt impossible, what even was the best self for Adrian Allen Chase?
But when he peered up, you were genuinely grinning at him, no sense of bullying or messing around on your face.
“Yeah, you ready?” You asked, pumping the air excitedly.
“Let's get started and make those dreams of yours come true!”
“Yeah, I’m ready!” Adrian beamed, joining you in a fist pump.
Getting a plan together was what you did best and as a personal trainer you liked pushing people to do their best, but not go overboard.
After all it was a careful balancing act, to keep motivated and not be deterred by someone yelling at you to go when you really couldn't.
About half an hour into the set, Adrian was flagging on the treadmill. “I'm so not ready, I lied, cardio fucking sucks!” Adrian whined, you running alongside him on another machine.
“Let's pause for now, hydrate and think about some other areas you'd like to improve. We can do strength and core training.” You saw he really was at his limit and stopped.
When he looked over and saw you were at a higher speed, sprinting, Adrian couldn't believe it.
“You've got killer stamina wow!” He huffed, unzipping the Minecraft hoodie and tying it around his waist. “I wanna get like that!”
“Thanks! You'll get there too, come along in the mornings and I'm here at the same time every day.” You encouraged him, handing over your PT card.“Is there an extra cost? It said in the contract that PT sessions are separate.” Adrian looked worried, he didn't have the funds to spare.
Not if he was going to make the Vigilante costume, military grade nylon and kevlar materials were expensive! With the guns, knives and the sick ass honshu blade he had imported from an authentic swordsmith in Japan, Adrian was flat broke.
"Nah, at this time of morning I'm usually doing my own thing. There's no rule against me having a gym buddy.” You chuckled, watching the wonderment sparkle in those lovely green eyes of his.
Plus you're super cute.
You wanted to say it but, that was super unprofessional and you didn't know if Adrian was gay or not. Or even if he was gay, whether he'd be interested in you.
“These are deadlifts, they are going to become your new best friend. First we start off without plates and just pick up the bar.” You showed him how to stand.
“What? Why, I'm not that weak!” Adrian argued, giving another adorable frown when you chuckled.
"Everyone needs to start here at the baseline, I'll check your form, give any pointers to make sure you're not doing any wrong motions that'll cause injury down the road." Adrian nodded at that, listening closely and watching how you stood at the bar.
It took him a few attempts to get the posture right, you made sure to help him move his grip when it looked off.
"Sorry I'm so clueless about this stuff." He mumbled but you shook your head.
"You're a clean slate, so if you follow what I'm doing you'll only pick up good habits! No need to try and correct any bad ones." Reassuring him, Adrian got the hang of it.
“This is really tough…” Adrian strained with the smaller plates, you spotting him over the bench.You noticed him sadly looking over at some other guys lifting twice as much with half the effort.
"Don't focus on them Adrian, keep your eyes on me."His lovely green eyes flitted up to stare into yours.
"This is your goal, soon you'll be lifting more and smash through all the plates okay?" You smiled down at him and Adrian gave you a toothy grin back, nodding.
The rest of his sets were performed with a fiery passion, Adrian was a fast learner and clearly had something focused in mind for his training.
“Holy shit that was intense…” Adrian finally caught his breath, a bead of sweat sneaking down his collarbone.
Taking a large gulp of water from his Fallout 3 water bottle, you tried to not stare at how nicely his Adam’s apple bobbed.
So instead you clapped him on the shoulder for a session well done.
“You're killing it, seriously proud of you dude. That was an awesome first session.” He appeared dumbfounded by the gesture, staring at where your hand had been.
“I'll see you tomorrow for round two Adrian?” You asked hopefully. Was that too familiar? Had you scared him off?
“Y-yeah, see you then!” Adrian waved you goodbye, resting a hand on where you'd touched his shoulder.
Then he dashed off to the locker room and you assumed he'd leave after getting changed but instead Adrian stood expectantly at the front desk.
“What's up?” You asked, turning around in your chair, he'd immaculately folded the gym towel into the bin.
"Hey I just really wanted to say thanks for today, you didn't make me feel stupid for asking questions and stuff. I think you're an awesome trainer.” Adrian said, anxiously fiddling with his hoodie strings.
“Oh, that's super kind of you.” You couldn't help but blush under his intense gaze behind those thick 1970s serial killer aviators.
He really was a handsome guy, you could see him easily becoming even more of a total hottie with some more sessions.
"Like top tier Pokemon gym leader type deal, total Whitney!” He continued loudly, giving a funny over the top laugh that drew attention from across the gym.
“The incredibly pretty girl? Haha I'll take it.” You brushed it off, surely that wasn't a flirtation.
“Well in your case guy, but yeah still applicable.” Adrian clarified, pushing his glasses back up in his nose. That made you nearly fall out of your chair.
“Well see ya tomorrow!” Adrian announced, practically Naruto running out of the gym.
This guy was totally clueless but that unfortunately made you fall even harder head over heels for him. You always did love the crush on the unattainable nerdy ones.
Maybe it was all a part of your need to set difficult goals, or likely some other terrible coping mechanism…in any case cupid struck your heart with an arrow that day and for the next few years, the dull ache never did seem to go away.
Meanwhile, for the first time in his life, Adrian had a guy friend outside of following around Peacemaker! A total dude-bro gym guy that he never thought he could befriend back in high school.
“So cool…” Adrian watched you for a short while, longer than he probably should have through the window, wiping down the machines and getting on the assault bike for an insane looking set.
For whatever reason his heart pumped away, nearly jumping out, more than any of the cardio he'd just done looking at how toned your thighs were in those grey gym shorts.
Adrian shook himself out of it. “Must be the endorphins, that post workout stuff everyone goes on about!”
He had found a shiny new idol in you, which he quickly put atop his shelf of male role models next to Peacemaker.
But you were really different somehow, Adrian just couldn't quite place properly the how or why.
“Are you gay?” Adrian suddenly asked one training session, staring down at your phone seeing the dating app out on full display, making you sputter.
“...Yes Adrian, I am.” You replied sheepishly, putting your phone back into your pocket.
“Cool, I think I’m bisexual, but I dunno I haven’t really had sex before outside of friendship bonding in threesomes with my buddy Chris- he got out of jail!” Was all you got in reply, Adrian smiling back at you.
“Oh that’s cool dude.” You nodded, wincing when Adrian regaled you with how jail had a lot of muscular men and his friend Chris found a lot of guys there.
Adrian hummed adorably unaware of how much he was making your heart hammer away. He didn't mind at all that you were gay, in fact he didn't treat you differently at all.
Not even when it came to reciprocating your obvious feelings for him.
While Adrian did see you as more than a friend, he couldn't place what that meant.
Over the years, Adrian supposed it was just the bond someone made with their trainer. Adrian got stronger and faster, a real sleeper build that helped him fully become Vigilante over the years.
And he had you to thank for it.
On his calendar was a bright shiny star with the words ten year anniversary marked in teal marker. Adrian wanted to do something to show you how much he appreciated you but what would you like?
Maybe his friends could help!
Current Day - Checkmate Offices, Evergreen Business District.
“I need help with something.” Adrian announced in the meeting room, putting his hand up at the end of Harcourt's mission brief.
"What part of the mission do you need a hand with? You're hardly in this one.” She clicked her tongue derisively.
“Oh not that boring crap, for my super important anniversary!” Adrian rolled his eyes at the lame power point reading something or other about sneaking into a Lex Corp lab. Blah blah, who even cares?
“What anniversary? The day you finally remembered to change your underwear?” Judomaster ribbed and everyone snickered.
"Uh no, that's gross as fuck. I have impeccable hygiene, thank you very much.” Adrian glared at Rip with a fiery passion before turning to the others.
“It's my anniversary of meeting this guy who changed my life!” Adrian declared.
He swiveled over his laptop where a sliding set of photographs with Adrian and you unfolded over the years, in the gym but also at other events. Intensive boot camps, marathons, triathlons, weight lifting comps and the nice fishing trip you both went on last summer at a lakeside cabin.
Sharing a bottle of wine together to see off the vacation, Adrian had his arm around you, your face blushing, he assumed from the wine and sunshine. It had been an amazing time, topped off with a stunning view of the lake.
You had, rather tipsy, leant in a little and Adrian did the same to listen to whatever really rad secret you wanted to tell him.
“What's the big secret?” Adrian whispered, grinning those perfect colgate teeth at you.
“H-huh?” You looked bewildered that he'd caught on. Maybe there really was a chance here.
Were you going way too far, not enough? Did this trip mean what it did to him that it did to you?
Sure you'd traveled together but it was for competitions, this time it was hanging out at a secluded cabin that Adrian's friend Chris had. It felt different, the vibe was romantic.
“Let me guess…hmm,” Adrian mused, rubbing his chin, the anticipation killing you.
Then he was so close, his nose would brush up against yours if you so much as moved an inch. Was he going to kiss you, or did you need to take initative here?
You nearly went for it, but Adrian interjected, reeling back.
“You're gonna enter the Seattle Marathon? I knew it!” He snapped his fingers decisively.
“Oh man I can't wait to cheer for you, I'll be there with the orange wedges and hydrolyte!” He sat back with a massive grin for guessing it and you could feel your heart sink.
“That's right.” Your voice was small, throat tight. “Totally what I wanted to tell you.” Why did you even get your hopes up?
The drive back was filled with Britney Spears, Destiny's Child and the Spice Girls as per usual but Adrian noticed you weren't into it like you were normally rocking out with him.
Back in the office as the slide show ended with a tasteful explosion effect Adrian made that said BROS 4 LYFE he grinned around the room. “Think he'll like it?”
“Dude, that's your boyfriend?! Life is so fucking unfair.” Rip lamented bitterly, looking over your fine features.
“Huh boyfriend? No, he's my personal trainer! We've been buddies for years now, he helped me get into killer shape and retain this amazing physique for Vigilante!” Adrian laughed at the crazy insinuation, but then noticed the entire room had shifted uncomfortably.
“You’ve gotta admit, those photos kinda look like you two are a couple Adrian.” Adebayo agreed.
“Really?” Adrian blinked a few times at that to make sure.
“Yeah, I thought you guys were gonna use the cabin to be your love shack and finally bone.” Chris said shooting him a disappointed frown. “What a let down.”
“Do you like him more than a friend?” Harcourt asked.
“I mean yeah, he's like my trainer! It's a super deep bond, you know he's the Mickey Goldmill to my Rocky Balboa?” Adrian tried to explain but faltered under their intense gazes.
"Dude how dare you, that is not some lame old ass Mickey. That is a total gym Daddy beefcake you're just letting go cold on the windowsill and I fucking HATE you!” Rip couldn't stand this anymore and stormed out of the room.
“Totally valid crash out.” Chris nodded sagely.
“That guy is hot as fuck and you're fumbling him.” Everyone nodded and chided Adrian for the rest of the day.
As he played solitaire on his computer instead of doing any actual work, he was super conflicted.
Up until now he'd only considered you a friend or trainer. What if you guys were to be more?
Staring off out the office window, the sun held the same beautiful hues setting it had that day out on the lake.
A vision flared a bright ray in his minds eye.
Leaning forward, a little tipsy, whetting your lips, face bright red. Adrian leant in as well, this time he didn't interrupt you.
Instead he continued to lean in until his nose brushed up against yours, eyes locking.
“Want to know my secret?” You whispered coyly.
“What is it?” Adrian asked with bated breath. This time he didn't think it was the Seattle Marathon.
No more words were exchanged, only saliva and soft groans, tongues finding each other, your hands threading through his curls and his gripping the back of your strong shoulders.
Then suddenly you broke away from him, a puzzled frown on your handsome face.
“Dude get up already!” Your face began to animorphs style shift into a big bear.
Adrian didn't know if you really qualified as a bear. Was he even considered a twink or more of an otter? He'd have to ask you next time.
“Come on dude we're going to karaoke! Wake up!” The bear was revealed in the form of Economos’ beard yelling at him.
Adrian shouted awake, wiping the drool from the corner of his mouth and unpeeling sticky notes Rip had left on his back to kick him.
Amateur.
“Hell yeah karaoke!” Adrian instantly perked up. He really needed a solid distraction right now…
