You Look Like a Good Joe (fem!reader) [smut]
You watch Blade Runner 2049 with Ryland one night. He proposes a very fun idea to you after noticing how much you like the main character.
series
Time Will Tell (baby daddy!Ryland Grace x fem!reader) [smut, fluff, angst]
You and Ryland were ex-lovers, ultimately separated by his pride and arrogance. When you learn that you’re having his baby, both of your worlds completely change. It’s obvious that you still love each other, but you’re both too cowardly to say it. Only time will tell if these old wounds can be healed.
Holland March (The Nice Guys)
oneshots
He’s Not My Baby, I’m His (secretary!fem!reader) [tba]
"It was my choice. I bore Viserys three Targaryens. But with the last, my last... I wanted him to be a Hightower. In truth, I'm glad I waged that battle, seeing now what came of our other sons. Perhaps sending Daeron away was my truest act of motherhood."
also posted on ao3 | my masterlist
You and Ryland pretend not to know each other at a bar. It goes exactly how you'd hoped.
~4.3k words; smut; roleplaying; almost public sex (it gets somewhat close); oral - f!receiving; doggy style; unprotected sex
a/n: inspired by me asking my fiance all the time how he would pick me up from a bar if we didn't know each other. also--who is the driver, you might ask? i'll never say....
The lights are dim as you lean against the bar top, tugging your skirt down self-consciously and sipping the last remnants of your drink. You let your mouth linger on the straw, because you know that he’s watching, and you are simply waiting for him to come over and make his move.
The move comes a few moments later, when he walks up to stand beside you. He pretends like he doesn’t see you for a moment. Then, as he rests his elbows on the already-sticky surface of the bar top, he looks sideways at you, once, and then does a practiced double-take.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” you reply, pushing your empty cup forward. You say nothing else, because this is all him.
He keeps looking forward for a moment before turning his body to face yours, resting his temple on his fist and peering at you over the top of his glasses. “Come here often?”
The line is incredibly cheesy, and you want to tell him so, but doing so would ruin the bit, so instead you mirror his stance and smile. “No, first time.”
He nods in understanding and grins. It’s cheeky, because he also knows the entire exchange is incredibly overdone. “By yourself? Or with friends?”
“By myself,” you reply. You are trying very hard not to giggle. “My friends ditched me.”
“That’s too bad,” he murmurs. His gazes drags down, and down, and down, taking in the cut of your top, the way the hem of your skirt rests on your upper thighs. “Not nice to leave such a pretty girl by herself.”
You simply shrug. “It’s not so bad.” You look up at him through your eyelashes. “As long as you can find the right company.”
His smile widens. “Buy you a drink?”
“Sure,” and your own grin grows to match his. “If I can get a name in return.”
He signals the bartender, then, still looking at you. “Ryland.”
You give him your name, and he doesn’t look away when the bartender comes over, when he gives his order and you give yours. “And are you here with anyone, Ryland?”
“Nope.” He takes both of the drinks when the bartender slides them over, muttering the name on his tab, still looking at you. You take the cup from him and playfully place your lips on the straw, still gazing up at him and waiting for the rest of his reply. “My friends ditched me, too.”
“Mm.” You take a sip, then, wondering what he will do next.
“I think,” he murmurs, glancing down again at the hem of your skirt, “you came here, dressed like this, because you want to dance.” His eyes flick up to yours again. You simply nod and shift your weight to your other leg, because you are already wet and desperate for any kind of friction. “Dance with me?”
“Didn’t take you for a dancer,” you reply coyly.
Ryland grins and extends a hand toward you. “I am with the right partner.”
You let him lead you onto the dance floor, weaving through the bodies swaying to the pulse of the music. Your skin is already beginning to gleam with sweat by the time the two of you stop somewhere near the center of the crowd, and he turns to face you. You drape your arms around his shoulders and press your body against his. “So, Ryland,” you purr into his ear. Your lips just barely graze the shell of it, and you can feel him shudder against you. The hand that isn’t holding his drink comes up to grip your waist, then, as your hips start to move in time to the deep, sultry bass of the song currently filling the hazy air of the room. “What made you come up to me?”
He squeezes your side. You can’t tell if it’s a reaction to the feeling of your mouth against his ear, the way your body is dragging across his already half-hard cock in his jeans, the game the two of you are playing, or a combination of all the above. “I—I had to, obviously.”
“Obviously?” You slide one of your hands up to play with the hair on the nape of his neck.
“Mm-hm,” he hums. “Knew I’d regret it if I didn’t.”
You smile at that. Goosebumps ripple across his skin at the feeling, because your mouth is still grazing against him, and you press a kiss against his fluttering pulse point. “I’m glad you did, then. I’d hate for you to have any regrets.”
“Well, I have to say, there are none to report. No regrets at all, nope.” His words are a little breathless and fast, and he sounds nervous, like he’s afraid to mess this all up.
You thread the fingers dancing on the back of neck further into his hair. “Good,” you whisper, and then to offer a little encouragement, you continue, “you’re doing so good.”
Ryland exhales shakily and swallows. You wonder if this is becoming a little too much for him, but then his hand shifts from your waist and slides across your back to rest at the base of your spine. You shiver and press your body even further against him, still swinging your hips with the music. “Good,” he repeats, and it’s your turn to feel his lips against your ear. “That’s all I want—want to show you a good time.”
Against your deepest, basest instinct to start dragging your lips and your teeth against his throat, you lean back to look at him. His pupils are wide in the low light, and there’s sweat gathering on his forehead. You watch a bead of it slide down his temple and get the sudden desire to lick it off, just to see what he would do. Instead, you take in the sight of him for a little longer, the way his lips part, how the slow, shifting lights illuminate his hair, his nostrils flaring as you stare at him with barely disguised lust in your half-lidded gaze. “Then show me.”
He nods, quickly, desperate to please, and takes a small step back to turn you around. You withdraw your arms from his shoulders and let out a small gasp when he pulls you flush against him again, his hand gripping your hip, fingers flexing into you. He groans softly when you arch into him. You can feel him, fully hard now, against the swell of your ass, and you grind your hips to the rhythm thrumming through your body.
You look down at his other hand, which is clutching his drink so tightly that the plastic cup is starting to bend inwards. “You know what, screw it, screw the drink, don’t need it,” Ryland groans in your ear, and then he downs as much as he can before dropping the cup onto the floor. You’re about to scold him for littering when his newly freed hand splays against your stomach, pulling you in even closer, and his head drops to press an open-mouthed kiss to your neck.
Your head tips back against his shoulder at the feeling, which grants him further access to your throat. Ryland sighs against your skin and then sucks, laving his tongue to soothe the tingling spot once he’s sure he’s left a mark. You lift your free hand behind you to grasp his hair again.
The world narrows until it’s just the two of you, his hands on your body, the feeling of his hips rutting against yours in time to your sway, and you close your eyes to soak in the heady desire washing through you. His palm leaves your stomach for a moment, and you whine at the absense, and then he’s grasping your hand, the one holding your drink.
You open your eyes and tilt your head to look at him, your eyebrows drawing up slightly in a silent question. He simply lifts your hand to bring the cup to your mouth, and you take the straw dutifully, staring up into his eyes as you drink. His eyes flick down to watch your lips around the straw, then down again to your throat as you swallow, before he nods and lets your arm return to your side. You have half a mind to drop your cup, too, but you grasp onto it tightly as his hand returns to your stomach.
His pinky dips beneath the waistband of your skirt. You don’t bother hiding your whimper, not when his other hand slides down your hip to play with the hem laying tight against your thigh, inches above where it was before you started dancing with him. Your cunt is throbbing so needily that you think you could come just from this, just from being pressed against him and feeling his fingers on your skin.
Your head is still lolled back; you’re still watching as he looks down at his hand on your thigh, at your hips stuttering against him, slowly drifting offbeat to match the hum beneath your skin instead. “Ryland.” You crane your head back even further, because you want him to hear what you’re about to say. “I think—I think I would let you fuck me, right here, in the middle of all of these people, if you wanted to.”
He groans and squeezes his eyes shut. “You can’t, you cannot just say that to me, how am I supposed to—I already can barely think like this,” and his hand grips your thigh for emphasis, causing the fabric to slide up even further.
“Then don’t think, just touch me, please.”
The finger beneath your waistband dips even lower at your whine, and you wonder if he’ll do it, if he’ll slide his fingers inside of you right there on the dance floor, because you hadn’t even bothered with underwear for this, and you have just been waiting for him to discover that fact this entire time.
Instead, Ryland pulls his hand back up—and you can tell, distantly, that this is taking him a lot of effort—and chokes out, “Not now, next time, we can do that next time, right now I just—” He pauses, remembering the game that the two of you are playing, and then continues, “Would you like to get out of here?”
You say nothing, instead nodding frantically, and he guides you out of the dance floor, never taking his hands off of you until you’re stepping outside. The bouncer says something about the drink in your hand, and you think you mutter some kind of apology and just hand the cup to him, because there are so many other, more pressing things on your mind at the moment.
The cool night air brushes against your damp skin as you stand in the alleyway. You’re not sure if it is possible for you to be any more lightheaded than you are right now without passing out. You watch as he fumbles for his phone to order a ride home, and then he mutters oh, right, before looking up at you. “Uh—your place, or mine?”
This is one of the things you love the most about him, you think: how he dedicates himself so entirely, that when he says he will do something, he will never do it halfway. “Either is fine,” you breathe, and his lips curl into a knowing smile.
“Five minutes.”
You nod and lean against the wall, squeezing your thighs together and breathing deeply. The night is not over, but you’re pretty sure this already counts as a success, particularly when Ryland steps forward and dips his face down to kiss you, finally, properly. Your hands fist into the front of his shirt as he licks into your mouth and swallows your moan.
This, apparently, lasts about five minutes, because suddenly there is a honking too your left, and he is drawing back reluctantly. “Oops,” he smiles, pushing up his glasses reflexively so he can take in your shining lips and heaving chest. “Ride’s here.”
He opens the door for you—he is nothing if not a gentleman—and you slide into the car as far as the middle seat, because you don’t think you can stand not touching him for even the seven minutes it will take to get home. The driver, thankfully, recognizes that this is not the time for small talk, and he turns the music up with a gloved hand before he pulls away.
Ryland’s hand is on your thigh, then, and you look up at him as his fingers inch upward, pushing yourself even closer to his side and angling your knees to press into his. You keep watching his face as his hand stops, because suddenly his fingers are not meeting what they expected to meet, and you cannot help the grin that blooms when his eyes widen and he sucks in a breath.
It is a very, very long drive home.
Then, finally, you are thanking the driver and stepping outside, following him to the door of your shared apartment, looking on while he fumbles with his keys before unlocking it and leading you inside. Suddenly, you feel a little hesitant, a little self-conscious, because you’re not sure if you should keep the bit going, and then he presses you up against the door and answers your question for you. “You are so—I was already thinking about the skirt the whole time, ever since you put it on earlier, and how did I not even realize you didn’t put on any underwear—”
There are a few things you think you might say in response, but he doesn’t give you the chance, because then he’s kissing you and groaning into your mouth, squeezing every inch of your body that he can. You grab his hair and tug, just a little, but enough to make him whine and drag his tongue against yours. It is starting to become unclear to you how long you will be able to remain standing upright against the door.
Ryland senses this, because he knows you, because he loves every piece of you and is so intimately familiar with how it all ticks, and he hoists you up, gripping the backs of your thighs and wedging you against the door. Your skirt hikes up at the movement; you are fairly certain that you are already starting to leave a wet spot on his clothes.
His head dips down to mouth at your neck, and his nose nudges against the already-blooming mark he left in your skin earlier. “You’re incredible, so beautiful, I cannot stop thinking about the way you move—I am so happy you suggested this, we should do this every week,” he gasps into you, squeezing your thighs and biting another mark into your throat. “So I can fall in love with you every single time.”
“Oh, god, you—you—” There are not a lot of words left in your mind, because his hips are pressing into your cunt, and the pressure is so good, so delicious, and your head feels hazy with pleasure. “Please,” you settle for, “please touch me, please make me feel good, Ryland, please, want you to fuck me—you can do it right here against the door, if you want, I don’t care, just—”
His forehead presses into your shoulder at that, and you can tell that he’s considering his options very, very carefully. “No,” he finally whispers. “I want—something else. Can you stand?”
The answer’s a little up in the air at the moment, but you’re willing to take your chances in order to find out what exactly it is that he wants, so you nod. He gently sets you down, moving his hands to your waist to steady you against the door. There are so many feelings swirling inside of you, all at once, and it’s difficult to pick them all apart; the one you manage to discern is how cared for you feel, how safe, how loved you are.
The two of you make it halfway down the hallway, your hand in his, when he stops and mutters, “Fuck it, don’t want to wait,” and you’re about to comment on his language, because usually he refrains from cursing even when he’s not at work, out of fear that he won’t be able to switch back and forth between the two modes of speaking and thus will accidentally swear in front of a child, but he turns around and steps forward until your back is against the wall before you can say anything, and then he drops to his knees and slowly rolls your skirt up.
One of his hands slides up the back of your leg and raises it to rest on his shoulder, while the other reaches up and splays against your stomach to steady you, just like it did when you were dancing at the bar, and then he just—stares, and stares, and you wonder if he can see how wet you are, even though the hallway light is off. You’re about to ask, or maybe you’re about to beg him not to tease you, but neither of those thoughts make it out of your mouth because he surges forward to press his face into your cunt, as if he simply cannot go another second without tasting you.
Your head falls back with a thud as you squeeze your eyes shut and thread your fingers into his hair. You think you can hear one of the picture frames on the wall rattle. That would be bad, an incredibly distant part of your mind thinks, because that frame was a gift from one of his cousins, but it doesn’t fall, and his tongue is lapping at your clit so feverishly that you don’t give it a second thought.
He mumbles into your slickness the entire time, praising how good you taste, telling you how much he loves you, promising that next time he’ll touch you while you’re dancing, or maybe he’ll take you to the bathroom and make you come there, or finger you in the car on the ride home, but you’ll have to promise that you can keep quiet so the driver doesn’t hear you; because Ryland is a talker, through and through. He wants, he needs you to know exactly what he’s feeling and thinking, even when his words start to fail him and he’s babbling nonsense.
You are already so close, you’ve been close since he pulled you onto the dance floor and grasped you by the waist, since he turned you around and watched as you swallowed your drink, and you start to grind into his face. This just makes him keen and whine even more as he licks and sucks into you. “I’ve got you, so good, you’re so perfect—just want to show you a good time, just like I said I would, that’s it,” and your back arches as your first orgasm rolls through your body, and you pull his hair and keep using his face to chase the feeling.
He keeps his face there, even when you start to shudder and gasp from the overstimulation, until he finally pulls away. His glasses are slightly crooked, and you slowly reach your hand forward to set them right. He closes his eyes, then, leaning his face into your palm when it drops to rest against his cheek.
“Still good to stand?” Ryland looks up at you, and you find yourself distracted by the blue of his eyes, how striking the color is even in the dimness of the hallway. You nod, shakily, and he slowly draws your leg off of his shoulder, helping you find your footing as you follow him to the bedroom.
Part of your foggy mind begins to return to you, so you move to take your skirt off, and his hand honest-to-god slaps yours away from the fabric. Even he is surprised at this, and his eyes are a little wide. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “sorry, I just—keep it on?”
“Yeah, I can do that,” you whisper. “How do you want me?”
“Here, can you—” He guides you to the bed, helping you climb on and rest on your hands and knees. “That’s—that’s perfect, that’s exactly it, except, can you…?”
Ryland lays a hand between your shoulder blades and gently presses. You lay your face against the mattress, hips still lifted up, and fist your hands into the sheets. “Like this?”
You can’t see him, but if you could, you would see the way he looks at your body reverently, the way his hands slowly slide your skirt to bunch up at your waist. “Yes,” he breathes, “like that.”
The bed dips under his weight as he settles behind you. Somehow, he had managed to slide his pants down without you realizing it, because suddenly the head of his cock is brushing against you, gathering the wetness of your first orgasm and making you shiver.
“Please,” you whisper, and that’s all it takes for him to slowly press inside of you, and you grasp the sheets even tighter and moan raggedly. “Oh, fuck, Ryland, that’s—you feel so—oh my god.”
You—you can’t even put it into words, the way his hands grasp your hips, how he buries himself inside you and chokes out a groan. The rhythm is slow, at first, because he wants to relish the way he feels inside of you, the way your walls drag around him, but it soon deteriorates into something fast and desperate. You press your face into the mattress and gather the sheets into your mouth to muffle your cries, and the sound combined with the clenching of your cunt makes him grab one of your arms, resting it on your lower back so he can use it as leverage.
“I, I want you to—please touch yourself,” he groans, “because I don’t think—how could I, when you were moving like that and being so good, want you to come again, I don’t think I have ever wanted anything more.”
Your hips buck back into him as your free hand comes up to circle your clit, and then the only thing keeping you from collapsing against the mattress is Ryland’s hand grasping your forearm against the small of your back, on top of your bunched-up skirt. “Go—go a little slower, please, just a little, oh,” you gasp, because he does, just like you asked, because he promised you that he would show you a good time. “That’s, yes, just like that, you are so, doing so good, love the way you make me feel, love you so much.”
His hand grips your forearm a little tighter. You can tell that he’s already close, and the thought that you can make him come so quickly simply brings you that much closer to the edge again, and you drool onto the sheets until your teeth clench, until your fingers and his cock deep inside you cause all of your muscles to draw taut and then release. You cry out so loudly that you are fairly certain every other person in your apartment complex can hear it. You find that you simply do not care, just like you didn’t care when you told Ryland he could fuck you right there in the bar if he wanted to.
Your body goes limp, then, dropping down into the mattress, and he keeps fucking you, pressing his mouth against your spine and rolling his hips against yours. “Want you to come,” you sob into the bed, “want you to come inside me, want to feel it—want you to feel good, just like how you make me feel.”
He nods into your back, the frames of his glasses digging against your skin, because he refuses to take them off, because otherwise he can’t see how you look, how you writhe against him in pleasure. It does not take long; if only you could see how you look, face buried into the bed, your lower back arching just right to take him—then you would understand why he can finish so quickly, when you look the way you do beneath him.
You can feel his teeth graze against your shoulder blade when he comes, when he stills inside of you and whimpers into your skin, squeezing your hip and your arm. The two of you stay like that, just for a moment, savoring the sweat and the feeling and the euphoria, until he draws back and lays beside you, gently gathering you into his arms.
His glasses are crooked (again), so you fix them while you look up into his eyes. “So,” you whisper, “I’m guessing you liked my suggestion?”
Ryland simply laughs and hugs you a little closer. Soon, he’ll get up and get you a towel, help you clean up; for now, you relish the feeling of his skin against yours, the slickness between your thighs. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it. If I had to rate it out of ten, I’d give it a solid fifteen.”
“Fifteen?” You tilt your face to look at him. “I feel like we can up those numbers.”
“Oh, sure. But that might require some extensive trial-and-error. And some very rigorous review. For quality control.”
You smile. “Mm. I see.” He presses a kiss into your hair and dances his fingers along the length of your upper arm. “Well, sounds like we have to test it all out. For science.”
summary: The dynamic between you and Ryland had changed ever since your daughter’s birthday party, causing the both of you to ignore a big, pending question. Your relationship with him is further tested when you check out his parent-teacher conference one night.
tags: fluff, angst!!, smut, one mention of birth control, reader wears feminine clothes, jealous!reader, passenger princess Ryland, car sex, slight dom!reader, sub!Ryland, blowjob, unprotected p in v sex (stay safe y’all), breast worship, Ryland has an oral fixation with your necklace, riding, creampie, siri play casual by chappell roan
now playing: Affection - Between Friends — listen to the full playlist here
series masterlist / main masterlist / cross-posted on ao3
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a/n: buckle up, y’all!! we have major angst in this chapter >:)
this work contains smut. minors DNI
———
“Oh, I'm looking for affection in all the wrong places
And we'll keep falling on each other to fill the empty spaces
Just a little bit of affection, a little bit
Just a little bit, just a little bit”
———
Ever since that heated moment you shared with Ryland at Stella’s birthday party, the dynamic between you two had changed forever. Your relationship with him turned into a “friends with benefits”-type of situation; you had quickies with him on your couch when your daughter was having her afternoon nap upstairs, or he bent you over the bathroom counter at his apartment when she fell asleep for the night. You now had a birth control implant in your arm, so having another baby with him was out of the equation (your sanity and your wallet thanked you). You constantly craved his touch, yet what you yearned for the most was his affection. You liked to have post-sex cuddles with him, but you two never stayed the night at each other’s homes. Neither of you were complaining, but there was still something missing. The both of you were still cowards, afraid to initiate the inevitable morning discussion of “what are we?” that came with sleeping in each other’s arms for the night. You were thankful that your sweet girl wasn’t old enough to fully understand what was going on.
During lunch one weekend, Ryland casually mentioned that his school was making him do another parent-teacher conference for the end of the fall semester. You looked up from your food and asked if he needed any help for that day. You had never seen the inside of his classroom ever since he became a schoolteacher and were very excited to view all the hard work he’d done over the years. You also knew that he had a lifetime struggle with social anxiety, especially in public speaking, so you wanted to be there to give him some moral support. Ryland thanked you and grinned brightly at your proposal; he was honored to hear that you were even remotely interested in his ordinary job.
———
That Wednesday evening, you left Stella in the care of your neighbor Mrs. Smith and headed over to Grover Cleveland Middle School. You were wearing a fashionable long-sleeved white blouse, straight-fitted blue jeans, and stylish red ballet flats—a sensible outfit for a school environment. The top button of your blouse was unbuttoned to reveal your favorite pendant necklace. You’ve held on to this piece of jewelry since you were a teen; it was your lucky charm, and today, you wanted to extend that luck to Ryland. You walked over to Room 105 and knocked on the ajar door.
“Hello, is Mr. Grace here? I was informed that he needed some help with his presentation today.” you joked.
“Come right in! He’s been expecting you.” Ryland played along from the other side of the door.
You opened the door to see a plethora of vibrant colors and detailed scientific posters pasted all over the walls. On the ceiling hung a row of eight paper lanterns (plus a giant lantern to resemble the Sun and a mini lantern to resemble Pluto) that were meticulously painted to look like the eight planets in our solar system—just like the ones he made for Stella’s birthday party. There was a piece of red tape that connected Venus to the Sun, a rudimentary symbol for the godforsaken Petrova Line.
On the board, you saw the various physics equations that he wrote, remnants of the day’s lessons. At the center of his desk was a giant Newton’s cradle, a physics device used to demonstrate the conservation of momentum and conservation of energy in moving objects. It was clear that Ryland loved his students very much and wanted his classroom to look as warm and inviting as possible; he wanted all of his kids to succeed and develop a passion for learning, just like he did as a child.
“Oh my god, wow, your classroom looks amazing! Great job with all the decorating!” you cheered as you looked around the room.
“T-thank you, that’s very kind of you to say. I blew way too much money on this room, heh,” he humbly accepted your compliment.
Ryland was wearing a solid blue denim shirt under his go-to grey blazer, tucking the shirt into his classic light blue jeans. It reminded you of a Canadian tuxedo, but he could make anything look good on him. Wrapped around his neck was his school-issued ID badge; it was an old photo of him from over three years ago, when he first started this job. He had a more serious demeanor and flatter hair then—you had no idea how he got his hair to be so fluffy now.
You walked over to where he was standing at the front desk and saw a framed photo placed on it. You picked it up to see a printed selfie of you, Ryland, and Stella sitting down on a picnic blanket at a park. The three of you were smiling brightly, looking like the perfect, happy little family.
“Aww, this is such a cute picture.” Your heart swelled to see that Ryland was always thinking about you and Stella at work.
“Yeah, I like it too. That was a really great day,” he reminisced with a smile.
Before the presentation, you helped him to proofread his powerpoint slides and pass out papers to all the lab tables. Fifteen minutes later, all the parents started to file into the classroom. You chose to sit in the back so that you wouldn’t be the center of attention.
The moms started to crowd around where Ryland was standing, ogling the exposed skin on his button-up shirt. They gave him flirtatious smiles, all dolled up in their flawless makeup and meticulously-curled hair. You sat in your seat, jealousy brewing inside you. It wasn’t like you could publicly claim him; you two technically weren’t together as a couple and had never discussed the label of your relationship. Nevertheless, you were saddened to imagine him with another person: someone else who received his affection, someone else to whom he was loyal to, someone else who got to listen to his nerdy puns when they cuddled in bed together. You looked down at your fidgeting hands and bit your tongue, reminding yourself to be professional about this.
At the opposite side of the room, Ryland was panicking on the inside. He knew that the moms had the hots for him, but he had to be really careful to not accidentally send the wrong signals, especially since you were here this time. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and politely listened to all their comments, only answering their questions in a solemn manner—way different from his usually goofy self.
Ryland instructed everyone to sit down and displayed his powerpoint on the classroom projector. You heard a shakiness in his voice when he first started talking, but he started to become more confident by the third slide. Talking to hundreds of children every day had really helped him to become a better public speaker. When he directed his gaze to where you were sitting in the back, you gave him a bright smile and a thumbs up—a silent gesture to tell him that he was doing great. He smiled back at you and gave you a small nod to secretly say “thank you”.
After he finished his presentation, you waited until all the parents left the room to come up to him again. “That was a great presentation, Ry! You did so well!” You suddenly gave him a big hug, wrapping your arms around his warm, broad chest. Ryland stood frozen for a second, not expecting you to hug him, before he wrapped his large arms around your form.
“Thank you, sweetheart. I couldn’t have done it without you,” he spoke sincerely as he rested his chin against your shoulder. You hummed a “mmhm” in response, feeling your heart warm up at what he just called you.
You held onto him for a few more seconds before pulling away. “Do you want a ride home? It’s getting pretty late,” you asked him.
“Oh—uh, yeah. That’d be great, thank you.” The amount of kindness and generosity that you gave to Ryland never ceased to amaze him.
———
Ryland packed up his backpack and locked the classroom door before walking side-by-side with you to the parking lot. He unlocked his bike from the rack and wheeled it over to your car, mounting it to the back. He sat in the passenger seat while you drove. During your drives with him, he usually filled the silence by yapping about whatever nerdy topics that came to his mind, but today, he was a lot more quiet due to the exhausting day. You listened to your music on the speakers, with Ryland occasionally whistling to the melody.
While you were sitting at a red light, Ryland’s hand reached over to gently caress your thigh, his fingers basking in your plush body.
“Ry, please, I’m driving.” You let out a chuckle with a hint of nervousness.
“Sorry, sorry. I got the wrong signals tonight,” he apologized as he removed his hand from you.
“No, it’s okay. I still want this. Just… let me pull over somewhere,” you reassured him as you looked down the road for a vacant place to park.
You found the empty parking lot of an office building that was already closed for the day. You parked your car in the far back, secluded by the overbearing shadow of a large tree and the darkness of the night sky. When you turned off the engine, Ryland unbuckled his seatbelt, took off his bulky grey blazer to throw it into the backseat, and slid his seat all the way to the back—a silent invitation beckoning you to come over. You unbuckled yours in reaction, kicked off your shoes, and climbed over the center console to straddle his lap and wrap your arms around his shoulders. He raised one hand to caress your soft cheek and pulled you in to savor your lips in a heated kiss. You wailed into his mouth, and he consumed them all like a starved man.
You pulled away from his tender lips and slid down from his legs onto the car floor. You unzipped his jeans and tugged them down his muscular thighs, his hips lifting to help you slide his pants and boxers down to his ankles. His cock stood painfully erect, begging to be touched by you. You grabbed his member with one hand and lazily stroked him. You tapped his blushing tip onto your tongue with a cheeky grin, looking up at him with your wide doe eyes.
“Jesus Christ, baby. You’re killing me here…” Ryland sighed and ran a hand through his messy curls.
“You want me to stop?”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Good.”
You continued to play with him, licking a stripe from his sack all the way back up to his tip, letting your tongue run along the bulging vein on the underside of his cock. You gave a final kiss to the end, tasting his salty precum, before taking him into your mouth. You slowly swallowed him inch by inch before the majority of his length was in your throat. You started to move your head and Ryland loudly cried out your name. Looking up, you saw both of his hands covering his burning red face. You could almost laugh at his sudden shyness.
You continued to suck him off for a couple more minutes. You moved your hands to unbutton your jeans. One hand slid under your soaked panties to give quick rubs to your pulsating clit, warming you up for what was about to happen next. Your mouth vibrated against Ryland’s cock whenever you felt your cunt clench, causing him to pathetically whimper. He was at your complete mercy, pliable like putty in your hands.
Ryland suddenly gave a few gentle taps onto your puffed cheek and you looked up at him once more.
“Baby, baby… I’m gonna cum soon if you don’t stop.” His watery blue eyes gazed into yours. You gradually pulled your mouth away from his thick length, your other hand grabbing onto the base.
You ascended back onto his lap, kicking your jeans off to throw them into the backseat. You hovered over his cock and Ryland moved your drenched panties to the side, letting you take control of him. You slowly guided his cock into your cunt and sank onto him. You both gasped at the delicious fullness and you began to bounce on him. Ryland’s hands moved to quickly unbutton your blouse and unclasp your bra, throwing them onto the growing pile of clothes in the back of your car.
Ryland sucked on your nipple, burying his face in the warm haven that was your breasts. If he could, he would stay there all day long. He really missed the times when he lay on your chest and listened to your steady heartbeat until he fell asleep on the pillowy softness of your breasts. He moved on to tend to your other tit, leaving a string of saliva in between his mouth and your now-tender bud.
He saw your necklace swinging in his face and decided to put the pendant into his mouth. He sucked on the jewelry, tasting the mix of metal with your salty sweat. He moaned at the sensation, flooded by the desire to consume every single part of you.
The car was filled with the noises of your combined cries and the lewd sound of skin against skin. You unbuttoned his blue denim shirt and aimlessly ran your hands through the defined muscles of his broad chest. Ryland felt goosebumps surge through his veins. He grabbed onto the heavenly softness of your ass with one hand and moved his other hand down to your clit to rub steady circles, just how you liked it.
You continued to bounce up and down on his cock, using him to get your pleasure. Your wails grew louder and louder until you came with an intense cry from deep within your chest. You softly called Ryland’s name and he darted his eyes to see your fucked-out face.
“Please, please cum inside me. It’s all I wanna feel,” you pleaded.
“Anything for you, honey,” he sweetly replied, his voice out of breath.
He gripped both sides of your waist to help you further fuck yourself on his cock.
After feeling a final clench of your walls around his throbbing length, Ryland came with a deep moan, his hot cum spilling deep inside you. You gave him another tender kiss, feeling satisfied that he promised his word. Ryland reclined his seat and stroked the small of your back while you rested your head against his chest. You sat there for a few minutes before you looked up to see his smiling face.
“Can you get the tissues from the center console?”
“Yep, on it.”
He opened the storage box and took out some tissues from its packet. He looked back to see you carefully getting up from his softening cock and he quickly wiped up the remaining cum before it spilled onto the seat. You slipped your panties back to cover your cunt and took the tissue to throw it into the small trash can in the cubby of the passenger door, making a mental note to empty it later. You slid away from his lap to climb into the backseat. You gave Ryland his blazer back and you redressed yourself while he shimmied his pants back on in the passenger seat.
You returned to the driver’s seat and started the engine again. The windows were lowered to air out the humidity and the musky, animalistic scent of sex. You drove in a peaceful silence with him, the only noise being the music playing in the background.
When you stopped in front of Ryland’s apartment building, he leaned towards your seat and gave a goodbye kiss onto your cheek.
“Thank you for being here with me today. I’ll see you on Friday, yeah?” he asked, softly gazing at you.
“Yep. I’ll see you then. Take care,” you replied with a small smile.
After he closed the car door, grabbed his bike, and walked towards his front door, hot tears abruptly formed in your eyes, falling down to the cheek that Ryland just kissed. Why the hell are you crying again? you berated yourself. You were all too familiar with what you were feeling tonight. You shared an addictive moment of intimacy with him again, only for you to pretend that you were just his friend and the co-parent of your shared kid once more when the day was over. You were torturing yourself with this cycle of high highs followed by the lowest lows. Deep down, you felt an incredible amount of guilt for Ryland. You knew that he was an angel to you and Stella, and you didn’t want him to think that you were only using him for sex. You were still too spineless to say that you still loved him to his face, so instead, you chose to find moments of affection by hooking up with him in between the busy days of your lives. You never even corrected him when he still called you “baby” because you desperately wanted to hold on to the last thread that showed his continuous love for you. You had to decide on something soon; you were so tired of skirting around the question on whether or not you wanted to make things official with him again, but you also didn’t want to confront the truth in fear of what could happen next.
You hastily wiped off the tears from your face and drove back to your daughter waiting at home. You had to put on a brave face for her, no matter what was going to happen.
Orpheus, filled with grief, journeys to the underworld to take her back. He charms this three-headed dog, Cerberus. He beguiles Hades until finally… he’s allowed to take his love back with him to the world of the living but… under one condition. She must follow behind him, and he must not turn around to look at her. Now, as they begin their ascent, Orpheus can’t hear her footsteps, so he listens… and listens and listens and listens. But all he can hear is the sound of his heartbeat. And the rest is silence. And as he approaches the gates of the underworld… he can’t contain himself any longer. He turns around to look at her, and she is… trapped in the underworld forever.
