lozza

lauren but call me loz black baddie from derry

[fullagracefullaswag]

I YEARN FOR SMUT ABOUT PROFESSOR RYLAND, THERE IS NOT ENOUGH ABOUT HIM

tell me about it!! i search high and low for smut of him and i find NOTHING. there’s a shortage going on and it needs to be fixed.

i urge everyone to start working. i want fanfics out by YESTERDAY.

[fullagracefullaswag]

HI I LOVED YOUR SHORT DRABBLE ABOUT CHAOTIC READER, could you do some more headcannons/one shot/ anything bout them! i’m in love 🥹 ok also im new here but i quite like your blog a lot ok bye 😁

hi! i’m also very new to posting here so to hear that you enjoy what i’m doing is so lovely, thank you from the bottom of my heart 🥹

i’ve got a one shot in the works but i can’t say exactly when it’ll be coming out! i need to lock in and get writing asap

but… here’s some headcannons for you guys in the mean time:

SFW & NSFW

ryland grace who never knows whether you’ll show up late or early. there are days you stroll in an hour before class, usually when you don’t have the morning shift at work, and fool around with him until you need to find your seat. but, there are also days where you rush in half an hour after class has started. you tumble through the door juggling textbooks, coffee, and your battered phone that is extremely outdated.

chaotic!reader who has the most shaky hands ever. from all the caffeine you digest, it’s only reasonable that it takes a toll on your body. so, every movement is jittery and quick. your classmates start to ask if you’re experiencing an earthquake inside. once ryland notices how you can’t seem to be still, he makes an effort to hold your hands and rub your shoulders when he can. it grounds you, and even if only for a moment, it seems to make you slow down a little.

ryland grace who gets extremely jealous when frat boys talk to you. you tell him constantly that they only mess with you and never have any… romantic intentions, but he disagrees. because you’re beautiful, and although you are strange, people can’t deny your looks. so, even though you believe that the only reason boys talk to you is to make fun of you, ryland knows better. and when he finally gets you to himself, he makes sure that you know that no college boy could ever make you feel how he makes you feel.

chaotic!reader who’s only place of relaxation is the couch is ryland’s office. your dorm is full of unfinished assignments and empty coffee cups, and everytime you look around your bedroom you feel a wave of anxiety rush through you. so, you started finding ryland in his office between lectures and lying on his couch when you talked to him. gradually, lying on the couch became napping on it. and he doesn’t have the heart to tell you that is inappropriate in his work place, so he just watches you sleep peacefully.

ryland grace who makes sure you relax after a stressful shift. he’ll place you on top of his desk in the lecture hall, and kiss you until your brain is already mushy. he’ll push you back gently so that your back is on the wood, and spread your legs to make room for himself. his pace is always ruthless when you need a stress reliever, because he only wants you thinking about how he feels inside of you. not the rude customers at rush hour, or how your coworker “accidentally” dropped a latte on you when pushing past. only on how hard he thrusts into you, and all the sweet praise he whispers into your ear as he does so.

chaotic!reader who likes to corner ryland after class. early on into your relationship, he’d emphasise how terrible he was for doing this to you, and how easy it would be for him to lose his job if someone found out. so, there were days where he would turn you away and tell you to go back to your dorm and finish assignments. but when there’s too much tension and stress inside of you, you need to find a way to release it. which means you’d have to corner him at his desk, begging and demanding that he finishes what he started. every single time, it ended with him unbuttoning his jeans and pulling you into his lap, saying “this is the last time, okay?”

ryland grace and chaotic!reader who have a thread of emails that seem professional on his end. if a staff member were to read through them, they’d most likely think that Dr Grace was just dealing with a student who overshares. but in reality, you and ryland have come up with some kind of formal flirting through email. you like to tease him, emailing at ungodly hours about personal things while he forgets to breathe on the other side of the screen. you’re too risky for his liking, but he’ll always reply with something that encourages you. for example…

reader: could i stay after class today?

grace: what for?

reader: the reproductive system

grace: that’s not on the curriculum. why should i teach you about that?

reader: you already taught me, professor. i thought maybe i could do a presentation for you.

meanwhile ryland has already decided to cut class short today just to make time for you.

this is not proof read

requests are open! any and all questions or ideas are welcome. i’d love to hear from you guys.

[johnbsangel]

bishop who had been at it for at least an hour, soft tongue licking all over your pussy. the inside of your thighs soaking his beard, dripping down your ass. bishop sat on his knees in front of the couch, his big hands under your thighs: shoving them into your chest.

“fuck baby, eat that pussy.” your breathing is heavy as your throw your head back. his lips latch onto your clit, if you didn’t know any better you’d think he’s trying to leave a hickey on your clit.

the sounds are vulgar as he slurps you up, your eyes rolling back and your thighs start shaking around his head again, “I’m gonna cum, daddy, fuck.” he lets out a loud growl in response, shoving his tongue inside of you, tongue fucking your pussy.

your legs drop as you cum, bishop licking up all the mess; “fuck daddy.” you moan. he gives you clit on last kiss, kissing up your tummy, stopping to suck one of your nipples for a second before kissing you mouth; letting you taste yourself.

your eyes are locked on each other as he stands, unbuckling his belt slowly.

“gonna make you feel real good.”

[fullagracefullaswag]

thinking about professor ryland grace and chaotic student reader.

reader who is hanging on by a thread. you’re a complete mess, working overtime at your shitty underpaid job, where sorority girls and frat boys come just to make fun of you. you’re not socially accepted, because you’re too loud and honest to fit into any group. but you tell yourself it’s fine. it doesn’t matter. because your favourite professor, the only one who makes you feel like you have a chance in life, is there to relieve your stress everyday.

grace doesn’t care that everyone thinks your weird. he thinks your beautiful, and that you just haven’t figured life out yet. he’s there to help you with that, though. he’ll ask what you’re planning on doing after graduation while you’re bent over his desk and are being pushed further and further into it as he thrusts into you. he’ll ask some questions that are relevant to your next paper while he’s two fingers deep inside you, with another couple circling your clit. he’ll even ask how your job is going while your legs are wrapped around his waist and you can feel his cock so far inside you, you swear you’ve finally found some peace in your life.

and grace will always come to the coffee shop you work at. every morning, without fail, he’ll show up and order a simple coffee just to see you. he can make them at college, or at home. but he chooses to come and see you. and he will always tip more than he can afford, because he knows what it’s like to be a student scraping by. it’s part of the reason he agreed to this arrangement with you. he knows how stressful it is, and he wished he could’ve had someone who let him relax every now and then. he’s glad he can be that for you.

and grace never looks at you like you’re anything less than perfect. when everyone else watches you like you’re a jittery, stupid mess, he sees that you’re trying your best as a playful young person in a world that isn’t ready for you. so when he sees all the snickers and dirty looks you get during presentations, he makes sure to praise you even more when he’s fucking you after class. because you deserve to be treated well. you deserve to have your brain shut off for a while when it’s so full all of the time. you deserve to be filled up another way.

requests are open!! give me reasons to write for ryland more… please.

[fernstyx]

mildly repressed ryland with a pathetic masochist reader, and he's trying so so hard to stay gentle, because you deserve that, you deserve soft and loving and slow, but you keep whimpering "hurt me, hurt me, hurt me" and he's rapidly losing his self-control. can anyone hear me

[whenthegoldrays]

project hail mary + text posts (part 2/?)

[rottensec]

smut 18+

"nuh uh, cut that out." You whined. Your hand still holding his cigarette box, one stick half way out as you aim your pout at him. "Come on, March—", you dragged his name. "It's just one", you almost took it out.

Almost.

His hand wrapped around your chin. Oh, your jaw fit so snuggly in his hand. His fingers softly rough against your skin. It felt so nice. He held it with comfortable pressure as he guided your face to look at him. "What'd I say, baby?"

Your head cleared from the sensation of his hand before the pout deepened on your lips. Brows furrowing before you practically threw the packet on the bed. It landed with a soft sound, one or two sticks spilling out.

You dragged yourself away from his touch. Getting off the bed as you stomped your way out of the room. Normally, when you got pissed or acted bratty with Holland, you'd just go to Holly's room and hang out with her.

But, today wasn't one of those days because she had her sleepover at Jessicas.

You stood by the window before you heard a small huff. "Come on sugar—", footsteps. He was coming closer. A hand placed on your shoulder as he turned you. You kept your frowned gaze on the floor. Both of his hands pressed your shoulders before sliding down to your waist.

Pulling you closer, you felt the warmth of his body pressing into yours now. It made your stomach feel light, it always did. His brought his hand up as he guided your face to look up at him, you did. Because, you always did what he wanted you to.

"I just don't want your lips to get stained, pretty", his thumb ran over your bottom one. Pulling it down slightly to expose your bottom gums.

"or your voice to get less sweet than it is", his hand moved with his words. Sliding down your neck, his thumb pressing slightly into your windpipe to make you feel the pressure.

"or your lungs to get tainted", he hummed. Stepping closer as he nosed at the side of your head. Breathing in as he pressed a kiss on your hairline, "I wish I could smell you. Bet you'd smell as good as you taste, isn't that right baby?", you could hear the smile in his voice. You felt your face heat up. Pervert.

Maybe the real pervert was you.

Your body moved in sync with his thrusts. Clothes scattered around. The smoke curling around you as you moaned. Moaned like a bitch in heat with a muzzle. Because you did have a muzzle. The muzzle was his thumb.

In your mouth, sitting idle. Your teeth grazed the bottom of it with every movement. Tongue slack against it. Sucking everytime you had to swallow. Pushing your tongue against it when you whined.

"yeah?", his voice echoed in your mind like it was an empty room. "Just needed my thumb, hm?", his unoccupied hand ran up and down your leg that he perched on top of his shoulder, ankle next to his ear. You could feet the wet butt of his lit cigarette against your sweaty sensitive skin as well.

"pretty baby needed her suckle while getting filled", he rocked with his words. Each word punched in with another rut. Making you float. Your back arched, a whine left your lips. Spit pooled in your mouth, making you splutter slightly.

Hips moved against his. "What? Can't even swallow now? Need me to make you swallow, baby? Yeah?", you could hear the mock.

And, Lord you loved it.

You could feel yourself inching closer and closer. You were right there. The itch started to feel good. And you wanted to keep scratching. Scratch until it keeps pooling and pooling. You don't want it to end. Holland noticed it.

"come on baby, you can do it", he drawled. His hand holding the cig moved to rub at your clit. Fast flicks. You could feel the faint heat of the cigarettes burnt end. The embers lighting orange before falling on your sweaty stomach. The grey transitioning into black when it mixed with your sweat.

"cum baby, come on. Don't hold it.", that was it. That did it. Your hands closed around the wrist of his hand. Mouth fully wrapping around his thumb as yours eyes closed from the pleasure. Hips moving, legs clenching close as you ride it out.

Feeling yourself spasm a few times before you released his thumb, breathing in properly. He took the cig in his mouth, taking a puff before moving on top of you.

He smiled at you, you looked at him through hooded eyes, lips parting to say something but he didn't give you a chance.

A puff of smoke swirled in your face. Making you close your eyes, take a surprised gasp. Mistake. You inhale it and you coughed. It burned. Small but really bad. Your eyes watered from the sudden smoke and you coughed.

You blinked up at him, your eyes teary. His teeth flashed before he laughed. "What, sugar? You said you wanted try." Smug asshole.

a/n: I'd act like the biggest baby and brat around him.. sorry...

[eedweiz]

Adrian is here!! ​​🥳​🎉​

[puredani]

waking up ryland with ur pretty mouth… ♡

warnings/tags. oral (m receiving), consensual somnophilia, smut, no use of y/n, 18+ themes ahead !!

Rylands eyes blink open as the warm morning sun hits his face. A smile tugs on his face as he swings his arm over to wrap around you but— you’re not there. Your side is empty. He furrows his brows, eyes darting around the room for any sight of you. But, you weren’t anywhere to be found.

Just as Ryland sits up to call out for your name he feels a familiar heat surge through his body. He suddenly felt really hot— as if there was no cool air to spare. He found himself digging his short nails into his mattress, while spotting a movement underneath the duvet that was covering the bottom of his body.

Ryland reached one of his hands out and peeled the duvet off, only to find you between his legs; your pretty lips wrapped around his dick and your hands pressed against his thighs.

Your eyelids flutter open and you look up at him to meet his gaze. Your eyes were watery and your jaw was slack. Ryland absentmindedly bucks his hips up, causing the tip of his dick to hit the back of your throat, a muffled gag erupts from you, making his dick twitch inside of your warm mouth.

“Fu- I’m sorry, baby.” Ryland moans as his hand find his ways to your head; fingers tangling into your hair for support. You hum in response which sends vibrations straight to his dick. His head falls back, squeezing his eyes shut, feeling the way your tongue circles around his cock and teases his sensitive tip.

He doesn’t even know how long you’d been under the blanket, sucking him off like your life depended on it. But, his thighs were wet— smeared with your drool that was dripping out of your mouth. He couldn’t help but imagine what it’d look like to have his cum and saliva dripping out of your mouth and onto him.

His head falls forward, straining back a moan. “off- off baby.” You pout but comply with the request. You slip his cock out of your mouth with a soft ‘pop’. “…Did I do something wrong?”

Your voice was raspy and quiet. Ryland quickly shakes his head with wide eyes, “Jesus Christ- no. I just wanna be able to see you better, baby.” He reaches over to the nightstand with a soft grunt and grabs his glasses, unfolding them and sitting them on the bridge of his nose.

With a soft sigh, he gives you a nod to continue. Your lip twitches into a smile as you take ryland back into your mouth— deeper this time. Your cheeks become hallow as you do your best to make him cum in your mouth.

But, just by the sight of you; ryland already feels his balls tighten. Your messy hair, the bubbles of spit forming around your mouth. And god- the thought of you soaking wet in your panties did it for him. His body becomes limp, he falls back onto the bed and his head hits the soft pillow with a strangled moan escaping from him.

You feel his warm seed spill into your mouth, which urges you to take his cock even further down your throat causing you to gag around him once again— you squeeze your eyes shut and pulls off of his cock, making sure to swallow every last drop of his cum.

You gasp for air as you look up at ryland who was doing the exact same thing. You lick the corners of your mouth, moaning quietly at the bitter taste. You hum in pride and crawl next to ryland, snuggling against his sweaty body.

“Did- did I cum in your mouth?” He whispers, ashamed of himself. You hum with a soft ‘yes’. He whines in embarrassment and mumbles a soft ‘sorry’, before asking: “did you spit it out?”

You shake your head as you lick your lips, “well- what’d you do with it…?” Ryland asks, looking over at you. You leaned over, fixing his askew glasses, “I swallowed it.” You admitted shyly, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth.

A smirk creeps up onto Ryland’s face as he reaches his hand out and pets your head, stroking his fingers through your hair. “You’re unbelievable.”

I wrote this half asleep but I felt I needed to post something and it needed to be about my current obsession with Ryland grace… i love that nerd so much <3 FYI. I have no idea have sperm taste… I’m just guessing guys…

[selenitasofi]

boy fuck you and your genius brain and those big ass biceps and your pretty smile i’m irritated

[cornmandog]

Like a child just wandering in a garden… yanking leaves…

[beskarrd]

EXTRA CREDIT

Pairing: Professor!Ryland Grace x Student!Reader

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 backing 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-” you 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?” 

Ryland rolled his eyes. “Don’t start with me.”

[fullagracefullaswag]

𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐎

RYLAND GRACE x READER

summary on the brink of an impossible mission, you and ryland are left to navigate everything you’ll never get the chance to have.

word count 10.2k

genre angst + smut + fluff

warnings female! reader, scientist! reader, reader is emotionally unavailable, idiots in love, smut smut smut, fingering, small amount of oral, p in v, unprotected sex, cumming inside, crying while fucking, reader kinda hates herself, ryland loves reader a lot, major character death, follows canon storyline

a/n i wrote this in a day. i’m so obsessed with ryan gosling, i ended up writing the longest one shot i have ever written in 24 hours. im so locked in. is this what crack feels like?

also, i do not hate eva stratt. i love her. this is written from readers point of view and she is just frustrated with life.

and yes, the title is a phoebe bridgers song. i suggest you listen to it around the middle of this fanfic.

cross posted to ao3 @ifoundgodinthevoid

Damn Eva Stratt. The phrase repeats in your head over and over as you observe the man standing in front of you. He is just doing his job, as you should be, but he’s so distracting. You don’t want to admit it, but he’s keeping you from your work.

You stand there, attempting to look thoughtful and focused, but your eyes linger on his arms. You appreciate the humour of his shirts, but you don’t mind the way they make his biceps look either.

You try to snap out of it. You’re going to space, and you’re going to leave him behind here. You can’t afford to be distracted in this way, especially by someone you could never have. Well, you could have him. You just couldn’t keep him.

It’d be wrong for you to even try. Launch is only four days away, and although the idea is tempting, there’s no point. A night of passion and happiness for you could make him the most miserable man on Earth while you’re gone.

Grace feels everything so deeply and wears his emotions on his sleeve. You’d be evil to make that a bad thing. You could have him hooked around your finger all the way from space, decades into the future. He’d follow you anywhere, that’s the problem.

He doesn’t try to hide it anymore, which just makes it worse. He knows that you know how he feels, and he doesn’t care. He just wants you.

Damn Eva Stratt. She is the one who is stopping you from this. If you could, you’d tell him that the feeling is mutual and then love him for the rest of your life. But, if you don’t do the job she gave you, the rest of your life would be short and depressing. And if you were to love Ryland Grace, you’d want him to be the happiest man in the world. You just can’t give him that, no matter what you do. In every conclusion, he will be sad and lonely.

As you curse Stratt in your head, you realise he’s been staring back. For how long, you don’t know. But he’s smiling at you, and he’s looking at you with so much love and admiration that it makes you sick. God, how could someone like him even look at you like that? You’re a terrible mix of selfish and selfless, and you’d much rather die than label yourself as one or the other.

He has stopped everything he was doing, and is now just looking at you. You flush, which isn’t your usual reaction, but it is the only one you can manage. He smiles a little harder at that, which makes you smile behind your hands. Could you be any more pathetic? The two of you, acting like teenagers in a coming of age, while the risk of becoming extinct creeps closer. Okay, maybe you’re selfish. You’ve been called worse.

“Why are you hiding?” He asks, with a voice so sweet it could be made of honey.

You don’t respond. You place your elbows on the counter, and giggle into your hands at the absurdity of this situation. You, a world class scientist, have become a babbling idiot at a man who wears his glasses like a beard.

You hear him laugh. The sound is a little muffled from your perspective, but it sounds as beautiful as birds waking you in the morning. You wish he would be the one to wake you each morning. Oh, shut up. You are becoming increasingly frustrated at your brain.

Damn Eva Stratt. Damn her for making you work with this man, and damn her for sending you away from him.

Damn Eva Stratt. Damn Eva Stratt.

“Damn Eva Stratt.” You tell him.

He huffs, “Sure.”

You bring your hands from your face and look at him now. He looks unimpressed, but amused at the same time.

“What? You disagree?”

“No.”

You say nothing. You keep looking at his face, searching for any indication that he is lying. All you find is an upwards tug on his lips and a tired look beneath his eyes. That’s fair, you think. You both haven’t slept in a day or two.

“I think she’s doing the best with what she’s got.”

“Sounds like a dig at me, Ryland.” You smirk.

His eyes widen and he immediately shakes his head. You were only joking, but he seems to panic at the idea that he hurt your feelings.

“What? No! I just think that this is a pretty bad situation, and you have to do some bad to get some good, right?” He defends.

“And you’re, like, the best scientist I’ve ever met…”

“What was that?”

“Hmm?”

He looks up to meet your teasing eyes, and you both smile at each other. You scrunch your nose playfully, before looking back down to continue your work. He takes a little longer to get back on task, more focused on the structure of your face than what he is supposed to be doing.

He thinks you’re beautiful. He’s told you more times than you can count, and you have to ignore him. You wish that he would understand why, but he doesn’t. All he sees is how you refuse to let him love you the way he’d like to. It’s for good reason, though. He has to realise that. He is smart enough to know that you are prioritising the mission here.

But, it kills you. You wish that you could be selfish here. Sometimes, you let yourself contemplate what life would be like with him.

You would wake up entangled from the night before. You’d be warm, flushed, and settled against his chest. The sun would be slowly rising by the time you opened your eyes, and the light would bleed over his perfect face as he sleepily looked up at you. You’d be the first to move, and he’d try to keep you for a little longer, but you’d persist and eventually get him up too.

The two of you would make breakfast in the kitchen, probably something mature like eggs and toast, or bacon with coffee. And you’d eat next to each other, talking about your plans for the day and what you were going to do together that night. It wouldn’t be fancy, just a movie night on the couch that you share.

But, it couldn’t happen. Even if you didn’t go on this suicide mission, the world would collapse before you could think to buy an apartment together. You have to let the rest of the world enjoy those luxuries. Ryland will be able to live that dream out, with a woman who can love him like you want to.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks.

He’s clearly been watching you. He notices how your face moves and all your tells now. He knows you. It’s a scary thought, because he is going to be the last person who will. Part of that is almost comforting. At least he will remember you kindly. Not selfish, but as a hero.

“You.” You answer.

It’s blunt, but it’s true. You are always thinking of him. He’s the only thing that feels worth thinking of.

“Me? Why?”

He sounds surprised, like he didn’t expect you to admit it. Neither did you, if you were being honest. He makes being vulnerable seem so easy. You hate that.

“What else is there to think about?” You smile. It comes out a little too flirty.

Strangely, he doesn’t think about it.

“Well…” He sighs.

He wants to talk about how you’re being sent to space to die.

You’ve never understood why people feel so inclined to talk about feelings all the time. You don’t want to talk about how terrified you are, and how scary it is that you might be the reason the whole population goes extinct. It would just make you even more anxious.

He doesn’t get that, though. He loves to talk about his feelings. He tells you about them all the time. And you enjoy it, really. You like to hear how he thinks and how he watches the world go by. It’s calming.

You don’t finish his sentence for him. You don’t want to, because it would lead to an uncomfortable conversation that you would hate to have. He’s looking at you, though. He expects you to confide in him.

You open your mouth, and he perks up.

“It’s fine. It’s my job.” You tell him.

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t terrible.” He huffs.

“It’s not. It’s just how it is.”

“Well, I wish it was different.”

You look at each other. You hesitate, because so do you. You wish this wasn’t the situation, but it is. And you have to come to terms with it. You have no choice anymore. He can’t stop this, and neither can you. There is no point in entertaining the idea that something can happen.

“Grace.” You sigh, fidgeting with some samples.

You sound like an exasperated parent, telling their child off for the thousandth time. It’s quite accurate, actually. You’ve had a conversation like this many times. He just doesn’t understand why you won’t let him have you while he can.

“What? Can I not tell you that I wish you weren’t being sent on a suicide mission?”

You chuckle at him, “You can tell me whatever you want.”

He pauses, letting out a shaky breath. That sound makes you nervous. You look at him, and he’s staring at you. Very intensely.

He looks like he is deciding something.

“I love you.” He blurts.

Your eyes widen. Well, he’s never said that before. He’s told you that you’re beautiful, and that you’re the most amazing human he has ever known, and that he is a very lucky man to be in your presence, but never that.

Damn Eva Stratt.

“What?” You say quietly.

“I-” He starts, but then grumbles something incoherent.

“Don’t say that.”

It comes out harshly, and you didn’t mean it to. But, he’s frustrating you. And he needs to understand that you can’t give in to all your desires. Especially when it’s your home at stake.

He opens his mouth, but shuts it again. He looks defeated, and a little ashamed. Good, you think. He shouldn’t have said that.

“Why would you tell me that, Grace? What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Say it back.” He retorts. He sounds surer than he looks.

“No. Why should I?”

“Because you should be honest.”

You scoff.

“What? Is it not true?”

You roll your eyes, but they fall back to him. His posture is straighter, but he looks nervous. In fact, he looks exhausted. Not because of the lack of sleep, but because of how you hide from him.

“Can you just say it, please? Make me feel like I’m not crazy?”

He sounds so desperate. You can’t believe you do this to him.

“Grace…”

“Please?”

You exhale, looking at him. He’s like a puppy. So in need of love and affection, and always looking for it in the wrong place. You wish he would find any other woman to beg for. Actually, just the thought of that hurts you. But, you have no right to be jealous. If he can’t have you, he should be able to have someone else.

“I can’t- I…” You stutter.

Why are you stuttering? You never stutter. You are so confident. What is happening?

He gets up from his lab stool and crosses over to you. You back away, still mumbling and trying to find the right words. He looks concerned, but hopeful. He shouldn’t be hopeful. You shouldn’t have let him feel that way.

He says your name like it’s something worth holding onto. It slips off his tongue like it was always there, and it fills the air with a heaviness that you’ve never felt before.

He places his hands on your shoulders gently, holding you from running out the door. He is looking right at you. Into your soul, past all the lies and fears, and to the deepest part of you. And he loves it. He loves every part of you, even when he shouldn’t.

“Just tell me, please.”

Are you crying? Your eyes feel full and something is running down your face. Whatever it is, Grace’s thumb wipes it away. And now, his hand is cupping your cheek like it’s precious.

You can’t fight the way he’s holding you…

But if you say it, there’s no going back.

So you don’t.

You capture his lips in a desperate rush of frustration and passion. You pour all your hatred into it. The hate you have for yourself for waiting so long to do this and the hate you have for doing it at all. You really should not be doing this. But if you’re going to die anyway, you may as well let yourself feel some happiness while experiencing your last days on Earth.

He wastes no time putting a hand on your waist. He places the other on your head, and pulls you so close you almost become one being. You wouldn’t mind that, you think. It’d be a nice way to live. You would never have to leave him, no matter where you were forced to go.

Your hands find their way to his cheeks, and you have to stand on your tiptoes to get to his lips. For someone who likes to seem big and strong, you enjoy feeling smaller in his arms. Having him there to protect you for tonight, is more comforting than anything any of your crew mates have told you.

The kiss is clumsy and harsh, but it’s so painfully you that more tears flow from your tired eyes. You’re going to miss this, even if you only have it once. You’re going to miss him, and this stupid lab, and all the stupid late nights that led to this moment.

He doesn’t let you dwell on it because he picks you up and places you on the laboratory bench. Not even missing a beat. Impressive. Weirdly smooth for Ryland Grace.

You move your hand from his cheeks to tangle in his hair that is a little greasy from neglect. Turns out, saving the world from mass extinction can make you forget to shower once in a while. Luckily, you showered this morning, so you’re clean enough for what’s to come.

He barely pulls away to mumble something, and by the time he’s gone, he’s back again. The pure desperation of his actions makes you chuckle into his mouth. You pull him away with his hair, making him whimper a little.

“What did you say?” You giggle, still holding him by his head like a puppeteer.

“I just… I said that you’re beautiful.” He says, still catching his breath.

You smile. Every time he has said that to you, you’ve brushed it off and told him to be quiet. Now, you let yourself relish it. You are going to let yourself enjoy tonight.

“So are you.”

He smiles. You’ve never said that so plainly. Actually, you’ve never told him something so clear before. You know that he is also going to enjoy tonight. You don’t let yourself think about the rest of his nights after you leave.

He kisses you again, and this time it’s slower. He’s savouring you, and you don’t blame him. It won’t be long till you’re gone.

You deepen the kiss, loosening your grip on his hair and instead running your fingers through it. It’s soft, though dirty, and it’s a feeling you don’t want to forget. His fingers rub gentle circles in your waist, grounding you. It reminds you to think of the present, not the future.

His hands sneak up the bottom of your tank, massaging your back. The touch is comforting, and it’s clear he wants to feel as much of your skin as he can. So, you let him.

You break the kiss. At first, he looks a little disheartened. But then he sees you grab your top and lift it over your head, and his eyes light up again. After you throw it away, you smile at each other. It’s childish, but you feel giddy. Sitting here, topless in front of your crush. It’s like high school again.

On the plus side, you aren’t wearing a bra. So he doesn’t have to take minutes out of your time trying to undo it, and he can just admire your breasts with no fuss. From the way he captures them in his hands, you see he plans to do just that.

You throw your head back as he looks at you through the top of his glasses. He watches for any reaction you have, and loses himself in the way you grin at his movements. Your happiness is the reason for his.

“Ryland?” You mutter, eyes closed and facing the ceiling.

He hums in response, too focused on what he’s doing and the joy it’s giving you to really answer.

“Why do you like me?”

Your tone is casual, and your head drops so you can see him again. You open your eyes to watch as he beams at the question. It makes you giggle a little, the way he answers while working on the button of your jeans.

“Well, uh…” He starts, popping it open and moving to the zip.

“You’re smart, you keep me on my toes, you’re-”

“Beautiful?” You finish for him, so used to hearing the phrase that it feels wrong not to say it for him.

He nods, unzipping your jeans and pulling them off once you lift your hips. You wrap your legs around him, bringing him close to kiss him again. He isn’t distracted from his work, however, and rubs the top of your thighs patiently.

You soon realise that while you are sitting half naked, he is fully clothed. That just won’t do. You creep your hands towards his shirt and try to tug it over his head, but he won’t let you. Or, he’s too lost in the kiss to realise what you’re doing.

“Ryland.” You say, bringing him back to Earth for a second.

“Hmm? Oh, sorry.” He smiles, pulling away and taking his shirt off for you.

He doesn’t think much of it, but damn if he hasn’t got the best body you’ve seen. You knew from his biceps that he works out, but you never expected this from Ryland Grace. The abs, the tanned muscle… all of it. He could be a bikini model.

You run your hands over his stomach, leading up to his chest and eventually settling at his neck. He closes his eyes, thinking about nothing but your touch for now. Your lips turn up at his peaceful expression, and you place a sweet kiss on his jaw.

Your legs, which had dropped from his waist after he pulled away, are dangling over the end of the bench. He stands between them, one hand near the top and the other rubbing your waist. You’re just looking at each other now. Taking in everything you haven’t before, and trying to remember all the tiny details you will forget in years to come.

He moves again, but this time, he lifts your legs, and you place your feet on the edge of the table. He’s awfully close, and you feel it as his thumb begins to trace your inner thigh. You move your arms from around his neck and steady them behind you, keeping you from lying down completely. You can see him perfectly from here, and he can see you in the way he’s been dreaming of.

The two of you have found yourselves in a staring contest while he moves your underwear to the side. You bite your lip before it can pull upwards and decide to gaze at the ceiling instead of watching him. He doesn’t notice because he’s too enchanted by what’s in between your legs. He just can’t believe that this is happening. You, distant and dishonest, are letting him love you. You, who refused to let him call you beautiful even when you wanted to, are sitting in front of him with spread legs and a contented face.

His eyes skim over your jaw, then your neck, all the way down to where his fingers are hovering.

“Can I?” He stutters, losing composure at the thought that he might have a chance.

You hum, but it’s not enough. He’s still waiting.

“Please, Ry. I need you.” You decide.

His eyes shoot up at the declaration. You… need him? He never thought he’d hear those words from you. Needing someone is a foreign concept to you. You refuse help, tell him off for offering support and would die before telling anyone how you really feel. But you need him for tonight, at least. And then you’re on your own.

He strokes a finger through your folds, wetting them with your arousal. You let out a small noise at the feeling, with it being one you haven’t experienced for a while. Living on a boat in the middle of the ocean can do things to your social life, but it’s detrimental to any romance. Everyone is tired, or seasick, or too busy to even think about having sex. But not you and Grace. You two have been thinking about this for a while.

He slowly teases your entrance, making you squirm underneath him. You’re beginning to think you have never felt true happiness before this moment. Everything just feels so right. Especially his finger, which is now planted inside of you.

Your mouth drops open, and your brows furrow at the sensation. This is what salvation feels like.

He begins to pump it in and out. If you are this full from one finger, how are you going to handle two? Or even more, his-

“Jesus Christ…” You moan to the sky.

You feel his breath on your neck now, and as he moves to close the gap, you feel another finger inside. You let out a moan at the overwhelm. His mouth attacks the curve of your neck, and his fingers pull and push the coil in your stomach. Even though his moments are slow, you feel yourself starting to unravel already. For someone out of the game, he sure as hell knows what he is doing.

From his angle, he can hear all the noises you make. Your quiet whines, whimpers and hums flood his ears like a sweet melody. You’re perfect, he thinks. You are the most perfect girl he’s ever seen, and he’s so mad that this is it.

His movements pick up as he kisses up to the source of all your sounds. He muffles them, taking what you’re giving and storing it in a part of his brain that can keep you around longer than he can.

You reach down between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing it. You moan loudly into his mouth at the feeling, but he takes your hand away before it can bring you over the edge.

You don’t get a chance to ask what he’s doing, because he quickly replaces the hand he removed. Your arms betray you, and you lie down on your back instead, unable to hold yourself up any longer.

“Are… you close?”

You nod, biting your lip to try not to be so loud. There are probably people walking around outside, unaware of what is going on in here. They trust the two of you to get on with your work. But here you are, with his fingers inside of you and glossy eyes.

He’s so gentle, it’s like he thinks you will break. He leans down, placing a soft kiss on your stomach. Just at the sight of it, you snap. You’ve never had someone be so kind to you. Especially while looking down at you and making you cry out.

He fucks you through the high, kissing in between your chest and back down to your belly button while you let out soft moans. After you relax again, he pulls his fingers out and replaces them with his mouth, taking everything you’ve been so afraid to give. You moan again at the excessive attention, but he quickly comes back to pull you up from your position.

“Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head, “No. You could never hurt me.”

You smile and kiss him, which he happily complies with.

“Do you want to…” He starts, but gets too awkward to finish.

“Can we go to your room?”

He looks a little surprised, but nods before he can say something stupid. He doesn’t let you find your own clothes. Quickly, he searches the room for your tank that was thrown away in the process of getting it off. You watch as you jump from the bench and pull your jeans up from the floor. He’s more excited than a child in a candy store.

You give him some credit, though. He has been waiting for this for weeks and has put his image on the line just to be rejected again and again. He’s done his time, and now you plan to reward him for being so patient.

After you both are fully clothed, you grab his hand to lead him from the lab. There’s still some unfinished work waiting on the bench, which is now a little messier than before, but that’s for another day. Someone can fix that tomorrow while you’re checking out the launch facility in Kazakhstan.

You don’t even get to open the door before he’s kissing you again. You giggle into each other while you make out, but eventually you find the handle blindly and push it open. He quickly snaps back to normal, brushing himself off and walking into the hallway.

You laugh, following along and greeting all your colleagues who are walking to the bar Stratt set up. It was nice of her to do that, and you do enjoy it some nights, but you know that alcohol doesn’t stand a chance against what is in store for you tonight.

When you make it to the quiet corridor of dormitories, you grab his hand again and race to his room. You’ve been in there a few times, usually when he misses his alarm and is therefore late for work. You are the one who has to come and wake him, but you’ve always been careful not to snoop around too much. That’s not what you’re thinking about anymore, however.

When you get there, he pushes the door open with a smile.

“My humble abode.” He proclaims.

You step inside, still grinning from the adrenaline of it all. It’s small, messy, and exactly how you imagined his room would look like in light. You turn to face him, and he looks very proud of himself.

“The light?” You say.

“What?”

“Turn off the light, Grace. I don’t want to have sex in bad lighting.”

“Oh, right.” He nods and flips the switch.

It’s not total darkness, but it’s much nicer. The moonlight bleeds in from the window, and he looks almost ethereal from where you’re standing. Suddenly, you don’t want to laugh anymore. You just want him.

You lean in, and he must get the idea because he’s walking you backwards to his bed while kissing you slowly. He takes off your tank, and it hits him all over again. You’re just so beautiful, he can’t help but shiver at the sight of you.

You take off your jeans while he removes his clothing, and eventually you’re both bare and desperate. He’s bigger than you expected, which is endearing. However, he doesn’t give you much time to look as he moves you all the way back on his bed. Your head is laid on the pillow while he presses his lips to yours. Now, he’s lying over you and looks better than you’ve ever seen him before.

Your fingers brush the nape of his neck, reminding yourself to stay in the moment. It’s hard, knowing that this is all you can have, but it’s better than nothing. You know that if you didn’t get this, you’d regret it for the rest of your lonely life.

When your legs wrap around his waist, you feel him poking your inner thigh. He groans a little, and you know he’s trying to hold off and take as much time as possible. You don’t want that, though. You need him now.

“Please, Ry.”

“I know, I-”

He lines himself up and takes a shaky exhale before pushing in. You’re already blabbering, stretching out around him so perfectly it feels as though you were made for each other. His head falls to your neck, pressing sweet kisses to your shoulder as he bottoms out.

You stay like that for a while, just holding each other. It makes you cry. You know this is the last time anyone will touch you like this, and it makes you nauseous. This is it. This is all you get. Maybe you haven’t made peace with that yet. Or, maybe Ryland has undone all your progress in the matter.

He must hear your quiet sobs because he looks up from your neck to see you. You shut your eyes, embarrassed that you can’t keep it in anymore, and let out a real cry for the first time since you were given your job. He hesitates for a second, just observing you. He’s never seen you like this before.

“It’s okay, I know.” He murmurs, kissing away the tears that are falling.

You shake your head. It’s not okay. None of this is acceptable. How can you accept that this is the end? You’ve just got him, and he’s going to be ripped away from you in a few days. That’s not fair.

“I know, sweetheart.”

His voice is shaky now, like he’s trying to stay strong.

“I can’t- I’m scared, Ry. I can’t do it.” You weep.

“Yes, you can. You can do it. You’re the only person who can do it.”

“No, I… I don’t want to do it. I want-”

You stop yourself, replacing the last word with a heavier sob. He strokes your hair, giving you affirmations that you can’t hear anymore. Everything is blurred now.

“Please, just…” You murmur, before kissing him through your tears. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him even closer. He doesn’t expect that from you, but he understands. He wants you close too.

He gives you what you ask for. He starts to move backwards, before pushing in again. Your whimpers blend to moans as he uses his grip on your waist to pull you towards him.

You clench around him as you cry, making him whine into the darkness. He can’t last much longer, but neither can you. You’re already sensitive from his fingers, and your mind is too full to think about anything other than the way he fills you up.

Your nails scratch at his broad back, trying to keep yourself grounded in any way. He’s still attempting to kiss away any tears that fall, but it’s becoming harder as his movements get sloppier and less calculated. He’s desperate in the same way you are. He just wants to keep you forever, even if he knows it’s impossible.

You feel something wet trickle down your collarbone, and you soon realise that he is crying as well. You run your fingers through his hair to comfort him, but it just makes him shiver.

You both chase the high you’ve been seeking all night. You’re connected, in more ways than one, and soon whatever you have will be lost. You’re leaving him here to live his life without you, and you don’t know what to do with that. All you can do is let him make you cry out for the second time tonight. He’s not far behind you, spilling inside before he can think twice about it.

He collapses on your chest, and you kiss the top of his head as you hold him tightly. You don’t want him to go. You want to savour this moment forever. You don’t want to feel the emptiness of losing him.

But, after minutes of silence, he pulls out and lies next to you. You don’t say anything. What is there to say? He’s just looking at you now. He isn’t waiting anymore, he’s just taking you in.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble.

You don’t expect those words to come from your mouth, but they find their way out anyway.

“For what?” He whispers, matching your volume. He sounds cautious, like he’s scared you’re going to run off.

“For this. I shouldn’t have done this to you.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I…” You can’t think of anything else to say.

“I’m sorry.” You repeat.

He stays quiet. He takes a second to move, but then he’s wrapping his arms around you and pulling you onto his chest. You don’t know what to do with yourself at the gesture, but you relax into it after he brushes his lips against your head.

You cry again, shaking in his arms and burying your head into his neck. This is pathetic, you think. But it’s all you have.

Damn Eva Stratt.

The next morning is empty. There’s no feeling of overwhelming guilt or happiness; there’s only the knowledge that this is the end. You wake in his arms, like you once fantasised about, and don’t speak for a while. He just keeps you close, unable to look at you for any longer than a few seconds. He knows that you’ll both end up crying if you look at each other too hard.

You manage to get out of bed and get dressed. You don’t say anything when you leave to go to the launch centre. He’s still in bed, facing the wall and unmoving. He looks like a corpse.

The centre isn’t too far away. After getting off the boat, they made sure that you were close to it. They didn’t want any fuss on the actual launch day. Just seal you up and send you to die, simple as that.

You are supposed to be testing out a generator powered by astrophage. It sounds useless, but it’s kind of exciting to you. Or, it was. Now you don’t feel much about the mission. You’ve already said your last goodbye.

Grace gets up an hour or so after you. Stratt is supposed to be meeting him, just for a conversation, while you’re working. He doesn’t want to see her today. He doesn’t want to see her at all. All he can see when he looks at her is you.

He can’t get the image of you crying out of his head. The way you didn’t stop for hours, and the way you couldn’t catch your breath between sobs. You looked so young, like a small fish in a big pond. He wants to protect you, but he can’t, because he’s the same way. He has no authority here. He can’t stop you from being sent to your demise.

So he takes a cold shower and gets dressed. He doesn’t eat breakfast. He lost his appetite when you begged him not to let them take you.

He wanders to the barrier that separates the two of you. Behind the fence, and right in the centre of the large field, you are doing your job. The job you don’t want to do, and the one he’d do anything to keep you from. He stares blankly at the building, too tired to cry again, and so numb from last night.

He doesn’t hear Stratt appear behind him. When he whips around, she’s standing with two coffees and a small smile. Wordlessly, she hands him one. It’s the least she can do, he thinks. She is sending his soulmate on a one-way trip.

She tells him that you’ve nailed every test they’ve put you through and that you and your backup are ready to go. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. If Stratt notices, she doesn’t mention it. She takes a sip of her coffee and looks out at the launch centre thoughtfully.

“What about the others?” She asks him.

It takes him a second to process it, but she’s asking if everyone else is ready, too. He nods.

“They will be.”

“I expect so, they have a great teacher.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. He shuffles his feet a little before looking down at the ground. He tried his best. That’s all anyone can do, right? But it’s not enough. It couldn’t keep you here.

“Can you take the compliment, please?”

“No.”

“It’s an order.” She says, looking at him fidget.

He chuckles, but it isn’t right. Nothing is right without you.

“Okay. If it’s an order, I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“Good.”

She takes a drink and looks away from him. He’s never seen the launch centre before, and he can see why it is a lot to take in. There are many other rocket ships scattered around the building, presumably on launch pads that will be used in years to come.

He can see the Hail Mary, too. Waiting to leave and never return. God, he feels sick. This coffee isn’t helping either. He can’t stomach it. He can’t understand why it’s you and not anyone else.

“What do you think?” Stratt asks, oblivious to his thoughts.

“It’s… pretty impressive.” He offers.

She nods in agreement.

“You’re… You’re good.”

And he means it. Annoyingly, he admires her for what she does. He just wishes that it wasn’t you she chose, and that you weren’t so damn smart she couldn’t help but choose you. You just make it so easy to justify it. He hates that.

She says nothing in response. He sighs at the quiet.

“Three days, huh?” She starts.

“Yeah.”

There isn’t much excitement in his tone. How can he be excited when it’s three days till you disappear? How can he count down the days till you’re gone? He only had one night with you, and now he’s waiting for you to never come back. This isn’t right.

“What are you gonna do for the next twenty years? You got a plan?”

She hums. He finds it in himself to smile, and Stratt laughs at that. It offers him little comfort. She’s not a monster, he knows this. She’s just doing her job, like you.

He can’t be mad at her. She’s a nice woman, though intimidating. And she doesn’t understand how much he loves you. She has no idea that he’d sacrifice the world to have you for one more night. She’s too obsessed with saving it.

The flash of light is too quick to recognise at first. It’s warm, large and catches his attention over Stratt’s head. He doesn’t understand at first. What is happening?

Then he is pushed to the floor by a gust of wind too powerful to fight back. It takes him a second to realise what is going on. The explosion sounds through the air and slices him in half. Stratt is up and running before he can process it.

He lies there. It feels like longer than it is, because time has slowed down. His ears are ringing, his vision is blurred, and his mind isn’t catching up to what he feels. He felt the bang crash through him, but that’s it. Now, there is only emptiness and confusion.

He sits up. Everyone is running to the centre now. Stratt has opened the barrier and is running along the massive field. She’s so far away from him now. She’s so desperate. Something is wrong. Why is she panicking?

He manages to stand. How can something go wrong now? His eyesight comes back fully as he pushes his glasses back onto his face. Guards are stressed and shouting, but he is just standing there. He doesn’t feel anything.

He begins to run. Something in him takes him to where he knows you are.

You’re there.

He’s running through the smoke that’s already rising. His breathing is shallow, and he can’t think about anything but the pain that’s settling in his chest. Was he winded? He didn’t care. You’re there. He needs to get to you.

“No, no, no, no.” He says to himself.

It’s not true. This isn’t real. You’re going to space in three days, and you’re going to die years into the future where he can’t see you. He can’t get to you. Not here, not then, and never again. He will never see you again.

He runs behind Stratt. He’s already caught up to her, and she doesn’t even look at him. She doesn’t care, and neither does he. The mission is compromised. You’re there, your backup is there.

You’re there.

You were there.

He stops running.

What is there to run to now?

He stands in the chaos. Nobody else has paused. They all need to see if this is salvageable. They’ve lost everything. Stratt lost her two best scientists. How can they do the mission without their scientists? How can he live without you? How did this happen?

Damn Eva Stratt.

Grace doesn’t remember the rest of the day. It’s a lot of shouting, panicking, and demands. He’s so tired that he doesn’t listen to any of it. He can’t. There’s only one thing on his mind.

He hadn’t even made peace with you dying decades into the future. How can he accept you dying for a mistake made by someone who isn’t you? Damn everyone who played a part in this.

No, actually.

Fuck them.

He repeats it to his ceiling. He tosses and turns, but he always ends up staring up to the sky. That’s where you were supposed to be. That’s where you were going to save the world and be the hero he knew you were. No, the hero you are.

He just doesn’t understand. How could they let this happen? Not just you, but your backup. All of you, gone. Everyone who was working in the centre that day is dead because of a mistake. You’re dead because of a miscommunication.

You were supposed to save the world. You were going to save the world, and now what? Humans go extinct because you’re…

His mind drifts before he can finish the thought. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore. Maybe you had a point when you’d say you didn’t want to talk. There is nothing to talk about.

But you’re all he can think about. He doesn’t care about the mission, or what this means for the world, or how they’re going to fix this. It’s only your smile, your annoying habits and your little nose scrunch that matter now. It’s only you who ever really mattered.

Now, he has no one again. Grace came here alone, and he is going to leave lonely. He is going to die without anyone by his side.

He doesn’t sleep at all. The morning comes like a burden, something he will never experience without thinking of you. He remembers the golden light in your face like it’s a memory from years ago. As if you’ve been dead since you met him.

He gets dressed, leaves the room and doesn’t look back. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. He wants to go home. It’s the only place that doesn’t carry you.

He walks down the dormitories. He doesn’t even stop at your door. What good will it do? He doesn’t have time to mourn in public. He has a meeting to attend. He has to discuss how much of an inconvenience your death is.

Stratt is waiting for him at the end of a long table. She asked to see him yesterday, but he didn’t say anything. He has to do what she tells him anyway. It doesn’t matter if he refuses or breaks down sobbing. He will end up where she wants him.

Ilyukhina and Yáo sit at the end of the table next to her. They look a little tired, but they can’t grieve. They have a job to do, like Stratt. They have to be brave. Grace knows nothing about that right now.

He wishes the ground would swallow him whole. He wishes you’d come back. He wishes none of this were happening. Everyone is staring at him, expecting some sort of declaration or solution, but he has nothing.

Stratt has made it clear that they are launching when they planned, and with Grace being the lead scientist, maybe they’re hoping he will give some ideas on who can replace you. He has none. You can’t be replaced.

“If we miss the orbital window, it’ll set us back months,” Narender says, taking a seat next to him.

“Yeah, but if no one is trained to do the mission, it won’t matter.” He counters.

“Casualty projections go up exponentially if we delay.”

Stratt’s voice sounds as logical as ever. She seems untouched by this, troubled at the most. To her, this is a setback. To Grace, this is everything he fought for being ripped away before he gets the chance to say goodbye. This is cruelty.

“We launch on schedule with a replacement science officer.” She finishes.

“Okay, but… who? I mean that…”

Everyone is staring at him. They have that same expectant face, and he realises that they don’t want recommendations. They want him.

His brows furrow at the realisation. Why would they want him? He isn’t nearly as brave as you are. He can’t handle all the pressure of the mission. He can’t die in space like you were willing to.

He takes a breath, leaning back in his chair. He doesn’t take it seriously yet, because he knows he can’t do it. They can’t make him do it, and he has a choice. He hasn’t accepted this, and he doesn’t have to. He has control.

He tilts his head.

Stratt tilts her head back.

“I’m not an astronaut.”

“I don’t need an astronaut. I need an expert on astrophage who’s mission-ready.” She doesn’t miss a beat in her response.

Clearly, she’s been thinking about this since the incident. She didn’t waste a second mourning you. But Grace knows that she only cares about the mission. It’s why they are having this absurd conversation in the first place. If she cared about him, or you, she would back off.

“I’m not ready. I don’t have any training.”

“You’ll pick it up,” Ilyukhina tells him.

That’s not true. There’s no time to pick anything up. There’s no training he can do to prepare himself for this. He’s already lost you, and now he’s being asked to give himself up? He can’t do that. He’s already lost his whole world. Why should it matter if everyone loses theirs?

“I’m not an astronaut. I put the not in astronaut!” He argues, slamming his hands on the table.

“I’ve never done anything! I’ve never done a spacewalk. I can’t even moonwalk. I haven’t done the whole pool thing-”

“No, no, no, this is just for the picture. For social media.” Ilyukhina interrupts. She’s also pretty adamant about this, it seems.

“I’m not heroic in any way. I get sick on the elevator.”

“Perfect, there’s no elevator on the ship,”Yáo says. He doesn’t get it.

“I cannot do this.” Grace states.

That’s it. There’s nothing else to say. He cannot do what they are asking of him. He can’t be sent to space, knowing it was supposed to be you instead. He can’t fail and know that you would have succeeded. He can’t replace you. You’re irreplaceable.

“You’re smart. You’ll figure it out.”

Stratt offers no sympathy or apologies. She just tells him how it is and expects him to work around it. But he can’t. He can’t do this anymore. Not without you here.

Carl looks ashamed. He hasn’t seen that expression on Carl’s face before. It makes the whole situation feel more real.

“This might be very hard for you to understand, but some people are failures. Some people don’t rise to the challenge.”

“You’ve been present for every major scientific or strategic meeting we’ve had on the mission.” Stratt reminds him, like it will do any good.

“You’re missing an important part of the mission, which is the suicide part.” He chuckles, but it’s not a real laugh. It’s one to try to make everyone understand how stupid this is.

“Grace, you’d be in very cool company.” Ilyukhina tries.

“If you don’t go, you die anyway.”

“Yeah, but I die in thirty years with…”

He doesn’t finish. Because who will he die with? He has no one. You’re gone, and you were the last thing he imagined a future with. Now, it’s just dark and lonely. It’s better than dying in space, though. He’d rather die from starvation than die knowing he was in your place.

“With the rest of us?”

No. That isn’t what he meant. Stratt doesn’t understand, because she never knew you. She didn’t take the time to get to know you. You were just another pawn in the game. It wasn’t her game, but she watched over it. She let this happen to you. This… is her fault.

“You have no immediate family. You don’t even have a dog.”

“So, just so I’m clear, you’re asking me right now to give up my life.”

He struggles to find the words, but they come out eventually. His brain is working slowly today, and it’s struggling to keep up with all that’s being asked of him.

“I am. We all are.”

He pauses, putting his hands on the table. He didn’t realise that they were holding each other. It just reminds him of you. How you slept, trying to be as close as you can. And how you comforted him when he cried with you, by interlocking your fingers and kissing his lips like they were a lifeline.

“Can I think about this?”

“You have three hours.” Stratt insists.

That was it. Three hours to decide if he could dim the memory of you enough to take your place. He had to leave you behind, one way or another. He just didn’t know how to do it so quickly. You were the best part of his life, and now you’re gone. He didn’t even get to say goodbye to you.

He doesn’t know how he ended up in the lab you shared, but his eyes are glued to the work you forgot to finish. It was meaningless clutter, really, but you wanted something to tinker with. You could never sit still. You always had to be moving, distracting yourself from what was to come.

He doesn’t dare touch what you’ve left. It holds some of the last parts of you. It carries what you could never say, all the thoughts in your head, all the effort you put into everything. All the best qualities you had are now in your work, and your work only. This is all he has now.

He can’t imagine being up there. He can’t leave all this behind. He couldn’t imagine you being up there, so how can he think of taking your place? Nobody should have to do that, let alone a fearsome scientist who just so happened to become Stratt’s right-hand man.

They’ll find someone. The government always finds a way. There have been so many crises that have been averted with no one but a small inner circle knowing. Grace is just a part of that group now. He knows everything that happens behind the scenes, and he has no power over it. Until now, when he puts his foot down.

Because they can’t make him do anything. Every time Stratt forced him to be involved with an experiment or rush off somewhere, it only happened because he let it. But he’s not letting it happen anymore. Not after what she did to you.

He tries not to blame her, but she’s the reason for all of this. Stratt was the one who sent you to look at the astrophage generator. She offered you the job in the first place. And now you’re dead, because you were so brave that you took it. Why were you so brave?

Grace can’t replace that. He doesn’t have a part of him that he can take to space to save the world. He’s scared. The thought of being up there, tasked with keeping the population alive, is too much for him to handle. But you could do it. You could have done it if it wasn’t for her.

Now, he’s sitting on his lab stool. It’s opposite yours. He looks at where you should be, and all he sees is emptiness. A void where you should be standing. Everything feels empty without you. Nothing means anything to him anymore. It’s like the world has dissolved into black and white.

He can’t do it. He knows he can’t. You were the only person who could save the world. You were good enough to sacrifice yourself for the sake of humanity. Grace can’t do that. He isn’t selfless like you.

Even if he goes, there is no winning. There is no success without you. He could find the source of it all, and it wouldn’t change a thing. He could save the world and then some, and it wouldn’t matter any more than waking up to you would. He can’t fight for a better world.

There is no better world if you’re not in it.

You were the only thing that made him better. He didn’t feel so awkward around you. He finally felt wanted in a world that pushes him away. You made him feel that way. Not Stratt, not any stranger he’d be giving up his life for. You, who were taken away from him before he could show you how much he’d give up for you.

A guard knocks on the lab door, although it’s already open. He apologises for interrupting, and it’s only then that Grace realises he’s been crying. Probably for hours, because his decision is made, and now it’s time to tell Stratt. He has to stand up for himself. He has to do this for you.

He walks into her office. She looks more nervous than he has ever seen her. He doesn’t know what to do with himself when she stares at him. She expects something of him, like usual. He doesn’t know what to give her but the truth.

“I can’t do it.” He says.

It’s clear and simple, and it does the job. There is no changing his mind. He can’t do this to you. He can’t do this in your place.

His eyes well up again.

“I can’t do it.”

Stratt looks down. She’s disappointed, but she’s not distraught. He is right, he thinks. They can fix this. They don’t need him. He’s just a small fish in a big pond, like you were. He’s just not going to let himself be swallowed whole.

“You’ll find a solution.” He offers.

“You are my solution.”

He shakes his head, looking out the window.

You would hate him for this. You’d tell him,

“Ry, what are you thinking? You have to save humanity!”

But you aren’t here now. And no one else’s voice matters but yours. No one can persuade him to do this. It seems evil, but it’s nothing compared to what they have done to you.

“My place is in the classroom.”

“Stop pretending this is about your students. It’s so insulting.”

She probably doesn’t know the real reason. But he doesn’t want her to know. That’s for him to hold onto. She doesn’t get to keep the happy memories of you, because she didn’t try while you were here. She saw how smart you were and told you to die for it.

“We will lose a quarter of the Earth’s population in thirty years. And that assumes that the nations of the world will work together to ration food.”

Her voice cracks at the last part.

“Which they won’t.”

And he knows that. He knows that humanity is so awful that they won’t team up and salvage what’s left. That’s why he hated the fact that you were dying for it. Why should you die for something that won’t appreciate everything you do?

“So I double the estimate. And if you truly care about the children, or anyone else for that matter, you’d get on that ship.”

She says it like he’s heartless. But he did care about someone, and she took you from him. Why should he sacrifice himself for someone who took away the one thing he loved?

He clears his throat before he says something he really means.

“I understand the stakes, I do. But… I don’t have it in me. Not like-”

He stops himself. Don’t mention it. Stratt won’t see the part of you he is holding onto.

“I don’t have it in me.” He settles for.

He tries to say something else, but there’s nothing else to say. It’s final. He won’t go. He isn’t the one who should be going. It’s you. It has always been you.

“My mind is made up.” He pulls his hat on through sniffles.

“I’m sorry, but you just can’t talk me into it.”

He apologises again as he puts on his glasses. He doesn’t know why he is still sitting, but it feels hard to stand. It’s like walking away from a responsibility you gave him.

“I’m not trying to talk you into anything. I’m trying to make you understand what I’m about to do next.”

Grace looks at her. This isn’t happening, right?

“Please, stay calm.”

No, this isn’t happening. This isn’t real.

A man walks in holding a medical bag. He looks scared, but determined. What is going on?

“What is this?” Grace laughs in disbelief.

Stratt doesn’t answer, instead standing up and letting her eyes water.

“The mission plan will state that we induced your coma early to maximise your safety. You will be remembered as a hero.”

This can’t be real. This isn’t supposed to be him. He isn’t the hero, it’s you. You were the one brave enough to do this. He doesn’t stand a chance against what you were willing to fight. He can’t save the world. It was supposed to be you. You were the hero.

“Come on, this is crazy.” He tries to bargain, but it’s weak and blurred with tears.

“I have to do it.”

And it’s true. She has to do something. She killed you, and now she has to kill him. There is no other way. He just doesn’t understand why it has to happen like this. Why did you have to die so that he could finally step up and be brave?

He backs away from her. She isn’t a monster, but she’s a killer. She’s ready to kill anyone to save the world.

“This may seem like I’m betraying you, but it’s actually me believing in you.”

“It sure feels like you’re betraying me!”

She asks him to make it easy, but he can’t. He can’t go out without a fight. He’s not like you. He isn’t going to just cry and then be strong. He is going to run.

Two men corner him, but it means nothing anymore. Grace runs straight out the door and follows the hall to the outside. They’re hot on his tail, but he doesn’t care. He needs to be in the air. He needs to feel you.

He runs faster than he’s ever run before. He thinks back to when you both raced to his room, excited to finally touch each other properly. You weren’t scared together; you were free and safe in each other’s hold. But now you’re gone, and Grace is running from those who will soon be his killers.

All he thinks of as he approaches the barrier is you. Everything good was in you, and now it’s gone. He doesn’t want to save a world that took you from him. He doesn’t want to be without you at all. He’s so scared without you.

You were the only one who could bring him back. Every time he’d worry, it was you who reminded him of all the good things. Kindness, peace, love. It was all in you. And now it’s lost in an explosion that was out of your control. Everything that kept him grounded is up in the air.

He can’t run anymore. He reaches a fence and can’t get past it. This is it. This is the end. He is tackled to the floor, squirming and begging. He’s pathetic. But there’s no one to impress anymore. He doesn’t care. He’s going out with a fight because you didn’t get the chance to. You couldn’t fight to live as he can.

“Carl!” He yells.

The man who was once his friend stands above him. He can’t trust anyone. Everyone he surrounded himself with is dead or a traitor. They’re not worth dying for. They’re not-

Something stabs his arm.

“You know who you are,” Carl tells him.

Grace’s vision starts to fade. His squeals and pleading start to blur, and are replaced by a ringing in his ears.

“You’re going to do great.”

But he can’t.

Not without you.

Damn Eva Stratt.

[fullagracefullaswag]

who wants an 8k ryland grace fanfic with angst, smut and a little fluff sprinkled on top.

[itskindofablur]

a man who says grace before eating pussy:

[keeperskey]

《Watch Your Back》

After a party, a stranger offers to drive you home, though the further the drive gets, the more you feel it was a bad idea to get in the car.

pairing: Dark!Stalker!Remmick x Fem!Reader

an: this is only an idea, not the whole story. I wrote the beginning and have been dabbling in it since. I just wanted to see if anyone was interested. (Also yes I've been gone for months, oops)

warnings: talk of drug use, drunk, ominous behavior

The path in front of you is a dispersing blur of lines and smudges as you make your way from the front door to your car.

You’ve never tripped like this before, not to this extent, not enough to make you feel like this. Hundreds of parties you’ve been to in the last five years, all of which result in sticky leftovers on your skin and sickening headaches the next day. But nothing like this, Dylan said this was his ‘normal batch’.

Dylan is a fucking liar.

The winter air felt even more shocking on your face, kissing your cheeks, numbing your fingertips. How cold was it again? The sweat still lingering on your skin soaks in the whipped cold, sinking the ice deeper into your bones – you were shivering in seconds.

You find your car – not before stumbling over a bush and someone’s purse splayed out on the front lawn.

You try the handle, pulling once, twice, three times with no give. Whirling around, you fish for your purse you last had hitched under your arm, close to your body to not forget. Grasping at air, you grunt, swaying gently as sickness grips your throat tight from the quick movements.

You hear words, they pound deep in your ears like the music was just moments ago. A shadow stands in front of you, saying something, it sounded kind. But your sickness whirls and you falter, toppling forward.

“Woah, hold tight there,” the person says, gripping both of your arms, anchoring you, helping you find your feet. “You okay?”

You reply, something about just having a few drinks and needing to get home. You laugh, the movement warming your chest, like whatever you were laughing at was truly funny. The person accompanied your laugh, theirs flat and quiet.

“Ya need a ride home I reckon.” It wasn’t a question, at least it didn’t sound like one.

“No no, I just need my purse.”

“You don’t got a purse.”

The accent on this person was almost comical considering the area. Suburban Washington - with its pumpkin spice girlies and its indie rock boys. All wrapped up in delusion and grandeur. All pleasant and pride, until it’s not.

“Lemme take you home,” the man presses, squeezing just once on your arms. His fingers were fire on your sweaty slick skin. If you looked hard enough, you swore steam would rise from between his fingers.

“No, that’s-”

“’m not asking,” the three words caught you off guard and you pause, blinking away the swirling cusp of reality you edge on.

You look to him, setting your eyes on his face, giving time for them to adjust and scan over his features. He looked kind, hair soft in layers over his head, draping bangs gently over a creased brow. He doesn’t smile, wearing an expression of what could only be concern – or was it authority? Right now you didn’t have time to decipher. He drops his head, looking to you through his brows, giving you a heady stare that suddenly feels too dark.

“Get in the car….” He says your name after the demand.

He knows your name.

“Who are you?” you squint, yanking one arm from his grip, feeling the way his nails bite at the surface before loosening with your pull.

“Your shadow,” this was said with a tinge of something different. Something layered and wicked. “now get in the car.”

You cannot explain it but something inside you snaps. A loosening cord - a found connection. Something feels slid into place, forcing you to nod. No way in hell would you ever go home with a stranger. But here you are, in a dark side street, lit only by a streetlight four cars down, with a man you’d never met.

Or….have you?

Something about his voice felt familiar. Not the type of familiar that you can place right away, more like the familiar of a song in the background of your favorite diner. You hum along in the moment, but it doesn’t stick once you leave. His voice was familiar like passing a stranger on the sidewalk while they talk on the phone, or a radio on in the background while you work. Nothing solid. But always just….there.

You nod and in reply and he smiles. It is a slow smile, creeping at the edges before spreading over his face. His features are muddled, washed with a coating of whatever hallucinogenic Dylan gave you. But for just a second, you swore his eyes glow red when they studied you.

You let him guide you to his car, only wobbling a little, but his grip is firm on your arm. After he opens the door, you plop in the passenger seat, flinching at the pounding noise the door made when he shut it.

He rounds the car, shoving his hand in his pocket as he does. Before he gets in, he pulls out a pair of keys.

Your keys. To your car. He flips them on the ring, swirling them around one finger with a something disgusting turning on his features. How easy it was to take these from you. How much easier it will be to take what he truly wants from you once he gets you where he wants you.

[fullagracefullaswag]

scary but sexy man so who cares

[joelmillersbedroom]

I haven’t been inspired to write for quite a while, and I rewatched Sinners and fell into a Jack obsession.

I had this idea for Eric Northman and then saw a similar idea used with Remmick, so credit to @roomiesoreo and @spikedfearn for their inspo + @chrisssiren for the divider.

Remmick x afab!Reader, warnings: smut, small mentions of grief, implied father death, predator prey dynamics, slight f!masturbation, slight religious imagery, unprotected p in v sex, swearing, pet names (darlin’ sweet thing, little devil girl, baby).

𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔦𝔠𝔢𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔪 standing on the dirt road just past the gate at dusk- the last rays of light scorching the skin of his collarbones, fine tendrils of smoke dancing upwards into the firefly-ridden air.

You knew what he was.

You had heard the whisperings in town of the man who drifted through after dark. Whose eyes weren’t quite right, blood drops on his collar. Goats gone missin’ off of Mr. Smith’s farm, the outline of a man and lines of smoke in the air on nights he was too impatient to wait for dark, perhaps liking the thrill of the pain. The goats’ bodies are strewn across the field come morning.

Must be now that daddy’s gone, the man is showing himself to you freely. Can hear just one heartbeat pounding through the house. Can hear just one heartbeat for weeks now. He must’ve been watching you. Waitin’.

You’re sittin’ on the front steps of the porch, trying to control your heartbeat. Not wanting to give away the zing of fear you feel. After so many weeks of grief, the zing is welcome. Exhilarating. Freeing. You want to forget.

He has a knowing glint in his eye. Can tell that you know what he is- a creature your daddy would’ve shot on sight. Not that it would’ve done much. Not that it ever does much. Especially when he sees somethin’ he wants.

He’s unlatching the gate with a single claw, the darkness swallowing him. The bugs and animals gone silent.

The slip of a fang in his smirk.

The red glow of his eyes.

You’re not sure how fast he can move, but the thrill of waitin’ on the step until the last possible second has you rooted to the spot. Fingers flexing on the porch at either side of your hips. Controlling your heartbeat long forgotten- heart sounding like a bunny ready to spring.

He’s walking lazily, stalking, as his gaze flicks from your bare knees up to your eyes, his smirk tilting one side of his fanged mouth.

You snap up and throw yourself through the open front door- the creak of the porch breaking the tension as you whirl to see him standing just past the threshold. His lips are slightly parted, eyes on fire with what looks like desire. When he speaks you almost whimper, his voice deep and ancient, not even trying to pretend that he’s from these parts.

“Aren’t you gonna let me in, darlin’?” He rasps, voice soundin’ like the old country.

Your breath catches in your throat.

“C’mon, sweet thing. Can smell your cunt from here. Know you want me inside.” He whispers, double entendre in his vulgar words not lost on you.

You’re inches apart, only separated by a thin veil of desire and two words.

The thrill of the power in this situation is taking hold, after being out of control and lost for weeks. Wanting a release. Needing to take hold of something for yourself. For your pleasure. And he will let you have it all if you just let him in.

His cocky and collected mask is fading knowing that you can walk away at any moment, door clicking in his face. That what he wants and has wanted for months is just past that threshold and there’s nothing that he can do about it. That his fate is in your hands.

But he knows you won’t walk away now. Can practically taste your arousal in the warm, sticky, air.

You straighten your spine, tilting your chin up. Waitin’ a little longer. Holdin’ out.

He closes his eyes and inhales, deep. “Can smell how bad you want it, baby,” his eyes snap open, fully a deep, longing red now, “let me in.”

You slowly take a step back, hand still on the door for support, chin still high.

“Never said I didn’t want it,” you finally say, no waver in your voice, side of your hand turned inwards, slowly parting your robe. “Just need you to want it more.”

You sink slowly to the worn floorboards, right in the entry to your home, and lean back on your elbows, legs starting to part. He slams his hands on his side of the frame, claws slowly splintering the wood as he drags them, falling to his knees.

His eyes are zeroed in on the tortuously slow parting of your legs, eyes blazing, jaw clenching. Chest rumbling so deep it almost makes you shiver.

Hands finally smacking the ground by his knees he turns to his side, leaning forward on his palms, head cocked, desperately trying to peek under your little nightgown like he lost somethin’ under there. Maybe his sanity. Maybe his self control.

You feel drunk on the power you get from seeing an ancient, horrifically beautiful demon on his knees, losing his composure just getting a glimpse of what’s hidin’ between your legs.

You pause. His eyes snap to yours. Molten.

All at once you drop your legs and he sharply inhales, as if he needs to breathe. Deep growl reverberating around the room as he sees you’re not wearing anything under that dress.

He breaks, lunging forward, hands slamming the invisible barrier in the doorway, snarling with his fangs fully protruding. Restraint gone, barely a sliver of eyes not lost to that deep red darkness.

“Baby,” he growls. “I’m gonna work my cock so deep into that sweet pussy you’ll feel me for weeks,” he hisses the ‘s’, sharply, speaking impossibly deep, as he demands, “Let. Me. In.”

Calmly trailing your dominant hand up your thigh, you recline all of your weight on your other elbow for support as your index finger makes contact with your warm, wet heat.

He can’t shut the fuck up- can’t keep the desperation from showing in the poorly controlled semblance of restraint in his voice as he says, “what will it take for you to let me in? You can see that I do want it. Oh, sugar, do I want. It.” He subconsciously licks his lips.

Perfectly poised, you inch your fingers up to your clit, swirling once, head falling back, mouth parting on a small whimper just for show, hearing the porch wood splinter. Smirking internally at how you literally brought this being to his knees. Your head lolls back forward, eyes opening, hooded and glazed with want as you slowly slide your fingertips back through your folds and inch two inside of yourself.

At the quiet squelch of your wetness, he stands, chest heaving, one clawed hand gripping the doorframe, one ripping his shirt out of his pants, tearing the buttons off until it parts across his glistening chest.

“I’m going to ruin you, you little teasing devil. Make you beg and cry on this cock,” he grits, rolling his sleeves to his elbows.

“‘re you gonna hurt me, Creature?” you ask, mockingly- trying to hide the hint of nervousness starting to creep in.

He smirks. “Oh I’ll hurt ya. But only in ways you’ll like.”

He must see your resolve start to waver as he undoes his belt, suspenders hanging free, shirt long gone now. He’s pulling his trousers down.

He’s flipping you onto your stomach, wrenching your hips up and slamming into you before you can finish saying, “Cum insi-”.

You cry out, the quickness and force of him entering you from behind startling you. He tears the front of your dress down, exposing your breasts and gripping your throat with surprising restraint as he heaves your back to his front.

Your head lolls back onto his shoulder, his nose gliding up the curve where your shoulder meets your neck. Inhaling your scent. Committing it completely to his memory. “You’ve done it now, girl.”

[fullagracefullaswag]

hot hot hot