just a girl who saw brand new day and canât stop thinking about fucking Peter Parker
spoilers below the cut including:
Peter Parker who is so so so unbelievably pent up
Peter Parker whoâs not used to having to practice so much self control
Peter Parker and this new instinct?
okay last chance not really plot spoilers but I will be discussing peters beefcake-ification and new spidery stuff so yeah last chance
warnings- smut, dub-con-ish (everyone wants it but yknow plot stuff), masturbation, unprotected p in v, breeding kink, fem! Reader
Peter Parker is a few things, a hermit, a hero, hung, and absolutely hopeless
No friends. no life. he has just a police scanner, a caffeine addiction and a little bit of a thing for his cute neighbor down the hall.
He met you the day you moved in, after your movers pointed to the âout of serviceâ sign on the elevator and bailed
He found you on the curb staring at your u-haul with nothing short of contempt. A frown so deeply set it could make Strange falter.
Something made him double back, at the time he rationalized it as guilt. The least he could do was help with some of your boxes, after all he is the one who broke the elevator (not that anyone knew that)
One box became two, became three, became him insisting you start unpacking while he unloaded the rest. Just being a good neighbor, of course. Had nothing to do with your smile or the way your heart sped up when he shook your hand. The fact that his pulse spiked when he touched you was completely unrelated.
An empty u-haul became a drive into Jersey to return the truck. Which became a ferry ride, which became Chinese takeout (your treat at your insistence)
Peter Parker who develops this maddening crush and is so repressed he doesnât even fucking realize it.
Six months go by in this weird limbo. More than neighbors. Not quite friends, definitely not lovers. Lo mein shared from the same pair of chopsticks, drinks taken from hands without asking, a spot on your couch that is unofficially his.
Six months of noticing the way your eyes linger on his lips and doing nothing about it.
He canât do anything, even if he wanted to (he does), he canât risk it again. Heâs in no shape too, youâre the only person he talks to with the mask off and with the exception of Frank heâs pretty sure youâre the only person who would notice if he disappeared tomorrow.
Besides, Peter still spends most nights scrolling Nedâs Instagram when he canât sleep, still closes his eyes and pictures MJ when he needs to calm down.
You deserve better than that.
Then something weird happens.
Well a lot of weird things happen.
The headaches for one, all consuming and unbearable.
He stops eating as much, canât with the nausea they bring. Eventually your takeout nights dwindle down to once a week, until finally they stop altogether.
Instead he spends his nights with a cold washcloth over his eyes, ignoring your texts and nearly crying every time the scanner goes off and he has to pull himself out of bed.
Then the webs.
They start to appear everywhere, Peter waking up to a pillow covered in spindles of thread and an apartment that looks more like a bad haunted house a place where someone lives.
Everyday he cleans them out, tears them from corners and washes his sheets.
Every morning they reappear, usually even worse than the day before.
Then the noise. God the noise.
Thereâs just so much of it, a car alarm blaring in the alley, the guy in 4C watching reruns of the Office, the pigeon on the roof building a nest.
You in your apartment, tossing in your sheets and making these breathy little noises-
Those haunt Peter the most.
The first time he heard them was the middle of the night. After heâd cancelled on you and stopped a bank robbery instead. Sometime around three a.m. the sound had traveled through plaster and hit him like a solid brick.
A whimper from the back of your throat, soft and unbidden. Not even conscious, your breathing was even, no sounds of movement either. Just the tiny gasps and pounding of your heart.
Sure, itâs been a while, and yeah itâs pretty different from person to person but even an idiot would know what kind of dream you need to be having to make those noises.
That night, when Peter finally closed his eyes, it wasnât MJ behind them.
Heâs pretty sure thatâs when things started to unravel (heâs a fool, he was already beyond saving)
Even as guilt begins to line his gut, Peter turns to the only silver lining heâs been able to find in these changes.
The sound of water rolling off your skin in the shower. The sound of you humming as a you cool. The hum of vibrations and those sweet little moans when you think no one else is listening
Without even meaning too, it consumes him. One second heâs just checking youâre okay the next, and the heâs silencing his phone and shoving a hand in his waist band and - oh my god that feels good.
Constant dreams, every time he sleeps he sees you, you underneath him, you above him, your back pulled into his chest with a leg thrown over his hip.
Heâs starts to avoid you, he has to. When he does see you, when heâs sentenced to an elevator ride next to you and all he can notice is your hips. Were they always like that? Were they always so fucking tempting and perfect with a spot for his hands.
The dreams get more perverse, itâs not just sex itâs possession.
You, a ring on your hand. You, tangled in his sheets. You with webs around your wrists attached to his headboard. You round with his-
You. You. You. You. You.
Then one night it all splinters. The load-bearing walls inside Peter Parkâs restraint fracture.
The suit is still half-on, mask pulled up to his nose while he hisses at the feeling of his own hand. Dry and damn near painful he still canât stop, gripping his cock like a fucking vice as he works it over. He didnât even close the window, stumbled into the room with hardly enough time to spare.
It was an awful night, two big bruises blossoming over his ribs and the guy who gave them to him is still somewhere in Mid-Town.
Heâd struggled home with ragged breaths and ears trained on one thing.
Well I think you can probably guess what by now.
Heâd heard it half way across the city, the tell tale sign of your end table drawer sliding open and the sound of you digging around inside it.
Like Pavlovâs dog, his dick rose to the occasion.
Youâre struggling tonight too though, whining into your pillow with these cute wet sounds that almost make it sound like youâre crying. You canât get the angle, or enough friction, or something and itâs driving you crazy.
Little huffs of frustration and the sound of your hips lifting and slamming back into the mattress as you try to find that edge and-
Then the stutter of batteries dying.
Youâre so close, so close he can feel it, the slick sound of your cunt and the tortured groan as you toss the damned toy away.
Heâs so close, balls pulled tight and painful with his hand at the base holding it all together.
Then thereâs a slam outside, someone pressing on their breaks and skidding across the asphalt with a high pitched shriek. A new alert popping up over his eyes, shots fired outside Central Park. Some kid launching a firework off the roof next door. The guy downstairs making a second bag of popcorn and your hand reaching down and finding your cunt-
Itâs all too much, the throbbing in his head turning tenfold and the pain his gut matching it.
Peter doesnât remember getting up, doesnât know how he gets to your door. He changed out of his suit and has no idea when. His fists are busted and burn when he knocks and he doesnât even feel it.
Itâs out of body, like heâs gone into a rage fueled cruise control and something else completely is behind the wheel.
You answer with an out-of-breath hello and a started gasp when you see itâs him.
âPeter?â You gasp, pulling your sweatshirt tighter over your chest. You must not be wearing anything else underneath it, he heard you scramble to pull it on, snatch it from the floor with a frantic hand as you raced to answer the door. âAre you okay? You look like shit.â
Peter whoâs entire chest freezes, who watches you take him in and the way your eyes linger over his naked torso and all the way up to the place you always seem to stop. His lips.
âNo.â He murmurs, voice on the edge of deadly. âIâm not.â
The entire foundation gives out and Peter Parker kisses you.
Peter Parker kisses you rougher than he wants, harder than he should, and it still isnât enough.
His entire body sings at the feeling, skin erupting with goosebumps and for the first time in a week, his head stops screaming.
The fog of pain lifts and instead of finding clarity whatever is controlling him doubles down.
Hungry hands grab at you like have any right to be greedy, pawing at your hips and waist.
He grabs the backs of your thighs and mutters a ragged âjumpâ into your mouth.
The way you instantly do has his cock jumping in his sweats. Itâs enough for him to cross the threshold completely, step into your apartment and slam the door behind him.
Shooting it with a web behind his back is easier than turning the lock. Itâll be harder to explain to you in the morning but he canât find the breath to care.
Youâre kissing him back like youâve been waiting for this. Waiting for him. The sweetest sounds hummed against his lips while your hands rake over his shoulders. Nails draw jagged lines over his back and your hips twitch when his tongue pushes past your lips.
Peter licks into your mouth like heâs trying to swallow you, find the source of what makes you so damn sweet and pretty and fuck he is an idiot for not doing this sooner.
Four years of torture and self-blame and a guilty limp dick and now heâs like a virgin all over again.
Your bed knocks his knees out, sending him tumbling over top of you in a messy of tangled limps and sweaty skin.
A whimper, one of the ones heâs been coveting through the walls is breathed into his lip and he swears heâs never felt his dick twitch so hard.
When you pull back for air you have to grab his hair to get it, tugging on his roots and using it to make enough distance to get a lungful.
âPeter?â You ask, concern etching across your face.
âWhat?â He grumbles, burying his face into your neck, tucking his nose beneath your ear and sucking in a long breath.
âYour eyes,â you whisper, hands carding through his curls. âTheyâre black.â
âItâs fine.â He promises, sucking a kiss at the apex of your jaw, smiling as he feels your arch into him.
Still your hands pull at his hair again, trying in vain to get a better look and well, Peter just canât have that.
He grabs your wrists in one palm, pinning them above your head in one quick movement.
He drags his lips back to yours, running his nose along your skin as he does so.
âSaid itâs fine.â He insists, and presses you into another punishing kiss.
Peter forgot how good this feels, the touching, the sounds, the heat of another body. When he pulls down the zipper of your sweatshirt thereâs no teasing. Just the harsh tug of the guide and the sounds of the metal teeth all but ripping apart.
His free hand monopolizes your chest, each grope made sweeter by the fact his hunch was right, nothing but skin underneath
Youâre whining into him, pathetic mewls that go straight to his aching cock. Your thighs are tight around his hips, ankles pushing on his lower back to try as you fight to grind into him
Thereâs no gentleness no exploration. he pulls your panties to the side and fucks into you like itâs the only thing that can save him
And maybe it is
The instant he sinks into you itâs like a high, everything finally fucking stops. Thereâs no noise, no pain, the world shrinks back down to four walls, a bed, and you underneath him.
âPeter-â youâre gasping, âP-Peter oh my god!â
Youâre white hot around him, clenched so tight Peter thinks he might be seeing stars.
âIâm sorry-â he grunts, the words muffled into your neck. âIâm so sorry I canât- fuck.â his hips twitch, burying him even deeper. âCanât stop.â
Your hands twist in his grip, flexing as you writhe and try to cant your hips.
âDonât stop no please donât stop.â You sound panicked, like you only half heard him. âJust fuck me, please.â
So he does.
Peter Parker fucks you like animal, shallow thrusts like leaving your cunt mike just kill him. He ruts like a dog, grunts and growls like one into your neck until he can feel his orgasm start to swell.
He think you came, itâs wet between your thighs like you did. Your cunt pulses around him in an overstimulated mess, hiccups bubbling as tears stream down your face. Youâre babbling nonsense, every other word either a piece of praise or a beg
That sick thing inside of him grows. Itâs blossoms behind his ribs and boils in his gut.
He finally lets your hands go. One drops down to your clit, tweaking it between his index and thumb. The other splays over your stomach.
He leans back onto his haunches, thick thighs propping you up as he ruts into you.
âFuck. Need to, need to-â Heâs gritting his teeth, the pleasure so hot it almost hurts. âInside.â
You nod, cockdrunk and molten underneath him.
âInside.â You agree, âgive me everything. Please.â
His brain finally shuts off, nothing left but his body.
It consumes him, he buries himself to the hilt and lets go. It floods you, he can feel it under his hand. Distantly registering the newness of that too.
Minutes pass, his body slumped over yours, each of you wrung dry.
Your hands pull at his scalp, pinching the nape of his neck until he turns up to look at you.
You hum, delighted at what you see. âThere you are.â You whisper. âThatâs my Peter.â
Shame stirs, guilt in his throat.
âIâm sorry.â He whispers. âI donât know what happened.â
You shush him. âDonât worry.â You yawn around the words. âBeen waiting for you to do that since I moved in.â
psst. "feminist" retelling writers. yes, i'm talking to you. i have a gift for you: here are some interesting women from greek mythology that you can write about that are NOT medusa, persephone or clytemnestra! there ARE other women, shocking i know!
-medea: she literally killed her brother and her children, i thought "female rage" girlies would be all over her
-danae: her life is so crazy, imagine being imprisoned by you father, getting impregnated by a god, being locked in a box and left to die at sea and then basically becoming a hostage to a king while your son is sent to kill a monster. and she's one of the only ones who, to my knowledge, actually gets a happy ending!
-atalanta: basically the only female hero in greek mythology!! and she was an argonaut!! c'mon now there is so much potential here, why does nobody care for atalanta
-the amazons: penthesilea! hippolyta! literally any of them! you're telling me there is a whole society of female warriors and so called feminist writers aren't jumping at the opportunity??
-hecuba: such a tragic and interesting figure, being the queen of troy, she lost her whole family in the war, i wish more people explored her relationship with her children (especially paris) and apollo
-andromache: i'm shocked andromache isn't more popular with the "tragic female characters" people, she literally lost everything basically because of men
-cassandra: i know cassandra is fairly popular, but i love her so much and i want more people to explore her relationship with her family, every dynamic has the possibility to be SO interesting
-electra: this whole family is a MESS and yet i see people mainly focusing on clytemnestra (with iphigenia), but not exploring the relationship between electra and clytemnestra is such a missed opportunity
-helen: i just want the focus of her story to be shifted from paris to the other people in her life, like her daughter hermione! how did they rebuild their relationship after troy? or her sister clytemnestra! what happened to her bond after the murder of agamemnon? or her brothers, castor and pollux! there is so much untapped potential
-demeter: there is a story about a mother's grief for her daughter, her journey looking for her, her anger, and yet every retelling of the homeric hymn to DEMETER focuses HADES to make him a dark romance mafia boss?? come on
and more!
conclusion: i'm tired of seeing the same stories being retold over and over again when there are so many characters to explore
to everyone who doesnât like good omens or neil gaiman anymore, i implore you, READ HITCHHIKERâS GUIDE.
i am being so serious. itâs like if monty python was sci fi and the main character was chuck bartowski with an anxiety disorder.
it needs more fandom and has so many hilarious jokes and the two main characters are shippable to the level that crowley and aziraphale are.
The Hitchhikerâs Guide to the Galaxy is its full name, and im sure many have heard of it, but im telling you to READ IT. pleasepleasepleaseplease i need more zaphod beeblebrox fanart in my life. i am suffering.
trying to get friends into it, so of course I had to make a convoluted and fucked up chart. very basic and dumbed down (both dynamics and the amount of characters) and I might have forgotten some but it should get the point acrossđ it's been a while
includes some SPOILERS re: character deaths/occupation but lowkey in TBOY/BR theyre partially spoiling you anyways. my bad
also additional basic Dark River chart I made. Su Muyu you have too many responsibilities libreoffice cant do all dat.
Greetings fans of The Blood of Youth, Dashing Youth, and Blood River, in all their various novel, donghua and drama forms! Welcome to Baixiao Hall, an English-language wiki that @feng-huli and I have started building!
It's hosted on Miraheze, so it's open for anyone to edit and has no ads. We currently have pages for nearly 70 characters mentioned in sngx alone... so it's a big undertaking! Our dream is to create a one-stop place for all the sprawling lore in this universe, but because there are a gazillion characters and places and weapons we need YOUR help.
Do you have a random character you want to write the entry for? Did you make a detailed list of the ten most powerful swords because you thought the information might come up later and then get annoyed that it didn't? Did you notice something really cool but not share it anywhere because you didn't know where to put it? Please share it with us!!!
And feel free to shoot either of us a message or ask if you have any questions (or just want to talk about these shows honestly we love them)
A/n: He's lowkey clingy...Sleepy/lazy sex with Olruggio next??
Jealous sex with Qifrey doesn't mean his hips snapping against your ass at a brutal pace, or his touch straying far from the gentle touch you've become accustomed toâalthough his touch is not as tender as it was.
Jealous sex with Qifrey isn't him verbally degrading you or teasing you more than he normally does.
Jealous sex with Qifrey is him trying to find comfort in you. Every word that slips from his lips is a plea for security. When you try to hold your sweet moans from his ears, he grips your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye, and with a pitiful beg, "Let me hear you. Let me hear the efforts of my love."
Qifrey's thrusts are paradoxical. Slow and sensual quickly becomes frantic and sloppy. There is no sense to his motions when he struggles to comprehend his jealousy. He's not mad at you, but the world itself. He doesn't want to hurt you, but he has no other outlet for these vile feelings brewing in his heart.
Jealous sex with Qifrey means a lot more marks around your neck that resemble the ring of the glyphs he's always making. They're scattered around your neck, shoulders, and inner thighs.
Kisses are deep and a fight you can't win. His tongue explores the crevice of your mouth, dominating your tongue in his yearning. His kisses go beyond just your lips. His lips trail down your body, taking your breast in his mouth while his hands feverishly knead at your skin. His touch isn't as gentle as it usually is. It's desperate. His fingers dig into your skin, kneading it between his fingers while his hips hump against you pathetically.
Every moan, whine, and cry is magic to his ears. He pleases you so that you can scream to the world that you are his.
"Tell me how good I make you feel."
"Don't be shy darling, let me hear you."
"I love youâŠI love everything about youâŠyou love me too, right?"
Jealousy, sexy with Qifrey is comforting a man whose insecurity got the better of him!
Sensory deprivation with Yuta (M)ïž”âżàšâĄà§âżïž”
The blindfold was soft, but the silence was deafening. You trusted Yuta with every fiber of your being, but this? This was something else entirely. The cabin that you two had rented for the weekend was secluded and surrounded by nothing but the forest, it felt like a world of its own. The stars outside were brighter here, much prettier than the usual city lights. All you could do was feelâ the coolness of the sheets beneath you, the faint scent of vanilla candles Yuta had lit, and the slight chill in the air that made your skin prickle with anticipation.
Most people might raise an eyebrow at their boyfriend taking them to a secluded cabin in the woods and then asking to tie them up. You would tell those people theyâve been watching too many movies, yet you couldnât shake off the slight adrenaline pumping through your veins at the slight danger of the situation.
Your heart raced a little faster as you lay in anticipation for Yuta to touch you. Your hands were tied, but not restrained to the bed; they rested above your head just as he had instructed. You were undressed, save for your panties, and the chill of the cabin made your nipples hard.Â
It was so quiet. There wasnât another soul around for miles, and even the crickets had stopped chirping once the sun set and the night grew colder.
âSafe word?â He said as his voice broke the silence.
âCaterpillar,â you whispered.
âGood girl.â The warmth of his hand brushed against your cheek, and you leaned into it instinctively. âReady for the next step?â
Your breath quickened. You had already talked about using a blindfold and earplugs before getting started, and while you had done this type of play before, you had never experienced it in this setting. Never this isolated and so completely at his mercy. You hesitated, unsure if you were ready to be so vulnerable.
His touch against your face grounded you, making you feel safe.Â
âDo you trust me?â His voice was a whisper now, closer, his breath brushing against your ear. âWe donât have to use the earplugs.â
He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. The tender gesture left you wanting his lips on other parts of your body, wishing for more than just soft kisses.
You breathe in and calm your heart. you nodded, letting the tension in your shoulders ease.
âIâve got you doll, just relax.â
Then, the world went quiet. The earplugs muffled everything, even the sound of your own breathing. You couldnât hear the creak of the floorboards, the rustle of the sheets, or the soft hum of Yutaâs voice. All you had was his touch.
He rose from your side, leaving the space beside you cold and empty. You waited until you couldn't bear it. You fought the urge to move, to reach out and find him in the darkness. Your mind raced with possibilities. Where is he? Whatâs he doing?Â
And then his lips were just suddenly on yours, slow and feather soft. You could feel the warmth of his body above you, but he didnât press down, making you focus solely on his lips. A breathless gasp escapes you and you try to deepen the kiss desperatly but he backs off, denying you.
You wet your lips, still tasting him. He was sweet and reminiscent of the candy he had been eating all night. He tasted like lemon drops.
The next time you felt him, it was fleeting and teasing, but it hit you like a punch to the gut nonetheless. His fingertips trailed up the inside of your thigh. His touch felt like fire, and the way his lips followed the same path between your thighs was like ice. He was driving you crazy with need. Your breath quickened as you fought to stay still and be good for him. The only thing Yuta liked about brats was breaking them, and you knew better than to act out. Yuta liked control, liked to tease, and you werenât about to give him a reason to punish you.
He took your bound wrists, which lay above your head, and guided them to his face. Gently, he opened your hands and pressed his face into your palms.You felt the curve of his cheekbone, the softness of his lips, and the slight stubble along his jaw. As you touched and caressed his face, it was as if you were seeing him for the first time. You could gauge how close he was, and you could tell what expression he wore when his lips spread into a wide smile.
He traced your fingers along his lips, kissing the pads of each fingertip before slipping 2 digits into his mouth. One second he was sweet, and the next, he was doing things with his tongue that made you blush, licking and sucking on your fingers before pulling them out, glistening wet.
He took your damp fingers and guided them down his stomach. You followed the prominent vein on his lower abdomen that led into the waistband of his briefs. your fingers brushed against the hard length of him through his briefs. You squeezed, stroking him gently, imagining the way his breath would hitch, the way his raspy voice would sound when he moaned.
But before you could take it further, he pulled away.
âBaby, please,â you whined, your voice sounding distant and muffled to your own ears. âI canât take it anymore.â
You didnât hear his response, but you felt the bed dip under his weight, felt his hands on your skin, warm and insistent. He cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you arched into his touch, a moan escaping your lips. His kisses were hungry now, no longer teasing, and you matched his intensity.
He pulled your panties down your legs, the cool air hitting your core and making you gasp. You were so sensitive, so ready for him, and the thought of him finally taking you made your head spin.
âPlease, Yuta,â you begged, your voice trembling. âI need you.â
You're not sure why you still expect to hear a response, instead you felt the weight of his body as he moved between your legs, his hands gripping your hips. You could feel the press of his length against your entrance, and you held your breath, waiting, waitingâ
The first thrust knocks the breath from your lungs. The second thrust was deeper, and you cried out, the sensation overwhelming. You were so full with him that it felt intoxicating, blurring the lines between one stroke and the next.
And then he started moving faster, the force of each of his thrusts driving you forward. His grip on you was firm, keeping you in place as he fucked into you with a relentless rhythm. You could feel the tension building in your core, your body tightening with every thrust, and you knew you were close.Â
âYuta,â you moan. âIâmâ Iâm going toââ
Before you could finish, he quickly removed the blindfold and earplugs. It was as if your senses surged back to life all at once, overwhelming you and making your body hypersensitive. You squeezed around him tightly, spiraling over the edge.
âFuck,â he groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed you into ecstasy. He buried himself deep inside you, his body pressed against yours as he came, his breath hot against your neck.
After you both caught your breath, Yuta looked you over, concern etched on his face as he ensured he didnât push you past your limits. You reassured him that youâre fine and that you loved every second of it, a smile spread across his lips. Satisfied, he gently pulled you up and led you towards the shower for round two.
doctor's visit (ryland grace x gn!reader)
summary: you find it harder and harder to ignore the cute scientist that always sits next to you during your meetings
wc: 7k
cw: smut! submissive ryland and the glasses stay ON !! MINORS DNI !!
a/n: little nervous about this one :â) whyâs rylandâs character so hard to get right?? enjoy!
It took everything in you to squash the laugh that threatened to bubble out of your throat when you beheld the man dubbed the âleading scientist in astrophageâ. You werenât sure what you expected, but the lanky man stumbling out of the jet, nearly falling backwards off the little ladder, wasnât quite what you pictured. The second his foot touched the concrete landing pad, he hunched over to pick up a small orange traffic cone sitting next to the plane and proceeded to hurl whatever heâd last eaten into it.
Stratt grimaced, fidgeting anxiously next to you to get moving, and gestured for you to follow her once the scientist seemed to gather his bearings enough to stop heaving.
âDoctor Grace, how was your flight?â She asked.
He only replied with a thumbs up. A set of glasses were askew on the bridge of his nose and he didnât move the orange cone far from his mouth when the two of you neared.
âDoctor Grace, this is Doctor (L/n) whoâs here to make sure youâve made it in one piece before we discuss your findings. Excuse me for a moment.â
As Stratt moved to discuss something with someone on the landing strip a couple of feet away, you took that as your queue to approach the man. He looked pale, watching wearily as you approached with a smile.
âEnjoy the view on the way here, Doctor?â
You wasted no time, moving to find the doctorâs free hand that wasnât holding the vomit filled cone, to feel for his pulse. It was frantic, pounding against the pad of your fingers but unwavering. He let his hand fall limp in your hold, seemingly out of strength to do much besides stand in place.
âWell⊠I canât say I saw much. I was unconscious for most of it. Loved the last bit though, when weâd landed and werenât in the air anymore. Hey, do you have any water? Some guy gave me a pill and I think itâs still stuck in my throat.â
A smile creeped onto your face. Youâd known this man for barely a minute but you could feel that he had a gravitating way about him. Something charming and sweet. Dropping his arm, you nodded to him and gave him the water bottle youâd brought along. You also held out a small white pill. He instantly shook his head.
âAh, no thank you. Last time I took a pill from a stranger, I woke up on an aircraft carrier.â
âItâs dramamine, Doctor.â
A pause.
Defeat.
âOkay.â
You helped him open the bottle, as one of his hands was still occupied holding his puke cone, and watched as he gulped down mouthfuls of water to chase the dramamine.
âPulse is strong. Howâs your breathing?â
âUh- fine, I guess?â
âHow many fingers am I holding up?â
He adjusted his glasses with his wrist to finally properly fit over the bridge of his nose and blinked. âTwo.â
You gave a firm pat to his back, which he groaned at. âWelcome aboard, Doctor Grace!â
-
While your first meeting was brief, that was not the last time you saw Doctor Ryland Grace. After he finally found his sea legs, he became a regular presence at every meeting in regards to Project Hail Mary.
You werenât invited to many meetings, only joining when the meetings were about the health of the crew during their journey to Tau Ceti. The robot being constructed to care for the comatose astronauts was an impressive piece of technology unlike anything built before but it needed to be programmed perfectly to ensure the crewâs safety. If it went wrong- the crew would die and so would the rest of Earth.
Thatâs why you were brought aboard, to help bring up any possible problem that could happen with the crew on their trip and how the robot would handle it. You worked closely with a slew of other doctors, each of you bringing your own experience to the table.
As a Doctor specializing in neurology, your input was crucial. Being in a coma for several years was not ideal and could do some irreparable harm to the brain, which you disclosed as such in your meetings. It was an intricate dance, trying to solve the multitude of potential problems that came up with so many people with differing opinions
They also occasionally had you stationed as an on-call doctor when you werenât discussing the mission, setting you up in the medical wing of the giant aircraft carrier to handle any ailments of the crew. You didnât mind the busy work, it gave you something to do when you werenât in the lab helping with the robot or fighting with a room full of scholars.
The first time Doctor Grace showed up to one of the medical meetings, he was 15 minutes late.
Stratt gave him a look that exuded annoyance as he scrambled to sit in the only empty chair at the table, which happened to be between you and the most powerful woman in the world.
âSorry everybody,â he waved quickly in apology with an awkward laugh and dumped a folder of papers on the table. The room was dead silent. âThis place is a maze! I got lost somewhere on deck C I think. They should really put up some signs.â
If Stratt wasnât five feet away, you wouldâve giggled. There were signs all over the ship. In several languages.
A cardiologist from Brazil tapped his pen against the metal table in agitation. âAs I was sayingâŠâ
While the conversation buzzed on, discussing circulation and muscular atrophy that would arise from the crew's prone state for several years, you felt a shoe knock into yours. Turning your eyes away from the table, you were surprised to find Doctor Grace looking at you.
âDo you have an extra pen?â He whispered, not very quietly. He was leaning towards you like you were swapping secrets. The soft fabric of his quarter zip brushed against your arm.
Getting some glares from those sitting closest to you, you only nodded back and slipped an extra pen out of the spiral of your notebook.
âThank you. Hey, youâre that doctor that checked up on me on my first day here, right? Thanks for that, by the way, the pill really helped. I nearly filled up that cone first though, that was a little embarrassing.â
He laughed, another awkward chuckle that had you glancing sidelong at him.
Someone who used humor when they were uncomfortable, it seemed.
Taking a quick look around the room to make sure no one was watching, you leant towards him, bringing your heads closer together. He startled back a bit but didnât pull completely away.
âWhen I first got here, I got so seasick I accidentally puked all over my tour guideâs shoes. At least you made it to a cone.â You whispered, smiling at the memory.
Doctor Grace looked at you in shock, eyebrows raising into his hairline. âReally?!â He was really bad at whispering.
âDoctors, do you have an idea youâd like to share with the room?â The leading creator of the nurse robot, Doctor Lamai, peered at your hunched forms.
Jerking away from each other, Doctor Grace and yourself didnât talk for the rest of the meeting but you had to fight a smile when he slipped you a folded note that just had a crude drawing of a puking face.
-
Any meeting that you attended after that, Ryland- as heâd asked you to call him- would find his place next to you. After learning how tough of a crowd most of the medical crew was, the two of you didnât talk during the discussions again. But you did start passing notes like a couple of school children.
-
Did you know that the brain is a humanâs fattiest organ? -R
Yes -(Y/n)
Really? -R
Iâm a neurologist, Ryland. The brain is my job -(Y/n)
Oh yeah -R
Did you know that a human brain produces enough energy to power a small lightbulb? -R
-
This robot is basically like that big marshmallow doctor robot in that one movie -R
Baymax? -(Y/n)
Yeah that sounds right -R
Ours probably wonât be as cute as Baymax is -(Y/n)
Probably not. Maybe we should suggest something to make it cuter. Paint it in pink glitter and give it some eyes -R
Somehow I think thatâll make it even scarier than it already is. Go back to the drawing board -(Y/n)
-
I saw a bird today -R
What kind of bird? -(Y/n)
Seagull -R
Well, we are out at sea -(Y/n)
Itâs a little too far out in the ocean to be seeing birds, donât you think? They get tired -R
Maybe it was a stowaway? -(Y/n)
Poor guy :( -R
-
You learned a lot about Ryland over the next several weeks.
Ryland was full of fun facts and interesting thoughts. Heâd barrage you with them any chance he had, and you would listen. While medical facts were mostly common knowledge to you, fun facts about anything else was always a pleasant conversation starter.
He taught you everything there is to know about astrophage and how it works, once even letting you visit him in his little personal lab to see the little microorganisms yourself. Heâd carefully prepared a slide for you, making sure the focus was perfect before stepping back to let you peer into the microscope. When you started barraging him with questions, he was more than excited to answer- leading you around his mini lab with a hand on your back.
You learned that he has a mild shellfish allergy. A rather unfortunate finding. He spent a couple of hours in the medical wing laying on a cot, popping benadryl like candy and breaking out in hives after some cross-contamination with shrimp in the cafeteria kitchen.
His favorite animal is a fox and he has a surprising collection of fox related things to prove it.
He was a molecular biologist, now turned loud-and-proud middle school science teacher. He loves his students dearly and spent the greater part of several years revolving his life around their education.
He rarely ever swears. At least, not the actual words, but their modified, kid-friendly versions. Heâd have teachers knocking down his apartment door if he swore in front of his class, unintentionally expanding their vocabulary.
When he was trying really hard not to laugh, heâd make this tiny snorting noise that sounds an awful lot like a spray bottle.
He doesnât know how to use chopsticks. Not the right way, at least.
He has no immediate family, no pets and no partners.
He was an enigma really; someone that felt so out of place on this ship. Ryland felt too⊠normal to be here. Not in a negative way, just a⊠he-shouldâve-never-been-dragged-into-this kind of way. He was too warm compared to most everyone else here. The aircraft carrier was bursting at the seams with cold government officials and specialists in every science or space related subject to ever exist. Many were too professional, too self absorbed to realize they had a stick up their ass.
Ryland was a breath of fresh air and you felt increasingly drawn to him every time you interacted.
It also didnât hurt that he was attractive. Like⊠insanely attractive. His hair was perfectly messy every single day. He wore his glasses in such a way that youâd never seen anyone wear glasses before, hanging off one ear when he wasnât using them. A near constant 5 oâclock shadow was always gracing his face. Despite his clothing choices which some around you found unprofessional, he pulled off everything he wore. His fox cardigan, his yellow rain coat, his cringy science-pun t-shirts. It shouldnât, but it made him that much more alluring and it was getting harder and harder for you not to make a move.
You were friends- acquaintances at the least- but heâd never shown any interest. At least not that youâd seen. He was awkward sometimes but he was awkward with everyone. You didnât want to make things weird, so you stuffed those feelings deep and filed them away for later. Plus, he was technically higher ranking than you in the Hail Mary hierarchy. He was Strattâs right hand man. Maybe he didnât want to âpull rankâ.
These sorts of thoughts kept you up at night while you tried to ignore the sounds of the 3 other medical staff sleeping around you in your shared bunk. He wouldnât get out of your head and you werenât sure how much longer you could ignore that tightening string in your gut.
-
On Friday nights, the room on the ship that served as the social meeting place for many of the crew, equipped with a bar, was packed to the gills. You usually dropped by to say hi to the couple of coworkers and other doctors that you were friendly with but never staying for long. You just didnât know anyone well enough to want to stay and chat. At least you didnât⊠until one particular Friday night.
The hunched form at the bar clad in that unmistakable fox cardigan caught your eye almost immediately. He was hard to miss.
This was the first time youâd seen Ryland here. You werenât sure why he never came, but he was the one person on his whole ship youâd actually consider sharing a drink with.
Immediately making a bee-line for the bar, you saw that the doctor was flipping through several sheets of paper, head in his hand as he read. The people surrounding him at the counter were making light conversation, enjoying a beer and enjoying their Friday night.
Ryland was working.
âYâknow this room is supposed to be a reprieve from work, not somewhere you bring your work to, right?â
The blonde looked up in surprise as you squeezed to stand in the small empty space between him and the guy sitting on the barstool next to him. It was a tight fit, and Ryland immediately shuffled over an inch in his seat to give you some more room.
Or to avoid touching you, which didnât sit right in your stomach.
His glasses were near falling off his nose. He looked tired.
âI know but I couldn't sleep so I decided to come here. I brought some homework because I needed something to keep my mind busy and so I donât look like a total loser sitting here by myself. Is it working?â
âWell,â you hummed. âI donât think youâre a loser but I might be a little biased.â
He smiled, twirling a pen between his long fingers over the papers. You nodded over to where a karaoke machine sat and the 3 Hail Mary crewmates sat with their extra counterparts. âWhy don't you go join them? You know them well enough, right? Youâre working with them all the time.â
Ryland shifted in his seat to look over his shoulder. His knee pressed against your thigh which made it extremely hard to focus on his answer.
âNo, I donât think I really fit in with their crowd.â
âWhy not?â
âTheyâre brave. Strong. Sometimes I don't even know why I'm here to be honest. Why Stratt dragged me here. A humble middle school science teacher.â He laughed lightly, but it wasnât a genuine one.
Your heart squeezed into a knot for this man whoâd been uprooted from his comfortable life as a teacher and thrown into this madness without his consent just like many others. He felt unsure about his place here and besides Stratt who had him on a leash, he had no one, it seemed.
Besides you, you hoped.
You prayed he enjoyed your company enough to feel a little less alone.
âWell,â you leant back against the bar to properly look at him. He looked up at you over the golden frames of his glasses. âIâd say you have every right to be here. You discovered how to kill an astrophage and see what it's made of. You discovered how they breed and now we have the means to create a powerful fuel for the mission that will save humanity. All important things we might not have right now without you.â
Ryland huffed and drew a little circle on his paper. âIâm sure someone wouldâve thought to poke an astrophage with a stick eventually. And learning how they breed didnât take too much thinking either, surely someone wouldâve-â
âYou can't spend your whole life focusing on the âwhat ifâsâ, Ryland. We're here now thanks to you, whether you wanna see it that way or not.â
Finally, a real smile split his face and he nodded slowly. You couldnât tell if heâd accepted your words as truth or not, but they at least lifted his spirits a little. Plus, a tiny bit of red painted his ears.
âThanks, (Y/n). Can I⊠buy you a drink?â
Your stomach fluttered. âYes, as long as itâs not anything too hard. Iâve got a shift tomorrow.â
He nodded quickly and signalled for the bartender. âTwo beers please.â
Bottles in hand, you continued to lounge against the counter next to him, nursing the beverage and making small talk. Heâd offered his seat to you but you refused.
Looking out over the crowd, you spotted two individuals huddled together in the dim corner of the room. Ryland noticed your gaze and turned to look too. When he beheld the two scientists tangled together, he shook his head and turned back to you with a raised brow.
âI think DuBois and Shapiro are hooking up.â
âSeems that way.â
âDont you think itâs a little crazy? I mean, heâs going to be trucked off into space soon and sheâll be left here. What's the point in hooking up when it'll only end in tragedy? Youâre just asking for heartbreak.â He shook his head, fiddling with the plastic label of his beer.
You shrugged. âI don't see any harm in it. Sure itâll hurt eventually but why not live in the moment? Humans yearn for connection, it makes sense theyâd want to have some sense of normalcy before the end of the world. It's probably nice to forget about the apocalypse and enjoy someone's company for a while, take your mind off the doom and gloom.â
Ryland was quiet after that, suddenly turning anxious if his ducked head was any indication. Had you said something wrong? You drained the rest of your beer.
âIs that something you find yourself doing?â He asked quietly, feigning nonchalance but his foot was bouncing erratically against the bar stool.
Nervous.
A smile began to creep onto your face. âNot currently.â
His foot stopped.
Relief.
âBut⊠if the right person came along I wouldnât be opposed.â
His hand squeezed the bottle and his shoulders drooped.
Disappointment.
âOh⊠havenât found the right one yet?â He picked up his head with a painfully fake smile and a nod, looking around the room like he was helping you scout the place. âLots of interesting people on this ship. A pilot would be cool, huh?â
âYeah but theyâre a bit too cocky for my taste.â
He tapped his finger against his stacks of paper. âOkay, what about⊠another doctor? Or one of the government officials?â
You grimaced and he cringed back. âRight, no doctors or government workers. If not them, then⊠what are you looking for?â
Rylandâs eyes were searching yours for a glimpse, a hint of what you might be feeling.
With the tiniest bit of liquid courage running through your veins, you tapped your beer bottle against your leg and lightly began playing with the sleeve of his fox cardigan. He became impossibly still.
âSomeone real. Down to earth. Not afraid to be themselves⊠a nice smile and a pretty face sure helps too.â
The doctor gulped and you reveled in the sight of his Adam's apple bobbing in the soft light of the room. He inclined his head once, fingers twitching against the bar. âIâll keep an eye out for you.â He whispered.
Neither of you broke the heated eye contact until the man you were standing next to fell back in laugher and knocked you off your balance. You were able to recover quickly, but not before pressing even closer to the scientist and nearly falling into his lap. His hand had immediately planted onto your hip in an attempt to keep you steady. Being this close, you could feel the breath from his nose on yours. Your heart was pounding.
The room grew in volume as people flocked to gather around the karaoke machine that was playing a song you couldnât even bother to name. Not while Ryland held all of your attention.
While his chest heaved, you slowly moved to stand properly on your own two feet but holding his gaze. You took the hem of his cardigan in your hand. It was so soft.
âWant to go for a walk?â You asked quietly, glancing at his stack of papers that were forgotten about long ago.
Ryland said nothing but started brushing his work into a haphazard pile good enough to hold in one arm and stood up. Standing at his full height, you were reminded again how tall the man was. When he offered his hand as a silent question, an inquiry to make sure he wasnât reading anything wrong, you didnât hesitate to take it. No one batted an eye at the two of you as you led him through the crowd and out into the silent metal hallways beyond.
-
Ryland could not unlock the door to his room fast enough.
He only had one key to his name while on the ship, youâd think it would be pretty easy to manage. In theory it was, but when his nerves were blasting through the roof and you were fiddling with the belt loop on the back of his pants, he got a little distracted.
You giggled as the scientist finally fished his key out of his pocket and proceeded to drop it on the floor with a clink.
âSorry,â he strained, scooping it up from the floor and finally fumbling with the lock.
Once the door swung open and the two of you stepped inside, you did a quick observation of the room. It was extremely small, barely enough room for one person, let alone two. There was just enough space for a twin bed and a small desk attached to the wall. Rylandsâs belongings were strewn everywhere there was space. While it was cramped, there was something he had in his room that you didnât.
A window.
A tiny circular porthole- so small you couldnât fit your head through it if it was able to open- but a window nonetheless. Your room was deep in the middle of the ship so no windows for you. As it was around midnight, there was nothing but inky blackness on the other side but you wondered what it would look like when it was daytime and the ocean was blue. For now, the soft glow of a tiny lamp kept the room illuminated.
âOh god- donât mind the mess. I donât get many visitors.â He stood awkwardly in the center of the room, brushing some discarded clothes aside with his shoe. âBut to be fair, itâs impossible to keep a room this small clean. I mean, no dresser, no closet. Iâm not 100% sure but I think this used to be a storage-â
You liked to think you knew Ryland pretty well now, and knew when he was about to spiral into a rambling fit. He was especially prone when he was anxious. As much as you loved to hear him talk, now wasnât the time.
When you took a step forward and fisted the lapels of his cardigan in your hands, his words died immediately.
When your hands tugged his body down and your lips slotted against his, his whole body froze up.
You didnât push beyond a couple of seconds before pulling away a hair- keeping him close but giving him the room to decide if he wanted to stop or come back for more. For all you knew, he was just bringing you back to his room to show you his collection of fox things. Through lidded eyes, you watched as his eyelashes fluttered, dazing down at you in shock.
Suddenly worried that maybe you had indeed read things wrong, you began to ease up your grip on his collar. When his hands shot up to keep your head in place, cradling your jaw in his large palms and returned the kiss with eagerness, you smiled against him.
Months of brushing around each other snapped.
Your mouths were tangled in a heated dance- his body moving closer and pressing yours against the door, like he was trying to melt into you. He still had his glasses on, which meant you were being a little cautious of how close you pressed your face into his. You didnât want to stab your eye on the rims, what a mood breaker that would be. But you didnât want to ask him to take them off. In fact, you wanted to beg him to keep them on.
When his hands dropped to your waist to pull your hips together, you wound your arms around his neck, your hands immediately finding the back of his head- finally able to feel the mussed hair that snagged your attention day after day.
It was extremely soft, just as youâd imagined. Perfect, just like the rest of him.
Time blurred and you werenât sure how long the two of you stood there, tasting each other like you were starving. Eventually, you decided it was much too hot in the tiny room and you were both wearing way too much clothing.
Dragging your hands from his hair to trail down the strong column of his neck, you dipped your hands into his cardigan, sliding your fingers over his shoulders and pushing the cream knitwear off in the process.
He shivered under your touch, when your fingers glanced over his biceps as the cardigan fell to his elbows. His hands let go of your waist to allow the fabric to fall to the floor in a pile. When his hands returned, they planted themselves on the door next to your waist.
It wasnât to tower over you, or to trap you against him. No, it was because he needed something to keep him upright or he was at risk of squishing you entirely against the metal.
You broke the kiss with a soft gasp, chest heaving against his where his shirt stretched over the muscle.
Youâd never seen Ryland without something thrown over the top of a t-shirt- always wearing some type of jacket or lab coat or something. Now that he was without one, your hands mapped over his arms and shoulders.
As he busied himself with your neck, gently nosing at the soft spot just behind your ear, you swore.
âShit, Ryland. What are they feeding you in the cafeteria? Protein powder?â
He laughed against your skin, dipping his lips down to your shoulder. His scruff tickled and the metal of his glasses were ice cold compared to your heated skin. âNo. I just⊠go to the gym sometimes.â
âSometimes.â
âMhm-â he choked on his affirmation when you slid your hands up his abdomen to feel underneath his shirt. The muscle was warm and fluttered against your fingers.
âCan I see what else youâve been hiding under all these layers?â
Clothes were shed in a record amount of time, save for the couple of extra seconds Ryland took to take off his pants because he almost tripped over his own feet. He did seem to hesitate when he got to his boxers, fiddling with the hem, but when you hooked your fingers into the elastic, he let the fabric fall.
Once every part of you was exposed to the chill, circulated air, Ryland began chasing your mouth again but stopped with a grunt when you pushed him back onto his bed.
The look on his face was priceless, enough so that you laughed as you knelt on the hard mattress and swung a leg over his hips to straddle him. If Ryland had been red before, it was nothing compared to the color of his face now. His eyes glanced over your body, appreciating but not lingering out of nervousness as he stammered.
âYou want to-?â
Straightening his glasses on his face to fit properly, you nodded. âIs this ok?â
âYes! Yes- Iâve just never⊠my ex was more traditional I guess so we never⊠She always liked me to be on top.â He let out a breathy laugh and a shy smile.
Everything about this man was so endearing.
âAs fun as that sounds, I want to try this first. I can see you better this way.â
Another audible hitch in his breath as he nodded. âOkay.â
His large palms found purchase on your thighs and he sighed blissfully through his nose when you bent forward to kiss along his jaw. It feathered under your lips and he tilted his head back to happily give you more surface area to work with.
When you finally ground your hips down onto him, he bucked under the pressure. A completely unintentional gesture that had him apologizing. You chased that response, rhythmically moving your pelvis in tandem with his.
Ryland whimpered.
Youâd be damned if you didnât try to get him to make that sound a hundred times more before morning.
You spent several minutes exploring his neck with your tongue while keeping a firm pressure with your hips, gently swaying in circles against him. You found a spot right at the juncture between his neck and shoulder that had him moaning. By the time you eased up, red marks bloomed along his throat and Ryland was already breathless. Chest heaving against your palms, he looked heavily up at you through those glasses of his and gave you a shy, lopsided grin.
âThat was nice.â
You raised a brow. âIâm gonna have to work harder if all I get is a âthat was niceâ, Ry.â
His smile dropped. âNo! Thatâs not what I meant- I just⊠Iâm gonna be honest itâs been a while since IâveâŠâ his voice quieted, letting you fill in the blanks.
You knew he had an ex- heâd brought her up occasionally in your conversations when the moment called for it- but you didnât know how long ago that had been. If you had to guess, it was probably before he became a teacher. Which if what he was saying was true⊠then heâd hadnât been with anyone since then and had gone several years without being intimate with anyone (besides himself, anyway).
Ryland took your momentary pause as a bad sign.
âNot that I havenât wanted to! Iâve just been really busy. Teacher stuff. Grading. Lesson planning. And with a teacherâs salary on top of crippling student loan debt? Fancy restaurants can be a little too steep. Even fast food restaurants these days are getting expensive. I donât even have a car! I bike to work! Canât even afford a coffee date some months.â
Another rambling tangent. One of his pointer fingers tapped erratically at your thigh.
âWell, youâre in luck Ryland,â you state, pressing a hand to his chest to feel his heartbeat, just like you had when you first met. Just like before, it was pounding but for a whole different reason this time. âI donât think thereâs any high-end restaurants on this aircraft carrier so I donât need any of that fancy treatment. What if we have cafeteria oatmeal and orange juice on the flight deck together tomorrow morning instead?â
He was nodding before youâd even finished your sentence. âYeah, that sounds nice.â
âGood,â you smile, raising yourself up to kneel properly over him.
His neck bobbed when you finally took him in your hand. He was warm and firm, the perfect length and size without being too much.
You felt him resist the urge to buck into your fist, instead throwing his head back against the mattress with a groan, tightly squeezing your thighs with his hands to ground himself. He was already leaking into your palm within a couple pumps.
âI-I donât know how long Iâll be able to-â
âWeâve got all night, Ry, donât worry.â
He nodded, comforted by your words. He was soft as silk and overly sensitive, it seemed. With the help of your hand, the scientist came quickly, just as he feared he would, painting his abdomen white. You shushed him before he could even think about apologizing.
One positive thing about him going so long without intimacy meant his refractory period was minuscule. He was hard again in minutes, which heâd blushed about.
When you finally sank onto him, moving slowly both for yourself and Rylandâs sake, all thoughts left your mind besides the ones that revolved around the man underneath you. You didnât care about the dying sun, or Project Hail Mary, or your job. By his expression, Ryland was feeling the same.
His hands were surely leaving bruises on your thighs but you didnât care one bit. Not when your bodies fit together beautifully. Fully seated, hips locked, you couldâve cried at how he felt inside you. He was just the right size, brushing every spot he needed to and then some without being too overwhelming.
When you began to move, Ryland helped where he could- offering your body stability and putting those muscled arms of his to good use. The veins on his forearms were bulging and the tendons in his neck were prominent against his skin.
You didnât know how soundproof the metal boxes the higher-ups deemed bedrooms were, but you doubted they would do a good job of masking any of the noises the two of you were making. Ryland was keeping quiet as much as he could manage, teeth grinding. You were a little less reserved, gasping and groaning as you bounced. Let his neighbors hear, you didnât care. Not when you finally got your chance with the scientist youâd been eyeing since the moment he stepped out of that jet.
Just like he was perfect for you, you could tell you were providing enough relief for him in return because you could feel his thighs began to quake.
When he bucked up into you again, unable to resist, your hold on that string deep in your gut snapped and you saw white. Feeling you finish brought Ryland to the edge too. He was just barely able to find the strength to lift your body high enough to pull out before he came.
The next several seconds were spent breathing in tandem. Ryland was watching you like you hung the stars in the sky. With all of the movement, his glasses had skewed again. Huffing a laugh, you bent forward to straighten them and then pressed a long lingering kiss to his lips. You felt his fingers glide up your ribs then wander to your spine, pressing your chest tightly to his.
His glasses were foggy by the time you pulled away, your shared breath heating the lenses.
âYou ok?â You asked, brushing a thumb over the dusting of facial hair along his jaw. He nodded into your palm.
âMore than ok.â
-
You woke up to snoring.
Not the loud, reverberating kind, but a soft and soothing hum that blended perfectly with the constant moans and groans of the ship youâd become so accustomed to.
Blinking open your eyes, you stared at the metal ceiling. It took several seconds to remember where you were. For a moment, you assumed you were in your room but when tiny glimpses of sunlight danced over the walls and when a hand twitched lightly against your waist, the memory of last night came rushing back.
The bar, your conversation with the scientist, and then-
A soft smile erupted across your cheeks as they warmed. Ever so slowly lifting your hand, you brushed your fingers through the head of hair that was tucked into your neck.
Indeed, Doctor Ryland Grace was laying by your side, pressed impossibly close to your body due to the cramped nature of his bed, and blissfully asleep.
All feelings of hesitancy and shyness heâd had hours earlier were gone as he slept, the doctor partially draped over you- an arm slung over your waist, a leg thrown over one of yours and tucked between your thighs. He was snoring against your neck where his face was pressed. You were pretty sure he was drooling. His feathered hair was soft against your fingers, even more unkempt than usual.
You couldâve stayed like that for hours, warm and comfortable even in the pathetic excuse for a bed.
Several minutes passed before he began waking up, stirred by the gentle pass of your fingers along the short hair at the nape of his neck. He moved around slightly but didnât move to pull away from your side.
He sighed against your skin, the fluttering of his eyelashes against your throat telling you heâd finally opened his eyes.
âGood morning,â you said quietly, not wanting to break the peaceful tranquility of the room that was rare to find on the bustling carrier.
You felt him blink a couple times before he responded, a smile sounding on his lips. âMorning.â
God, his voice was perfect- a rough, deep baritone thanks to hours of sleep. It had you turning your head towards him, pressing your lips to his hairline. You couldnât see his face, but the stretch of stubble across your throat told you heâd smiled even more.
Several minutes went by in companionable silence, neither of you wanting to pull away. His fingers brushed lazily against your waist and yours didnât stop thumbing through his hair.
You wondered after a while if heâd fallen back asleep before he mumbled a question. âWhat time is it?â
Peering over his head, you squinted at the small digital clock that sat on the tiny built-in desk.
â8:58.â
A pause.
Then panic.
Ryland shot upwards, unsticking himself from your body and scrambling out of the bed in a flurry of limbs and movement.
âShhhhhiitake mushrooms!â
You watched from the bed, lightly amused as you watched him stumble around the cramped space in a frantic search for clothing. Lord above, he looked just as good from the back as he did the front.
âSomething wrong?â
âI was supposed to go with Stratt to a crew meeting an hour ago.â He threw his legs into a pair of boxer briefs (which you were pretty certain were on backwards but he didnât seem to notice or care), followed by a pair of jeans. âKinda surprised she hasnât barged in here already to get me up, actually iâm. Sheâs done it before.â
You just hummed, watching him slug a blue button up across his shoulders and struggle with the buttons. He threw a glare at you that had no fire behind it. âWill you show at least a little sympathy? She could probably throw me into the shipâs jail for this.â He missed a button at the top of his shirt, which meant the whole shirt was now fastened lopsided. He didnât seem to notice that either.
âIâm not going to complain that we got an extra hour or two of sleep together.â
His cheeks bloomed. Thereâs that shyness. He didnât fight your statement, instead busying himself with tugging a beanie over his bedhead. When he sat on the mattress next to you to start putting socks and shoes on, he searched the room with squinted eyes.
âDo yâknow where my-â
You held out his glasses. At some point last night, youâd relieved him of the spectacles for his own comfort (and so you could kiss him as senseless as you wanted to) and carefully placed them under the bed where theyâd be safe from being squished.
âThank you.â
Looking a little less than put together, he started collecting the notepads and folders stuffed with papers on the small desk, gathering everything into his arms.
âUh- well, we missed breakfast so how about we meet up for lunch? Or dinner? Or breakfast tomorrow? Or we donât have to do anything together at all if you donât want to. Totally your call, really.â He kept his gaze down at the papers, avoiding your gaze. You smiled.
âWell, I start my shift in an hour and canât leave the medical wing until Iâm relieved.â
His shoulders dropped a little.
âBut⊠thereâs no rules against having visitors.â
Ryland looked at you over the rims of his glasses, starting to smile himself. âYeah? Ok! Yeah, Iâll- Do you have a preference for lunch? Iâll bring you something. Or I can get you a little bit of everything from the cafeteria? Do they allow that?â
You sat up with a laugh, holding the thin bedsheets against your chest to keep the last little bit of warmth from him against you. âIâll get the same thing youâre having. Iâm not picky.â
The doctor nodded to himself, shuffling toward the door with large strides. Twisting the handle, the door opened barely an inch before he doubled back like he forgot something. You expected him to search for something else he needed, not expecting him to rush over and press a fast kiss to your lips. It was your turn to blush.
âRight! Ok, Iâll get us something good. See you in a little bit! And lock the door on your way out, will you? Thanks!â
With his goodbye, he rushed out of the room, gently shut the door and began racing away. You heard his pounding footsteps reverberate the walls as he ran down the hall.
His room was too quiet now that he was gone, only the sounds of the ship keeping you company.
It took you several minutes to shake out of your star-struck stupor.
When the blonde showed up in your quiet office in the medical wing at 12pm sharp, precariously balancing two to-go boxes stuffed full with cafeteria food and harboring a broad smile, you quickly realized how much Doctor Ryland Grace already had you wrapped around his finger.
a/n: ryland grace: the peopleâs pillow princess. thank you for reading!
cw: I think it's pretty clear what's under the cut, so proceed as you will, 18+ content
a/n: I've never done a nsfw alphabet but this seemed fun. feel free to send requests for nsfw alphabets.
A= Aftercare (what theyâre like after the act)
Jenson may be a slut, but he's a needy slut that's for sure. Once you're done he's desperate to be touching you in any way, as long as your skin is touching his skin he's content. He'll run you a bath and get in with you or just clean you up and cuddle you to sleep.
B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)
On himself he loves his arm and chest, it's clear he's an athlete and works out and he likes the way he looks, nothing wrong with that.
Ass man, boob man ... Jenson is a thighs man! He loves your thighs, especially if they're bigger. He'll grip them to the point where there will be visible bruises the next morning. He loves leaving hickeys and small bites there as well and especially loves holding onto your thighs as you ride him.
C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)
He loves it no matter where it ends up. On your tits, your face, your stomach, your ass, over your pussy. But his favorite place has got to be inside. Something about watching his cum leaking from you really lights a spark inside of him.
D= Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory)
Once you gave him a spicy polaroid picture, and now he keeps it in his wallet. When he's traveling and you can't join he definitely takes it out and uses it.
E= Experience (do they know what theyâre doing)
This goes without saying that he's experienced. Jenson's been around, that's for sure, but at the end of the day it all makes him a more skilled lover for you.
F= Favorite position
Doggy -> he likes to see your back arch and your ass shake as he pounds into you, sometimes he'll give your ass a smack, other time's he'll reach around you and grope your tits.
Cowgirl -> he likes to see you on top, especially when he can prop himself up and take one of your nipples into his mouth. don't be fooled tho, he will plant his feet down and fuck up into you like there's no tomorrow.
Missionary -> oldie but a goodie, sometimes he really needs some intimate eye to eye loving and you're happy to oblige.
G= Goofy (how serious are they)
It all depends on the mood. Sometimes he's cracking a few jokes along the way and other times the only thing coming from his mouth is unfiltered dirty dirty talk.
H= Hair (grooming habits)
He keeps it trimmed pretty close but doesn't completely shave it off as the feeling of it growing back gets uncomfortable for him. He doesn't really care about what you do as long as you're comfortable, he's not afraid to go exploring.
I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)
Back when he was racing it was often fast paced and rough. While there's still times that it is, now that he's retired it's slower and more romantic.
J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)
When you can't join him for travel he'll face time you or use one of your dirty photos and jack off. At home he doesn't really do it since he has you. Is down for mutual masturbation.
K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)
Little kinky slut, if I'm being honest. But mainly: exhibitionism, size kink, overstimulation.
Also really enjoys having sex in front of a mirror and occasionally making a home made sex tape.
L= Location (where they like to get it on)
He's open to doing it pretty much anywhere but at the end of the day he prefers his bedroom because he can really take his time and take you apart properly.
M= Motivation (what gets them going)
Pretty much anything, he's always ready to go. If you're in the mood, he's in the mood.
N= No (something they won't do)
He doesn't want to do anything that will seriously hurt you. Indulging in some light BDSM is fine, but any actual pain and he's stopping immediately.
O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)
As much as he loves the feel of your lips wrapped around his dick, he absolutely adores eating you out. Could spend the whole day between your legs and it would be a day well spent. He's pretty skilled with his tongue and will have you cumming multiple times.
P= Pace (do they prefer it slow or fast)
Really depends on the mood. Sometimes it can be hard and fast fucking and other times it's passionate love making.
Q= Quickie (do they prefer quickies or taking their time)
While he does prefer to take his time and make you fall apart under him multiple times, sometimes there's not enough times and there come in the quickies.
He's down for quickies, and will absolutely make you cum no matter how little time the two of you have. He'll do it pretty much anywhere, from his driver's room to the public bathroom of a restaurant or a club.
R= Risk (do they like to try new things)
He's down for new things and would try anything once before writing it off. And he's a bit of an exhibitionist so definitely up for doing it in risky places.
S= Stamina (how many times they can go)
He's an athlete and has pretty great stamina so safe to say he can go for multiple rounds with little to no breaks. He'll have you cumming at least twice every time as well.
T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)
Full box of toys under your bed, from vibrators to inhumanly shaped dildos and anal beads, there's everything in there. Watched 50 Shades and wanted to ass a red room to your house but you told him no.
U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)
He loves teasing you, anywhere and anytime. On a formal dinner, he'll slip his hand underneath your dress under the table. In the car, in the bedroom, really anywhere.
He's okay with you teasing him as well but gets frustrated pretty easily and will bend you over the nearest surface.
V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)
As soon as his mouth is open it's full on dirty talk. He'll say the nastiest things possible, with few grunts, gasps and swear words in between. Sometimes when you're on top and going extra slow or teasing him he'll whine, but it's not often.
W= Wild card (random headcannon of any sort)
He bent you over his race car and fucked you like an animal in heat after he won the championship. Still thinks about it sometimes.
X= X-ray (whatâs down below in those pants)
A bit over 7 inches and he knows how to use it well. His dick is pretty, with a pink tip and a vein running along the underside.
Y= Yearning (sex drive)
Man is a proper whore. He's horny 24/7, as soon as you even give him a suggestive look he's ready to drop his pants and get going.
Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)
If he's has a really rough day he'll fall asleep earlier than usual, but in general he liked laying with you and waiting for you to fall asleep first.
