ivy

grace's girlfriend ‹𝟹 19. 18+ blog MDNI. 𓏲ּ𝄢

[ivyinkveil]

ivy ʚɞ ── 19 𓏵 she/her 𓏵 southeast asian 𓏵 sfw/nsfw 𓏵 MDNI. 𓏵 bisexual 𓏵 ryland grace's girlfriend. ♡ ao3

masterlists and req info (always updating!)

꒰ 01 ꒱ ryland grace masterlist

꒰ 02 ꒱ main masterlist (excluding grace)

꒰ 03 ꒱ request information

ivyinkveil do not copy, translate, or plagiarise any of my works.

[s4turn3st]

I wanna do this with holland teehee :3

I’ve been on a tweet kick recently so expect a lot of tweet inspo???

Did not try reread to see if I have any spelling mistakes so if I do lmk…

-

Hollands mustache tickles the top of your lip as you exchange heated kisses.

He and Healy had skipped town for a few days to work on a case, and when he finally got back you jumped on him the moment he walked through the door.

He lets out a subtle whine against your lips, hips bucking up against yours as you straddle the man on his couch.

His hands have landed on your hips, grasping at the clothing that covers them. You hump the man’s hard and heavy cock, straining through his slacks.

A simple yet desperate rhythm is created, the motions of your hips creating a repetitive and pleasurable pattern.

Your hands tangle within the man’s locks, tugging slightly to bring his face closer to yours.

A whimper is coaxed out of the man’s lips, muffled against yours.

“…Shit! Baby, wait-“ he pleads, calloused hands moving to try and slow down your movements, but you are persistent in your efforts.

You instead increase your speed, drawing out more moans from the man beneath you.

You can feel the way his cock twitches in his suit pants, hips stuttering as he teeters closer and closer to his orgasm.

You can tell he’s close, and honestly? You wanted him to cum this early.

“Babydoll wait, wait I’m not, fuck- I’m not ready yet-“

He leans his head back, hands scrambling to try and ease you off of him, but it’s of no use. You’re determined to see this man cum in his pants no matter what.

He whines, finally finding a foundation in gripping the fabric of the couch. A smirk adorns your face as you intentionally grind your hips down on him harder, drawing out those delicious moans you love so much.

His mouth drops open, eyes squinting shut as he groans, hips continuing to rut up against yours with a stutter, and you can feel the way his cock pulses beneath you, shooting ropes of cum in his pants.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-“ he stammers, voice going up in pitch on earth word, ending in a whine.

You continue to grind down on the man, easing him through his orgasm. After a few moments, you stop your movements and slide backwards, settling yourself at the edge of his lap to stare at your handiwork.

He lays there, chest heaving up and down, out of breath. His eyes still squeezed shut and his hair is a tangled mess, going every which way.

His tie undone, shirt halfway unbuttoned and multiple hickeys from earlier showing their form along the pale skin. And once you reach his pants, a large damn spot adorns his crotch, cum seeping through the fabric.

Slowly, his eyes begin to flutter open and his mind begins to clear, taking note of the situation.

“Shit- babydoll m’so fucking sorry, fuck, I didn’t mean to I tried not to-“ he rambles, a heavy blush adorning his cheeks out of embarrassment.

His hands release the fabric of the couch and move up to rub at the exposed skin of your thighs that straddle his legs.

You let out a small giggle at his words, knowing this was a much bigger deal to him than it was to you.

Leaning in closer, you smell the manly cologne the man adorns, paired with the cigarette smoke and whiskey engraved into his suit.

You decide to whisper nto his ear, feeling the way his body stiffens at the feeling of your hot breath on his skin.

“It’s okay sweetheart, I understand.”

He gulps.

“Really?”

“Yes. And y’know why?”

He shakes his head slightly, fingers gripping your thighs a bit tighter.

“Because I have so much more planned for you tonight. You wouldn’t want to let me down, would you?” You lick a long stripe up his ear after your words, relishing in the way he shivers.

“No ma’am.”

“Good boy. Now let’s head to the bed, yeah?”

He nods and you lean back, staring at the man. His pupils are blown with lust, barely any blue visible in his iris. It didn’t take long for him to get back up to speed, his cock already back at half mast underneath his pants.

This’ll be fun.

[somethinginyourbones]

Help Him Forget

A Bonded Pair pt.2 | pt. 1 is here.

Summary: Things with March changed in ways you hadn’t expected. You were friends now, like actual friends. His rejection hadn’t changed the way you felt, but you respected it. What happens one night when March is too weak?

cw: m/f, (18+), drunk March, just drunk enough to be stupid, mentions of violence, small injuries, March got beat up at work, comfort, friends-to-it’s complicated, wound care, reckless, pain kink, begging, restraint?, sweet dirty talk, handjobs, needy March, so much guilt, big angst.

—

The soap bubbles cling to your wrist as you wash the last of the dishes. It feels kinda weird, and not in a way, to do things like cleaning up after dinner with Holly. March was nice enough to either leave cash for take out or stock the fridge with things to cook. The least you could do was wash the dirty dishes, you thought.

It also felt weird because Holly had bailed. Yeah, that’s right. You came over for dinner and were about halfway through when Jessica called, bragging about something new and so totally cool that she’d gotten from the mall. Holly proceeded to inhale the rest of her food and booked it.

So you were alone, in March’s house.

It wasn’t weird. You had to keep reminding yourself.

It had felt that way once before when Holly would crash early, and you’d come up with excuses to stick around and wait for March. You didn’t have to do that anymore.

Weeks had passed since that first night you hung out with him alone, and contrary to your fears, March kept his word. Things weren’t even the littlest bit awkward. You still hung out with Holly and now you hung out with March too. You were friends, like actual friends.

Sure, the rejection stung, but with the amount of whiskey you’d consumed that night and March’s promise, it helped. It didn’t change anything. You still felt everything you had before, and maybe even more now, but you were content to let your fantasies live in silence.

If the only way you ever got Holland March was late at night, with your eyes shut and your fingers slipping beneath your bedsheets, dipping in and stroking until you cried out his name for no one else to hear, then so be it.

Those were the thoughts you were lost in now. You couldn’t help it. The sink was almost empty as you mindlessly watched the water swirl lower and lower. It was at the same moment the drain made that awful glug-glug noise, that something outside also slammed against the front door.

You physically jump, your heart pounding. You barely make out the sound of keys in the door, a soft click, and then a softer groan. March is colliding with the wall before you can move. His shoulder hits it heavily as he stumbles, leaning his weight into it.

You’re not sure why he’s stumbling. If he’s drunk or if it’s because of the dried blood on his shirt, and around his mouth and nose. His lip is split and there’s a nasty purple bruise forming on his right cheek.

“March…what the hell happened?”

Your voice finds him first. It startles him, and something flashes in his eyes when he does see you. It’s takes a minute for him to realize you’re really here. For a second you’re afraid he’s upset, but then you see his shoulders soften, and relax. He smiles.

Boyish and flashy, even covered in blood.

“I’m alright,” March says. That smile goes quickly though, a groan ripping past his clenched teeth as he pushes off the wall. He starts in your direction, towards the kitchen, but stumbles half way. You catch him.

“Hey. No. Jesus, you’re not. Go, go sit on the couch.”

You steer him towards the living room and immediately regret not walking him over to it. You awkwardly and nervously keep an eye on him as you grab everything. You open the fridge, pulling out a few beers, and snag the first aid kit from one of the upper cabinets.

March had successfully made it to the couch without further injury. He was sunken into the cushions, his head resting against the back. He peels his eyes open slowly, and what looks like painfully, when he feels you plop down beside him.

“Here. This is for your face. I looked but you didn’t have any frozen veggies,” you explain. You hold out a cold glass bottle beer as an ice pack substitute. March takes it and places it on his cheek, letting his head fall back again.

“Open that other one for me,” he mumbles.

You do. You pop the top off a second beer and place it in his other hand. “Tell me what happened.”

“Bad day.”

You growl softly, and see a faint smile on March’s lips at your annoyance. He’s doing it on purpose. You grumble, “No shit.”

March laughs and then groans again, clutching at his ribs. He leans up to take a drink, and finally notices you rummaging through bandaids and bandages, medical tape and ointments. He looks at you, while you’re too focused or too annoyed with him to look back up, he’s not sure. He looks though.

“It was the right lead. Followed everything, all of it, down to these two guys. They found us before we found them though,” March explains quietly.

“How’s Healy?” You ask as you pull out some q-tips and a small bottle of rubbing alcohol.

March’s eyes follow your hands. “He’s fine. Got a shiner of his own but he was bigger than both of them. Lucky asshole.”

You snort, laughing. It’s March who speaks again. He nods towards the first aid kit supplies. “What’s all this?”

“I was gonna clean up your cuts.”

You say it plainly, and something about it makes March giddy.

He’s had too much to drink. He knows this. Today was shit, for a lot more than he’s letting on. He should send you home.

The very opposite comes out of his mouth. He tries to look as carefree as possible, leaning his head back against the couch and closing his eyes again. “Knock yourself out.”

The truth is, his heart is pounding inside his chest. He can feel the couch cushion dip as you move, and hear the first aid kit rattle as your knee bumps into it. He hears you sigh.

“I…I can’t reach this way. Come here.”

Before March’s eyes are even open completely, your fingers are curled into the fabric of his ruined shirt. You’re pulling him towards you. He takes the unopened bottle of beer away from his face. “Where?”

“Here. Lay your head in my lap.”

You fall back onto your ass, sitting flat, and slipping your feet to the floor. March just stares at you, your legs.

This is such a bad idea.

He can feel the booze pumping through him, making everything feel way too sluggish. He feels the pain in his body. Everywhere he was kicked and hit and dragged today.

You’re looking at him so sweetly though, your face open and soft, like you just want to help. You look so fucking pretty, and March is too weak to do the right thing right now.

He drains the open beer before slowly swinging his feet around and throwing them over the couch’s other armrest. March leans back. The back of his head meets your thighs.

When he opens his eyes again, and looks up at you, well March realizes how truly fucked he is.

And then you smile at him.

He clears his throat, a little forcefully, awkward.

“Hurry up. I’ll fall asleep like this,” March grumbles.

You just laugh at him, sweet, syrupy. “I wouldn’t mind.”

He knows you wouldn’t. He knows how you feel, or at least he thinks. March isn’t sure which is worse. The knowledge that you want him, or if that night so many weeks ago was just a drunken lapse in your judgement.

Something that you regret.

That’s worse, March thinks.

He wants you to want him. He shouldn’t.

You’re leaning down even closer now, already carefully dragging a q-tip around the gash that’s on the bridge of his nose. March doesn’t know if he should close his eyes or not. If it’s weird not too. His eyes flicker all over your face. Your skin, your hair, your mouth.

It’s slightly open, your lips parted in concentration. March can feel your breath fan across his forehead.

“How bad is it, doc?” His voice sounds too deep, too raspy.

You let out something between a giggle and a playful groan. Your normal response when he says something ridiculous and cheesy, and dad-like.

“I don’t think anything’s broken,” you retort back, smiling.

You apply ointment with a new q-tip, and then clean around the inner edges of his nose, wiping away the blood that’s still staining his skin. It takes longer than it should because March keeps scrunching and wiggling his nose, complaining that it tickles. You both fall into laughter.

March feels like he’s fading a little. The alcohol and exhaustion tug at his bones, and he’s so so comfy here. In your lap.

He gets a little quiet, his eyes heavy as you pull out one last q-tip. Your voice has dropped to a whisper. “One last one.”

March only nods, his eyes slipping closed. He feels the wet cotton touch the split on his lip gently, but then it’s gone.

There’s silence, then your voice. “I’m sorry, I…I need to…”

March’s eyes shoot open when your thumb meets his bottom lip. His whole body goes rigid as you pull it down, following the cut to the inside of his lip.

You don’t seem to realize. March does.

One because you’re fucking touching his mouth, and two, it hurts. It stings the worst here. He can’t help it. He clenches his teeth, which only cause the muscles in his face to tighten. His bruised cheek explodes in a wave of hot pain.

He groans deeply.

“I’m sorry, almost done,” you apologize, and promise quickly.

The one on his lip was probably the worst of all. It had split, of course, but his tooth had also cut the inside. It was jagged.

March tries to control his breathing. You swirl the cotton swap and…March feels his eyes roll back a little. Heat spreads through him again. From his face, down to his toes that are still in his dress shoes…It settles low in his belly.

Oh. No.

Fuck no, March thinks.

He’s hard.

He’s lying here with his head in your lap and he’s fucking hard.

Before March can even consider sitting up and de-escalating this whole thing, you pass across the cut once more, really digging in. You needed to make sure a piece of his tooth hadn’t broken off and gotten stuck.

March lets out what he thinks is another groan of pain. It only registers to him that it wasn’t when you stop moving.

It was a moan.

He’d moaned, out loud, with your thumb still holding his lip. His cheeks burn immediately.

March’s eyes are open and staring up at you, glassy and kinda wet. His voice comes out wrecked, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

He watches as you swallow, your throat working. You seem a little stunned. The q-tip is gone. March doesn’t know if you dropped it or what. All he knows is that your thumb is still on his lip. Not really pulling anymore, but simply resting there.

March is frozen.

He should get up. He could. He could stop this whole moment, just like he did last time. He could make the right choice. March could be responsible, be smart, and careful about this.

But then your eyes flicker across his face, and down his body, and March groans again, equally embarrassed and turned on. He instinctively covers the hard outline of his cock with his hand. “Don’t…just, ignore it.”

“You’re…”

“Don’t,” March groans, but then he sees your face. It’s filled with disbelief. Your voice follows.

“I didn’t think you…”

March listens to your words as they trail off. He got the gist of what you meant and now his ears are ringing. “Didn’t think I what?”

Your eyes snap back to his. “Wanted me. Like that. You turned me down before.”

March had to have a concussion. He had to, because in what fucking world could you possibly think he didn’t want you????

March practically squeals, his voice jumping a few octaves. “Because I was trying to be responsible!”

He watches as the blush rushes across your cheeks.

You blush hard for him. It makes his dick twitch.

He lets out a deep breath, his voice lower now, softer. March whispers, “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m not fucking dead, sweetheart...”

There’s silence. Just as March is getting ready to sit up, he feels you move. Your thumb. It’s slow but instant. The pain.

You slide your thumb across his lip, directly over the harsh split. You press down, and March chokes.

“Wh…agh, what are you doing?

Your thumb dips in, and then out again, smearing his spit across his lip. It burns. “Taking care of you.”

March doesn’t understand. His head spins. Everything feels so heavy. The booze in his system, the pain that seems to be directly connected to his dick. It feels like live wires. Each swipe of your finger sends a shock to his groin.

“Take your cock out.”

March’s ears start ringing again, hearing those words come out of your mouth. He whines, and hesitates for only a second before he’s ripping the fly of his slacks open. He shoves everything down just enough.

You watch as his cock bounces free, slapping up against his dress shirt. It’s bigger than any of the others you’ve seen. Above average. Your eyes zero in on the head, the slit.

Your mouth waters.

You wanna dip your tongue into it.

You imagined it so many times. Countless nights fantasizing about him fucking into you, using you.

Your own mind is swirling. After everything, you never thought you’d see it, or have Holland March at all, let alone like this.

To be the one calling the shots.

You were, weren’t you? That’s what it felt like.

A soft whine pulls your attention back to his face. There’s a look there you can’t place at first…a pout?

He’s been letting you stare, drink your fill, and now he seems almost impatient. You can’t help the laugh that slips out.

It only makes March squirm again. “Please…”

It’s a little bit of an awkward angle, and you realize you need to switch hands. So you prop one of your legs up. It doesn’t change much, but you can slip your arm behind March’s head now, bringing that hand to his face.

Your fingers take their place on his bruised cheek. The other hand slides down his chest, to his belly. March makes another noise, still laying in your lap, his head just slightly raised.

You silently wonder if he’s always like this or if it’s the alcohol, or the day he had. Maybe all three.

“You don’t have to…”

March’s voice comes out so softly you almost miss what he says. You get lost in his eyes for a moment, and then you smirk. Gentle but daring, teasing. Your voice, like silk, touches him as much as your fingers. “Have to? Like you don’t know the truth already.”

He shakes his head like he really doesn’t know.

So much happens at once for March. He feels your warm breath on the shell of his ear, and your hand finally wraps around his cock. The grip is feather light but it’s so so good.

“I want to touch you, March. Don’t lay there and act like you don’t know I’m attracted to you.”

Something about the way you say it lands softer and sweeter, more than dirty, which makes it worse. Your words aren’t empty. They mean something.

“Fffuck. Fuck,” March grunts.

You hum, tightening your grip and squeezing him as you stroke his cock. Up and down. The skin of your palm catches. Dry. Not painful but uncomfortable. Not that you think March minds much considering the sound he makes.

Something guttural, and sweet.

You press the fingertips from one hand into his warm cheeks, gripping and squishing them, forcing his mouth to open. You bring the others right before his lips. “Spit.”

March doesn’t even blink at the command. Those blue eyes have gone hazy, and glazed over. He lets the saliva pool across his tongue and practically drools it onto your hand. He’s a little messy with it. Dirty. It makes your tummy do the thing.

It makes the next words slip out before you realize, just as you slick his cock. “Good boy.”

March whimpers.

From the easier glide or the words, you’re not sure. All you know is that he’s physically shaking now.

His hips lift, chasing, fucking up into your grip.

You hum sweetly at him, your own breathing shallow, panting against his skin, mouth right by his temple. He sets a brutal pace and you meet him there. “Thereeee you go. That’s it, baby. Show me how you’d fuck me.”

“Gggh! Want…wanna fuck you so badly. I couldn’t stop…couldn’t stop thinking about you all day. All fucking day. Oh, fuck…please…”

March cries. He begs. Pleases and don’t stops falling out one after another. You don’t even know if March knows what he’s asking for, but then his head falls back.

Suddenly, his mouth is right there, aligned with yours. Something deep within you aches, recalling the brief feeling of your almost kiss. The withdraw.

You want it. Badly. More than you’ve ever wanted anything, you want to taste him. Even the lingering blood you would undoubtedly taste from the split in his lip.

You pull away though, as March arches towards your mouth. You let your fingers, all four, clasp over his. You control the angle of his head, turning it away.

You press your forehead to his temple, voice low. “When you kiss me, we’ll both be completely sober. Yeah?”

He whines and you try to ignore the slight sting in your eyes. You focus on him. His cock. You just want to make him feel good. Help him forget.

His thrust aren’t so much thrust anymore, as they are dirty little grinds. Your grip is tight, the pace slow. You focus on the tip, working the head, the underside of it. It’s so wet. Squelching audibly and mixing with March’s muffled cries.

He’s close, but you can tell he needs something else. Something March himself is far too gone to voice.

You lean down, hand still over March’s mouth, his breathing ragged against your knuckles. You bring yours to his neck, and then you lick him. He squeals.

There’s twelve hours worth of work and sweat and March coating your tongue now, and all you want is more.

You whimper too, and then whisper, “I’ve touched myself so many times thinking about this. You look so pretty, Holland…Let go…come for me, baby.”

And you take more. You bite him, sinking the sharp points of your teeth into his sensitive skin. The next strokes to his cock are just shy of too much, and all of it, everything, sends March flying off the ledge.

He comes hard. So hard you can barely keep him in your lap, with the way his body locks up and then bucks.

You don’t let go. You keep going, stroking him well past what’s comfortable, and abusing his neck. When you pull away, you’re met with the darkest, meanest looking bite mark/hickey you’ve ever seen.

March’s come is everywhere too. It’s dripped between your fingers like sticky slime, but warm. You like it.

How it’s warm because it was inside his body, and that’s how you know you’re a little odd, because that only makes you want to eat it. To put your fingers in your mouth and suck them clean.

Wow, yeah. You really need to come, you think to yourself, laughing breathlessly.

You look back to March, who’s…not moving.

His eyes are closed, and you feel it then, the weight of him now, heavier than before. His body’s gone slack in your arms.

“March…March. Baby,” you say quickly, worried.

You tap one of his cheeks, and he…he groans softly, eyebrows and nose scrunching is almost…annoyance???

He mumbles something incoherent and turns his head slightly, burying his face into your stomach. Cuddling.

You sit there. Dumbfounded. Confused.

What the…Had he been that drunk? Drunk enough to pass out that quickly, right after?

…Too drunk to know what he was doing?

Your throat starts to close. You need to get out of here.

The concoction of feelings swirling around inside you makes it hard for you to stand, but you manage. You slip from beneath March, lowering his upper body to the couch, where he simply sinks into the cushions with a soft mumble.

You’re not sure which thought is louder, and worse. It’s not like you’re pissed that this didn’t go farther, that you didn’t get to come. You didn’t need anything in return. You just wanted March to feel good, but maybe you…assumed.

That or the searing ball of lead that’s sitting in your gut right now, greased and coated with guilt. What if you were wrong? What if you were supposed to be the “responsible” one this time, when March needed you to be, and you weren’t. What if he hates you when he makes up?

You try to ignore it, the stampede of thoughts and emotions spinning too fast. You quickly wash your hands and clean yourself up in the kitchen, and then bring a warm damp rag from the linen closet to March.

As confused as you feel, there’s no way you can leave him like this. He’s still exposed and now filthier than he was when he walked in. You clean him gently, tucking him back into his boxers. You don’t bother with his belt, and there’s simply no way in hell you’re wrestling that shirt off of his dead weight.

You dap at it the best you can, getting the majority of it off. Little splash stains are the only thing that’s left.

Tossing the rag into the hall hamper, you just kinda stand there for a second. Stuck. The house is eerily quiet.

With a deep sigh you walk back to the couch, snagging a knitted blanket from the ottoman. You drape it over March’s body, and let yourself stare at him. All of it hits you at once.

That this might be the last time you get to see him, and be here, in his home.

Your fingers find his hair, running through it. Your voice cracks as you whisper, “…Goodnight, Holland.”

—

(Sorry for the wait. Classes have started again! If there’s any mistakes, I’ll fix them soon. I had so much fun writing this one though, and part three is gonna be soooooo good 😏 how do you think March is gonna react?)

Taglist: @willow-vixen @imafangirlofeverything @radiantdanvers @live-logs-and-proper

[octaviaabadassblakee]

I need fat female characters in tv whose weight is inconsequential. It means nothing to the story.

She's fat and gets the guy and no one bats an eye.

She's fat and the hottest chick in the sorority and that's normal.

She's fat and an actress and she gets good roles.

She's fat and she's funny and she has character depth and growth.

She's fat and the main character and no one mentions her weight once.

I'm fat and my weight doesn't play a part in my day to day conversations, or plans, or friendships. Why can't I have that on tv?

[bimbosicko]

NOTHING I CAN DO WITH THIS DESIRE

a notification appears on your monitor screen, you almost ignore it. “hello.” you freeze. ohmygodit’sthelarsguy. ۶ৎ

pairings ! lars lindstrom x fem!reader

warnings ! smuut, nsfw, mdni, +18. ooc lars maybe. reader's described as kind of an extrovert and also a girl failure because i don't believe in etiquettes (/jk). a sprinkle of angst. fluff!? and humor ? phone sex, female masturbation & male masturbation. lars is older than reader, reader is on her twenties, lowercase on purpose, english is not my first language. title from: i have forgiven jesus — morrissey

author's note ! this is definitely something! i hope you guys like it. i feel like lars is kinda ooc so sorry for that :/!! i low-key didn't know how to finish this 😭

word count ! 3,9k (long as hell!!)

karin's words linger longer than they should. “the internet. everyone's doing it now.” the sentence follows lars around for days afterwards, popping up at odd moments when he's making coffee or sorting through paperwork. maybe it wasn't strange that he was on the internet trying to meet new people. it wasn't any different than how meeting bianca had been.

karin worried about him. she tried not to make it obvious, but she wasn't particularly good at it. ever since things with margo had ended into something awkward, she'd started checking in more often, watching him from the sidelines with careful attention.

the thing wasn't exactly his idea, but kurt talked about chat rooms all the time.

“there's so many girls,” he says, sounding genuinely amazed by the whole concept.

lars nods, mostly because it seems easier than telling him to shut up.

“maybe you think it's a girl," margo says, looking everywhere but lars. “maybe it's actually some old dude.”

“ugh.” kurt visibly shudders. “you're gross. that's gross.”

margo shrugs.

“i don't believe in falling in love with someone you've never met," she says. then, after a moment, “i don't even believe in falling in love with someone you have.”

kurt immediately shoots an awkward glance at lars.

the implication lands before margo seems to realize what she's said. color rushes into her face and she stumbles through an awkward goodbye before disappearing back into her cubicle.

"damn, lars. you're a heartbreaker."

lars looks down at the papers scattered across his desk. one of the corners has folded over itself. he smooths it down with his thumb. he doesn't like that word.

heartbreaker.

it sounds like something a person chooses to be.

he hopes bianca and margo aren't proof of some pattern he hasn't noticed yet. he hopes there's an exception somewhere. something that proves he isn't simply the sort of person people leave hurt.

was that what happened? with bianca?

did he break her heart?

the question settles heavily in his chest. nobody had ever said so. nobody had ever blamed him. but sometimes the things people don't say have a way of lingering longer than the things they do.

——

the loading bar is taking forever.

that's the first thing you think that evening, which feels a little ridiculous considering the state of the world. there are wars happening somewhere; people are probably falling in love, someone is getting married; someone is getting divorced. and yet all you can think about is how painfully slow your computer is.

the blue light from the screen washes over your room. it catches on the edge of your desk, on the mug that's been sitting beside you for hours, forgotten except for the ring it's leaving behind.

the chat room finally loads.

messages are already moving faster than you can comfortably read. someone is talking about music. someone else is arguing about a movie with another user. then, suddenly, a new notification appears.

someone entered the chat.

normally you wouldn't pay attention to that. people come and go constantly. half the usernames disappear before you have a chance to recognize them.

but your eyes catch on this one.

lars.

that's a name, not an user.

you stare at it for a second longer than necessary. it's a nice name. the kind of name that feels warm somehow, soft.

you immediately feel stupid for thinking that. a name is just a name. four letters on a screen.

still, your gaze keeps drifting back towards it as new messages flood into the chat and push it higher and higher until it's nearly gone.

you wonder if it's his real name. most people use fake ones. maybe it's not. maybe it is, and he's sitting somewhere on the other side of the country with a completely different name.

your cursor blinks inside the message box.

you stare at it for a moment, fingers hovering above the keyboard. before you can talk yourself out of it, you type:

“hii :)”

you hit send, and immediately, you regret it. you tell yourself this is perfectly normal. people say hello to strangers online all the time. right?

you try reading through the general chat again, but you're too distracted to pay any mind. the tiny text below your message changes; seen. no answer.

you let your forehead fall against the desk with a dull thud. “i’m such an idiot.”

your voice sounds embarrassingly loud in your empty room. the message remains exactly where you left it, unanswered and increasingly humiliating the longer you look at it.

maybe he's busy, maybe he opened it accidentally, maybe he's one of those people who joins chat rooms just to read what everyone else is saying, you do that sometimes. you don't really have the right to judge.

still, you close the private window before you can stare at it any longer.

the rest of the evening unfolds exactly the way most evenings do. you message a few friends, you study. you walk to the market.

the strawberries looked better than they tasted, but you buy them anyway. later, you eat them from the container while watching bad television. by the end of the episode, you've absentmindedly finished all of them.

the empty carton stays on the coffee table. everything feels painfully familiar. you sink deeper into the couch cushions and listen to the television fill the silence, without really hearing the words that come out from the box.

you think, if your life continues like this… you're really considering laying down on some train rails just to feel something.

——

morrissey's voice drifts out of your dvd player.

“tuesday, suffocation,” the song says.

you stare at your advanced economics notes for a long moment. then, slowly, you lift your coffee cup in a solemn toast.

“so real, morri,” you murmur. “so real.”

at this point, you're fairly certain advanced economics is going to be the thing that kills you.

a notification appears on your monitor screen, you almost ignore it.

“hello.”

you freeze. ohmygodit’sthelarsguy. your lungs abruptly forget their purpose.

okay, okay. be normal. you're normal. be that. people say hi to each other every day. this is a completely ordinary human interaction.

you begin typing.

“hi! i'm glad you answere—” you delete it just as fast as you typed it. you try again.

“welcome back :)” casual, like you haven't been thinking about him for days.

the message is seen. you wait, another minute passes.

“okay,” you announce to nobody. “he hates me.”

you crumple a scrap of paper into a ball and toss it into the air. you catch it then throw it again.

“or...” you pause. another toss, “he's, like, eighty.” the image immediately makes you laugh.

some random grandfather squinting at his monitor. pecking at each key with one finger. trying to figure out where the letters are.

“i'm sorry. i don't really know how to do this.” he says.

the paper ball rolls forgotten across your desk and something in your chest goes embarrassingly soft.

“that's okay,” you type back. “sorry if i was too confident :/”

you hesitate, then add: “i don't really know how to not be intense.”

the typing indicator appears.

“it didn't bother me.”

you smile before you can stop yourself.

okay, he's honest. you like that. there's something refreshing about people who just say what they mean.

you've spent enough time talking to men to know that is something remarkable in one, as sad as it is.

“i'm glad, haha,” you type back. “tell me about you. how old are you?”

his answer comes a moment later.

“i'm twenty-eight.”

huh, so older than you. but not old old.

“that's cool :) i'm 21,” you reply.

you hesitate for a second before adding:

“what are you doing right now? besides chatting with me lol”

“nothing much, really.”

you stare at the message.

nothing much, really.

he's somehow quiet through a computer. which feels so unfair to you.

“i was studying for my economics test,” you type. your eyes drift towards the open textbook on your desk, calling it studying might be generous. you've spent the last hour alternating between reading the same paragraph and imagining your academic downfall.

you add: “or at least attempting to, economics is currently winning.”

the typing indicator appears almost immediately.

“you're funny.”

you stare at the screen. he's such a liar, you are not that funny.

“lmao. thanks, i try to be.”

you send it before you can overthink it, you immediately overthink it anyway.

then another message appears.

“i'm sorry, i got to go.”

your eyebrows knit together and find yourself staring at the message for a second longer than necessary.

“it was nice talking to you,” you type back.

he doesn't answer.

what a weird person. then again, it's the internet, everyone's weird on the internet. especially you.

the longer you think about your last message, the worse it gets.

it was nice talking to you.

he answered… what, two questions? suddenly you're acting like two old friends saying goodbye.

you groan. maybe you're just so desperate for something interesting to happen that you're starting to manufacture significance where there isn't any.

you toss the crumpled paper ball into the air and catch it.

——

“thursday is pathetic.”

morrissey sounds devastatingly sincere about it. you've been listening to the song all week, which probably says something about your mental state.

nothing good, admittedly.

the lars guy never texted back. honestly, it was expected. sometimes you saw his little status light flicker green. you tried not to think too much about it. maybe he was busy, maybe he was shy… maybe he was an introvert.

you could relate to that, sort of. you liked to think of yourself as an introvert. the problem was that every attempt you made to be mysterious eventually ended with you accidentally revealing your entire life.

so.

not a very successful introvert.

besides, why were you making excuses for a man you'd spoken to exactly once? you didn't even know him.

you were being ridiculous, a certified girl failure.

your computer dings, you glance over automatically. for one embarrassing second, you hope it's him. it isn't.

it's your best friend.

she's talking about another guy. a completely different guy than the one from last week, and possibly the week before that. you love her dearly, you also envy her a little. relationships seem to happen to her the way rain falls, effortlessly.

you close your eyes. you're tired and thinking nonsense. you're not physically tired, actually. it's something else.

another notification appears. you assume it's your friend again. probably another paragraph talking about every way she wants to blow him. (“there's more than one?” you remember asking her.)

“hello.” it's him.

you tilt your head. did he only know one greeting? was he secretly hannibal lecter?

“hi :)” you type back before he can disappear again. “busy week?”

the second you send it, regret arrives. it sounds passive-aggressive. you hadn't really meant it that way.

“yes, sorry.”

you let your forehead fall lightly against your desk. okay, this wasn't going anywhere.

you needed to be interesting, new strategy and… oh my god. were you trying to impress a boy? disgusting.

“what do you like to do for fun, lars?”

“i like to chop wood.”

if your best friend were here, she'd immediately declare that the answer of a serial killer. and she'd have a compelling argument.

but she's not here. and somehow the answer doesn't scare you.

if anything, it makes you more curious.

because for the first time, you can almost picture him, standing somewhere in the cold, splitting logs with his boots against the snow. he feels a little easier to imagine.

——

“top three things i hate: people that have no sense of rush, people that take calls on buses, and people that don't modulate when they speak and talk so low you can't even hear them.” you text him. “guess the three things that happened to me this morning :(”

it's become routine now, texting him. which still feels slightly ridiculous when you stop and think about it.

you exchanged numbers. yes, with a man. a real one. look at you, man-eater.

the reply arrives almost immediately, less than three seconds. you notice because, unfortunately, you've become the kind of person who notices.

“i also hate people that have no sense of rush.” another message follows. “but i normally talk real low.”

“yeah, but i bet you know how to modulate.” you say. “i don't know why i'm so mad. i don't really care about it. it's just one of those days.”

his answer appears. “i understand.”

a few weeks ago, it would've driven you insane. now you know better. or at least, you think you do.

lars seems like the human embodiment of;

‘if you don't have anything to say, don't say anything.’ meanwhile, your philosophy is closer to, ‘if you don't have anything to say, say something anyway and surprise everyone including yourself.’

“you clock in at eight, right?” you ask.

it's friday, which means your schedule is actively conspiring against you. you'd chosen your own classes, unfortunately. therefore you have nobody to blame, except yourself. which is extremely annoying.

“yes.”

“i don't know why you wake up at six like me,” you glance at the sky outside while you type, it's still dark. “i would love to spend more time sleeping.”

his reply comes quickly. “to make you company.”

for a second, you assume he's joking. then you remember who you're talking to. lars doesn't joke like that. actually, he barely jokes at all. most of the time, the only jokes he seems genuinely interested in are yours.

“i don't like the idea of you being alone the whole morning.”

it's not even true. you're not alone the whole morning, you have classmates and professors. that's not really the point.

the point is that he thought about it.

the point is that he wakes up early because he wants to talk to you.

the point is; can you fall in love with someone you've never met? the thought appears without warning. your brain immediately crashes.

“thank you, lars. that's so considerate.” you type carefully. as if your heart isn't suddenly beating much harder than before.

a few minutes later, you send him a picture from one of the university windows.

the sky is gray. winter has arrived with a personal vendetta against you. you know lars is somewhere in the midwest, so he must be suffering more than you. where exactly? you have no idea.

he sends a picture back, the view from his window. there's snow.

you stop walking for a second.

“so pretty :D” you type immediately. there's a faint reflection in the glass. just enough to tell he's standing there, too blurry to make out any features. but somehow, it's enough for you.

“really pretty,” you add.

feeling strangely confident, you take a picture in front of a mirror. your phone covers most of your face, and you add a little, “outfit check!”

the message is seen. you watch the typing indicator appear, disappear. then appear again.

“i like your scarf.” he says.

you grin. “lmao. it looks like i stole it from the fourth doctor.” you immediately cringe, girl failure. catastrophic girl failure.

“i've never seen that show, sorry.”

you sit upright so quickly you nearly drop your phone.

“what?!” you type. “i have the dvds. i'll send them to you. i'm so serious.”

“i know. you get scary when you talk about your shows.”

you can't help but snort loudly, and people look up from whatever they're doing because apparently you've forgotten you're sitting in public.

“sorry,” you type. “i get excited really easily.”

the response comes back almost immediately.

“i know. i like that about you.”

stupidly confident you type; “you like a lot of things about me.”

you consider throwing yourself into the nearest body of water after sending it.

the typing indicator appears, your pulse somehow gets worse.

“yes, i do.”

at this point, there really isn't any denying it. you're done for. you are completely and messily head over heels. stupid lars, with his stupid kindness. and his stupid messages.

if you were home right now, you'd probably be repeatedly introducing your forehead to your desk.

——

somewhere along the way, sending pictures became normal. you send him pictures of strawberries from the market, your breakfast, the view from your apartment window, fall leaves, and shoes against the city concrete.

lars sends pictures back, not as many as you, obviously. a snowy road, a coffee mug. a stack of chopped wood.

occasionally, you let a little bit of yourself slip into the pictures. a glimpse of your legs stretched out on the couch, your hand holding a coffee cup. it's never too much.

but you don't know what's gotten into you tonight. maybe it's the fact that you know lars likes you too, or maybe it's the glass of red wine you had earlier.

you're wearing a light blue babydoll pajama set, your hair cooperated for once. the lighting in your room is unusually forgiving. and for a moment, you catch your reflection in the mirror and don't immediately find something to criticize.

you take a picture before the feeling can disappear. then, before common sense can intervene, you send it.

your actual face, fully visible.

you immediately place your phone face down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

waiting.

you know lars. by now, you've learned his habits. he's probably looking at the picture right now, probably staring at it with the same concentration he gives everything else.

thinking very carefully about what to say, because lars never seems to say the first thing that comes to mind but the thing he actually means.

three minutes pass.

you know this because you've checked approximately seventeen times.

what if he hates it? what if he thinks you're ugly? what if—?

the message changes to typing…

you sit up so fast you nearly launch your phone across the room.

then it stops, starts again, stops.

oh, he's struggling. good, at least you're suffering together.

before you can talk yourself out of it, you press the call button. you let out a small squeal and bury your face in your pillow.

he's not going to answer, there's no way. people don't just answer surprise phone calls. especially not lars.

the phone rings twice. then, the call connects.

you freeze. oh my god, he answered.

“hi...?” you say. your voice comes out quieter than intended. “lars...?”

for a moment, all you hear is breathing. the sound sends an unexpected wave of relief through you.

he's real. you know that's a ridiculous thought. of course he's real. you've been talking for months. he sends you pictures, he has opinions about his co-workers, he wakes up early to keep you company.

“...hello,” his voice is soft. lower than you expected, but gentle.

“hi,” you repeat, because intelligence has abandoned you, a nervous laugh escapes out of your mouth. “i'm sorry. did i make you uncomfortable with the picture?”

“n-no,” he sounds almost startled. “you look nice. pretty.”

you press your lips together, completely failing to hide your smile despite the fact that he can't actually see it.

“yeah?”

you hear a small hum on the other end.

“mhm.”

“that makes me happy,” you admit. hand starting to lower inside your underwear. “i wanted to look pretty for you.”

lars breathes heavily. “i— i didn't know if you liked me like i liked you…”

“i do,” you interrupt him. “can i show you how much i like you? please, lars.” the last words come out a little whiny.

“yes. please, yes." his breathing is ragged. and you wonder if his dick is hard right now.

“i’m going to send you a picture, okay?” you tell him, slightly shy.

you open your folds with your fingers, angling the phone just right. wetness glistens on your inner thighs, already slick and dripping. you can’t help wondering if lars can hear the soft, wet sounds your pussy is making.

you send the photo before you can rethink every second of it.

“oh god,” comes his voice, low and whiny. “you're perfect… exactly how i imagined.”

“you thought about me?” your fingers drift over your clit without thinking, just slow circles.

“i tried not to,” he admits with a broken moan. “at first. i— i chopped so much wood trying to distract myself.” rustling fills the line, fabric sliding and a muffled thud. he’s definitely wrestling with his pants now. “tried so hard to be good for you, bug.”

“fuck,” you whimper instantly as one hand dives deeper between your legs. “lars— that’s not fair… i want to see your cock,” you blurt out before shyness can stop you, then immediately bite down on a moan at how dirty it feels saying that aloud. “it's okay if you don't want to— i just need…”

a high, whiny moan slips through the line, cutting you off before you can even form another thought.

“i can send you a picture,” he says, voice already trembling. “just like you did.”

“fuck, lars,” you whine, fingers pressing harder against yourself. “you’re really going to do that for me?”

a soft ‘uh-huh’ answers you. shy and hot all at once. and then comes the sound: low, breathy groans as he strokes himself, each whimper making your toes curl. you press deeper into your clit just from imagining it. the weight of him in his hand, how his breath hitches every few seconds.

then, the photo loads.

It’s a little blurry, probably from shaky hands or nerves. but it doesn’t matter. you see everything.

you gasp at the sight. his cock, thick and heavy, aching with need. the pink tip glistens with pre-cum, just dripping, and one of his big hands wraps around it, barely covering half of his dick.

you can’t help it; "pretty" is still the only word that fits. soft-looking veins run down the length, flushed and proud, and you’re already soaking just looking at it.

you push your fingers deeper inside yourself, thumb circling your clit fast. “it's so big, lars… fuck,” you whimper. “i need it inside me— i need you.”

“i’m going to— i feel like i’m going to…” his voice cracks mid-sentence, a stutter of breath that makes your stomach clench.

“me too,” you breathe out instantly. 

your hips lift off the bed in small, desperate thrusts against your hand. in your head it’s his thick cock slamming into you over and over until neither of you can think straight. you wonder if he’d come inside even if he wasn’t supposed to, if he’d lose control like that just because you asked nicely and looked up at him all soft-eyed while doing it.

you cry his name into your pillow: “lars— ah! fuck! fuck!” legs squeezing tight as pleasure rolls through in waves, but still you don’t stop moving. 

your phone finally slips from your trembling fingers onto the sheets beside you as your eyes flutter shut, rolling back with the last pulse of your orgasm. 

his breathing turned ragged and uneven, then he whined your name, so raw it made your stomach clench.

slowly, you pull your fingers free with a quiet slip. they glisten, drenched in you, and you stare at them wishing they belonged to someone else.

“lars?” you murmur into the darkened screen still half-pressed to your ear. your throat is dry like sandpaper. “you okay?”

a soft whimper slips through. “…yes.”

you let out a breathy giggle “that was… very intense,” you admit. “but i’m glad i did this with you.”

a soft swallow echoes through the line. “me too.”

[ivyinkveil]

i love lars so much

[project-hail-ryland]

show me how - 18+ ryland grace x fem!roommate!reader

when ryland is out of town for an academic team competition a nude photo of you accidentally makes its way to him instead of the intended recipient.

cw: smut, p in v, nudes, ry kinda ooc

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

at 6am on a rainy friday morning your car comes barreling into the grover cleveland middle school parking lot. ryland’s in the passenger seat wearing his usual teacher getup, blue eyes scanning the itinerary he put together for the academic team’s trip.

it was pouring when you woke up, so you offered to drop him off before you went to work to keep him from getting soaked while riding his bike.

you pull into a spot near the school bus that’s awaiting his arrival and put the car in park.

“good luck this weekend,” you smile, patting ryland’s shoulder as he unbuckles his seatbelt.

“well, im not worried about the team’s performance,” ryland laughs. “moreso their behavior.”

he’s been looking forward to this competition for a looong time. every tuesday and thursday he’s stayed after school for hours, quizzing his prized academic team until he’s sure they know every fact and tidbit there is to know about their designated subject.

he pops the passenger door open and steps out, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder.

“call me if you need anything, i know you hate having the place to yourself,” he jokes, knowing you could use some alone time for once.

you smile and give him a little wave as he sprints off to hop onto the bus. he looks so dorky in his yellow raincoat, you can't help but smile to yourself when you notice that he perfectly matches the bus.

you’ve lived with ryland for a few years now. the two of you met at a coffee shop after you were stood up by a date. it turned out you had a few mutual friends and a lot of things in common, so you graciously accepted his offer to move in to the empty bedroom in his apartment.

you quickly settled into a comfortable routine. he’s a great roommate. always considerate, clean, and generous. with time, you became best friends who lived together rather than just roommates.

as you drive home in the fog and rain, you plan out what you want to get into this weekend in your head. you can’t remember the last time ryland left for even a night, let alone an entire weekend.

you could walk around naked, maybe blast your music, perhaps do some spring cleaning. ryland doesn’t necessarily have a hoarding problem, but he never wants to throw anything away, which is why the kitchen cabinets are bursting at the seams with collectible cups and plates that nobody uses. they’ve got to go.

☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ

the workday drags by. ryland texts you updates on his adventures every few hours.

one kid threw up on the bus, classic.

finally, the clock strikes 5 and you leave to head home to an empty apartment.

you pause for a moment and think that maybe you should invite over the fling you’ve been entertaining, but you just shrug and make a mental note to revisit that idea later.

you ultimately decide to run yourself a bubble bath, order chinese, and drink wine. then, you'll see how you're feeling.

after eating dinner and soaking in the tub for so long that you are practically a raisin, you step out and slip into a silk robe and lingerie set that you never wear.

it’s not like you have anyone to wear it for, and it’s definitely a little risqué for everyday wear.

you smile in the mirror. maybe it’s the 2 glasses of wine that you've chugged or the way your cheeks are flushed from the hot bath, but you look really good.

delighted, you prance to the kitchen to start your cleaning. the wine is making the task much more fun, and it’s keeping you from thinking about how upset ryland may be at you for throwing so much stuff away.

after awhile, you place the box full of throwaway dishes in the corner of the laundry room. out of sight, out of mind!

the wine is officially getting to your head now and you have half a mind to call that hinge date to come over.

you waltz to your bedroom and lie back on the bed, pondering your next move.

maybe you’ll just send a flirty text. you'd been chatting earlier anyways, what's the harm? you’ve been on a few dates over the past two months and fooled around a handful of times, it’s not like it would be too bold.

so you take a picture of your chest, one hand squeezing yourself through the lacy bra beneath your silk robe.

you giggle and close one eye as you press send along with a message.

“thinking about you.”

you put your phone on the nightstand, awaiting a response. maybe they will come over and you can finally seal the deal!

but after awhile, your phone never buzzes. in the meantime, you've picked up a book, trying to distract yourself while waiting for a response.

you glance at the clock on your bedside table.

it’s been nearly 45 minutes!

you pick up your phone, opening it back up to the text stream.

your heart jumps up into your throat, jesus fucking christ.

you sent that to ryland.

and he read it.

read 9:45pm.

it’s 10. he saw it 15 minutes ago and didn’t say anything.

mortified, you frantically start typing out a message.

but then you see him typing, so you stop.

“yeah? what exactly are you thinking about?”

you squeal and throw your phone across the bed. no way he just asked that.

then you feel it start buzzing. someone is calling you.

and of course when you pick up the phone with shaking hands you see that it's ryland's contact lighting up the screen.

you answer.

“h-hello?”

“that wasn’t for me, was it?” he asks, teasing. you can hear the smile in his voice, he's clearly entertained.

“no, im so so sorry! i was-”

but he cuts you off.

“i know it wasn’t for me, but i liked it. it definitely made me wish it were for me.”

your mouth falls open. “ryland,” you whisper breathily.

you hear what sounds like sheets ruffling from his end of the line. he must be in bed.

“what?” he asks, voice low.

and you realize how hot your body is. not from embarrassment or shame anymore, but from want. hearing his voice on the phone, knowing he saw the picture you sent him. it’s making you dizzy.

“are you alone?” you ask.

“yes.”

“i miss you,” you admit.

“i miss you too,” he laughs. “i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, we can pretend you never sent me that picture if you want.”

“no no no,” you quickly gasp. “it wasn’t for you, but im glad it went to you instead.”

“yeah?” he rasps.

“mhm,” you hum. “i-i want you to see me like that.”

“like what, sweetheart?” he groans, “use your words, tell me what you want me to see.”

you’re officially lightheaded. head spinning with thoughts of your best friend, your roommate, seeing you bare before him.

“want you to see me naked, want you to touch me,” you admit.

you hear him take a deep breath, shuddering on the exhale.

you back arches off the bed as you trail your hand down to the waistband of your underwear. your fingers toy with the fabric there, not daring to push beneath it yet.

“i want to see and touch you too. you have no idea how long i have wanted to. and-and i am not trying to sound like a creep, i promise i am not a pervert," he stops himself before he can keep rambling and back tracking.

he pauses for a second, not sure what to say next. then, he finally asks, “well, do the bottoms match?”

you nod, then realize that he can’t see you through the phone, so you mutter a quiet yes.

“wanna see them too,” he says softly.

you hear his sheets rustling again.

you snap a pic. on your back, one hand slipped into your panties, back arching slightly off the bed, and send it to him.

you hear him whine a little when he receives it.

“you’re unreal,” he gasps. “listen, honey. im sorry, but i don’t want this to be our first…encounter.”

you whine, “no-no, please. i don’t mind. please keep talking to me.”

but he’s so old fashioned. you know that he won’t budge on this.

“i’ll be home sunday, try to control yourself," he orders.

you groan in frustration.

“i know, i know,” he sympathizes. “and don’t send anyone else any pictures, you’re all mine now. if you want to be, that is.”

“i do. goodnight, ry.”

“good, i'm glad. i’ll see you sunday, sleep tight,” he whispers.

and the line goes dead.

☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ

it's 7:30am on a beautifully sunny sunday when your car skids back into the grover cleveland lot. your hands are trembling, anticipation looming in your belly.

you watch ryland step off the bus and help the kids with their luggage. he sees you and waves, smiling brightly.

after a few minutes, all the kids have left with their guardians, and ryland begins making his way across the parking lot to you.

he's wearing a grover cleveland middle school sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed halfway up his arms. he looks so cozy, it makes your heart swell.

he yanks the car door open and climbs in, settling in with his duffle bag in his lap.

he looks over at you, blue eyes shimmering in the sunlight that's cascading through the windshield.

"we won!" he smiles.

of course that's the first thing he says, what a-

but before you can finish your thought, he's grabbing your face and pressing his lips to yours.

you pull back slowly, eyes coming up to peer into his.

"let's go home," he yawns.

the ride there is nearly silent. luckily, it's just a few minutes.

the tension is thick, you feel his eyes running over your bare neck, tracing your collarbones as you drive.

you feel his gaze slide down to the swell of your breasts, which are situated behind a very thin tank top.

you feel it burning a path down to your thighs, which your pajama shorts are doing very little to hide.

when you pull back into the parking lot of the apartment, ryland hops out quickly and you trail behind him as he heads up the stairs.

"im gonna jump in the shower," he says, already walking in the direction of your shared bathroom

about 20 minutes later, he emerges. a fluffy towel wrapped around his hips, low enough to show off the beginning of his v-line. you're practically drooling from your seat on the couch.

"see something you like?" he smirks.

you nod and rise to your feet, then you walk slowly across the room to him.

you drop down to your knees in front of him, hands finding the hem at the top of the towel and sliding just beneath the makeshift waistband.

"yeah, i do," you finally reply, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

ryland groans softly as one of your hands comes to palm him through the cotton.

he feels big. way bigger than you expected.

"as much as i want you to y'know...i don't want this to be how our first time starts," he says, hand coming to tip your chin up.

"but i want to!" you pout, dying to get his towel off.

"go sit on the couch, i will be right back," he says, giving your head a gentle pat.

he trots off to his bedroom and you reluctantly rise and saunter over to take a seat on the couch.

when he comes back in a pair of grey sweats and a t-shirt you smile up at him. his glasses are back on and his hair has been towel dried. he takes a seat next to you and you turn to face him, sitting criss-cross.

he takes both of your hands in his and leans in to kiss your cheek.

"are you sure you want to do this?" he asks softly.

"yes, i am very sure. can we think about the implications later? i just want you to touch me," you nod.

"okay, but we are going to do it my way," he replies.

he drops your hands gently. his left hand moves to your right hip, holding as he moves back in to kiss you on the lips, his right hand coming to cup your cheek as he does.

he smells like body wash and toothpaste and he tastes like the chapstick you put in his stocking a few months ago at christmastime.

he deeps the kiss, the hand on your hip pulling you to arch into him. he hums into you when you start to push your tongue into his mouth.

"so," you start, breaking the kiss. "what does 'your way' entail?"

he smirks, the hand on your face retracts to push his glasses back up the slope of his nose.

"well, first, i want to taste you right here on the couch. the couch we bought together after a week of living together."

he leans back in, lips finding the side of your neck just below your left ear. his breath fans over your ear as he pants, sucking and kissing the sensitive skin there.

he moves down to your clavicle, kissing right above where your collarbone meets your shoulder. his left hand squeezes your hip again, then slides up to palm your chest through your tank top.

he's talking into your neck now as he continues, "then, i am going to take you to my bed, if you want, and lay you down on the duvet cover you picked out for me."

he slides carefully to his knees on the floor, adjusting so you are facing straight ahead with his head between your legs. your calves come to rest on his shoulders and he presses a kiss to the inside of your ankle.

"does that sound okay?" he asks, looking up at you.

you nod fervently. he looks so pretty between your legs. his glasses are askew again, eyes heavy with lust, lips kiss-bitten and pink.

he kisses up your right leg now, moving from your calf all the way up to the bottom of your sleep shorts.

"can i get these off, angel?" he asks, fingers coming up to tug at the waistband.

you lift your hips and let him slide them off of you. he tosses them to the side and leans in to press a kiss to your hip.

with your panties still on, he presses his nose to your clit. teasing, he mouths at your slit. you're soaked, the thin cotton nearly translucent from your slick.

you push your hips forward, chasing the friction.

"i know baby, can smell how much you want me," he groans, his own hips bucking against the wooden base of the couch.

"let's get these off, hm?"

he slides your panties off and throws them somewhere behind his head. then he's on you immediately.

his hands hold your thighs, keeping you spread for him as he leans back in and flattens his tongue against you.

you cry out his name, clit pulsing as he continues to devour you.

you clench around nothing as he toys with your clit, begging him to touch you by bucking your hips.

"please," you whine, hands gripping his hair now.

he keeps going, licking long strips and sucking your clit.

finally, he brings a finger to your entrance and slips it in.

"f-fuck," he groans, his own hips bucking into the couch again when he feels you clench around him.

he adds a finger and pulls his mouth away from you. you feel his eyes move to your face, your cheeks turning crimson at the sensation of him watching you fall apart.

your eyes fall closed, face scrunching up as he curls his fingers inside of you.

"doing so good for me, can you come like this?"

you nod, eyes still closed.

you feel him lean back in and pepper kisses all over your thighs as his thumb moves to your clit to rub tight circles.

"yeah, i know you can do it. let go for me, thats my girl."

his voice is strained and he's sure he is going to explode soon. your whines and moans are going straight to his cock which is no doubt leaking in his boxers by now.

he crooks his fingers up just right and you moan out his name while you clench down and fall apart, the band in your belly breaking.

you ride out your high with ryland still gently curling his fingers inside of you, then your hips still and your face relaxes.

you open your eyes and look down at him. he's leaned back now, his free hand cupping himself through his sweats while he sucks on the fingers that were just inside of you.

you commit that image to memory.

"was that okay?' he asks, slightly nervous.

"are you fucking serious?" you laugh, still out of breath.

he smiles a big goofy grin, then stands up to reach down and scoop you up bridal style in his big arms.

he carrie’s you down the hall to his bedroom and tosses you gently on the bed. you suddenly realize you have no bottoms on, you’re completely naked except for your tank top, so you sit up and strip that off too. ryland is walking over to his desk to turn on his small lamp.

his jaw drops when he turns around and sees you fully bare on the his bed.

"you are not real," he groans. "where did those things come from?" he asks, gesturing at your boobs.

"oh come on, you've seen my boobs before!"

"no i have not."

"well you have seen them through all of my shirts! and you've seen me in swimsuits.”

"well i guess i wasn't looking, then. you know i am a respectful gentleman!"

you get a little offended, you kinda assumed he always thought you were hot.

he notices.

"okay, i lied. i knew you had nice boobs, i’ve looked,” he concedes.

you smile, pleased.

"i am naked in your bed and you are attempting to feign sexual innocence," you laugh.

"i am trying to be respectful!" he laughs back.

he sits down next to you and faces you. his eyes are stuck on your chest like glue.

"well don't be."

one hand reaches out to grab your hip again.

"don't say things like that, you don't know what that does to me," he groans.

you move a hand to tug at the bottom of his t-shirt.

"things like what?" you ask, putting on an innocent act. "like how i don't want you to be respectful with me?"

you lean in, hand coming to squeeze him through his sweats, which have a wet patch forming.

he lets out a shaky sigh when you touch him.

"or that i want you to do whatever you want to me," you purr, leaning in to kiss his neck the way he kissed yours earlier.

"b-baby," he whines.

you find a tender spot on the right side of his neck and bite down on the flesh, noting the location so you can return to it later.

"or that i want you to fuck me so hard i can feel it tomorrow?"

"that's it," he mumbles, suddenly moving to get on top of you.

he lays you back and crawls over your body, propping himself up on his elbows. he's still fully clothed, a tasty juxtaposition to your nakedness.

he moves to grind his hips into you, his clothed cock pressing between your legs. you grind up into him, your legs wrapping around his waist.

"want me to take you like this?" he asks, hand coming to grab your chin.

"mhmm."

he sits back on his heels and yanks his shirt over his head. you always forget how toned he is, so you gawk at his abs a little.

he stands and slides off his sweats, leaving them pooled on the floor.

you watch as he starts to slide his underwear off, eyes zoned in on his crotch. when he finally springs free, your eyes nearly roll back in your head from want.

he looks so heavy. his pink, flushed tip is leaking copious amounts of precum. he's long, like very long.

he wraps his hand around the base and strokes himself a few times, his eyes heavy as he looks down at you.

"you sure?" he asks again.

"yes, really sure. god, you're so big, ryland."

he crawls back on top of you and lines himself up at your entrance.

when he pushes his tip in, your back arches off the bed. ryland groans into your neck, "so fucking wet for me."

hearing him talk like that, hearing him say fuck is crazy, and it turns you on.

he keeps pushing in, filling you up so full you see stars.

"s-so big," you mewl.

your legs wrap tighter around his waist as he starts to thrust into you. his lips are right by your ear and his breath tickles as he pants and groans.

"feel okay, baby?" he asks, starting to move faster and deeper.

you whine his name and a garbled yes as he finds a steady pace.

"still want me to fuck you disrespectfully?" he asks, pressing up to look down at your face.

"y-yes, please fuck me harder," you cry.

he readjusts you both so that you are nearly folded in half, then he starts driving into you.

"so pretty, i wish you could see yourself."

your eyes roll back in your head when one of his thumbs comes to rub your clit.

he's getting closer. he's spewing praise and grunting as he fucks into you with reckless abandon.

"so good, my good girl."

"all mine now, right sweetheart?"

"it was worth the wait, huh baby?" "yeah, i know it was."

“s-so fucking tight. i’m not going anywhere, it’s okay.”

he's starting to falter, thrusts getting sloppy as he comes closer and closer to the edge.

"ryland," you whine, "cum for me."

you look up into his eyes and that does it. he spills inside of you for so long. hot, thick ropes of cum painting your walls. you convulse around him, hitting your own peak as he wraps his up.

he fucks you through it, although you’re sure it hurts him.

when he pulls out, he pushes his spend back into you gently with two fingers, an unexpected move that makes your mouth drop open in shock and arousal.

and whatever happens next, at least you had some fun first.

[ivyinkveil]

well im wet now 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[ivyinkveil]

idk if ive said this before but im a hard leftist! politics matter to me! my blog does NOT tolerate hate speech! im woke as fuck!!!! im an ally!!! and fuck AI.

do not follow me if you aren’t aligned with this.

[ivyinkveil]

PART 02: 01

eva stratt uses her strap on you. 18+

you felt like you were flying.

the pillows were everywhere, the digital clock read 11pm and you had classes the next day but seriously though? you did NOT care.

not when stratt has been pounding you to oblivion with that strap you got for her in your dorm room.

the pillow you have been desperately gripping on for your dear life is damp with your tears, how long has it been? you don’t even know.

“f-fuck!!— hic yes yesyesyes—“

you rambled on and on as eva’s hands gripped your waist tightly as you were on all fours, and suddenly, she adjusted her hips to nail that one spot in you and went fast.

you whined loudly, legs trembling and waist threatening to drop back on the bed, but eva’s hands gripped you so tightly to make sure you felt every, inch.

groaning lowly to herself, eva tried not to sound so desperate even as all the pleasure went to you and not her.

“this was what you wanted bunny?‘

she suddenly leans over you.

“you just wanted me to fuck you well, is that what you wanted?” she lands a particularly deep thrust into you at the end of her sentence, making you scream silently.

she has never sounded so bold, so dominant, so hot.

looking back, you bat your wet lashes dry to see eva now leaning over you, almost in a prone bone position.

beads of sweat cascaded her forehead, orange blonde hair sticking to her forehead, and her trimmed bob hanging around her face like a curtain.

yet you could see her eyes, how bright and sparkling they are.

as if realising how intimate the eye contact was, eva snapped out of it and landed another harsh thrust into you.

your face contorted in pleasure, all for eva to see and her hand went to grip your hair, just so your face could stay in this exact position, all for her to admire as she drills into you.

“you’re doing well,” she says it like it’s a statement as she started thrusting into you at a steady pace, and you sobbed in pleasure.

“thank you hic— t-thank you,” you hiccuped as tears rolled down your nose bridge to the pillow again.

eva rolled her hips into you, leaning her forehead against your temple so intimately, you could cry.

“thank you.” she emphasised ‘you.’

what did it mean? you weren’t sure.

all you could think about was how good eva is fucking you and how close you were.

and as you reached that peak, your eyes locked with hers again, and for a moment, it felt too intimate, too romantic beyond some homosexual pact.

eva never cared about homophobes, never cared about judgement, all press is good press when it comes to her.

but she never commits so easily, and you knew that.

one commitment throws her life down the drain, you knew that.

and so while sparks starts to fly in your head and shocks shiver across your body as you came, you looked into her eyes one final time.

and you swear, you saw a spark in her irises, even as she moans softly to herself seeing you in your dishevelled state.

for a moment, you knew, she feels the same way you feel about her.

but this is eva stratt you’re talking about, and you know that there will never be a label on this relationship you have with her.

[ivyinkveil]

PART 01: 02

eva stratt and you have a secret closed relationship…. (x fem!reader, college au, stratt is a history student here) 18+

school wasn’t a really good time for you.

at least college was tolerable.

you have your usual cliques, the all male friend group with no self decency, the all popular girls who never regarded college as important as others, these were the type of people you see when you share a campus with students from every school.

but in social sciences and humanities? the people there are nice, they were always introspective and wise, espeacially eva stratt.

you met her through various classes before forming a bond with her through a group project.

and now? you are good friends with her, great friends even, great friends with benefits.

what started off as a normal budding friendship became so homosexually erotic that it was hard to hide it from the public eye.

“eva!!—“

you moaned out her name as her fingers stretched you open, methodically scissoring and hitting that spongy spot deep in you that made your eyes roll.

“is that good?” she asked so calmly, her other hand holding you down gently around your throat.

you couldn’t speak, not when her fingers are quickening and your eyes were teary, mind hazy from lust and pleasure.

“y-yes—“ you whined out again as her fingers thrusted even quicker, as if wanting you to come undone on her fingers as soon as possible.

stratt was beautiful, well, she always is.

but this time she trimmed her hair, settling for a sleek bob that still touched her shoulders, hair messy and her body? fully naked.

but she tuned your body so well, playing with your strings so well that your orgasm was creeping up on you slowly.

“i wanna c-cum—“ you choked out as you sobbed, the pleasure overwhelmingly good.

“cum for me.” she said so sternly.

her eyes were fixated on you, and you knew your unravelled state had an effect on her.

the way she pants as she sees how close you are to cumming, the way her fingers around your throat tighten suddenly out of nowhere, or the way her irises dilate even further, scanning your face.

the band started to break, slowly.

and when her fingers finally prodded at that spongy spot again, but this time harder, the band snapped.

eyes rolling back, you came hard, thighs trembling and threatening to close, in which eva held apart by placing her body closer to you, now leaning over.

as tough as eva is, through the ringing in your ears, you could hear her moaning softly and lightly to herself, as if seeing you all warped up in your pleasure made her feel good too.

she never lets her guard down, always stoic, even in bed.

yet when you cum explosively, she somehow drops her defences almost immediately.

…

one day, you bought a strap, just a simple one with no particular colour and in a size you think eva would like to be packing…

this relationship was never really defined, yet eva always stayed by your side even as the homophobes in your school started suspecting you two had something going on.

maybe this gift was out of appreciation for that.

“interesting.” eva says as she held the plastic dildo.

you chuckled as this might be the first time you left her dumbfounded.

“what’s so funny?” stratt looks at you, a slight grin creeping in as hard as she tries to hide it.

“nothing, just… do you like it?” you asked as your giggles died down and you looked at her.

seated on the edge of the bed with her, it felt like the world was only revolving around you two.

eva continues looking at the plastic appendage.

“well, we can try something new, right?” eva says it in the most stoic way that it made you laugh again.

her head whips to you, trying not to grin from how happy you looked, but of course miserably failing to do so.

“well, wanna try it tonight?” you asked, beaming at her.

well how could she deny you when you looked at her like that?

[ivyinkveil]

Please write more Eva stratt you are so good at it 🙏

aww thank you!!!! its my first time writing for a female fictional character so its still daunting but i’ll try my best 🫶 right now i am planning a few 18+ drabbles for her ;)

[ivyinkveil]

eva stratt x fem!reader… and reader is jealous/bratty (a bit suggestive) happy pride month <3

imagine fem!reader working for her, maybe having known her from wayyy back since college. now she’s the leading woman of the petrova taskforce, and you’re sort of her right-hand woman.

(and you also have a secret third thing with her whereby you guys may or may have not fucked once in college or have a homoerotic friendship lasting till’ now)

until she hired that stupid scientist.

dr. ryland grace.

intelligent, knows-it-all, charming, and irritably annoying… or maybe you didn’t like that he took ALL of stratt’s attention away from you.

a work day has ended, and you are back in your dorm, tired, slumped onto your bed, heart filled with hatred for none other than grace.

the way he talks about his theories just made you so angry for some reason, the way he mansplains it, the way eva just listens, the way she smiles in agreement while you stand there…

suddenly your unlocked door swung open, and speaking of the devil, stratt is now at your doorstep.

“came over,” she says, closing the door, not bothering to ask you if you even allowed her in.

and as bad as your jealousy was, you still felt annoyed that she doesn’t prioritise your needs the same way she does for grace.

“are you seriously going to enter my room without asking?”

“i’m here to check on you is that not what you want?” stratt says as she just sits on a stool nearby, still in her work clothes.

you huffed, sitting up.

“you’ve been buttering up grace this whole day and now you wanna ‘check’ on me? yeah right—

“excuse me?”

your heart stills for a second but you are not gonna let down, even as stratt placed her documents on your work table, eyes focused on you now.

“you heard me, there’s nothing to worry about me alright? i think grace is more important than me now suggesting how successful we are in—

“are you jealous?”

she asks, legs crossed elegantly, face stern yet almost smug, as if she could see right through you.

you gulped.

“w-what?”

“i didn’t know you would still feel that way about me, i hired you for your intelligence and dedication towards the project,”

she sounded so serious, you might just cry now. you looked down, hands unknowingly clawing onto the bedsheets as you realised you just fucked up.

“i also hired you to be by my side,” she suddenly says, her voice going lower, as if not wanting anyone but you to hear it.

your head whipped up.

“i’m sorry you feel this way, this annoyance towards grace, but i need you by my side more than him.”

“since when were you this vulnerable around me?” you asked,

she scoffs like she always does,

“without you by my side, i wouldn’t have the bravery to delegate roles and run this project,”

her eyes are locked with yours now, and slowly, she got up, walking towards you, her boots clanking with every step.

your heart accelerates.

her hand softly cups your jaw, cradling it to have you look up at her.

“grace is good at what he does, but so are you, and what you’re good at is doing your secretarial duties and being by my side,”

her thumb playfully pulls your bottom lip down, and you were panting almost.

her eyes were piercing, locked with yours, yet her irises were so dilated, so full of admiration, you almost felt bad for being a brat.

“so never say i favour grace over you, it’s so insulting.”

her last words rang in your mind; so insulting.

you stared up at her, not realising your eyes were sparkling almost, filled with so much adoration for her.

the always demeaning eva stratt who scared off all the boys who dared to bully you in school, tough stratt who always pulled her weight the most for any project whenever you’re struggling.

defensive eva when any homophobe dared to pry into your love life, and at the same time hers.

“do you understand?” her thumb that was once on your bottom lip, left, and you almost wanted to feel her touch again when suddenly the same hand pushed a hair strand behind your ear.

you gasped lightly to yourself while nodding, almost at a loss for words.

stratt smiles.

“get some rest, without you the rest of my days will not go smoothly,” she chuckled, as your arms instinctively went up to hug her.

she was stunned for awhile, as someone who doesn’t process physical touch as well as others.

but for yours? she wouldn’t mind one bit.

she slowly hugged back, hands hesitant, yet filled with purpose. the stratt you know never shows her cards to anyone, yet it always felt like you knew her hand all the time.

[prudejudee]

https://x.com/i/status/2062166914294534301

DRIVER CODED DRIVER CODED DRIVER CODEDDDDDD

I had no one else to share this with and zoomed over here as fast as I could 😭😭😭

Hey so i just stared at my screen for idk how long thinkibg about rhis. SO. so. so wow. im not rly taking requests but im so writing this heyy HAYYY

The car hums low as Driver keeps one hand on the wheel, eyes fixed on the dark road ahead. Your skimpy skirt rides high on your thighs, barely covering anything—something he notices the second you shift in the passenger seat. Without a word, his free hand slides over, fingers brushing your inner thigh before pushing the fabric up completely.

He finds you bare underneath, just like he prefers. Two thick fingers press between your folds, rubbing slow circles over your clit until you’re slick and open for him. He pushes one finger inside and then two, working them deep with consistent pumps while the car stays perfectly steady.

The wet sounds fill the quiet space between you. He curls his fingers just right, hitting that spot that makes your hips jerk, and his thumb keeps rubbing your clit without missing a beat. Every red light gives him a moment to push deeper, curling his fingers to stretch you, to hit your favorite spot—never looking away from the road but fully focused on how tight you clench around him.

When you start to moan, he finally speaks, voice calm and low. "Settle down honey. Let me make you cum before we get home."

[ivyinkveil]

drenched

[ivyinkveil]

my moon my man.

synopsis / years of knowing ryland as one of your adjunct lecturers led to built up tension piling into one lump as you were deployed to work alongside with dr. grace, the lump now threatening to burst.

ship/ ryland grace x f!reader

cw/ 18+, smut, exhibitionism (in the lab...), soft top ryland, whimpering, age gap but both are consenting adults, missionary, making out, declarations of feelings, crying lawl, creampie, project hail mary spoilers!

wc/ 8.2k

an/ lets imagine that ryland has taught as a lecturer before in and out while teaching middle schoolers... blueish theme bcs nerdy space men yummers, alternatively you can read in ao3 here!

“Dr Grace…?”

“Dr Ryland Grace.”

Stratt reiterates, looking at you with those piercing eyes, a gaze undoubtedly her. 

“You will be working alongside him so it won’t be a one man job and your lecturers have said you are one of the best students they have, straight A’s, intriguing reports and outcomes from your experiments.”

She leans back a little on her office chair, voice lowering to a more serious degree.

“You are lucky that connections brought you this far, being involved in a top secret project issued by the government is a huge feat for a student of your age, let alone shadowing one of our brilliant scientists.”

You gulped, 

“So do you understand the matter at hand?”

Your clammy hands fiddled with each other on your lap. 

“Yes,”

“Good, and you know what top secret means right? Say a word about this and we will have to, unfortunately,  terminate you with immediate effect or worse.”

‘Or worse’ those words rang in your head as you clearly knew what she meant by that.

You then leave her office, hands shaking just a little bit as you start to process what you are getting yourself into.

Dr Ryland Grace, you remember now, he became your substitute lecturer for a module on Molecular Biology once and your class simultaneously agreed he was a quirky yet knowledgeable guy.

The only person whose eyes used to always be gently fixated on you as you explain your beliefs and opinions. Like he meant no harm and just wanted to understand your soul.

How did this man go from teaching to working for one of the most risky projects ever launched by the government?

In fact, how did you end up here?

Your lecturer came forward to you asking for help as someone asked him to introduce as many brilliant minds as he could possibly find for the government, and your foolish self thought that this was your time to shine and land your mark on a secure job for life.

Only to end up here, paid handsomely with the propaganda fed into your mind that you are going to save the world from a possible crisis in 30 hypothetical years.

But at least there is a familiar face.

–

Walking behind Stratt with her team of guards surrounding you, she stops at a lab, unlocking the door to reveal a room painted white, filled to the brim with scientific equipment. You could immediately recognise some of the equipment as you have used them before.

But your eyes lingered longer on the only person in the lab, a man wearing a white lab coat just like you with dirty blonde hair.

“This is Dr Grace, you will be working with him and assisting in samples as he tends to more important matters.”

The man hunched back over the microscope turns around quickly from the sudden entrance, locking eyes with you as he looks confused.

A sudden feeling of sentimentalism overwhelmed you.

“W-what is this…?” Dr Grace stutters.

“You will have an assistant now, one of my friend’s brilliant students. Give her some valuable knowledge as she will be shadowing you too.” Stratt tells Dr Grace as he fixes his crooked glasses.

“...Why?” 

But before Dr Grace could ask any further, Stratt and her bodyguards walked out of the lab, leaving you and Dr Grace in there alone.

It was silent for a while. You could only look down and play with your lab coat, waiting for any orders from your now superior Dr Grace.

As silent as the lab was, Dr Grace’s mind was a storm. The student he taught now serves as his assistant, the same student who always had questions for him after lectures, staying back to crack problems with him and debate philosophical topics that tie with scientific facts.

The last person he could talk to about his controversial opinions and not feel judged, including the report that sent hate mail to his doorstep and caused Stratt to hire him, you did not judge.

The most down-to-earth woman he has ever met is now standing in front of him after years of no contact.

“Hey, I taught you before.” He tried to start the conversation,

You looked up to see him sheepishly grin.

“Oh yeah… I remembered.”

“Wow, how long has it been?”

“A while… I’m graduating soon.”

His eyes widened for a little bit.

“I’m old huh,” He scoffs.

“You still look as young as I remembered,” You joked, and he breathlessly chuckled .

You chuckled nervously too and as if he could suddenly sense the awkwardness in the room, he gestures to you.

“Oh yeah you’re still standing– I-I’m sorry, here.”

He stands up to push a lab chair beside him, offering you to sit.

“So… what led you here?”

“Lecturer recommendation… I had to sign a lot of forms and stuff I think I’m signing myself up for a suicide mission.”

Dr Grace’s smile faltered a little bit, but just for a moment so subtle you could catch it.

“Well it technically is, 3 astronauts are going on a one-way mission to space as there won’t be enough Astrophage to bring them back.”

He sighs,

“All in the name of saving mother earth am I right?”

You giggle nervously again as you start feeling a sense of dread and regret overwhelm you, but you try to push it away.

“I’m sorry, Stratt did not tell me I will have an assistant or whatever she said so I was not prepared at all,” He apologises,

“Its okay,” You said,

Silence plucked the atmosphere,

“What’s Astrophage?”

His eyes lit up.

“Thought you wouldn’t have asked,” He grins and you take notice of his stubble, his lazy eyes protected by his glasses that sat so well on his face.

You shook your head as if the thoughts could disperse as you stood up to follow him to another corner of the lab.

There lay a microscope, with the sample on the metal plate showing a black blob of goo smeared across.

“Try looking.” He smiles again and you lean your dominant eye to the lens.

Laying in your vision were a bunch of black molecules, moving, as if they were alive. 

“...It’s a cell.” You said out loud, unsure if it's a question or a statement.

“Yes, it is a cell.” Dr Grace replies as you look at him.

“You discovered a new species of being?”

“Well n-not me, I was just sent here to research on how Astrophage behaves so we can start preparations to use it as fuel.” He looked away momentarily and adjusted his glasses. Shifting his gaze to you again, you could see his eyes dart from your lips back to your eyes, quick as if not wanting you to notice.

“...” You stayed silent.

“So it's an alien? That's groundbreaking.” You tried to keep your cool.

“Yeah, and they breed too, like any other species.” He leans his arm against the shelf as if to look like he is chill as he could tell how shocked you are.

“Now we just need 2 million kilograms of this bad boy to send 3 astronauts to their deaths.” 

You scoffed as that sense of dread and regret slowly washed away.

It felt as if the dream duo had finally reunited, except now these two nerds are going to put all that philosophical debate into scientific research that could hypothetically save the world.

–

Day 3, Night

“You should go rest now”

Dr Grace’s voice bounced off the walls as the clock struck 9pm.

“I think I’m having a breakthrough—

“Thats the millionth time you said that,” 

“Yes because I have a hunch that I’ve put 99% of my trust on right now,”

Dr Grace just sighs.

“Okay this is an order, rest, now.”

You took your hands off the chamber and huffed like a 10 year old having a temper tantrum. You bit your lip out of thinking what to say to that, eyes looking at him pleadingly.

He had to look at the wall behind you to stop paying attention to the way your bottom lip looks tugged below your teeth, and your eyebrows slightly crooked, eyes glossy from hours of work and exhaustion.

God he is going crazy isn’t he?

“You will be stuck in this lab for the next quarter of your life, miss,” Dr Grace exaggerates as if to coax you into having some shut eye.

“Fine, can I just lie on two chairs here or something?”

Dr Grace sighs again, louder this time.

“Sure, just go rest.”

Propping yourself on the two chairs, you formed a makeshift bed to rest on as you stretched your limbs, letting out small whines from your tense muscles finally relaxing.

Dr Grace takes over you, putting on the safety equipment as he sticks his hands into the black gloves attached to the isolation chamber, analysing the sample after an experiment you made from your hypothesis on Astrophage breeding.

Well it didn’t work and you didn’t know how to recreate the conditions Astrophage survived on in the Petrova Line. However you did discover the conditions Astrophage needed, and that was during your first few days here.

You’re just too into this project and he could feel all your hard work and dedication in making this project a successful one.

You’re just bubbling with curiosity and passion. It makes him smile unknowingly, the same smile he gets whenever his middle school students excitedly answer his questions.

Even for a project that threatens everyone involved in it to die, you still tried your best.

“Hey, I have this idea for a set up to see how they thrive in their—

Looking back as Dr Grace was rambling, he sees you sleeping peacefully on your makeshift bed, lightly snoring, noticing that you also forgot to take off your lab coat.

His heart quenches a little from the sight.

You looked cute.

But he shook that thought away, it has only been a couple of days and he suddenly feels some sort of connection to a student he developed a close bond with a while back and is 10 years younger than him? Illegal.

He just smiles softly.

Looking up at the clock it was now reaching 9:30pm.

And his eyes did feel droopy but he did not want to disturb your rest or leave you alone all by yourself.

So he took off his lab coat and made a makeshift bed for himself at the other side of the room too, with enough space to observe your sleeping habits.

The way your body shivers when the AC casts another gush of cold wind at you, your arms crossing so that your hands won’t get cold, and your body huddling up into a small cocoon to feel safe.

All of it makes you, you.

And that thought made him fall asleep gradually.

—

The days flew by since then.

Having a dorm on the ship now, you just wake up and go for work but it wasn’t so bad doing work with Dr Grace.

He wasn’t authoritative, nor does he slack, he leads you with grace (pun intended) and in a way whereby following his orders doesn’t feel forced, it just feels natural.

Even amidst a crisis, and knowing that the government is using you guys as guinea pigs to save the world, it felt as if the world spun slower whenever you’re with him.

It felt so wrong as you slowly started looking at him as less of an educational figure, but more of a comfort person and maybe now more attractive?

Maybe it's what weeks of isolation in the middle of sea does to you, but the bond you used to have with him is back, just ten times more intimate and explosive.

You are barely scraping the surface of your 20s at 21 years old and now you are attracted to a man reaching his 40s, 35 years old.

You could only roll on your bed thinking back on your findings and reminding yourself of objectives to be achieved the next working day, just to have your mind float back to Dr Ryland Grace. 

The way his fingers brush against yours when passing around equipment, his woody scent flooding your senses while looking into isolation chambers to see what you are doing, or when you shadow him in his work, your eyes lingering at the way his biceps curl and his glasses slide off his nose bridge at every cute nose scrunch.

You were going crazy.

Maybe it was his nerdy charm, the way he sheepishly rubs his face after every bad joke that you still giggled at, but it's what made him, him.

—

Day 6, Morning

“What are you doing here so early?” Dr Grace walks into the lab as he brushes past your figure to put his belongings at the back.

“Math, to see how much energy we need for the Astrophage breeding process.”

You were sitting on a chair with a whiteboard marker in hand, calculating formulas, while Dr Grace put on his lab coat.

“Didn’t we agree that it won’t be an issue as Astrophage doubles its population every 8 days?”

“Yeah but they did say it's a one-way trip using 2 kilograms of Astrophage right?”

Dr Grace leans against the counter, facing you and your whiteboard a bit too closely.

“What if we can actually make it a two-way trip and have another 2 kilograms of Astrophage? Making 4?”

He looked at you with a perplexed expression, half wanting you to go further with the formula you are using and the other half wanting you to stop or it could risk you terminating.

“I actually had the same thought too after what Stratt said,”

“Right?” You looked at him with a glimmer in your eyes.

He found that so attractive.

“If we use Albert Einstein's formula of special relativity, we would need 1.5 megajoules of energy to make 1kg of Astrophage stores, so we could quite literally make more as we can already make 1kg of Astrophage in two days, imagine if we wait for the next doubling cycle and—

“You’re too passionate, you know that?”

Your head whips up to meet Dr Grace’s eyes through his spectacles, flow state interrupted but it’s okay because Dr Grace just gave you a compliment.

“Huh?”

“I used to think that I was so stupid for being in this project because I do what I do best and suddenly I’m in a project that threatens my life.”

He looks down at you with a soft smile, enjoying the sight of you looking up at him with curious eyes, the way you bite your bottom lip in anticipation of what he is saying next.

“You are a brilliant student, you know that? …I would have done the same thing as what you are doing now, questioning the norms but I don’t want you to risk your life.”

“How am I risking my life doing a math problem that could possibly save 3 astronauts.”

His eyes looked at you with a small tinge of sadness.

“Because they do not care, the government does not care.”

He said that as if he only had the dawning realisation a few days ago, and your heart drops.

He leans in closer, pulling a chair to sit beside you as you could feel his breath fan your lips lightly.

“They only cared about how fast we can breed this species just so they can carry on with the project and eventually go back to their original jobs.”

He rubs his face and chuckles nervously.

“Y-you’re just brilliant! Working for a top secret project but seriously I don’t want to lose you just because of your curiosity, though it's your curiosity that makes you special to me.”

His eyes looked more yearning now, full of admiration as they darted from your lips to your eyes.

“Dr Grace…”

“I think we can drop the formalities, right?” 

The air grew thick, and the tension was too much to bear.

You started breathing deeply as if you ran a marathon but all you did was have intimate eye contact with Dr Grace as he looks like he just wants to eat you up here and now.

Unknowingly, you start slowly leaning in, and Dr Grace does too.

His hand starts creeping to ghost over your waist.

Fuck this is too much for you, what if he regrets it?

You sharply pull away as you realise the situation at hand and nervously hold the marker up again to continue on with your problem.

Dr Grace pulls away, coughs and adjusts his glasses as he awkwardly stands up to pull the chair away.

“I-I’ll… go get some coffee.”

He immediately left the lab to head to the nearest vending machine and you didn’t dare to even spare a look at him, just staring at your hand holding the whiteboard marker so tightly it might pop.

Shit, you fucked up big time.

Your eyes tear a bit from the anxiety of what could have happened just now as you unknowingly dragged the marker across the sleek whiteboard, forming forced jagged lines.

It is obvious now that you want him, and it's going to harm your reputation, and even your relationship with your superior Dr Grace.

The tears started rolling, and you don’t even know why you are sobbing.

Why did you chicken out?

—

Dr Grace comes back to seclude himself at the other side of the lab, refusing to be near you in fear that you would be uncomfortable with his presence.

That coffee run he made was so that he could go to the nearby toilet to look in the mirror and give himself a pep talk.

This is detrimental to his career.

Why would he let his own feelings surface in the workplace?

This was the stupidest thing he has ever done and that includes joining this project.

His hands clenched the sink threatening to shatter it into pieces as he pants.

How is he going to face you now? Would you guys still be friends?

The idea of losing you sends him into a panic attack so he just stops right there and then, leaving the toilet to actually grab a coffee with more espresso shots than needed to keep his sanity at bay.

Back at the lab he just did his thing while you did yours with absolutely zero conversations, which is not usual for both of you guys.

You even went to lunch without him and he could tell how much you’ve tried to avoid him. In the food bay when you got your lunch you sharply avoided him as he entered, on the way back to the lab at times, whenever he comes around, you take the longer route to avoid him, just to not have any contact with him.

And honestly? It hurts.

By the time it was the evening and it was time to clock out in two hours, Dr Grace isolated himself in the lab, barely doing any work, just staring into space.

You weren’t in the lab though.

Which worries him.

Where did you go?

Speaking about the devil, you eventually came in, and he noticed, he always notices, your eyes were redder than usual, nose blushing a cute shade of red.

You avoided his gaze to take your seat in front of the whiteboard again, putting on your lab coat and continuing off a problem you made again that this time touches on the speed of light.

Dr Grace could only look at you worryingly, eyes burning holes into your back.

He does not want to hurt you at all, never.

All he could do was analyse your body language and guess your wellbeing, he always analyses anyway.

Suddenly, you let out a light sob, dropping the whiteboard marker uncapped and then resting your head against your hands, elbows on your knees.

Light sobs became harder ones and suddenly you were full on crying.

You knew Dr Grace was behind you, yet you just didn’t care, you felt so frustrated this whole day. A mix of emotions regarding your superior and the work you have been doing, is it all worth it in the end?

You heard a light skiing sound on the floor, and before you knew it, Dr Grace had slided his chair from his side to yours, finally breaking the invisible boundary you guys have placed this whole day since that morning.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was soft, not wanting to look at you too much or else you would feel overwhelmed, but his body still faces you.

You lightly sobbed into your hands before whipping your head up to breathe and wiping your tears away with your hands.

“I…” You can’t say anything.

“Take your time, it’s okay to cry, let it all out,” His soft affirmations made you smile unknowingly and that made him smile too.

Maybe being a middle school teacher has its perks when it comes to understanding emotions and regulating one's nervous system.

You continued crying.

“This is so frustrating.” You sobbed out, breathing deeply in and out so that you won’t have a panic attack.

“Just breathe,” His words soothed you again.

You have been avoiding him this whole day and now he is comforting you while you’re having a breakdown. God you felt like an asshole.

His hand lingered behind your back, as if not knowing if you would want him to touch you or not, but seeing your current state, he gently soothed your back, making sure you don’t choke on your cries.

And that could have lulled you to sleep.

“Are you okay with this?” He asks, gesturing to his hand on your back.

“More than okay,” You sniffed, finally cooling down.

It was silent for a while, just you regulating your emotions as Dr Grace continued soothing your back gently. His hand felt so soothing, so reassuring, and suddenly your mind drifted back to the fantasies you had in your dorm about the veins in his arms but you shook your head lightly to dissipate those thoughts.

“Feeling better now?” He asks gently again, 

You nodded, as you are breathing more normally now.

“I’m sorry Dr Grace.”

“Drop the formalities, its Ryland and you know it,” You chuckled,

“I’m sorry Ryland,”

That sent a shiver down his spine, he liked the way you said his name.

“Don’t apologise for your emotions dork,” You chuckled again,

“Shut up,” You whine and he chuckles.

You finally locked eyes with him for the first time since this morning, and his eyes darted across your face, your features more redder now, cheeks stained with dried up tears and lips red from biting.

You look so pretty.

Pretty even after you just had a meltdown.

Your eyes darted down to his lips too, and he noticed.

“Do you want this?” You asked,

“I do,” He said without hesitation but so nervously too,

And as you lean in slowly, his hand that was on your back slowly reaches up to cradle your jaw.

Finally, as he leaned in too, your lips caressed his lips softly. He closes his eyes, breathing shakily as if he doesn’t want to fuck this up. Your hands were fidgeting on your lap from nerves.

Slowly y'all pulled away, and even though it was just a peck, Ryland looks like he has run a marathon and your hands already felt clammy.

Sensing that both of you guys want more, his hand gently reaches to the back of your head, fingers weaving through your hair as you guys kiss again, but harder and more passionate this time.

You craned your head to the side to kiss him deeper as he whined softly, tongue feeling yours as sparks flew across his stomach and butterflies filled your tummy. 

Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck and suddenly he pulled away. 

Your heart drops.

“W-wait, sorry, the blinds aren’t closed.”

Phew

He stands up to close the blinds as you follow him to his side of the lab, and he reaches out for you to straddle his lap as you guys kiss again, but this time more fervently, like there’s no time to waste.

His hands had a mind of its own, caressing your thighs through your work pants as your arms finally wrapped around his neck to play with the small hairs on his nape.

“You’re beautiful.” He mutters amidst the kiss and you giggle.

“Stop it,”

“It's true!” He gleams as his nose touches yours so intimately, before he leaves small kisses on your cheeks, leading them down to the side of your neck as you gasp.

“Dr Grace…”

That sent a spike of pleasure down to his groin.

“Hmm don’t say that,”

“Why?” You giggle breathlessly as he bit onto your neck as if to punish or award you for calling him out formally.

“You know why,” He stops kissing you to lay his forehead against yours, as if to engrain this moment into his memories permanently.

“Have you done this before Ry?”

He shakes his head.

“I had a girlfriend before, but it was only for a few months, nothing happened.” His eyes looked at you with desperation, trying to analyse how you feel.

“It’s okay, just wanted to know,” You smile,

“How about you?”

“Flings here and there, I never really had a man actually love my soul,” 

I will love and understand your soul

He wanted to say that so badly but he didn’t want to scare you away, and you guys are in the middle of making out.

“I understand,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,”

Both of you guys chuckled as you noticed it's going to be an hour to clocking out of work.

So you initiated the kiss again, and he groaned, relishing in the feeling of how your lips felt and tongue twisting with his. His wandering hands reach up to squeeze your waist lightly which earned him a soft moan from you, that made his pants tighten just a little bit.

The whole time spent was just you and him exploring each other’s mouths, hands wandering about touching each other’s bodies so intimately as if y’all never want this to end.

“You’re so passionate, so amazing” He keeps saying as he sometimes leaves love bites all over the column of your throat, as your hands gently tug onto his blonde hair earning you small gasps from him.

Suddenly, your love bubble had to be popped when someone knocked the door, leaving you and Ryland to stop and freeze. 

Out of panic, Ryland for some reason puts you under his desk, making it seem like you’re doing work while you’re off doing something else.

The awkward position made you chuckle a bit and made Ryland rub his face from how dumb he is having placed you under his desk in between his legs.

Suddenly Carl comes in.

“Dr Grace?”

“Yes?” Ryland coughs before answering,

Carl scans the room.

“Do you know where your assistant is?”

“Why? What for?”

“Stratt needs to see her now,”

His breathing laboured a bit.

And as the conversation carries on, all you could focus on was Ry’s groin right in front of you. You felt like a pervert, but you suddenly had a crazy idea.

He’s half-hard anyway from what you can tell.

Ryland’s eyes locked with yours underneath him as he said, “I think she has gone somewhere else, maybe you guys can see her another day? like tomorrow?”

He mouths out, don’t do it to you but you were so bratty and cheeky you did not care.

However you cared about consent and you mouthed to him if he wanted to continue. He bites his lip as if trying to balance the pros and cons of the situation but eventually gives in and mouthed a yes. In which you gave a mischievous grin.

Unbuttoning his pants slowly, you unzipped his fly, making sure that the sound of it wasn’t loud, and you are now face to face with his boxers which of course, had stupid science puns all over with images of triangular beakers everywhere.

His face went red and he covered it with his two hands as if it could cool himself down.

“Stratt just wants to talk to her about something regarding her position here in the project.”

“W-what about it?” Ryland stutters as you slowly pull down the waistband of his boxers.

He breathes in sharply as cold air shoots against his cock now fully hard. Fuck this is embarrassing. If he isn’t as red as a tomato now he would be so surprised

Eyes darting down he could see your eyes hazing out as you eyed his cock like it was some trophy you won and he could cum there and then.

He was thick, girthy, average length with a small blonde bush. There was a small happy trail and light veins going down his pelvis to the base. You can tell he furnishes himself once in a while.

“Confidential, just tell me where she is,”

Suddenly your tongue darted towards his slit and his eyes blew wide open as he tried not to moan loudly or cum.

“Are you okay Dr Grace?” 

“Y-yeah, headache—

Your mouth finally envelops his head, sucking gently and he could only intake sharp deep breaths as if to look like he is sick.

He tried not to roll his eyes back, hands gripping the office chair for life.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be bothering you right now,”

“N-no no, hhh it's okay, s-she is probably getting coffee or in the toilet ah—or something.”

Your wet mouth went down slowly, sucking his cock like a vacuum and he could only just shiver in his seat, holding his hips back from thrusting up into your mouth while trying to avoid suspicion from Carl.

“Okay, sorry for bothering, continue on with your work and get some early rest Dr Grace.”

“Hhm— Y-yes no worries, goodnight Carl!!”

That last phrase was a bit louder than he intended and once Carl leaves the lab twisting the door knob shut. Ryland could only roll his eyes back finally, trying to just gasp silently, in fear that Carl is still outside.

“Y-yes oh—“

You continued sucking, hands resting on his thighs as you bobbed your head.

Ryland could only look down at you as he shivered, trying not to cum so quickly.

“You’re doing so w-well— ah fudge—"

He starts getting louder as he thinks Carl isn’t outside anymore, hand hovering over your head as if debating if he should weave his fingers through your hair locks.

He did not want to force you or hurt you.

But as you moan while sucking him off, you push his hand onto your head, and that makes his hips tremble as he pushes you down fully.

That did it, he suddenly felt that band of warmth in his abdomen snap in half so quickly he didn’t even realise, and he thrusts his hips up forcefully, making you gag as he cums hard.

He could not give you a warning as he groaned loudly, letting out guttural sounds like this orgasm was forcefully pulled out of him because of you, like he got punched in the stomach.

His eyes rolled back momentarily before shutting them tightly, trying to get his bearings back by tugging your hair hard but not pulling, whole body trembling as shocks of pleasure sprinkle across his body.

You gagged and tears rolled down your cheeks, but you just swallowed everything he could give you, nails digging crescents into his pants.

As aftershocks lingered, he tried breathing in deeply but ended up whining as he felt your tongue still slobbering all over the underside while still deep in your throat.

“F-fudge you’re amazing, ahh—“ He still wasn’t cursing after you gave him the best head he has ever received (And his first ever).

His body slowly stopped trembling and his hand tried to soothe the back of your head while shivering, trying to adjust your hair back to how it was before and making sure he didn’t hurt you.

“T-thank you thank you—“ He whimpers as he slowly breathes in and out while you slowly let go with a pop.

Looking down at you with dilated pupils, you looked up at him with such an innocent smile as you licked the droplets of his arousal that were at the corners of your mouth.

“F-fuuuhdge don’t do that,” You laughed as he tried not to curse.

“Get up your knees must hurt,” His hands quickly pulled you up by your arm pits so as to have you sit on his lap, his other hand pulling up his boxers but you stopped him.

“Do you want more?” You asked him as your hands held his face so endearingly that he rubs his face against one of your palms, wanting your touch.

“Do you want more?” He emphasised ‘you’.

You nodded, and he nodded too.

His hands held your waist again as y’all made out again, tasting his own arousal in a mix with your saliva but he did not care, in fact he found that arousing.

He whines kissing you, taking his time to feel the way your lips move against his as the night comes to an end.

–

“Y-yes just like that–”  You moan out with Ryland below you, tongue flat against you and his eyes fixated on every pleasurable reaction you let out with his glasses still on.

While clocking out, you dragged Ryland to your dorm in fear of any hidden cameras in the lab (which there is), and almost as soon as the door to your dorm locks shut, he pushed you against the door gently and kissed you again with a sense of urgency.

And as the kiss deepens, each of you strip off your clothes, his eager hands feeling your breasts, gently touching them like you’re delicate, while your hands smoothed down his body, and for a science teacher and doctor, he is built like the terminator.

But you love it, love the way he had small blonde hairs all over his chest, his pecs lightly forming and his biceps curling as his hands squeezed your waist. It all made you lightheaded in a good way.

Now he is deep face first in between your thighs, eating you out and gripping your thighs to spread them apart like you are gonna slip away from his grasp.

His tongue was skilled in finding your weak points as he could analyse every sound and expression you give him. Maybe it's his years of managing emotional middle schoolers and noticing every detail in every experiment he makes, but he now knows what you like.

You love when his tongue flicks against your clit before flattening out to lap across your slit, loves when he sucks your clit hard before soothing it out again with his tongue, or when he penetrates his tongue into you as his thumb rubs your clit with such intense precision your thighs threatened to clamp his head.

He moans from your taste, tongue lapping up your arousal like he’s dying of thirst, spectacles foggy and crooked on his nose bridge. You were losing your mind, it has been how long since he started eating you? You don’t know, all you could focus on was the way his moans vibrate against your clit, the lower half of his face damp from your arousal.

“Ry you’re doing so good.” You gasp out as your hands tugged onto his hair just to stabilise yourself, making him groan even more.

Looking down through your teary eyelids, he looked so desperate, eyes half lidded as all he could care about right now was getting you off the same way you did for him. The sight of him eagerly eating you out and tasting you for the first time was so heavenly you nearly came.

What you didn’t know was Ryland grinding his bare cock against the sheets, trying to get any source of friction he can against him as he indulges in you, relishing in the tanginess of your arousal as your whines bounced off the walls of the room.

You were getting so loud, and you tried to stay silent but Ryland didn’t like that and just sucked your clit even harder. All you could do was writhe against the sheets, toes curling as your eyes kept rolling to the back of your skull.

“Dr Grace– please oh,” 

Not the formality.

He moaned loudly against your pussy from hearing you moan out his formal name and he began sucking your clit and waving his tongue side to side, before inserting his middle finger in you.

The feeling of his finger now slowly curling into you blew your eyes wide open as you threw your head back. Your legs were shaking, trying to clamp onto his head and kicking relentlessly, but for a teacher his strength was enough to hold you still, and flick your clit over and over again with his tongue.

“F-fuuckk”

“Language,” He jokes breathlessly as his finger is finally curling into you, eyes analysing your reactions to see where he should curl it at, and once your eyes start rolling back, bingo.

“Whoop there it is,”

“S-shut up– ahh~”

He smiles as he left one final lap across your slit which made your hips shiver, before curling against that one spot eagerly, going at a quicker pace while his eyes eat up how good you look, hair sweaty against your forehead, eyes rolling back, your tits shaking and moving with every twitch of your body, and drool leaking from the corners of your mouth letting out moans and gasps of pleasure.

Resting his cheek against your inner thigh, he grinds his cock against the sheets even harder, relishing in your pleasure. Slowly he added his ring finger inside, forcing a choked moan out of you, as your body writhes.

You then started sobbing from the pleasure and how numb your legs felt being spread apart for such a long time. 

“Dr G-Grace– yes yes yes– f-fudge,” 

Your eyes rolled back for the millionth time and he smiles realising you’re not cursing anymore.

“Good girl,”

His fingers sped up as he started flicking his tongue against your clit and you whined loudly from his praise and stimulation, one hand now pulling the corners of your pillow for life as the other tugged onto his hair roots. 

You were crying from the pleasure and how overwhelming it felt, as Ry’s thrusts against the sheets grew harder, his precum staining them.

He groans against your clit as he starts sucking even harder if possible, his fingers curling and tugging so fast like he wants you to cum, now.

“F-fudge I’m cumming, cumming so har–

Throwing your head back, your hips thrusted up and through the ringing in your ears, you can hear Ry’s moaning growing even louder while continuously sucking your clit as you start squirting.

You kept saying ’fudge’ even amidst one of the hardest orgasms you have ever felt, as you cried and sobbed in ecstasy. His fingers still curled even harder as you tightened, his face now soaking wet with your arousal.

But he didn’t care, he just wanted to taste you and as your body writhes against the sheets, he lets you clamp his head with your thighs, his glasses now a meter away from dropping off his face as his free hand reaches down to rub himself.

He felt like a pervert, but in seeing how good you must have felt as his now soggy fingers curled in you, he came in just a few tugs, legs trembling as he came all over your sheets, groaning and relishing in the feeling of your plump thighs against his cheeks.

By the time you cooled down, your body was still trembling, and Ryland took his fingers out of you as he laps your slit gently, coaxing you from your high. He pants as if he came too and you grew suspicious, but you slowly let your legs down, wincing in pain from how numb they felt.

Your hands cradled his jaw lovingly as the fog in his spectacles dissipated slowly.

His fingers curl around the plump of your thighs as he leans his cheek against your palms.

“T-thank you,”

“What are you thanking me for, you deserved that,” Ryland says with a broken voice, but as your thigh fully extended, you felt wetness at the edge of your ass.

Ryland seems to notice that you noticed the wet patch in your sheets and hid his face against your inner thigh.

“You…”

“Yeah I… haah I’m.. sorry.” He said bashedly as you laughed, making him face you again.

“Don’t apologise dummy,” You pulled his face up which led him to crawl to you and tower above you as you gave him a small peck on his lips now wet because of you.

“I see that as a compliment.” You softly said, hands still caressing his jaw.

He tries to look away shyly as his face reddens, but his eyes still look at you adoringly.

–

You guys didn’t care that the next day had a conference meeting as your bodies intertwined harmoniously moving in sync.

Carl probably gave up looking for you a long time ago as through your blurry vision you could make out the time on your analog clock.

11:00PM

5 hours since y’all clocked out, and Ryland is now stuffed deep inside you, his trembling arms hugging your waist against his hips as he grinds slowly into you.

“You feel so good, ohh great heavens,”

His forehead was against yours, glasses still on so he could see clearly every tear you let out adjusting to his size and every time your eyes rolled back.

“Dr Grace oh–”

“Still keeping the formalities huh?” He joked and pecked the tip of your nose before groaning breathlessly as he could feel his tip slowly grind against your cervix.

“You know you like it when I call you that.”

He laughs and kisses you the millionth time.

“I do, I love it very much so stop,” He sighs as he gives a shallow thrust into you, a whine leaving your lips as your legs tremble, wrapped around his torso.

Looking down, you could see where the two of you are connected, wads of cum and his saliva from just now attached between your hips and his as he thrusts in and out.

He looks down too, mesmerised by the sight of all 7 inches of him going in you. You could almost say he is fucked dumb.

“Look at that,” He sighs as his thrusts quickened, wet squelching was heard as noises of skin slapping reverberated the walls. At every thrust he precisely hits your cervix, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck as you try not to cum.

Your eyes rolled back at times, fingers tugging onto the hairs at the back of his nape as if it could stabilise you from his thrusts growing harder and harder.

“R-Ry?” You called out as his eyes were still mesmerised by him going in and out of you.

“She’s beautiful,”

Oh he is pussydrunk.

He didn’t even respond to you as his thrusts grew harder and you moaned loudly at every sharp hit at your cervix.

“F-ffudge,” You gasp as you could feel Ryland’s breath fanning your face as he pants.

“Right now, I can feel her tightening around me, and whenever I thrust deeply hitting her cervix, she tightens even more,”

Is he drawing analysis results from the way your pussy clenches around him?

“Ryland just fuck me already,”

“And if I go in deeper,

He thrusts all the way in slowly, until you could feel his tip split into your cervix, forcing a loud cry from you.

F-fudge– her cervix tightens around my tip,” Your legs tremble as your arms hold him for life.

“R-Ry you have a Doctorate in Molecular Biology why are you drawing analysis from this–

“You feel so good, you don’t understand if I don’t talk to myself like this I will go crazy,”

His eyes finally lock with yours, forehead still against yours, and you moan softly realising how dilated his pupils are. His arms that caged your head were shivering, trying not to rip apart any seam in your pillows.

“Have I told you how much I admire you for your hard work?”

Suddenly he thrusts in hard and you moan loudly, toes curling as your hands reach down to hold his face again.

“You’re so dedicated in everything you do, you don’t even judge others for their opinions,”

His thrusts grew faster and harder as you whined, trying not to curse. Eyes tearing up from the pleasure.

“Stratt doesn’t deserve you, nobody deserves your knowledge, your expertise–

“Don’t say another w-woman’s name while you’re fucking me Dr Grace,”

He smiles bashedly, glasses crooked.

“Yes ma’am.’

His thrusts maintained a steady pace as you whined, hands sometimes clawing at his back as he groaned, eyes looking at you as always to see your reactions, how much you moan from which angle his cock hits into you.

And as soon as he finds a good angle, he curves his hips just slightly before thrusting at the same pace again, hitting that spot dead on every single time, leaving you trembling and sobbing.

His eyes started tearing too, tears dropping onto his glasses, realising you are below him connected in the most intimate way possible. His hands reach up to intertwine his fingers with yours as his forehead was still plastered against yours this whole time.

“I like you so much, you don’t get it,”

“I like you hhmn even more,”

He gasps as his thrusts grow faster, your mind slowly melting from all the pleasure as you could feel your impending release. You whined loudly as your fingers intertwined with his even more, gripping his hands for life.

“F-fudge you’re so deep,” 

He moans loudly feeling you tighten, getting a sensing that you’re about to cum soon.

“Is it wrong to say ‘I love you’ this early on?” He gasps out as his eyes look at you, waiting for your answer.

“No, no it isn’t” 

He sobs from the pleasure now, as well as the ache of his thighs and core as he thrusts into you quicker.

Both of you guys kept whining, noses touching while exchanging breaths.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” You sobbed out,

“M-me too, me too love–”

He suddenly groaned loudly as he felt his release coming, eyes shutting tightly,  his balls tightening in intervals while he kept thrusting deeply into you, and he could feel you’re about to cum too.

His hands are now tightening around yours as he deeply breathed in and out just to not cum before you.

“I love you Ryland,”

His eyes blinked open to see yours, tears rolling down from the side of your eyes as you softly moan.

“I love you even more,” He sobs as one of his hands lets go of yours to rub your clit with his thumb, thrusting faster as you whine loudly, your free hand now tugging his hair as your eyes roll back.

“C-cumming–

You threw your head back as your back arches, whining as you got impossibly tighter around him, forcing him to lean his head against your neck, whining and whimpering, biting his lip till’ it drew blood to stop himself from cumming before you end your high. 

You kept moaning his informal name, sobbing and trembling under him like a leaf, and as soon as he could see that ring of cream around his cock as he pulled out because of your orgasm, he lost it.

He cums hard, groaning loudly as he bit the junction between your neck and shoulder to not shout. His thumb still rubs slow circles around your clit as your hips gyrate around in overstimulation, and you moan silently from the feeling of his cum filling you up deeply.

You felt so full, free hand now weaving its fingers through his hair, softly scratching his scalp so as to calm him down, which worked as he breathed deeply, leaving pecks around his bite on your shoulder.

Slowly his hips came to a stop. His kisses trailed up from your neck to your cheeks and then to your nose, making you giggle from how ticklish it felt.

The night slowly came to an end, your hand caressing his cheek as he slowly pulled out, forehead resting against yours. He flips over to have you on his chest, forgetting to take off his glasses that are still foggy as he curls his arm around your shoulder.

And just like that, sleep overtook the both of you, his hand clasping yours.

ivyinkveil do not copy, translate, or plagiarise any of my works.

[ivyinkveil]

i have been writing fanfiction for so long and i have never written for a female character before…. thats the power of sandra hüller and eva stratt hhahahahahahah

happy pride month.

[ivyinkveil]

eva stratt x fem!reader… and reader is jealous/bratty (a bit suggestive) happy pride month <3

imagine fem!reader working for her, maybe having known her from wayyy back since college. now she’s the leading woman of the petrova taskforce, and you’re sort of her right-hand woman.

(and you also have a secret third thing with her whereby you guys may or may have not fucked once in college or have a homoerotic friendship lasting till’ now)

until she hired that stupid scientist.

dr. ryland grace.

intelligent, knows-it-all, charming, and irritably annoying… or maybe you didn’t like that he took ALL of stratt’s attention away from you.

a work day has ended, and you are back in your dorm, tired, slumped onto your bed, heart filled with hatred for none other than grace.

the way he talks about his theories just made you so angry for some reason, the way he mansplains it, the way eva just listens, the way she smiles in agreement while you stand there…

suddenly your unlocked door swung open, and speaking of the devil, stratt is now at your doorstep.

“came over,” she says, closing the door, not bothering to ask you if you even allowed her in.

and as bad as your jealousy was, you still felt annoyed that she doesn’t prioritise your needs the same way she does for grace.

“are you seriously going to enter my room without asking?”

“i’m here to check on you is that not what you want?” stratt says as she just sits on a stool nearby, still in her work clothes.

you huffed, sitting up.

“you’ve been buttering up grace this whole day and now you wanna ‘check’ on me? yeah right—

“excuse me?”

your heart stills for a second but you are not gonna let down, even as stratt placed her documents on your work table, eyes focused on you now.

“you heard me, there’s nothing to worry about me alright? i think grace is more important than me now suggesting how successful we are in—

“are you jealous?”

she asks, legs crossed elegantly, face stern yet almost smug, as if she could see right through you.

you gulped.

“w-what?”

“i didn’t know you would still feel that way about me, i hired you for your intelligence and dedication towards the project,”

she sounded so serious, you might just cry now. you looked down, hands unknowingly clawing onto the bedsheets as you realised you just fucked up.

“i also hired you to be by my side,” she suddenly says, her voice going lower, as if not wanting anyone but you to hear it.

your head whipped up.

“i’m sorry you feel this way, this annoyance towards grace, but i need you by my side more than him.”

“since when were you this vulnerable around me?” you asked,

she scoffs like she always does,

“without you by my side, i wouldn’t have the bravery to delegate roles and run this project,”

her eyes are locked with yours now, and slowly, she got up, walking towards you, her boots clanking with every step.

your heart accelerates.

her hand softly cups your jaw, cradling it to have you look up at her.

“grace is good at what he does, but so are you, and what you’re good at is doing your secretarial duties and being by my side,”

her thumb playfully pulls your bottom lip down, and you were panting almost.

her eyes were piercing, locked with yours, yet her irises were so dilated, so full of admiration, you almost felt bad for being a brat.

“so never say i favour grace over you, it’s so insulting.”

her last words rang in your mind; so insulting.

you stared up at her, not realising your eyes were sparkling almost, filled with so much adoration for her.

the always demeaning eva stratt who scared off all the boys who dared to bully you in school, tough stratt who always pulled her weight the most for any project whenever you’re struggling.

defensive eva when any homophobe dared to pry into your love life, and at the same time hers.

“do you understand?” her thumb that was once on your bottom lip, left, and you almost wanted to feel her touch again when suddenly the same hand pushed a hair strand behind your ear.

you gasped lightly to yourself while nodding, almost at a loss for words.

stratt smiles.

“get some rest, without you the rest of my days will not go smoothly,” she chuckled, as your arms instinctively went up to hug her.

she was stunned for awhile, as someone who doesn’t process physical touch as well as others.

but for yours? she wouldn’t mind one bit.

she slowly hugged back, hands hesitant, yet filled with purpose. the stratt you know never shows her cards to anyone, yet it always felt like you knew her hand all the time.

[ivyinkveil]

spam my inbox, yap to me abt goose characters idc!!!!!!!!!!

[ivyinkveil]

tired of the corporate life i js wna be in bed with ryland grace