summary: Guns ‘N roses find themselves falling head over heels over you. You’ve always been their best friend. Sweet, oblivious, and completely unaware of how they look at you. Which might be a problem.
You were daaangerous. All cute, shy, oblivious. Such a sweet, good girl. Always melting everyone's hearts, always taking care of others like it was second nature, your smile enough to kill 100 soldiers.
The only problem?
You somehow managed to attract the attention of 5 beloved degenerate rockstars. Maybe a tad bit too much, and the fact that you were so painfully oblivious only made it worse.
At first, it was innocent. Sweet. Genuine. Nothing lustful, nothing messy; Just 5 guys hanging out with a funny, pretty girl who made life feel sober.
Another problem?
You met them when they were single.
And another problem? They were DOGS. Absolute fucking dogs.
Within 3 months, each one was wrapped around your finger so tightly it was embarrassing. Following you around like they were attached to a leash only you could see, letting you drag them anywhere with one smile and a "please?"
Actually pathetic. Not that any of them would admit it out loud.
But still, each one showed it differently.
Izzy was already irritated.
Too many people, too much noise and too many idiots asking him questions he didn't care for enough.
He sat hunched over the table backstage, scribbling something onto a crumpled piece of paper with a cigarette hanging from his lips.
Then, he heard it.
"Izzy?"
His shoulders tensed immediately. You stood beside him, hands clasped behind your back, blinking sweetly up at him.
"What."
You leaned down slightly, batting your eyelashes in that completely unconscious way that drove him insane. "I know you're busy," you started softly, "but you're the only one who knows how to work the stupid amp thingy, besides Slash," she blinked once "that i can't seem to find."
Amp thingy.
Jesus Christ.
Izzy stared at you for a second too long.
You looked genuinely apologetic for bothering him too, which just made it worse.
He sighed, "go ask someone else, maybe Bob or Ray," he gestured towards the place "i dunno."
"Oh." your face fell instantly "oookay."
And there it was, that stupid tightening in his chest as he saw you pout and frown.
"...For fuck's sake," he muttered, shoving his chair back. "C'mon."
You entire face lit up, grabbing his wrist instinctively while dragging him towards the equipment room "Thank you thank you thank you!"
And he let you, of course he let you.
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"No, your fingers go here."
Slash reached around you again, large hands guiding yours along the neck of the guitar.
Way too close.
Way, waaaay too close.
You sat between his legs on the couch, completely focused on trying to play the chords properly while he sat behind you, patient in a way he wasn't with many people. He was literally known for being a shit teacher.
"Like this?" you asked.
Your head tilted slightly toward him, making your hair brush his jaw.
Slash stopped breathing for a second.
"Yeah," he muttered roughly, clearing his throat lowly.
You tried strumming again, and the sound came out terrible.
You burst into laughter immediately, "Okay, that sounded HORRIBLE. I accept defeat, at this point."
Slash couldn't stop staring at you.
Y'know, most people got nervous around him, or intimidated.
But you never did. You saw through him since the first time you hung out, and since then you always just melt into his space naturally like you belong there.
And it was killing him.
"Oh, yeah?" he muttered, low and amused, "such a shame, just when your hand placement got better." he smirked.
"Oh my god," you gasped dramatically, "That means i'm basically in the band."
Slash huffed a laugh.
Cute.
Then you turned your head suddenly,
Too close.
Your lips barely inches from his.
Slash's entire body locked, the way you were blinking innocently at him already starting to make him hard.
"Wait, can you show me that part again?"
Jesus fucking Christ.
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Duff was only half listening to the conversation around him.
Something about rehearsal times, or soundchecks or whatever.
Didn't matter.
Not when you were currently standing on a wobbling chair beside him trying to reach a shelf that was very obviously too high for you.
"Jesus christ," Duff muttered, already steadying you by placing a hand on your waist. "What are you doing?"
You tsked, slapping his hand away gently. "Go away, i can reach it."
"You literally cannot."
"I'm, like, one inch away."
"You're, like, one second away from breaking your neck."
You huffed dramatically, stretching higher on your toes, and somehow still being too short.
Which was fucking adorable.
Duff placed his other hand on your waist, setting you down despite your little threats, "Can't let you hurt yourself, baby."
Silence.
Complete silence.
He froze for a second, before hurrying to reach for the box of cereal on the shelf.
Fuuuuck.
Across the room, Slash raise a eyebrow, looking up from his guitar.
Steven making the "the fuck?" face.
Izzy outright smirking, and Axl looking ready to bite through drywall.
You, meanwhile, turned around with absolutely no thoughts behind those pretty eyes.
"Hm?"
Duff stared at you.
You didn't even notice the nickname, or the way every guy in the room had gone tense.
You just smiled sweetly and took the box from his hand, "Thanks, Duffy." you said, before leaning up absentmindedly to kiss his cheek and then walked away like it was nothing.
Duff swallowed HARD.
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The studio was quieter than usual.
You sat cross-legged on the floor flipping through one of Axl's notebooks while he lounged on the couch nearby, cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers.
"You write weird stuff, dude." you informed him seriously.
Axl smirked faintly "Yeah?"
"There's literally a page that just says 'hate everyone' ".
"Was havin' a good day."
You snorted, rolling your eyes.
Axl watched you tuck your hair behind your ear while still reading his notebook, like you belonged in his space.
Like you belonged to him.
Daaangerous thought.
"You're staring." you said suddenly without looking up.
"A little."
You finally glanced at him.
That lazy half-lidded look that made your stomach flip a little.
Just a little.
"You're weird."
"You're nosy, doll. Put that down."
Your nose scrunched immediately. "Doll?"
"Fits you."
You tried to hide a smile, tucking your hair behind your ear as you slowly set the notebook down. ‘’Shut up..’’ you mumbled.
Axl just grinned around his cigarette.
God.
You had no idea what you did to him.
No idea that every time you wandered into a room looking for him specifically, something ugly and possessive twisted low in his chest.
Or how badly he wanted to pull you into his lap every time you looked up at him like that.
Instead he just held his hand out lazily.
"C'mere."
And like always, you went.
Of course you did.
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Steven was sprawled across the couch upside down when you walked into the room, the biggest smile known to man taking over his face the moment he saw you step in.
"There she is!"
You laughed immediately. "Why are you upside down?"
"Blood circulation."
"That is NOT a thing."
"Could be, tho.'"
Steven grabbed your wrist dramatically when you walked past him, groaning.
"Sit with mee."
"There’s no room."
"Yes there is."
"There's literally not.”
Steven immediately moved, nearly falling off the couch in the process just to make space for you.
You burst into giggles while sitting down beside him.
Worth it.
Completely worth it.
Steven looked at you for maybe a second too long before blurting:
"You smell really nice."
Dead silence for a second.
But you just smiled sweetly.
"Thank you, Stevie."
Stevie.
He thought he might actually die on the spot.
So yeah, each one would've killed an entire village for you, but in different ways.
…
And also kill eachother.
Which was kinda funny. Kind of such a shame you didn't notice.
Or maybe it was for the best, because currently, the tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, and you were sitting right in the middle of it completely unaware, happily flipping through a magazine while the boys silently fought for your attention like the starving dogs they are.
"Axl," you suddenly said softly, looking up "can you open this for me?"
Immediate disaster.
Duff rolled his eyes.
Steven groaned dramatically.
Slash leaned back further into the couch with an annoyed little scoff while Izzy looked honestly kinda entertained.
Axl, meanwhile, took the bottle from your hands instantly.
Of course he did.
You smiled sweetly. "Thank you!"
"You always ask him first," Steven complained.
You blinked. "Because he opens things scary fast."
"That is NOT the point," Duff said.
"What is it, then?"
Nobody answered.
Because the point was outright embarrassing.
The point was that all five of them were pathetically obsessed with you.
The point was that Axl had almost started a fight last week because some guy flirted with you too long at the bar.
The point was that Duff couldn't stop pet naming you and treating you like his girl.
That Izzy looked at you like a bad habit he couldn't quit.
That Steven would probably marry you tomorrow if you asked.
That Slash started playing softer whenever you fell asleep nearby, like he physically couldn’t stand the idea of waking you up.
But you just stared at them curiously while sipping your drink.
"...You guys are acting weird again."
Duff laughed tiredly "Yeah, you have no idea."
It was completely fucking pathetic.
And the actual worst part?
As you ran towards them to give each a long hug, "the cure to band grumpiness", you'd call it; every single one of them was thinking the exact same thing.
contents: smut, dom!slash x sub!femreader, dirty talk
word count: 930
p.s if u have any requests don’t be afraid to ask
You’ve been extremely horny lately, feeling extra bad for your boyfriend. You wanted to let him know that you loved him and not lusted over him, but you couldn’t control your high sex drive. This never really happened when you weren’t in a relationship, but now that you’re dating slash.. it’s like heaven. You called him a bit late every day because he always arrived at a hotel after a busy gig with his band.
You decided to call him, you couldn’t get your mind off of him. You heard the phone ring a few times in your ear before a familiar voice came to the phone.
“Hey sweetheart,” Slash said softly.
“Hi my love” you replied.
Even his voice was so angelic to you. God, it drove you crazy. Before you knew it, you guys were on call for an hour and a half. It was now 9pm and your panties randomly got soaked, a wave of horniness hitting you like a brick. You let out a low whine, the weird sensation pooling in your core. Your heart started to pound in your chest, your chest heaving. “Are you alright?” He asked in the same soft tone. “Mhm just a bit horny,” you confessed. He let out a deep chuckle at your confession without a word, which only made your arousal worse.
You weren’t usually a bold type of person, but you couldn’t help but to think about how you would love to get him hard by being straightforward. “I want you inside of me so badly,” you murmured. He groaned at your words, “You’re going to make me hard” he gritted through his teeth. “Good, I wanna make you hard” you say, your hand resting on top of your boob. Your words caused a bulge to grow in his pants, and the relaxed silence grew to sexual tension.
You couldn’t help but to grind against your blanket, whimpering needily. “What’re doin’ right now?” You ask. “Rubbing myself,” he replied. You could hear how heavy his breathing was and the sound of faint rustling. His hand traced over his leather-covered hard on as he focused on the sound of your voice. You just giggled mischievously, loving the sound of him getting turned on. “I wanna feel you” he moaned out softly. “Me too,” you croaked out, feeling yourself twitch inside of your soaked panties.
Before you knew it, your phone was on your other pillow and two of your fingers were plunged inside of your wet heat. His hand was rubbing up and down his shaft as you let out soft moans. The thought of him fucking you and stretching you open drove you crazy. He grunted and groaned, listening to your every sound. “I love you,” he said with a shaky breath. “I love you too” you managed to moan out in response.
Your moans gradually became louder, and his groans became more frequent. “Fuck,” he groaned out as he came. You were surprised from how fast he came, you weren’t even halfway done. But you continued either way, needing to finish. He continued stroking anyways. “I need you to ride me so badly,” he grunted. “I wanna feel you inside of me” you whined. Your fingers curled and your body convulsed. You came, moaning loudly. This caused him to have another orgasm, hearing him grunting and groaning as you panted lightly from your orgasm.
You sat there debating on whether to cum again, your pussy was still wet yet you were somewhat tired. Oh well, he came twice as well. You started again, your pussy feeling almost numb but sensitive from your last orgasm. You couldn’t help but to close your eyes and imagine your fingers were his cock, your fingers plunging in and out of your hole faster at the thought. He was still masturbating, barely any noise coming out of him this time. As you were halfway done with your orgasm, you heard him cuss under his breath once again. “Fuck, I love you” he gasped out as he came. You giggled and kept going as he relaxed and regained composure.
It was hard to cum, your fingers sore. All you could do was moan and attempt to go faster. Dirty words and pleas spilled out of your mouth uncontrollably. “I feel so bad for continuing while you’re exhausted,” you say to him. “Shhh, it’s okay baby. Keep going” he muttered. You listened to him, your orgasm coming closer and closer. “What are you doing now?” You ask in curiosity for the last time. “Rubbing myself again while listening to you,” he responded. You let out a “hmm” noise as an ‘I understand’.
“I wanna suck on your clit so badly, make you cum in my mouth” he said slowly. For some reason, this threw you off of the edge. Your back arched and you came harder than ever before, crying out in pleasure. “Oh, slash, oh fuck,” is all that comes out of your mouth, cum & arousal flooding your fingers as it drips down onto the sheets. He chucked in enjoyment as he heard you gasp and cry out in pleasure. Afterwards, you both sat there in the aftershock. Your legs shaked yet you were still able to put on your pants. He agreed to put on his pants as well and laid back down afterwards.
“You mean so much to me baby,” he mutters out lovingly, his voice laced with exhaustion.
“You mean everything to me,” you mutter back out in response before rolling over and drifting off to sleep out of exhaustion.
warnings: age gap (slash is 59/reader is in her 20s)
written in third person, no use of "y/n." reader is referred to with female pronouns and terms of endearment.
oh, that little cabin she had inherited in the woods of wisconsin was her most beloved—second only to her darling husband. she'd drag him there for at least a weekend a month, if not longer. she loved the peace, the quiet, the smell of the breeze, and the feel of the river water on her skin. and having nobody rambling in her ear about how her husband was too old for her made it just that much better.
she sat on the balcony, feet propped up on the railing as she read the bell jar. she wore nothing but a pair of flower-print panties and a t-shirt she had snagged from the floor that slash had thrown off the prior night. as she flipped the page, she heard the door slide open. the older man shuffled out, rubbing his hands over his face. she looked back at him, smiling softly. oh, he was her everything. his hair was tousled, still luscious as if he was in 'prime', his plaid boxers resting low enough to reveal the splattering of dark curls that led down to something she enjoyed. his body was softer, skin covered in tattoos.
"you're up early, old man," she teased. it was early, seven in the morning. she had woken up and found it impossible to fall back asleep, but it was surprising that he—who usually slept until noon and napped several times throughout the day—was up so early.
"bed's cold without you, baby," he muttered, coming up behind her rocking chair and leaning it back. he leaned down, kissing across the side of her face.
"says the human heater," she giggled, kissing his lips gently. she pulled away after just a moment.
"you want breakfast?" she asked, marking her page and closing her book.
"i can wait until you finish your chapter," he stated, grabbing her wrists and guiding her to reopen her book.
she giggled once more, head tilted back to look up at him.
"i just started this one, it's fine," she replied, "besides, i gotta feed you before you start wasting away."
he huffed out a laugh, standing upright. as she stood up, he grabbed her hips, tugging her body against him.
"you're cold, sweetheart." his words were a declaration, not a question.
"and you're like a pan right off the stove," she retorted gently.
his body was always warm, ridding her skin of its chill in moments. he rubbed her sides, warming up her chilled skin.
she pulled away, heading inside. he followed, grabbing the back of the shirt she wore to slow her down. she always walked at such a fast pace, yanking her back had become normal. a faint 'umph' left her as her back hit his chest. she did not stand upright immediately, simply basking in his warmth as his arms wrapped around her. his head fell to her shoulder, pressing kisses against her skin. she smiled softly, fingers gently brushing through his thick curls.
"i gotta make breakfast," she whined jokingly as he led her back over to the bed.
"breakfast can wait," he muttered, laying her down gently.
she huffed, lips parting to sarcastically complain before he silenced her with a kiss.
After the death of his wife, Tywin Lannister knew he would never remarry. However, when the relationships between Targaryens & Lannisters are put into question, marriage seems to be the only choice left. To his surprise, it is he who will get married to none other than the King’s younger sister.
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Pairing: Fem!OC x Tywin Lannister
Chapter Warnings: None
Previous - Chapter 37: Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold
Next - Chapter 39: Revelations & Heated Moments
Chapter 38: The Start of the War of the Five Kings
Lannister Camp - Somewhere in the borders between RiverLands & WesterLands
The Kingslayer had fled King’s Landing after his ‘battle’ with Ned and had chosen to go find his family, or at least the ones he hadn’t seen in a while. He had heard the news about Lannister forces on the move, and he followed that path, knowing fully that his father was not going to sit this one out after what happened to Tyrion.
When he arrived at the camp late at night, he could not say his parents were the proudest to see him; most specifically, his father. After messing up their plan and injuring Ned, he knew he had fucked it up, but he awaited the usual punishment: the cold shoulder from his father.
Surprisingly or not, his good mother was not that hostile with him, although if Visenya hated one thing, it was having her plans ruined. So, the following day of his arrival, he did not expect to find her in his father’s tent alone.
She was sitting behind his desk, eyes focused on the map spread across it, while different pawns and tokens were used to mark their and the enemy's forces.
“Good-mother,” he greeted from the opening of the big tent, looking down for a moment.
“Jaime, if you are looking for your father; we went to hunt. He shall be back soon” she said, her eyes not once leaving the map.
“Of course he did...” he commented, leaving silence to spread across the tent and between them. Should I apologise? At least she will forgive me, right? He thought mentally and cleared his throat, shifting the weight from one leg to the other.
“Yes, Jaime?” she asked him, clearly noticing him even though she never took her attention off the map.
Taking a deep breath, he walked inside the tent and headed her way. He had changed from his Kingsguard armour to the Lannister armour. It was in the colours of black with the main chest plate being Lannister red, while Lions were engraved across from it. The number of lions, designs and the lion-shaped shoulder plates were a sign of his rank in the Lannister Army, being the 4th most high-ranking Lannister.
First, of course, was Tywin, followed by Visenya and third came his uncle, Kevan. Then, he was ranked number 4, and if Trystan were ever to join, he would be right beneath him.
“About the incident with Ned Stark...” he started, standing in front of the desk.
Visenya leaned back on the chair and tilted her head just a few inches as she stared at him, both hands on the sides of the chair as if she were sitting on the Iron Throne itself. She was dressed in a leather red and black outfit with a high collar, currently to hide the marks Tywin had left her the night before.
“Yes?” she asked, clearly knowing what he wanted to say,
Do I have to say it? He asked her mentally with his eyes.
Yes, you do, her reply would be.
“I know I messed it up, and for that, I apologise. I did not know you had a plan, and I only wanted to ensure my brother’s safe return,” he confessed.
Jaime was not usually one to apologise; mostly, he never knew how. His apologies would always fall on deaf ears when it came to his father, since he was already disappointed, and that would not change, no matter how heartfelt his words were.
The same, though, could not truly be said for Visenya. Unlike her husband, she did expect the apology and often softened after hearing it. There was not much of a difference, since it would depend on what shit you had managed to pull. Yet, the fact that your words were taken into consideration and believed meant a great deal.
Where Tywin was cold and only saw Jaime as his heir, before he became a Kingsguard, Visenya saw him as a young man who enjoyed certain things in life. Ever since he was young, he could remember her presence, even before she married his father, and he had her in high regard.
There was silence from her side for a moment. “Who told you it was my plan?” she asked him, but then lifted her hand to stop him, already having an answer. “It was Kevan, wasn’t it?”
“He does have a soft spot for me, sometimes,” Jaime confessed.
Another silence, her face hard to read, but then she exhaled. “I will accept your apology for running a plan you did not know of,” she started, her tone softer than before. “However, I do find the attack rather reckless. You know that Lions are never let their emotions control them,” she reminded him, although even she felt wrong quoting those words.
She let her emotions control her more than once, and they still did. She could expect nothing else from Jaime, who had obtained his mother’s kindness and had a soft spot for Tyrion, compared to his twin.
Her words seemed to ease him; some tension at the base of his neck disappeared. “I know, and I do expect Father will tell me the same thing once he chooses to speak to me”
She rolled her eyes and crossed her legs, lifting one knee slightly higher as she turned a little sideways on the chair. “Your father is dramatic when he wants to be.” She confessed, making him crack the faintest of smiles. “Do not wait for him to come to you, for we both know he will not. When he is back from the hunt, go find him. Hear what you have to hear, say your part and then tell him you are ready for your mission.”
This made him raise an eyebrow. “What mission?” he asked, clearly not knowing.
She motioned for him to sit and then used her hands to point at the map. “Your next mission that your father and I discussed earlier this morning. Or better say, I persuaded him to allow you to make up for King’s Landing through this mission,” she corrected herself and sat on the chair properly. She picked up a token. “You are to lead your own army against the river lords, Lord Vance and Lord Clement Piper,” she said, placing the token on the map. “They have placed their army in the hills below the Golden Tooth. You take them down and head for the Riverrun.”
Jaime was silent for a moment, thinking it through before he nodded. “How many?” he finally asked.
“30.000 men will be at your disposal,” she started, shocking him by the sheer number of men they had ready to give him. “Make good use of your numbers and soldier variety, Jaime. You are to engage in multiple battles and ultimately besiege Riverrun. Be smart about it and use what I taught you,” she continued, reminding him of all those hours she spent with him when he was younger, explaining to him basic and innovative military combat.
“What about you and my father?”
Another token was moved across the map. “30.000 men will remain under our command, and we will hold the crossings over the Green Fork to deny the movements of Stark reinforcements into the Riverlands.” She explained, providing him with a brief overview of the plan.
After she finished explaining, Jaime understood just how far and big the couple had thought. How Tyrion’s capture sealed the fate of their neighbours, for now, they were up against two of the brightest military minds in recent Westerosi history.
“There are times such as these that I am thankful I am at your side, good-mother,” Jaime finally said, choosing to joke as the mood around them changed to a less serious one.
Visenya smirked, leaning back on the chair once again. “My side or yours and your father’s side?” she questioned him, making him chuckle since he saw through the game.
“You know my answer too well, I will not give you that satisfaction”, or boost your ego some more, he continued in his mind.
“Of course, you won't,” she said, a small smile on her rosy lips. “Go prepare your men and yourself. It will help you pass the time until your father is back”
Jaime stood up, feeling slightly better than before. She simply had a way, an aura, one could say, that made things easier around her. It was easier to talk to her, easier to confess, and there was always more understanding compared to Tywin.
It was something the young male lion had learned to appreciate, for it was rare in their strict family. There was a strictness to her, and certain things were expected, but she was always softer; she was always more open and willing to listen, making both Jaime and Tyrion turn to her when they were growing up.
“As you order, good-mother”, he said and gave a small bow before he left the tent, more determined now to prove himself to his father and make up for his mistake.
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Eventually, Tywin did return from the hunting party with a huge stag. Placed in an empty tent with only a big and tall table, the Old Lion had wasted no time starting with the skin of the animal.
He was an expert in hunting and fishing, knowing how to remove the guts from the animal and separate the fur from the meat without harming the edible part of the animal. He always preferred to do it himself, offering him a chance to be with his thoughts and let out some steam without murdering someone.
He also did not trust the job of many of the squires and cooks, who had little experience in how to handle such a corpse without damaging it.
As Tywin was busy opening the stomach of the stag and throwing the organs one by one into a bucket, the flaps of the tent were pushed open as Jaime entered. He held his head high, and his hand remained on the handle of his sword.
“Father,” he greeted, seeing him with his sleeves up and his hands not covered as he put his whole hand through the bloody guts of the animal. Surprisingly, Tywin Lannister had many ways to intimidate someone and not all of them required any eye contact. “About King’s Landing-“
“Attacking him was stupid”, he interrupted his son as he focused on the carcass. “Lannisters...do not act like fools,” he commented, throwing the intestines into the bucket. He glanced at Jaime, seeing him opening his mouth to say something, but chose not to. “Are you going to say something clever?” he asked him next. “Go on, say something clever.”
Jaime watched him as he changed his knife and started to sharpen it, waiting for him to speak. Remembering what Visenya had told him, he chose to approach the subject and say what he had to say, facing his hard stare and disappointment later.
“Caitlyn Stark took my brother,” he finally said, trying to excuse his actions and showing he was not feeling that bad for trying to defend his sibling.
“Why is he still alive?” Tywin asked him, focusing on cutting the thin muscle threads that connected the fur to the muscle to remove it.
“Tyrion?”
“Ned Stark”
“One of our men interfered, speared him through the leg before I could finish him,” he explained.
Yet, it was not the answer his father was expecting. “Why is he still alive?” he asked him one more time, hoping he could see where this was leading.
It was times like this that Tywin missed Trystan, for he genuinely felt he was the only one of his children with whom he could communicate.
“It wouldn’t have been clean,” was his son’s reply, and for a moment, Tywin truly questioned the parentage of the knight behind him.
“Clean?” the Old Lion repeated and shook his head, not believing he was hearing such things from his son. He focused on lifting and folding back more of the deer skin. “You spend too much time worrying about what other people think of you.”
Jaime scoffed silently. It was clear that his father was already disappointed, but Visenya had often advised him not to rush into wrong conclusions and stand up to himself, because that was what Tywin wanted to see.
His son was strong enough to stand up for himself and not be pushed around by anyone, including his own father. Of course, when Visenya advised him in that way, she meant for situations where he truly had something to argue and defend.
In that case, even though he deep down knew what his father said was true, he was not going to just sit there and accept it. “I could care less what anyone thinks of me.”
Yet, his attempt was futile because his father saw right through him, as if he had access to his own thoughts for a moment. “That’s what you want people to think of you.”
“It’s the truth,” Did I really get persuaded to stand here and listen to him? Feels like I am a child all over again, he thought as he kept facing his father’s back since the carcass was far more important than his own son.
“When you hear them whispering ‘kingslayer’ behind your back, doesn’t it bother you?” Tywin asked as he kept working on removing the skin.
Suddenly, Jaime was speechless, but not because he had nothing to say. No, he was speechless because he saw no point in that discussion. His father was not even looking him in the eye, and yet he kept talking and scolding him, as if Jaime were but a mere boy.
He parted his lips to speak, but took him a moment longer, not even sure what kind of answer his father was expecting to hear and which he would consider to be true. “Of course, it bothers me,” he finally admitted, not hiding his annoyance as he chose to go with it and save himself the time and the incoming migraine.
Sometimes, like those, Jaime was glad he was in King’s Landing. Sure, Robert was a big fat idiot, but at least he had Cersei. He had Trystan and even Tyrion, the freedom to speak without having to lower their heads at the sight of their mighty and invisible father.
He was just himself, no one to second question and judge every single word he said or clearly antagonize him until he admitted defeat.
“The lion doesn't concern himself with the opinions of the sheep.” Tywin reminded him, causing his son to look away in frustration. How many times had he heard that phrase? Honestly, he had lost count, and it was one of the few that his father truly favoured repeating. “I suppose I should be grateful that your vanity got in the way of your recklessness.” This made Jaime look at him again, but before he could ask him, he interrupted him. “I believe you talked with your good-mother.”
“I did.”
He seemed somehow pleased with that, perhaps because he wouldn’t have to truly deal with explaining it to him. “Good. You take half our forces, bring them to Catelyn Stark's girlhood home and remind her that Lannisters pay their debts”
Jaime already knew that, and yet a part of him had to ask, or the question would haunt him, and he knew he wouldn’t get the chance anytime soon. “I didn't realise you placed such a high value on my brother's life. My good-mother, I understand, but not you”
To his surprise, his father laughed, although there was more mockery than amusement in his voice. “He's a Lannister. He might be the lowest of the Lannisters, but he's one of us. And every day that he remains a prisoner, the less our name commands respect.”
This seemed like an opportunity, and the young Lion chose to grab it. “So the lion does concern himself with the opinions of –“ he never managed to continue, because he crossed the line too fast to even realise it.
Tywin slammed the knife on the wooden table, inches away from the almost fully-skinned carcass. “No, it's not an opinion, it's a fact!” he corrected him, his voice louder and suddenly with far more authority, forcing Jaime to glance at the ground for a moment due to the intensity of his father’s sharp green gaze. “If another House can seize one of our own and hold him captive with impunity, we are no longer a House to be feared.”
No other word was said as the message was passed, and Jaime was reminded of the harsh truth. His father would never care for Tyrion; just use him to excuse his conquests. In his eyes, only Trystan seemed to be his dream heir.
Sometimes, Jaime disliked the younger Lion but only out of pure jealousy because Trystan had one thing his older siblings could never truly obtain: their father’s favour. Tywin did have his youngest son higher than the rest of his children and did not often hide it.
The boy was not to be blamed, for he simply tried his best to be what his father wanted him to be. After all, in King’s Landing, Jaime truly saw the more childish and less serious nature that he only showed around his family, especially when their father was not around.
One could say that he even felt bad for the boy, but yet again, it was the Lannister curse. Every child of Tywin had to pass through that pressure, face the disappointed look and listen to the same lecture for the 100th time.
In Jaime’s eyes, even his good-mother did not seem to be entirely free from that. There would always be times during family suppers when she remained quiet, despite what was going on, and it was clear, even known, that Tywin was the one in control of the marriage and their relationship most of the time, if not all the time.
In the end, one would come to accept that there was no true freedom of choice in the Lannister family and that everyone bowed their heads to the one ruling it.
The knight did not realise that his father had returned to skinning the deer or that he had focused too much on his thoughts until he heard his father speak again. “Your mother's dead. Before long, I'll be dead and your good-mother will follow not long after...and you, and your brothers, and your sister and all of their children...all of us dead, all of us rotting in the ground. It's the family name that lives on. It's all that lives on. Not your personal glory, not your honour, but family. Do you understand?”
The young Lion tried to erase that morbid idea from his mind and only replied with a gentle nod. His actions or his silence did not seem to please his father once again, and he did not hide it.
Yet, the Old Lion wiped the animal blood off his hands with a rag as he fully turned to face his son after all this time. “You're blessed with abilities that few men possess. You are blessed to belong to the most powerful family in the kingdoms. And you are still blessed with youth. And what have you done with these blessings, huh? You've served as a glorified bodyguard for two kings - one a madman, the other a drunk.” He reminded him and walked up to him. “The future of our family will be determined in these next few months. We could establish a dynasty that will last a thousand years....or we could collapse into nothing, as the Targaryens did”
Jaime tried not to look at him as he read between the lines of his father’s words. From that last phrase, the knight gleaned a lot of hidden meanings that his father may or may not have intentionally put there.
When he talked of the Targaryens that way, he made it clear that in his eyes, Visenya was a Lion and not a Dragon; not anymore, at least. He also meant not to do anything stupid and endanger one another for selfish reasons, like they did.
The Mad King justified the rebellion with his sadistic tendencies to burn people, while Rhaegar caused it by kidnapping the woman he loved.
Even Visenya was not innocent, since she joined the battle with her nephew and when she got captured, risked fully destroying any chances for the Lannisters to get on the good side of Robert.
It did not even have to be mentioned that her selfish feelings, which had sent her into that war, had made her return injured and eventually rendered her incapable of producing more heirs.
That was perhaps the lowest blow, and sometimes Jaime wondered if his father lied when he said he did not care about it.
He was snapped by his thoughts and stiffened for a moment when he gently felt a hand on his cheek. He relaxed, faintly upon realising it was his father’s, but the action was foreign to him. Usually, it was Visenya, who was a little more physical with them when she expressed her emotions.
“I need you to become the man you were always meant to be. Not next year. Not tomorrow. Now,” Tywin said, suddenly his words sounding so certain that Jaime could not help but believe them.
This was his chance, his last chance to make up for his mistake and make his father proud. He could do this... no... he had to do this.
As Tywin lowered his hand, a third person entered their tent. The woman of the hour took a step inside and caught glimpses of the small moment, evident by the faint ghost smirk on her lips.
“Good mother, father,” Jaime bid them goodbye and left to prepare the last things for his trip.
Visenya watched him go before she walked deeper into the tent, approaching her husband, who had turned his focus back on the stag. “You do know that he just wants to make you proud, don’t you?” she asked him, watching him from a small distance as he cleaned and sharpened his hunting knife.
“He could have made me proud already if he did not care about his injured pride and vanity”, he corrected her and returned to the deer.
She walked to be by his side but kept a two-foot distance, clearly not preferring getting animal blood on her at the moment. “He is content to make up for it, and you know he will not fail.”
She knew the relationship Tywin had with his children was...complicated, to put it mildly. Even with Trystan, Tywin was not the father many would expect a man to be, but the Old Lion was not like any other man.
Yet, it did not mean that the Dragoness was not trying to ease the situation and somehow close that huge gap. For in the end, no matter their flaws, they were family, and she refused to lose one more because of a stupid gap.
I let it happen once, not again, she would say to herself as motivation to handle the already complicated situation and try to fix it.
“He is my son, after all, but I will not put my full faith in him, not until he has proven me otherwise,” She rolled her eyes at his drama, something that he took notice of. He stopped skinning the deer and turned to face her, his hands and knife covered in less blood than when he first degutted the animal, but they were not clean. “You persuaded him to come talk to me, didn’t you?”
“What makes you say I did?” she questioned, arching one eyebrow.
Tywin took a few steps closer. “One of his flaws is that he is too silent, too obedient. He doesn’t dare to stand up to himself, and the few times he does, he can’t even defend himself properly.”
“Perhaps he is changing. He is maturing, and maybe all those lessons of yours are finally catching up with him,” she suggested and used one finger to gently move his hand and knife away from her, clearly not pleased with the smell or the blood.
This amused him. “It is odd how you disapprove of my free time being spent skinning a game when you spent hours daily at the stables to train your latest horse.”
The amusement was shared with a small smirk on her lips. “Horses over animal carcasses any day, dear husband,” she told him and took a step back. “I will let you two have the room and ensure we are ready to move in a few hours”, she said and turned to leave.
He did not say anything but did roll his eyes at her choice of joke, sometimes wondering if Tyrion had gotten that bad habit from her and simply mastered it.
Summary: “Though I suppose, Tywin is an old bastard. Ten years and he’ll be dead.” You shook your head, “Your mother would not allow you to be unmarried for ten years, Robb.”
“Thats a problem we can address ten years from now.”
Paring: past! Robb Stark x Reader, Tywin Lannister x Reader
Tags: ooc Robb Stark probably, the writing got pretty bad towards the end I think. I promise more reader x tywin is coming. i just gotta establish stuff first, you know? and this is also following the second season where tywin is just gone fighting
Work Count: 3k
Notes: Notes: Feedback always welcome. Always feel free to ask me questions; I love answering them. Shameless reminder that my Kofi is my bio if you feel the desire (it would be very appreciated. Not to make it weird but i'm the caregiver for my disabled 4 year old and he's been having a rough time so ive missed a lot of work but never feel obligated!!) ALSO LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED.
You wrapped your coat tightly around your shoulders, the sharp cold wind turning your cheeks pink, and you could see your cloudy breath in the air around you. You were a child of the south, the heat suited you better than the cold, but you didn’t mind it on your visits to see the Starks. It might not have been the fact that you disliked the snow, perhaps more the fact that you enjoyed the Stark family. They were different from many of the other Noble houses; their words meant something, they were fun, and they were not as stiff as some others you found yourself around. You loved your grandmother, Olenna, and your Tyrell-born cousins, but the other southern houses would bore you to death to visit.
As if confirming your thoughts, a cold snowball to the face pulled you back to reality. A smirking Robb Stark was the culprit. “What good are you in a fight if you aren’t paying attention, Lady Rhyse?” He taunted, reaching down to pack more snow together as you did the same.
Of course, he was done faster than you, creating two snowballs before you could finish the one. They both pelted you in quick succession, but instead of expressing your indignation, you dramatically fell into the snow. You almost regretted it, your ears freezing and cheeks going numb, the hurried and worried footsteps that approached you made it all worth it.
Robb leaned down, rambling apologies and checking to see if you were hurt, quickly you swept your legs and knocked him on his back, moving so that you were on top of him and shoving snow in his face. “What good are you in a fight if you aren’t paying attention, Lord Stark?” you mocked him before you moved off him, both of you laughing.
He helped you up, wiping some of the snow from your hair, “Not bad for a southern girl.”
You wrinkled your nose at him, “I still won.”
He scoffed and shook his head. He looked back to the castle, where you were sure your parents were catching up and laughing at stories of times past. It would soon be dinne,r but you could sense that Robb didn’t want to go back. Neither did you.
“How do you do that so fast? The snow. I’m so clumsy with it, and you’re so fast.” You ask, pulling his attention back to you.
“Are you asking me how to make a snowball?” He can’t help but smirk at you.
“No,” You answered quickly. “I know how to make one. I’m asking you how to make them better.”
He rolled his eyes but took your hand in his and led you to a bench,s itting next to you. “Watch me,” He scoops the snow into his hands, cupping them to make them into a ball. “You just have to practice, really, until your hands know what they’re doing. You make them too loose, you have to pack it tight.”
You tried your best, feeling rather embarrassed when you couldn’t make yours as round or as quick as his. “You cannot tell anyone of this.”
“And embarrass you, good lady?” He teases again, but he takes your hands in his and works them around the snow. “Just put pressure on it like that. You won’t break it.”
You looked up at him, and you realized how close the two of you were. You could feel his breath, and when you made eye contact, the air around you became thick. He noticed how his eyes glanced at your lips, how they stayed there for a few moments before he pulled away.
“I uh, - I would say I’m sorry, but I’m not,” he said bluntly, with a soft shake of his head. “I’m really not. I hope you know that. If you wanted to, and if there weren’t all these stupid expectations for how we are supposed to act ,then I would have kissed you in a…-” his words were cut off by you grabbing his face and kissing him. It was clumsy and rushed and a little awkward, as all first kisses are.
You pulled away, and he rested his forehead against yours, “You need to worry less, Robb.”
“Yeah?”
You nodded, “Yeah. I’ve wanted you to kiss me for years now.”
“Years?”
You nodded again.
“I have been missing out, then.” He chuckled softly, “You know, my father and your father were talking yesterday morning about a marriage proposal. There were no deals made, just a conversation. What do you think about that?”
“I think a marriage proposal is a great idea. I would love to marry Jon Snow.”
Robb rolled his eyes taking one of your hands in his and staring at your intertwined fingers. “Be serious, just for a moment, would you like that? I would never ask you to do anything you did not want to do, and if you have another man….”
“You cannot be that stupid, Robb Stark, to think that I would not want to marry you.” You cut off his rambling. Of course I want to marry you. Moving to Winterfell, I would not look forward to it, but being Lady Stark would be an honor. Being your wife even more so.”
He sighed, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Thank the gods. One day soon, I’ll kiss you in the Godswood under the wierwood tree. Now, come on, then, dinner is ready, and I do not wish to keep them waiting.”
-
Sansa Stark sat across from you, awkwardly taking sips of her drink. She looked as if she didn’t know what to say, “Thank you very much for the invitation to lunch. I do appreciate it.”
You leaned back in your seat and eyed her for but a moment, “Sansa, you do not need to engage in formalities here. I promise you. You are safe.” You pushed a piece of sweet bread towards her.
“Why did you invite me? You said you hadn’t seen me since I was small, but you came with the Lannisters to Winterfell with King Robert,” her voice was quiet as she asked the question, as if scared of the answer.
“Because that Sansa is small compared to who you are now. You have been through so much in the year that followed, have you not?”
She nodded her head, picking at the piece of bread in front of her.
“Sweet girl, you are with perhaps the only person in the Nine Kingdoms who understands. I watched my grandmother get beheaded; they left her head on a stick outside the Keep as a warning to Targaryan loyalists. My cousins were butchered, forced to flee. The only thing keeping me alive, keeping my family alive, is my marriage.”
Sansa watched you for a moment, “I doubt the king would spare my family when we marry.”
You sighed, nodding because that is the truth, “Perhaps the South loses.”
“My lady, that is not….”
“But it is possible, your brother is waging a war that is more devastating than any of the Southern lords believed he could. It would be unwise to sit here and think that there was no possibility of someone else, besides the king, winning.”
“King Joffery is the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms.”
You sighed, narrowing your eyes and choosing your words carefully. “Power doesn’t come in a title; you are not born with it. You earn it. The most powerful men in history are not those who have great titles but those who are respected by their people. The Starks are a powerful family because they are respected. Robb is a powerful leader because he has the trust of those around him. Tywin is respected, due to fear, but also he has shown that he is a good and capable leader. Stannis and Rennely similarly have earned the respect of their people. Fear alone does nothing. In the midst of battle, in the midst of troubles, fear will not lead your people to follow you. It will lead them to run from you. The most powerful man is the man who has earned the most respect.”
Sansa watched you for a moment, “King Joffery has earned the respect of his people.”
You nodded, taking a drink from the cup in front of you, “You’re a smart girl, Sansa.”
A few minutes of silence passed by as you ate and watched your daughters play before Sansa asked, in an unsure voice, “Do you think he has a chance? Robb?”
You nodded. “I do. I hear he’s winning. I hear he is not just riding South to avenge your father, either. He comes for his sisters.”
“There is more in King's Landing besides justice and his sisters that Robb would ride South for.”
That caused you to smile softly, shaking your head. “Those feelings have long passed.”
-
You sat in the courtyard, watching the fluffy snowflakes fall and gather on the ground. You knew the conversation happening inside. You wished that you had been allowed to stay home but you understood why you were here, you understood that your father had brought you along to say goodbye.
Almost as if the gods heard your thoughts, you heard the snow crunch behind you.
“Tywin Lannister?” Robb’s voice came from behind you. “You’re marrying Tywin Lannister?”
You simply nodded.
“When?”
“Before the end of the year,” your voice was quiet and broken.
He was quiet, so were you. You sat there in silence, staring at your feet and worrying your lip with your teeth, “Are you mad at me?” your voice is quiet and almost unheard by him.
“You? No,” He shook his head, “I am not even mad at your father. I understand the precarious position he is in. I hate Tywin Lannister, though.”
You sniffled, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “He is soon to be my husband and I-..”
“I was supposed to be your husband,” Robb reminded you, “There may have been no formal agreements but that was how it was supposed to be.”
You looked up at him and nodded, “Yes, that is what I would have wanted.”
He looks down at you before grabbing your hand in his, “Come on. I have a promise to keep.” He pulled you up, a small sound of surprise leaving your throat as he pulls you behind him and into the Godswood.
“Where are we going?” Your words stumble out in confusion, as you follow him with your fingers laced together.
“I told, I have a promise to keep. Don’t you trust me?” He led you further until you stood in front of a large, thick tree with white bark and red leaves.
You stared up at it for a moment in silence. “Is this the Weirwood tree?”
Robb nods, standing next to you. “Yes. Where us northerners get married, in front of the old gods. I gave you my word that one day, I would kiss you underneath one.”
“Would that not be disrespectful to your ways? To your gods?”
“We are not getting married, theres no vows said, no guests to watch. Just me and you and the gods.”
You turned and looked up at him, “For what purpose?”
“Because I told you I would, and I am a Stark, my word is everything,” Robb looks down at you, “And because despite whatever is in our future, I want let it be known in front of the Gods what my intentions were and that I love you.”
You couldn’t help but smile, “I hope you know that I feel the same, Robb. I love you, too.”
He smiled, it was bittersweet but genuine, his eyes drank you in for a moment before he leans down and kisses you. It was better than any of the kisses you had shared before, your hands held his face and tangled in his curls, his hands slid down to your hips as lips part and his tongue slides against yours. His fingers are digging into your skin when he pulls away, forehead pressed against yours, noses brushing, and when he speaks you can feel his lips softly brush against yours.
“I can’t continue, not without taking something from you that is not mine to take,” he breathths softly.
“And if I wanted to give it to you?” You ask, looking back up at him.
“I…gods, fuck,” he says your name softly. “I cannot. That is your honor, I cannot take it.”
“You certainly have gotten good at it,” you sigh, “ have you been practicing?”
He chuckles, “No. I simply spent every night thinking of every kiss we’ve shared and how I could make it better. Though I do like that the idea of me kissing someone else makes you jealous, all things considered.”
You laugh softly before turning serious , “That is true. I will be marrying another man.”
He nods, sighing and pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Though I suppose, Tywin is an old bastard. Ten years and he’ll be dead.”
You shook your head, “Your mother would not allow you to be unmarried for ten years, Robb.”
“Thats a problem we can address ten years from now.”
-
You sat at the table in your room, watching the waves once more. You did love living off the coast for this reason. Old memories filled your mind as well as Tyrions words from earlier. The memories of your first love, a young one full of naive optimism and whatever it was that you had with your husband now. You rested your head against the chair, watching as the water crashed over rocks and your tongue running over your teeth as you thought deeply. In the end, did it even matter?
You had already been married for over five years, just as many pregnancies, there was no use thinking of Robb Stark now. Not when you doubted he’d think of you much anymore, especially now. The night in the godswood was long ago, the last meeting you had with Robb hadn’t faired as well. A cold reception, he all but ignored you the entire time you were there with King Robert. You had exchanged letters even after your marriage but eventually they stopped. You could not remember the last time you wrote him, what you even talked about in it. You sighed, grabbing the parchment paper before you could stop yourself and think of the consequences, you would have to be careful if you were to send anything out to him. Luckily, you had brought your own ravens and you were not stupid enough to divulge more information than you felt obligated to.
Though, you were stupid to divulge any information.
-
“You’ve ignored me the entrie time we’ve been here,” You found Robb near the horses, he was helping to see his father and sisters off, saying good bye to Jon Snow.
“I have,” He answered, leaning against the wall and looking at you for the first time.
“You had always said you weren’t mad at me..”
“And I am not.”
“Yet you avoid me like I am diseased.”
“Are you not?”
You scoffed, honestly hurt by his words. “I did not mean to upset you by being here.”
“You over estimate the effect you have on me.”
You shook your head, “You have no reason to treat me with such contempt. I have done nothing…-”
“You are married, are you not? You want to entertain a friendship with me but you are not stupid, you know it would not be just a friendship for me, yet you insist. Either for some trick or you like the feeling it gives you.
“Robb, have I ever been cruel to you? Have I ever done anything to lose your trust. I understand that this is not what we wanted but I only wanted your friendship for that reason only. Friendship. Nothing more nor less. The Starks have always been my friends, my family has always made sure the Starks are safe.”
He sighed, closing his eyes, “You’re right. Just because it hurts doesn’t mean you want it too.”
You crossed your arms, not sure what to say. You weren’t expecting him to give in so easily.
“They look like you. Your children, they seem happy. You seem a good mother.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, “First you ignore me, now you say i’m a good mother. Your mood swings could rival even mine.”
He couldn’t help but smirk, “Accepting that all we will ever be is friends has something to do with the state of my mind.”
“I had to accept that long ago.”
There is an awkward silence that comes up between the two of you.
“You can write again, you know, I will answer.” He finally says.
You nodded, “I will, Robb.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of your hair, “I will look forward to it, Lady Lannister.”
-
The ten is full of Northern lords, talking strategy and planning their next move. The chatter is loud and Robb is focused, on the maps laid out in front of him when he is handed a note.
“Raven from the South, my Lord.”
“From who?” He asks with furrowed brow.
“There’s no name, Lord Stark.”
He furrows his brow further, taking the scroll and unravelling it. Immediately, he recognizes the loopy words that are written and sits up straight. There’s no name attached, he doesn’t need one. But he stares at the words written, he knows the danger that you’ve put yourself in just to send this message but you send it nonetheless.
‘The wolves aren’t alone in the keep. My last words to you are true. The younger is unknown.’
You had tried to keep it as coded as you could, but he still received the message: You were at the Red Keep, and Arya wasn’t there. But Sansa was, and you were going to do what you could to keep her safe.
omg you ask Aedion to train you and its going well and Gavriel loses his shit every time he looks out the window and sees you there, panting and sweaty. and one day he’s outside with you guys and it distracts you. and you accidentally get hurt and Aedion is quickly apologizing, already assessing where you’re hurt and how to fix it. but Gavriel comes over and is pissed at his son and tells him to get out of the way. And as soon as he looks at you and sees the tears you’re trying to hold back and you give him a broken “it’s okay” his face softens and he’s like “c’mere”. he’s so soft and gentle with you, heals you, and then picks you up bridal style to carry you inside, not before casting one more glare at his son. And he’d make you stay over so he can dote on you some more.
I uh- got a little carried away
Imagine when a tear does slip down your cheek, Gavriel’s already there, his thumb brushing over your skin, wiping it away. “You’re gonna be okay, honey. Just a little longer,” He says softer than silk. You’re gazing up at him with those wide, teary eyes, you have so much trust in him. Gavriel doesn’t want to look away, he feels as though he could spend hours staring into your pretty eyes. But that gash on your thigh is deeper than expected. Gavriel shouts something over to Aedion, still apologising despite you assuring him it’s fine, accidents happen. Too busy admiring the older male, you can barely make out what he’s saying, something about telling Aedion to head into town, pick up herbs and salves for your leg.
Your friend jogs off. Leaving you alone with his father for gods knows how long. Not that you mind one bit. You’re almost grateful. You didn’t miss how Gavriel’s eyes were roaming your body while you were training, the way he’s been looking at you for months now. You’re brought back too when Gavriel’s hand cups your thigh. You gasp. Neither of you knowing whether it’s from the pain or the contact. “You’re doing so well,” He tells you, the praise twisting deep in your belly and you have to bite your lip in attempt to calm yourself. You’re unaware that Gavriel could hear the way your heart began racing. He smiles to himself, finishing up your leg.
Before you know it, you’re being scooped into his arms and carried towards the house. Clutching onto him, you laugh quietly, “I-I can walk. It doesn’t hurt much.” Gavriel looks at you, his stare making your skin feel hot, there’s a hint of a smirk on his lips. “You really want me to put you down?” You keep quiet, answering him by hiding your face in his shoulder. “Thought so.”
You’re still smiling when Gavriel sets you down on the kitchen counter. He’s so close, standing between your legs while he massages the spot on your thigh where the slash once was. You can’t tell if this is real or if you’re dreaming. “Are you okay?” He checks, free hand cupping your face. You nod, too focused on the way his hands feel on you. Images of him touching you in other ways, in more intimate places are flashing through your mind. “I need words, little one. Gotta let me know how you’re feeling.” Nodding again, you wet your lips, Gavriel’s eyes briefly tearing away from yours to watch the action. “I’m okay, I promise,” You cover his hand with yours, “Thank you.”
“Good girl.” Gavriel smiles, hearing the whimper that escapes you in response, “Do you need anything?” Your thumb strokes the back of his hand, a wave of confidence washing over you. “Just you.” Gavriel steps closer, his eyebrow raising ever so slightly. He tilts your head back, you can feel his breath fanning across your face. “Is that right?” He doesn’t give you time to respond, leaning in to capture your lips with his. You grip the edge of the countertop, truly believing that your heart has stopped working.
He’s so gentle, kissing you softly, slowly, making sure you’re comfortable with his mouth on yours. And gods you are, you’ve wanted this for so long. When Gavriel’s tongue finally sweeps past your lips, you can’t help but moan. With that assurance, he kisses you deeper, harder. Your arms wind their away around Gavriel’s neck as he guides you, tastes you, his tongue exploring your mouth. His arm wraps around your waist, dragging your body closer to him, you can feel his warmth spreading across you. He’s everywhere. You never want to stop kissing him. You don’t care that he’s your best friend’s father. Not when his mouth feels this good moulding against yours.
Gavriel pulls his mouth away from yours when he feels your thighs squeezing his hips in your attempt to relieve the pulsing between your legs. “I can’t- we can’t,” He drops his head to your shoulder, the both of you panting heavily. You shiver, the male planting a kiss to the side of your neck. “Aedion’s going to be home soon,” Gavriel reminds you, lifting his head. He takes your jaw in his hand, gently turning your head so you’re looking at him. His eyes are dark. Serious. “And trust me when I say this, little one. When I have you for the first time, I want to spend hours taking you apart. On my fingers, on my tongue. And then we’ll see if you’re really ready to take an older male.”
summary: After a mortifying incident with your favourite professor, you begin a little game with yourself to see how far you can push it. Little did you know, Professor Gavriel has caught onto your game and is playing along…
warnings: smut (18+), oral sex (m & f receiving), praise kink, student/professor relationship (reader is in university/college and is therefore over the age of 18), etc, edging, pet names (baby, little one, darling)
word count: 5.6k
request: Are you comfortable with the Professor x student fic? If so, do you mind writing a smut where Gavriel is the Professor and the reader is the student? 🧡🧡
DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE
a/n: fun-not-so-fun fact: the embarrassing incident in this fic (not the stuff that happened after it I swear) is almost exactly something that happened to me with the professor I was crushing on, it’s been almost 3 years and I have yet to live it down….
summary: You’re Lorcan and Elide’s daughter, as well as Aedion’s best friend. Your family is staying with Gavriel and Aedion for the weekend, but you’re too sore from sparring with Aedion to go out for dinner. Gavriel volunteers to stay home with you and help you out….
warnings: smut (18+), oral sex (f receiving), age gap, best friend’s dad, dad’s best friend, corruption kink, size kink, fingering, a bit of fluff because I cannot help myself
word count: 8.5k
requests:
“what about losing your virginity to Gavriel? I feel like Gavriel would be great because he is older” -🌻
“hello! Would you be open to doing dbsf!Gavriel or bsfd!Gavriel?”
“hey! would you mind writing about bsfd!gavriel? corruption kink make me 😳“
“will you write losing your virginity to Gavriel please?”
DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE
***this is the most requested fic I’ve gotten, I’m so sorry it took so long but it’s finally here! I combined a couple Gavriel requests into one big fic of pure filth, enjoy and please please please let me know what you think! also this is barely proofread because I’m too excited to post it so ignore any mistakes lol -Amara
summary: You’re Lorcan and Elide’s daughter, as well as Aedion’s best friend. Your family is staying with Gavriel and Aedion for the weekend, but you’re too sore from sparring with Aedion to go out for dinner. Gavriel volunteers to stay home with you and help you out….
warnings: smut (18+), oral sex (f receiving), age gap, best friend’s dad, dad’s best friend, corruption kink, size kink, fingering, a bit of fluff because I cannot help myself
word count: 8.5k
requests:
“what about losing your virginity to Gavriel? I feel like Gavriel would be great because he is older” -🌻
“hello! Would you be open to doing dbsf!Gavriel or bsfd!Gavriel?”
“hey! would you mind writing about bsfd!gavriel? corruption kink make me 😳“
“will you write losing your virginity to Gavriel please?”
DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE
***this is the most requested fic I’ve gotten, I’m so sorry it took so long but it’s finally here! I combined a couple Gavriel requests into one big fic of pure filth, enjoy and please please please let me know what you think! also this is barely proofread because I’m too excited to post it so ignore any mistakes lol -Amara
love, can you write something really spicy for gavriel? i love how soft he is, i need him to be a whimpering mess
Gavriel is the DILFiest of all DILFs change my mind
Every Part
Gavriel x f!Reader smut
Warnings: smut below the cut, oral m!receiving, oral f!receiving, p in v sex, minors dni
Leaning against the doorframe separating your bedroom from the bathroom, you watched Gavriel, who sat shirtless on your bed, seemingly deep in thought as he looked down at the tattooed names along his body.
Your heart sank, knowing that look all too well. The kindest, most devoted male you’d ever met, who was so hard on himself for any mistake. He never forgot the names of those he couldn’t save, something that tortured him, yet it was one of the parts of him that you loved most.
“Gavriel,” you purred, hips swaying as you prowled towards him. His tawny eyes flicked to yours, lined with a sorrow that you couldn’t bear to see. Stopping in front of him, you cradled his face in your hands, leaning your forehead against his. “I love you,” you whispered, pressing a tender kiss to his lips before you trailed along his sharp jawline, down his throat.
A groan escaped Gavriel as you licked a stripe along his collarbone, biting the tanned skin at the base of his throat. Rolling your hips into his with increasing desperation, you pushed him back on the mattress, lifting up to admire the glazed look in his eyes, his golden hair splayed out beneath him. “I love you,” he murmured, tucking your own hair behind an ear as he looked up at you, nothing but adoration in his eyes.
With a wicked smirk, you kissed your way down his body, stopping to lick and suck on each of his abs as your nails raked down his sides. A gasp left Gavriel’s lips, hips jerking beneath your touch as you reached the waistband of his pants. “Please, let me touch you, love,” he ground out, his voice husky with desire.
A soft laugh escaped you at his plea, the simple shake of your head your only answer for him as you dragged his pants down, clawing his legs as you sank lower. Stepping back, you looked down at the strong male, completely bare beneath you as he pleaded for more of your touch.
You reveled in the whimper that left his lips as you kissed your way up his thigh, his hard cock emanating heat as you hovered over him, soft teasing breaths causing him to buck up towards you. With a sharp laugh, you pinned his hips to the bed. “Let me go at my pace, or I will stop,” you breathed in warning.
Gavriel stilled at your words, muscles tightening as the male attempted to obey. A sick satisfaction ran through you at his desire to please, which surged your own. You lowered yourself, breasts rubbing against his thighs as your tongue licked a stripe over the slit of his cock, moaning at the salty taste of precum on your tongue.
His cock twitched in your hold as you sucked on the tip, hollowing your cheeks as you took him as deep as you could. Gagging as he hit the back of your throat, you brought one hand to reach the length that your mouth couldn’t, sucking harshly as you thrust your tongue up and down his shaft, pumping your hand. You moaned as he thrust into your hand, panting as he gripped your hair.
Gavriel pulled you off of him, chest heaving as he attempted to catch his breath. “Not yet,” he choked out, pulling you up his body. You ground your hips against him, head falling into the crook of his neck at the relief. “Please, let me pleasure you,” Gavriel whispered, licking a stripe up the shell of your ear.
You nodded, limp in his hands as he flipped you onto your back. Effortlessly ripping off your nightgown, Gavriel pinned your wrists above your head as he sucked harshly on your neck. You moaned, eyes rolling back as he moved down your body, tongue flicking out against your right nipple, teeth grazing over the sensitive bud before he moved to the other. You writhed under his hold, babbling pleas for more as he released your wrists, moving down to grip your thighs open as he inhaled the scent of your arousal.
Gasping, you squirmed under his hold as Gavriel licked a stripe up your pussy, groaning at the taste of you on his tongue. “So sweet,” he murmured, diving into your heat. Gavriel sucked on your clit, canines digging in on either side as you pulsed under his lips. His tongue flicked out, the friction of his tongue in contrast with his spit soothing your sensitive core.
Your back arched as he dipped his tongue into your center, the hot muscle caressing your walls as you clenched around him. Gavriel laughed, a feline smirk gracing his lips as he continued his assault on you, lips and teeth brushing your clit as he pushed a finger inside of you, curling against your sensitive walls.
A tightness coiled in your gut, breaths becoming shallow as he worked you through your orgasm. Gavriel’s own hips rutted against the bed as you screamed his name, panting for air as you tugged him up towards you. You pulled him into you, tasting yourself on his lips as you wrapped your legs around his waist, his hard cock rubbing against your center in sinful delight.
“Fuck, Gavriel, please,” you mewled, arching into him, desperate for any friction you could get. He hung his head, grunting at your movements as he found the strength to bring his cock to your entrance, rubbing the head against your pussy. You bit your lip, lifting your hips towards him in a silent request.
Gavriel slid into you, a slightly painful stretch as always while he settled inside, stretching your core. You nodded, urging him to begin moving as Gavriel pounded into you, lewd moans escaping as you braced your hands above you to avoid hitting the headboard. You clenched around his cock, the only warning before you crashed into your orgasm, the feeling of his thumb against your clit dizzying as you writhed helplessly under his thrusts.
Gavriel came soon after, a roaring cry leaving his lips as his hot cum spilled inside of you, both of you lost to pleasure as his thrusts turned sloppy. “So good for me,” he murmured, lowering to kiss down your neck as he stilled inside of you.
You wrapped your legs around Gavriel’s waist, keeping him there for as long as he let you before rolling away, turning you with him. Your eyes locked, a soft smile playing at your lips as you admired the beautiful, selfless male in front of you. “I love you,” you whispered again.
Gavriel swallowed thickly, emotion dancing in his eyes as he took in the sight of you. “I love you, more than you know, my love.”
Note: I’ve neglected these poor boys omg. Writing for the Cadre is one of my favorite poly ships to write for because they are such a challenge for me. I’m proud of the two fics I have for them and I’m happy to add to the Cadre library this week.
Day 6 of @polysjmweek is Courage! Standing up to Queen Maeve with your loves doesn’t go as planned. To save them and stall for time you do the only thing you can think of. Making the ultimate sacrifice.
Warnings: injured Gavriel, mentions of death, angst
“You dare go against me!” Maeve screeches from the dais. “And you,” she points, your face immediately turning as pale as the owl that sits by Maeve’s side. “You traitor! Stealing them from me!” Lorcan shields you from the fae queen as she rages.
It was only a matter of time before she discovered what was going on. All it took was one tiny slip up. One shared look of love between you and Fenrys.
“I gave you everything! Honor, a place in this world, you would all be nothing without me. And what do I get in return? Nothing!” Maeve spits. You see them all wince at her anger. The look in their eyes breaks your heart in two. Torn between their loyalty to the Queen and knowing her manipulation tactics.
“My Queen-” Gavriel is cut off by another scream of rage from Maeve. Her power lashes out, hitting Gavriel in the chest and knocking him to the ground. His body bounces and flips across the stone floor. You let out a scream, rushing to his side to make sure he’s still breathing.
Dropping to your knees you call out his name. He turns onto his back with a groan. Gavriel’s large hand gently holds yours. “I’m ok, love.” He gives you a smile, wincing at the pain jolting through his ribs.
Tears prick your eyes. Panick rising in your chest as Maeve becomes more and more erratic. “Stop it!” Your scream shocks the room into a tense silence. Lorcan gives you a pleading look that you’ve never seen before, making your heart clench. Rowan and Fenrys look at each other with fear in their eyes. Both males step to block you from Maeve’s view.
You pull yourself up to your full height. Squaring your shoulders, staring the queen in her cold, angry eyes. A wicked smile curves Maeve’s dark painted lips. Her dark eyes sparkling. You can practically see the cruel thought forming in her mind.
“Her life or yours.” She smiles looking at each male.
They freeze. Shock and horror painting their usually stoic faces. Fenrys is the first to break the tense silence. “NO!” Maeve turns her lethal smirk on the youngest of the Cadre. His chest heaves as Fenrys takes in panicked breathes. His dark eyes darting from you to the queen.
Fenrys gains his confidence, yelling his demands at her. Rowan and Lorcan start yelling as well. Protesting whatever Fenrys is saying. Or what Maeve is saying. You don’t know. You can’t hear anything over your heart beating in your ears. Tears prick your eyes. Lowering your head to rest on Gavriel’s chest you let out a sob. He brings his hand to your back, rubbing soothing circles across your spine. “It’s ok,” he whispers. “It’s going to be ok.”
At his words you stop sobbing. There is only one way things are going to be ok. One way to stall for time. You press a soft kiss to Gavriel’s cheek. “I love you.” you tell him. Standing to face Maeve again.
“Y/n, no. What are you doing?” Gavriel tries to stand but the pain is too much for him. He watches helpless from the ground as you walk past the others.
Dropping to your knees before Maeve the males fall silent. You look up to find Maeve staring at you all too pleased with herself.
“Y/n,” Lorcan hisses. “Y/n get up.” you ignore him.
“Making the decision for them?” Maeve asks with a lilt in her voice. You take in a shaky breath not balking from her stare. “What if I take their place? Let them go and keep me here.”
“Oh? And do what with you, my dear?” She asks in a mocking tone. You swallow hard. Getting your words out before you change your mind. “Anything,” you get out quickly. “Serve you. Kill for you. Whatever you desire. Just please, spare them.”
Maeve seems to consider your proposal for a moment. She lets out a hum, gripping your chin. “I have a better idea. You will serve me but you won’t go back to your rooms. Yes, the dungeons will do for you from now on. The males will stay my warriors but,” she booms, looking at them again, “Her wellbeing depends on your performance. If I sense an ounce of disobedience y/n will suffer the consequences. Do I make myself clear?” Before any of them can protest you accept the new deal. “Excellent.” Maeve purrs.
She waves guards forward from the shadows. “Show y/n to her new accomodations.” you stand, going with guards willingly. Your loves can only watch as you’re dragged away with pained looks. Fenrys has angry tears rolling down his tan cheeks. Rowan looks like he’s about to break down, leaning on Lorcan to keep from collapsing to his knees. Lorcan doesn’t look like he’s breathing. The only movement from him is his dark eyes tracking you.
You look to Gavriel one last time. He stares back in disbelief, clutching at his ribs, helpless.
The guards shove you against the back wall. Your cheek scraping against the rough stone. They slam the metal door, the lock making a teeth grinding scraping sound as it slides into place.
Sliding down the wall you bring your knees to your chest. Your sobs coming back full force as you fall apart. The reality of what you’ve just done crashing into you.
Hi would you write an Gavriel x reader fanfic where they haven’t told anyone they’re together yet because they have an agegap and don’t know how the other will react? Maybe Aedion or Fenrys, a younger fae male asks her out and that’s how everyone finds out?
I love this!💜 Thank you for giving me the self indulgent excuse to write about both Fenrys and Gavriel being interested in reader💅
Mine
Gavriel x Reader fluff
The sound of a door opening downstairs had you jumping away from Gavriel on instinct. You had become used to hiding your relationship - meeting in secret, keeping your distance around others - it was becoming exhausting. It was understandable - Gavriel was being cautious in building a connection with Aedion after their rocky start, and he was self conscious about how much older he was than you. As much as you wanted to be seen with your mate, neither of you wanted to risk the progress he had made with Aedion to bring you being mates into the situation.
With a sigh, Gavriel gave you a quick kiss before you quietly left the room, him staying behind as you made your way downstairs alone so as not to raise any suspicion. You strode into the living room where Fenrys, Aedion, Aelin, and Rowan were gathered, taking your seat on the couch next to Fenrys. “Hi, angel,” Fenrys greeted, giving you a flirty wink as he brought his arm around the back of the couch. “Hey, Fen,” you greeted your friend warmly. Used to Fenrys’s flirtatious nature, you were oblivious to his advances as he asked you about your day.
Aelin and Rowan were occupied in conversation - curled up on the couch opposite you - as Aedion lounged in the chair to your right, seemingly studying a report from one of the lieutenants. Rowan turned from his conversation with Aelin to Fenrys. “Hey Fen, wasn’t there something you wanted to ask?” he questioned as he nodded his head towards you, a slight smirk playing on his lips.
Everyone turned at that, eyes on you and Fenrys as you looked at him curiously. “What is it, Fenrys?” you asked, poking his side as you smiled playfully. For the first time since you’d met him, Fenrys looked nervous - running a hand through his long blonde hair as he bit his lip, eyes flicking to yours. “Uh, I’d been thinking about asking you to dinner, if you’d like. Just the two of us.” The pointed look in his eyes told you that he meant as more than friends, but before you could respond, a growl sounded from behind you.
Fenrys’s eyes flashed with alarm as he glanced over your shoulder, everyone turning to see Gavriel standing at the foot of the stairs, anger radiating off him like you’d never seen. You could feel his jealousy through the bond, watching in shock as he stormed across the room to where you were seated. “Get your hands off my mate,” he snarled.
Everyone’s jaws dropped at his words, Fenrys holding up his hands in a placating position as he backed away from the territorial male who towered over you. “Your mate?” Aedion asked, fully setting down the report he was reading, eyes shooting back and forth between you and Gavriel. Gavriel’s expression immediately turned to one of shame as he turned towards his son. You fumbled for words to explain, “Aedion, we didn’t - I just, with the two of you just now bonding, we...”
You were at a loss for words, but that didn’t matter as Aedion let out an amused laugh, shaking his head as he smiled at you. “We knew you were seeing each other. I just didn’t know you were mates.”
“WHAT? I didn’t know! Aedion, you told me I should ask her out,” Fenrys ranted from the corner, red-faced with embarrassment. Aelin and Rowan snickered from where they were sitting, Aelin tossing a chocolate at him. “You were the only one who it wasn’t obvious to, and things were getting boring around here. We had to find some interesting way to get them to admit their relationship.” She turned to grin at you. “I’m happy for you.”
Smiling back, you murmured a “thank you,” as Gavriel came to stand behind you, putting his hands on your shoulders. He gave them a squeeze, turning to Aedion, asking him softly, “you’re not bothered by this?” Aedion smiled, “of course not. I’m happy for you, and even more so that you’re mates.”
You gave him a bright grin, looking up to where Gavriel stood above you. He leaned down, kissing you passionately - the bond glowing with love and contentment. You pulled apart at a gagging sound from your right, Aedion’s lip curling as he covered his face with the report he held, grumbling, “okay, well I didn’t want to see that.”
You laughed, bringing Gavriel around to sit with you on the couch. He pulled you into his lap, and you wrapped one arm around his neck as you patted the cushion next to you. “Come on Fen, he won’t bite,” you promised with a wink. Fenrys came over to sit with you, rolling his eyes as Gavriel glared at him and pulled you close, and kept you close for the rest of the evening.
Anything for Gavriel please 🙏🏻there was a time when people wrote for BestFriendsDad!Gavriel but they don’t anymore and I’m stuck there😭😭😭
Slightly suggestive/sexual
Game of tag
You felt awful. Had been since the first day you saw Gavriel and the first thing you felt was dampness between your thighs as your eyes fell on the most gorgeous male you had ever seen. Your friend Lily had always talked highly about her father. He raised her alone. He was her best friend. “There are no males like him these days, lucky was my mother to find him”, she had told you one night as you two lay in her room. As lucky as that woman was to have bedded him and birthed his child she didn’t appreciate what she had if she had simply packed up and left him.
The thought alone had kept you tossing and turning long after Lily had fallen asleep. No matter what you did your thoughts dragged you down to him. The man that you knew slept a couple of doors down the hallway. You cursed yourself as your thoughts drifted to Gavriel. Your body grew flushed and warm as all sorts of thoughts swirled through your mind. You couldn’t do this. You needed to cool off and get some fresh air. Anything to push the thought of him out of your system.
As quietly as you could, you made your way down the stairs. A glimpse of light from the living room catching your eye. You knew you shouldn’t intrude. It’s not your house. It could be anyone. But your feet carry you forward regardless. And here he stood. A glass of wine in his hand as he stared into the fireplace. Gavriel’s back was turned towards you. But even the sight of that bared to you was enough to make you feel weak in the knees. The toned muscles. The forever marked skin.
“It’s not polite to stare like that”, his voice made you screech as you backed away, hitting the side table. Sending the lamp on it to sway. “I… I was not… I just”, you stuttered, “I… the night is too warm I wanted to take a walk”. Gavriel turned slightly, glancing towards you, “Alone at such hours?”
“I can take care of myself”, you urged back, lifting your chin a little higher. “That’s what Lily says as well”, he chuckled slightly. “I’m not your daughter”, you threw the line at him, hating the comparison because it drew a line between you two. The room felt quiet for a moment. Gavriel slowly put his glass down, “What do you want to be?”
His words threw you for a loop as you watched him slowly step closer to you. “I…”, you swallowed thickly, backing away. It wasn’t out of fear. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you. You just knew if he got close years upon years of experience on his behalf would be able to see right through you. “Do you think I don’t sense it”, he shook his head, “Silly girl, what thoughts are brewing in that head of yours”, his fingers tap at your temple before he traces his finger down your cheek, lifting your chin.
“No thoughts”, you breathed out, “None”. It was pathetic to lie. Gavriel knew that even better, “So, if I was to slip my hand beneath your thighs…”, his voice trailed off. But it was enough to make you gasp as your hands flew to stop his palm. “You’re too young, my dear, man like me aren’t meant for girls like you”, he leaned in before pushing back away. “You don’t know that”, you argued back, “You don’t get to choose what’s good or bad for me”. But his back was already turned to you as he walked back to his armchair.
“Go back upstairs and try to sleep”, he said calmly, reaching for his drink once more. “You don’t get to do this”, you whined walking after him, stopping only till you were right in front of him. “I know you want me too, I have eyes. I see you watching me”, you pushed on but his face was unreadable. “You come to me. We take walks, we talk. Don’t tell me now that you find my company childlike”, you pushed on.
But Gavriel only lifted his drink to his lips, gazing at the fire once more. You let out a frustrated sigh. Reaching for the straps of your nightgown, slipping them down your shoulders, letting the material pool at your ankles. Gavriel’s hand tightened around the glass as his eyes finally drifted back to you. “What do you want me to do?”, you asked, feeling your heart hammering at your chest.
“Put the clothes back on”, he breathed out, nostrils flaring. “You don’t want that”, shaking your head you stepped out of the material beneath you. “Girl… don’t play with fire”, it was a growl now in his tone. “Play…”, you mused, “Thought you liked to play”. You reached out brushing your fingers through his hair. “How about a little game of tag. I run. You chase”, you knew this was dangerous but the thrill of it took over clouding your better judgement. “Don’t you dare run”, Gavriel pointed a finger at you. You only smiled at him sweetly before turning towards the patio door. Take two steps at a time down before wet night grass like at your feet. You heard a roar from inside the house. You had no chance of outrunning him but you had never planned to do that in the first place.
“You look nice,” Ryland says, smiling a little shy, as if the compliment had just slipped out and he was supposed to be embarrassed about that.
“I uh,” You pause, swallowing thickly.
Holy fuck he looks good in a suit.
in which: You need a date to the wedding you foolishly agreed to attend, luckily your co-worker is a willing sacrifice. Extremely willing.
[warnings: eventual nsfw 18+, a bit of fluff, excessively drawn out flirting]
wc: 14.2k (Whoops) [ Masterlist ] [ ao3 Link ]
Woe finds you on a Tuesday at the staffroom lunch table.
Picking apart the leftovers of a miserable thrown together attempt of fried rice that came to be after realising there were no better dinner options with the ingredients you had in the fridge two days ago and the determination to not get take out more than once a week that would surely fade come February. Alas, it is still January and all those new year resolutions are still sticking like cheap adhesive hooks that will eventually be weighed down enough to slip as time ticks on.
Eat take out once a week, maximum. Read one book a month, minimum. Sleep more. Stop turning down social invites
The last one is what leaves you particularly perturbed, as your lunch goes lukewarm and your thumb flicks about on the social media profile.
“I just… I can’t say no.” You lament. “It would be weird.”
“Weirder than going?” Margot asks, pulling her own container of lunch from the oven. It’s also leftovers, but slices of impeccably cooked roast with what looks to be red wine sauce and vegetables- no doubt made by her smokeshow of a house husband (he just works from home, she insists. You’re pretty sure the pair are sitting on a lofty investment profile because no man ‘works from home’ cooks roasts bi-weekly and buys his wife diamond earrings for her birthday).
“I don’t know. Maybe.” You manage, the next bite of fired rice tasting like loneliness packed into an over-salted flavour profile.
“What’s weird?” Ryland asks, sitting down in the chair across from you.
The staff room of E-Block is near abandoned. Of the ten-odd teachers with rooms in the little block of aging brick, most tended to eat in their classrooms. Save for you, Margot and Ryland. Occasionally there will be another visitor, but most days, it is just the three of you.
“Wedding.” Margot supplies, sitting down and shuffling her chair in with a sense of poise so rarely found in Middle-Schools. She’s older, somewhere in her early fifties, and still manages to approach the job with the same level of discipline as before ipads made their invasion into the classroom.
Ryland frowns. “You’re already married.”
He’s… well, Ryland's… actually you’re not sure how to put him into words, which is saying a lot considering the literature degree collecting mildew in the filing cabinet of your apartment.
He’s in the same boat as you in terms of finding yourselves with a teaching career. Studied something else first, got your passion and love for it soured by morons and went back to college for a second round, dishing out more cash for a masters in teaching that has you trying to tame fourteen year olds all day. Delightful, truly. Although, Ryland had certainly lasted a lot longer with that first degree than you had. A doctorate. He hates the kids knowing that though. A handful of them had called him ‘Doctor Grace’ last year, after digging about online and getting their grubby fingers on his linkedin profile.
‘Mr Grace’ as he is now known, is awkward. A little socially inept at times, but not enough to come across as anything other than endearing. Now is one such time, as he looks over the frames of his glasses at Margo, the stack of pop quizzes he’d brought to mark and keep himself occupied momentarily forgotten. His eyes darted from her face to the ring on her finger.
“Mm mm.” She hums, shaking her head as she chews, then levels her fork to point in your direction.
“You’re not getting married.” Ryland states when he turns to look at you, like it’s a scientific fact, one he’s so assured of.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mr Grace.” You reply, still sort of wallowing at the photos on your phone.
His gaze flickers, a little less sure as the corner of his lips fall and, like he had with Margot, settles his eyes on your hands. Your lack of a ring. “You aren’t, are you?”
“No. My ex is, though.” You sigh, despondent. The reminder glares back at you from the overly-bright phone screen.
“Oh. That sucks.” He manages, clicking open a red pen to start circling and ticking the first sheet on his pile. “Happens to the best of us.”
The kettle rumbles away on the tiny kitchenette. You look at him for a long moment. The best of us. Like it’s happened to him. Ryland’s not one to discuss relationships beyond the occasional quip about quitting to be a house husband like Margot’s. He’s never mentioned past romances, you don’t think he’s been in a relationship in the three years since he started at Grover Cleveland Middle. It’s such a bizarre glimpse at his life, that he doesn't even seem to register what he's revealed, marking as he waits for the boiling water to cook another lunch of instant ramen.
You sit up a little straighter in your chair, weary of knocking your shoes against where his long legs sprawl under the small table. The staff room is meant for ten but is cramped even with the three of you, nothing more than a little kitchenette and big whiteboard in the corner. There’s a shelf against one wall, just far enough away from the doorframe that the door doesn't crash into it when pushed open. There’s a long window the length of the wall on the door’s other side, a good view of the eighth-grade outdoor lunch area. The other staff call it the fishbowl, it’s why they opt to eat in their classrooms, not keen on the kids' eyes on them when it is supposed to be one of the fleeting breaks during their day.
Thank god the door is closed- if the kids heard you whining about this, a wedding, they’d never let up. “I’m considering the pros and cons of skipping it.”
“You were invited?” He baulks, dropping his pen.
You try not to smile, focusing on your self pity instead of the three shoddy attempts Ryland takes to catch his pen from dropping out of his hand, rolling off the stack of paper then off the table. “I already said I’d go too.”
“Why?” Ryland sounds appalled, like that one time you’d caught him trying to explain that the five second rule is not an effective barrier against bacteria to a student.
“It’s complicated.” You say, biting at your cheek.
“Bullshit.” Margot aptly calls. Looking over with the same expression she used to call students on their bullshit. You're not a big fan of having it directed at you.
“We went out for maybe two months in college.” You sigh, setting your phone on the table face-down to stare at your lunch, contemplative. “He’s engaged to one of the girls from my sorority. We’re… friends.”
Margot watches. “With your ex or the sorority girl?”
“Sorority girl. Daisy.” That's the better option of the two at least. You think it is, not that there is much left to save you from the impending train wreck of discussing the relationship woes of your late teens and early twenties with the only two coworkers who care to eat lunch in a communal space. The company is nice, Ryalnd had said once, when you’d asked, gets me out of the classroom.
Margot screws her face up for a second, muttering it again under her breath as if the name offends her.
“You were in a sorority?" Ryland asks, face a little blank as he looks at you from across the table.
It makes you falter, the way his thoughts seem to be buffering like the school's slow wifi. “I… Yeah? That’s the interesting part?”
He shakes his head, looking down at his marking sheets and pushes his glasses up from where they’re slowly slipping down the bridge of his nose. “No, I just can’t picture it.”
You purse your lips, consider pulling up some photos from your sorority days, then remember the kind of outfits the lot of you wore and think better of it. “Well Daisy and I were roommates for a year and a half. She’s nice. Works in PR now.”
“But she’s marrying your ex?” Ryland asks, still kind of baffled.
You dismiss it with a lazy hand wave. “I mean, she asked before they went out and everything. I just think it’s a little weird. I don’t even know why I said I’d go. It’s going to be embarrassing.”
Margot tuts twice, done with her lovingly made lunch that symbolises how successful she has been in the department of marriage when you have all but failed so far. “Why is it embarrassing? Two months is nothing.”
“I was a little head over heels for this guy.” You admit, sheepish.
Ryland stands up, clears his throat as he turns away. “Yeah? How so?”
His back is to you, as he peels the lid off his cup ramen and wrestles with the flavour packet. You come to the conclusion it’s easier to confess this sort of stuff with only one set of eyes on you. “I was sort of convinced he was my soulmate. He was doing pre-law, witty too.”
“Hot?” Margot asks, always straightforward.
You feel a blush rise on your cheeks as you remember the early days of your sorority experience, flopped back on the bed as you made little love sick sighs at your ceiling. “God, his jawline. And his hair- it was so… ugh!”
The thud is dull when your forehead lands on the table, to the right of your now abandoned lunch. “I don’t even know why I said I’d go. It’s dumb.”
You hate how you sound- petulant like the kids you prod for not searching for better words in their assignments, moping like your world is ending over something so trivial. It’s not even the new years resolution that has you mulling this over so intently. You’d agreed to go months ago- six months ago- and said yes to the offered plus one, adamant to yourself that you’d have someone by then, a partner or something. Someone of importance.
Attending alone is going to be even worse than if you had just RSVP’d for yourself in the first place. It’s one thing to watch your college friend and ex-sort-of-boyfriend exchange vows alone, and a whole other monster to do it with a pointed empty seat beside you.
All of it tumbles out your lips in a hurried hurl of word vomit, followed by a few moments of silence that has you cautiously raising your head to peek over the wall of your forearms. Ryland is staring at you, cup noodles steaming in his hands where it hovers over the sink, like he’d been about to pour out the excess water. Margot is looking at you with a frown, the same one she wears when teaching senior mathematics and the children have drawn up an equation for her to solve with the foolish belief they could stump her for more than ten seconds.
And just as in class, Margot is not phased for more than a handful of moments. “Then find someone with a better jawline and better hair to go with you. You can borrow mine.”
You blink at her, mulling the words over before asking, “Are you trying to pimp your husband out to me?”
“Only for aesthetic reasons, of course. It’d be nice to have the house to myself for once. Not like you have better options.”
It would sting more if it wasn’t so true. There were very few options and with the wedding only two weeks away, that was certainly not enough time to squeeze in enough dates with someone to justify taking them to a damn wedding.
“I mean, how good is his jawline?” Ryland finally says, walking over with his little cutlery box, plastic chopsticks he washes and reuses almost everyday, to set his lunch down on the table and settle back in across from you. “Are we aiming high?”
There is no way to un-dig this hole, not now that they’ve both decided to put their two cents in. You concede with another sigh and reach for your phone, arms and chin still on the table as you fish about Instagram for a photo. It’s the one that had reminded you of this awful upcoming event, posted by Daisy. You all but toss your phone on the table between your coworkers, sinking a little lower into your folded arms, awaiting judgement.
The photos must be from a walk though of the venue, the pair of them posed together between some old marble arch where they were having the ceremony at. She was laughing, hand on his chest, showing off the ring on her finger while he looked at her, besotted. The caption made it worse. Only two weeks left till I get to marry my man on these very steps.
You like them both, you really do, but the thought of showing up by yourself, as the lonely friend who’d never found ‘it’, your own version of the love they were celebrating, well it was just nauseating.
Margot looks the photo over critically before humming in a sort of so-so tone. “You can do better.”
Ryland looks kind of at a loss. “This is your type?”
As if to emphasise the point, he lifts the phone up and turns it around to show you the image you were already being haunted by. “This is the hair that had you all…”
He doesn't find the words, just waves the hand with his chopsticks around in a messy motion, looks at you critically over the rims of his glasses.
“He slicks it back now. It used to be… I donno. Messy? Fluffy? Good to run my fingers though.” He scoffs a little to himself, dissatisfied maybe with your excuse.
The only forgiving factor is that the photo does highlight the sharp cut of his jaw, which even Ryland concedes to. “He does have a good jawline...”
Yours is better, you want to say. Immediate and impulsive, because it kind of is. Especially when the shadow of his stubble stretches a few extra days between shaves. Your ex is clean shaven- you used to think that was sexy, at least sexier than the patchy beards boys in college had back then. Now you’re kind of obsessed with the so-called ‘5-o’clock shadow’ Ryland sports on Fridays.
It’s not something you’re likely to tell him though, especially not when you glance at the clock and realise you have a duty across campus in three minutes. Saved by the bell maybe, either way you’re able to liberate your phone from the pair of them and their conspiratory whispers, bin the scraps of your lunch and haul ass out of there.
By the end of the school day, you have reached the conclusion that you will blame it on work. That some mandatory day of ‘professional development’ as it is called nowadays, has come up and you will just have to miss the wedding, truly you’re devastated about it all.
Then Ryland corners you in your classroom. The bell’s long gone, as are the students. He’s dressed like he’s on his way out, his green backpack tossed over one shoulder and bike helmet hanging by the strap in one hand. You’re halfway through explaining your plan and the wording you’re going to use in the tragic text message to Daisy when he cuts you off.
“I’ll go with you.”
He’s a little breathless with it, like he’d been saving up all his oxygen to get the words out, leaving him in one big rush as they topple though the doorway of your classroom and splatter onto the linoleum floor between you both.
“I know that I’m not Margot’s husband with a ‘better jawline and better hair’ but we can go and eat nice wedding food- If he’s a lawyer it’s gotta be fancy, right? And we can make fun of his stupid slicked back hair together and you don’t have to be alone or make an excuse and feel guilty about it.” Ryland’s big speech is as flawed as it is heartwarming
Because he does have a better jawline and better hair. And Margot looks between you both during lunch hours and staff meetings like you’re her personal romance drama, there to occupy her during the day.
But the wedding food will be good, your ex will shill out for the best and Daisy has always had a taste for the finer things in life. Ryland is the best company you can think of to have by your side and he knows you well enough to understand how guilty lying about something makes you feel, how it churns your gut.
“Yeah. Okay.” You smile, something warm and fuzzy in your chest.
His eyes don’t move, maybe widen a little before he speaks again, still a little breathless. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
It isn’t a hard thought to come around to, taking Ryland to a wedding. As a date is something that goes unsaid between the pair of you, not sure whether it could be classed as such for real, or if this is simply a favour between friends-slash-coworkers. It is certainly a date for show, to the many college friends you’re about to reunite with after a few years, for your Ex, Jack who’s obsessed with his wife, for Daisy who you’d told years ago to ‘go for it, he’s a nice guy’ working under the assumption that she’d only last a few months by his side too.
You’re not sure which answer you’d prefer, honestly; a date or a favour.
He texts you a lot- after school, on the weekend- asking about what he should wear, what you’re going to wear, how he should prepare for this sort of thing. It’s sweet, cute in a way that has little butterflies flapping around in your stomach.
“Okay, I’ll show you. Wait, hold on.” You placate, setting your phone down on the bed, screen up.
“It’s a lovely ceiling fan, but I doubt it fits the dress code.” Ryland drawls, and you can hear the smile there.
“Ha ha.” You reply, a little echo-y as you lean into your closet to pull the dress out.
He’s up in arms about what to wear, says he needs to know what you’re wearing too so he can match. The invite’s dress code called for formal attire in ‘dark colours’. On the facebook page she’d made for the event, Daisy had a full post going into more detail, about how she’d love any and all dark tones- forestry green, navy, even burgundy was fine. You had taken a firm stance against burgundy considering there’s some old wedding traditions that state wearing red indicated you’d slept with the groom. Which you had, but you were not about to advertise that.
So navy it was.
You’d sent Ryland a picture of the invite, where it was stuck to your fridge with letter magnets spelling out ‘woe’- it had felt fitting when you’d stuck it up there- and several screenshots of the lengthy dress-code post Daisy had made that went into excruciating detail. He wasn’t satisfied though.
Even your attempts to describe the dress you’d bought didn’t work well enough.
“I mean it! you expect me to know what any of those words apart from ‘floor length' means?” he bemoans from your phone speakers, face time call crackling. “I need all the data.”
“Oh listen to you, Mr. Science,” You drawl with a smile, pulling the dress out. It’s too long to hang from a door knob so you have to stretch up on your tip toes to hang the coat hook over the curtain rod of your bedroom window.
“I was thinking of changing my name. Very to the point, don’t you think?” He replies, still smiling as you collect your phone. His eyes are sparkling with something cheeky when you appear back in frame.
Ryland’s dressed down, in one of those dumb science t-shirts he wears on ‘Casual Fridays’ as it is called in staff meetings. This one’s dark blue and has the periodic table on it in worn down white transfer ink. You’ve seen it enough to know the punch line sprawled over his lower stomach even though it’s not in frame. I wear this shirt periodically. He finds an extra layer in humor that the shirt is factually correct as well, that he does in fact, wear the shirt in regular intervals as he’d explained to you during a free-period on one of those casual Fridays.
He’s at his kitchen bench, phone propped up against something, while he taps away at his laptop. You’ve not actually been to Ryland’s apartment before, but it sorta feels like you have, the cramped studio always on display in the back of video calls like this one.
It’s just one long rectangle. Kitchen by the front door, a bench, a gap that is probably intended for a kitchen table but he’s stuck a desk there instead, his bed that’s almost always unmade with a tv wall mounted across from it, and a balcony. Like this, you can see the expanse of it behind him. The stacks of paper piled up on his desk, the extra monitors and little trinkets gifted from students, the sage green sheets of his bed, peeled back on one side, sun shining in through his big glass balcony doors. Honesty, you kind of want to see the view from his apartment in person, he’s a little higher up than you are, in a better part of the city too.
Ryland’s not brushed his hair, it’s all spiked up in different directions and you wonder if the mug he’s been sipping from, periodically, is his morning cup even though it’s just past ten. He’s blinking slow behind his glasses, sitting a little too still for his brain to be fully functional yet.
“I’m sure the kids will love it. Harder to spell on their assessment sheets, though.” You can imagine it, the staff badge, the name on his board in fun bubble writing where it would stay untouched for a whole school term.
You flip the camera, showing him the dress he’s been complaining about not understanding for the last half hour over text before he gave up and called you.
It’s cute, how his head tilts and he leans towards his phone for a second before just picking it up and holding it close enough so his eyes and forehead are just about all that is in frame. “Is that velvet?”
“It’s fake satin. I think.”
“Fake satin?” He repeats, confused.
The dress was one you already owned, bought a year or so ago for another friend’s wedding that you had attended alone but not felt crappy about, even if it did seem like everyone your age was getting married nowadays. It’s got a fitted bodice, but there fabric is a little drapey, looks like it pools over the chest and down towards the fluid skirt. "Wasn't expensive enough to be real satin.”
“Okay, I know what you mean by delicate straps now.” That had been his main hang up, whining about, What do you mean delicate straps? Like they’re about to break?, swearing that the shit he was googling was just not helping the mental image considering there were about six different results for everything.
“Yeah, and here, the lace up back.” You say, stepping up to twist the dress away from where it sat flush against the curtains to show the corset style back, with thin cord lace just a little thinner than the straps.
“Isn’t that going to be a nightmare to put on?” He asks, squinting still.
“There’s a zip.” You say, dragging the little hidden zipper down, showing him how the dress fabric parts and slips open. “So it’s fairly easy to get on. The cords are about as tight as they should be anyway, it isn't hard to pull to fit.”
You fumble a little trying to get the zip back up but eventually just conceded to leave out like that until you put the dress away. When you glance down at your phone, Ryland has moved, no longer sitting down and if you had to guess, is now walking the length of his apartment instead. He looks a little distressed.
“Come on, you’ve got the easy part.” You try, a little concerned he’s about to say he shouldn’t go. “You just have to put on a suit.”
“I can’t just ‘put on a suit’.” He whines, flopping down onto his bed like the world is ending. “I’m supposed to be like, your big ‘fuck you’ to the girl who got with your ex. I’m supposed to look good with you. I don’t know if I have a suit nice enough for that dress.”
“Ryland. It’s not about saying ‘fuck you’ to Daisy, or pulling some revenge stunt. I just didn’t want to go alone like a loser when I said I was bringing someone.” You can’t really help the little breathy laugh that weaves its way though his name, because he sounds like you did four days ago acting like the world was about to end, face down on the lunch table. “You don’t have to come.”
“No, I’m coming. I just need to go through my wardrobe.” He’s cute, you decide, in a round-about sort of way. The determination to play this self elected role well, to perfect it and give it his all, like he does with everything else in his life. The whole situation was elevating your ‘aesthetic appreciation’ of Ryland that you’d been attempting to suppress, to a new sort of level.
You flop down on your own bed, roll over on your side and let him derail the conversation towards lesson planning, listen to him talk about the plans he has for the next weeks worth of classes, a couple of activities he’s got in the works. All while you consider the pros and cons of having him beside you instead.
Ryland was probably the teacher you got on best with at work, despite being from two very different teaching areas. When he’d first arrived, you’d assumed he would be a little pretentious, with his Phd and professional experience beyond the classroom. You weren't expecting him to be so awkward. The children took to him so quickly, and Ryland had told you time and time again that he doesn't understand why they think he’s cool.
Over the years you’ve found that he can be cocky, in certain bouts of confidence seemingly appearing via divine-intervention. A local bar had run trivia nights for some six odd months, and it had unleashed a beast within him.
On Monday afternoon he sent you a photo. A little black bag with a logo you’d googled, realising it was a menswear store before the second photo had come though. A tie, sleek navy like your dress, rolled up neatly with a matching pocket square beside it, both nestled in a box that screamed expensive. You’d sent back a random string of praise, imagining him lulling it over in the store. It was nearly five in the afternoon, he’d left work pretty much on the final bell. You wonder how long he spent comparing the seemingly endless ties the shop’s online store offered, considering what would match best to your dress.
It makes you a little giddy, to be honest, has you dreaming of a situation where you’d asked him to come to the wedding, or where you’d already been together long enough that it was simply a given when the invitation turned up in your mail box.
Neither of you mention it during school hours, not keen on the kids hearing whispers of you and Ryland doing anything outside work hours- students will take anything and run with it.
But he messages you about it constantly. Makes a plan; he’d come to your apartment and you would uber from there to the venue, it was a sunset ceremony and evening reception. He lived close enough that it was a brisk walk or quick bus trip. He pointedly mentions that he would not be cycling- ‘In a suit? God, never’- and makes sure you know that the uber would also drop you both back to your flat and he’d walk home or take another separate uber.
There’s talk about your ‘backstory’, which he takes as seriously as he does exam periods. You tell him it’s not super necessary, that saying you met at work is more than enough exposition for the gaggle of college friends you’d not seen in years. But he was never one to do things in halves.
“We obviously would have met at school.” He says, like it’s a given. Ryland is laid out on the reading rug at the back of your classroom, staring at the ceiling. And the fake clouds that are actually just a hobby-fill glue gunned to paper and taped to the ceiling, he’d turned the fairy lights that are threaded though them on before he’d decided the floor was his resting place. “Maybe trivia is where it happened. We liked trivia.”
“We did like trivia.” You agree, pointedly.
It’s almost impossible to not just sit there and watch him, the student folders that you’re sorting worksheets into acting as a very inefficient distraction.
He’s got a button down on, some pale blue that looks nice under his grey wool blazer. The pale wash jeans and white converse are a bit more casual, but he wears the combination well. Too well. Laid out like this, with one knee up, he looks far too attractive for you to swallow. Glasses pulled down to hang off his jaw, sitting there catching the afternoon light as it came through the windows, casting rainbow refractions onto the back wall.
“Maybe trivia was a date. What would you have done?”
“If you’d asked me to trivia as a date?” You glance up. He’s already looking at you, head tipped to the side, something soft, tentative there in his eyes.
“Yeah.” You can see the way his throat bobs when he swallows, how his chest rises with each breath.
Ryland sounds… nervous, in a way that does remind you of the first trivia night you’d gone to. He’d been dressed similarly there, you remember thinking he looked nice, polished up a little more than he did in the school day with dress shoes and what smelt like cologne. Handsome where he waited by the entrance, backlit by the bar’s warm lighting. He’d been a little twitchy for the first hour or so, but settled into himself by round two.
With the way he’s looking at you, now as he plans out the false scenario that’s beginning to sound a lot more like a confession, you’re starting to get the idea that trivia could have been a date. If either of you had put it into words.
“Enjoyed it, probably.”
“Really?” He looks shy, a bit of a flush working its way up his cheeks.
You smile at him, thinking about how nice it would have been to kiss him in that bar with a sweet cocktail on your lips, dizzy from his flattery about your trivia skills. You hum, nodding a little as you look at the folders and sheets spread out over your desk, feeling a flush rise to your own cheeks.
He knocks when you’re halfway through lacing up the back of your dress, holding the cords with one hand as you open the door. Ryland’s not been to your apartment before, something you’d failed to realise until he called you and asked during his walk over, if you’d have to buzz him in.
He was appalled to find out the front door to your building was sporting a broken lock and had been tied back with a length of rope for the last two months while the landlords procrastinated fixing it.
“See,” You say, opening the door for him, keeping it propped open with your foot as he shuffles in. “My door locks.”
“Still one less lock that you’re supposed to have.” he grumbles, stepping out of his very nice dress shoes. They look expensive- black leather shined up propper.
Actually, Ryland looks expensive.
“You look nice,” he says, smiling a little shy, as if the compliment had just slipped out and he was supposed to be embarrassed about that.
“I uh,” You pause, swallowing thickly.
Holy fuck he looks good in a suit. It’s the only thought spinning around your head. It’s a proper one, tailor made no doubt. Blazer, slacks and undershirt, all three of them a deep inky black. The navy tie he’d sent you a photo of is done up around his neck in a knot neater than you’ve ever seen him wear to work. The pocket square is folded too, fluffed up with a little volume that suggests he did so intentionally.
Suddenly you’re reminded of all those times he’d complained about all the formal conferences and charity gala’s he’d attended during his days in academia. You realise you have made a grave error.
There have always been little parts about Ryland that oozed wealth, the glasses he wore for one, that he told you were antique when you’d asked. The watch on his wrist that you thought looked like some practical sporty thing but found out was actually worth three months rent when you’d googled it out of curiosity. These little things fall out of the spotlight and become footnotes that are often ignored when he’s in his classroom, or tiny apartment.
Dressed in such a nice suit, here in you apartment definitely wearing cologne- the same from that very first trivia night, something a little warm, woodsy like oaky bourbon, sharp and contrary to the fresh nothingness he smelt like at work- Ryland seemed so far beyond you.
“You look good.” You manage, letting the door slip shut and dropping the lace of your dress, it loses its tension a little but stays in the same spot for the most part, to run a hand over the lapel of his blazer. “How long have you had this?”
“Ages. Dug it out of the back of my closet. A little tighter than when I last wore it, but it will do the trick. Right?” He tacks that last bit on, like he’s waiting with baited breath for your approval.
“I’ll say.” You slide your hand down the lapel a little bit, down over the press of his chest. The tightness just shows the subtlety of his build, lean muscle that comes from idle exercise and good diet, maybe even a splash of genetics. He’s tidied his facial hair up a little, slid the electric razor over all of it to make sure it’s the same length, no doubt. Ryalnd’s still got his glasses on, you were a little worried he might have opted for contacts and are very relieved you get to see this outfit complete with the lenses that frame his face so well.
With a realisation you might be getting a little lost in your head, you drop your hand, turning to walk further into your apartment, towards the couch where your shoes for the night sat on the floor. “Right, we'll, I'm nearly ready. The uber will be here soon.”
“Do you need a hand?” Ryland asks, and you’re about to turn, ask him, ‘with what’ when you feel his fingertips against the small of your back. It sends a jolt though your skin, he’s cold. From the outside air, where as you’ve been nice and cosy with the heat on while you’d done your hair and make up.
Goosebumps rise under his hands as they gather the ties for the back of your dress. Something low swoops in your gut, like the dip of a roller coaster, free falling as he chuckles a little behind you. “Sorry, cold fingers.”
You swallow. “It’s.. it’s okay.”
“How tight?” He asks, giving the strings a gentle tug. You almost sway with the moment, feeling a little swept off your feet already.
“Bit tighter.” You manage, as he presses a flat palm against the small of your back, over the criss-crossing cord, and gathers both ties in one hand to pull slow and firm. It tugs you back into his hand, a steadier hold than you’d expected.
“There?” He questions when the dress is pulled in to sit flush with your skin but not dig in. You get the feeling he might have done some research, when he plucks at each string to even them out and make sure none of them are too tight, on how these dresses are supposed to sit.
“Yeah, perfect.” It leaves you like a sigh, as his palm dips, brushes where the zipper sits before pulling back to tie a neat bow, tugging the cords out carefully so both loops are even.
All of it has you lightheaded, directing more effort than necessary to get yourself to the couch and pull your heels on, black mary janes that are comfortable enough to walk in. As you fiddle with the buckles, you eye him.
Ryland’s hair is tousled, intentionally a little messy, not combed or slicked back. Looks like it would be nice to run your fingers though, and you find yourself wondering if that’s why he’d opted for the style, if he’s here, dressed up as the guy with ‘better hair and a better jawline’ that Margot had pitched, unaware that he already was exactly who he’s trying to be.
He holds an arm out for you to loop yours though, walking down the stairs in steady but slowed steps. You smile. “Wow, full gentleman experience.”
“I told you, I can't just ‘put on a suit’. It’s more than that.” He chides jokingly, and you pity the version of you that didn’t realise this was an option.
He opens the door for you- the car door, the door into the building door tied back by a rope (he glares at it when you pass it)- then rounds the back of the little toyota that’s polished up to try and seem fancier than it was. You don’t talk much on your way to the venue, comfortable silence that the driver thankfully settles into.
It’s nearing sundown when you pull into the driveway, a big circular road that’s already crammed with other cars and guests climbing out.
“You can just let us out here.” Ryland says to the uber driver, unbuckling his seatbelt to hop out, then rounding the car again to open your door, hand held out like it’s necessary, when the car is nowhere near low or high enough to warrant such assistance.
You place your palm in his anyway, letting him pull you from the car, no more temperature disparity in your hands since you’ve both been in the car for fifteen minutes, but it still makes your skin tingle. He’s got cufflinks, the same pale gold as his glasses, in the shape of atoms. You flick one lightly. “I like these.”
He smiles, something a little smothered like he’s trying to stamp it down from a grin as he threads his arm though yours again, beginning the small walk to the venue's front steps. “Well I like your dress, so I think we’re even.”
It’s a ballroom, with these big stained glass windows in the room they hold ceremonies in, you’d seen some lovely shots on the venue’s website of sunset light streaming through them. Imagining Ryland in the warm sunlight has you in a good mood, he’s always suited it, even if the city’s never had much to offer.
“Not too much for our first date?” You tease.
Something like a laugh tumbles out of his lips, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “First date was trivia- and you were underdressed. Keep up.”
You flush, crowding a little closer to his side to make it through the entryway without shoulder checking anyone. Had you been? It was so long ago you could hardly remember anything other than jeans, tight ones that dug into your waist when you sat down- tight jeans hardly felt like being underdressed, they probably meant you wanted him to stare at your ass. Either way you let him have the win, as minute as it is.
Doesn't really matter what you wore back then when you’ve got him like this now.
Together you sit about halfway down on the bride’s side, the pew’s nearly empty, only someone on the other end you don’t know but looks vaguely enough like Daisy, that's you’d guess extended family.
“So why’d you like this guy so much?” Ryland asks, quiet enough for it to just stay between the two of you. He’s glancing around, but his eyes keep bouncing back to Jack at the front of the venue, where he’s talking to gaggle of similarly dressed guys, his groomsmen.
“What?”
“Him,” Ryland says, tipping his head a little to gesture at Jack. “What had you talking about soulmates? Couldn't just be the hair, tons of guys have good hair.”
“They do.” You answer, raising a hand to tangle one of the longer stands where it’s dangling over his forehead around your pointer finger and give it a light tug. Ryland’s eyes settle on you, like there’s nothing else to look at. “He made me feel like the only girl in the world.”
“That’s a cliche.” He refutes. “And a song lyric.”
You smile. “I’m serious. He’s like that with every girl he went out with. He’s like it with Daisy. He just loses sight of every other woman, so attentive.”
Ryland stays silent for a moment, eyes searching for something in yours. Maybe permission, or a want, for him to keep digging, it’s almost as if he’s scared what he might find. “What'd he do? To make you feel like that?”
It’s cute, how nervous he is, despite the fact it feels as though all week, the pair of you have been laying this ground work, a path to follow that will lead you somewhere inevitable, like a trivia date, or the messy sprawled sage green sheets or Ryland’s bed. You smile at him, wondering if he’s thought about you in them. You wonder if he knows how easily you could be, that you might just follow him to the edge of the universe.
Still, you answer his question, offering a peek into your brain, the way you used to operate when teenage giddiness was closer than adult yearning. "Took me dancing. Kissed me slowly, cared about how I wanted things to go. It was like he just couldn’t stop looking at me, for me. It was intoxicating.”
“I can’t.” Ryland blurts out, all reckless abandon, and he’s looking at you like you’ve already kissed him breathless just by being here. You let your leg shift to press the length of your thigh against his, warm even through the layers of fabric.
You breathe in deep through your nose, the scent of his cologne sticking dizzyingly to the air, a scent you think is enough to get drunk on even without the assistance of wedding champagne. "Can't what?”
“Stop looking at you.” He clarifies, eyes darting down to your lips. “I can do the other things though.”
A flutter knocks about your chest, unsteady and uncoordinated. “Yeah, you like dancing Doctor Grace?”
“If it’s with you.” He amends.
“And slow kissing? You like that too?”
“Yeah I do.” He’s not even trying to hide it now, gaze settled on the dusty pink line of your lips, his own a little slick with spit when he darts his tongue out to trace one quick line along them.
You almost asked him to prove it, but in your peripherals, down the aisle and pausing at the sight of you, was Macey, another one of your college friends, smiling. So you place a hand on Ryland's thigh, just above his knee. “Good. Really good.”
Ryland looks dizzy with the praise, like it’s all rushed straight to his head.
“Hey Macey, good to see you.” You greet, using your hand on Ryland's knee to tip his legs towards you, making room for Macey to shuffle into the pew.
“Oh my god, good to see you too! It's been awhile, hasn’t it?” She leans down a little awkwardly to wrap you in a hug as you half stand, and it’s good to see someone after so long, to look at them and remember times when things were simpler and you were allowed to be a little stupid, a little dangerous. It’s nice to see her here, for her to sit next to you- Macey’s always encouraged you to be a little wild, and with the way Ryland’s been looking at you all night, you might need her ego-bosting tonight.
“I’m Macey, nice to meet you.” She extends a hand to Ryland over your lap and he shakes it curtly, offering his own introduction.
There’s a big rock on her finger, and you remember seeing it on an instagram post, some dreamy forest scenery with a ‘coming soon to a theatre near you’ caption under it.
“I suppose it will be your wedding next then,” You tease, “Where’s Jamie?”
“Oh she had a work trip, couldn't avoid it. She wanted to come though.” Macey waves off. Her and her fiance met on some film set, both camera operators, at the time, although you faintly recall reading something about Jamie’s name working its way up to director for some upcoming project, amongst the throws of social media posts from people who once knew everything about you and now you only see once every few years.
“So Ryland,” Macey starts with a glimmer in her eyes, something evil and mischievous that throws you back to seeing her in the living room with a bottle of tequila and monopoly board. “How’d you two meet?”
“We teach at the same school,” He grins, a hand sliding to your knee, just along the inside of it, where your dress fabric hangs low with slack, enough for his palm to press there, thumb drawing slow lines back and forth. “A little cliche but I don’t mind.”
Macey smiles, fans her face a little like that’s just soooo romantic. “What do you teach?”
“Science, opposites attract I guess.”
“Please tell me you used that line.” She practically swoons.
Ryland huffs a little laugh. “No, the kids threw that one at me actually.”
“Really?” You question, a raised eyebrow because that was not part of the backstory he’d been cooking up all week.
“Oh yeah. You should hear them. “Mr. Grace, you and Miss are ,like perfect for each other. You should ask her to the spring dance. They’re relentless, I swear.”
He pitches his voice a little, lazy tones and improper grammar leaking out in the way it did when he did impressions of your students and you can’t help but giggle a little.
“Their heads might explode when they find out.” Macey laughs too, then like a stroke of inspiration, slaps her hand against your arm a few times in pure, unrestrained excitement. “God- remember when we found out Professor Morisaki and Professor Collins were married? Holy shit it was like our heads exploded.”
You bark a laugh, muffling it under your hand considering the rather low level of idle chatter in the venue. “Oh my god, I forgot about that.”
“Professors of yours?” Ryland asks, this soft smile spread across his lips still.
“Yeah, we were doing a car-wash fundraiser! They were kissing in the background of one of our photos!” Macey still whispers gossip like she did in college, like your students do now.
Ryland looks a little red in the face when he asks. “A car wash fundraiser?”
Macey smirks, always too good at picking things up from others' words and you kind of want to stomp your heel over her toes to tell her off before you remember how this evening had been going so far. “Oh? Don’t you know? We were a little wild in college.”
You scoff. “A little?”
“Okay, a lot.” She corrects. “The car wash was an annual thing. White tshirts, bikinis. There’s definitely pictures. I have pictures.”
“Macey.” You scold, mostly joking.
She shrugs, straightens up and sits to face the fronts, pointedly not looking at you with a smirk on her face. “Hey- I’m just reminiscing on good times. Don’t you remember the kissing booth we ran? Of course you do you were the most requested-”
Now you stomp your foot onto hers, although she doesn’t do anything but laugh to herself.
Ryland is back to that dazed look, like he’s on some far off planet in his mind, when he murmurs, "Kissing booth?”
You glare at Macey, for a sharp moment. Before patting one hand on Ryland’s chest, leaning in close when you say, loud enough for Macey to hear. “Tell you about it later, handsome.”
He ducks his head a little close to you, a tiny little movement that stops as soon as it starts. His cheeks are the reddest you’d ever seen, looking a lot like he’s about to kiss you now, when there’s a music cue somewhere further up the aisle and a hush falls over everyone. He doesn't look away at first, eyes glued to yours for a long second before he bites his lower lip, to stop himself saying something and reaches a hand up to lace his fingers together with yours over his chest. He pulls it gently to his lap, smothering it in between his warm palms, fiddling with your fingers as the ceremony starts.
It’s beautiful, truly. The light lowered through the stained glass windows, reflecting and casting colour across the whole room, gentle music and teary vows. Picturesque really, and it reminded you of that time you’d all made ‘vision boards’ as a bonding activity, and Daisy had a little corner on hers that outlined the life she’d like to live, from a small sunset ceremony to the little white picket fence outside a cottage. You’re happy she’s finally arrived there, that she has a man who’s willing to give her everything she’d dreamed of.
You tell her as much, when you catch the pair of them in the reception hall. A warm hug for each of them and a firm hand shake between Jack and Ryland. It’s a lot less daunting than you had thought it would be, seeing them with the knot tied, no bad blood lingering or awkwardness about what once was. Just contentedness, with where your lives had led you each.
The food is good and the atmosphere is better, seeing people from a previous life chapter all reunited, laughing and catching up. The reception is held in a ball room, with gorgeous polished hard wood floors and lovely low lighting that hangs from the ceiling in delicate chandeliers. There’s a classical band, a memento board for people to take polaroids and write well wishes on them, a corner with photos from Both Daisy and Jack’s lives, in albums and tacked up on walls, showing where they meet and things bleed together into their future. All of it’s beautiful.
It’s heading into the later part of the night, when some people have excused themselves and cake has been cut, a hefty supply of the champagne depleted, that a nice slow song comes on.
You aren’t really paying that much attention to it, until you see Ryland shift beside you, rising and holding out one hand, palm up, towards you. “Care to dance?”
Something warm spreads over your face, a flush probably, as you lay a hand in his and he ever so gently pulls you to your feet, right in close to him. He leans down again, lips pressing feather-light to your temple before he leads you towards the dance floor.
It’s littered with other couples, celebrating the love they have for each other as well as the bride and groom.
All of it has you a little dizzy, settling a hand on Ryland’s shoulder as his palm slides around your waist, fingers slowing around the lace up back of your dress, pressing into your skin with gentle intent. He’s warm, firm against you, breath fanning across your cheek as you look up at him. “I know this isn’t the kind of dancing you meant, but it’s the best I can do for now.”
You humm, feet shifting in time with his, a slow waltz you weren’t even aware he knew. “I think I prefer this kind of dancing nowadays.”
Ryland’s lips tick up into a smile. “Yeah?”
He looks as good in the warm lamp light as he does in sunlight, kissing across his tanned skin and stubble, showing off the highlights of his hair. You want to run your hands through it, press a kiss to the scruff of his jaw. You settle on talking instead, worried he’s not one for such public displays of affection. “Left my wild nights behind in college.”
He sighs, like this is a devastating blow, hanging his head slightly, glasses slipping a smidge down his nose. “A shame. I was looking forwards to an appearance.”
You purse your lips, lifting the hand from his shoulder to cup his jaw, tilting his head back up a little, the pad of your thumb pressing his glasses back up to where they're supposed to sit. “Might do a private showing. Just for you.”
“You going to wash my car?” He asks, teasing. Eyes following the movement of your hand as it slips back down into place on his shoulder.
Your forehead falls, pressing against his collar bone as a furious blush blooms over your face, the worst it has been all night, murmuring, “You don’t have a car.”
He must have known what you were going to say, or some semblance of it because you certainly weren’t speaking loud enough for him to catch all of it, but he still sighs, a little dramatic. “Guess we’ll have to go with the kissing booth then.”
You lift your head a little, to look up at him where he’s smiling down, mirth dancing about in his eyes. “Oh, what a shame.”
The drawl has him crack a grin, cheeks flushed as he looks away. Fingers dancing slowly along the skin of your back, between the cords he’d tied up so perfectly for you.
For you, all of it. His nice suit he’d dug out from the back of his closet, the smart shoes nudging against yours with every step of the waltz. Ryland would do a lot for you, the realisation comes a little late, considering everything. You lean forwards a little, resting your cheek on his chest, as the song slows right down, indulgent.
“You got plans after this?” You ask, and it sounds so cheesy, so bland once it’s left your lips.
Still, when he answers, the smile is audible in Ryland’s voice. “Thought I was getting a private show. Is that offer off the table?”
“Think I can manage it,” You murmur, listening to the final few chords echo about the ball room, basking in the way his voice had rippled and rumbled through his chest, low against your cheek.
He lingers for a few seconds in the quiet, holding you close against his chest. You wonder if he, too, is basking in it. The closeness, the idea of having something that you’ve both been pretending couldn’t happen, wasn’t there in the air of exhaled breaths and weighted stares.
When he pulls back, there is nothing but adoration in his eyes, hand that holds yours falling low, but not releasing it, palm soft against your waist, almost as if he doesn't want to let you go just yet. “Wanna get out of here?”
“Bit forward, Ryland,” You tease, “we’ve not even taken photos yet.”
His eyes follow yours to the polaroid board in the corner, considers it for a moment before he’s pulling you gently by the grasp of his hand around yours, towards it.
The polaroid camera is a little hand held thing, there’s a stand for it, and poster board instructions on how to set a timer delay.
Ryland insists on taking one of just you, and while you’re grinning, trying to convince him to join you against the black fabric backdrop, the shutter goes off.
He rolls his eyes, but lets you drag him in beside you for the next photo. The timer is set, and just as you’re preparing to smile, something a little sweet and knowing, he gets one hand around the small of your back, knocks one of those very smart shoes against your heel and tilts you into a dip. It leaves you a little breathless, as he smiles, nose almost touching yours, shutter flashing off to the side.
He lets you choose which photo goes on the memo board. “Whichever one you don’t put up there, I’m keeping.”
You look a little silly in both, at least you think as much, caught off guard, and laughing a little out of breath. Ryland insists you look amazing in both. Something a bit selfish pulls at your gut, as you apprise both photos, and eventually, hand the one of you and Ryland to him- liking the idea of getting to see it again, of having a physical reminder of the night you two have spent together.
He grins like he’s won something, pulling his wallet out from his jacket pocket- a crisp brown leather that looks worn but well cared for- and to your mortification, tucks the photo into the clear slot. The one most people put their licences, or photos of loved ones, like heart-shaped lockets back in the old days. Ryland says nothing on the matter and he folds his wallet back up and slides it back into his pocket, waiting for you to write your message on the other polaroid’s back.
You scrawl some comment about happy endings and humble crazy beginnings, Signing your name on the bottom under the image of your laughter, and tack it up on the board next to the one Macey’s left.
Ryland’s got his arm out, hooked there for you to loop yours through again.
You manage to catch Daisy by the bar on your way out, and give her a tight hug, telling her again how beautiful the wedding has been, how happy you were for her.
The night air is crisp and the second you’re outside, waiting for the uber that’s just a few minutes away, Ryland strips off his suit jacket, draping it over your shoulders with a lack of hesitation that makes it seems as if he’s been waiting to do it all night.
You look at him and raise a brow, but don’t say anything when you catch sight of his pleased smile. It’s almost devastating to realise he looks even better in just the black button down and tie than he did in the full suit.
Again, the drive is mostly silent, but you notice pointedly, that you’re not going back to your apartment. And when you tilt Ryalnd’s phone and tap the screen awake, you recognise his street name in the trip’s destination.
“Presumptious.” You smile.
He grins back, lets a warm palm wander to the curve of your knee, fingers curling around it then venturing to settle a little higher around your thigh. “How are you going to wash my car if we don’t go to my place?”
“You don’t have a car.” You repeat, curious where all this teasing confidence has come from, if perhaps your very clear signals have finally given Ryland the means to throw out all of that unnecessary nervousness and doubt.
“Right,” He hisses, patting his other hand on his leg, as if to say ‘drat, there goes that plan’. Then he leans in close, whispers to you, “What was the back up plan again?”
“You are much bolder after a few glasses of champagne.”
He hums, a considering sort of sound that rumbles in the minimal air between you. “More so when I know I'm right.”
“And what, pray tell, are you right about?”
“That you like-like me.” He teases, like a child on the playground and if you were a little less level-headed, you might have kissed him right there, leant across the middle seat to lock lips with him in an uber.
But you don’t want the first time you kiss him to be viewed through a rear view mirror by a driver who looks very unimpressed by the conversation happening in the back seat. “You gonna prove that hypothesis in your apartment?”
“That’s very forwards of you.” He teases, head tipping down like he is going to kiss you.
Expect you turn your head, and his lips brush against your cheek, as you tut. “All scientists say experiments are supposed to be conducted in controlled environments.”
He leans back, still close enough for his warm breath to fan across your face. “You’ve been seeing other scientists? I’m heartbroken.”
“Give yourself some credit, your classes are very interesting.”
“Earsdropping, huh? Didn’t think you were the type.” He looks far too pleased by the idea that you’ve listened to him teach, like he doesn't know that when you come for something during class hours that you linger by the door and wait for him to finish whatever he’s saying, as if you could look at anything else when he was so captivating.
“I’ll Tell you exactly what type I am in,” You glance down to tap his phone awake, checking the ride estimate. “four minutes.”
He nods and you wonder if he’d get that head-rush distant expression on his face if you praised him for the patience. It’s something you want to save for later, you decide, for private. Just for you.
Ryland manages to wait, even keep his hands to himself, once you’re both out of the car, leading you though his building with a sort of reverent silence, that you get the impression wouldn’t return once broken. You stand across from each other in the elevator. With both his hands braced on the bar at hip height, Ryland fixes you with a look that echoes in the space, though the mirrors surrounding you and over the idle hum of machinery. You’re still wearing his jacket, over your shoulders, a slight barrier between the handrail and the curve of your back, as you stand with your arms crossed smiling at him.
The giddiness that bubbles up and about inside you, as you huddle in close behind him through the hallway, as he unlocks his door and lets you squeeze in past him, is something you’ve not felt in a long time. There’s not much room for childish excitement in the modern dating landscape, it feels as though everyone is in a rush, trying to get where they want to be with a relationship before it’s too late.
Ryland though, he’s here. You watch him latch the door, before he turns, standing there to let his eyes run up you again.
“Soooo,” He says, pursing his lips and tangling his hands together in front of him, like he’s suddenly nervous.
“So?” You ask, taking a few steps forwards to run your hand down the plane of his chest again, feeling it under your palm just like you did when he’d turned up at your apartment that afternoon.
“It’s been four minutes.” He swallows, and this close you can see how his adams apple bobs. Your other hand reaches up to scratch feather light against the stubble of his jaw, hand on his chest catching on the silky soft fabric of his tie, the one he’d picked out just for you.
Rylands hands are slow, one moves to the dip of your waist, landing where it had during your waltz, if not a little more firm as it presses you close against him. He catches his jacket by the collar, lets it slide back off your shoulders and hang from his grip as it slides to settle on the curve of your hip.
“It has.” You lick your lips.
Tuggin on his tie was not supposed to be a demanding thing, more so a gentle tease like you have been doing all night, stepping around that first move like it was a pitfall trap you’d never make it out of. Expect he pitches forwards much easier than you expected and Ryland's lips are pressed against yours.
Soft and still a little honeyed by the champagne, he moves slowly against you. He takes one step back, then another, pulling you with him and not letting his lips leave yours as he backs himself up against his apartment door.
Your teeth catch on his bottom lip, and a sharp inhale escapes him, almost a gasp, before he melts into the wood at his back, parting his lips and slipping his tongue up against yours.
It’s slow kissing, it’s dizzying and it’s want. Everything he’d promised you hours ago, in the afternoon sun of that venue, looking like a dream come true.
For what could be hours, you stay there, pressed up against him, kissing at his skin, until he shifts his legs, just slightly, enough to press one somewhere between yours, a soft presence halted by the fabric of your dress.
Breathless, you break the kiss and he lays a sweet peck against your temple, an echo of earlier, before he begins to nose at the line of your jaw, your neck. Kissing then sucking at the divot along your collar while you pant. “Ryland,”
He says your name, just as breathless against your skin, his hand dropping the jacket to pull at the chord of your dress.
“Is your doorway where you take all the girls?”
“There are no other girls.” He murmurs like a confession, far more earnest than you’d been prepared for.
“Just me?”
He pulls back, pupils blow wide and face flushed blotchy and red. “Yeah.”
Ryland leans forwards, crowds impossibly close until your feet begin to shuffle, back, back, back into his studio apartment. It passes in a blur as he presses in to kiss your lips again, glued to them until he deems it’s been enough backwards paces and presses another kiss to your jaw. Using his grip on your sides, Ryland turns you around, folds in around behind you.
His bed’s unmade, messy sheets splayed out in front of you, a pile of sage green cotton that feels like a promise, a sight you’ve dreamed about far too many times.
There’s pressure there, against your ass, a hard length that’s tight against his slacks and it makes your stomach swoop to know he’s so turned on by the slow kissing you’d been thinking about all night. His shuddering breath rushes like wind by your ear, as his fingers pull at the bow he’d tied himself. “Been thinking about this for too long.”
“Yeah?” You shudder when his lips find their place against your neck, sucking and biting at the skin there in a way that will probably result in a lasting reminder. “Since you laced it up?”
“Since you showed me this zipper." He pulls at it and the fabric gives, parting to sit low on your hips. Ryland kisses at the juncture of your throat, biting, and nipping.
The dress doesn’t fall, not with the straps still hanging loosely from your shoulders, but it’s a damn near thing. One of Ryland’s hands winds around your waist, dragging you back against him as he presses up with one slow grind that has him choking on a groan. His cock, still trapped in his slacks, drags between the zip and against your underwear in a tease that’s maddening with far too much still left to your imagination.
You try to turn but he’s got you wrapped up so firmly in his arms that it’s not plausible, so instead you reach a hand back, over your shoulder to tug at the knot of his tie, fingers slipping against the silky marital, catching in the bulk to it to tug. A particularly hard tug has him whining.
“Okay,” You huff out as he sucks a little harder just under your jaw that will definitely result in a hickey if you let him continue for much longer. “Come on, don’t you wanna fuck me?”
You punctuate this by groping around between you both until you get a hand over his cock, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Need to remember this bit.” He mumbles, hand around your waist retreating to slip inside your dress from behind, curving back around so his fingers can skate over the soft skin of your stomach, tips slipping just under the waistband of your panties.
It has you clenching down on nothing and you become actually aware of how uncomfortably wet you’re beginning to get. You squeeze your thighs together, squirming in his grasp.
“Next time, Ry-” He splays his hand over your stomach, using it to press you back into him. “Ryland, come on. Need you.”
It tumbles out in a breathy whine, and it’s like you’ve said the magic words. He’s turning you around in his grasp, hands reaching up to slip the straps off your shoulders and marvel at the sight.
He swallows as you reach for his tie again, loosening it gently now you can get your fingers into the knot properly. Ryland’s hands hover nervously before settling against your rib cage, fingers brushing anxiously against the underside of your breasts.
Your dress was not one that lent itself to a bra, so you’d gone without. You had assumed that he’d figured that one out, given how he’d both laced and un-laced the back of it, but now that it’s out of the way, he’s looking at your chest like he hadn’t expected to see it so quickly.
“You mean it?” He manages, sounding all tongue tied as you pry the tie off, letting it fall onto the floor, blending into the puddle of your dress- a perfect shade match. “I.. I get a next time?”
“Yeah.” You breathe, working on his shirt buttons, one after the other, coming apart as easily as Ryland did under your gaze. “As many as you want.”
When you get to the bottom of his shirt and reach for the belt buckle, Ryland’s hands move from where they’ve been gently nudging your breasts, to your wrists, snagging them gently as he pulls them back. His shoes nudged against yours, another one of those silent signals to step back that you didn’t know you understood so well until tonight.
“Let me.” He says, one hand coming to your hip to push you gently back and down onto his bed.
You land softly, mattress springing underneath you as you shuffle back, leaning on your elbows to gaze up at him as he toes off his shoes and pulls off his socks, a little off balance like the whole path from the door has altered his centre of gravity.
Ryland is a sight, heaven-sent.
His hair’s spiked out in six different directions, and you want to scratch at his scalp and pull at the strands all over again. He slides his glasses down his nose and sets them on the nightstand. The skin of his chest is just as tanned as his arms, a wide expanse that’s begging to be marked up with your teeth and nails.
The belt buckle clinks softly in the empty air as he slips it open, unbuttoning his slacks before he shrugs the black dress shirt off. God, you want to bite his shoulders.
Your teeth clamp down on your tongue at the thought, kind of wishing the tie was in the picture so you could pull him down on top of you. Just when you’re about to reach up, aiming for his shoulder or maybe even his cheek, Ryland surprises you by taking a knee.
His fingers are a little clumsy as they wrap around the heel of your left shoe, pulling it up onto his bent knee as he fumbles with the buckle. He’s gentle with it, more careful than he was with his own shoes that are certainly worth more than your cheap pair, right shoe, then the left.
Still, it has your stomach tied up in knots to witness with just how much reverence he’s treating you. And the sight of Ryland between your legs is certainly one you could get used to.
He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee before blinking up at you. “Are you… Can I-”
Ryland cuts himself off and that same unwarranted nervousness from before takes over his face, fingers curling tightly around your ankle, as if to ground himself. You smile at him, something that feels a little too giddy and a little too much like your 20 year-old self from college, fumbling and laughing your way to bed. “What is it Ry? You’ve already got me on your bed, no need to be shy.”
He bites his bottom lip, rolling it between his teeth as he considers the words. “If you say so.”
Then he gently leads your leg, by the ankle that’s still gripped tightly in his palm, off his propped leg as he drops it to kneel, and hooks it over his shoulder. Ryland kisses a path up your calf and along the inside of your leg and with an overwhelming flood of realisation, you fall back against the bed, bracing for the moment where he presses a soft kiss on your clit, through the fabric of your underwear.
Despite his earlier hesitance, Ryland does not dilly-dally. Once he hears your shuddering breath that sounds more like a moan than anything else, he hooks a thumb though the crotch of your panties, pulls them to the side and presses another slow kiss against you.
It’s maddening, has you gasping out his name as he licks a stripe up your cunt, sighing into it like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. He’s been teasing you long enough that when he presses two fingers along your folds, teasing the resistance of it, they sink in easily. He hooks them up, pressing up against the spongy wall and pulls another moan from your lips.
You're not sure how long Ryland spends between your legs with your hands in his hair and name on your lips, but it’s got you dizzy, clenching around his fingers as he strokes them inside you, languid and slow as he lays gentle kisses over your clit. His stubble scratches against your thighs in a way you’d expected to hate, but are getting rather fond of.
It’s a slow build that crests with you moaning his name and clenching around his fingers as his tongue slows, your hips twitching a little with overstimulation post-orgasm. He moves his kisses to the inside of your thigh, the one not hooked over his shoulder as you catch your breath and it’s highly plausible that he’s leaving another hickey there.
When he does pull back, Ryland is just as breathless as you. Cheeks flushed and chest stuttering as he licked his lips clean. His pupils are blown wide, so much so you can hardly see the blue as he gazes up at you. “You said I could fuck you, right?”
“Yeah,” you swallow, throat scratchy and dry. “You can.”
With your head still spinning from the attention and care he’s taking with you, it’s a moment before you realise his hands are back at your hips as he shuffles you around the bed, up until he can fit his palm behind your head and lift it onto a pillow that smells like him.
Ryland’s above you, propped up on one elbow and a knee to keep his weight off your body. You can feel each heavy exhale on your cheek. “Like this?”
“Just like this.” You say, nodding hand reaching up for his cheek to pull him down into another slow, languid kiss.
He leans in close, whining against your mouth as you part your legs for him to set his between and get a hand on the small of his back, pressing until he gets the hint and grinds downs. It has you both moaning and panting against each other.
You’re getting impatient, and while he must have ditched the pants somewhere between eating you out and repositioning you right side up on the mattress, he’s still got his briefs on and you’re still wearing your underwear.
“Off,” You grunt, hand pulling at the waistband of his briefs.
Ryland’s head drops to the space beside yours, just above your shoulder as he reaches a hand down to pull his underwear down over his cock and down his legs, kicking them off somewhere at the end of the bed.
He gasps, a shaky exhale hitting your skin as you wrap your hand around the length of him.
Warm and heavy in your palm, he’s bigger than you’d expected. When you slide your hand up, swiping a thumb over the head of his dick, there’s so much precum that it pools on your thumb pad. You give him a slow pump, slide eased by the wetness.
Ryland mouths at the skin of your shoulder, and the hand he’s not using to keep himself above you finds its way to your hip, slipping under your panties, pulling at them.
“Condoms. I need-” He cuts himself off with another groan, biting into your skin then kissing it softly like an apology. “I need a condom.”
His hand slips out from your underwear and he gets his knees up either side of your hips to reach over, straining for the nightstand. You take the moment to kiss along his collarbone, using the hand that’s not wrapped around him to tug your panties down, wriggling them off and down your legs.
It doesn’t go unnoticed, and he drops the condom wrapper somewhere beside your head as his gaze whips back to your face. “I was going to do that.”
He sounds a little bit thrown, like he’d really been looking forwards to pulling your panties off.
“You were also going to fuck me.” You prod, giving his cock another languid stroke, watching his face contort with pleasure as he groans. He eases himself back over you, legs between yours and his weight pressing down in a way that has you sighing in contentment.
“Not fair.” He pants, forehead dropping against yours. A hand, so gentle and far too tender comes up to brush the hair by your temple, away from your eyes. “Next time, you let me take my time, okay?”
You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “We’ll take turns.”
The condom wrapper crinkles in your fingers and you pinch the edge of it between your teeth and rip the corner off, splitting it open with your thumb. Ryland whines, louder and needier than you’d heard him all night, when you roll it over his dick, hips bucking into your hand and cock bumping against your stomach.
He gets his hand down between your bodies, runs three of his fingers through your folds, making your breath hitch. Then he nudges your hand out of the way and runs his cock though them next. You whine, high pitched and stuttered.
It’s a slow steady push when he slips inside you, one that draws out a long moan from your lips. Ryland moans your name, panting and kissing at your throat.
“God,” he pants. “You feel so good, baby.”
A broken whine sneaks past your lips, one hand reaching up to slide around the back of his neck, to lead his face back to yours so you can kiss him all over again.
This type of slow kissing might have been your new favorite, Ryland’s tongue teasing the seam of your lips before you slip them apart, tracing the line of his teeth with your own tongue. He rolls his hips, grinding down in a slow motion. The curve of his cock drags along your walls, along that spongy spot before bumping so deep inside that it must hit your cervix.
You hook a leg up around his waist and it has his stomach pressing up against your clit when he moves again. Moaning into his mouth, you see stars. “Fuck, that’s perfect- so good.”
Your fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling in a way that earns you a whine and a jerky thrust of his hips. “Y-yeah?”
“Yeah Ry- perfect. Feel so full.” The praise kicks him into gear and his slow occasional grinds turn into a building pace, hips pushing against yours and he buries himself to the hilt with every thrust.
You kiss at the line of his jaw, mouthing and biting at the stubble there. He moans, sharp exhale hitting your cheek. “‘M not gonna last much longer, sw-swetheart.”
“S’okay. Let go, baby.” You murmur by his ear, free hand slipping down to press against your clit.
The pressure alone is almost enough to tip you over the edge, pussy spasming around him. Ryland groans, loud and unrestrained, his rhythm falling apart as you do.
When he does come, he manages a couple more thrusts, shallow as they nudge up against that perfect spot inside you. Ryland whines, shaking a little with over stimulation.
“Couple more.” You moan, fingers winding tight little circles over your clit. “Almost there.”
Your spine goes stiff and a drawn-out whine slips out as you cum, clenching around the weight of him. Ryland stills inside, buried deep as he pants.
Slowly, he eases himself down over you, the gentle pressure of his weight relaxing. Ryland only takes a few moments there though, before sliding an arm under you and around your waist, slowly rolling you both, so he’s sprawled out with his back on those sage green sheets with you draped over him.
He kisses your temple, mumbling your name like a prayer. “‘S a good kissing booth. Might be a repeat customer.”
You push up a little to look at him, hands either side of his chest, and a hitched breath sputters out of his lips as you shift, his cock still inside you. “Might? What happened to ‘next time’?”
He smiles at you, hands reaching for your hips as he draws slow lines up and down your skin with his thumbs. “Well, I don’t wanna push my luck.”
“You’re not pushing anything.” You murmur, leaning back down to kiss him proper.
Once the aftershocks of your orgasm have faded and the idea of being empty no longer pulls painfully at your chest, you raise your hips up and let Ryland’s now soft cock slip out. He exhales heavily, and you lay beside him, eyes on the slow spinning ceiling fan.
He sits himself up not long after, slips the condom off and wanders off to the tiny door that you now know is his bathroom. He comes back with a damp cloth, smiling at you shyly as he cleans you up, gentle swipes over your core and along the inside of your thighs.
Ryland walks over and pulls some boxers on, then returns to the bed to slide a pair over your hips too. “You want a shirt?”
You bite your bottom lip in a poor attempt to smother a grin. “Only if it’s one of your nerdy ones.”
He kisses the smile off your lips and wanders back over to his wardrobe, throws a shirt in your general direction then goes about fixing the sheets.
You admire the sight. It had never occurred to you how nice his arms were, you want them around you again. He pulls the sheets straight, then up over you before he crawls in beside you.
“This okay?” He asks, pulling you over to lay up against him.
“More than okay.” You snuggle closer, cheek pressed against the warm plane of his chest. “Been thinking about this.”
The confession slips out in a rush of endorphins, like you’re so happy to be wrapped up in his arms and sheets, smelling like him, that you just can’t help but let him know.
You can hear the confusion in his voice when he speaks. “Having sex with me?”
No. You almost say, even though you had. It wasn’t where you were trying to go with this though. “Sleeping in your bed. With you.”
The rise and fall of his chest, of a heavy exhale, moves beneath you. “Oh.”
“I think our next date should be trivia.” You declare, a quiet sort of smile on your lips as his fingers trace slow little circles on your back between the waistband of your borrowed boxers and the ridden up hem of the shirt. “So we can get it right this time.”
“Deal.”
[ Masterlist ]
baby's first Goose fic? more proabaly on the way, although next fic published will proabaly be an oc one, with either Ryland Grace or Holland March from the nice guys.
a work by @vivsribbon | 🪐 | warnings - unprotected pinv, praising, breeding k¡nk, submissive!grace, fingers in mouth, semi-public sex (?), cursing uhh thats all i think
synopsis - When Rocky innocently questions why Ryland and you aren’t a “mating pair,” an awkward conversation forces feelings and more to show themselves
smut fluff angst | side note - me and my friend have been obsessing over him so i had to... for u mwah @metricrapier
The control room was quieter than usual.
Not silent—nothing on the Hail Mary was ever truly silent with pumps humming behind the walls and Rocky clicking faintly somewhere nearby—but calm enough that Ryland could hear the soft scrape of your sock against the floor as you drifted beside him.
Rocky was in his tunnel, working on something metallic and complicated that neither of you fully understood. Every few seconds came the sharp tap tap tap of his claws against the hull.
Ryland squinted at a spreadsheet floating on his screen. “Okay. If this culture dies again, I’m officially resigning from science.”
“You can’t resign from science.”
“Watch me.”
“You’re literally in space.”
“I’ll resign harder.”
A pleased chirping sound came from Rocky’s tunnel. “Rocky agrees with me,” you said.
“Rocky thinks eating metal is a personality trait.”
“Is it not?”
Rocky suddenly emerged from the tunnel opening, carrying what looked like three wires and half a wrench. His carapace clicked thoughtfully.
“Question,” Rocky said through the translator.
Ryland pointed dramatically at you. “They’re in charge of questions today.”
“You are both in charge,” Rocky replied.
“Terrifying.” Rocky tilted his body slightly, which you’d learned meant curiosity. “Human mating question.”
The room went still. Ryland froze with one hand halfway to his tablet.
You blinked once. “Oh no.”
“Yes,” Rocky said cheerfully. “Oh no.”
Ryland coughed into his sleeve. “Buddy, that sentence has historically never ended well.”
Rocky ignored him completely.
“You two are not mating pair,” he said matter-of-factly. “But you behave like mating pair. Explain.”
Your face instantly went hot.
Ryland made a noise somewhere between a choke and a laugh. “Rocky—”
“You share food. You sit near each other always. You become distressed when one is hurt. You make many stupid jokes only for each other. Mating behavior.”
“That is not—” you started.
“It kind of is,” Ryland muttered at the same time.
You turned toward him so fast you nearly drifted into the console. “Whose side are you on?”
“I don’t know! Rocky came prepared with evidence!”
Rocky’s claws clicked against the floor in satisfaction. “Correct. I observe.”
“Please stop observing,” you said weakly.
“Cannot. Scientist.”
Ryland pressed both hands over his face. “I’m going to eject myself out the airlock.”
“You would die,” Rocky informed him.
“Thank you, Rocky.”
“You are welcome.”
There was a horrible, awkward silence. Then Rocky asked, completely serious: “So why not mating pair?”
You stared at him. Ryland stared at him. Rocky waited patiently.
“I—” Ryland started, then stopped immediately.
Your heartbeat felt embarrassingly loud. Finally you pointed toward the tunnel. “Rocky. Go work on your thing.”
“But—”
“Now.” You said in that demanding tone that Grace would never admit turned him on.
A disappointed trill echoed through the room, but Rocky eventually disappeared back into the tunnel, muttering something in Eridian that the translator refused to interpret.
The second he was gone, silence crashed over the room again. Ryland still wouldn’t look at you.
You focused very hard on a random bolt in the wall. “So. That happened.”
“Yep.”
“Cool.”
“Super cool.” Another pause. Then, quietly: “I mean… he’s not completely wrong.”
You looked over.
Ryland was staring at the floor now, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. Nervous. You realized suddenly that you’d almost never seen him nervous around you before.
“What part?” you asked carefully.
He laughed once under his breath. “You really wanna make me say it out loud?”
“Maybe I do."
That finally got him to look at you.
And the expression on his face made your stomach flip unexpectedly—soft around the edges, uncertain in a way Ryland Grace almost never was.
“I think,” he said slowly, “if we weren’t trapped together millions of miles from Earth, I probably would’ve asked you out a long time ago.”
The air suddenly felt too thin.
"So why didn't you?" You asked with a quirk of your brow.
That sure got Grace to shut up. His eyes widened, looking around to make sure he wasn't hearing things.
"Why, did you want me to?"
"Yes."
Now his face was as red as a lobster. You wanted him to ask you out?
"Oh. Well I– I just assumed you'd say no."
You let out a scoff, running a hand through your hair before standing up and walking near to him. You stopped just before his chair, his stupidly submissive eyes looking up at you.
"You're a scientist. I thought rule one was to never assume?"
Your tone and close presence sent a chill down Grace's spine. His hands hovered close to your hips, still not ballsy enough to actually touch you. You were right, just like you always were.
"Yeah.. yeah, no, you're right. Shouldn't have assumed." He sounded nervous now, like there was a lump in his throat due to proximity.
Your finger hooked under his chin to keep his eyes on you. "What're you thinking about right now?" Of course you had some sort of idea as to what his answer would be. You'd been on the Hail Mary for a month now, no sex, no touching yourself, and now you were teasing him and you can yell he was pent up.
He let out a low groan before talking, his words shaky. "You... here, on my lap. On my lips, on me... please." He was breathing hard now, so needy and pathetic it caused you to chuckle a little.
Instead of teasing more (because God were you needy too) you sat down on his lap, knees on either side of his thighs but not putting all your weight on him yet.
"Is this okay?"
"Yes, yes, more than okay," he nodded frantically.
Suddenly he crashed his lips into yours, his hands apparently having a mind of their own as they found their way to your face, cupping your cheeks to keep you from pulling back.
You kissed him with equal intensity, grinding down onto him just once to be cruel, making him whimper under you.
"Can't wait. Waited too long, please, ride me, something."
He was begging.
It was adorable, really. And you would've made him beg further if you hadn't been so wet for him already. You couldn't wait it out either.
Since words were too hard to form right now, you lifted your hips and unbuckled the jeans you had on, letting them fall to your ankles.
Ryland watched with a burning intensity, his eyes locking on the wet spot on your panties that made his throat go dry.
While there was still space between you, you quickly unfastened his pants too, tugging them down mid-thigh.
He was bulging through his boxers, the dark blue ones with planets all over them. They were so him it was endearing but Grace's face was flushed pink when he saw you noticed.
And because he couldn't take it anymore, he pushed down his underwear so they were met with the pants he wore dangling from his legs. His cock bounced from them, his tip hitting his stomach.
You, ever the impatient, looked up at him just once like asking for permission. It didn't take a verbal response. When you saw the need in his eyes your head darted to his neck, sucking and kissing while you pushed your panties to the side and guided him to your entrance.
Grace's bottom lip with bitten in so hard he thought he might break skin, trying to keep quiet due to Rocky's annoyingly impeccable hearing.
When you sunk down onto him, he couldn't hold it in anymore. A loud moan erupted from him, his head falling back onto the headrest of the chair. You bit his neck hard to stifle your noises.
His hands went to your waist, lightly moving you back and forth on his dick. You released your teeth from him and whined when his girth rubbed against your gummy walls just right.
You looked at him, jaw slack with endless huffs coming from your mouth. The sight was one Ryland wanted to keep forever and one that made his groans all the more prominent.
"Fuck, fuck, sweetheart–"
His words were cut off with your fingers in his mouth. He immediately folded, sucking on your digits lightly.
"Sound so pretty, baby, but you gotta be quiet, okay?"
He just nodded, his hips jerking up instinctively making his tip hit your cervix hard. You hiccuped a moan, instantly shutting yourself up by biting your lip at a bruising strength.
Rolling your hips down onto him made you further and further reach your climax. "I'm so close. Need you to come in me, please Dr. Grace."
And that title was all it took for him to spurt his seed into you, leaking white, sticky liquid dripping out of you. You came after, so hard you practically saw stars. You couldn't help but whimper, the sound high pitched that made Ryland bite your fingers harder, but not enough to silence the groan that erupted.
"So good.. you did so good for me, baby." He whispered to you, letting your hand fall.
Once both of you had caught your breath you removed your fingers from his mouth and looked at him with attention for the first time since having him inside you.
"Next time... we're going to the back and I'm gonna hear all those beautiful noises you make, yeah?"
"Next time?"
"What, you don't wanna do that again?"
He shook his head ferociously. "No, no I absolutely do. Need to."
"Good."
After giving him a quick peck to the cheek, you rose up from his slick cock, whining when his length slid out of you completely. Your legs were wobbly but you found your balance, kicking your panties off and wiping yourself with them because of lack of material and water for a shower.
"God, you're hot."
The words made you giggle a little, throwing the underwear at him. He caught it, shocked just a bit. Pulling his pants up now and shoving your intimates in his pocket.
Grace stood, standing behind you with his hands on your waist and kissed your neck once. "Fuck, you even smell like sex. Damn irresistible."
And of course, because God forbid you have a good moment, Rocky pushes through the door of the shuttle. Ryland immediately fumbled back, one hand scratching his neck nervously.
"Hi Rocky," you said awkwardly.
"Why Grace make noise when mate, question?"
"What?!" He turned a bright pink at the accusation, only making you laugh harder than you were.
"You laugh. You make noise too."
Well. That shut you up.
Of course Grace chuckled, to which you reached your hand behind and slapped his torso and he instantly zipped his lips.
"You two are mates now, question?"
"We haven't talked about that yet, Rocky." You sighed, running a hand along your face.
"You are."
Ryland huffed loudly, stepping a little closer to you again. "Well, if Rocky says..."
when I say I want jiraiya and they think I mean the 25 year old skinny era, but in reality I mean the 50 year old perv, with hands big enough to crush my head, and a death wish era
oh i’m gonna BUST
the ressurected one @lithvanel - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
