TW: Ryland Grace Smut Headcanon đȘđ

Andulka
No title available
No title available
we're not kids anymore.
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Misplaced Lens Cap

Discoholic đȘ©
official daine visual archive

ellievsbear

No title available
trying on a metaphor
macklin celebrini has autism
Keni
No title available
Aqua Utopiaïœæ”·ăźćșă§èšæ¶ă玥ă
taylor price
YOU ARE THE REASON

if i look back, i am lost
đ©” avery cochrane đ©”

pixel skylines
seen from Armenia

seen from Pakistan
seen from Gabon

seen from Uruguay

seen from Netherlands
seen from Pakistan

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from TĂŒrkiye
seen from United States
seen from Saudi Arabia

seen from Singapore

seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from Israel
seen from Argentina
seen from United Arab Emirates
seen from Ecuador
@procrastination20
TW: Ryland Grace Smut Headcanon đȘđ
I need someone to write this, because Iâm bad at writing. CollegeTutor/Boyfriend!Ryland Grace absolutely pounding you into next year, while telling you facts/ things you need to remember for your chemistry test on Monday. After he makes you cum he has you attempt to tell him back the information he just told you. If you canât remember, you start all over again.
You guys are there for a while.
I love nerdy men.
This is self indulgent because Iâm a chemistry major. đŹđ€€đ
â if youâre a writer and have seen this in your inbox. Donât mind me Iâm a desperate whore for fictional men.
Bucky is such a beautiful man but sometimes they do him dirty istg
god I love men.
Happy Moanday, lovelies.
Just thinking about Bucky being in a mood and you calling him a grumpy old man because, well, that's exactly how he has been acting all day.
Just for him to fuck you for hours on end, smirking when you fall apart again and again, asking if you can keep up with an old man like him and-
Fly Me To The Moon : ÌÌâ Ryland Grace x Reader
Pairing: Teacher!Ryland Grace x Teacher!Reader
Summary: The entire school knew how close you and Ryland Grace had become since you'd joined Grover Cleveland Middle's staff a year prior. That knowledge only fueled the rumor mill, that one that ran between the staff and students alike, on just how close the two of you were. It didn't help that you were definitely head over heels for the slightly awkward and endearing science teacher.
Warnings: pre-Project Hail Mary and should not include spoilers but caution anyways just in case, pre-movie storyline, tooth-rotting fluff, idiots in love, workplace romance, friends to lovers, slightly suggestive-ish comments but no smut, female reader but no characteristics described, definitely some incorrect science information but I am not a scientist so apologies, I am also not a teacher so I am sorry for any inaccuracies there lol, lightly edited so apologies for any mistakes
Word Count: 14,596 words
Requests are open! : ÌÌâ Find my masterlist here
â§ïœ„ïŸ: *â§ïœ„ïŸ:* â§ïœ„ïŸ: â§ïœ„ïŸ: â§ïœ„ïŸ: â§ïœ„ïŸ: â§ïœ„ïŸ: â§ïœ„ïŸ: â§ïœ„ïŸ: â§ïœ„ïŸ: â§ïœ„ïŸ: â§ïœ„ïŸ: â§ïœ„ïŸ: â§ïœ„ïŸ: â§
âCan anyone tell me why it was that Penelope asked her suitors to string Odysseusâs bow?â
The silence that followed was deafening. Your eyes shut for half a second, a tiny sigh escaping through your lips. Reopening your eyes, not a single one of your students had dared to raise their hands. No one except for Olivia, your star student, who waved her hand repeatedly in the air from the back of the classroom. A single glance to the clock told you all you needed to know.
11:55. These kids were already in lunch mode, and there was zero way you were getting them to listen to you.
With a sigh and a wave of your hand, you gave Olivia the okay to answer the question. She happily took your permission and ran with it, always the first to answer any questions you posed in class. If only the rest of these damn middle schoolers were as eager as she was.
âPenelope didnât want to marry anyone else, so she gave them an impossible task,â
âWhy does she always know everything?â
Marcus thought his comment was whispered just low enough that you wouldnât hear him in the first row, but he was never quite that lucky. He quickly shut his mouth and looked anywhere but in your direction the second he caught sight of the disapproving look you were casting directly at him.
âYou are exactly right, Olivia. Thank you for answering my question,â there were a few chuckles in the room at the obvious sarcasm laced through your words, as you hopped up onto your desk to relax and get a better look around the room full of kids. âPenelope knew the only person that could string her husbandâs bow, was her husband himself. She needed to buy time, especially when these suitors only really wanted to be the ones to inherit Ithaca-â
There was a loud knocking on the door to your classroom that had been left open for the last 20 minutes of class, interrupting your words. You werenât surprised in the slightest to meet the eyes of none other than Ryland Grace, the science teacher.
âUh- sorry! Didnât mean to interrupt important book talk stuff. Super important, you uh-you never know when Shakespeare will come up at your future desk job,â the cringe that Ryland physically did at his own comment was easy to see, even from across the room. He gave you a sheepish smile, his glasses barely hanging onto his face from their unconventional spot hanging off of one of his ears. The blonde held up the brown bag in his hand, and you could practically smell the food that rested inside. âIâm early, Iâm sorry. Didnât think youâd want to have a cold burger for lunch.â
âI told you!â Marcus still didnât understand the concept of a whisper, leaning over to his best friend Jason at the desk beside him, slapping him on the arm. âTheyâre totally dating!â
âAs if Mr. Grace could pull her,â
There was a chorus of snickers and laughter through the class, any semblance of order you mightâve had descending into chaos as every single one of your loveable, little shits just kept casting looks between you and Ryland, who still stood awkwardly in your classroom doorway with reddened cheeks.
Your face was surely no better, you were sure you could feel the heat that was emanating off of your skin, as you ran a hand down the burning skin of your face and wondered why you chose to teach these little menaces for the rest of your life. The world decided to be kind to the pair of you though, for once, letting the lunch bell save you from any further embarrassment from a group of 13 year olds.
âPlease come to class prepared to actually answer questions tomorrow!â you called out over the hustle and bustle of the class as they grabbed their things, eager to scurry off to their lunch hour and finally eat. âYour unit test is at the end of next week, and I would prefer not to fail all of you.â
They werenât listening, but by this point in the day you were hungry and didnât have the energy to try and argue with them.
Any of that tiredness they brought to your bones? It disappeared the second you watched the way they all interacted with Ryland on their way out the door.
Big smiles, every single one of them excited to see the schoolâs favorite science teacher lingering in the doorway to their English class. You could just barely hear the tail end of one of Rylandâs terrible science puns, something about a hungry planet needing a âlight snackâ that got a groan out of Marcus. All it did was bring a soft smile to your face, though, one that somehow softened even more at the quick, secret handshake Olivia shared with him before she was out the door.
Then, it was just the two of you, smiling like idiots as you locked eyes across the room again. And god, did you want that fluttering group of butterflies in your stomach to calm down for just a moment.
Having a crush on Dr. Ryland Grace, the former molecular biologist turned San Francisco middle school science teacher, was inevitable from the moment you turned up at the school for your first day over a year ago. Incredibly smart, amazing with kids, and so incredibly handsome you thought your heart stopped beating the first time you saw himâhell, Mrs. Doyle, the math teacher for over 5 years, said there were at least 4 other young teachers that absolutely had crushes on this man. You were far from the first.
He broke that perfect vision of himself you were building in your head within 5 minutes of meeting, tripping over his own two feet and knocking the stack of papers a mile high from the Principalâs hands, but you had only found it even more endearing.
âI didnât mean to interrupt,â he apologized again, long legs striding across the room and reaching your desk in a matter of seconds. âI had a free period before this, a-and you mentioned this morning you forgot lunch so I grabbed some for both of us-â
âSalâs?â you questioned, pointing to the bag of foot now sitting on your desk with the familiar logo. âTheyâre, like, 10 blocks away. Whyâd you go that far?â
âBecause I know theyâre your favorite,â
The flare of heat in your cheeks was instant. Ryland Grace, who rode a damn bike to the school every day, used his free period to ride 10 blocks away and pick you up lunch from your favorite spot, all because you mentioned offhandedly at 7 a.m. about forgetting your lunch for the day.
Well, he certainly didnât do that for the four fresh out of college teachers that had crushes on him. Youâd mentally consider that a hefty win in your book.
âHow sweet of you to remember,â Ryland simply waved you off, head turned away as he passed your wrapped burger into your hands, taking up space on your desk chair while you stayed comfortable on top of your desk. âYou even remembered tomatoes this time!â
âI forgot them one time and I never hear the end of it,â laughter was shared between you both for a moment as Grace took a bite of his own burger. âI caught the tail end of that discussion. Olivia answering all your questions like a champ?â
âIsnât she always,â you shot back with another laugh, turning slightly on your desk to better face him. âI swear sheâs the only one that I can ever get to answer any of my questions. She might be the only one that does any of my assigned readings.â
âTo be fair, can you blame her?â Rylandâs words were muffled slightly by the food in his mouth. You couldnât even contain the slight smile that grew as he managed to just barely catch the ketchup dripping off his burger before it could smear itself on the stack of papers that needed graded at your desk. âShakespeare was justâŠso interesting. Couldnât get enough of his stuff. Donât know why your kids donât want to read it.â
There was silence for a moment, your eyebrow quirked in his direction. The blonde stopped mid bite of his burger, looking back at you quizzically, trying to figure out what he had said wrong.
âYou know weâre currently learning The Odyssey, right?â
âYes?â
âIâll let you think about that for a second,â
He did, just slowly blinking in your direction. He glanced at the chalkboard behind you, covering in little notes youâd made throughout the class discussion, before they flickered to the copy of the book that sat on your desk. That was finally when you saw the light bulb flicker on above his head, Rylandâs eyes shutting as he let out a loud sigh.
â...that wasnât written by Shakespeare, was it?â
The laughter that bubbled out of you practically had you throwing your head backward.
âNo, but Iâm sure Homer wonât be too offended,â feet landing on the ground as you hopped off your desk, you gave Rylandâs shoulder a quick squeeze as you moved past him. âThe attempt was cute, though, it was a good try.â
Cute. Why in the world did you let that one slip? You were practically cursing yourself in your head for that one, taking another bite of your burger as you worked to erase the whiteboard to prepare it for your next class. You didnât dare steal a glance over at Ryland, in fear that your little slip-up was going to ruin everything.
There was only quiet for a moment before the single moment of awkwardness was gone.
âI promise you I know Homer wrote that. I swear!â
The desperation to believe him drew another laugh out of you. Sparing a glance in his direction, Ryland was giving you his best, exaggerated puppy dog eyes, begging you to believe him, as a smile just barely squeaked its way onto his lips.
âRight, of course you did. My mistake. Whatever you say, Ryland-â
âI mean it!â It was his turn to laugh this time, a sound that had those butterflies rattling around once more. âI was justâŠdistracted.â
âUh-huh, distracted,â as if you were preparing to scold one of your students, you turned to face him fully with a hand on your hip, eyebrow raised expectantly. âBy what, exactly?â
If a human being could buffer, Ryland Grace always seemed to be constantly buffering. Your eyebrow remained raised, waiting for him to piece together his response. All he could do was open and close his mouth like a fish, before looking away and taking another bite of his food.
âNevermind that, just finish your food before it gets cold. I did bike, like, three miles to get that thing,â
With a roll of your eyes that held zero malice what-so-ever, you made sure the blonde could see your next bite of your food, a satisfied smile on his face.
âBack to the previous topic,â you steered the conversation in another direction, wiping off the last bits of chalk on the board and writing down your next period at the top so that you could start the discussion on the reading over again. âI donât understand why itâs so hard to get some of these kids to just read the content. They all pay attention in your class!â
âI heard Jason make a comment yesterday during class that Marcus has a crush on Olivia. Maybe theyâre too distracted to read,â
You shot him a skeptical look.
âMarcus, crushing on Olivia? He was just making fun of her before you came in the room,â
Ryland averted his eyes, suddenly very interested in his ID badge hanging around his neck from his school issues lanyard.
âW-well, maybe he just doesnâtâŠknow how to express his feelings,â he spared a glance up at you, seeing you were still watching, as he tripped over his words again. âIt can be hard for boysâand menâof all ages, toâŠtell someone how they feel.â
âWell, I donât know where heâs learning from, but making fun of the girl you like isnât the right way to go about things,â you shot back.
âThen teach them!â Ryland sounded absolutely ecstatic, that light bulb over his head going off again as he looked like heâd come up with the worldâs greatest idea. âClassic literature, thereâs plenty of great love stories in there. Get his interest by teaching them about that, so he can learn from them.â
âAlright, give me an example then, Mr. Suddenly an Expert in Classic Literature,â
âRomeo and Juliet,â he said like it was the easiest thing in the world, balling up the remnants of his finished food and tossing it in the bag it came in. âGreatest love story ever told, so great Taylor Swift wrote a song about them.â
âExcept they donât run off and get married and live happily ever after, Ryland. Romeo thinks she is dead and kills himself with poison, and when Juliet realizes heâs dead she stabs herself,â
Rylandâs excitement fell slightly, his mouth forming a little âoâ shape.
â...oh,â
âDonât think thatâs what I want to teach young, impressionable pre-teens about love-â
âDaisy and Gatsby, then! He loved her so much he stood on that dock staring at the-the bright yellow light of a stoplight for her,â
âIt was a green light and it was the dock light, first of all. Iâm not even sure how you could be that off. Secondly, Gatsby is murdered at the end of the book and Daisy doesnât even attend the funeral, she and Tom move away and pretend it never happened,â
Rylandâs eyes are shut at this point, his fingers massaging his temples and those glasses just barely hanging on from their place around his neck.
â...does anyone not die in these old books?â
The sound of your laughter permeates the room and you sweep over, collecting his trash and combining it with yours. You never even spared him a glance, though you could feel his eyes on you, as you swept the trash away with you to the other side of the room, his voice echoing across to you.
âIâm going to get lucky on one of these guesses!â
What Ryland Grace was really lucky about was how adorable you found him, and how head over heels you were for him, because his lack of literary knowledge was astounding.
â€ïž
âIâm sorry, youâre trying to tell me that arenât currently fucking the eye candy that is the science teacher in room 305?â
âEvelyn!â
Evelyn Doyle was in her late thirties, married since she was 18, and already had three kids with her high school sweetheart. Since you had transferred into Grover Cleveland Middle, youâd become fast friends and she had become a great mentor.
She had, sadly, caught onto your pathetic crush on Ryland Grace before you had even fully realized it, and was now âvicariously living through youâ as she always said.
âThereâs not a single child left in this entire school right now,â she shot back, gesturing around her empty classroom, as she finished cleaning up anything her students had left around at the end of the day. You rolled your eyes at her excuse, perched on the edge of her desk. âPlease, Iâm tenured, what are they going to do?â
âIâm more so yelling at you for butting into my love life, once again,â was your reply through laughter. âRyland and I are good friends, thatâs it.â
It was her turn to laugh, finishing up her cleanup around the room before she joined you at her desk, packing her things away into her shoulder bag.
âOh please, you keep denying that little crush of yours-â
âI never said I was denying that,â you cut her off. âLord, you realized I liked him before I even did. But he and I arenât anything besides friends. Iâm not lying.â
Your pleas fell on deaf ears, like they typically did when you were around Evelyn. She simply waved your statement off, tossing her bag over her shoulder as you followed her out of her room and down through the quiet of the school hallway. The quietest the hallway ever was, in the hours right after students were sent home for the day. Youâd rather be anywhere else, preferably at home, but these mandatory once-a-month staff meetings were unavoidable.
âWhether youâre telling me the truth or not, you have to understand why everyone thinks soâteachers AND students. I think even some parents think so!â The only response she got was an eyeroll, her shoulder bumping into yourâs playfully. âHe brings you lunch at least once a week, meaning he rides that dingy bike to get whatever youâre craving that day.â
âItâs usually just something random-â
âConstantly in your classroom, or vice versa,â she cut you off, and you quickly realized you werenât getting a single word into this conversation. âIâm pretty sure Principal Marshall has considered, somehow, moving your classroom closer to his just so heâll stop being late to classes because heâs busy talking to you.â
OkayâŠyeah, you didnât have a retort for that one. Your classroom was on the opposite end of the school building from Rylandâs own, and yet every time he had even a split second he was somehow always leaning in your doorway. Even if it only resulted in a conversation that lasted all of a minute.
Many times those ended with your students having to remind him that the bell rang and he definitely had students in his own class unattended, waiting on their teacher. More than once heâd slipped as he tried to sprint back to his classroom from yours. It didnât matter how short those little conversations were, though, because every second around him was precious to you.
âAwe, look at you blushing about it-â
You slapped Evelynâs hand away, throwing her a look of disdain that didnât really hold any true malice to it.
âLook, all Iâm saying is the ball is in his court,â was the response you finally settled on as Evelyn propped the door of the small auditorium open for you to enter. âRyland is nothing but friendly to me, so if heâs interested then heâs got to show me.â
âYouâre acting as if youâve made your own feelings clear, honey,â
âNo, but I clearly donât do a good enough job of hiding them,â
Speak of the devil: there he was. Rylandâs head shot up the moment the pair of you walked into the auditorium. Those damn glasses hanging down from one side of his face, framing his stubbled jawline perfectly. A smile lighting up his face the second those blue eyes found yours, gesturing to the empty seat beside him.
A packed auditorium, as you and Evelyn were the last ones there. Every seat up practically filled, and yet Ryland Grace sat among a crowd of people, eyes trained on you and a single seat saved for you amidst it all.
All you could feel was the heat in your cheeks, and the touch of Evelyn patting your back as she laughed, voice low but loud enough to hear as she shifted past you to find a seat of her own.
âDoesnât have interest in you my ass,â
Her words swam through your head with every apology you muttered to the other teachers as you snuck past them in the cramped rows, happily taking the empty seat beside Ryland.
âYou didnât have to save me a seat, you know,â your voice held a hint of teasing to it, but it was soft. Filled with an adoration that you knew you were terrible at hiding. Luckily, Ryland was terrible at picking up on it.
âWanted to sit next to you,â he whispered back as Principal Marshall began to drone on about updates neither of you particularly cared about. He leaned in close, a hint of his breath wafting over the shell of your ear as he spoke. âYou make these slightly less boring.â
Close proximity to this man was your worst nightmare, and the cramped auditorium wasnât helping. That single touch of his breath against your skin was enough to send a simultaneous shiver down your spine and another round of heat to your cheeks. His suit jacket covered arm rested on the shared armrest between your seats, the edge of his bicep ghosting against the bare skin of your arm with every little shift he made, tapping incessantly against the armrest.
The slight action made you smile. He never could sit still in these meetings, always hated them.
âDid anything fun happen in class today?â you kept your voice low, eyes trained on the principal, as your head tilted slightly over to Ryland so he could better hear you.
âUh, if you count Madison telling me that she thinks the sun orbits the earth, then sure,â you had to stifle your laugh at that, casting Ryland a side glance as he grinned at you, doing a terrible job of whispering back at you as usual.
âHow could she possibly think that?â
âYouâd be surprised,â Ryland leaned just a tad bit closer, the side of his arm pushed up fully against your own. You could almost hear the smile in his voice without even having to look over at him. âThe National Science Foundation estimates that 26% of Americans still think the sun orbits the earth.â
âJesus, that many?â
âWell, 100% of them are stupid, so,â
Nasty looks from other faculty were shot your way that second you choked on your own breath, slapping a hand over your mouth in an attempt to stop yourself from breaking out into uncontrollable laughter. You gave them the most sympathetic look you possibly could, learning how to breathe normally again before mouthing sorry at them all.
Ryland didnât care in the slightest for the warning look you shot him, a bright smile on his face as his eyes seemed to trail over every inch of your face.
âIf you keep doing this in every faculty meeting, theyâre going to separate us, Ry,â
âI met Madisonâs parents for the first time last month for parent-teacher conferences,â he continued, ignoring your plea. Instead, he leaned in even closer, eyes locked on yours, and god it was impossible to look away. âThey are, 100%, undeniably, part of the Flat Earth Truthers Club.â
You shook your head, a smile creeping back up on your lips. Rylandâs gaze could still be felt on the side of your face as you turned back to face the front, eyes focused back on the principal again in an attempt to pay attention to the meeting.
âFlat earthers are ridiculous. Theyâre just scared of science,â
âWell, you know what they sayâŠthe only thing they have to fear is sphere itself,â
There simply wasnât enough time to clap your hand over your mouth and conceal your laughter, a split second of it breaking through the quiet of the auditorium. And Ryland? His smile was somehow even brighter than it was before, still locked onto your face, never having strayed once.
âDr. Grace, is there something you feel needs to be shared with the rest of your fellow faculty?â
Principal Marshallâs voice was enough to knock Ryland out of whatever trance he seemed to have put himself in. Eyes wide as if heâd just seen a ghost, hands barely able to catch his glasses as they almost fell right off of his ear where they dangled, a burst of red spread through his cheeks instantly as his deer-like eyes locked onto the unamused principal.
âI-I uh, no. No, nothing, Principal Marshall,â he scratched at the back of his head, ruffling up his already messy hair, a nervous tick youâd picked up since the moment youâd met him. You simply buried your head in your head, eyes trained on your shoes and Ryland out of the corner of your gaze, terrified to look up at your fellow faculty that youâd already apologized to once. âJust getting super jazzed about faculty updates. Hard to keep it in here. Iâm like a mushroom, getting allâŠhyphaeâŠâ
A collective groan sounded through the auditorium at the terrible biology pun that rolled off of him with ease. All you could do was smile into the palm of your hand.
âPlease justâŠpay attention to the meeting, Dr. Grace, before I separate you and your other half,â
Other half. Thatâs not how she meant it, but it was impossible not to let your mind wander to the idea.
Early mornings. Coffee, the smell of eggs and toast burning in the kitchen. Ryland and his hair that was surely even more unkempt that early in the day. The guarantee that he definitely had about 120 science puns ready to go at any moment.
Late nights. Curled up on a couch. A movie, a shared blanket, warm in the embrace of his arms. The quiet of just being with someone that made you happy in ways youâd never felt before. The promise of another day with them on the horizon.
It was becoming increasingly harder not to think about Ryland Grace like that every day, of what a life with the awkward, endearing science teacher could be.
And as Principal Marshall continued her meeting, and your eyes met the blue ones that were already looking at you: soft, kind, a hint of something you couldnât understand in them, you could only dream he thought the same thoughts when he looked at you.
â€ïž
âAlright, who can tell me the day of the first human space flight?â
Not a single middle schooler, packed into the buildingâs planetarium, raised their hands at first. Many of them started whispering to each other, confused looks on their faces, but Ryland just waited with a smile on his face. A brave soldier from Mr. Harkinâs class, Damien, finally raised his hand.
âUh, Mr. Grace? Wouldnât thatâŠbe today?â
âExcatly!â Graceâs clap echoed through the room as he pointed toward the young kid sitting in the front row of seats. âInternational Day of Human Space Flight, commemorating the first human space flight by Yuri Gagarin. It was a trick question, and you passed my tiny friend.â
Were you excited about losing a chunk of your day to escorting your class to the planetarium, along with other classes in the building, for a special science presentation? Absolutely not, especially not with how terribly your class did on their last The Odyssey assignment.
When you found out that Ryland was giving the presentation during your allotted time? Suddenly, The Odyssey meant nothing to you. Not when you could watch Ryland teach, something he did so effortlessly.
The way he captured every single childâs attention with ease. That glowing smile on his face every time they answered a question right, and simply the way he seemed to love what he taught. You were captivated every time you got the chance to see him teaching the thing he loved so much.
âYuri Gagarin was a Soviet cosmonaut who became the first person in space in 1961 aboard the Vostok 1,â the planetarium was lit up with the night sky, little stars reflecting down. You could almost see them in the students eyes, in their bright smiles as they looked up into the vastness of space. Your eyes trailed to Ryland, already looking at you with a soft smile of his own, before he cleared his throat and moved throughout the room, focusing back on the kids. âOver the course of 89 minutes, his ship traveled to a maximum altitude of 187 miles, as it orbited the Earth.â
âWait, so we werenât the first people in space?â one of your students, Lydia, called out. Ryland laughed, pointing over at her.
âNo, we kind of sucked,â you rolled your eyes with a grin at Rylandâs statement, though it drew a laugh from all of the kids. âNo, America had actually scheduled its first space flight for May 1961, so this was a huge blow to us. It really heated up the space race.â
âHe really is good with them, isnât he?â
Glancing over, Mr. Harkin had saddled up beside you on the edge of the room, head tilted toward you and voice low so as to not disrupt the lesson the kids were being taught. Your gaze drifted back to Ryland as he continued his lesson, eliciting more laughter from the kids. It only brought another soft smile to rest on your lips.
âHe is, in a way that I just donât understand,â
Those blue eyes youâd become so fond of met yours for a moment across the room, face illuminated by the light projecting onto the planetariumâs dome walls. The little grin he wore seemed to drop just slightly, gaze still locked on you but flickering every moment over to Mr. Harkin as he spoke to the students. Harkinâs elbow dug lightly into your side.
âCareful, youâre giving him major âheart eyesâ across the room right now,â
You did your best to conceal your laughter, shooting Harkin a look, Rylandâs gaze still felt on the side of your face even as you looked away.
âWhy do I feel like Iâm about to find out that every teacher in this school has a secret betting ring going on when it comes to Ryland and I?â
âI mean, itâs not a secret. Principal Marshall runs the damn thing,â
âMr. Grace?â one of the youngest girls in the grade, Aurora, called out, raising her hand up to get Rylandâs attention. âMy mom told me the other day that thereâs 8 planets in our solar system. What happened to Pluto?â
Ryland went to answer when Mr. Harkin beside you laughed, capturing the attention of everyone in the room, as he shook his head at his young student.
âNo, honey, scientists a couple years ago decided that Pluto wasnât a planet anymore,â
Your eyes flickered to Ryland, who was already staring at Harkin from across the room as he tossed his little crochet earth back and forth in his hand. His response was a bit of a forced laugh.
âWell, your teacher isnât wrong. Scientists classified Pluto as a dwarf planet a couple years ago,â he explained to the kids, eyes trained on the little crochet sphere in his hands. âBut thereâs 8 other very important, even closer planets that we should focus on. I mean, who really cares about a tiny, slow planet that takes 248 years to orbit the sunâhonestly, he should just accept that heâs slowly falling into obscurity and stop trying to steal the spotlight.â
The room got quiet. Your eyebrow raised slightly, head tilted, as everyone just seemed to stare at Ryland, who had yet to look up.
âUh, Mr. Grace?â some student in the back called out. âWhy did you call Pluto âheâ? Are the planets boys and girls like us, too?â
Rylandâs head shot up, as if he suddenly remembered he was in a room full of students. His eyes shot to you, his mouth opening, then closing, before he quickly looked away.
âIâwellâŠplanets donât reallyâŠIâm not trying to misgender the planets, you know? Thatâs not for me to decide, thatâs for them toâyou know what, does anyone else have any other questions that arenât related to Pluto?â
You really didnât want to laugh at Ryland, but only he would be able to accidentally turn a lesson about space and planets into almost a lesson on bodily autonomy. He caught your eye, his widening just slightly and you could almost see his cry for help written across his face, but it only made your laughter worse.
It was little Madison that raised her hand next, speaking before sheâd even been called upon.
âAre you sure the Earth isnât the center of the universe?â
Ryland hung his head in shame, the shaking of his head evident from across the room as a few of the kids around laughed at the young girlâs comment. You were quick to shoot them a warning look, not keen to hand out any detentions today.
By the time your gaze turned back to Ryland, he was already looking at you. His gaze flickered to Harkin, then back to you, and it was like a light bulb had just flickered on the way his eyes lit up.
âYes, Madison, Iâm sure the Earth isnât the center of the universe. And I can show you,â his long legs crossed the room in seconds, his body sliding between you and Mr. Harkin as his hands landed on your shoulders with a tiny little squeeze that sent your heart leaping through your chest. âBut to do that, Iâm going to need this volunteer that Iâm not quite giving a choice.â
âItâs not volunteering if you didnât ask, Ry!â
You exasperatedly tried to whisper to Ryland as he steered you across the room to stand before all the kids. He only shook his head as a bunch of your own students started cheering for you around the room, only worsening the red that coated your cheeks the second his hands had landed on your body.
âI need you for this,â he shot back hastily, positioning you in the middle of the room, standing in front of you. His body blocked the students from your vision, blue eyes boring down into yours, hands gently squeezing at your upper arms as you begged the blush in your skin to not be too obvious. âYou trust me?â
A ridiculous question, because the only answer was yes. You gave him a nod, and Rylandâs smile only widened as he turned back to the kids in the room.
âAlright, kids. Your gorgeous teacher here is the Sun,â
Little oohs and awes sounded from the kids around the room at Rylandâs little slip in of the word âgorgeous.â There was a sting in your bottom lip as you bit into it with your teeth, trying to contain your own smile. Marcus spoke up from across the room without raising his hand, as usual.
âThen whatâs Mr. Harkin?â
âOh, heâs Pluto,â Ryland shot back immediately, nodding his head. âSuits him.â
Laughter rang through the room, the young boys as rambunctious as ever. Ryland met your astonished look with a tiny wink of his own, one that forced a small laugh to tumble from your lips. Then, he began to slowly spin, walking around you in a circle.
âAnd I am the Earth,â he called out to the kids, and you could only hope he didnât trip over his own two shoelaces. âThe Sun holds 99.8% of the mass in our solar system, which means itâs packing some massive gravity.â
Ryland stopped spinning himself, still moving around you in a circle. He held his hand out toward you, and you slipped yours into it without hesitation, spinning in that circle slowly with him.
âBecause the Sun holds such intense gravity, itâs actually pulling Earth into it. But, Earth has such high forward velocity that it actually keeps us moving sideways. Put these two together, and it keeps Earth moving in an almost perfect circle around the sun. Can anyone tell me another fun fact about our movement around the sun?â
The words went in one of your ears and straight out the other. There was no paying attention, not when Rylandâs hand held your own. Soft skin, just slightly rough around the edges, and those blue eyes were so soft, locked onto you as if there was nowhere else he wanted to look.
âOur speed changes!â Olivia called out from somewhere in the back, but you didnât even try to look and find her. âWhen weâre closer to the sun in our orbit we move faster, and the further away we are, the slower we move.â
âVery good, Olivia!â Ryland called out, sparing just a quick glance over to the kids in the room as his hand held yours tighter, still spinning slowly together. âMadison, we also know this works because thereâs other sun-like stars out there that are also orbited by planets. Like Tau Ceti, which has four Earth-like planets orbiting it.â
âIs the sun important for other things, besides just being the center?â
Rylandâs eyes flickered to you, and you watched as he paused. The slight hesitation on his face, the bobbing of his Adamâs apple for a moment, before those blue eyes locked onto yours and refused to look away.
âI-It isâŠfor a lot of reasons. The Sun is the Earthâs entire reason for existing. The Sun gives the Earth life. The Sun is the reason the world is beautiful,â
Your breath hitched, eyes still trained on Ryland. There was something in his words, something in that earnest, raw look that he had written across his features as he looked at you that added a weight to his words. A weight that sent a tiny chill across your skin, raising the hair on your arms.
âWithout the SunâŠthe Earth would be nothing,â
There was quiet across the room. Then, a couple snickers, followed by Oliviaâs smug little voice.
âThe Sun sounds beautiful the way you talk about it,â
âShe is,â his voice was lower, softer than it was before. Until, he seemed to realize what he said, the red on both of your faces spreading further than before as his eyes shot wide. âTHE SUN I mean! I-Iâm talking about the sun, obviously, b-because this is a science presentation!â
Laughter rang through the room, little chants of your names mashed together coming from some of the kids as the bell rang and saved either of you from further embarrassment.
Ryland, being Ryland, chose that moment to finally trip over his own two feet. You pulled on his hand as hard as you could, saving him from plummeting to the ground as he instead just landed on his one knee.
âMake good choices,â Ryland commented lowly as some of the kids walked past the two of you, still snickering and giggling to themselves. You let go of his hands finally, simply resting it on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze. âDonât uh, I donât know, blow up the world during lunch or anything. Or pop those chip bags and give kids heart attacks, whatever you kids do these days.â
You laughed, stepping around Ryland as your kids lined up outside of the room, waiting for you. He shot you a sheepish smile from the floor, and your skin still burned with heat at the memory of his words as you looked at him.
âEvery time I think youâre doing well with those kids, they manage to knock you down a peg,â
âYeah, well, whatâs new?â
When you met your class outside, you didnât let them get a word in before you warned them not to say anything. You could still hear little comments talking about âshippingâ their English and Science teachers the entire way back to your classroom.
â€ïž
Ryland Grace didnât understand how he had ended up here.
Well, he did. Calling the leading scholar in his field a âstaggering waste of carbonâ at a UNESCO conference in Denmark was an easy way to get blacklisted from the field heâd studied in for many years in college. It was an easy explanation for how he ended up teaching middle school science at Grover Cleveland Middle in San Francisco.
Not that he had a problem with teaching! He actually loved it. Loved his kids, loved talking about science. He loved teaching the future little scientists of the world about why every facet of science was awesome. The pay wasnât great, though.
Especially when it was the reason he rode a bike to school daily.
And there was currently the equivalent of a monsoon raining down from the sky onto the pavement, the reason heâd been standing at the front doors for the last 20 minutes hoping that the rain would simply let up. The heavens didnât take pity on him, though, and it only rained harder and harder. His rain coat and bike were not meant to withstand heavy rain and damaging winds to this extent.Â
Best cast scenario? It takes him a little longer to get home on his usual 20 minute bike ride than normal. Worst case? He crashes and dies, dead in a ditch covered in mud.
âRyland, please tell me you arenât thinking of riding your bike home in this?â
Then there was you. You were probably the single greatest reason why he loved teaching at Grover Cleveland Middle. If he ever had the unfortunate chance to meet that scientist from the conference again, heâd thank him this time for being a staggering waste of carbon, because it led him down a path to you.
âI canât be that bad,â he tried to joke, waving you off as a crack of thunder seemed to shake the entire building, and his fake confidence faltered for a second. He glanced back at you, coat wrapped around your bag instead of yourself in order to keep its contents dry. âJust, you knowâŠthe slight threat of bodily harm.â
He really wished the path that led to you was less bumpy and full of himself looking like an idiot, but at this rate heâd take what he could get from the universe.
âYeah, absolutely not,â was your immediate reply, head shaking as she fished your car keys out of the bag still covered with your coat. âIâm giving you a ride home, canât risk the best science teacherâs life over a dumb storm.â
Ryland immediately shook his head, turning to face you beside him. He was not letting you risk your own life in the storm for him. If it really came down to it, heâd sleep at his desk. There was a change of clothes he kept in the bottom drawer, it wasnât the first time heâd had to do it.
âI canât let you-â
âThis isnât up for discussion,â Ryland snapped his mouth shut as you cut in once again, dangling your car keys up in front of him with a little shake. âIâŠcare about you, okay? I want to know you are home safe.â
There was no stopping the immediate heat that filled Rylandâs cheeks, and he knew it. There was red blooming across your own, but Ryland shook all wishful thinking from his mind. The AC unit in this school was unreliable, you were definitely just flushed from the heat. No other reason.
Ryland decided he wasnât going to put up a fight at this point, but he wasnât going to let you do this without anything in return. He shrugged the yellow raincoat hanging over his own shoulders off as he kicked the glass door in front of him open, the muffle sounds of the torrential downpour now louder as droplets of water splashed into the front door. He held the jacket out, hanging it above your head to protect you from the rain.
âAt least let me save you from getting drenched,â
âYouâre going to look like a dog that just had a bath by the time we reach my car,â Ryland only smiled at your joke, and the little giggle that fell through your lips. The close proximity didnât help as he held the jacket up around you.
âActually, itâs not windy today,â he shot back with a grin, nodding out the propped open door into the rain. âThat means if we run, Iâll be drier than if we walked, because the rain thatâs hitting us from above is proportional to time. Though, the rain hitting us from the front is proportional to distance, and when running-â
âRyland Grace, you are adorable when you get all science-nerd, but if weâre going to runâŠwe should run,â
Ryland was thankful that you couldnât see the renewed heat flooding his cheeks, as you were both too busy sprinting through the torrential downpour to the staff parking lot.
Being a gentleman (who was head over heels in love with you and too terrified to say a damn thing) was thrown out the window with how fast you were booking it to your car, the idea of shielding you from the rain with his jacket abandoned after just a moment booking it across the lot. He could feel the coolness of the water settling against his skin as it soaked through every layer of clothing he had, every few seconds having to furiously wipe at his glasses in hopes of seeing through them.
None of it really mattered in the end, not when he heard your laugh. The little shrieks of laughter as a particularly big drop happened to fall right in your eyes. Or the laughter as Ryland managedâin his signature fashionâto slip on the final step into the parking lot, and you had to double back in laughter to help haul him to his feet.
Heâs spring clumsily through the rain a thousand more times if he got to see you smile like that. And that is why his kids always told him that he was definitely âwhippedâ for you. Whatever that meant.
The second you had both jumped into your respective seats of your vehicle, doors slamming shut, there was only a moment of silence between the both of you. Ryland felt like his chest was going to explode, remembering why he always hated gym class, his heavy breathing mixed with yours as you both caught your breath, before you locked eyes over the center console.
Then the laughter resumed.
He held his hand to his stomach, feeling an ache settling in as he couldnât stop his own laughter. Yourâs grew slightly louder in his ear as you leaned over, trying to help him wipe at his glasses that were still covered.
âI was right, you look like a wet dog,â
Rylandâs only response was to shake his soaking wet hair like one, a simple reaction that earned yet another shriek of laughter from you and a light slap to his shoulder. You muttered something unintelligible under your breath, but Ryland found himself unable to tear his gaze away from your lips as you started the car and began to pull out of the staff lot. How soft they looked, the way the little beads of water running down your cheeks fell over them.
Whipped. He still didnât get it, but he agreed wholeheartedly with his kids at this point.
There was no driving fast in this rain, especially when the windshield wipers were moving at their highest programmed speed and it still wasnât enough. It was quiet in the car for just a moment as you pulled out of the parking lot, but Ryland broke it the second your phone had connected to the carâs bluetooth, music filling the space between him and you.
Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.
âFrank Sinatra,â Ryland couldnât help the growing smile on his lips as the familiar song flooded through the car speakers. He kept his eyes trained on the side of your face, watching the little smile grow on your own lips, eyes focused on the road conditions in front of you. âOld books and old music. Didnât know you had such an old soul.â
âYou calling me old, Ryland?â
âN-no!â Ryland immediately back track, hands flying up and shaking back and forth as his eyes went wide. âI might say some stupid stuff someâokay, most of the timeâbut I know better than to comment on a womanâs age.â
âIâm just teasing you,â he could thankfully hear the sincerity mixed in with the teasing lit to your voice. âBut yes, I do enjoy some old music. Always been a big fan of Sinatra, especially this one.â
âItâs a nice songâŠjust not scientifically accurate,â he caught the side eye that you threw his way for just a moment, another crack of thunder banging across the sky and almost shaking the car. Ryland couldnât help but jump slightly. âJupiter only has a 3.13° tilt to its axis, so it doesnât experience seasons like we do. Marâs would, though, because its axis is tilted at 25°, only 1.5° more than our own tiltâŠâ
Ryland trailed off as the car rolled to a stop at a red light, and he caught you fully facing him this time with a bemused expression written across your face. His smile dropped just slightly as he let out a sheepish laugh, adjusting his glasses as they slid back down the wet bridge of his nose.
â...I went full science-nerd again, didnât I?â
Your laughter drowned out the rain beating against the roof of the car as your attention returned to the road once more.
âYou always do, but I happen to enjoy it very much,â
If only teaching paid more, because the commute to Rylandâs apartment was a lot shorter than his bike ride home every day from work.Â
Parked in an open space across the road from the dimly lit apartment building, Ryland Grace hesitated with his hand on the handle of the door. His eyes swept out over the area around the vehicle, still being hounded with rain. The top of his road looked like the beginning of a river, the way the water was rushing down the small incline to pool at the bottom.
âThanksâŠfor this,â he gestured toward the weather right outside the card.
You moved to respond to him, when the weather alert on your phone propped up on your dashboard sounded out. Ryland could just barely make out the headline: FLASH FLOOD WARNING.
The roads were far too dangerous, and Ryland already knew from various conversations that you lived on the opposite end of town from him.
HeâŠcould ask you to stay for the night. Just for safety reasons, obviously! He was quickly trying to work through the pros and cons list in his head.
Pros: his only friend that just so happened to be the woman heâs been head over heels in love with for the last year would be safe and not driving in this storm.
Cons: his only friend that just so happened to be the woman heâs been head over heels in love with for the last year would be inside his tiny little apartment that looked like it had been hit by a separate hurricane than the one it felt like they were currently suffering through.
âI should probably get home-â
âStay,â Ryland cut in, quickly continuing his words after his vague statement. âI-Itâs just, the roads are bad, and you live on the other side of town. This storm is just going to get worse, and I-Iâd hate to know something happened to you.â
You hesitated, he could tell, shaking your head.
âRyland, I couldnât ask you to let me stay,â
He hesitated himself for a moment, every feeling heâd kept bottled up for a year now threatening to escape past his lips. Instead, he settled on echoing your own words.
âIâŠI care about you. I want to know youâre safe,â
Moments later, he had his rain coat draped over your head as he rushed you inside his apartment to shelter from the storm.
Rylandâs hands shook the entire time as he put his key into his front doorâs lock. The last time he had guests overâŠwas never. His apartment was built and designed for him and his brain, scattered with notes and books and piles of arts and crafts that he worked on in order to decorate his classroom. It was not meant for visitors, especially not ones as pretty as you.
âDonât, uh, mind the mess,â he mumbled, holding the door open and motioning after you, allowing you to take a step inside his apartment as he let out the small breath he didnât realize he was holding.
Chucking off his sneakers, little puddles of water forming below them on the ground, his jacket found its way into a pile with them. Ryland wiped his hands nervously against the thighs of his jeans, the action doing nothing against the soaking went material, as he watched you take in his apartment.
The apartment that looked like it had been ransacked, at least partially. Stacks of books relating to a thousand different topics were stacked on the ground by the tv stand, on top of the coffee table along with the coffee cup heâd abandoned there early in the morning in a haste to get to the school, and and by his desk that had a stack of papers scattered around it after her strewn them about in order to find one specific slip of paper at 11 p.m.
It was a mess, and Ryland regretted everything.
âItâs not messy, itâs homey,â your reply sent a burst of heat through his skin as you turned to him with a bright smile, leaving your own bag and coat by his pile of wet items before gesturing to your own soaking wet clothing. âDo you maybe have something a little lessâŠwet?â
He scurried away into his bedroom, trying to ignore that little section of his brain that took your comment in a MUCH different way.
His bedroom was worse. Ryland wasnât letting you sleep on the couch, but he surely wasnât letting you see his room in a state like this.
Clothing was thrown across the room and Ryland quickly ran about, shoving piles of clothing away into corners where he was certain you wouldnât be able to see any of it. Throwing it into his closet and slamming the door before it could fall out, pushing it down in his laundry basket, kicking it under his bed so it was out of sight and out of mind, whatever he could think of.
âGreat idea, Ryland,â he muttered to himself, pulling on a dry pair of sweatpants and a tshirt for himself, trying to shake the remaining water out of his hair as he rummaged for something you could wear. âAlmost get the woman youâre in love with killed by letting her drive you home in a monsoon. Invite her to stay the night in your apartment that makes you look like an even bigger loser than you are. Amazing idea. A doctorate in molecular biology and this is the best you can do.â
You were waiting by the couch in his living room, just glancing around at everything with a smile, when he reappeared. Sheepishly, he handed the folded clothing over to you, hand running through his soaking wet hair as he pointed down the hall.
âYou can take my bed for the night. Uh, just leave your clothes in the bathroom, I can throw them in the dryer in a bit. I can scrounge up something to eat in the meantime,â
âThanks, Ry,â your hand reached out, squeezing his upper arm lightly, and he felt the heat in his skin instantly bloom under your touch. âFor all of this.â
If it wasnât for the giant crack of thunder that flickered the lights of the building for a moment and made Ryland jump out of his skin, he wouldâve forgotten how to breathe again.
He rummaged through every part of his kitchen, desperately trying to find something that he could make the two of you to eat that also wouldnât make him seem pathetic. All he could come up withâŠwas a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a jar of jelly.
Yesterday. Heâd stayed late after the end of the day to help in tutoring. He forgot to go grocery shopping. Ryland let out a sigh at his realization, back to his fridge door and head banging back against the stainless steel, hand running down his face and dragging against his skin as his glasses were knocked off, hanging off of one ear.
âGreat,â he muttered into his palm. âJust absolutely freaking great, Ryland.â
Ryland Grace desperately wished he had the guts, the bravery, to just simply tell you how he felt.
From the moment he met you, when you had arrived for your first day at Grover Cleveland Middle, he was a goner. It had been a long time since heâd had a partner, his last one certain that he was too busy with his head in the clouds to pay attention to her, and she wasnât wrong. But from the moment he looked at you, waving and smiling as you introduced yourself to all of the teachers that had gathered to welcome you, you were suddenly the only thing his brain wanted to focus on.
He had been so focused on you, too busy admiring every inch of you in silence, that in his typical clumsy fashion he tripped over his own two feet and knocked Principal Marshallâs papers out of her hand, spreading them five feet across the floor. But youâd joined him on the ground, laughing lightly to yourself, as you helped him clean up the papers, and Ryland knew he was a goner for you.
It only continued every single day, getting worse, and you somehow became his friend. His only friend, if he was being quite frank. So he tried to hide the way he really felt, too scared to mess anything up. Heâd rather have you in his life in any way he could, then mess this up and lose you forever.
Keeping those feelings in was getting increasingly harder in the last few months. Which explained why heâd traveled cross town just to get lunch from your favorite place, or compare you to the sun and basically called you his entire reasoning for living in front of a bunch of children-
Either Ryland was going to blurt it out at some point, or he was taking these feelings to the grave with him.
âPeanut butter and jelly? Sounds like weâre eating like royalty tonight,â
He shouldnât have looked over at you. He really, really shouldnât have. Leaning against the opposite wall of the kitchen, hair still damp and dripping onto the cheesy âI had potentialâ shirt heâd been gifted by one of his students the following year. Sweatpants that were bunched up around your ankles so that you didnât trip over the length, waist tied in as tightly as possible so they didnât just slide right off your hips.
Ryland Grace had never thought it possible that you could look more gorgeous than you did every day, but he stood corrected. He felt more in love than he ever had just looking at you right in this moment.
âSorry, I donât exactlyâŠlive a life of luxury,â Ryland awkwardly laughed as he spoke, pulling out two sad paper plates from the cabinet next to him and flashing them in your direction, shaking them lightly in the air. âHope this doesnât ruin my perfectly curated image.â
His eyes followed you as you brushed past him, humming to yourself with a little grin. You fumbled through every drawer in the kitchen, looking for something, when Ryland quickly popped open the one right next to him, showcasing his small selection of utensils. You flashed another heart-stopping grin at him before digging out two knives from the drawer.
âThat image cracked a long time ago, Ry. Like that time you let Marcus perform some chemical reaction and got the fire department called to the school,â
The tall blonde groaned to himself, rubbing at his temple as you pushed past him to throw some of the bread down onto the plates and crack open the jars of peanut butter and jelly set out.
âThat was one time!â he tried to defend himself, saddling up beside you as you passed him one of the knives. He almost completely missed the opening of the peanut butter jar, eyes too transfixed on the sight of you in his clothing. It was still up in the air if his heart was actually working correctly yet. âI learned my lesson very quickly not to let him handle any more chemicals.â
âDonât worry. I made the mistake of doing popcorn reading when we were working on The Outsiders. Marcus seemed to end up with every single instance of profanity in the book, which he would yell at the top of his lungs,â
Ryland snapped his fingers, glancing down at you at his side with a teasing smile.
âYou know what? That explains that really loud âHELLâ I heard across the school a couple months ago. I was so sure that it was going to shatter the windows of my classroom,â
âOh, shut up! It wasnât that bad!â
Your laughter permeated the air, elbow digging into his side as you spoke. And when your eyes locked with his, and Ryland got the perfect look at every square inch of your face, he could see it so clearly in his head.
Mornings just like this, where youâd both struggle to get out of the warmth of the blankets. The way he would surely annoy you with his very disorganized morning routine, but heâd make up for it with coffee already set out for you, just as you liked it. The lingering moments by the door, too wrapped up in each other because you didnât want to leave the peace of this space, even though you were going to the same place.
Late nights, curled together on the couch with some movie playing on TV that neither of you were particularly paying attention to. Whispered words, laughter shared. Kisses that lingered, hands that trailed-
Thunder broke Ryland from his spell, thoughts gone in a flash. He was back in his dingy kitchen, with you just inches away, staring up at him as the picture of true beauty.
âT-This is nice,â he cleared his throat, turning back to his sandwich as he spread his toppings along the bread, heat blooming across his cheeks again. It always did around you. âMaking dinner with someoneâŠno matter how sad the dinner is. I havenât done this in awhile.â
âRight,â your voice responded after a momentary pause. âSarah, wasnât it? You were dating her when we first met. What, uhâŠwhat ever happened to her?â
âOh, we broke up a long time ago,â Ryland waved the comment off, shaking his head. âShe just, uh, thought my head was too far in the clouds. Didnât think I wanted to be down here on Earth. She wasnât wrong. It was for the best, though. She hatedâŠall of this. The rundown apartment, the lack of a car, my love of science. She just never understood it. I was justâŠtoo much for her. But sheâs with Mark now, so Iâm sure sheâs happy.â
Ryland chose not to mention that his last relationship had been dead long before it officially ended, the pair not having seen each other in well over a month by that point. If his math was right, which it usually was, Sarah had started dating Mark before sheâd even broken it off with him.
He also failed to mention the relief he felt inside when she had called it off, knowing his heart had belonged to you the moment your eyes had locked with his.
Fingertips just barely ghosted over Rylandâs cheek, and he froze in place. Eyes trained on the plate in front of him, he could feel the way your hand curled around his cheek. The way your thumb glossed over his skin, back and forth, and the way your other fingers barely grazed over the shell of his ear. He couldnât help the way he instantly leaned into the touch, a touch he hadnât felt in so long.
Ryland turned his head, still resting in the palm of your own, to look you in the eyes. You gave him the softest smile, hand trailing across his cheek and ghosting over his jawline. His eyes watched it move, the way your fingers gently curled around the frame of his glasses dangling precariously from his face, and placed them gingerly back where they belonged, resting on the bridge of his nose.
His breath caught, your body so close to his, as your hand trailed back down and rested on his chest for just a moment, your own gaze flickering to its resting spot while his gaze stayed on your face.
âYou are never, and will never be, too much, Ryland. Not for the right person. Theyâll love every part of you. The clumsy parts, the nerdy parts, every part that makes youâŠyou,â
The Sun. Thatâs what you were to Ryland Grace. He meant every word he had said in that planetarium that day, driven by the rare jealousy of seeing Harkin that close to you.Â
The Sun was the reason Earth had life. Without the SunâŠthe Earth would be nothing.
Without youâŠwell, Ryland Grace had accepted long ago that he didnât understand what it was like to truly live until heâd met you.
Your eyes flickered for just a second, and Ryland took in an audible breath, swearing they settled on his lips for just a second. The apartment was quiet, except for the hum of the fridge and the pattering of the rain against the living room windows.
The moment shattered with yet another terribly timed clap of thunder, your body jolting away from his, focus turned back to the counter in front of you, face hidden from his wide eyes.
âY-you knowâŠI canât tell you the last time I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,â
Ryland shook his head, smiling slightly to himself at the little stutter in your own words, turning back to finishing his own food as well. But the moment still lingered in his head, the heat that bloomed from where your skin touched him still lingering.
âSince peanut butter is banned in school for allergies, probably awhile,â
âI almost forgot that rule a couple weeks ago and almost packed peanut butter crackers,â you joked back, before Ryland heard you snap your fingers. âOh! Speaking of work, did you put yourself down to volunteer for the school dance next week?â
Sandwiches finished off, Ryland packed the ingredients away and stashed them back in their appropriate spots, laughing awkwardly to himself.
âHah, uh, no I didnât. I chaperoned last year and kind of left covered in punch, became the kidsâ favorite âmemeâ for a week afterward since one of them got a picture of it,â
He turned back to you. Leaning against the island counter, holding your sad little sandwich in your hands, face still lit up red as you smiled toward him.
âI think so far it's me, Doyle, and Harki, plus Principal Marshal and I think Katie and Dawson from the front office. We could really use another teacher,â he swore the fluttering of your lashes was on purpose just to kill him and his resolve. âSign-up? For me?â
Well, there was no universe in existence where Ryland said no to a request like that.
Rejoining you at the counter, he held his own sandwich in his hand, reaching out and tapping it against yours as if you were sharing a toast.
âFor you? Totally,â
Even as you both took a bite of your sandwiches, eyes still locked together, Ryland felt as if something had shifted in the air. Your eyes were still as kind, your smile still bright, but it felt like there was a new weight to your gaze as you looked at him.
And he sworeâand hopedâfor just a split second, that your eyes had just flickered down to his lips again.
â€ïž
The student council had outdone themselves with this end of the year dance.
As you stepped through the main doors of Grover Cleveland Middleâs building, the smile on your face grew immediately at the sight before you. The walls were lined with little fairy lights, little styrofoam planets hanging down from the ceiling at various lengths, glow in the dark stars right around them and glowing. Silver streamers hung around the fairy lights, with the check in desk decorated with tons and foam and lights behind them to look like twinkling lights in the clouds.
âA space theme?â you called out as the two kids in front of you ducked away from the registration desk. Evelyn Doyle finally looked up from the sign-in sheet, grin growing as she took in the sight of you and rounded the desk. âI hadnât heard anything from the student council on the theme, but they did well.â
âNevermind the theme, youâre finally here!â you laughed as you threw her arms around you, reciprocating the hug, before her hands landed on your shoulders in order to get a good look at you, eyes trailing you up and down. âAnd look at this dress, oh my god!â
The deep yellow dress fell right around your knees, the fabric light and airy as it swooshed through the air with every move you made. Buttons lined the front down to the tie around your waist, leaving just enough room for the little gold necklace resting against your collarbone. You thanked yourself for choosing a short sleeve option, already feeling the heat in the building from how many kids were all packed in and dancing together.
âThank you,â was the sheepish reply you gave your friend as she let you go. âIâm sorry Iâm late, I caught one of my studentâs parents in the parking lot and they turned it into a mini parent-teacher conference, sadly.â
âNot a problem,â she waved the comment off, gesturing toward the doors of the gym just off to the left of you both. âJust get on in there, have some fun, and keep those slow dancers at least 12 inches apart at all times.â
If the hallways were gorgeous, the inside of the gym shone even brighter. Bathed in blue and purple, even more little lights twinkled around the room, hung off the walls, the ceilings, and on every surface they could possibly find. Moon and star decals, made by the art students, hung off the walls and from the ceiling, almost glowing under the lights.
Your eyes trailed over all of your children, scattered throughout the room, already having been dancing for at least thirty minutes. The smile on your face grew as you watched each one of them, gathered with their friends as they danced together in groups, or even stood off to the sides and just observed from beyond the dimly lit dance floor.
Mr. Harkin had been stationed at the punch table, and you could hear him from across the room warning these middle schoolers not to try and spike the punch. You could only giggle to yourself, shaking your head at his antics, before your eyes swept over the crowd once more-
The music seemed to stop in your ears, breath hitching, the second you laid eyes on him across the room. Ryland Grace.
He wasnât in anything fancy. A nice pair of jeans, the worn pair of black dress shoes youâd seen by his apartment door that night. A dark green shirt was tucked into his jeans, adorned with a worn, navy blue suit jacket overtop, and those same glasses almost falling off the bridge of his nose as he spoke animatedly to Olivia.
Ryland looked good. Too good, in your eyes.
For just a second, he looked up, and his eyes happened to meet yours across the room. You thought for sure youâd forgotten how to breathe.
Whatever had happened that night, in the silence of his apartment with only the beating of the rain against the windows and the roof as a witness, had shifted something. From the moment your fingertips had ghosted along his skin, your hand had rested against his chest, and youâd been close enough to see the specs that danced in those ocean blue eyes of his up close, nothing had been the same.
Like the little bubble you had been existing in with your harbored crushed had finally popped. Like a toe had dipped just slightly over a line, and there was no going back from then on.
You always blushed around your friend, every time heâd manage to fumble his way through a comment that borderlined on a kind-of-not-just-friendly compliment. But since that day just a week or so ago, every time he has been within a few feet of you, your face lit up like a hot summerâs day.
Moments where heâd find a second to linger in your classroom door, held a new weight to them. Sharing lunch together, fingers just barely brushing for a second as you both reached for your food, to moments when youâd simply be walking together down hallways, back of hands brushing along each otherâs but no one making any moves to stop it from happening.
Something was different, and you werenât sure you wanted to go back to how things were before. Not after touching his skin, or existing in his orbit like that. Not when youâd seen the side of him beyond these school walls.
You were in love with Ryland Grace. You had been for a long time. And, finally, you were done trying to pretend that there wasnât at least a small chance that he felt the same.
âI need your help,â
The heated staring contest between you two was broken by the sound to your right. You turned, just to see Marcus standing directly beside you and reaching up to pull on the sleeve of your dress. His hands wrung together, foot tapping incessantly on the ground, and you immediately knelt down in front of him to get a better look at his face that he was trying to hide from you.
âMarcus? Honey, whatâs wrong?â you asked gently, hands coming to rest on his arms as you tried to get him to look at you.
âIâŠI like Olivia,â
Oh. It was one of those problems. The anxiety you felt in that moment finally washed away, an easy smile falling to your lips as you took a quick glance over in Ryland and Oliviaâs direction, the formerâs eyes still locked onto you from across the room.
âI did hear a rumor about that. Olivia is a great girl,â
âShe is,â he said quickly, finally looking at you. His nerves were basically written across his face. âI-Iâve been really mean to her. I didnât mean to be.â
âI know, honey. Sometimes feelings can be confusing,â you stood up, hands on your hips as you looked down at him with a smile. âDo you want to dance with her?â
âI do,â
You held your hand out toward him with a smile.
âThen why donât we start by going and apologizing to her?â
With Marcusâs hand in yours, you confidently led him across the room, eyes locked back onto Rylandâs as you approached. He stood with Olivia at his side, who was talking his ear off, a dopey looking grin on his face as he nodded to whatever she said as he continued to watch as you approached him.
âDr. Grace, Iâm sorry to interrupt you and Olivia,â you announced yourself to the pair with a grin of your own, hands on Marcusâs shoulders and you lightly pushed him forward. âBut Olivia, thereâs something that Marcus here wants to say to you.â
The young boy shuffled awkwardly forward, hands wringing together again as he stood in front of his crush.
âI, uh, I wanted to say I was sorry. For being really mean to you. I didnât mean it,â
Oliviaâs eyes went wide, as she too shuffled uncomfortably for a second. Ryland saddled up to your side, the pair of you sharing a glance as you watched the interaction happen right before your eyes. His hand graced over yours lightly, and it took everything in you not to reach out and lock your fingers with his.
âOh! Itâs, um, itâs okay. Thank you,â
âSay, Marcus?â Ryland called out to them both, catching the boyâs eye and gesturing toward Olivia with a wink. âWhat do you think of Oliviaâs dress?â
âIâŠI think she looks really beautiful,â
That comment finally seemed to catch Olivia off guard, her eyes wide in shock as she giggled nervously.
âOh! IâŠthank you, Marcus. You look really nice too,â
âThank you,â his posture seemed to straighten out at Oliviaâs reaction, like seeing her accept his compliment gave him the confidence he needed. âDo you want to dance with me?â
Olivia shot you and Ryland a look, and you both immediately gave her a thumbs up. Then, your happy eyes could only watch the two pre-teens awkwardly shuffle away together to the dance floor, not daring to meet the eyes of the other.
âLook at us, playing matchmaker for middle schoolers,â
âI think they did that for themselves, we just helped,â you laughed, turning your head. The laughter died on your lips the second your eyes met with Rylandâs, voice low and breathy as you whispered to him through your smile. âHi.â
âHi,â he whispered back just as breathily. His hand came up to the back of his head, running through his hair for a moment, and you could see the red and pink hues that lit up his cheeks. âI got worried when I didnât see you. I was ready to call you.â
âYou couldâve,â
âIâll remember for next time,â he shot back, hands finding their way to rest in the front pockets of his jeans. His eyes moved back over the crowd, finding your two young students once more. âIâm proud of him for that. ThatâŠmust have taken a lot of guts to do.â
You followed his gaze, landing on the pair as they danced together, laughing and talking like old friends.
âLike you said before, it can be hard for boys to express their feelings. All he needed was to pull up his big boy pants and ask her,â
Ryland laughed beside you.
âYeahâŠI should probably follow in his footsteps,â
You glanced back to him, seeing him already watching you. A single eyebrow raised toward him quizzically, even though your heart felt like it was ready to beat directly out of your chest.
Rylandâs mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, as if he were trying to force out words that he couldnât quite seem to get right. You didnât even realize you were holding your breath, hoping inside that whatever he wanted to say would address the weight that seemed to be hanging between your gazes.
âStay here,â
There wasnât even time for you to respond before the tall blonde rushed away, almost tripping as he dashed over to the DJ booth across the way from the makeshift dance floor. He whispered something to the DJ, and you could see the thumbs up he got in return, before he rushed back over to you, panting slightly.
âRyland?â you questioned softly, the man who held your entire heart without knowing it standing just a foot in front of you with a nervous grin on his face. âWhat did you just do?â
As if on cue, the song changed, and familiar lyrics floated through the room, bouncing off the walls.
Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars
âIâm pulling up my big boy pants,â he responded with a nervous laugh, his hand outstretched toward you. âAnd asking you to dance with me.â
Nothing else existed the second that you slid your hand into Ryland Graceâs without hesitation, letting him pull you in. You werenât in the school, not in a room decorated for a middle school dance, and certainly not surrounded by middle schoolers and a bunch of faculty that had placed bets on you both.
It was just you and Ryland Grace. Thatâs all you wanted it to be.
Your arms found a place to rest around his shoulders, fingertips just barely brushing past the strands of hair that tickled the back of his neck. There was a fluttering in your chest the second that his hands made their way to your waist, curling around the divet just above your hip bone, pulling you into him just by another inch.
In other words, hold my hand. In other words, darling, kiss me. Fill my life with song, and let me sing for ever more.
"I didn't tell you yetâŠ,â his voice was soft, words whispered just between the two of you in a crowded room. âBut you look beautiful,"
"You don't have to flatter me, Ryland,"
"No, really, you look-"
"Like a banana in this yellow dress?"
He paused. His tongue poked out, running along his bottom lip, and you could see the nervous bob of his Adamâs apple before he spoke again.
"...like the sun,"
You are all I long for, all I worship and adore.
Oh. That fluttering in your chest was back, and suddenly, you werenât at a middle school dance anymore. You were back in that planetarium, spinning in circles. And this time, there were no doubts in your mind. You were the Sun, and he was the Earth. And what was the Earth, without its Sun?
"Ryland-"
"I wasn't lying,"
You cocked your head.
"...about what?"
"That I knew Homer wrote The Odyssey,"
That drew a short laugh from you, but you could still see the nerves that were laced through Rylandâs smile.
"Right, you were just distracted,"
"I was. By you. I'm always distracted by you,"
In other words, please be true. In other words, I love you.
You took a deep breath. Heâd crossed the line for you, thrown himself onto the other side, and was waiting for you with open arms. It was just a leap of faith.
âIâm always distracted by you, too. Since the day we met,â
The song faded away, melting into the next. There couldâve been eyes on you both, either from students or from faculty, but nothing would break either of your gazes away from the other.
Ryland took a quick look around the room, before his hands took hold of your own, bringing them down between you both. He gave you a grin, one filled with more happiness than you had ever seenâand you knew your own matched his perfectlyâbefore he tugged you toward the doors of the gym.
âCome with me,â
âRy, weâre supposed to be chaperoning!â
âI donât see Principal Marshall anywhere. Whatâs the worst she could do, fire us?â
âQuite literally, yes!â you shot back with a laugh.
Ryland only shrugged his shoulders, tugging you again, and you didnât even try to fight back. Your feet simply moved with him.
âWorth it,â
Hands clasped together, fingers intertwined, your laughter echoed off the walls of the empty hallways as Ryland Grace ran you down them, a destination clear in his mind. Every few seconds heâd look back, just smiling at you as his eyes trailed over every single inch of you, before youâd yell at him to look at his own feet before youâd both be sprawled across the linoleum floors.
The door to his classroom was open as you flew inside, hand slipping from his as you caught yourself on the projector cart sitting in the middle of the room. Spinning on your heel, you caught his eye just as he shut the classroom door behind him, and the silence enveloped you both once more. Finally alone, no prying eyes to watch.
The momentarily confidence that seemed to seize hold of Ryland dissipated in that moment. He wiped his hands against the front of his jeans, chuckling awkwardly as he took a few steps toward you.
âWhat was your plan here, Dr. Grace?â you teased, taking a couple steps toward him as well, too high on the feeling of everything youâd just finally realized. High on the feeling of finally not denying what your heart knew long ago: you and Ryland Grace were never just friends.
âIâm not going to lie,â he shot back, coming to a stop just in front of you, barely an inch or two separating you. âI hadnât thought this far ahead.â
âThen stop thinking,â
No one had leaned in first. It had been both of you, as if drawn together like two magnets, as your lips finally found one another's.
Goosebumps rose across your skin as Ryland Graceâs mouth moved against yours with an ease that shouldnât exist between two people that have never kissed before. It was like a perfect dance between two partners that knew each other better than anything.
Your lips never left his, moving against his as if you couldnât believe you had deprived yourself of this for so long, as your hands wound around his shoulders. Fingers curled into his hair, finally carding themselves through the blonde strands that felt so soft between your fingers.
The slightest little moan, enough to send heat coursing through your body the second you heard it, slipping from Rylandâs mouth into your own. His hands grasped at your hips, winding around your back to press into your lower back and tug you as close as humanly possible, as if he was a starved man that craved to touch you in any way that he could.
His lips were soft, a feeling that you knew you were going to crave for the rest of your life now that youâd had a single taste of them. You pressed further into him, a small mewl tumbling from your own lips and swallowed by his mouth as you pressed every inch of yourself into him, desperate to hang onto the moment in case the world would be cruel and wake you from this dream moments later.
The need to breathe was what finally separated you, but not far. Rylandâs forehead pressed to yours, his breath fanning out across your skin. His hands still gripped at your hips, holding him to you, as yours stayed carded through his hair, nails gently scraping at his scalp as you chest heaved as it tried to level your breathing back to normal.
âIf I havenât made it clear already, youâre my best friend,â his words were breathy, accented by the way he was still trying to catch his breath. But his smile was bright, his eyes almost shining, as he looked down at you. âAnd Iâm completely in love with you. Literally, since the moment we met.â
You laughed, trapped in this little bubble with him, as your hands slid from his hair to instead cup his cheeks. The tip of your nose just barely brushed against his, and he bumped his right back against yours without hesitation.
âIâm completely in love with you too, Ryland Grace. Since the moment you tripped over your own two feet,â
The sound of your laughter filled the empty, dark science classroom again as Rylandâs hands came to scoop you up around your thighs, spinning you in relentless circles. All you could do was hang onto his broad shoulders and smile, his lips peppering a thousand kisses to every inch of skin he could possibly reach.
The Earth needed the Sun, like how Ryland said he needed you. The person that makes it all worth it, that makes the days brighter, that makes this short little life worth it.
The Sun needed the Earth too.
TW: Necrophilia, Aggressive Demon Dean Activities, Assault??
Demon Dean catching you, smashing you with that hammer and threatening to violate your corpse after heâs done killing Sammy in the bunker.
unpopular opinion but i hate when the love interest calls the reader or character "kid" in fics
it's icky
âŠNSFW Alphabet - Dean WinchesterâŠ
A = Aftercare (what theyâre like after sex)
â§ïœ„ïŸ:when he loves youâand he doesâafter care becomes just as intimate as the sex itself. Heâll spend a few minutes after youâre done laying over you, his face pressed between your breasts as he collects himself, and then heâs moving. Starting a warm bath and heating a towel to clean up the mess he left between your thighs, then carrying you into the steaming water and sitting on the lip of the tub as long as you let him. He gets water and sits you on the toilet after you rinse off, then carries you back to bed. You donât protestâyou couldnât if you wanted, your thighs made of jelly and your head still a little dazed from the pleasure he wrung from your bodyâand press you face into his neck and letting him coax a little more food into your before you knock out in his arms.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partnerâs)
â§ïœ„ïŸ:if you ask Dean, heâll say he loves all of you, but both of you know the truth. Thereâs nothing he loves more than your breasts. Big and bouncing when you ride him, or small and able to fit in the palm of his hand, it doesnât matter. Theyâre soft and pretty, almost a toy for him to play with when he has you beneath him. Heâll mouth at them and roll your nipples between his fingers, watching almost obsessively the way your back arches into his touch. It make it easy for him say that his favorite body part is his hands. Anywhere else theyâre weapons, coated in blood and dirt and grime, but on your body theyâre tools, and he never apricates himself more.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
â§ïœ„ïŸ:dean loves to mark you up in any way he can. Itâs possessive and dirty, but heâs past the point of caring about such things. If he can paint it over your stomach and tits, itâs a good day. A better one when he can smear it on your face, his sore cock twitching when you lick the excess off your lips. But nothing is better than spilling inside of your warm, wet heat. Watching the proof of your effect on him dribbling out of your little hole, down your ass and thighs, it makes him want to bury his face back against you, pushing himself into your with his tongue. If heâs lucky youâll let him fuck you with slow lazy thrusts after youâve both finished, making sure heâs driven it properly inside of you. His messy girl.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
You pretend you donât know, but heâs not that good at hiding it. Your underwear doesnât just grow legs and walk off by itself. Before you were dating, Dean used to steal it used, clenching your panties in one fist and beating his cock with the other. Heâd smell that little wet spot and moan your name against the fabric, the arousal and need in his chest just managing to outweigh the shame. Once youâre together, you start just passing them into his hands without a word. The day you let him eat you out through your panties, then keep them after? One of the best of his life.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what theyâre doing?)
Deanâs the first to call himself a whore, as if it doesnât bother him in the slightest. And it didnât used to. Sex was for fun, to feel good, to forget about the pain andâfor once in his damn lifeâdo something useful for someone else. But after you, itâs different. The experience was just practice, just building up to this. To knowing exactly what women like, exactly what makes them feel good, and using his mastery to turn you into a pretty little puddle beneath him. Heâs a champion, and youâre quickly the only game he wants to play.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
There isnât really a position Dean doesnât likeâhe can make anything feel good, and he takes pride in itâbut his favorite position soars above the rest of the already high standard. When heâs got you in his lap, brows pressed together, mouth slack and easy to kiss, itâs close to heaven. Your boobs bounce and push against his chest, your ass wiggles in his massive palms, and your cunt hugs his cock just right at the angle. You can ride him until you get whiny, and he can pin you down and fuck up like an animal, watching your face go slack with pleasure, your eyes glazing over and tiny moans of his name falling from swollen lips. You cling to him, and he holds on back, keeping you just as close as youâll allow.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Dean lets you set the tone, every time. Heâs just happy to be there, and he can make anything work. If you need to be treated like lace, heâs serious and gentle, murmuring low praise and worshiping every inch of your body. If you fall into bed after a date or climb on top of him in the middle of a movie, heâll tease and joke until youâre whining and glaring at him under lidded, glossy eyes. His shit eating grin wonât fall until youâre screaming his name, and it turns smug and proud. He knows you love it, when itâs easy. He loves it too.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
He tries to stay groomed, but life on the road makes it hard. Even when he gets to settle in the bunker for a week or two, shaving isnât very high on the list of priorities. He does his face because a beard is hard to maintain, and basic maintenance around his cock to keep it clean, but not much else. The look of the tool doesnât matter much. He knows how to use it right either way.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
When it was just hookups, he sometimes wouldnât even bother to learn the right name to moan. It wasnât about being vulnerable or romantic, it was about being a fleeting, passing ship that lent another some warmth. A shadow of intimacy, to stead over the gap in his chest from sinking too deep. But then he had you, and even when youâre play fighting before sex or giggling while he fingers you stupid, thereâs a thin layer of adoration under every single kiss and touch. Itâs rawer and sharper in the dead of night, when he cradles you in his lap and presses his face against your neck, or folds himself over your body and drives in with slow, torturous thrusts. Heâll never say it allowed, but thatâs how he loves you. With a real good show and undying attention, whether the sex is rough or slow or quick in the bathroom, itâs all just to be close to you.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Sam used to joke about him taking long showers, but he had no idea. Dean tries to ignore his cock when it gets demandingâwhen youâd bend over in a skirt or brush past him in the hallâbut he started feeling like a teenager with no damn control, and heâd storm into the bathroom to care of himself, quickly and brutally. It gets better after you start dating, but sometimes you have to be apart. Then old habits return, and he finds himself kicking Sammy out of the motel room just so he can pull out a picture of you and jerk himself off.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
There are more of them than he cares to count, but three stand out above the rest. There the only three that can still make Dean, of all men, blush.Â
Cockwarming until the sun comes up. Holding you around him until youâre dripping and wiggling and whining his name, until heâs so hard it hurts and ends up just rutting into you like a dog. Itâs not the filthiness of the act that gets him, but the intimacy of it. Youâre so close he canât tell where he stops and you end, and it makes him so dizzy he almost loses control. Heâd trade a life to keep you like that all the time. Soft and completely, totally his.
The first time you call him sir, he almost feels something in him shift. Heâd always said he didnât get that kind of shitâsex was supposed to be give and take, not just a girl doing everything for himâbut then he had you below him, babbling the word by sheer accident, and his cock twitched like it had been jumpstarted. He liked it. He liked it too much. Heâd follow you like a dog to the end of the earth, but right here, when he was making you feel good, he was the one in charge. He had a handle over the situation, you trusted him to be in charge of you like this, and that tiny whimper of sir made him lose his goddamn mind.
And the breeding kink he tries to hide. Heâs not trying to baby trap you, or reduce you to just a body for him to knock up, but the idea of it makes his mouth water. Fucking you so good a little bit of him sticks. Forcing his cum into you until youâre stuffed up, your eyes rolling back in your head from the pleasure. Making you round and glowing with his baby, letting the whole world know just how well he treated you. You notice it, because you always do, and son of a bitch, you encourage him. You let him press his hand flat on your stomach so he can feel his cum spurting into your heat, you cling to his shoulders and moan when he asks if you like it, and he canât help it. He wants you good and bred. He wants you to be his.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
He wouldnât call himself an exhibitionist, but there arenât many places he wonât do it. As long as itâs not a crime and youâre comfortable, the bathroom in a police station is as good to go as the kitchen in the bunker. However, thereâs nothing he loves more than his bed. A good mattress, the sheets sticking to your skin, the smell of you all around him, itâs almost enough to get him hard all on itâs own.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
The list is so long, he stopped trying to understand it a long time ago. There are the simple thingsâyour mouth around a banana, the curve of your ass, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, when you get mouthy and bratty and he wants to drag you over his knee or pin your to the wallâbut then thereâs⊠other stuff. The time you shoved him and spat in his face after a fight, and he was seconds from splaying you out on the table, squeezing your jaw with one hand and fingering you with the other, all while rutting against your leg like an animal, kissing away the drool when dribbled down your chin. The other time you drove baby for five seconds, and he made you pull over so he could eat you out in the backseat. Heâs starting to think it might just be you. He doesnât really care, either way.
N = No (something they wouldnât do, turn offs)
When he was younger, Dean would try anything once. The benefit of that is that now he knows what he really doesnât love. He doesnât get piss stuff or age play, but he doesnât count himself one to judge. The one time he let a girl tie him up, he ripped his hands out of the bonds and had a knot in the top of his chest for a week after. Life is hard enough as it is, and as fun as a lot of that kind of stuff looks, there can be too many deep, serrated scars in him for it to feel good.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
While heâll never say no to getting some head, the only sight better than you on your knees with his cock in your mouth is you flat on your back, grabbing at anything you can reach as he tongue fucks you into oblivion. He thinks he could live and die between your legs, your pussy gushing on his face and his name falling from your lips. And heâs good at it. He knows heâs good at it. Heâll shoot you a wink before he kisses his way down your body, because he knows youâre never even try to resist him. Once he convinced you to sit on his face, and heâd never known anything closer to heaven.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
He can read and match the tone well, depending on what you want. When heâs rough, he bullies his cock into your like a drill, making the bed creak and tears spring into your eyes from the almost overwhelming pleasure of being fucked over and over and over like some sweet little doll. When heâs slow, heâs slow, taking his time to make your feel every thrust, every kiss, every brush of his fingers over your clit. But even when heâs slow, he drives into you with the force of a man falling into a black hole. He canât help himself. The way your gummy walls squeeze him just feels too good, to not make them clench and flutter around him.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
If youâd let him, Dean would just fill the whole day with quickies. Wake up and fuck you between the sheets, get breakfast then have a second meal between your thighs, interview a few vics and cradle your head while he drive, pulling off to the side when you suck his cock a little too well, and his vision starts to go blurry. Sometimes heâll spend a whole day teasing you, just to try and get you to start it. Itâs a great victory, if you drag him into a supply closet to bang one out. Itâs all heâs ever wanted in the world.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Anything once really did teach him to know what he liked, so at this point itâs more indulging any risks youâd want to take. He knows his lines, and heâs more than willing to help you find yours. If you shyly ask him to tie you up or wrap a hand around your throat or fist you, heâd have to be a madman to tell you no.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Even at his age, Dean counts himself impressive. He might not be pulling the day long marathons he did in his twenties, but he can go the whole night if he keeps the focus on your pleasure, which he finds easy to do. If you make him cum in your mouth or hands, heâll dedicate as long as he needs to teaching you a few lessons and opening you up, before heâs hard and ready to go again. Once heâs in you, though, heâs no chump. He can hold himself off for over an hour on the best of nights. Sure, there were the few cases when you were just too soft and pretty and he couldnât stop himself, but you found it hot anyway. The loss of control, just from looking at you, youâd never felt more beautiful. And it wasnât like he didnât make it worth your time.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Heâs tried a few toys on himself, but theyâre all complicated, and he lives with his damn brother. Knowing each otherâs porn habits is bad enough, the idea of sex toys getting exposed makes him feel a little sex. Heâs got a perfectly good hand, and a hot girlfriend, and thatâs all heâs never going to need. If you want him to pull out that vibrator you keep in your nightstand, though, heâs never going to protest. Watching you come apartâyour thighs rolling against the head of the toy and your mouth hanging openâis always too good an opportunity to pass up. The toy might be the one giving you the pleasure, but Deanâs the one holding it. Heâs the person youâre crying for when you cum, and he usually gets to fuck your already swollen pussy after. Doesnât get much better than that.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Some might call him a monster. And the some is you. You didnât know how much you could get worked up, until Dean came around and showed you. Through the day heâll make you flush with little comments, then trace his fingers over your inner thigh in the car, making you flush and pant before he just kisses your cheek and walks away. And you thought that was bad, until he actually got his hands on you, and you learned how much the asshole loves edging. Getting you so wet and flustered your almost sobbing for him, whispering dirty praise until your face is burning, somehow keeping you on the edge with teasing touches, even as his cock drives right into that gummy spot inside of you. He says youâre too adorable not to tease. You roll your eyes, but never ask him to stop. Itâs always, just a little, too good.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
The mouth on him should be worthy of a lawsuit. Between the moaning and grunting, the strangled, rumbling sound he makes when he pushes himself inside of you, and the deep, filthy dirty talk, you think you might just be able to cum from his voice. Itâs not fair, but Dean doesnât play fair, and you donât want him to. One day, when youâre brave, youâll ask him to test the theory. Heâll oblige, and youâll certainly end up right.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Deanâs never in it for himself. If his partner wants him to hand over control, heâll do it, but itâs never going to be what he prefers. He spends every day of his life begging for the people he loves to listen to him, for once in their damn lives. Heâs got a grip over his own world, even if his hands shake on the worst of nights. Itâs not liberating for him to be degraded in sex when all heâs known is bruises and spit from the people who were supposed to love him. He wants to be trusted more than heâs ever going to be able to say, to be the only person you turn to for pleasure, to take his hands and mouth and body and have them feel safe for just one, one fucking person. He might be in control during sex, but itâs still all about you, and thatâs exactly how he likes it.
X = X-ray (letâs see whatâs going on under those clothes)
He doesnât get his confidence from nowhere. For a whileâbefore youâit was sort of the only kind of confidence he had. Dean didnât count himself for much, but no one could deny their own eyes. The size of him is one thingâlong enough to hit spots you didnât know you had, veiny and uncut and almost prettyâbut the girth- It makes your mouth fall open, the first time you see it. Youâre not sure you can stretch that wide, and when Dean tells you that you will, sweetheart, you almost roll your eyes. But, damn him, heâs right. You mold around that thick, big cock like a glove, and feel him in every inch of your body.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
If anything, he only gets worse with age. In his younger days, fucking was something he could work himself up to almost any day of the week, even if he wasnât sure he wanted to an hour ago. A pretty girl and a good drink, the engine could get itself going. Then you came along and made him feel things, and then he let you get close and start making him eat well and drink water and go for stupid walks, and suddenly there isnât a second thatâs enough. If life didnât get in the way, heâd never let you leave the bed.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Heâll push through the exhaustion for some proper aftercare, but the moment heâs sure youâre good, Deanâs out like a stone. He doesnât sleep well under any other circumstance, but you work him hard, then let him use you like a human body pillow, and he finds the closest thing he knows to peace, right there, with you in his arms.
âŠDean Masterlist - Main Masterlist - read on AO3!âŠ
âŠAuthor's Note: i think about him. all the time <3âŠ
âŠBuy me a coffee!âïž (and get early access!)âŠ
âËâżË° hereâs to hoping | d. winchester
paring.á dean winchester x reader
word count.á 1.7k
summary.á while watching a completely relaxed dean sleep, his sharp edges smoothed over by rare peace, you are hit with a wave of intense, sudden fear, and the thought of ever seeing him walk away or losing him completely paralyzes you. inspired by honeybee by olivia rodrigo. part of my you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love series
notes/warnings.á lowercase intended, angst (if you squint) mostly fluff, soft!dean
"the salt is getting expensive," sam remarked, shaking a nearly empty plastic container over the rim of a heavy iron skillet. he was wearing a faded flannel shirt and a look of mild concern, his brow furrowed as he tried to scrape the last few grains of coarse salt into the pan. he wasn't looking at anyone in particular, just focusing on the breakfast hash he was attempting to salvage in the small, dimly lit kitchen of the motel.
"just buy the bulk bags from the warehouse," dean mumbled from the table, though his eyes were closed and his voice sounded like it had been dragged through a gravel pit. he was slumped in a vinyl chair, one arm draped over the back and his chin resting on his chest. he looked less like a man who had spent the last forty-eight hours tracking a nest of vampires and more like a discarded piece of laundry.
the motel room smelled of old carpet and cheap pine cleaner, a scent that had become the unofficial fragrance of their lives. sunlight filtered through the gaps in the heavy curtains, casting long, golden strips across the peeling wallpaper. sam turned the stove off with a click, the sizzle of the potatoes dying down as he glanced at his brother. dean didn't move; he just let out a long, rattling sigh and drifted back toward the edge of consciousness, his breathing slowing into a heavy, rhythmic cadence.
eventually, the room fell quiet as sam stepped out to grab some coffee, leaving the silence to settle like dust. dean had shifted, migrating from the chair to the bed, and you had shifted with him. he was out cold, dead to the world in a way that only happens when the adrenaline finally drains out of a person's system. his head was a heavy weight against your chest, his breathing deep and steady, his forehead pressed firmly against your skin.
you lay there in the stillness, your hand hovering just a hair above the line of his jaw. you didn't touch him, not yet, but you traced the air, following the curve of his chin and the slight, unconscious dip of his mouth. in the light of the day, he looked different. the hard, jagged edges of the man who walked into dark forests with a shotgun and a scowl had smoothed over. the tension that usually lived in the bridge of his nose had vanished, leaving behind something soft, human, and devastatingly quiet.
it was the stillness that did it. the way his chest rose and fell in a slow, trusting rhythm that he only ever surrendered to when he was certain no one was sneaking up on him. you watched the way his eyelashes cast long, feathered shadows against his cheekbones, noting the faint, jagged scar near his temple that usually looked like a badge of war. but here, in the dim amber light of the motel room, it just looked like a flaw in a piece of art. he wasn't a soldier or a weapon right now; he was just a man who liked old cars and cheap burgers, exhausted to his very marrow.
then, the weight of it hit you. the sudden, sharp realization that this peace was a fragile thing, held together by the thin thread of a lucky break. you thought about the things that lived in the dark, the things that didn't care about the softness of a sleeping face or the way he held you like you were the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth. a cold knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach, twisting tight and hard. you imagined the door of this room swinging open one last time, and dean walking through it, not coming back. you imagined those green eyes; usually so full of fire and stubbornness; looking at you with a quiet, final goodbye.
the thought was so heavy it felt physical, a pressure in your lungs that made your breathing hitch. you tried to stifle a sob, but the sudden shift in your posture caused the mattress to creak. dean stirred, the rhythmic breathing breaking as he shifted his head against your chest. for a heartbeat, you expected him to bolt upright, hand reaching for the silver blade under the pillow, his eyes wide and hunting for a threat.
instead, he just blinked. his eyelids fluttered open slowly, his pupils dilated and hazy with sleep. he looked up at you, his expression vacant and soft, the world slowly coming back into focus. when he saw the shimmer of tears in your eyes and the intensity of your gaze, his brow furrowed, not with suspicion, but with an immediate, instinctive concern. without a word, he shifted his weight, sliding his arm around your waist to pull you flush against him, tucking your head under his chin.
"hey..." he whispered, his voice a low, sleep-roughened rasp that vibrated against your skin. "what's wrong? i've got you."
you let out a long, shaky breath, the kind that felt like it was releasing a pressure valve in your chest. the terror of the what if? didn't vanish, but it dimmed, eclipsed by the sheer, tangible reality of him. he was warm, he smelled of old leather and soap, and he was solid. you didn't want to tell him about the sudden image of him walking through a door for the last time; you didn't want to burden his exhaustion with the weight of your fear. instead, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead firmly against the center of his chest.
you closed your eyes and listened. beneath the cotton of his t-shirt, his heart was beatingâa steady, rhythmic thrum that served as the only truth that mattered in that moment. it was a slow, powerful sound, a reminder that he was here, he was breathing, and he was alive. the anxiety that had coiled tight in your stomach began to unfurl, replaced by a heavy, grounding sense of security.
"nothing," you whispered, your voice still thick with the remnants of those unshed tears. "just looking at you."
dean let out a soft, huffing sound, half-laugh, half-sigh, and tightened his grip on you. he didn't question the intensity of your expression or the way you were clinging to him as if he might evaporate if you let go. he simply understood the gravity of the silence. he shifted slightly, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, his stubble grazing your skin in a way that made you feel anchored and seen.
"you're weird," he murmured, though the words were devoid of any real teasing. he sounded sleepy, his voice still thick with the haze of a deep slumber, but there was a tenderness in the tone that he rarely showed the rest of the world. he shifted his hand, his thumb tracing a slow, soothing circle on the small of your back, as if he were calming a frightened animal.
he stayed like that for a long time, the two of you cocooned in the quiet of the room. the world outside the motel door continued to turn. sam was probably halfway through a cardboard tray of coffee, the impala was collecting dust in the parking lot, and there was likely another town somewhere with a strange history and a missing person's report. but inside the circle of his arms, the clock seemed to stop. the frantic pace of their lives, the constant vigilance, and the weight of the family business felt like a distant memory, something that belonged to a different version of the man currently holding you.
dean shifted, his chin rubbing against the top of your head as he let out a slow, contented exhale. he wasn't a man of many words when it came to the things that actually mattered, but the way he held you; firm, protective, and unwilling to let an inch of space come between you, spoke louder than any confession. he knew you were shaken; he could feel the lingering tremor in your shoulders, and though he didn't ask for the details, he adjusted his hold, pulling you closer until you could feel the warmth radiating off his skin.
"i'm not going anywhere," he murmured, his voice now a bit clearer but still laced with a lingering sleepiness. he didn't know the exact image that had flashed through your mind, but he knew the ghosts you both lived with. he knew the particular brand of fear that came with loving someone whose job description involved walking into the mouth of hell. his thumb continued that slow, hypnotic circle on your back, grounding you in the present, reminding you that he was solid and he was here.
you shifted your head slightly, looking up at him. his green eyes were no longer hazy; they were clear and focused, searching your face with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. there was a flicker of the old dean there; the stubborn, fierce protector; but it was tempered by a softness that was reserved only for this bed, in this kind of silence. he saw the last remnants of the anxiety in your eyes and leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead.
"better?" he asked softly.
"much better," you whispered, the tension finally draining from your limbs. you let out a long, shaky sigh and tucked your face back into the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of him. the panic that had gripped you moments ago hadn't vanishedâit never truly did in a life like thisâbut it had shifted from a sharp, stabbing pain to a dull hum, something manageable as long as you could feel the rise and fall of his chest.
dean let out a low grunt of satisfaction, his muscles relaxing back into the mattress. he didn't move to get up or check his phone for a new lead; he just stayed there, anchoring you to the present. the silence of the room was interrupted by the distant sound of a car door slamming in the parking lot, likely sam returning with the coffee, but the noise felt miles away. for the first time in weeks, the urgency of the hunt didn't feel like a weight on your shoulders.
@bejeweledstvrlight © â.á 2026
Partition
pairing: bucky barnes x reader
description: bucky's campaign is going smoothly, or as smoothly as it could go for someone who technically was a former assassin. but the real crime is bucky standing in front of you and looking so good, when you couldn't get your hands on him yet.
warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, sex in a limo, brat/brat tamer dynamics, multiple orgasms, cumming inside, bucky is a bit mean at times, squirting mentioned, aftercare, bucky calls reader doll and sweetheart a lot, pre established relationship, swearing
word count: 5.9k
a/n: it took me so long to post this that she released morning dew (donk) lmao, divder from @strangergraphics and pictures from pinterest. any spelling/grammar errors are unfortunately my own because i can't stop writing at 2 in the morning
When Bucky rolled over in bed one night and told you that he wanted to run for Congress, you'd laughed in his face; because there was no way that he was being serious. Where had he gotten such an idea as that one? The two of you weren't exactly favored by the government.
"That's exactly why I want to do it, doll. The government hasn't exactly been kind to people like me and you, and I think I could help future people in our positions. You know, from the inside." Bucky rambles, pulling you closer. He was rambling, and when he was rambling it meant he was nervous and doubting himself.
"Hey, if this is really want you want to do, then let's do it. You know that I'll support you through anything, right?" The words come out soft and reassuring as you lace your fingers together, smiling softly at the way that some of the tension seems to ease out of your husband's shoulders.
Bucky grins at that, relieved to know that you have faith in him no matter what. "I chose the perfect girl to marry, didn't I?"
"Hey, you said it, not me." You tease, squealing when he rolls you over so that he's on top of you.
It turns out that running for Congress isn't all sunshine and rainbows, especially when you have a past as colorful as Bucky's. And it seemed like you were the only person who knew that he never wanted to do those things, that he was forced into taking the lives of all those people. Or maybe all these people did know, and just enjoyed throwing it back in his face to get a reaction from him.
You couldn't even count on your hands the amount of times someone whispered the words "Winter Soldier" around the two of you, as if it was a failing on Bucky's part. He didn't ask to fall off a train, be kidnapped and tortured, and turned into a killing machine. And people knew thisâhe'd been cleared of his transgressions for years now. They just didn't have the common decency to keep their comments to themselves.
"Are you sure that you want to go to this banquet tonight? I'm pretty sure most of the people that are going to be there have all but submitted their ballot." It wasn't that you didn't think Bucky could manage to change their minds; you knew better than anyone how charming and persuasive he could be. In truth, you just didn't want to leave the house tonight. The Food Network was calling your name.
"It can't hurt to try." Bucky says, shooting you a knowing smile. He knew this was a very poor attempt at getting him to cuddle in bed with you, and as much as he wanted to give in, he had a job to do. "When we get home, I'll run you a nice bath, pour you a glass of wine, and we can relax for a bit. How does that sound, baby?"
"Let me get this straight; you're going to spend all night kissing the ass of everyone we come into contact with, but when we get home you want to spoil me?" You laugh as you adjust his tie, shaking your head in mock disappoint. "What happened to putting yourself first, Mr. Barnes? You know how important self care is to me."
"That'll be Congressman Barnes to you soon enough, Mrs. Barnes." He mutters as he stares down at you, his metal arm wrapping around you to bring you closer.
"Careful, Bucky. Don't start something that you know we can't finish; we have to be out the door and in the limo in like 5 minutes." You say, waving a teasing finger at him.
"Hm, and how do you expect me to keep my hands to myself when you look this good?" Bucky's arm tightens ever so slightly around you, and if this were any other time, you would've taken the bait and tore his clothes off. But the two of you had business to attend to, and if you had to suffer, so did Bucky.
"Nice try. Come on, we need to get going." You say as you grab your clutch, ignoring the dramatic groan coming from behind you.
"I hope you know that you're going to pay for that later." Bucky calls as he watches you walk down the steps.
As much as you hated to admit it, you weren't having the worst time at this gala. The space was decorated beautifully, unlike some of the previous ones that you'd been to. You'd seen kindergarten classrooms that were less garish. And they were serving the good alcohol, so that was always a bonus.
You were standing off to the side while Bucky talked to one of the other candidatesâone of the men who probably only ran to uphold his "family legacy" at the demand of his mother and father. The family legacy that has kept New Yorkers down and out of power for years, if you had to guess.
Usually, Bucky could handle your average pompous asshole. But you could tell that even this one was starting to get to him; his jaw was locked, he hadn't even opened his mouth in at least 3 minutes, and he was holding onto his glass of whiskey.
You could save him, theoretically. But being able to sit back and watch as he tried to keep control of the situation? Well, that was a much more fun option. So you stayed rooted in your spot, swirling an olive around in your half empty martini glass.
"Isn't he just so handsome?" Someone said as they came up to stand on your left. You look over to see an older woman, probably in her mid to late 50s, ogling your husband. As if she could ever have a shot at him.
"He is." You state simply, deciding to humor her a little. "Wouldn't it be nice to have someone in Congress that isn't covered in wrinkles and grey hairs?"
"Hey, greys and wrinkles aren't all that bad." She says with mock offense. "Although, I guess I wouldn't know. I froze my face before I hit 30, just to make sure of it."
Alright, maybe this lady isn't all bad. "So, is that handsome man over there the one you plan on voting for?" You ask as you gesture towards Bucky.
"I'm not entirely sure yet. His policies are solid, especially for a first time runner, and he seems hellbent on making sure that he makes a change." The old woman paused, tilting her head almost thoughtfully as she looked at Bucky. "But I'm just not sure. I mean, how can we trust someone who's been through all the things he's been through to notâŠfall into old habits? I mean, can brainwashing like that ever truly be undone?"
If this had been a couple years ago, those words would have gotten to you. Not because you believed them or you hadn't heard people say them to or around you a dozen times, but because Bucky had said them to you on multiple occasions. When he first came off the ice in Wakanda, he didn't believe that he could really be fixed.
"You shouldn't be thinking of it as something that needs to be fixed." You'd told him. "Think of it more so as you returning to your old self. The you who would step in between Steve and that week's bully without a moment of hesitation."
But it had worked. You knew it did, because Bucky would still make you test it sometimes. Just to make sure.
So when you responded to her, it came from the mouth of James Buchanan Barnes' biggest supporter, because you had seen all the work he had put into making sure he never turned into that person again. "I can assure you, he has everything under control. If something were going to happen, don't you think it would have happened by now? There is nothing for you to worry about; if Bucky is elected, there will be zero chance of him harming anyone. I can promise you that."
"My, that was quiet a response." The lady says with a chuckle. "What are you, his campaign manager or something?"
"Actually, she's my wife." Bucky says as he comes up to your other side. You'd been so focused on this lady and her unwanted commentary, you'd taken your eyes off of Bucky. "You wouldn't mind if I stole her for a quick dance, would you?"
"Of course not." She says, waving a dismissive hand. As if she hadn't spent the past few minutes implying that your husband would fly off the rails and start killing people in the middle of a congressional meeting. Bucky shoots her an appreciative smile, taking your glass and setting it on the tray of a waiter passing by before grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the dance floor.
"You looked like you were about to pounce on that lady, doll. It's a good thing that I got there when I did, or that would've seriously hurt my chances of winning this thing." He jokes as the two of you step onto the dance floor. "What was that all about?"
"Just an old lady who had no idea what she was talking about." You shrug, letting Bucky take the lead in your dancing. "Nothing to worry about."
"Oh yeah? That's not what it looked like. At least, not from where I was standing." Bucky says with a smirk. "Come on, tell me what she said that's got you all so worked up."
"I am not worked up." You say defensively, not missing the way his eyebrow raises. "Okay, fine, maybe I am a little worked up. But I already didn't want to come to this stupid event tonight, and having to stand there listening to her act like the Winter Soldier was going to come out and strangle her to death made me a little angry. So what? I'd say that it's perfectly normal to get upset when someone calls the character of your husband into question."
Bucky shakes his head, and if you didn't know any better, you'd think he too was upset by this news. But you did know better, so you could tell from the look on his face that he was trying his hardest to hold back his laughter. "I thought that you would be used to those stupid comments by now, baby. What happened to the girl that used to tell me to block all of that bullshit out?"
"She's on vacation." You grumble as Bucky spins you around. When you fall back into him, his arm wraps around your waist to pull you closer.
"You just have to let this stuff go. Like water off a duck's back, you know?" At your unimpressed look, he looks at you and smile. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Because that's something that only grandpa's say." You say with a snort. "I know that you're like, over a hundred years old, but you don't have to sound like it too."
"Careful, young lady. You're already on thin ice because of earlier, remember?" He says as the two of you sway to the rhythm of the slow song.
"Oh no, I'm shaking in my boots." You say sarcastically as you roll your eyes.
Bucky chuckles and shakes his head, looking down at you with thinly veiled desire. "Yeah, you're going to regret all of this sass later on tonight."
"Are you sure that you're going to make it to later tonight? I'm pretty sure that we're a couple hours past your bedtime, Mr. Barnes. You might fall asleep during the car ride home before you can even make good on your promise."
You were well aware that you were digging your own grave this at this point, but you didn't really care. After all, that was what made nights like these fun for you.
After the night comes to a close and you and Bucky say your goodbyes, you practically shove him into the limo, ignoring the smug look on his face. "Jesus, doll. I'm not completely indestructible, you know that, right?" He says with a laugh as you climb on top of him.
"Shut up. Do you know how hard it is to have to stand there all night, watching you talk to all those people? I don't know if you know this, but you're really fucking hot, and I have a hard time keeping my hands to myself at these events." You ramble, your fingers struggling to undo his tie.
Bucky scoffs, shaking his head as he reaches up to put a stop to your hands, placing your arms around his neck instead. "Wow, I appreciate the nice words, doll. It's so great to be looked at like a piece of meat."
Your eyes roll involuntarily at that, and you attempt to get back to what you were doing when Bucky pinches your thigh. A noise of pain comes out of you, and you're about to voice such pain when Bucky gestures his head to the open partition that's meant to be separating the two of you and your driver.
"Excuse me, sir, could you roll up the partition, please? My husband and I need to have a private conversation." The saccharine tone of voice you'd been using the whole night comes back pretty easily, despite how desperate you are to be doing something much more fun.
"No problem, ma'am." The driver replies curtly, his hand rushing to push the button that would put some separation between him and whatever you and Bucky were getting up to in the back of his limo.
You wait until the divider is fully closed before turning your attention back to Bucky, smiling down at him like a kid in a candy store. "Now, where were we?"
"You were looking at me like I'm a piece of meat." Bucky quips, laughing softly at the way you glare at him.
"I am not looking at you like you're a piece of meat," You say as an almost manic sort of grin tugs at your lips. "I'm looking at you like you're my very handsome husband. Which you are."
"You really know how to make a guy feel special, don't you?" Bucky asks sarcastically as he runs his thumb over your knuckles. "Why don't we slow down for a bit, okay? We are not having sex in a limo right now."
"And why the hell not? It's not like we haven't done it before, you know." You remind him as you trace your finger down his jaw. "There was that one time, on that mission in France a few years back. And then there was that time we had a quickie while Sam was in that meeting dealing with something. Don't tell me that you've gotten boring in your old age, James."
"I am far from boring, and you know that, sweetheart." Bucky had that look in his eyeâthe one that said that he was still holding back, but the strings of the rope keeping him there were slowly starting to snap. After all, he wasn't always the most patient man on the planet, especially when it came to you and your body. And you knew exactly what buttons to let that part of him loose.
"Well you're not being any fun right now." You grumble as you card your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "It's late and there's traffic outside, which means that there is more than enough time for us to do something, James."
"Don't call me that, that's not fair." Bucky says as if the name physically pains him.
"Why not? It's your name, isn't it?" You tease. You knew more than anyone how much he hated being called by that name. He said that it made you sound like his mother, back when she would scold himâand Steve, because where Bucky went, Steve wentâfor tracking water in the house or for spending their last dime on something frivolous.
"Don't get smart with me. You're already in enough hot water as it is, so I wouldn't push your luck if I were you." Bucky warns as he trails his hands along your sides.
Any other time you might have finally taken the hint and backed off, but not tonight. You just knew that if you pushed a little harder, maybe even begged a bit, you could get what you wanted from your husband. It was just important that you played your cards right.
"Fine." You sigh, slumping against Bucky's body and resting your head on his shoulder. "Just wanted to have a bit of fun, you know? It was a long night tonight."
Bucky looks you up and down, his eyes narrowing as he assesses you. If he saw through this whole act of yours, he didn't comment on it. Bucky was a lot of things, and he could usually hold out for longer. But when you had a pout on your lips and those pretty little lashes of yours fluttered? There wasn't much he could do to deny you what you wanted, no matter how hard he tried.
"God, you're killing me here, doll." Bucky groans as he flips the two of you around so that you're sitting on the seat. You yelp in surprise, gripping onto his shoulders as he lowers himself down between your thighs. "This will not become an every time thing, you understand me? No matter how much you beg and plead."
"Yes sir." You say, hiding your triumphant grin by biting down on your lip. Bucky glares at your teasing, but chooses not to comment on it. Instead he hikes up your dress, humming in approval when you lift your hips so he can remove your underwear. You watch as he kisses up your left thigh, nearly getting to your core before switching to your right leg and repeating the process, slower this time. He always loved to take his time when it came to eating you out; said that there was no need to rush when he had something so precious right there in front of him.
"Are you always so wet for me?" He murmurs as he nips at your thigh. It was a useless question; one that you both knew the answer to. How could you not be constantly aroused when you were around him?
"I meant what I said earlier about you being really fucking hot." Your giggle is cut off by a low moan as Bucky finally presses a kiss to your lips, the feeling of his warm breath already overwhelming you.
"Pleasure to be of service." Bucky hums before licking a stripe from your hole to your clit. Your legs twitch in response, pressing against his head as he dives deeper.
A whine falls from you, your hips canting upward in a silent plea for more. More touch? More pressure? More what, you're not really sure. But you're feeling needy at the moment, and Bucky is the only person who can satisfy your desperate needs at the moment. His name gets caught on your lips as he sucks on your clit, your head resting on the back of the seat as he does it again and again. "If you don't stop, I'm gonna cum."
"That's the goal, sweetheart." Bucky says with a smirk as he flicks his tongue just right, watching in thinly veiled satisfaction as your eyes roll into the back of your head. "Come on, doll, I know you can. Why don't you give me a little taste?"
There's a fuck you sitting right on the tip of your tongue, but you know that being a brat won't get you what you want right now. And right now, that coil in the pit of your stomach is painfully tight, but it's close to snapping. You just need a little bit more from your husband to set it free. Your hand reaches down and tangles itself in Bucky's hair, pressing him hard into your cunt.
"More." You begâor would plead be the better word? It doesn't really matter, because Bucky seems to know exactly what you mean. He always knows what you need to be thrown off that ledge.
A combination of licking, sucking, and nipping comes next. It could all happen in minutes, or it could have all happened in a mere matter of seconds, but it doesn't matter. When you cum you have to remind yourself that you and Bucky aren't in the comfort of your own home, because if not for the way you were biting your lip, you'd know for a fact that the driver would have heard the moan that clawed it's way out of your throat.
"God, you always looks so beautiful when you come undone for me." Bucky says, giving you one last lick before getting up and sitting beside you. Your head falls onto his shoulder as you try and catch your breath, Bucky's arm wrapping around you.
There's a few moments of silence as the two of you collect yourselves. "Thank you." You whisper, pressing a kiss to Bucky's cheek.
"I hope you know that we're continuing this when we get home." He says as the fingers of his metal arm trail up and down your arm.
"Yeah, I'm counting on it. You look like you could use some release." You tease as your hand brushes against the very obvious bulge that is threatening to rip his pants in half.
Bucky groans, the hand on his knee tightening slightly. "You just can't help yourself, can you? You always have to push your limits."
You shrug, an unrepentant smile on your face as you grab his hand and lace your fingers together. "It is a hobby of mine, yes."
As soon as you and Bucky stumble into your apartment, his jacket comes off and your dress is ripped off your body. A soft laugh floats between the two of you as your back is pressed against the wall. "Careful, careful. We don't need anymore noise complaints from Mrs. Lovett."
"She'll be fine." Bucky dismisses as he taps your thigh, signaling for you to jump into his arms. Once he has you properly settled in his grip, he starts trailing kisses across your collarbone, pausing to suck on your skin every so often. "Besides, there are more pressing matters that we need to attend to at the moment, Mrs. Barnes."
"Oh yeah? And what might those matters be?" You ask with a giggle as you tilt your head back. Rather than answering with his words, Bucky pressed himself against you so that you could feel just how much he craved you.
"Is that enough of an answer for you, doll?" He questions as he starts carrying you towards the bedroom. The door barely has time to shut behind you before he's throwing you on the bed and climbing on top of you, his arms pinning you in on either side of your head.
You don't even give him the chance to say something else, pulling him down by his shoulders and smashing your lips together. This isn't a soft kissâit is one of need, want, passion, devotion and everything that comes in between. The two of you kiss like you could very well die tomorrow, and you want this to be the last thing you remember about the other.
"It's not fair that you're still so clothed, and I'm laying here naked." You point out when the two of you finally break the intense kiss. "Why don't you get naked too?"
"Would that make you happy, doll?" Bucky asks with a smirk as he pulls back slightly. "Because you know that I'd do anything you wanted if it made you happy."
"It would make me very happy, Bucky." You whisper, watching as Bucky slowly undoes the buttons of his shirt and slips it off his shoulder. A soft sigh comes out as his chest comes into view, and you have to fight every bone in your body to stop yourself from reaching out and touching him. Before he can undo the buckle of his belt, you reach out and place your hand over his. "Let me help you with that."
Bucky's gaze intensifies as he watches your hands undo his belt, a hum of approval coming out when you also undo the button of his pants. "So helpful for me, sweetheart." He murmurs, his hand cupping your cheek and pulling you in for another kiss. This one is much softer and slower, like he just remembered that there was no need to rush through any of this; you had the whole night ahead of you.
He pushed you back down again, keeping a hand on your stomach so that you would stay still while he removed his pants and his boxers in one motion. Most people wouldn't see a dick and have the first thought that came to their mind be about how pretty it looked, but you would. Especially when it was Bucky'sâit was almost as if it was handcrafted by the gods to be everything you could ever want and need in a husband. The way it curved slightly upwards and to the right, the way it twitched whenever you so much as breathed near it, the tiny bead of precum that traveled from his tip and down his shaft.
It was nothing short of perfect, and it was all yours. Forever.
"Never seen anything prettier than when you're all laid out in front of me like this." He whispers into your ear as his hand travels up your legs, the cold metal of his fingers settling on your clit and drawing small circles. He swallows the gasp that comes from your lips with his mouth, his body pressing against yours.
"Oh, fuck." You whine against his lips, raising your hips up in hopes of getting some more pressure. "Buckyâ"
"Shh, I know, baby. I know. I just need to work you open a bit more, okay? Don't wanna hurt you." His words are meant to be reassuring, but all they do is make you whine even louder.
"Don't care, just want you." You grumble, wrapping your legs around his waist and flipping the two of you over. Bucky lets out a noise of surprise, his hands shooting out to your hips to make sure you don't topple over.
"You can't just be patient for two minutes, can you?" Bucky asks with a scoff, but it's clear from the smile that sits on his lips that he's not particularly upset about you taking control.
"I've been patient all night long, I think I've earned some kind of reward." You say with a huff as you wrap your hands around Bucky's shaft and give it a few pumps, biting your lip at the way Bucky's breath catches in his throat.
"Alright, yeah. That seems fairâfuck, doll. You're gonna make me cum if you keep doing that." He groans as his eyes screw shut. You giggle, rubbing your thumb along his tip as your other hand joins the first one on his shaft.
"What was it you said earlier? Something about working me open?" You pretend to think about it, tilting your head slightly before speaking again. "Think of this as my version of doing that."
"You're going to pay for this later, and I won't be as kind as I was earlier." Bucky warns as his grip on your hips tightens.
"Oh, honey. I'm holding you to that." You say as you line him up with your entrance before sliding down. The two of you moan as you become one, Bucky's head falling back into the pillows while you place your hands on his chest to steady yourself. You take a moment to adjust to his sizeâhad he somehow gotten bigger?âbefore starting to rock your hips, your mouth falling open as quiet sighs and curses escaped you.
"Fuck, doll, you feel like heaven." Bucky grits out as he aids you in rocking yourself back and forth. You were definitely going to have bruises in the shape of his fingers tomorrow morning, but it would all be worth it if it meant you could be reminded of this moment. "No place I'd rather be right now."
"Me either." You manage to choke out as your start moving faster, your clit rubbing against the hair at the base of Bucky's dick. Everything just felt so good; it was all too much, but not enough at the same time. You wanted more, but you knew that you wouldn't be able to get what you needed without more of Bucky's help. "Can you�"
"Can I what, doll?" He asks with a raised eyebrow. He wasn't stupid, he knew exactly what it was you were asking for. But you'd been so insistent on taking what you wanted, and he was going to make you do some begging before giving into what you wanted. "I thought that you could handle all of this by yourself?"
On a different night, at a different time, you would have fought back. You would've given him some lip, and showed him just how much you could handle on your own. But this wasn't any other night, and you'd been so worked up all night long, and he was right there, looking like sin incarnate with that stupid grin and his perfect hair. Swallowing your pride just this one time wouldn't kill you.
"Please? Feels good, feels so good, but not enough." You whine as your hips momentarily halt their motions. Bucky tsks, using his hold on your hips to make you start moving again.
"Did I tell you that you could stop?" He says scoldingly, removing his hands once you return to your previous pace. "You wanted this so bad, no way you're stopping now. In fact, I'll just lay here until you can make yourself cum."
You knew from past experience that that wasn't just an empty threat; Bucky could restrain himself all night if that's what it took. Stupid fucking super soldier serum. You couldn't pout and plead your way into getting what you wanted tonight, unfortunately.
With a whine that you would almost certainly deny later, you readjusted your position on Bucky's lap so that you could get more comfortable, focusing on getting him deeper inside of you so that he'd hit that spot inside of you that desperately craved attention. This new stance and new focus put more attention on your clit, the feeling of Bucky all around you creating a sense of pleasure that you knew like the back of your hand.
"There you go, good girl." Bucky whispers mockingly as he trails a hand up your thigh. He chuckles at your almost pained noise as his hand makes contact with your skin. "I can feel you tightening around me, you know? It can't possibly feel that good, can it, doll?"
Tomorrow morning, you were going to make him pay for that smug look in his eyes right now. But currently, you were too preoccupied by the fact that he was so deep inside you there was a chance he would never come out. "Bucky, please. I promise, I'll be goodâI'll be so fucking good, just help me cum!" You plead as your fingers scratch down his chest.
Bucky finally seems to take pity on you, rolling his eyes as if this was the biggest inconvenience before flipping the two of you over once more so he was hovering over you. "How can I deny you when you beg so prettily when you need something from me, hm?"
There's barely any time for you to form a response before Bucky hooks one of your legs up and over his shoulder with one hand, the other one finding it's place against your neck. His hips snap against yours, the pace almost punishing.
"Fuck!" You shout as you throw your head back, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as he speeds up. He knew just what to do to send you over the edge, and you were forever grateful for that.
Moans, whimpers, sighs, and curses all fell from your lips, but you couldn't make out exactly what was being said. The scent of sex mixed with Bucky's cologne and your perfume was simply too much for you to handle all at once, and that familiar swirl in the pit of your stomach was building up once more.
"So fucking perfect for me, sweetheart." Bucky grunts as he tightens his hold on your neck, watching the way your eyelids flutter shut and your mouth falls open once more. "No other way to describe it, other than utterly fucking perfect. And all mine."
"All yours, Bucky." You repeat once he removes his hand from around your throat. Your own hands scratch down his back as that feeling that you've been chasing comes back, your words almost stuck inside you. "Gonna cum."
"It's okay, you can cum. Cum for me, doll, come on." Bucky whispers as he trails his kisses from your forehead, to the tip of your nose, to your cheeks and your jaw, and finally to your lips. The hand that slides between of you to give your clit a little extra attention is the straw that breaks the camel's back, an orgasm so powerful that the corners of your eyes fill with white spots. You can distantly feel Bucky's load spilling out of him and into you before everything fades away.
When you come to a few minutes later, Bucky is slowly lowering the two of you into the tub in your en suite bathroom. Your head lolls back against his shoulder as you slowly blink away the fuzziness clinging to your vision.
"Well, well. Look who's back." Bucky says with a soft smile, his arm wrapped around your midsection. "You passed out on me there for a bit, had me all worried."
"I'd say that I was sorry, but we both know that that would be a lie." You say with a cheeky grin, earning a snort from the man behind me. "You should be proud of yourself, honestly. The sex is so good it made me pass out for a couple minutes."
"And squirt." Bucky adds casually as he reaches for your favorite soap. You whirl around, sending warm water splashing out of the sides of the tub.
"I what?" You shriek, jaw dropped as you stare down your husband. He just shrugs, as if he was sharing the morning's weather report with you. "But we just changed the sheets." You whine as you turn and lean against Bucky's chest.
"We just had mind blowing sex, and you're worried about the fact that we have to change the sheets again?" Bucky asks incredulously before pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "And you have the nerve to call me old."
"Well, that's different. You're like, over a hundred years old." You counter with a small smile. "I just don't like changing the sheets or doing laundry."
"If it bothers you so much, I'll change the damn sheets." Bucky says with a scoff as he puts some soap on the towel and begins washing your back.
"Such a perfect husband. What would I do without you?" You tease, adjusting so that Bucky can clean your back properly. Although, it wasn't a joke. Bucky really was the perfect husband to you, and you wouldn't trade him out for anything or anyone else.
Because when it came down to it, you loved him more than you had ever loved anyone else.
@arkofblake @ivysprophecy @robinavitchabbotslut
Being drnk and reading fanfics is a new experience.
âplus size!readerđ„șđ€đ»â
plus size my ass. youâre talking about a girl with a big ass and giant boobs with a a small belly. no one talks about chubby girls with little tits and a flat ass.
yall also always do the fucking same thing in EVERY âplus size!readerâ fics. sheâs insecure, the love interest reassures them by having sex with them where he gropes her body.
so anyway i will always be a hater of the âplus soze!readerâ fics. (except if theyâre ACTUALLY accurate and not just about the objectification of a curvy woman.)
me if reading x reader fanfics was illegal
What are some insults that Soldier Boy would throw at Dean? đ
Bucky who is obsessed with chubby reader who has a visible belly and uses it as a pillow and what not :)
Bucky has always loved soft things.
Soft sweaters. Soft blankets. The quiet softness of early mornings before the rest of the compound wakes up.
And you.
You, with your plush hips and thick thighs and the gentle curve of your belly that peeks through every fitted shirt you own like itâs proud to exist. You, who huff and roll your eyes when he stares too long, who pretend not to notice the way his hands wander, always, always settling at your waist.
He is obsessed.
It starts small, the first time he rests his head against your stomach. Youâre both on the couch after a long mission, exhausted and half-limp with it. Youâre sitting upright, back pressed into the armrest, scrolling through something on your phone while he stretches out along the length of the couch. He shifts closer without asking, metal hand warm and steady as it hooks around your thigh and tugs you in.
âBuck,â you murmur, distracted.
âShh.â
And then he just⊠folds.
He slides down until his head is resting squarely in your lap, cheek pressed to the softness of your belly. Not flat against bone. Not sharp edges. Just warmth and give and comfort. He exhales like heâs found something sacred.
You freeze. âWhat are you doing?â
âUsing my pillow,â he answers simply, as if itâs the most obvious thing in the world.
Your stomach flips. âYou have like six actual pillows.â
âNone of them are this good.â
His flesh hand splays wide over your side, thumb brushing the slight dip where your waist curves inward before swelling out again. He gives a little squeezeâabsentminded, affectionateâand settles his full weight there.
Youâre hyperaware of it. The weight of his head. The scratch of his stubble through your shirt. The way his nose presses just slightly into you when he breathes.
âIâm squishy,â you mutter.
âExactly.â
He sounds downright pleased about it.
You expect him to move after a minute. To tease you and then roll away. But he doesnât. He stays. His shoulders loosen. His fingers trace lazy shapes along the underside of your belly, reverent and slow.
âYouâre so soft,â he murmurs, voice dipping lower, rougher. âDonât know how you walk around like this without me glued to you all the time.â
Heat floods your face. âYouâre ridiculous.â
âIâm serious.â
He turns his head slightly and presses a slow kiss right through your shirt, just below your navel. The sensation makes you jolt.
âBuck.â
âWhat?â he asks innocently, but thereâs a smile tugging at his mouth. âCanât appreciate my girl?â
Itâs the way he says itâmy girl. Like heâs claiming treasure.
You shift, suddenly self-conscious. âYou donât⊠wish I was smaller?â
The question slips out before you can stop it. You hate that it does. You hate that itâs even in your head.
He goes very still.
Slowly, he pushes himself up onto his elbows until heâs looking at you directly. His eyes are blue and sharp and entirely serious.
âSmaller?â he repeats, almost offended. âWhy would I want less of you?â
Your breath catches.
He sits up properly then, hands coming to frame your waist. He doesnât hesitate. Doesnât soften his grip. He squeezesâfirm, grounding.
âI love this,â he says, sliding his palm over your belly openly now. âLove how you feel. Love how you fit in my hands. Love how I can lay my head here and hear you laugh and feel it.â He presses his ear back against you demonstratively. âItâs my favorite sound system.â
A startled laugh bursts out of you.
âThere it is,â he says smugly. âSee? Worth it.â
You swat at him lightly, but he catches your wrist and brings your hand to his hair instead. Encouraging. Guiding. Like he wants you to get used to this.
âI like that youâre soft,â he continues, quieter now. âI spent decades surrounded by hard things. Cold things. I donât want that anymore.â
His cheek presses back into your belly, slower this time. Intentional. He rubs his face there shamelessly, like a cat claiming its spot.
âYouâre warm,â he murmurs. âYouâre comfortable. Youâre real.â
Your fingers slide through his hair without thinking, nails scraping gently at his scalp. He melts instantly, breath shuddering out of him.
âAnd I like that I can do this,â he adds.
He wraps both arms around you and tugs until youâre practically folded over him, his face buried fully against your stomach now. He nuzzles, exaggerated and greedy, and then presses a series of soft kisses along the curve.
You canât stop smiling.
âYouâre obsessed,â you accuse softly.
âYeah.â
No denial. Not even a pause.
âI am.â
His hand slides under your shirt this time, skin to skin. His palm spreads wide over the softness there, thumb tracing lazy circles. He watches your face carefully as he does it, gauging every reaction, like he wants to memorize the way you respond.
âI like that youâre soft enough for me to sink into,â he says, voice dropping slightly. âLike that when I grab you, I actually get to hold something.â
Your breath goes shallow.
His touch shifts from playful to deliberate. Fingers pressing deeper. Appreciative. His lips follow the path of his hand, kissing along your belly slowly, like heâs mapping it.
âYou know what my favorite part is?â he asks quietly.
âWhat?â
He lifts his head just enough to look at you, eyes dark now, but still tender.
âThat you donât hide from me.â
Your chest tightens.
âYou let me love you like this,â he continues. âYou let me touch you. Lay on you. Hold you. And I wouldnât trade that for anything.â
He slides up your body then, kissing a path from your stomach to your sternum, to your collarbone, until heâs hovering over you on the couch. Big and solid and entirely devoted.
âAnd if you ever start thinking you need to be smaller,â he adds softly, brushing his nose against yours, âIâm gonna remind you that I need exactly this.â
His hand drifts back down, settling possessively over your belly again. Like it belongs there.
Like you belong there.
You pull him down into a kiss before you can overthink it, arms wrapping around his shoulders. He smiles against your mouth, satisfied, and then deliberately shifts so he can rest his head back where he started.
Pillow reclaimed.
You roll your eyes, but your hands find his hair automatically.
âComfortable?â you tease.
He sighs like a man who has found heaven.
âPerfect.â
hot take but i like x reader fics where the reader is basically an oc.
iâm not trying to imagine me in the story all the time. iâm trying to be someone else for a bit.
THISSS.

